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slashingdisneypasta · 1 year

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I felt like dropping in some wholesome scenarios in the askbox. Which can- hopefully- be taken as platonic or romantic as you want them to be. I hope these bring a smile to your face ^^

Smartass: Somebody in the house has to take care of the finances. Pay the bills, see how much is left in the budget for that month, etc. All the other weasels know to leave Smarty alone when he's calculating everything, but you decide to go in his office. Despite him telling you to leave, you decide to stick around; offer him a cup of tea, maybe even crack a (safe!) Joke or two with him to get him to cheer up. Maybe even offer him your help with the finances. He doesn't overtly express it, but he's started to look forward to your unannounced visits.

(Bonus: maybe this is how you become an official Toon Patrol member? You don't get out and do jobs, you're just kind of like a secretary or something)

Greasy: Since he's the only one who actually has hair- in that odd, cartoon character way where despite being an animal they still got human-like hair- he's probably the one who has the longest hair care routine. Granted it seems like all he does is add an unnecessary amount of hair oil, but still. If you are a toon like him, or just a human with hair, then guess what? Hair care dates! Even though you're not going to a salon, Greasy makes you feel like you are; brushing out all the knots, getting the best conditioner and shampoo for your hair, and even offering to style it if you want. And when it's your turn to give him the same care, oh he'll just melt under your touch.

Wheezy: Even though he's a toon, I imagine he's got an old soul too. Meaning that, surprisingly, he's got a fair amount of wisdom in that noggin of his. It's most apparent when you go out with him. He notices how tense you are and offers to hear what's on your mind. How quickly you open up to him, that's up to you. But he'll just be there, puffing away at his cigarettes and listening to you let out all of your accumulated worries and stress. By the end of it all, he's got his hand on your shoulder, and offering you a small comforting smile. If you want him to, he can offer you his best advice, but he also knows that sometimes you just need someone who'll listen to you.

Paycho: He's always been the odd one of the group. In some ways, he does fit in the little gang. But in others, he doesn't. His habits and behaviors are the biggest indicators of this, as you've noticed. But this is the first time the weasel has sat you both down and insisted you stay until he's done scribbling away on his pad. Every time you try to peek at what he's drawing, he obscures it from your view and will just stare at you, until you sit back in your original position. You're left wondering what he's doing, until he finally shows you what he's been drawing, with a proud- and hopeful- smile on his face... It's a portrait of you.

Stupid: The carnival is in town! Stupid has been talking about it the whole time, ever since he saw the flyers for it weeks ago. Unfortunately, when it's time to go, no one else can go with Stupid for a variety of reasons. He is pretty disappointed his friends can't come with him, but when you offer to go with him, he lights up like a kid on Christmas. He shows you all of his favorite rides at the carnival, you two get to have your favorite food, and Stupid wins nearly every one of the games! You guys have collected quite the haul, though he wants to give them to you. It turns out he had been trying to win those prizes for you. Besides, seeing how proud of him you were and how happy you were with him was his favorite prize that day.

I don't know if you needed a quick pick me up from our favorite boogle today. But if you did, I hope these imagines did the trick ^^

Okayyyy I know I already told you how MUCH i love these but but-

Iiiiiiiiii loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee themmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... <3<3<3<3<3

I have some for you too, following your theme ^^

Imagine sitting in Smartass' lap as he's cranking the numbers, nothing sexual or even romantic about it; You're just sitting there with your legs hanging off his right thigh, arms crossed over your chest and shoulder and head leant on him- suffering along side him (Couples that suffer together, stay together XD), occasionally pointing out a mistake and fixing it (He doesn't mind when you do it), or adjusting his hat, or pressing your forehead into his temple cuz you're tired and you know he is too. Until you eventually manage to break him and get him to bed.

Imaging being propped up on the bathroom sink, snacking on popcorn or peanuts or something while Greasy goes through his routine. You don't really need to be there, he doesn't need help and yo aren't offering- but you just like the time spent with him when he's focused on something other than sex or the Judge's doings. Its so casual, your heart melts (Though you don't let him know that), just set there chatting with him and watching him be so focused on something so simple. It makes you realise, oddly, how much you really love this evil pervert.

Imagine you can feel Wheezy's eyes on you almost as soon as you're feeling overwhelmed; The colour is intimidating, sends chills all the way through you, but when they're focused on you there's a little warmth behind them... a little, obvious concern. "... are you good?" "... i could be better- " He takes your hand. "c'mon, follow me." He takes you to a quiet area and you can talk or not- he's happy to sit and listen to you, truly understanding, or just smoke in silence.

Imagine in responce to Psycho's drawing, you decided to do the same for him the next day. Have him sit down in front of you for half an hour while you draw him- not letting him see the damn thing until its done. He wriggles and makes noises, bored and restless- he always gets this way when he's asked to stay in one place for too long (Which is not really that long at all), but he's able to entertain himself with you. Fiddling with the fabric of your clothes, or your hair, or the hand you're not using. When you're finally finished and show him, he folds it up and puts it away in his straight jacket.

Imagine mean BAMF!Reader x Stupid at the carnival. He's the only person who can make you soft and you could never ever, say anything remotely mean to him- so when he's looking down because his friends wont go to the carnival with him you're 'mission goddamn acquired'. When he insists that all the prizes are for you your heart actually swells, it takes you a moment to recover, and then you realise you have a new mission- win this adorable man the biggest damn prize in this carnival.

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silkling · 3 years

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Of Mistakes Past and Missing Home

Of Moments of Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

“You enjoy painting.”

The voice came from behind Boulder, and the unexpectedness of it made him startle. Which, in turn, made him jerk and drag his paintbrush across his canvas. The result of which was him turning a small cloud above a red and orange flower field into a streak that cut through the whole picture. Oops. That wasn’t what he’d been intending.

He turned to see who had spoken, his optics shuttering with surprise when he realized it was Dreadwing. He was quick to realize that the Seeker’s expression had quickly shifted to one of regret.

“I apologize, youngling. It seems I caused you to ruin your art.”

Boulder only smiled, shaking his helm. “It’s no big deal.” he assured. “Part is the artistic process is making mistakes and having to start over. I did it a lot, in the beginning.” He glanced at the canvas, tilting his helm. “But that doesn’t mean every mistake requires you to start over from scratch. That’s the great thing about painting.” he remarked distractedly, tilting his helm in the other direction. “Sometimes, a mistake can be turned into something new, maybe even something better.” he narrowed his optics, then they lit up with a realization. “Sometimes,” he repeated. “All you need,” he reached out, then turned the canvas around so what had once been the flower field was now at the top of the painting. “Is a new perspective.”

When he glanced back, Dreadwing didn’t seem to understand. Boulder smiled. “Let me show you.”

He picked up his paintbrush again, then lifted it and in a few short strokes he added to the stripe that sliced through the picture he’d been painting. He changed colors, adding some more careful strokes around that, and stepped back. It would need refining, but the shape and idea of what he was going for were there.

“See? It’s a feather in the sunset, now.”

Dreadwing only blinked. “I suppose, though I’m afraid I do not much understand art. I always preferred to read data pads and learn about various fields of study.” There was a pause. “Skyquake enjoyed art.” It was a quiet addition.

Boulder found his smile softening. “Yeah? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.” he encouraged. He glanced at his canvas. “I like art. There’s no set way to do it and there’s not much penalty for making mistakes. It’s nice.”

The Seeker hummed. “Do you believe most mistakes can be fixed with a new perspective?”

Boulder blinked, frowning. There was something off in Dreadwing’s tone. The others might not pick up on it, but he was good with other bots. He always had been. “…this isn’t just about painting anymore, is it?”

Dreadwing startled, surprise making his field flare. “You are far more perceptive than your teammates.” he said after a moment.

Blades smiled, turning to fully face the flyer. “Blades gets too anxious and wrapped up in his own helm to really pick up on more subtle emotions, Chase can barley understand the complexities of his own feelings, let those of alone others, and Heatwave is too proud and headstrong to really know what to look for. They’re all good bots, and I care about them a lot, but they aren’t the most..”. he searched for the right word. “Emotionally intelligent. Blades can read others really well when he isn’t swept up in his worries, but the other two are a bit hopeless.” He wasn’t saying it to be mean or to criticize. It was just the way his friends were wired, he knew. They were naturally better than him at a lot of other things. It was just how things were.

Dreadwing nodded, acknowledging his words. “You are correct. It is not just about painting. But it is my burden to bare, and I will not trouble you with my struggles.”

Boulder chuckled. “Well that’s a bad idea.” he said lightly. “You’ve already helped us a lot. Chase told the team what you did for him. We’ve all seen what you’ve done for Blades. Why don’t you let us help too? You’re one of us now, it’s gotta be about give and take.”

Dreadwing stared. “Wise words for one so young.” he sighed. “Very well, I will share my thoughts.” he vented harshly, then stared intently at the painting Boulder had been working on. “My mistakes are many, and brutal, and not nearly as neat or benign as a misplaced streak of paint. I suppose I merely cannot see how a new perspective would fix them.” he said after a moment.

Boulder was quiet, before he lifted his gaze. “Can I offer my thoughts?” At Dreadwing’s nod, he continued. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes. You’ve done a lot of terrible things. I don’t doubt that. And I know there are a lot of Autobots who would want to see you pay for those mistakes.” he tilted his helm. “I don’t know the full scope of the War. I don’t know everything you’ve done. But I do know how bad off Cybertron was before we left it.” The Seeker shot him a startled look, and he smiled a little sadly,

“I didn’t join the Rescue Force just because I wanted to help others, Dreadwing. In fact, in the beginning, my motives were entirely selfish.” he explained. “When I got to the age where I’d be expected to work, I was told that my first shift would be at a construction site in Kaon. It scared me. I knew how dangerous construction work was and I knew that even if it didn’t kill me it would kill my spark to be forced into something I hated so much. The only escape, the only chance I had at something different, was the Rescue Force. So I signed up to the Academy, and the day I got in was the day I escaped what I would have suffered through otherwise. The others may not have been as aware of just how bad things were, but…I was from the lower castes, Dreadwing. I knew.” he said quietly.

The Seeker was surprised, his optics wide. He saw how Boulder gradually shrunk in on himself as he spoke, and it made something unpleasant twist in him. The bulldozer was usually more at ease and bright, it didn’t suit him to look so…defeated. After a moment of thought, he put a hand on Boulder’s back and stepped closer. He knew Chase would not want more than this, but Blades preferred hugs as his method of comfort. Dreadwing didn’t know what the little green bot preferred so he wanted to play it safe. His bid seemed to pay off, because Boulder shot him a faint smile.

“What I’m getting at is, I know how bad off Cybertron really was. So even if I don’t know your exact circumstance, I do have an idea of what might have pushed you over the edge. I did originally come from Nyon, after all. Granted, I came from one of its nicer quadrants, but…it was still Nyon.” Boulder sighed. Nyon, at one time, had been the cultural and religious center of Cybertron, rivaling Praxus in beauty and grandeur. But under Zeta Prime, Sentinel’s predecessor, it had fallen into near-total ruin. “You made mistakes, and some bad choices, but you only did it in the end when you were backed into a corner and had nowhere else to go. Your choice was the only one you had that would let you remain alive, and that was wrong. No one should have to choose between death and living life serving a tyrant.”

Dreadwing hadn’t explicitly said any of this, of course. But Boulder was perceptive, like the Seeker himself had said. He’d read between the lines. He had understood what Dreadwing hadn’t been saying. It was one of the reasons he’d so quickly accepted the large bot as a new fixture in their lives. In his optics, this was Dreadwing’s chance at a life he should have had to begin with.

“That doesn’t change what you did, but it adds context. And given that the War destroyed Cybertron and decimated our people…” Which had been another thing Optimus had opted not to tell them. Dreadwing had had to share that particular tidbit. “Well, the War has to end someday, and if it ends in Autobot victory then we can’t afford to lock up every ‘Con. I don’t think there’s enough Cybertronians left for that.”

He realized he hadn’t yet gotten around to answering Dreadwing’s statement, and embarrassment flushed through him. “You made mistakes. That’s true. But context adds perspective. And you have a chance here to prove to anyone in the future who would want to hold your past against you that you can do better. Griffin Rock is your trial run. Heal, relearn how to live without War, and make amends while you’re here. Then, when everything comes to an end and the dust settles, it’ll be a lot harder for people to say that you never tried to make things right or that you’re unwilling to change.” he looked up to meet Dreadwing’s gaze. “Prove to yourself that you can be better than who you used to be, and when the time comes for you to face your mistakes, everyone will see that you have what it takes to make it right.”

Dreadwing was frozen, and Boulder found himself smiling at the hints of shock in his field and gaze. “I…had not considered those points.” the Seeker admitted after a long minute.

Boulder chuckled. “New perspective, remember? I just so happened to be able to provide it. That’s part of the benefit of letting yourself trust and rely on others.”

The flyer shot him an indecipherable look, and nodded. “Thank you for reminding me of that, young one. I have not been able to put such faith in another since I last saw my brother. It is good to be reminded that I do not have to handle my burdens alone.”

Boulder beamed, nodding. His somber mood was seemingly forgotten and he gestured to his painting. “Glad I could help! Now, if you don’t mind, I have sudden inspiration for this and I’d like to finish it.” he said, stepping towards the canvas.

Dreadwing let his hand drop, head tilting. “May I watch?” At Boulder’s nod, he settled on a nearby crate and watched the bulldozer work. It was oddly soothing, seeing the colors go down on the canvas, watching the patterns and shapes form into a familiar image. Into…a very familiar image.

After Boulder finished the sunset and feather, he had begun painting…the Rescue Force Headquarters. And Dreadwing picked up the longing and melancholy in the youngling’s EM field. The Seeker’s spark ached at the bulldozer’s visible grief, and he frowned. So Boulder hadn’t so easily shrugged off his earlier memories of home and his life on Cybertron. Dreadwing was not surprised to see him painting the Rescue Force HQ. From what the youngling had said, it would have been the first place he was truly free of the shackles that had threatened to bind him.

Dreadwing said nothing until Boulder finished and stepped back, and it seemed he hadn’t realized what he’d been painting until then, because when he took in the whole painting his only reaction was to let out a quiet, surprised “Oh.”

Dreadwing stepped closer, letting his own field nudge at Boulder’s, and upon finding no protest he let it curl around the youngling. Boulder’s vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he was able to speak. “I hadn’t realized…”

Dreadwing hummed softly. “You miss it.” he could tell in the aching and longing that all but swamped the bulldozer.

“I don’t know why. Like I told you, I didn’t have the happiest beginnings back on Cybertron. But I still miss it. All of it, not just the Rescue Force. Nyon, too.” he said in a whisper.

Dreadwing put a hand on his back, keeping his field soft and soothing. “It is only logical. It was your home. It shaped you and created the foundation for who you are. And I doubt all of your young life was horrible. You said you came from the better areas of Nyon.”

Boulder nodded. “Yeah.” he admitted. “The All Spark Day celebrations were always amazing. And the bots were great. We all had the same origins and the same troubles so we all just…came together. We were…like a community.” he said softly. “We all took care of each other and helped each other and even if the city wasn’t always the best, the neighborhood we lived in was actually alright, for Nyon anyway. I never starved, even if I didn’t always have the best fuel. My life wasn’t great, but…it wasn’t horrible either. I miss all the good things.”

Dreadwing bowed his head. He couldn’t fully relate. He had had no such struggles in Vos, at least not until the Senate had banned any from leaving the city, but he could understand the longing. “Cybertron is dead, but it’s children are not. And hope for our home is not gone either. Perhaps one day there will be a way to return, and even if not, we still live. Once this War ends, it will be possible to keep the life of Cybertron’s heart and culture alive, even if the planet itself cannot be repaired.” he said softly. “You did not get to know Cybertron’s death as the rest of us did, for we knew our home was dying with each day the War dragged on. We had time to come to terms with the loss. You were forced to be confronted with it in a single, harsh day. The rest of us lost Cybertron in pieces, and you lost it all at once. The loss is harder on you than it ever was on me, or any other Cybertronian involved in the War.”

He paused to let the youngling take in all he was saying, the hand on his back smoothing up and down his tightly clamped armor plating. His tone gentled. “I cannot give you back your home, and I know that reminding you of your new home here on Earth will not make the ache go away. So I will only say this: grieve as much as you want for what you lost. Mourn what you were not able to have and the things you will never get back. If you deny yourself that much, you hurt only yourself.”

Boulder was shaking faintly, his frame just a few degrees too warm from the overwhelming force of the grief was processor was buckling under, and his optics threatening to leak cooling fluid in response. He turned a wide, shining look on to the Seeker. His field probed at Dreadwing’s as if asking for comfort, and his vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he actually was able to speak. “…Blades said you give good hugs.” he said quietly, his field holding the softest undercurrent of hope.

Dreadwing only hummed, gaze softening. So that was Boulder’s preferred form of comfort. He nodded, then wrapped his arms around the shaking youngling and pulled him close to his chest.

As Boulder trembled and let himself finally mourn the loss of his home, he found only one thought on his mind.

‘He really does give good hugs.’

———————————————————————————————————

And here’s the next installment in the “of moments in life” AU! I hope everyone liked it! This was fun! I have so much inspiration for this AU you have no idea.

Boulder is the most well adjusted of all the Rescue Bots. That’s why I figured he’d be the best one to help Dreadwing with his own issues. But, even then, he’s still just a kid! A kid who woke up out of a very long nap to learn that his planet is dead and everything he’s ever known has been destroyed. He hid it well, but that shook him hard.

Dreadwing now has THREE children! All he needs now to complete the set is the fire truck! He also needs proper one-on-one bonding time with his helicopter child because their first real binding experience was with everyone watching. So there is that!

Until next time, friends!

#of moments in life au #tfp #transformers prime #tfrb #transformers rescue bots #rescue bots #tfp Dreadwing #Dreadwing #tfrb boulder #rescue bots Boulder #Dreadwing lives #Boulder is the only well adjusted one of the group I SWEAR #he’s the only one who doesn’t desperately need adult help #this time it’s Dreadwing who gets therapy! :D #Boulder is homesick though #it’s a good thing Dreadwing is there to make it better!#Boulder and Dreadwing bond #Boulder gets a dad!#macadam

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kinglazrus · 3 years

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Not Your Danny – Ch 2. Small Signs

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Word count: 3514

Awareness returns to Dani the same way it always does: instantly and with a deep, rattling breath. It echoes the dry rasp of her very first. Even after all this time, she still remembers what it was like to wake up in that vat. The thick ectoplasm that flooded her nose and mouth when she tried to breathe. The panic and confusion as her mind scrambled to understand what was happening. The overwhelming weight of knowledge that wasn't hers, that she didn't remember learning. Even thinking was a struggle in those first hours.

Sometimes waking up from sleep feels like that, minus the drowning. And being asleep is just like before. Before the electric current ran through her body and shocked her awake. Before she could think, or even knew what thinking was. Back when everything was just darkness and a mild awareness that she existed, but no certainty whether she was dead or alive.

Dani never dreams—she doesn’t think she's capable of it—but she's always aware.

Another light tap comes at the door.

On instinct, she scans her surroundings for danger. She takes in the blue walls, the plastic star constellations on the ceiling, and the general mess of the room before relaxing and remembering. This isn't some old house she's squatting in for the night; it's her new home.

She frowns. Her new home. Home. Home. The word doesn't sit right with her. It's what she's always wanted, but this place... could it really be home without Danny?

"Danielle?" a soft voice calls through the door.

Dani jerks upright, throwing off the blanket, and transforms in a flash. "I'm awake."

The doorknob rattles then turns, and the door slowly opens. Maddie Fenton peers inside. Her eyes land on Dani and she takes a sharp breath. "Oh, you're..." She trails off as she looks Dani over.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wasn't expecting your ghost form."

Dani draws her knees to her chest, making herself small. "It's kind of my default."

"That's fine." Maddie steps forward. When she moves, something makes a crinkling noise, and Dani's gaze is drawn to a plastic bag hiding behind Maddie's legs. All wariness forgotten, Dani uncurls and crawls to the edge of the bed, clinging to the mattress while she leans forward.

"What's that?" she asks.

Maddie smiles and glances down at the bag. "We know you don't have much. Or"—she scans the room—"anything. So we picked up a few things on the way home. You'll probably need more, but we can take you shopping so you can pick things out for yourself. These are just some essentials."

She holds out the bag, and Dani eagerly snatches it up. Maddie wasn't lying when she said just the essentials. Inside, she finds a pair of pyjamas, a toothbrush—a toothbrush! She's never used one before—a hairbrush and some other toiletries, and lastly, a box with some kind of pad thing on the front. Dani takes out the box and turns it over in her hands.

"What are these?" she asks. They look vaguely familiar. Perhaps, once or twice, she glimpsed them sitting on drugstore shelves, but they had never caught her attention before.

"They're period pads," Maddie says.

"What are they for?"

Maddie opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her eyebrows crease together in confusion. Instead of answering, she walks forward to the end of the bed and kneels down. She reaches out, but stops before she can touch Dani and draws her hand back.

"How old are you?" she asks. "Jazz said you were at least fifteen."

"Technically, yeah. I think I was twelve biologically when Vlad made me? So I guess that makes me fifteen. But I've only existed for three years. My birthday is next month!" Dani grins. She didn't do much for her first birthday, but last year she visited Amity Park and Danny made a whole day of it! He even bought her a present, although Dani lost the music player pretty quickly. Not that she hadn't loved it, but it was hard to keep track of belongings when you weren't used to having them. She couldn't wait to see what they would do this year.

A second passes before Dani realizes what's wrong with that statement. Her grin falls away.

It doesn't look like Maddie noticed, though. She's too busy frowning at the box of pads that are still in Dani's hands.

"Have you never...?" Maddie gestures to the box, but Dani doesn’t know what she means. With a sigh, Maddie reaches out and takes the pads, setting them down on the floor. "I guess it doesn't matter what they're for right now, then. We can talk about that later. For now, how are you?"

Dani shrugs. "Okay, I guess." She was better a few seconds ago when she forgot Danny was dead for a blissful moment.

"We understand that this is all very new for you. And it's hard for all of us right now. Take your time. If you need anything, let us know. Other than that, you can just focus on getting settled. We'll take care of the rest," Maddie says.

Dani doesn't know what else there could be to take care of, but she nods anyway.

"Are you hungry? It's a little after noon right now and I was going to start making lunch. I could use some company."

"I could eat," Dani admits. Before arriving this morning, she didn't think to grab breakfast anywhere, and it has been well over a day since her last meal. Her stomach cramps, far from the worst hunger pangs, but still annoying.

Maddie smiles and stands up. "Perfect." She waves her hand, gesturing for Dani to follow. When Dani rises off the bed, her eyes widen. It only lasts a moment, a second of stunned silence, but it's enough for Dani to drop to the floor, her boots thumping on the thick carpet, feeling rather self-conscious.

Neither of them mentions it as they head downstairs. On the way down, Dani strains her ears, listening for Jazz or Jack elsewhere in the house. Jack, she hears quite easily, unsurprisingly. Loud, tromping footsteps carry up from the lab, their beat steady and constant. He must be pacing, Dani thinks. It reminds her of Danny. He used to pace when simply thinking didn't suffice; he needed to move through some problems, treat them like physical things he could see and touch. That's how he explained it to her once, not that long ago.

Jazz, if she's still home, doesn't make a sound.

Dani takes up residence at the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and sitting with her legs crossed over the seat. Meanwhile, Maddie starts taking ingredients out of the fridge. Nothing fancy. Lettuce, tomatoes, a few packages of sliced meat. A small pile of vegetables grows in the empty space beside the sink.

"If you don't mind, can you tell me what it's like?" Maddie asks as she pulls a cutting board from a drawer.

"What what's like?"

"Being a halfa."

Maddie, with her back to Dani, misses the way she presses her lips together at that word. Halfa. It's not a bad word, per se. Danny never had any issue with it, as far as Dani could tell, but it never sat right with her.

"I'm not a halfa," she says.

Maddie's hand pauses halfway to the knife block. She looks over her shoulder, finally noticing Dani's grim expression. "Am I saying it wrong? That's the term Jazz used."

"It's Danny's word." Maddie flinches, but Dani presses on. "And Vlad's too, I guess. Being a halfa means being half human and half ghost, but I'm just me."

"But you have both forms?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't all human before I became part ghost. And I didn't have to die for that to happen."

Maddie quickly turns back to the counter. Dani can't see her face, but it is impossible to miss how her shoulders tense. She grabs a knife from the block and a tomato from the counter and makes her first cut. The knife thunks against the cutting board. "What's it like being you, then?" There's a tremble in her voice. "With your powers."

Dani shrugs. "I'm okay with them. I'm a pretty fast flyer since that's how I always get around. Faster than Danny was."

Another chop, another loud thunk.

"But I'm really good at the weird body stuff! I got the hang of it really fast!" Dani can't help but smile. She holds her arm out, watching it slowly turn green and goopy. The sleeve of her shirt melts into skin and fat drops or ectoplasm slip off onto the table. The goop clings to her bones, only held together by her force of will. If she wanted, she could let it disintegrate into a bubbling puddle. Even the bone can turn soft and malleable as a licorice twist, although she doesn't let it get that far.

Thinking about why she can do this always brings up bad memories, but Dani pushes those aside in favour of how cool it is that she can melt into slime at a moment's notice.

"Look! Look at this!" Dani jiggles her arm, giggling as bits of ectoplasm go flying.

Maddie isn't looking, though. When Dani glances up to check, she finds Maddie staring down at the counter. "Was it like that for Danny?" Maddie asks.

Dani's smile falters. "Maybe? I got lots of training before I met him, but he was still better than me with most stuff. He couldn't do this, though!" She gives her arm another shake, then slaps it down on the table with a loud splat for good measure.

Maddie still doesn't look, though. She resumes her chopping, grabbing a pepper while pushing the tomato aside. "Tell me more."

—

Lunch is brief. Maddie brings a small stack of sandwiches and a plate of salad down to the lab for Jack, along with a small container of fudge. She comes back upstairs long enough to grab her own food before joining him.

"We're making some of our weapons safer for you to be around," Maddie explains before disappearing downstairs.

Dani isn't too disappointed to be left alone. While talking with Maddie was nice, it was always about her powers, always came back to Danny. Did Danny like flying? Did he struggle with his powers? You have this ability, did Danny have it, too? Genuine curiosity lingered in Maddie's voice with every question. Dani knows she's a scientist, and with that job comes a need for knowledge, a desire to understand everything. Having Dani in the house provides a unique chance to learn everything she can about ghosts and half-ghosts.

But something else lurked behind the curiosity. Dani, in her inexperience, can't properly name what she had felt, but it irks her. Makes her feel off-centre. When Maddie leaves, and Dani has a minute to herself, she breathes out a sigh of relief.

Her food disappears quickly. The sandwich is good; simple, but good. Same with the salad. Dani never starved on the road, but she ate what she could steal, pre-packaged foods snagged off gas station shelves. Once or twice, she snuck into restaurants to steal plates right from the kitchen, but that required stealth and patience if she didn't want to get noticed.

Once she has finished eating, and her plate is licked clean, she doesn't know what to do. Maddie left the fixings on the counter along with her dirty utensils. After a moment's debate, Dani deposits her plate and fork in the sink. She's washing her hands, squishing soap between her fingers, when Jazz enters.

Like Maddie, Jazz pauses when she takes in Dani's ghost form, but she doesn't comment on it. "How was your nap?"

Dani shrugs. Dipping her hands under the faucet, she watches the soap wash away, bubbles forming at the bottom of the sink. "It was good."

"Good." Jazz gathers her lunch in silence, grabbing the sandwich Maddie left out for her and loading a plate with salad. Once her plate is full, she starts putting everything away. Cutting board and knife in the sink, vegetables back in the fridge, bread wrapped and retied.

Dani watches, noticing little aborted movements Jazz keeps making. When she goes to put the bread away, her arm jerks as if she was about to throw it. She catches herself at the last second and walks it to the pantry. After the food is away, she grabs a tea towel rather than a dishcloth, and reaches toward the left sink, only to stop.

Dani peers between the empty left sink, and the right sink with the dirty dishes. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's... it's nothing." Jazz folds the tea towel and lays it on the counter, then grabs the dishcloth instead.

"Want some help?" Dani asks.

Jazz blinks. A strange look crosses her face, a soft smile tinged with hope that, to Dani, doesn't fit the situation at all. Jazz holds out the dishcloth and says, "First one done picks the show."

Dani grabs the tea towel since it's closer. "That doesn't really make sense. I can't finish drying until you're done washing," she points out.

Jazz stares at the tea towel, her own hand curling tighter around the dishcloth. "No, I guess it doesn't."

Dani abandons her cloth with the first dish Jazz passes over, phasing the cutting board dry rather than doing it by hand. She doesn't bother opening the drawer, either, shoving the cutting board right through the door instead. It takes less than a minute to get all the dishes clean and put away.

Jazz picks up her plate once the kitchen is clean and heads out. With nothing better to do, Dani follows her. They end up in the living room, Jazz claiming the left side of the couch while Dani takes the right. The remote lays between them for a second before Jazz grabs it. As she reaches for it, slowly, she keeps looking at Dani, as if she's checking for something, expectingher to do something.

Instead, Dani looks around the room.

Of all the rooms in Fenton Works, this is the one she has been in the least. With three windows looking out into the street and the front door right there, she and Danny always thought it was too risky to hang out here, in case Maddie and Jack came home when they weren't expecting it. A few family photos hang on the wall, and the cushions are well worn. Dani notes a significant dip on the loveseat. That must be Jack's favourite spot.

A burst of music pulls Dani's attention to the television. Jazz has put on a TV show. It starts mid-episode, but Dani actually recognizes it, to her surprise. She's only watched TV a handful of times in her life, although she has snuck into plenty of movie theatres. Although she can't remember the show's name, she knows it's about space explorers. The actors look different for some reason, but those colour-coded shirts are undeniably familiar.

"Has a redshirt died yet?" she asks.

Jazz hits pause. "You know Star Trek?"

"Danny showed me some of it. It's okay, I guess." When she says this, Jazz's eyes widen. A flicker of hurt passes through them, although Dani has no idea why. She ignores it. "This doesn't look like what I saw," Dani adds.

"He probably showed you the original series. He liked to start with that," Jazz says, quieter than before.

"So, what's this, then?"

"One of the series from the 90s. Deep Space Nine, I think? It's... it's the most recent one he was watching." Jazz's hand drifts over the remote, her fingers skimming the play button. "Do you mind if we watch it?"

Dani shrugs. "I don't care."

Starting partway through the episode, Dani doesn't quite know what's going on, and she doesn't care much to find out. It's entertaining enough to watch, but sci-fi isn't her thing. Hard to get into a genre that her whole existence revolves around.

Jazz is still eating by the time the episode ends. She's done by the end of the next, her crumb-ridden plate sitting on the coffee table, but neither of them makes a move to stop the show.

Every once in a while, Jazz glances Dani's way. She thinks nothing of it, at first, but by the fifth episode a frown has etched itself into Jazz's face, and Dani is getting annoyed as they near the two-hour mark.

The next time Jazz discreetly turns her head, Dani snaps. "Yeah?" The couch bounces as she swivels to face Jazz.

Jazz starts, then flushes, embarrassed at being caught. "I was just wondering, aren't you tired? I know you were sleeping earlier, but you've been in your ghost form all days. It's not exhausting?"

Dani shrugs. "No? I'm almost always like this."

"But Danny always got really tired if he stayed in his ghost form too long. Sometimes he would pass out or just lose the transformation completely."

"I'm not Danny, though."

Jazz stills. "Right. No, yeah. I guess you aren't."

"I'm not," Dani affirms.

Jazz nods sharply, jerking her head, and snaps her attention back to the TV.

—

The Fentons clearly have their own daily rhythm, one that sees surprisingly little impact without Danny's presence. Maybe they have already filled in the gaps in the couple of weeks Danny has been dead, but Dani doubts it. More than likely, he spent so much time as Phantom that it affected his daily routine.

Maddie and Jack spend most of their time in the lab, or out roving the city in their RV. There hasn't been another ghost attack since the one that killed Danny, and it probably isn't a coincidence, but the eldest Fentons don't seem to take that into account.

"They're trying to keep things normal," Jazz says when Dani asks her about it on the third day. "It's a normal coping mechanism. A good routine can prevent depressive episodes, as long as they aren't overworking themselves."

Ironic considering how Jazz is always working. Despite being on break from college, Dani catches her every day studying hard, chipping away at some paper, or breezing through a textbook thicker than her fist. She also has a notebook she keeps with her most of the time, labelled "Memorial Plans." An event Dani still knows very little about.

Dani falls into her own routine in those first few days. At mealtimes, she keeps whoever is cooking company. Maddie, if she's home. Jazz any other time. Dani takes to waiting in the kitchen for them, around noon and later at six o'clock. The first couple times they walked in to find her there, they looked startled, then pleased. Jazz's eyes actually watered, once. It doesn't take long before Dani fills in as a helper. It's more entertaining than watching, and after so long on the road, there's something nice about learning to cook. A reminder that she has time for it, that she will be here tomorrow and can do it again.

She and Jazz keep watching TV together, although the time varies. Whenever Jazz wants to sit down for an episode—and it's never more than that, despite how long they watched the first day—she finds Dani and asks if she wants any "Trek time." Dani gets the remote only once, on their second time watching. Instead of Star Trek, she picks a sitcom that looks funny and normal.

Jazz keeps the remote after that.

The only person Dani doesn't spend time with is Jack. She sees him once or twice, lumbering through the hall between the kitchen and the lab. As far as she can tell, he sleeps down there. He must since she has yet to find him on the second floor where the bedrooms are.

When she's alone, Dani occupies herself with Danny's things. He has a lot of stuff, and she has no idea what to do with all of it, much less what he did with all of it. Posters especially elude her. What's the point of something that doesn't actually do anything? She goes through his closet the most, picking at his clothes. There are a few shirts close to her size, since Danny didn't get his growth spurt until last year, but none of them suit Dani's style.

On her fourth day at Fenton Works, more than half a week since she arrived, Dani has all the shirts that fit her laid out on Danny's bed. None of them fit perfectly, but she wants to wear something new. You get sick of the same hoodie and shorts after three years, even if they grow with you.

A heavy, thumping knock comes at the door.

Dani, distracted by the shirts, says, "I don't really feel like it right now, Jazz."

"Dani." A voice much deeper than Jazz's greets her. When she looks up, she finds Jack in the open doorway, ecto-gun in hand. "Can we talk?"

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#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #notyourdanny #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #dani phantom #danielle phantom #hurt/comfort #nyd chapter two #danny phantom fanfiction #trans danny #trans danny fenton

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Secret Love Part 3 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: What do you know...Cale finally makes a physical appearance.

Warnings: cursing, discussion of infidelity and sexual activities (vaguely)

Word Count: 2,920

~~~~

The news that Cale wasn’t the dad sent a wave of emotion through you that you couldn’t define. In the days following, it almost felt like something you had dreamed but Laura’s texts regarding flight information for the trip and weather forecasts for packing were daily reminders that it was all a reality, albeit a confusing one.

You still hadn’t talked to Cale, not even via text, since the disastrous phone call. You also had no idea whether Laura had told him you were coming or not. So while you were normally a calm flyer, this time you couldn’t help the anxiety that bubbled up, stemming from the fear of how Cale would react to seeing you.

Because Cale had practice and then a film session to attend, the plan was to just meet him at his apartment upon arrival. As you sat in the backseat of the rental Gary had obtained, you watched as the mountains of Denver rolled past the window. It wasn’t long before he had pulled into an underground parking garage and you were gathering your things to head inside. Tired from the flight and distracted by the stress you were feeling, you didn’t even notice that the only thing Gary grabbed was his wallet, while Laura just grabbed her purse.

The building you entered was modern and sleek but yet homey. You followed Laura and Gary to the elevator which took you up to the fourth floor. A short walk down the hall had you standing in front of apartment 429 and Gary knocked on the wooden door. When it swung open a moment later, Cale’s tall frame was immediately wrapping around his mom’s as he slowly walked backward, pulling her inside.

After a moment he pulled away and hugged his dad as well. It wasn’t until they had pulled apart that his eyes fell on you and you instantly knew that your presence had not been announced in advance. Still, he pulled you into his arms, likely for his mom’s sake and it took everything in you not to break into tears as the scent of him reached your nostrils. You had missed everything about him, and it was hitting you harder than you could have ever imagined.

Breaking the hug, you stepped off to the side and focused your attention on the details of Cale’s apartment while Laura and Gary chatted with their son. The kitchen was filled with dark cabinets, granite countertops, and a large island. Beyond that was a living room with a sectional couch and a big screen tv.

“...I was thinking Y/N could stay here and crash on your couch…” Your head snapped to attention at the sound of your name and you watched Cale rub the back of his neck as he nodded in agreement to whatever his mom was saying.

“Great. Then your mom and I are going to go check into the hotel and we can text about meeting up for dinner.” Gary declared, his hand reaching out to clap Cale on the shoulder before guiding Laura back toward the door.

“Wait...what?” The words didn’t manage to fall from your mouth until Laura and Gary were gone, leaving you standing in Cale’s kitchen. Slowly your brain pieced together the snippets of conversation and you were certain a look of horror crossed your face. Cale’s expression was unreadable as he watched you and you frantically reached for your phone.

“I’m so sorry...I...I didn’t know your mom was going to drop me on you like this...I’ll uh...I’ll just call an uber and find myself a hotel…” You babbled, certain that this was the last thing Cale would want. “I...I told her that I shouldn’t even come on this trip but…” You were cut off as Cale gently tugged your phone from your fingers and set it on the island.

“Woah...hey...my couch is your couch.” He insisted. “I uh...I don’t mind okay.” Looking up his eyes were soft, his expression one of shame and nervousness as he gazed at you. “Breathe Y/N.” He continued. Eventually you were able to copy the rise and fall of his chest with your own breathing. Still, the pit in the bottom of your stomach insisted that he couldn’t possibly want you here, not after everything.

“I can get a hotel room seriously.” You murmured. “Your mom doesn’t even have to know. I know you hate me so me being here probably is the last thing you want…”

“You think I hate you…” The way Cale’s voice broke revealed the hurt he felt at that accusation. “Fuck.” He mumbled, his hands suddenly reaching out to pull you firmly against his chest. “Y/N...I could never hate you.” Cale spoke softly but honestly and you bit your lip to hide the tears. “You’re my best friend and I...of course I want you here.” His chest shook with shaky breaths and he kissed the top of your head gently.

“If you don’t want to stay, then okay I’ll drive you to a hotel myself but please...please don’t think that I don’t want you here.” He eventually added. “I...I know I fucked up and I’m the one that should be apologizing. This past month has been a mess and I owe you an explanation. Just...just stay and give me a chance to make it up to you.” With each word, you felt yourself going weaker in his arms and as your body sagged against him, he sighed, pulling your bag off of your shoulder to let it gently fall to the floor. “God I missed you…” He whispered into your hair. “It’s been too long.”

It wasn’t long before your tears broke loose, quickly soaking into his shirt. “Shit.” He whispered, fingers now carding through your hair. “Sunshine...don’t cry.” When you’d finally cried yourself out, Cale cupped your cheeks and brushed at the tear stains with his thumbs. A look at the clock on the stove showed that it had been 45 minutes since you’d arrived already and that it was already almost dinner time. Like they’d read your mind, Cale’s phone was buzzing next to yours on the island and he murmured that it was his mom wondering about dinner.

“Should I tell her we’ll meet them in like 45?” He questioned, and you shrugged in response, honestly too emotionally exhausted to be making any decisions. “Y/N…” Cale pressed, his eyes raking over you once more.

“Yeah that’s fine.” You agreed, just trying to regain full control of your shaking body.

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask.” Cale continued. “Are...are we good?” His voice was nervous as he asked. “I...we can sit and talk after dinner.” He promised. You were still drowning in your own emotions so you just sent him a weak smile and a nod.

“I need to clean up.” You declared and immediately Cale responded with an ‘of course’ before showing you into his master bathroom. 45 minutes wasn’t enough time for a shower, but it was enough for you to change clothes, attempt to hide your red eyes with some makeup and to do something with your hair quickly. By the time you exited the bathroom, Cale had changed from a t-shirt and sweats into jeans and a polo, tennis shoes on his feet.

“You ready?” He handed you your phone as he reached for his keys and when you nodded, his free hand slipped into yours as he led you down to his car. “We’re picking up mom and dad and then we’ll head to the restaurant. There’s this great little Italian place I know you’ll love.” He explained. With his statement that you were picking up Laura and Gary, you moved to climb into the backseat, earning a sharp look from Cale. “You can take the passenger seat.” He mused, going as far as to open the door for you before releasing your hand to let you climb inside. As soon as he had pulled out of the garage, his hand found yours again and as he drove to the hotel he rambled on about how he couldn’t wait to introduce you to the team and what you would likely think of each member of the Avs.

Though you wore a smile, it definitely wasn’t genuine, that ball of insecurity over everything still causing you to hesitate in all of your responses. You and Cale definitely needed to talk about what had happened, otherwise this was going to be a supremely uncomfortable trip.

As you approached the hotel, Cale released your hand so that his mom wouldn’t start asking a million questions. You knew it was the right move, but you couldn’t help but miss the warmth of his hand in yours.

Dinner was delicious, as you ate you watched as Cale talked with his dad about the team, and his mom about things he still needed to get for his apartment even after all this time. There was still something preventing you from fully relaxing, but you tried, laughing when appropriate and engaging in conversation so as to not draw attention to yourself. When the check was delivered, Cale refused to let anyone else even think about grabbing it. After that, it wasn’t long before you had dropped his parents off for the night and were returning to his apartment with plans for Laura to pick you up in the morning to go shopping while Cale had morning skate and Gary went to watch.

The moment Cale’s apartment door closed behind the two of you, you felt the weight of everything rush back over you. Without saying anything, you grabbed your bag and moved to change into pajamas, washing the makeup off of your face. As you padded back to the living room, you were met with Cale handing you a glass of hot chocolate as he motioned for you to join him on the couch.

“I’m sorry I was such a jackass. There’s nothing that can excuse the way I treated you.” He immediately started to apologize, his right hand tugging your left into his grip once more as though he needed the physical connection. “Those were three days I’d like to never relive and I should have reached out sooner.”

“Cale...I understand…” You mumbled, not sure why you were trying to cut him off if you were completely honest.

“No...no you don’t understand.” He interrupted. “I know you think I was angry with you for getting involved because of what I said, but that wasn’t it at all…” Cale explained. “I don’t really understand what your motivations were...but that doesn’t matter.” He continued.

“I don’t know if I fully understand my own motivations.” You mumbled under your breath, but it was loud enough that Cale heard at least part of it.

“What?” He prompted you to continue and you sighed.

“I...I can’t even describe how I felt hearing that news.” You whispered. “But I already knew she had cheated and I could see on your mom’s face that she was skeptical about everything as well...I guess a large part of it was taking the news directly to you before she found out and did the same...I just...she’s your mom and I didn’t want anything to destroy that relationship.” You weren’t sure you were making any sense but Cale brushed his thumb over the back of your hand, a sign of silent acceptance.

“You took me off guard.” He added after a moment. “I’m honestly not sure why, I think deep down I was expecting you to call with some reaction.” Cale sipped at his drink as he tried to formulate his thoughts. “For the record...I love that you’re friends with my mom.” His expression was now a grin as he peeked over at you. “I’m not a huge fan of you using that friendship to gang up on me, but I love it.” He paused once again, letting out another sigh. “So I’m sorry for being sarcastic about that because of course my mom told you, I should have told you. I guess...I guess I thought if I didn’t tell you then it wasn’t real. Telling my mom was an impulse.” A part of you understood that completely and hearing his reasoning made all of those negative feelings dissipate a little.

“But again...I wasn’t mad at you for saying something like I know you think I was.” Cale returned the conversation to that aspect of things and you bit your lip as you listened. “If I was mad...it was at myself.” His admission came with the release of such a deep breath that you knew this was the first time he was going down this line of thought in his own mind. “I know speaking up wasn’t easy for you, I know you’ve tried to stay out of my relationship all of these years even though I’m sure you’ve had plenty of things to say and I’m grateful for all of it. For the times you stayed silent and let me make my own mistakes and for speaking up when I truly needed you to.” His squeeze of your hand signaled that he wasn’t done and to just bear with him a moment.

“I know I seemed mad at you, but I swear I was really only mad at myself.” Cale repeated, clearly struggling with everything he wanted to say. “I knew the baby wasn’t mine. I knew that the moment she told me she was pregnant.” Your eyebrows jumped up at this confession and Cale chuckled to himself awkwardly. “I didn’t want to believe that she had cheated, but I can’t really say I’m surprised.” Cale’s cheeks were now a rosy red, and you squeezed his hand in return this time hoping it would help him open up with whatever he was clearly holding back. “I can count on one hand the number of times she and I had sex.” The flush on his cheeks deepened if that was even possible and you felt something twist in your stomach at the implication of his words. “I can count on one hand and the last time was probably 2 months before she told me she was pregnant. So I mean yeah I guess there was a chance...but it seemed unlikely that she was what 10 weeks pregnant and just then finding out…”

“Oh…” You murmured, even more confused and intrigued. You had tried so hard not to think about Cale’s sex life that having it placed right in front of you was definitely messing with your mind a little.

“So yeah...I guess when you called and immediately told me I needed to have a paternity test done I was frustrated that I hadn’t already taken that step myself. I just...I guess I was worried I looked like a complete fuck up in your eyes and if I’m honest, disappointing you is worse than disappointing my mom.” Moving to drink from your mug, you realized it had turned cold and so you just set it on the coffee table before releasing Cale’s hand to reach out to brush your hand through his hair.

“I was never disappointed in you…” You breathed. “In the circumstances, maybe...but never in you.” With your fingers now teasing the back of his neck you bit your lip before speaking. “I’m sorry for taking you off guard...that wasn’t how I intended to start the call but I...everything I had wanted to say flew out the window when I heard your voice for some reason.” The way Cale was looking at you was something you couldn’t place and you shook your head to clear your thoughts.

“So you’re sorry and I accept your apologies, and I’m sorry so hopefully you can accept mine and we can try and put all of it behind us?” You suggested.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, so yes.” Cale agreed, and feeling the urge to hug him you shifted to face him, pulling your body tight against his. The two of you stayed that way for a while before Cale finally pulled back with a yawn. “It’s getting late and I do have a game tomorrow so time for bed?” He offered.

“Yep...just get me a pillow and a blanket and I’m all set.” You concurred suddenly feeling exhausted from not only the flight, but the range of emotions you’d faced. For a moment you thought Cale was going to say something, his hand falling to your hip, but then he nodded and pushed himself off of the couch, disappearing into his room. After bringing you a pillow and blanket, Cale kissed your forehead and whispered goodnight telling you to bug him if you needed anything.

As you settled down and attempted to sleep, one thought lingered in your mind.

Why didn’t Cale have sex with his girlfriend more often?

You wanted to smack yourself because that truly was none of your business but as affectionate as Cale was with you, you’d always assumed his physical relationship with her was quite healthy.

With him sleeping, likely at least shirtless, only a few feet away, you had a feeling that you were going to need a cold shower in the morning. That was...if you even managed to sleep at all considering the forbidden thoughts occupying your mind.

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #cavalanche #038

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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years

Text

Bubble Wrapped - Part 6

Word Count: 3,708

POV: Reader

Warnings: Same as always, Language, Smut, NSFW, Please see the note in the Masterlist

Teams: Bruins, Caps, Flyers, Lightning and Pens

Notes: So I decided to concentrate on this story a little more than my other ones, since we are now in the conference finals. So my two other stories will sit on the backburner for a bit. Don’t worry they will be back and I still work on them from time to time. But for now please enoy this one...haha As always feedback is welcome! Happy Reading!

It seemed like every time you saw one of the players in the lobby, you were trying to determine if they were the one that sent you the cryptic text message. Cross-referencing the information that you had on the players didn't help as you didn't have most of their phone numbers in the hotel computer system. Two days later and you were no closer to finding out who sent it then you were the day you got it. "I don't know Car, it's putting me on edge," you told your best friend over coffee out in the courtyard.

"Does it matter? It's not like you've had a horrible time with any of them. Or have you?" Carly's eyes got wide at just the thought.

"Of course, not."

"Well then no harm, no foul right?" She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "You need to have some fun. You've been so wound tight over this, I doubt you've gotten off in the last forty-eight hours." You literally almost spit your iced coffee out of your mouth. "What? Have you? You haven't told me about anything since the Sid thing, and that was almost three days ago if you consider that was the night before."

"I don't tell you everything you know." You countered once you'd regained your composure.

"Look getting off by your own hand over the phone with Tyler, does not count. And don't try to tell me that didn't happen." Carly tapped the side of her cup waiting for you to answer but then decided to keep going. "I mean he did buy you those shoes, the man had to get something in return. Not to mention, you were flushed when you came back down to the lobby."

"Oh my god, shut up!" Well if she had just experienced what you did, she would've been hot and bothered as well. "And it wasn't my own hand," you hissed back.

"OH! Do tell?"

"What are we telling?" Brayden Point asked as he sat down beside Carly and now it was she who was blushing and not you.

"Just talking about the schedule," you said in hopes to cover.

"Please (Y/N), it's not like Brayden doesn't know about your little sexcapades." The fact that you were trying to think of several ways to murder your best friend with a cup of coffee, should've been evident with the look you gave her. "He was playing strip poker with us," Carly added by way of excuse. "I was just saying she's tense and that she needs to get some."

"Oh if that's all, there are about a dozen guys within earshot willing to help you out with that you know." He said looking around the courtyard to see who was there. "In fact…"

"Don't you dare." Your teeth were clenched as you sternly chided Point. "Just because you two are fucking like rabbits every spare moment doesn't mean that I need to."

"I'm just saying, pick one of these guys and they'll literally be putty in your hands. You don't know how many of them are sexually frustrated." This wasn't a revelation by any means out of Brayden's mouth. You'd seen the looks even from guys that shouldn't be giving them. Why you'd let the text message bother you so much you didn't know, but you needed to get out of this conversation that was for sure.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." You told them both. "You two enjoy your….break. I expect you'll be back working in say…an hour Car?"

Brayden checked his watch then quickly got up, grabbing Carly by the hand. "An hour…yep, I'll have her back by then." The two left and you just sat there chuckling to yourself as you sipped on your iced latte macchiato. Scrolling through your phone, you weren't surprised to get a text message from Tyler. He'd pretty much messaged you all the time and of course, you'd enjoyed another night of fun over FaceTime as well. Which Carly knew nothing about thankfully. You flicked over to messages to see what Tyler had to say today.

Tyler: Hey Babygirl! How's bubble life today?

(Y/N): Just enjoying some sunshine at the moment. How about you?

Tyler: Just missing you. When can we FaceTime again?

(Y/N): Are you missing me or just horny?

Tyler: Can't I just want to talk to you? I miss you.

Why did Tyler have to say things like that? He was a natural flirt but lately, he'd been taking your whole friends with benefits things and pushing it to the border. The only thing you could do is try and guard your heart for he wasn't the relationship type of guy.

(Y/N): You can, I just know you 😉

Tyler: Sometimes I wonder if you do…

(Y/N): What does that mean?

Tyler: ….

Tyler: Nothing…

Tyler: Can we talk soon though?

(Y/N): Yes, you have a game tonight, right?

Tyler: Yes

(Y/N): Well I'll be watching and cheering for you.

Tyler: ❤

(Y/N): I'll call you tomorrow

Tyler: Promise?

(Y/N): Yes ❤

Tyler: Good, miss you 😘

"Boo," you heard from behind you as someone jabbed your ribs. Quickly you closed your phone not knowing who just made you jump out of your seat.

"Tom, you scared the shit out me." Tom Wilson scooted in the seat beside you, even though there were empty ones where you wouldn't be on top of one another.

"I'd say I'm sorry, but um not. You're cute when you're flustered like this."

"I'm not flustered," you insisted even as your heart still wasn't beating properly.

"Mmmhmm, well you were certainly lost in thought. What's so interesting on that phone?" He tried to grab it away from you, but you were faster.

"Business, which you don't need to see."

"Oh, thought you might be reading over a certain text." He had a wicked gleam in his eye and suddenly you knew that he was the one who you'd been wondering about for the last two days.

"And what text would that be? I don't think I've gotten anything in important."

"Aww, come on (Y/N), don't play hard to get. You know I haven't forgotten that you still owe me that kiss?" Wilson nudged you and gave you a little wink.

"And what have you come to collect it now? Out here where everyone can see us? Because I clearly remember you saying something about not wanting to do it with a pair of eyes watching?" You weren't opposed to kissing Tom, in fact, quite the opposite. He was handsome and perfectly chiseled in all the right places. Though you wouldn't mind getting his shirt off of him and checking out his abs. Tyler had the perfect six-pack abs, but you had a feeling Wilson could give him a run for his money.

"I'm not collecting it now, just thought maybe I could set up a little date to collect later tonight?"

"You don't have a game or anything?" You knew he didn't, but you also didn't want to seem overly eager at him coming to your suite.

"Not until Monday, so my night is pretty free."

"I suppose we could work something out." You glanced down at the calendar on your phone, already knowing that you were free. "Anytime after eight should be good." You were actually free before that, but he didn't need to know that.

"Fine, then I'll see you at eight and be prepared for the night of your life."

"Someone's awful confident." You told him as he strolled away.

"With good reason," he mouthed back before heading back inside. God, he could be so cocky at times. You really needed to get back inside and make sure things were running smoothly, now that the bubble had been more open you had not only your teams there but the others as well, as they were allowed to use all the amenities the hotel had to offer which were quite a lot. Walking back inside the hotel, it was hard not to notice there were players everywhere. It occurred to you then, that you had a type, and that type just happened to be every man walking around in your building. Each day it got harder and harder to concentrate on actually working, but that's what you did the rest of the day, finally calling it a night around seven.

You headed up to your suite, grabbed something quick to eat, then waited for Tom to show up. Eight o'clock came and went and still the handsome winger didn't show up. You were beginning to think that Tom just liked to play games and you weren't in the mood for them tonight for, despite your protests, Carly was right; you were in the mood for a little fun. When ten o'clock rolled around you completely gave up on him coming and headed upstairs to get ready for bed. At least Tom's absence let you keep your word to Tyler as you were able to catch his game. Unfortunately, he didn't quite play as well as you knew that he wanted too.

You were just about asleep when you heard a loud knock at the door, so throwing on your robe, you padded down the stairs to answer it. The clock on your phone told you it was just past eleven. When you opened the door and Tom was standing there you weren't really surprised. "I'm sorry but the offer expired about three hours ago." You told him before going to shut the door.

"Babe, don't be like that," he said jamming his foot in the door so that you couldn't close it. "Sorry I'm late but it couldn't be helped."

With a roll of your eyes, you stepped aside to let him in, though you weren't entirely sure if you were letting him stay or not. "You have two minutes before I throw you out of my room."

"Don't be like that. I had to watch film and then the guys got to talking. I couldn't just get up and tell them I was coming up here." He made a move to run his hand down your silk-clad shoulder but you brushed him off. "If I would've done that, you'd have bigger problems then me being late as every freaking player would be at your door."

He had a point, as so far none of your escapades had gotten out, at least to your knowledge. "Do you want a drink?"

"Would love one." He followed you over to the fully stocked bar. Grabbing the bourbon off the shelf, you poured yourself a dram on the rocks, while cocking an eye at him for his choice. "Make it two, though I'd prefer it neat." Sliding the glass over to him, you took a small sip, letting the liquor warm you up, not only to the night air but also to the man in your room. "So, does this mean you aren't mad anymore?"

"I was never mad, Tom. I'm just not a person to be kept waiting. There are plenty of men in this hotel in case you haven't noticed."

"Look I get it, you didn't have to wait for me, but I'm glad you did." You let his hand grab your waist and pull you toward him. It drifted lower to the swell of your ass and suddenly the liquor wasn't the only thing making the room hot. "Do I still get that kissed I'm owed, or are you saving it for someone else?"

You pretended to mull it over in your mind. To say that you hadn't thought about it, since that first night would've been a complete lie. "What do you say we play for it?" This all started with a game of pool; it might as well end there.

"Ok so I win and I still get the kiss." He stated and you nodded your agreement.

"And if I win, I get to choose if you do or don't." If he could play nice then maybe you'd let him have a prize at the end, but if not, you could send him on his way.

The confidence in his gaze wasn't lost on you as he agreed to the terms. You racked up the balls then let him break. As a striped ball went in, he claimed those, leaving you with the solids to clear off the table. When it came time for your first shot, you took the opportunity to stick your ass out just a little more tempting him for making you wait for him. His hand went to caress the silk, yet you straightened. "Tsk, tsk, you haven't won yet," you chided him then bent back down to take your shot, which went in. You sunk the next two as well and you could see that he'd underestimated you.

"I see how it is," he remarked lining up for his next attempt. "You try to act all cute and innocent when this is really your game and you're making me pay." His ball traveled across the table, going down in the corner pocket. The two of you were pretty evenly matched in this game it would come down to the end to see who would be crowned the victor. Though until that time, you took a minute to appreciate his fine form. Long lean muscles that stretched across the fabric of his shirt made your mouth water. He bent over the table, just as you did, giving you a nice view of his firm bottom. All in all, Tom Wilson was a perfect specimen of the male form, that was for sure, and as the game went on you wondered if what was underneath his clothing was just as flawless.

When it was finally your turn, you didn't miss the opportunity to turn him on as much as he did you. Your robe, now draped seductively off your shoulder, giving him a chance to ogle over your breasts. As you looked across the table you couldn't help but notice the distinct bulge in his pants and you bit down on your lip as you took the shot. There were a few shots left on the table, as you made your way over to take a sip of your drink, letting your hand ghost along his thigh as you reached over for it. You heard his sharp intake of breath, then felt his hand skim over your hip. "What if I declared you the winner right now?" He asked, his hand now rubbing circles on your skin and you could feel yourself getting damp.

"Hmm," you hummed your response, your body already deciding to give in to him. His hand moved the tie of your belt where you felt him fiddling with the fabric there before he undid the knot. "How about we call it a tie?"

His eyebrows raised at your words and you could tell he was intrigued, but he didn't know if he should proceed or not. "If that means we both win, I'm all for that." You took that last step, so that you were fully between his spread legs on the barstool that he occupied, before leaning down and covering your mouth with his. He abandoned his drink so that his hand could sneak inside your robe and caress the silk chemise you wore. Your tongues tangled with each other as the kiss grew hot and heavy. Tom clearly knew how to kiss, as your brain started to get fuzzy and lose all train of thought. The cue stick landed on the marble floor with a thud and then you heard it roll away as it dropped out of your hands so that you could thread your hands threw his hair. Tom stood then, walking you both backward until you bumped against the pool table. His hands that had been on your hips moments ago, now trailed up your sides to your shoulders where he pushed the sleeves of the robe off and it fell to the ground. Breaking the kiss, his mouth traveled southward, down your neck to your collarbone, where he sucked tenderly at the skin there. Your head fell back giving him great access, as you moaned out in pleasure. This is exactly what you wanted and needed, to feel someone's lips against your skin. Why you'd denied yourself this pleasure over the last couple days you didn't know.

The strap of your left chemise fell off, exposing your breast yet still covering the nipple. Tom's hand came up to cup it then, his lips ghosting ever so softly, till he revealed the peak and then took it inside his mouth. He tweaked and nibbled there, then lifted you up on the table, scrunching your chemise up at the same time. He tugged you close to the edge, spreading your legs before dropping down to his knees. "No panties?" He questioned and you simply shrugged. It wasn't like you expected him to come knocking at your door or anyone for that matter. It was just a preference you had when you slept. He licked between your folds then, tasting your essence before slipping a finger inside you. You wanted more of his tongue for that one little lick just wasn't enough but he didn't give it to you. Instead, his finger worked in and out of you. It was nice but it would never be enough to get you off.

When he added a second you moaned your approval hoping for more, but still, it was lackluster. He kissed your inner thigh, your stomach, everywhere but your clit, which was seeking attention. "More," you urged and he took that as a cue to thrust his fingers in and out of you faster. It wasn't enough yet you could see the eagerness in his eyes. How could someone so skilled with kissing not use those lips to pleasure your pussy. Skating your hand down your body, you found your clit and started to rub, but he nudged your fingers aside. You whimpered and he took that as a good sign as his fingers started to slow. The man obviously wasn't used to taking cues from women for you felt his fingers slide out of you thinking you'd cum. Short of coming out and telling him to suck on your clit, which you were pretty close to doing, you were sure you weren't going to get off. You pushed yourself up to a sitting position, backing him off at the same time. Maybe he was better with his dick then he was his mouth.

You switched positions, him now leaning against the pool table and you kneeling in front of him. You reached up and yanked his bottoms down, setting his cock free. It was average in size and you brought it to your lips, where you dropped little kisses all around the head and shaft, before opening your mouth and sucking it inside. Tom's hands pulled your hair back so he could see you sucking on his cock. "So pretty," he murmured as you swallowed most of him in your mouth. As you took him out, you pressed your tongue along the underside of his dick. It was a move that drove him wild as the hand that was in your hair now urged you back onto his member. You hollowed out your cheeks sucking more and more of him inside, as his hips started to flex into you. He held your head still as he fucked your face. When he hit the back of your throat you gagged and coughed. This only spurred him on more as once again he was thrusting into your mouth. Your hands snuck down to squeeze his balls. It sent Tom over the edge, and you felt his hot cum hit the back of your throat. You swallowed the sticky substance down, though if given a choice you would've rather not. "That was so fuck hot," Tom said as he helped you to your feet. "Your mouth is amazing." You would've like to return the compliment but it wasn't possible. There was always hope that the sex would be better, well that was until, he said, "You wore me out, woman. I'm exhausted." Really? So, he gets to cum and you don't. Where was the fairness in that? He reached for his shorts and pulled them back on. So that was that then.

You grabbed your robe off the floor and put it on, then walked him to the door. No reason for him to stick around when you needed to head back upstairs and get yourself off. "Well…" you started and weren't really sure what else to say. "It's been…interesting." That was at least one way to put your evening with Tom.

"Yeah, we'll have to do it again sometime." He said then kissed you. All you could think of was, why couldn't he have used those techniques on your pussy.

Once the two of you broke apart, you bid him goodnight shutting the door behind. Was it bad to hope that the Capitals got knocked out in the first round? You supposed as long as you kept that thought to yourself it wasn't. By the time you dragged yourself upstairs you ended up just falling asleep, you already knew that tomorrow you were going to be having more fun with Tyler on the phone and well even though it was a vibrator, it was a lot more fun than anything you'd experienced with Tom that night.

Morning came and you went about your normal routine. Again, the hotel was crowded as it seemed more players from the other hotel were coming over. There was a ton of interaction between all the guys and for the most part it seemed friendly. You were just about to grab a quick bite for dinner when Logan came up and grabbed you. "There's a fight in the lobby. You've gotta come quick." With all of his false alarms recently, you were reluctant to believe him, but since you were only a room away you hurriedly followed him to the lobby. Unfortunately for you, Logan had been telling the truth as you saw fists start to fly.

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tragedy-for-sale · 4 years

Text

Pizza and Beer pt. 1

A little feel good fics before I RIP YOUR KRIFFING FROGS FROM YOUR ARMS.

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It was late, so when Rex got the com from the General he only assumed there was something wrong. So the Captain jumped to his feet, forcing on his armor and practically ran out of the barracks. He reared the corner too fast and tripped, he slammed into the ground, helmet bouncing off as his face, mainly his chin took just about all the impact. He let out a small whimper before remembering 'I have to get to the General' so he forced himself to get up, to ignore his bleeding chin and aching head, he only ran.

Once he was on the speeder, Rex ran through all possible scenarios of what was wrong. He reached the empty landing pad and saw Anakin waving. Rex parked the speeder and ran up to Anakin, going to attention, "Sir! What's wrong?" He gasped for air, his body just now absorbing all he'd endured in the past five minutes and he was exhausted. He wanted to sit down and pass out.

"Rex!" Anakin greeted, well he obviously hadn't been sleeping. "I need your help." He stated. Rex nodded as he took off his helmet "-Yikes! Rex what'd you do? Run into a wall?" He exclaimed as he felt around for a med-kit but only finding a cloth.

"No, sir, I fell." He answered, freezing as Anakin started wiping up the bloody mess that was Rex's chin. "Uh, sir? What did you need?" He tried to get back on track.

"You're gonna need stitches, we could go back to my place- ah but Padme's expecting me to come back with beer and pizza-" Anakin thought aloud. "You could go for beer and pizza right?" Anakin looked down to his Captain, who's face had been frozen in confusion, "Rex?" Anakin stopped, raising an eyebrow.

Rex's eyes took a minute to find Anakin's and when they did, he just stared at Anakin until his head finally processed everything, stitches, beer, pizza, Padme- Padme. "Oh! Uh no, sir, I- well I do like pizza but it's late and there's literally like three reasons you and Padme would be up this late and I don't want to ruin your night cause I know how few-"

"Rex!" Anakin slapped both his hands on Rex's shoulders, "Stop rambling and relax, we weren't doing that, Padme's working on a speech and won't let me sleep, says 'part of being a husband is being up with your sleep deprived wife' I decided to go get us some food, so say yes, I need your company," he begged as he grabbed Rex's helmet, "Say yes, please, she's too smart for me and she won't let me sleep-" Anakin added.

Rex's mouth lingered open as he tried to figure out what saying yes would mean, but he didn't finish processing every scenario when he did say, "Sure," he smiled as Anakin's face lit up in relief before grabbing Rex's hand and dragging him to the speeder. Anakin jumped on the speeder and put on Rex's helmet before starting the speeder, "Sir, my helmet?" Rex reached out but Anakin started the speeder and the Captain almost flew back so he found himself grabbing Anakin in panic.

"The flyer gets the helmet!" Anakin screamed with a laugh as Rex held on for dear life. "I'll get the pizza, there's a store next door, you get the beer and whatever." Anakin yelled back to Rex, who's head was now spinning, it was resting on Anakin's back because that seemed to help.

"Yes, sir," Rex mumbled, sounding quite miserable. He got woken up for this? The entire ride was a blur, during it, Rex had convinced himself he had a concussion, that or Anakin's cologne was making him wheezy. "Sir? Please tell me we're there?" He lifted his head up to Anakin pulling down to the lower levels. They were there, thank the maker.

"Yeah, we're here, and Rex," Anakin tossed him his helmet, "It's Anakin, here's some credits, as long as you get beer, I don't care what you buy." Anakin smiled before walking towards the pizza place. Rex tossed the credits in his hand before putting on his helmet and stepping into the convenience store. He could feel the cashier's eyes on him as he entered the store, it made him upset, but he'd gotten used to civies staring at him when he wasn't on duty. They always acted like he shouldn't be doing people things.

He found the beer and ended up taking off his helmet to get a better look, he let out a wince, the cut on his chin was still open. "Stars this night sucks," he mumbled as he opened the fridge door and grabbed a pack. He then decided to wander the store, he grabbed some snacks with the intention of giving them to his boys if he didn't eat them. Rex walked around and stopped as he saw a slushie machine.

He slowly walked over, watching the slushie guts swirl around. "Whoa-" he mumbled in awe before he looked around and grabbed the biggest cup. He inspected the cup then the machine. "Blueberry, cherry, grape- what's a grape?" He mumbled to himself as he decided to try the blue one. He set it down and when it didn't do anything he picked it up, the cup had pushed on the trigger and Rex pulled the cup away in startlement, "Oh!" He then exclaimed before filling up the cup. Grabbing a lid and straw, before going to the counter.

He put his helmet on before placing the items on the counter. He then watched the worker scan each item. After he paid, he stepped out and looked to the speeder, when Anakin wasn't there waiting, he went into the pizza shop.

"Ah, hey Rex, oh sweet, a slushie, blueberry? Man I love blueberry-" Anakin greeted, watching Rex take off his helmet to take a sip. "I don't get how the boys with long hair wear their helmets, yours messed up my hair so bad," Anakin commented as Rex took a sip.

"Your heads just too big." He said, taking a glance around before going back to focusing on his slushie. "Tup's hair is always fine." He added. Anakin rolled his eyes, as he took the bag to see what Rex had bought. He nodded, the man had a solid taste in snacks and beer.

"Y'know Padme's one of those people who likes mushrooms on her pizza, can you believe that?" Anakin spoke. Rex let out a disapproving 'mm' while shaking his head, still drinking his slushie, "I know right? That's gross." He nodded, "I had to buy two pizzas, she's always telling me to just take them off but-"

"-The taste lingers."

"Exactly! Thank you, Rex. Good man." Anakin smiled. When his order was ready, he walked to the counter to pay and walked back to Rex, "How's your chin?" He asked as they walked out towards the speeder.

"I'm ready for it to be stitched up-" Rex answered as he tossed his finished slushie to a trashcan and then taking the pizzas. "Don't make me drop these." He warned as he got on, not reacting as Anakin took Rex his helmet from his arms.

"Relax, I can be safe." Anakin started the speeder and took off as if he was Obi-Wan. "See, responsible," Anakin stated as they headed towards Padme apartment. "We'll get home and first thing we'll do is stitch up your face okay?" Anakin spoke loudly.

"Yes sir!" Rex exclaimed as Anakin picked up speed. Glancing down, Rex found his eyes stuck on the drop,

he really didn't want to drop this pizza

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|| Tag List ||

@ct7567329 @a-lil-perspective @mageofcole @advcntura @crying-at-ikea @stuckyjacos @crahsystor @obiorbenkenobi @satan-incarnate-666 @kalm421 @passionofthesith @mackstrut @flyingfreeyt @jonathananubian @kamino-mermaid

#happy fics #wack #clones #clone wars #star wars #tcw #captain rex #sw #Anakin Skywalker #they friends

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hazel-writes · 4 years

Text

Summary: You begin your first official day of work and meet your new coworkers, who turn out to be full of surprises.

Word Count: 2,300

Notes: This chapter is a bit slow, but I'm excited to introduce you to some new characters! If you want to see Picrew face-claims for these characters, look here. Otherwise, imagine them to look however you want!

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

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I'm trying hard to hide

Keep the sun out of my eyes

Close them tight

And now I'm waiting for the moon to rise

Belle and Sebastian ~ Waiting for the Moon

You walked through the door, nervously wringing your hands, despite your best efforts not to. Your eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on a large, grey reception desk. Sitting behind the desk was none other than Ms. Stoney, the uptight woman who had “welcomed” you onto the ship the day before.

You took a deep breath before walking over to her, waiting patiently for her to look up and address you — but she didn’t. You tried subtly clearing your throat, shifting your feet from side to side, and moving into her line of sight, but nothing seemed to grab her attention. Eventually you forced out a meek, “Hi, there!” to which she responded with an annoyed glance in your direction.

“Oh, it’s you again,” she grumbled with a mix of tiredness and disappointment.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” you smiled back, which you could tell bothered her. “I’m looking for the artist workspace? I know it’s somewhere within this department, but I wasn’t sure where exactly…”

“Artist?” she questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah! Ya know, an individual who… does art?” Your attempt at an explanation was met by silence. “Umm… they’re usually covered in some sort of paint or clay, might dress a little funny, are often a little angsty, possibly tormented by some aspect of their past?” More silence. You give a strained smile; you really shouldn’t keep trying to talk over awkward silences. “Not ringing a bell, huh?”

Through clenched teeth she replied,“I believe the people you are looking for are through those doors on the left.”

She said the word people like it left a bad taste in her mouth. She obviously didn’t think too kindly of them.

“Great, thanks,” you replied, heading to the door she indicated.

You opened it, and to your surprise you saw no canvases, paint splatters, tin cans, or haphazard brushes littering the room. The walls and floors were a spotless white. A large, circular table was positioned in the center of the room, surrounded by sleek modern chairs and data pads on tripods. This didn’t look like your dad’s studio back home; a place where the remnants of unfinished projects were put on display for everyone to see and learn from. Here, you could already tell: making mistakes wasn’t an option. There was no room for error.

You returned your attention to what was in front of you, only to have three pairs of eyes meet yours.

The first pair belonged to a girl of medium height. She had long, slightly frazzled, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that contrasted her pale skin. She jumped when you walked in, her face immediately lighting up when she saw you. The second pair belonged to a taller girl. She had warm, chestnut eyes that complemented her dark, sepia skin. Her hair framed her face in a fan of tight curls. She seemed to examine you carefully, squinting slightly, before turning back to her work. The final pair belonged to a boy of medium height. He had shaggy light brown hair and a tanned, terracotta complexion. He looked at you with curious hazel eyes, smirking ever so slightly.

The three of them looked to be about your age, somewhere in their 20's.

The blonde-haired girl ran over to you, pulling you away from your observations. “You must be the new girl!” she exclaimed. “I’m Rilea, your new best friend.”

You were taken aback by her enthusiastic and cheerful attitude; it wasn’t something you encountered very often on the Finalizer. You laughed nervously. “Oh, uhh… cool?”

The boy with the disheveled hair spoke up from the back of the room. “Don’t mind her, she has a new best friend each week.” He smirked at Rilea and she threw a box of tissues at him playfully.

“While that may be true,” she continued, turning to face you, “I can tell that you are going to be my favorite best friend.”

“That’s literally what you say to every single new person you meet,” the boy piped up again.

“For star's sake, Takoda, why do you have to be such a mudcrutch?!” Rilea shouted at him, frustrated.

You continued to observe in silence, still adjusting to the rapid shift of atmosphere in this room compared to the rest of the Finalizer.

You moved to go sit, finding an open seat next to the quiet, curly-haired girl. You gave her a small smile when you sat down, and she returned the favor, scooting her chair over to give you more room. Rilea, and the boy whose name apparently was Takoda, continued to argue like a couple of four year olds.

“Are they always like this?” you asked the girl seated next to you.

“Yup, pretty much,” she replied. “That is, of course, in between the times when they aren’t getting any work done… and the times when they still aren’t getting any work done.”

You laughed. “Well, at least one person here seems to have a level-head.”

“Make that two,” she said, giving you a smile. “My name is Akilah. What’s yours?”

You told her your full name before giving her your nickname, Wren, as well.

“Wren…” she pondered. “Not as in Kylo Ren, right?”

“No, no, no, stars, no,” you emphasized. “It’s the name of a- ” You paused, reconsidering. “I actually don’t know where it comes from, my friends just started calling me by it one day...”

Akilah stared at you intently for a few moments before Takoda shouted over at the two of you.

“Hey, you two aren’t gossiping about us now, are ya?”

You sighed, “Nope, just getting to know Akilah here.”

Rilea poked her head out from behind Takoda, “She's my best friend too!”

You mentally face-palmed and turned to fully face the group.

“So, this is the artist workspace?” you questioned, skeptically.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I wouldn’t go that far as to say we are artists,” said Takoda.

You were confused. “But I thought-”

“You thought wrong. Here, you just follow the rules and instructions laid out for you. We are given colors, words, and images, and it’s simply our job to assemble it all into a neat poster or flyer for distribution.”

“Oh…” you replied, disappointed.

“I’m not even an artist,” he continued. “They just stuck me here after I was medically discharged from the trooper program. For the most part, everyone in this sector just got placed here because there was nothing else they could do”

“So why did they bother hiring me then?” you questioned. “If I’m gonna be honest, I’m used to a little more creative freedom back home. They could’ve chosen anyone for this job.”

“I don’t know,” Takoda replied. “Maybe they want their propaganda to look good for a change.” He smirked.

“Where did you say you were from again, bestie?” Rilea asked.

“Oh, I didn’t,” you replied. “I’m from Lothal.”

Immediately, each member of the team looked at each other, worried.

“Lothal…” Rilea repeated. “That’s one of the Order's targeted planets right now. I have a feeling that pretty soon we'll be distributing posters there. Maybe Hux thinks you can help reason with the people there?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Akilah added. “First Order propaganda would be a lot easier to accept coming from a fellow citizen.”

You pondered their words. What they were saying was probably true: you were simply a tool to be used by the First Order. They didn’t care about your talent or passion; they just needed your image.

“Well, I don't know how helpful I'd be on that front,” you sighed, pausing. “So what is the project you are working on now?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” said Takoda. “Our fourth member should be returning soon with our new assignment.”

“Fourth member?” you questioned.

At that moment, the door swung open with a dramatic bang, revealing a tall, lanky boy with jet black hair and evergreen eyes. He was pale with light freckles speckling his face and arms. His eyes narrowed when they met yours, scrutinizing your presence.

“Look, here he is, ‘fun-sized Kylo’ himself,” Takoda quipped.

Rilea leaned towards you. “He claims that he adopted the whole ‘tormented soul, dramatic hair’ look before Ren even thought of it,” she snickered.

You were confused, but luckily Akilah came to your rescue.

“This is Soren,” she explained. “Our fourth member… Well, fifth, now.”

“Oh!” you replied, stretching out your hand for him to shake. “It’s nice to meet you I’m -”

“Irrelevant,” he interrupted bluntly, briskly brushing past you to sit at the back of the room.

You stood there, hand still outstretched, looking to the others for guidance.

Takoda spoke first, turning to face Soren. “Hey, laser brain, why don’t ya try being a little nicer to our newest member.”

“This is our newest member?” he responded, disapprovingly. “She doesn’t look like the First Order’s finest.”

“That’s because I’m not,” you interjected, defensive. “I’m from Lothal originally. Today is technically my first day with the Order.”

At the mention of your home planet, Soren visibly tensed, his fingers curling into tight fists. The other three looked nervously at each other; they knew something you didn’t.

Akilah, again, interrupted the tense silence. “We should probably get to work… What’s the new assignment Sor?”

Hearing her voice, he seemed to relax a little, pulling out a few papers with various sketches and color swatches.

“They want us to design posters directed at the people of Dantooine. The First Order is currently working to establish a blockade on the planet. It is our job to convince the natives to submit, while also showing them that they have the ability to contribute their own assets to our cause.”

You frowned, unsure of a few posters' ability to do such a thing. You were familiar with Dantooine; its history was deeply rooted in rebel allegiance. You doubted that a few pieces of paper could somehow shift the ingrained attitudes of thousands of people. But then again, you were an artist. And as an artist, it was your job to put blind faith into your work, simply hoping that others could see what you saw in it.

“How successful has this First Order propaganda been in the past?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Takoda laughed. “Not very. Usually, it just makes the citizens more angry. But that kind of works in favor of the Order: as soon as the rebels and their sympathizers become violent, whatever happens to them at the hands of the Order is then justified, so to speak.”

“What would happen if we tried to mix things up a bit? Like attempting a different style, color scheme, or whatever it may be, to make the posters more effective?” you suggested.

Suddenly serious, Takoda spoke. “No. We don’t do anything without the Order’s permission. Never. That’s our number one rule. We can mess around and make jokes all we want in here, but whatever finished product leaves this room has to be exactly what was requested of us.”

Something in Takoda’s voice made it seem like there was history behind this rule — history that didn't conclude with a happy ending. Looking around the room, you knew you were right. Everyone, except for Soren, was avoiding your gaze, choosing to stare at their shoes or the floor. Soren continued to bore into you with a death-glare, but your instincts told you he was like this with everyone and not to take it too personally.

“Yeah, I get it,” you responded. Soren looked at you sceptically. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. I’m on my last warning with General Hux — another mistake will pretty much guarantee my head a new home in the trash compactor.”

“Speaking of Hux, we are to report to him tomorrow with drafts,” Soren finally spoke up.

“Tomorrow?!” Rilea exclaimed.

“Yup,” Soren replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course he would pull something like this, giving us less than 24 hours notice...” Rilea muttered, irritated.

“Stars, I swear that man is 90% petulant child, 7% attempted scariness, and 3% toupee,” you responded.

This earned a chuckle from the group. Even Soren managed a smirk.

“Yeah, well, sadly, that petulant child has a big red button sitting under his bony finger that can destroy entire planets in the blink of an eye,” said Akilah, quietly. “So, we should probably get to work.”

“She’s right,” you say, desperate to end any talk of Hux. “Let’s start.”

And with that, the five of you began work on what was your first official project on the Finalizer. Akilah showed you how to accurately read the diagrams that the Order had provided. Rilea and Takoda attempted to work for a few minutes before devolving into yet another tissue paper fight. Soren sat quietly in the corner, working on the new project, glancing up every now and then at you and Akilah.

Despite the hectic menagerie of personalities that surrounded you, you were glad that you weren't stuck working with cold, robotic First Order employees like Ms. Stoney. You desperately wanted to ask your new friends about their backstories and how they came to be “artists” on the Finalizer, but Takoda and Rilea were busy stuffing tissues in each other’s ears, and Akilah and Soren seemed like the ‘work in silence’ types. You decided to settle with your own thoughts for now; it wasn’t as if you were lacking them.

It occurred to you that tomorrow you would have to face Hux again, the memory of what he sneered at you in the hallway this morning still fresh in your mind: Strike two.

You didn’t know what strike three would involve, but you definitely didn’t want to find out.

Unfortunately, you didn't get that lucky.

--------------------------------------------

Previous || Masterlist || Next

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bathtubjohnny · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1: Rough draft (Edited once for spelling/grammar)

TW: Bloody noses, descriptions of a corpse, mild gore and swearing, spooky zombie lady, bad formatting, rushed writing

Note: Please give me your sweet sweet feedback. Oh how I crave honest and good-hearted criticism.

*Thanks to a handful of members from a group chat for convincing me to post this*

The forest was dense enough to blot out the sun, almost completely plunging the path in darkness. It didn’t bother Sydney though; he was too focused on the building at the end of it. It was a church, and he stood in front of it, staring up at the grey steeple protruding from what was left of the roof. It was a miracle that it was still standing. The walls had been scorched by fire, and the once-beautiful stained glass windows had melted into colourful, wax-like puddles. He could still smell smoke even though the church burned an impossibly long time ago. It never occurred to Sydney that the surrounding woods were completely untouched by the fire, as if it had never happened in the first place.

The inside was different as Sydney pushed the double doors open. He didn’t recognize the inside. It was more spacious than what he remembered, but like the forest, untouched by the blaze. Instead of red carpeting there was a wooden floor; instead of oil paintings depicting the trial of Jesus, tapestries with horrific, indescribable images decorated the walls. The interior had an ancient feel to it, making Sydney feel insignificant as he stood before the rows of pews. He could tell that it wasn’t a Catholic church anymore. It was a haven for a religion that existed long before the concept of Christianity.

Across from Sydney and past the pews was a stone table where the altar should have been. There was a white sheet covering something laying across it. As he padded down the aisle towards it, he could see symbols etched into the stone, characters he couldn’t recognize. The closer he got the louder his ears rang, his sinuses becoming so congested that soon fluid began leaking down his chin. It wasn’t until he reached the table and saw the bright red droplets fall onto the stark white sheet covering it that he realized his nose was bleeding.

Ignoring his instinct to wipe away the blood, Sydney reached for the edge of the sheet and pulled it back. Underneath was a girl, or at least the body of one. Her skin was ashen and waxy, a greenish-blue in colour. Small blisters had begun to form on her cheeks and forehead, as if she had been sunburnt recently. Even though they were closed, Sydney could tell that her eyes were sunken into her skull.

“Syd?”

Pulling the sheet down further, Sydney saw that the girl’s arms had been placed palms facing up, leaving the undersides of her forearms exposed. On both of them were deep gashes, starting from her wrists and ending in the crooks of her elbows. The rest of her had begun to decay, but her wounds appeared recent, oozing thicker, darker blood than what was dripping from Sydney’s nose.

“Syd, are you awake?”

The sound of her inhaling made Sydney’s attention turn sharply back to her face as her jaw creaked open, sucking in air. He stumbled away as her eyes, covered in a watery blue film, flew open. Her head turned towards him with a snap, sending him falling backwards in shock. He hit the floor hard as she sat up, bones creaking and popping as she threw the sheet off her bloated body-

“Mr.Patrick!”

Sydney bolted up from his desk as the shout tore through his dream, nearly sending him toppling to the floor. Mrs. Bray was sitting on her desk glaring directly at Sydney, arms folded. A snort of laughter to his left made him blush as he realized he’d dozed off...again. “Uh, sorry.” He mumbled, slowly sitting back down and trying to ignore the eyes on him. Although Mrs. Bray had a stern look in her eyes, Syd was somewhat comforted by the fact that she was obviously trying not to smile.

“I get that there’s ten minutes left, but let’s try to stay awake, alright?” She sighed. “To those of you who may have dozed off, I’m not repeating myself about the assignment. You can ask your group. Now,” She side-eyed the room. ‘Is there anyone who isn’t in a group of three yet?”

Syd sneaked a quick glance across the room over at his close friend Lizzie Abrams. She caught his eye and shrugged apologetically, motioning to two other girls sitting near her. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Syd averted his eyes, staring down at his desk in embarrassment.

“We don’t have a third person in our group.” The voice to Syd’s left spoke up, making him turn. It was a girl in a worn, blue and white baseball cap, someone who Sydney unfortunately recognized. Her name was Morette Woodward, better known as Mo, and Syd knew her as being the one who broke his nose during dodgeball back in fifth grade.

She had one elbow propped up on her desk and was leaning her head against her hand while picking at her braces with the other. When she caught Sydney’s eye, she flashed him a toothy smirk.

Mrs. Bray glanced between the two and shrugged. “Perfect, evens out the groups. Now,” she turned to address the rest of the class. “I’m giving the last couple minutes of class to organize your chapters, so use your time wisely. Remember your book and your portfolio should be in at least six sections!”

Portfolio? Sydney rubbed his eyes and groaned, wondering what else he’d missed. Falling asleep at random times wasn’t a problem before, but lately he'd been feeling lethargic and finding himself unable to keep his eyes open for long periods of time.

“Hey, scooch your butt over next to us so we can talk better.” Mo nodded at a tall boy sitting beside her. Sydney didn’t know who it was, but thought he looked familiar. “Yeah hold on,” he turned his chair to face them before leaning forward. “So… what’re we doing exactly?”

“Man, you were really out, huh?” The tall boy said, giving Sydney a sympathetic grin. “You were pretty twitchy too. Were you dreaming or something?”

Syd blinked. “‘Twitchy’? What do you mean?”

“Like...mumbling and tensing up a lot,” He clenched his fists in emphasis. “It was kinda creepy. What were you dreaming about?” He was already talking again before Syd could reply. “Oh shit, you don’t know me. Sorry, I’m Henry Kaminer.”

Kaminer. Sydney didn’t know Henry, but definitely recognized the last name. He remembered reading about the Kaminers in the newspaper, and made a mental note not to bring it up.

“Oh. I’m Sydney. I don’t really remember what I dreamed of.” Sydney lied. Henry laughed. “Yeah, I heard. Isn't Sydney a girl's...? Whatever, nice to meet you Sydney."

Morette handed Sydney a sheet of paper. “I had an uncle Sid so no, it's not 'a girl's name'. Anyway, literally all we have to do is split the book up to read for a week, then do some fun little questions and activities at the end of each week." She flipped through her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. "It's like the same stuff we did in grade 5, but with racism."

So she does remember. Sydney looked over his sheet of paper. "Oh."

"Yeah, it'll be easy." Morette leaned back in her chair and scrunched her nose up. "There's 31 chapters, but they're not too long. Let's just do five chapters each week and read whatever's left when we get to the last week." She tossed a stack of pink sticky notes at Sydney. "Use those as a bookmark."

Sydney looked down at the sticky notes. “...Thanks.”

___

“Hey Syd!”

Sydney paused at the front doors of the school just as he was about to walk through them. Henry hurried over to him, lime green beanie clutched in one hand, messenger bag in the other. The tall boy stopped beside him, huffing. “Man, I jumped down the stairs to catch up to you. Sorry, anyway. Walking home?”

Sydney pushed open the doors, nodding. “Yep. What about you?”

“Same here, but uh...which way are you going?”

“To the left.”

“Sweet! Mind if I tag along?”

“Sure,” As they made their way past groups of students waiting for their buses, they started walking down the sidewalk towards the nearby neighbourhoods. Syd, who barely made it to Henry’s elbows, couldn’t help but feel self-conscious with the giant beside him. “Do you live close to the school?” He asked. Henry shrugged. “Well, not really. To be honest I’m just tagging along to avoid my older brother, Marvin.” He chuckled a bit, but it sounded forced. “He’s got his driver’s licence and all, but…”

“But what?” Syd asked. Henry sighed. “He’s an asshole. I don’t feel like dealing with his anger issues today. So I’m here with you instead, little man. If that’s cool with you,”

“I’m not that little! But yeah, it’s cool.”

“Yeah you are, shortstack!!” Henry guffawed and rubbed the top of Sydney’s head with one hand. Syd swatted at his arm, but joined in the laughter. The two boys continued talking and joking around as they continued trekking down the street towards a crosswalk. The weather was warm for being early September, the sun beaming down on them helping to keep Sydney in high spirits.

The first week of school had been rough for him; being as timid as he was, making friends was hard enough in elementary school, never mind being in a new environment. For the longest time he’d considered Lizzie to be his closest friend, but they’d drifted apart over the summer, making him feel even more isolated than ever. As he listened to Henry telling him about his pet cat, Bowie, he felt a ray of hope that maybe he wouldn’t have to be so lonely after all.

“...he’s a really sweet boy, but he’s pretty ugly,” Henry was telling Syd. “He’s got this weird skin condition though so there’s like almost no hair on his body. I think it’s kinda hilarious, but every time he sits down his butthole sticks to our table.”

Syd snorted. “Gross.” He stopped at the edge of the crosswalk as the traffic light turned red, Henry following suit. “I don’t have any pets. My mom’s allergic to animal hair. It makes her sneeze.”

“Damn. No siblings either? Sounds quiet.” Henry leaned against a pole covered in colourful flyers and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. Sydney took a couple steps back so he was standing in Henry’s shadow and decided that tall people weren’t that bad. “Hey,” he said. “My house is just up ahead, what about you?”

Henry shrugged and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Not me little man, I’m heading to the right but maybe I can come over and wreak havoc at your place sometime.” He flashed Sydney a grin and straightened up, a couple flyers sticking to him before fluttering to the ground. “Whoops, those seemed important.”

Syd rolled his eyes and laughed as Henry stooped down to scoop them off the sidewalk. “Nice going there, big guy.” He joked. “Careful you don’t bring the pole down too.” Henry didn’t respond; instead he slowly stood up, clutching a white flyer and staring down at it. Sydney felt his smile fade when he saw the dismayed expression on Henry’s face.

“...What is it?”

Henry swallowed hard before handing Sydney the poster. The white paper was crumpled and soft from being left outside, showing signs that it had been there a while. A photo of a man with a goofy grin and a buzzcut holding a balding cat was in the center. The words were in bright red at the top of the page as he read them.

MISSING PERSON

Jeremiah Lee Kaminer

Also goes by ‘Jerry’

19 years old, blue eyes, blonde, slim build, 6’0”

Last seen November 27th wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans, and brown hiking boots. If you have seen him or have any information of his whereabouts, please contact the Denville City Police.

“Henry,” Sydney glanced up from the page. Henry was fidgeting in place, avoiding making eye contact. “Is he...?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, staring at the ground. “It’s our oldest brother. He’s been missing for over a year. Went into a bar one night for a drink, and just…. Never came out.” A cold gust of wind sent the remaining flyers drifting down the sidewalk as they caught the breeze. Henry’s hands tightened around the poster, creasing the paper before he folded it into a square. “Whatever. I gotta go.” He turned and started heading down the street, leaving Sydney alone.

Syd watched him walk away, wondering whether he should call out or not. Deciding not to, Sydney went home, ignoring the icy loneliness that had begun to creep back.

#writing #creative writing #writing prompts #horror #ocs

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

Mom’s Trip

The trade deadline is stressing me out. That’s it. That’s the reason for this. i have no idea how long it is or why it is or, really, what it is except using Rangers-provided content as fic inspiration. Special shoutout to @shireness-says and @eleveneitherway for both being like, “yes, make it Regina” when I was talking about this. Also, guys, please acknowledge that I turned the six on Mrs. Skjei’s jersey to a zero.

Or: Ryan Strome’s mom told Artemi Panarin to get her kid the puck and my brain was like THAT’S A BLUE LINE THING. And then Mika’s mom wanted to hug her kid and my brain was like, SERIOUSLY, BLUE LINE.

----

“Dad! Dad! Mom! Ma—c’mon are you actually here and just ignoring me?”

Emma glanced up from the computer in front of her, a paper-covered desk and plans for an event she was only marginally interested in. She heard the footsteps coming down the hall — more like a brisk jog, really, and that couldn’t have been good for his right thigh.

He’d blocked a shot the night before.

“Hey,” Matt said, almost out of breath when he skidded to a stop in the open doorway to Emma’s office. “Did you not hear me?”

“People across the entire island of Manhattan heard you.”

“Oh, wow. Scathing from the get, huh?”

“How’s your leg?”

Matt shrugged, a quiet noise in the back of his throat that only made Emma’s eyebrows pinch. “Ah, don’t do that, it’s—I’m fine…I mean, we won, right?”

“Sometimes it genuinely concerns me how much you are like your father.”

“Scathing to insulting in four seconds flat.”

“Were you not yelling for him too?” Emma asked, and she was ninety-six percent positive Matt hadn’t knocked. Not like he had to. In this house. The one he grew up in. With enough empty rooms now that Emma could have an office.

Matt let his head loll to the side — a far too knowing expression that Emma did not appreciate at all. She was the mom. She was the adult.

She was—

Her computer dinged.

“Whatcha watching?”

“What did you say?” Emma countered. “Don’t do that? Don’t do that.”

“We’re going in circles here,” Matt muttered, crossing his feet at the ankles. Like he was trying to hit a BINGO card of all the things that made Emma feel vaguely maternal-type emotions. Her computer wouldn’t stop playing the video.

Or she wouldn’t stop playing the video.

Whatever, semantics.

“How many times have you watched it?” Matt pressed. He took a step into the room, arms crossed now and one eyebrow arched impossibly high. “Just—you know, like ballpark it for me.”

“What are you doing here, Mattie?”

“That’s not an answer. Also, this is my house.”

“You do not live here, Matthew David.”

He stopped walking. And the other eyebrow joined the first. Maybe Emma would just slide out of her chair and lay on the floor.

That would hurt her back, probably.

Getting old was stupid.

Being jealous of Regina was stupid.

“Ballpark,” Matt repeated.

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” Emma said again, slower that time like it would make her sound more responsible. Or, at least less insane. She felt a little insane.

She’d watched the video so many times already.

Elsa had sent her ten text messages about it.

Ruby had written a small novel.

Mostly exclamation points.

Matt’s lips twitched, rocking back on his heels with wide eyes and genetically enhanced eyebrows. He didn’t get anything from her eyebrows.

“Yuh huh,” he drawled. “I’m going to guess somewhere in the twenty range, but that’s only because I can still hear it on auto-play and—“

“—The Flyers website is not as good as ours,” Emma interrupted. “It just keeps looping. So my viewing numbers are probably all skewed.”

“You know you can hit pause, right?”

“In theory.”

Matt laughed, crossing the rest of the space and perching on the edge of Emma’s desk. The video started again.

And, really, most of her reaction to the stupid thing was based almost entirely on surprise.

Because it wasn’t the first time Regina had gone on the mom’s trip with the Flyers.

Emma had gone with the Rangers — decked in head to toe blue and Matt’s jersey and Regina didn’t look great in orange, but no one really looked great in orange.

It was a thing.

A hockey tradition, even.

Except now the tradition included viral videos, apparently, pinned to the top of every Philadelphia Flyers social media page — Regina standing in the middle of the visitor’s locker room in Columbus with Mills-Locksley emblazoned across her back and the Flyers lineup in her hand.

She called out every name, all enthusiasm and a smile on her face as soon as she glanced Roland’s direction.

And when she turned towards the Flyers’ starting center.

Demanding he get Roland the puck.

Emma’s eyes flickered back towards her computer. The best part of the whole video might have been Roland’s noticeably pink cheeks.

Or, the way his head dropped to his gloves.

That was Ariel’s favorite part.

So half a dozen text messages Emma hadn’t answered yet proclaimed.

“I didn’t know Gina had it in her, honestly, Matt said. “The sweet is—“

“—Oh, I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“Please don’t. I need my endorsements.”

Emma wasn’t sure what noise she made at that, but she resolutely refused to take responsibility for it, reaching out to rest a hand on her kid’s leg. He grinned.

“You might have some competition for those endorsements,” Emma said. “I bet in between scoring demands and—“

“—Rol did score. The group chat was very quick to point that out while he was whining about getting interviewed because of his mom.”

“What a rough life you children lead.”

“It does get a little aggressive, though,” Matt continued, “Get him the puck! Get him the puck! She’s got a lot of thoughts about Rol’s scoring potential, don’t you think?”

“Eh. She’s got reason to be confident. Legacy and all that.”

“You honestly think she’s working endorsement deals for Flyers guys?” Matt asked. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Any moment without trying to make connections is a moment wasted as far as Regina Mills-Locklsey is concerned.”

“Oh, I’m going to tell her you said that! Then she won’t have time to be annoyed by all the gifs I keep sending Rol.”

Emma clicked her tongue. “Stop teasing him.”

“I’m not teasing, I’m mercilessly making fun. Get him the puck! Get him the puck!”

“Got to shoot to score.”

“Top-tier cliche.”

“Mmhm. That’s definitely my MO.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed, mouth twisting slightly when his hand landed on Emma’s. “Why do you keep watching it?”

“Rubes has watched it more than me.”

“That’s because she wants to analyze the hits and the long-term reach of one thirty second video clip. Is Dad even home right now?”

“No,” Emma shook her head. “Did he tell you to come here?”

“Yuh huh. Why would you think that is? Exactly.”

She couldn’t keep clicking her tongue. She was going to sprain it.

Matt practically beamed.

“Maybe I’ll challenge him to a shoot-off or something,” he mumbled. “Interfering like this. Got to put the old man back in his place.”

“You’re really throwing out insults, aren’t you?”

“He planned this.”

“What did he tell you to get you here?”

“That he had film I needed to watch. Which is just—I’m sure he’s very pleased with his lie and ploy and—“

“—Good word,” Emma grumbled.

“I also think it’s nice you think it’s nice that Gina demanded one of Rol’s teammate set him up. And, I uh—“ Matt shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at the end of his mouth. “You don’t need to go all retweet to get me to come over here, you know. Or tell me shoot. On the mom’s trip or otherwise.”

“Good to know. And your dad and I are going to talk about not-so-subtle plans later. Taking advantage of my mom-type feelings and—“

There were more footsteps.

Emma rolled her eyes, Matt’s laugh bouncing off the walls of her office and making it difficult to hear Regina’s voice coming out of the shitty computer speakers.

Killian tossed his feet at the ankles when he leaned against the open doorway.

“Hey, Matt,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Matt groaned. “You’re not funny.”

“No other people on the ice during our shootout?”

“Do you not remember how shootouts work?”

“Grounded,” Emma said at the same time Killian did. Matt’s head fell to his shoulder.

“I was already reminded I don’t live here,” he argued. “And Dad should probably get in trouble before me, anyway. Lack of tact or a good plan or—“

“—I told you I had video you needed to watch,” Killian interrupted. “Where was the lie in that?”

“You think you’re very smart, don’t you?”

“Let your mom read the lineup on the next trip.”

“Is that my call?”

“Make it your call.”

“Please don’t mention that to Ruby,” Emma grumbled. “It will consume her every thought if she even starts thinking about the impressions.”

“Good word,” Matt echoed.

She flicked his side.

His eyebrows jumped.

And Killian looked very proud of himself.

“Something to think about, at least,” he said, across the office in a few, quicks steps and Emma tilted her head up on instinct so he could press his lips to hers.

Matt sighed. “Awesome, awesome, awesome. Is there food here?”

“You and your brother have got to learn how to feed yourself,” Emma muttered, but she was already standing up and Matt was already jogging back down the hallway and there was far too much food in the kitchen.

And she never did get around to telling Killian where he could stick his plans or his interference, clicking off the Flyers’ website eventually because there was a trip to get ready for three weeks later.

They didn’t reach viral status — a fact Ruby would probably never let Emma live down — because she didn’t actually read the starters, but she did—

“Matt,” another mom grinned after finishing the lineup. “Your mom wants to give you a hug.”

He laughed.

The locker room laughed.

Emma…kind of ran.

The arms that wrapped around her were a little tighter than she expected, but that only made the space around her heart clench a little bit, her chin hooking over Matt’s shoulder pads when he kissed her on the cheek.

“Try and score, huh?” she asked.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He did. Twice.

Which Emma made sure to mention in the slightly more adult, if even less mature group chat. Several times. Possibly a dozen times.

That night.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #blue line one shots #KILLIAN JONES HAS GOT PLANS #this mom's trip was just...a mess of emotions for me #guys i am seriously not coping well with this trade deadline AT ALL

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aliceslantern · 4 years

Text

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 10

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Ienzo arrives in Destiny Islands, and experiences quite a bit of culture shock.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It was raining in Radiant Garden when Riku arrived. He very nearly had trouble with visibility and the ship skidded a little when he touched down. He swore.

He'd offered his friends the opportunity to come along, on the one hand trying to get Sora interested in something, but he just said to "enjoy time with your boyfriend" with an eyebrow waggle.

He and Kairi had both been merciless, teasing him about it. Neither seemed that concerned he was dating someone who used to be Zexion. They both said Ienzo was a great guy. "Dating." They hadn't been on a date; he could fix that. They hadn't also called it that in so many words. Ienzo had, in his letter.

Riku's heart was racing. He checked himself one last time, making sure his hair looked alright in its ponytail.

Ienzo was waiting under an outcropping, a small duffle next to him. Riku dashed out of the rain as quickly as he could. “Beautiful day, isn’t it,” he said to Riku, and Riku noted that the subtleties of his tone had not carried over to the letters.

“Just perfect,” he said, feeling at a bit of loss for words. He was here, he could touch him.

There was a beat, a moment. Ienzo cleared his throat a little. “I’m not a mirage,” he said.

Riku chuckled. “Right.”

A bit awkwardly, Ienzo pulled him close. Riku got the notion that he didn’t hug much, and it probably didn’t feel natural to initiate. But it felt good, too good, to hold him, to breathe in his smell. He didn’t want to pull away, not yet. “It feels like ages, and yet an instant,” Ienzo said. “Let me look at you.” He pulled away and brushed his fingers across Riku’s cheek. “Your hair grows preternaturally fast.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. Riku realized for the first time that he was, in fact, now slightly taller than Ienzo.

Ienzo just stared at him as though he might disappear. Riku wondered if this time had been lonely, or difficult, for him. Ienzo cleared his throat a little. “Enough of the longing gazes for now, I think.”

“Right. Ah. But first.” He kissed him, and for a second they melted against each other. It felt exactly like Riku remembered. “Not sure I could’ve flown straight if I didn’t do that.”

“Well if it’s all in the guise of safety,” Ienzo said. “Do you need anything before we leave? Are you hungry?”

“I brought snacks,” he said. “Let me get your--” He picked up the bag.

“What a gentleman.”

They walked quickly through the rain back into the ship. “As many times as I’ve seen the inside of this on a video, I’ve never actually seen it,” Ienzo said. “It’s quite a lot smaller than I thought.”

“Yeah, no idea how the three of them managed,” Riku said. “You should see the size of the bunk rooms. But Sora’s a half-pint. You want to nose around a moment, go for it.”

“...I think I shall.”

Riku watched him poke around, looking into the tiny rooms, almost hitting his head on the door frames. His eyes were alight with curiosity. “These are so small,” he said.

“Sora always said they tried to avoid sleeping in it if they could.”

“I don’t blame them.” He turned back. “Well. Thanks for that. Should I just--”

“Sit wherever,” he said. “You only really need the straps for takeoff. It’s really safe.”

“...Quite.” He sat to Riku’s right and did up his harness. “Here we go, then.”

He smirked. “You nervous?”

“No,” he said. “But consider I’ve never much been off the ground.”

“It’s okay. I won’t kill us.”

“How reassuring.”

The takeoffs and the landings were always Riku’s favorite part, partially because it required the most input from him. Seeing the worlds disappear beneath him, and feeling the g-forces, was always a bit of a thrill. He tried to do so as gently as possible, keenly aware that as a first time flyer part of Ienzo’s calm was staged. He had his hands clenched very tightly in his lap. But once they were actually in the quiet of space, this seemed to disappear. “Is that really it?” Ienzo asked softly, gazing down at the world.

“Cool, isn’t it?”

“This is bizarre. It’s so… small.” He pressed his hand gently against the windshield. “Huh.”

Riku let him have the moment. “You’ll see more as we go along,” he said. “But it’s mostly a lot of rubble.”

“From the Fracture, I’m sure.”

“Could be.” He turned away and set the course. “We’ve got a good few hours before we get there.”

Ienzo undid the straps and settled more comfortably. “Is it very hard, to fly?”

Riku laughed. “No,” he said, and to demonstrate he lifted his hands from the controls, seeing Ienzo pale. “Aside from takeoffs and landings it pretty much flies itself. All of the positioning gummies. You wanna try?”

Riku could see him debating it. “Maybe on the way back.”

“All I have to do is keep an eye on the radar. If we’re lucky we might see some Heartless ships, but they’re generally getting rarer and rarer.”

“Do you fight them?”

“Yeah. There’s lasers, and a shield, the whole nine. Sora has it tricked out pretty good. Most of them are weak, anyway.”

Ienzo leaned over a little more to see the dash.

“There are other ways to travel around, but this is the most comfortable,” Riku said. “Using the lanes between… it’s like a motorcycle versus a car.”

“I’m going to pretend I’ve experienced either of those things.”

Riku chuckled. “Right. Well, you’ll see some of that on DI.”

He was quiet for a moment. “This is one of the first times I’ve physically travelled anywhere,” he said. “Whenever I… went to other worlds, I just… used a dark corridor. All it took was a few steps.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Travelling? Yes. Darkness? No. Always a stink that’s hard to get rid of.” He wrinkled his nose. “I haven’t been anywhere since I’m human again. ...And that’s nearly two years.”

“...I can’t exactly say the same.”

They chatted for a while longer, about nothing much, mostly about Riku’s new life back home. He was more excited than he thought to show Ienzo around, to give him a taste of normalcy as well. “Though it’s going to be a whole lot hotter than you’re used to,” he said. “Like, don’t be shy to tell me it’s too much. We can go back into the AC.”

Ienzo laughed. “It’s a good thing I like you.”

Riku felt his face flush. He tried to come up with something witty to say quickly. “...You said you had to tell your friends something to leave.”

“Yes. Well.” Ienzo leaned back and crossed his legs. “In their minds, one must always have a reason to go somewhere. Leisure isn’t exactly in their codebook. I said I wanted to check in with Sora and Kairi, make sure everything was alright, learn what I could about your journey. Ansem already knew, and asked if I would be visiting you, too. It was only a hop-skip-and-jump before the others figured it out. It… shocked them that I’d even wanted to pursue a relationship of any kind.”

“Why? You’re grown up.”

“To a degree they’re used to who I was , not who I am.”

Riku frowned and checked the radar. “I know how that is.”

Ienzo smiled. “I know you do. Does it bother you that I said something?”

“No. Not at all. Sora and Kairi have been teasing me about it. They think it’s hilarious. I’ve never really… shown that I had a crush on someone.”

“You have a crush on me? How sweet.”

“I’ve literally kissed you.”

The rest of the flight went smoothly, and Riku saw the familiar blue sphere emerge. “Ah, there it is,” he said. “Look.”

“How pretty.” He was already strapping himself in.

“We’re landing down on the play island. It’s basically the only inconspicuous place I can keep this thing. But it’s not far from there. And we’re a good few hours ahead of you for time, I think.”

“I see.”

His friends had helped him build the makeshift landing pad. The earth of it was different than the rest of the island, and they were on the far side where the ship couldn’t easily be seen from the mainland. The touchdown was easy. “Here we are.”

“I guess so,” Ienzo murmured.

“Ready?”

“Quite.”

He took Ienzo’s bag, and they started walking.

“You said this was a play island?”

“Oh, yeah. When we were kids we spent hours and hours here. Now we hang out here.” He pointed out the main landmarks; the shack, the waterfall, the treehouses. “It’s… a good place to come if you need to be alone. Lots of nooks and crannies.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We’ll take my boat back to the mainland. From there it’s about half a mile walk.”

“A mile?”

“Right… uh…” He struggled to remember metrics. “Almost a kilometer. About ten minutes, fifteen if people stop us. Which they might. Sorry in advance.” He helped Ienzo down into the rowboat.

“Stop us?”

“Well, it’s a small island,” he said. “Everyone knows everyone, and everyone’s been chatting me up since I got back. A new face is gonna be interesting to them.” He started rowing. The surf was nice and gentle today, making it easy. He noticed Ienzo’s eyes flick to his arms and felt a flush of pride. “We’ll be staying with my parents.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to impose, I brought money for an inn--”

“Ienzo, no,” Riku said, with a small laugh. “You even bringing that up is gonna seem rude to my mom.”

“Oh… is that cultural?”

“I guess so?” He shrugged. “She loves entertaining, too. Besides, you might decide you want to stay longer than the amount of money you have.”

“I see--I didn’t even bring a hostess gift--”

“It’s alright,” Riku said. “That doesn’t matter here either. People like to host. They don’t expect you to do anything other than have a good time.”

He looked a bit embarrassed.

“Relax,” Riku said. “It’s going to be fine.” They were at the dock at last. He docked and helped Ienzo back out, taking his bag from him. The sun was starting to set now, casting the shore in pinks and reds.

“Oh…” Ienzo said. “That is lovely.”

“It kinda is,” Riku said. He rested a hand on Ienzo’s waist, and though he jerked a little at the touch, he leaned into it. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of sunsets here. But they’re always something.”

Ienzo nodded. After a few minutes, they headed up the shore to the road. They were standing close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, and Riku’s heart was beating hard. He wanted to touch him. He needed to. He reached out, groping for Ienzo’s hand, found it at last. Again, he jumped a little.

“I’m sorry--”

“No, I’m just not… used to it,” Ienzo said, squeezing his hand gently.

It was nice , walking up the road hand-in-hand like this. With my boyfriend, Riku thought. The streets were emptier at this hour than he thought, but then he remembered. “Oh, right, there’s a game going on.”

“A game?”

“Blitzball. On TV. I think it’s the playoffs. Well, better for us.”

“What is blitzball and what is TV,” Ienzo asked, not humorlessly.

Riku sighed and explained.

“Oh, almost like volleyball,” Ienzo said, with no explanation of what this was. “Though this TV intrigues me.”

“Well, I have one in my room, so we can watch later if you feel up to it.” If his parents didn’t chat them up until dawn.

They turned onto his street. The houses were fairly close together, with small patches of lawn. Ienzo looked around at it all, his eyes wide, curious. His eyebrows shot up when a car drove past them.

“That’s a car,” Riku said. “We use them to get around on land.”

“Fascinating. I’ve seen them on other worlds, but this looks different. How does it work?”

“Um…” He struggled to remember. “Well, they’re solar powered, so the sun charges the batteries, and the batteries… help make the engine go.” He laughed a little. “I don’t know anything about engines.”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“No. I don’t really need to. Almost everything is within walking distance, and if it isn’t, you can take the bus. Er. It’s a car that has room for lots of people, and takes them along a route.”

“Like a streetcar,” Ienzo said. “Radiant Garden used to have those.” He sighed. “I knew our worlds were different, but I didn’t realize… how much. I’m already sweating.”

“And this is night,” Riku said. “Wait til tomorrow.” He took his house keys out of his pocket. He could use the Keyblade, but that seemed weird, and extra. “This one.” The house looked like any on the street; a simple two-storey, three bedroom, with a small offshoot over the garage. The siding was a bright teal, and his mother’s well-groomed strelitzias were in full bloom.

“It’s cute,” Ienzo said. “Cozy.”

“I’ll give you “cozy.”” He laughed. “Alright. Prepare yourself.”

Ienzo sighed.

He put his key in the lock. Predictably, the door flew open before he could even twitch them. “Welcome home!” His mother said. “So glad you made it back in one piece.” She gave Riku a painfully tight hug. “You must be Ienzo. Oh, hello, dear, welcome to the islands.” Before Riku could stop her she’d swept him into a hug, too, and Riku saw the brief spasm of panic. “Sorry, I’m a hugger.”

Ienzo coughed a little. “Ah. Hello. Pleasure to meet you.”

“We’re so happy to have any friend of Riku’s.” She’d finally let go of him but was holding his hands tightly. “Dinner’s almost ready. You two must be starving after your long trip.”

“Sounds lovely,” Ienzo said dazedly. “Thanks so much.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “ Matsu! Your son’s back!”

“Watching the game?” Riku asked.

“ Glued. All afternoon.” She rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you two get settled and I’ll call you when it’s ready?”

A tall, slender man--Riku’s father--came out of the room. He had a well-groomed mustache, his hair close cropped to his scalp. “Smooth ride?” he asked.

“Went off without a hitch,” Riku said. “Dad, this is Ienzo. Ienzo, this is my dad, Matsuda.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Ienzo said, offering his hand. Riku saw how hard and how firm his father took it and winced.

“You know when Riku said you were from another world I was imagining a little green guy, but you look pretty normal,” he said.

“Dad,” Riku said. “I told you about the One Sky thing.”

Ienzo laughed politely, a little stiffly. “I’m very much human.”

“Well I think that’s good. Can I get you something to drink? We have it all.”

“...Drink?”

“He means alcohol,” Riku said, rolling his eyes. “Dad, don’t make Ienzo drink if he doesn’t want to.”

“Er…” Ienzo clearly wasn’t sure what the right answer was.

“You know what, I’ll get you two a cassis.” He disappeared into the den, where the liquor was.

“You okay?” Riku asked. “I’m sorry they both grabbed you like that. We’re… feelers, here.”

Ienzo shook his head. “I’m sorry, this is all new to me.”

“It’s okay. I think they both understand. They’re just trying to be friendly.” Riku kicked himself both for not preparing Ienzo better and for not telling his parents to chill.

Matsuda came back a minute later with two highballs of cassis orange. “Be careful with these,” he said, with a wink.

“Dad,” Riku said.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you two get settled.”

Riku bobbed his head towards the garage door. “We’re up through here.”

“Does this have something to do with that long story?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

---

Ienzo followed Riku up a set of stairs to another door, which Riku unlocked. The drink was cold in his hand, and felt awkward to carry up. “Here we go,” he said.

It looked to be more of a studio apartment than a bedroom. There was an alcove opposite the door, which was just wide enough for a double bed. The alcove had a large window which faced the sea. Next to it was a tall dresser with a lamp. To Ienzo’s right was a small kitchenette, with a minifridge, a hot plate, a coffee maker, and a toaster oven. On the left was a sofa, which had been made up neatly with sheets and a few pillows. Near it was what looked to be a computer screen on a small stand, powered off, but with no accompanying console. The walls were a plain gray, and unadorned, and there were a few boxes labeled “RIKU--SAVE” shoved in one corner. The dark hardwood floors were clearly beautiful, but needed a good refinish. Everything smelled very clean, though there wasn’t anything that said anything about Riku as a person. “You have your own apartment,” Ienzo said.

“Ah--yeah, sort of.” Riku set down the duffle next to the couch. “I… used to have a bedroom in the main house, but then I disappeared, and my parents… went to grief counseling.” He turned red and couldn’t meet Ienzo’s eyes. “They were told it would help if they packed away my things, and they sold my furniture. They would’ve remade my room downstairs, but dad works from home now, so he kind of needs it as an office.” He cleared his throat. “This used to be my grandma’s apartment before she passed. They didn’t have the heart to rent it out, or anything.”

“Oh,” Ienzo said, very quietly.

“I like it, though,” he said. “Being close to them, but not too close. Having a sliver of independence.”

“I can see that.”

“We used to have an air mattress, but mice got to it. I hope the couch will be okay until we can get a new one.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It was cooler in here, but not cool enough. Ienzo didn’t anticipate sleeping well anyway. He was still a bit shaky. He took a sip of the drink, found it went down easily.

“You don’t have to drink that,” Riku said.

“It’s tasty.”

He smiled a little. “He meant what he said when he said to be careful. He makes drinks strong.”

“Your parents. Do they know about us?”

“Yeah, I’m out,” Riku said. “Mom probably just didn’t want to push it.”

“And they’re okay with… us staying in the same room?” It made him blush just thinking about it, even if this was in the most innocent sense of the word.

Riku blushed too. “I know I said they’re suffocating me, but when I’m up here they try to give me privacy,” he said. “I don’t think they, uh, care what I do so long as I’m happy. And here. I’m an adult, after all.”

“Right. Understood.” Ienzo drank down more of the cocktail, partially because he was thirsty.

“...I hope you’re hungry. Mom cooks a lot , and I’m sure she’ll use you as an excuse to pull out all the stops. Show you islander cuisine and all that.”

He smiled a little. “Sounds lovely.”

A few moments later they were summoned. Riku’s house was similarly styled in bright colors, with a full living room. There was a shelf full of photos of Riku, and Ienzo couldn’t help his curiosity. “Oh, god, don’t,” Riku said quickly.

Ienzo smirked. “Look at you. Was this when you were a baby ? Look how fat your cheeks were.”

He turned redder than the drink in his hand. “I think she put these out specifically because you were coming.”

“I think it’s sweet.” He reached out and touched the frame in question. He felt a sudden stab of melancholy and wondered if there were any photos of him when he were little, if he’d have had this type of life if his parents hadn’t passed--

“Boys? Dinner’s ready.” Riku’s mother was slender and very beautiful; he looked more like her than his father. She brushed her hands off on her apron. Riku brought him through to the dining room.

The table was low to the ground, and there were no chairs, just small cushions. Most of the table was cluttered with lots and lots of small bowls of all sorts of things, some of which Ienzo could identify, some he couldn’t. He saw kimchi and poi, meats in some kind of sweet sauce, something that looked like dim sum. The mixture was eclectic but somehow it seemed to work, to make sense. And it all smelled delicious. He realized that, between the travel and being afraid to meet Riku’s parents, he was actually ravenous. “Oh no, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me,” Ienzo said.

“It was no trouble at all, dear,” she said.

“Mariko loves to cook,” his father said. “Besides, we’ll eat on it for the week.”

“Go ahead. Sit down.”

Ienzo did. It felt a little odd to be so low to the ground. “So you sort of take a little of what you want and use the same plate,” Riku told him.

There was also a pitcher of something pink that was passed around that he was also told was mildly alcoholic. Ienzo waited for the others to serve themselves before quickly taking at least a bite of everything onto his plate. But nobody ate. Instead, Riku’s mother and father both offered him one of their hands.

“They like to say a prayer first,” Riku said, a little embarrassed.

“Oh,” Ienzo said. “Sorry.”

Joined in an odd little circle, Matsuda bowed his head and the others followed, so Ienzo did too. “We’d like to give thanks to the gods for the meal we’re about to receive, and to give thanks for welcoming our son back safely home along with his new friend.” He said something in a language Ienzo could not understand, and Riku and Mariko both repeated it. “Alright, let’s eat.”

Everything was delicious and so interesting , not quite like anything he’d had before. He tried to remember the manners he’d been taught when he was young, but he noticed that all of them were even eating some of the dishes with their hands. “Everything is just wonderful,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” Mariko said.

“...I like to pretend I’m something of a cook myself. Will you tell me a little bit about this?”

“Oh, don’t get her started,” Matsuda said.

Mariko told him all about islander cuisine and how it was prepared, down to the use of marinades, where their things were sourced, and on and on. Ienzo found it fascinating and wished he could write it down. “I’d be happy to share some of the recipes with you. Not all of it, though. Some of it’s secret.” She winked.

Ienzo wanted to keep eating, but he was already getting full and he’d been warned there was dessert. “I see.”

“What is it like where you’re from?” Matsuda asked.

“Riku’s kept it very hush-hush. Very mysterious,” Mariko said, approvingly.

“Oh… well, Radiant Garden isn’t all that special,” he said, thinking of how overwhelmed he’d felt on the island streets. Perhaps they would feel the same if they ever came to visit.

“Must be special enough if our boy’s going out of his way to see you,” his father said, though his tone was teasing.

“Matsu,” Mariko said. “Don’t embarrass the boy.”

Riku rolled his eyes a little. “Well,” Ienzo said. “For one, it’s quite a lot cooler there.” He told them a little bit about what the weather was like, about how the town was. He tried to not mention that Ansem had once been king, just that he was a scientist in the castle and that Ienzo had grown up there.

“A castle ,” Matsuda said, whistling. “Fancy.”

“Ah--not quite. Our world fell to darkness, quite like yours. So bits of it are in disrepair.” He didn’t mention Riku’s assistance there, not sure of the situation with his parents. “Coming here and seeing all these family homes has been quite refreshing.”

“So what is it you do?” Matsuda asked. “Do you go to school? Or work?”

Ienzo swallowed and took a sip of the pink drink. He drank so rarely that he feared he was a bit tipsy. “I’m a scientist, and a researcher,” he said slowly. “My main project lately has been restoration of the library’s collections.” A glamorous phrase for what he was actually doing.

“What is it you study?”

He blinked. “Well, historically, hearts. The metaphysical hearts in us all. But I’ve studied a fair share of lots of fields along the way.”

“Hearts. How romantic,” Mariko said.

“Ienzo’s work was actually instrumental in helping Kairi and I find Sora,” Riku said.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he murmured.

“Oh, don’t be modest, you helped bring him back to us. For that, you’ll always be welcome here,” his mother said.

Ienzo blushed and looked back down at his plate.

“Are you boys ready for dessert?”

Hours later, more stuffed with food than Ienzo could comprehend, Riku gently pried them from the table. Both of his parents kept asking all sorts of questions about Radiant Garden, about Ienzo, about how they’d met (this caused quite an awkward moment). Riku just said they’d met when he was looking for Sora and only got to know each other later. Ienzo was a bit drunk and a bit dehydrated and definitely tired.

“Mari, we should let the poor boys sleep before you keep them up all night,” Riku’s father said at last.

“Please at least let me help with the dishes,” Ienzo said. He could only imagine what it must look like in the kitchen with all this food.

“I absolutely will not,” Mariko said. “You’re a guest, and you’re exhausted. Go on, get settled. Get. ”

“Thank you,” he said softly, and followed Riku back to the apartment.

The room was mostly dark; Riku flicked on the lamp. “How are you holding up?”

“So full I could burst,” Ienzo said. “But that was… lovely.”

“I’m sorry if they made you uncomfortable.”

“No, they didn’t. Not really. I’m…” How to put this without sounding pathetic. “I’ve never really… seen or taken part in such normal life.”

“No?”

“I was raised by five scientists in a lab. Sitting and having such an extensive home cooked meal was not a common occurrence.” He offered a smile. “Nor were either of the castles so homey.”

“Oh…”

“Don’t pity me,” Ienzo said gently. “That is just to say this all feels a bit foreign. You must be exhausted. You had a much longer day than I did.”

“The carbs don’t help,” he said.

“Is there… perhaps… some place I can shower?”

“Right--oh, of course, the bathroom’s through there. Do you need anything?”

“...Just a towel.” He dug into his duffle for his toiletries and pajamas.

Riku handed him one from a cabinet. “You can hang it on the door when you’re done.”

“...Thanks.”

After a cold, cold shower Ienzo felt a bit better. Riku had already changed and was sitting on his bed, braiding his hair. “If I don’t sleep with it like this it ends up a mess of knots.”

“...I see.” He identified the strangeness he was feeling--the odd intimacy of sleeping in someone else’s house, seeing them getting ready for something as mundane as bed.

“You wanna watch some TV?”

“I really am exhausted,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow?” Perhaps by then he’d feel curious.

He smiled. “Sure. Of course. Let me… let me know if you need any more pillows or blankets.”

“I sincerely think I won’t need more blankets,” Ienzo said. He sat down on the made-up soda. It was actually quite comfortable.

“Good night, Ienzo.”

“Good night, Riku.”

The light clicked off.

#give/take #ienzoku #ienzo/riku #ienzo #riku #ienzo is trans

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experimentalmadness · 4 years

Text

Treatment

More one-shots featuring my OC and Harvey Dent, if you’re curious about more of their story you can find other stories here. Hope you like YEARNING, because we are doing some mutual pining in this household tonight.

---

She had broken into many places in her life, but that had been her first pharmacy. Jacky kept to the rooftops. The old apartments here were so close together it was easy enough to jump from building to building, no fancy equipment required. If only all jobs could be so quick and painless. The poor pharmacist was going to be sleeping with the lights on for the foreseeable future, Jacky guessed. Hopefully she’d be true to her word and not snitch. Good kid though, they didn’t have to help them find the right medicine, but they did it anyway. Maybe they thought she was just someone desperate with no insurance.

Well, she was, wasn’t she?

She flinched as the first drop of rain landed on her nose. Oh great. That meant she only had a few more minutes until—a curtain of water descended from the night, slicking the roof tops and soaking Jacky through in less than a minute. A quiet purr of thunder followed. Never could have just a little mist or drizzle in Gotham. Had to be a storm or nothing.

Luckily she was almost to homebase.

One more leap was all it took, she skidded on the landed, sliding right for the roof access door and almost losing her balance. No one was around to see this less than graceful entrance. Trying the door she found it locked. Huffing strands of wet, fading-bleached hair out of her eyes, Jacky considered busting the door in. Nah, too much trouble. And she really didn’t fancy getting more soaked than she already was trying to pick the look in the dark either.

Shortcut it was.

Heading back over to the roof’s edge, Jacky peered down until she spotted the fire escape. Lining herself up and saying a quick prayer she jumped down, slamming onto the cold, iron grating. The impact went from her knees to her teeth, but at least she was golden. The resident inside the apartment window she’d landed beside gave a single scream. Jacky turned about, raising a half salute before climbing down to the apartments below. Poor lady, hopefully she didn’t get any thoughts about calling the police. Jacky was not in the mood to deal with the GCPD.

It was two more flights before she arrived at her destination. The curtains were closed, blocking her view inside, but should tell the lights were still on. She rapped at the window twice before giving it an experimental push.

She hadn’t counted on it being unlocked.

The window flew inward and Jacky had just enough time to think that this was exactly why she really hadn’t gotten into burglary before she tumbled into the apartment, tangling up in the curtains. The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked kept her still. “It’s just me, boss,” she said through a mouthful of cloth.

“Jacky?”

Harvey pulled the curtains off of her as she rose to her feet. “We could have shot you.”

“Eh, I liked my odds. Besides it’s not my fault the roof hatch was locked again.” Jacky slicked her short hair back, sniffling as she wiped the rain water from her eyes.

It had been three months since she started working for him full time and Jacky still couldn’t equate seeing him in this slum. She’d grown up not too far from this street. She knew he’d come from those same roots, but somehow he was always in an orbit far beyond her. Far beyond the scum she’d been trying to kick the dust off of for years. Harvey set the revolver on the small, circular table at the corner of the room that served as the majority of the apartment.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, fixing her with his good eye. Sometimes if she tilted her head right he’d look the same. But even that blue eye had an ice, cold edge to it now.

“Angling for that overtime pay?”

He did not look amused. “Okay, okay, I got something for you,” she held out her hands in surrender before fishing for the items in her satchel. “Doc says you should be using these—”

“We don’t need those.”

“—every day or there could be serious complications!”

“Did we hire you to be a goddamn nurse?” It was still taking some getting used to, the voice that was and wasn’t Harvey Dent’s. The person that moved his body around, that possessed him, that was still him in all the ways he didn’t want to admit.

“No, you hired me to take care of your enemies, and sometimes, Harvey, that’s you.”

She was never sure how far to push the man who was still her friend, a total stranger, and now her employer. Saying yes to the job was easy. She’d already gone down as far as one could go in this city. If anyone was going to follow him down the rabbit hole it had to be her.

Harvey ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “Get yourself dried off, Jacky, and get out of here.” He gestured to the bathroom off the corner.

Stubborn. Well he was in here with the champ. But she was soaking wet, still. She grabbed the medical supplies and hauled off into the cramped bathroom, taking a towel she dried off the ends of her hair, wiping down her face, neck. She turned on the tap to get some hot water on her chilled hands. The hottest she could get it was still lukewarm. “Damnit,” she cursed, shutting off the water and slamming the towel against the rim of the tub next to her. Leaning against the sink counter she got a good hard look at the haggard woman staring back at her in the dirty mirror, along with Harvey, leaning against the doorway.

Her fingers curled against the yellowing counter top. It hurt to look at him. There was still that blue eyed stare that got to her the way no one else’s ever had or ever would. “I’m not leaving,” she said to the reflection.

“We can make you.”

Two nights ago she’d watched as he broke a man’s neck on the flip of a coin. When only two years ago those same hands had helped her put up campaign flyers and posters in her shop and gestured emphatically about how Gotham was going to change. And a few months before that had held her secure as he danced her across Bruce Wayne’s manor, both of them laughing about made up scandals and whiskey.

Jacky turned around, hiked herself up on the counter top and sat back. “Alright, heads you throw me right out on my ass out the window, scarred side you try the damn treatment.”

Oh, he was livid. But he still went for the coin in his pocket. It was only three stories up, if he really did throw her out it wouldn’t hurt much. Jacky watched the coin flip, saw how carefully he studied it. The most decisive man she ever knew, basing his every move now on the whim of a silver dollar. He pocketed the coin in silence and padded over to her. She stiffened, back pressed up against the mirror. Shit, he really was going to pick her up and toss her out.

“So...you gonna show us what exactly is in this damn stuff you got, or—”

Jacky breathed out a shaky, laughing breath, her shoulders rolling forward, muscles releasing every line of tension. She felt for the satchel still at her belt, not taking her eyes off him. “It’s for the scarring, least that’s what the pharmacist said. I made him find the right things.”

“Useless junk,” he mumbled.

“Not if you don’t want to get infected,” Jacky countered. “Let’s see what you do when you can’t even talk back to me ‘cause the skin’s so tight from the scar tissue you can’t even move your damn mouth ‘cause you refuse to get skin grafts, genius. And can you even see out of that eye anymore?” She waved in what she knew was his blindspot.

“Shadows and light,” Harvey said quietly. “But that’s all we need.”

“You’re gonna lose that eye,” Jacky was already working on the eye dropper bottle, tearing the seal and setting a packet of gauze out on her lap. “And I’m sorry, Harvey, but I’m not gonna just sit here and watch you do that. I’m not. And I know you didn’t hire me for this, but I’m gonna be honest...I’m kinda cashing in on five plus years of friendship on this one. You have to trust me.”

Sometimes he looked at her like he didn’t quite know her. That part she refused to get used to. The expression faded as he nodded. “Alright, Jacky, we trust you.”

He was still looming over her, close enough to touch, close enough to make her aware of how pathetic she’d been for these five odd years. Oh, Jacky, you miserable idiot, what were you thinking? This all felt close to some vivid hallucination. Harvey sat along the edge of the tub, no more smart remarks or resistance. Jacky leaned over him now, the countertop giving her the needed height as she primed the dropper. That pharmacist had better have given her the right stuff or she was going to pay them another far less friendly visit.

Harvey looked straight up at her and Jacky’s mouth went dry. The scars gave him a permanent snarl where the left edges of his lips had burned away, but on the undamaged side she swore she could see something akin to...disappointment? The burned eye was red, wild, and from this close it really was like looking into two different faces. Yet they were both patient. And they both were as good as their word.

The pharmacist had said two drops so that’s what Jacky did. Harvey pulled away as they hit the red eye, flinching, trying to blink without eyelids. Jacky was ready for that. She placed the gauze pad over the eye, tearing off medical tape and sticking it delicately around the edges. “You gotta keep it on for the rest of the night, Harvey,” she said.

“Like how you kept the damn tape on when you got your nose busted?” Harvey jabbed her right in the bridge of the nose in question, pushing her head back gently as she laughed unexpectedly.

“Hey, that was different,” she bit back a grin as she fished around in the bag, pulling out the ointment.

His laughter nowadays was a grating, raspy, vicious sound. She still loved hearing it. “You know I had that little situation under control before you walked in. Thought you were gonna kill that poor mugger.”

The gel came out clear, she ran a finger’s worth down the middle of his face, where the scar tissue met undamaged skin.

“We wanted to,” he snapped.

“I’m flattered, boss.”

She had to bring herself so close in order to do this right. The burned skin felt different than she had imagined. This was a rough map and she was tipping over the edge of it. Jacky didn’t fish for conversation as she smoothed the medicine over his face. She had to focus, trying hard not to catch Harvey’s gaze meant she concentrated harder on this new map she was following. The burns were harder, more twisted in some places, in others almost smooth, like new skin was trying so hard to break past the ruin. She didn’t go near his lower cheek and jaw, where the tendon was barely holding the structure together.

Blood hit her tongue, and Jacky unclenched her teeth. She should have been there that day. Didn’t matter how impossible that was. Didn’t matter she would never have known, didn’t matter she had only just been released from Blackgate a few weeks prior, didn’t matter she would have had no business being in that courtroom. Then at least he wouldn’t be sitting in this slum of a hideout with her. He’d be home with Gilda and she’d still be going about the necessary work of untangling herself from his association for his own good.

Jacky really wished in that moment she hadn’t noticed that Harvey wasn’t wearing his wedding ring anymore.

Things were already dangerous enough.

Her hand went down across his neck where the acid had splashed. The attacker would have had to get in close, possibly only a difference of inches between how close she was to Harvey now. She knew that because the only difference between her and that hitman was who they had signed a contract with. It was sheer dumb luck Maroni had put the hit out first and not Falcone when it cold have easily been him. And it could have easily been her holding that bottle of acid, and what would she have done then?

Her panic blinkered out as Harvey tilted his head into her hand, eye closed. He pulled in a deep sigh that uncoiled every hidden line of stress in his body. She could feel the tension in his muscles unravel beneath her fingertips and transfer directly into her as she clutched the edge of the sink counter.

That sigh might have bought her a few years out of purgatory.

Jacky had managed to interpret the new map of his face in its entirety, but this expression now was utterly foreign. His undamaged side faced hers, good eye still closed. She wanted to reach out and brush aside his hair, tell him she couldn’t work for him. This wasn’t a job. Maybe start telling him about all the impossible things she’d gotten very good at boxing up and locking away.

Instead, like the coward she always was, she moved her hand away.

Harvey opened his eyes.

And Jacky continued her work without comment.

She knew there were more burns down his shoulder and chest that she could not get to, and she had to get out of this apartment soon or she was going to lose what little she still had of her mind. She was about to close up the bottle when Harvey held out his hand, letting it rest, palm up in her lap. The only quiet insistence that she wasn’t done yet and the closest thing she was ever going to get to him admitting she had been right about the medicine.

He flexed his fingers as she soothed more of the medication into his palm. The scars on his hand were the ones she could handle the least. The disfigurements were an adjustment, but the burns on his hand were the reminder of the real brutality. The sudden instinct to defend, the recoil. Jack knew she lingered for a second too long, fingers tracing directionless along the edge of his wrist.

Some excuse was about to escape her lips when, with his free hand, Harvey reached up to tuck back a loose strand of her hair. “Hey,” he whispered in a voice that sounded like his own, incredulous, and strangely surprised. Why did it sound like he had only now noticed it was her sitting here the whole time? “Hey, Jacky…” He let the piece of hair fall from between his fingers, the backs of his knuckles trailing down her cheek as Jacky forgot to breathe.

His fingers tilted her chin up as he leaned in closer and oh, good Christ, she was going to let this happen. There were no more reasons to stop herself. Her whole world was already upside down. It wouldn’t fix a damn thing, but the medicine wouldn’t magically heal those scars either, that didn’t mean it hadn’t helped.

She had just about convinced herself to give in when Harvey pulled away, opting instead to dive for the coin in his pocket, his breath coming in short, almost panicked bursts. He tossed it up once and Jacky had to restrain the sheer mania that nearly made her snatch the coin out of the air. Instead he caught it as he always did, uncovering it to reveal the scarred side of the dollar. He stared at it hard, brow knitting into a frown and Jacky felt her heart sink from the unexpected heights it had managed to reach seconds before. She hoped it didn’t show on her face. She looked down, fumbling with the cap to the medicine, pretending none of that had happened.

“Still want that overtime pay?” Harvey placed his unburnt hand over hers. What remained of his lips tried to smile.

“Didn’t come here for the money.”

“Yeah...yeah I know,” his fingers curled around her wrist, thumb rubbing a half circle around the back of her hand. Jacky felt every pinpoint of pressure; a reminder of how far out to sea she was.

“You shouldn’t be here, Harvey,” Jacky blurted out, a modicum of real courage seeping into her veins. He shook his head even as the first words left her mouth, rising to his feet, pulling away from her. “I think you should let me drive you to a hospital, a doctor...anyone...I think you should let Miri and I put you up until you can get back on your feet so you’re not hiding out in this slum,” she was losing him. His back was to her as he tried to wave her off.

“Not going to happen, Jacky,” he said, and was she hallucinating or did she detect a note of genuine disappointment. “You get out of here. Go home. When we got work for you we’ll call.”

“For what?” Jacky hopped down from the sink, grabbing her jacket from the tub and shoving her arms through furiously. “When you need a bank robbed? A hit put out on more of Falcone, or Penguin’s men? You think you’re really gonna take this city?”

“We know we are,” he glared at her, from over his shoulder, his red eye unmoving, unblinking. “We’re gonna give this city back what it gave us double.” He stepped away, idly tossing that damn coin in his good hand. Whatever quiet spell had overtaken them just moments before was gone now. The would-be-mob boss was firmly back in his place.

“That’s not what you told me,” Jacky said. Maybe he’d shoot her after all. Her fingers were still slick with the gel, she could still feel the map of the burns under her skin. “You told me you were gonna change this city. It’s not too late.”

“If you’re not with us, Jacky, you’re against us.”

That snapped a raw nerve she didn’t even realize she had left. She shoved him back, hard, watching that already snarling face twist further. “You gotta ask me that, Harvey?”

“The name’s Two-Face.”

“Your name is Harvey Dent and I’m not letting you forget it! I think you should come with me, but I can’t make you. So screw it,” she ran an exasperated hand through her hair as a desperate laugh choked out of her. “You want me to shake down a few civilians? Put a bullet in the right person’s head? Yeah, sure, Harv, I’ll do that easy. Whatever you want. But I think you should flip that coin of yours again.”

“Not how it works,” his voice had gone quiet again, but it was still the same persona. “Fate isn’t always fair, Jacky. Please just...go.”

If she was a braver woman she would have ignored fate and finished what they had started. “You gotta remember to use that medicine,” she said leaning hard against the door.

“We will.”

“You’re a terrible fucking liar, Harvey.”

“So are you.”

“Well,” Jacky sighed, a tired laugh escaping her as she opened the door. “Guess that makes us two sides of the same coin.”

#Harvey Dent #Two Face #Jacky Ripley #OC nonsense at it again #i seem to be possessed at the moment and can only write these two #listen listen listen i just want what Harv to be happy #and since DC doesn't care about my feelings I'm handling it myself

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softboywriting · 6 years

Text

Serendipity | Shawn Mendes | Werewolf AU

Summary: After a very drunk one night stand you end up pregnant and you’re still searching for the guy you slept with, wondering if he could be your mate. Five months in and Shawn walks into your life and you think you just might have found your actual mate after all. [pregnancy] [mates] [werewolf au] [fluff]

Word Count: 4k

|Masterlist In Bio|

“Y'know, I still can't believe you got pregnant from a one night stand,” Maci says from behind the register after a customer leaves, the bell chiming upon their exit. You look over to her and she raises her eyebrows, long red hair falling to the side as she tilts her head. She is your best friend and business partner, just like the sister you never had.

“It's been five months for goodness sake. When will you stop saying that?” You laugh and turn away from restocking your homemade lavender sleep lotion. “I'm having this baby whether or not you believe it.”

“I mean obviously, that balloon is gonna pop in no time. I'm just still in awe you want to be a single mom. Why not adopt it out?”

You sigh. “We've been over this. Unlike you, I want children. And also unlike you, I'm a werewolf and I want to hold out for my mate, who I'm pretty sure doesn't exist anymore or I actually missed him and ended up with this.” You pat your striped shirt over your bulging belly.

“Still no luck? You've tried like every missed connections app for mates. And nothing? What about that one guy, Mike?”

“Micah. He was lying. As soon as he found out I was pregnant he ran faster than a Scooby Doo villain.”

Maci rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I remember now. He was the guy with the frosted tips right?”

“Yep. What a douchebag.”

Maci chuckles and comes around the counter to help you lift a crate full of bath bombs onto the shelf . You chit chat more about how you're pretty sure the guy you slept with probably lives way out of town or something. She theorizes that he is actually a spy who can never reveal his identity to keep you safe. It's a good laugh, but honestly you wish you could find him. He felt so right. It hurts to think you've missed him entirely.

___________________________

The shop door chimes and you look up from the computer at the register. You've been filling orders with Maci all morning. Christmas was approaching and everyone wanted homemade bath and body care. It helps that you saved enough to get a local ad spot on the news website, and it's definitely paying off big time.

As you glance to see who's come in and greet them, you're taken aback. The man who's come in looks familiar, though you aren't sure why. He definitely didn't go to high school with you and Maci. He also wasn't a regular. Maybe he just had one of those faces, but you don't think that's it. He feels...electric. Everything about his presence is drawing you in and you know you're staring and it's awkward now.

“Good morning. Welcome to Lunar Salt.”

The man smiles and lifts a hand. “Hey. Are you able to help me find something?”

“I sure can.” You slide off your chair and walk around the counter to meet him. He's much taller than you and he stares at you with curious eyes. The bulging stomach no doubt. “What're you looking for?”

“Hand cream. My hands get really dry with the new job I started.”

“Alright.” You lead him to the baskets of hand creams by the window. “I recommend the lemongrass and citrus. It's subtle but hydrating. If not that one, there is the cinnamon and cream that is-”

“Do I know you?”

You stop and look up at him. His eyes are gorgeous, soft and golden with hints of green. Definitely a werewolf like you. “W-what?”

The man shakes his head and apologizes. “That was so rude of me. You're just so familiar. Have we met?”

You look around nervously, chuckling a little. How weird he thought the same thing as you. “I don't think so?”

“It's just...I'm from upstate and I just moved down here with a friend nearby. It's weird but I swear I know you somehow.”

“Um, Did you go to Valley Hill high school?”

“No. Burkhead. McNamara middle school?”

“Crestridge.”

“Peterson Elementary?”

“Walker Rose Elementary.”

He laughs and looks around, seemingly stumped. His laugh is adorable, a breathy little noise that makes your heart flutter. “Well, I'm Shawn. Nice to meet you, possibly again.” He extends a hand and you shake it, skin tingling against his. This was special, he wasn't like other wolves you've met before.

“Nice to meet you.” You give your name and grab a tube of the vanilla chai hand cream. A seasonal favorite of yours and a best seller. “I recommend this one for you.”

“Why's that? Is it super moisturizing? Are my hands really that dry?” He stuffs them in his pockets self consciously.

“No...it's...complementing to you.”

“To me?”

You feel a flush rise from your chest t your cheeks and you look down with a smile before summoning the courage to look look straight at him. “Your scent.”

“Ahhhhh,” he grins huge, all his teeth showing. “I knew you were a wolf.”

“And you are too. It's not too hard to tell. Your eyes are very vibrant and your fangs are a bit hard to hide when you laugh.”

Shawn grins bigger, flashing you those fangs. “Very perceptive. I'll take the vanilla chai.”

You walk around the counter with the tube and ring it up, packaging it with a few flyers for upcoming promotions for the shop. “Five dollars please.”

Shawn slides his card and signs the receipt you pass over to him. “I didn't think I'd find another wolf so quickly in this town.”

“There aren't too many of us. When you get closer to Valley Hill you'll find a lot more.”

“Mmmm I think I'll stick to getting to know this area first.” He grabs his bag and gives you a wink as he heads out the door.

You sink down onto your chair and chuckle to yourself. Was he...flirting with you? He did see your stomach right? It was impossible to miss. And what was with that weird feeling? You roll your eyes and go back to preparing orders for when Maci got back with lunch. If it was more than a one off thing, you'd leave it for fate to decide.

___________________________

“No, she isn't here right now, she's gone to an appointment.” Maci says as you walk into the backroom and hang up your coat, returning from aforementioned appointment.

You peek your head into the front area to see who she is taking to. “Shawn,” you smile and walk out behind the counter. Maci turns, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Looks like she's back,” Shawn grins to Maci and holds up a bag. “I brought you something.”

“You brought me something?”

“Yeah. Is that weird?”

Maci snorts. “A little.”

You smack Maci's arm. “Why did you bring me something?”

Shawn runs a hand through his hair and his cheeks turn scarlet. Bashful and cute. Absolutely perfect. “I...I thought you might like it. You helped me pick that hand cream and it works wonders. I thought I should return the favor.”

“That's just my job, but I won't say no to a gift.” You approach the counter and lean on it with a smile. “What did you bring?”

“I hope you like banana.” He pulls a paper wrapped muffin from the brown bag on the counter. “I made it myself.”

Maci chuckles. “Damn, homemade treats? That's something else.”

“You didn't have to do that.” You peek in the bag and there are about six muffins in there. “Shawn, really, I was just doing my job-”

“No! No I didn't bake them specially for you. I mean, I work at the bakery across the street. The owner is a friend and he said take some of them home since they were my first batch on my own.”

“Oh! Zack? He's the best. Thank you.”

Shawn beams and pushes the bag toward you. “So yeah, anyway. Thank you for the hand cream and stuff.”

“You should try the body wash next,” Maci chimes in, pointing to the new men's section in the corner. “We've got a sandalwood and Bergamot blend you'd probably like, and it's her favorite.”

You elbow her and she cackles. “You don't have to buy anything. Thank you again for these.”

“I'll come back later. I'm on break now but I'm definitely interested in the body wash.” Shawn steps back and waves as he leaves, jogging across the street over to the bakery.

As soon as he's gone Maci absolutely lays into you. “Who the hell is that? Where did he come from?”

“He just showed up last week. I dunno, he's cute though.”

“He's definitely into you. It's all over his face like a neon sign.”

“Yeah but I have a baby. He's just being nice.” You were not about to tell her about the buzzing feeling in your guts when he showed up the first time.

Maci rolls her eyes. “Whatever maybe he likes kids. Maybe he's into it.”

“Maci!”

She shrugs. “It's a thing! Anyway he's a werewolf right?”

“Yeah? How'd you know?”

“The man is huge, and he has fang teeth that I could see from across the street. He's definitely not human.”

“Yeah, he's a werewolf, an alpha I'm pretty sure.”

“An alpha mate?” Maci elbows you playfully. “Eh? Eh?”

You roll your eyes and shove her off the stool. “Go start getting ready to make gift baskets and shut up about my love life.”

“Love life huh? Already thinking about making him your man?”

“Shut up!” You throw a tissue box at her and she scrambles into the backroom to get the basket supplies.

___________________________

It's a Monday morning when you walk into Pettit's Pastries for a breakfast on the go. You find Shawn at the counter laying out new baked goods in the case and he grins at you.

“Hello,” you giggle with a wave you approach the case. “I've come to bother you for a change. Y'know, so you don't have to keep buying one of every product in my store just to see me.”

“Caught that eh?”

“You're not too hard to read.”

Shawn chuckles and leans on the counter top, sleeves rolls up to his elbows and apron dusted with flour. He's so attractive it hurts your heart to imagine him actually touching you with those beautiful hands. Ugh.

“What can I get for you?”

“Something sweet.”

He glances up from where he is getting ready to write on his order pad and smirks. Those eyes, his lips...God damn. “There's a lot of sweets here honey.”

“Mmhmm. Pick something for me. The best you have.”

Shawn strides along the length of the display case and back, eyes going from confectionery to you every few steps. “I would but there is a problem.”

“Yeah?” You lean on the counter, your ankles starting to hurt from standing for too long. This baby was going to be the death of you.

“I don't fit in the to go bags.”

“You don't...what...oh. Oh I see what you did there.” You chuckle and he lets out a laugh at his own corny joke. “I'll just have to settle for the chocolate cupcakes then please.”

“Yes ma'am.” He bags up two for you and places them on the counter to ring you up. “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Alright four dollars please.”

You pay and he walks around to meet you at the door, blocking your path momentarily. You raise your eyebrows and he rubs his neck and clears his throat a few times.

“Can I... I mean are you okay to cross the street alone? It's very snowy and I don't want to see you fall.” He offers his hand to you and you take it, your smaller one fitting in his perfectly. “I promise to keep you on your feet.”

“You’re so sweet.” You walk with him across and down to your shop, his arm around your back the whole time. “Thank you. You really didn't have to do that though.”

Shawn flushes and it is still the cutest thing you've ever seen. “I'd hate to have you fall and hurt yourself or the baby. I'm sure your mate wouldn't mind me watching out for his girl.”

Ah, there it is. He slipped that in so carefully. Slick one. “I don't have a mate. But still, your concern is appreciated.”

He grins, obviously pleasantly surprised that you aren't mated. “Would you mind going out to dinner with me then?”

“Sure...I mean even though...” You lay your hand on your stomach and he continues to grin as if that made no difference to him.

“Tomorrow night? I can pick you up?”

“Shawn. Are you sure? I'm five months pregnant and mateless, and you are asking me out on a date. You do realize this is weird?”

Shawn steps forward and sets his hand over yours on your stomach. Your body aches, a deep warm ache like it did when you were with the alpha on your birthday.

“Honestly, I don't mind. Whether you have or are having a child doesn't make me any less attracted to you. Yeah, it's strange, if someone asked me if I would date someone under these circumstances before I met you I probably would have said no. But there's something... something about the day we met that I've never been able to shake. I think I'm supposed to be with you.”

“I-I think we should just go on a date first.”

Shawn nods. “Right...I uh, I'm sorry. I got a little weird there for a second. Dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes. Dinner tomorrow.”

He pats your hand and pulls away, jogging through the snow to the bakery and nearly slipping at the doors. You let out a chuckle and go into the shop to try and calm your racing heart and jittery nerves. You hadn't wanted to admit it but you wondered too if Shawn could be the one. The way your heart went crazy when you saw him, how you couldn't stop thinking about him and when you'll see him next. Hell, you even imagined him in your bed at night, rubbing your stomach with your shea lotion and dreamed about him frequently. He drove you crazy and the only thing holding you back was your baby. The possibility that he might reject you for it, just walk away because it's not his. That's what kept you from going all in, though all signs were definitely pointing to him being your mate.

___________________________

“So can I ask him how you happen to be pregnant and not mated?” Shawn asks about halfway through dinner. You've been expecting it all night, and you're not shocked he wants to know. It's not as if you're hiding it.

“Well, I got fucked up, took a guy home and got laid on my birthday. I was so out of it and so was the guy I was with. We didn't even think about protection until after the fact. Then when morning came he was gone.”

Shawns eyes widen. “Shit, I thought maybe you lost your mate or got inseminated or something.”

“Nope just a slut.”

“Fucking hell,” Shawn chokes on his water. “I don't think you're a slut. Everyone makes mistakes, one night stands happen. Shit happens.”

You roll your eyes. “Tell that to my parents. They don't think very highly of me right now.”

“It's not their place to judge your choices. Besides, you're a successful business owner, what harm is there in wanting a family?”

“Yeah...they don't understand. It's fine though. I'll be happy with my little buddy and Maci until I do find my mate.”

Shawn leans his chin on his hand. “Do you think the man who got you pregnant was your mate?”

You shrug. “I think I felt something with him. I definitely don't make a habit of getting that drunk and sleeping with just any guys. I just wish I could remember more, but I was super drunk and it's been so long I can't.”

“Hey,” Shawn reaches across the table and takes your hand. “Why don't we focus on the here and now. I'm definitely seriously attracted to you and it's making me wonder if I've found my mate because I've never had this sort of attraction and need for someone before.”

You chew on your lip and flush. “I know. I have wondered about it too. I just ...I want to make sure y'know?”

“I totally understand. We can go as slow as you want.”

“Thanks. For the record though, you do drive me crazy too and I really want to spend every second of every day with you. Seriously. Every time you're in the shop I lose my shit inside and get this buzzing feeling.”

Shawn laughs, head thrown back as he covers his chest with his hand. “So much for wanting to take things slow!”

“Hey! I still wanna go slow, I'm popping a kid out here in less than three months now and I need to know if you're actually going to be interested in me when I'm toting an infant around.”

Shawn goes quiet, leaning in and suddenly looking very serious. “I told you, the baby isn't a problem and won't change how attracted I am to you. I'm excited to meet it, oddly anxious to hold it too. So I think I'll still want to stick around.”

“Shawn...I don't get it, why are you so excited? We've known each other for about a month. It's not even your baby.”

“Oh. Um...it's just, I just...I feel it. And I don't know why I'm excited, I just am. I can't explain it. It's seriously the strangest feeling because I know we've just recently met but it feels like I've known you for ages and I'm just picking up where I left off somehow.” He runs his hand over his hair and looks out the window where the snow is falling heavily. “I feel the pull of a mate and I want to make you mine so badly it's maddening.”

You reach across the table and lay your hand on his arm. “If you're serious, come with me to my appointment this Friday. I know it's right before Christmas, but I'm finally going to find out the gender because I've been putting it off until I settled on a name for a girl and a boy. Well, also because I'm anxious, but either way, come with me?”

Shawn covers your hand with his. “I'll go with. I'm not doing anything anyways, Zack's closing the bakery until after Christmas so he can be with his family upstate.”

You smile and he just smiles back. So this is what a mate feels like. Warm, safe, trusted and comfortable. You hope it lasts.

___________________________

You open the front door to your apartment and invite Shawn in to wait while you finish up getting ready for the appointment. He wanders over to the kitchen and you walk back to your room to get your shoes.

“Can I ask you something?” Shawn calls out after a minute.

You walk back into the living area and look at where he's standing with his hands on a denim jacket on the back of your dining chair. For a moment you feel sick, realizing how this must seem. That jacket was left by the alpha you slept with on your birthday. You had kept it just to use it to try and find him again. Obviously that didn't work.

“Where'd you get this?”

“It's from the guy who I slept with on my birthday. I promise it's not someone else's. I'm not seeing anyone.” You pull your tennis shoes on and wiggle your toes around to get comfortable. “I need to just donate it because I'm never-”

“When is your birthday?”

“Huh?”

“When is your birthday?”

“July 24th? Why?”

Shawn leans on the chair and chuckles. “Where did you meet this alpha?”

“At Nix? The club in Valley Hill?” You stand and walk over to him. “Why are you asking me all this? This is just a jacket I need to get rid of. I'm not lying to you.”

“I know you're not because this is my jacket.”

“What?”

Shawn pulls it off the chair and puts it on over his hoodie. “Everything makes sense, that's why we know each other but we can’t remember. It's why we're so close. I was at Nix that night with Zack and some friends who were celebrating their birthday too. I-I can prove it.”

“Shawn, you're crazy. I like you, I really do, but this is insanity.”

“No, I'm not crazy. Listen. In the pocket there is a set of keys.” He pats the front denim pocket. “Take them out and match them to my keys.” He hands you his keys from his pants pocket and you fish the ones out of the jacket.

Sure enough the diamond shaped house key matches. There's a Jeep fob on each one as well. You cross the apartment and go to the front window, clicking the unlock button on the jacket keys and aiming it at Shawn's Jeep. It unlocks the car, the lights flash on for a moment. Your stomach drops and you look at Shawn.

“Everything makes sense,” you mumble.

Shawn walks over and cups your face in his hands. “Yes, it does and I'm going to be a dad and you're my mate. You're my mate!”

You hold his arms and laugh, tears spilling over the corners of your eyes. “I have a mate!”

“Yeah, you do.” Shawn leans in and kisses you softly.

You wrap your arms around him and squeeze tight, your stomach pushing against him. “I tried to find you for months. I did everything I could think of. Why did you leave?”

“I panicked. I couldn't remember where I was or anything, I'm pretty sure I was still drunk when I woke up and I didn't want to bother you so I just left and found my way back to Zack's place. God if I had known, if I had even considered the possibility of being your mate I never would have left.” He runs his hand through your hair. “I promise I'll never leave again.”

“We were pretty drunk. We probably shouldn't have had sex, but I don't regret it. I don't regret a single thing.”

Shawn drops down and holds your tummy, kissing it gently. “Mates always find each other right?” He looks up at you. “I knew I would find you one day. I didn't know how or when but I knew I would.” He leans his head on your belly and you run your hand over his hair.

“I stopped believing for a while, but when I met you that day in the shop. I knew you were the one, I felt it.” You tap his shoulder for him to stand up and he does. “As excited as I am to have a mate, we have to go to the appointment and find out what our baby is.”

“Shit. Right. Are you ready?” He asks and you nod. He threads his fingers between yours and the two of you head to the car to go to your appointment.

___________________________

Two months and twelve days later you and Shawn have a tiny little baby boy. He was five pounds ten ounces, small considering he's a werewolf. Shawn blames himself, saying that not being there for the full pregnancy made him not grow as big. It's ridiculous and you won't hear it, saying that he's probably small because you were a small baby too.

The moment the nurse brought the in baby; who's name you decided was Milo, into the recovery room, Shawn lost his mind. He immediately grabbed for him, cooing and awing as the nurse set him in his arms and showed him how to support Milo's head. The way Shawn looked at that baby was like nothing else mattered in the world.

The baby looked so tiny in comparison to Shawn. So much like just a wad of blankets he was holding tenderly. You couldn't help but fall in love with the two of them. It was amazing. You can't believe how lucky you are to have this, and you know Shawn feels the same. From that moment on, you knew you would be living a an actual dream.

The end

Thank you everyone who read this! Please reblog and leave feedback/let me know what you think.

I know this is short and quick but it’s just something I’ve wanted to write and and I idea I’ve toyed with for a while.

Thank you so much.

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puckinghell · 5 years

Text

Fall | Carter Hart

Summary: While Carter Hart tries to teach your 2nd grade class how to skate, you try not to fall... flat on your face, or, for him. Words: 2826 of 7433 Note: The request was for 1 imagine but I accidentally came up with a 3 part series... This is part 1. Also I was today years old when I realized Carter Hart and Shawn Mendes have the exact same energy

When you told your roommate goodbye this morning, you hadn’t done so with the expectation that it was going to be a nice, peaceful day. After all, any day spent with about 25 seven year olds was destined to be filled with chaos, and that was how you spent all of your days lately.

But you could’ve never had guessed what the universe had in store for you.

If Nancy, the head mistress and the woman monitoring your progress during your internship, had told you there was currently a pink elephant flying through your classroom, you would’ve looked at her with the same expression you’re currently wearing.

“What do you mean Babs is sick?”

Nancy shoots you an understanding look, filled with empathy and maybe pity, when she shrugs. “Just that. She has the flu. There’s no way she can make it today, and we simply don’t have the means to get a substitute teacher in. You know how excited the kids are about this day, and you’re basically a teacher yourself.”

You’re not; you’re only halfway through your education to hopefully one day become a teacher, and this internship was meant to give you a first taste of the job. You loved it, so far; the kids were amazing, if sometimes a little rowdy, your days were never boring, and Babs, whose class you’d been observing, had been nothing but a role model to you. She was exactly the kind of teacher you hoped to one day be; fun, loving, caring, and stern when need be, but always fair.

She’d taught you a lot, but definitely not enough for you to be send out on your own.

“I don’t think I can do it, Nancy.” You hate the way your voice quivers, but you can’t help it. You know if today gets canceled, you’ll be letting down the kids. They’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

“They’re so excited, Y/N,” Nancy says softly, playing on your feelings of guilt even more. “And I don’t think we could reschedule. The Flyers’ season is almost over, and it was so generous of them to even invite us in the first place…”

With a few very fervent hockey fans in her class, Babs had told the kids to write a letter to Carter Hart, the new Flyers goalie. You’re not a big hockey fan, put in absolutely no effort whatsoever to keep up with the Flyers, in fact, but even you know that he’d been brought in in a highly criticized, time’s up-desperate move by management, and he’s still young; around your age. However, he’s so far surpassing all expectations and the kids had been talking about him with so much excitement, Babs had thought it would be a nice gesture to write him a little thank you letter.

Undoubtedly, she’d been thinking that it would be good for them to learn to show some gratitude. Undoubtedly, she’d not expected to get a response back from the Flyers, inviting the whole class to the arena to participate in a special Flyers practice, where they would be hosted by Carter Hart himself.

And of all days possible, she has to get the flu today.

“How would I even get there?” you wonder out loud, and a smile appears on Nancy’s face. Your resolve is falling, and she knows it too.

“We have a bus ready. Just get them in the bus, get them out the bus. Someone from the Flyers will meet you there. Try to keep them from accidentally murdering the Flyers hot new goalie. The bus will still be there at the end of the day, bring them back. That’s all.”

You sigh, nod. “Okay.” There’s no way you can let down the kids. It all sounds so simple.

Of course with a bunch of 2nd graders, nothing would ever be simple.

“Rachel, please keep on your shoes. We’re still in the bus. Simon, don’t pull Darya’s hair! Patrick, close that window!”

“It’s gonna be a long day, huh?” Paul, the bus driver you had seen on many field trips, sends you a sorrowful look, and you sink back into the uncomfortable chair you’ve been sitting on for the past hour.

Of course, on the one day you really need to get these kids somewhere, there’s traffic.

“It’s gonna be a disaster,” you mumble. “I don’t know anything about the Flyers, Paul. Their biggest superstar could walk straight past me, and I wouldn’t recognize him.”

“Superstars probably prefer it that way, you know,” Paul tells you wisely, and you sink deeper into your chair, focusing on the road.

Finally, you get there, and somehow you manage to get all the kids out of the bus and into the arena without any casualties.

Well, Thomas falls and busts his knee, but you tell him that would cause the hockey players to mistake him for one of their own, and he stops crying after that.

“Miss Whackerman’s class?” An older woman stands in the hallway, a smile on her face and a clipboard in her hands. “I’m Janine, I’m with the communicaties and PR department and I’ll be with you today.”

“Oh!” You quickly shake her hand. “Y/N. Miss Whackerman is actually at home with the flu, I’m taking over the class today.”

Janine’s eyes travel down your body and you try to ignore the judgement in them. You’re not even sure what she doesn’t like; that you look too young to be a teacher (you are), or that you don’t look put together enough (when you picked this particular hoodie this morning, you didn’t know you would be going anywhere).

“Very well,” she says finally, and to her credit, she’s still smiling. “Follow me, then.”

You try to shush your students as they follow Janine through the hallways of the arena, but it’s clear the excitement is getting to them. Fast whispers and little pushes ensue, but luckily, you get to the locker room safely.

“Here we are,” says Janine. “You can go inside and start putting on their gear. I’ll go get Carter.” At the sound of their favorite goalie’s name, the kids all fall quiet, their eyes widening with realization.

You barely register the sound of Janine’s heels walking away, when you, too, realize what she’d said.

Gear?

You open the door to the locker room and are met with a room much bigger and lighter than you’d expected. In every single stall hangs a jersey, with a kid’s last name on it.

Squeals of excitement explode around you and suddenly little bodies are running past you, their little hands grabbing the jerseys and pulling them down. There are skates, and pads, and helmets, and you have no idea what to do with any of them, but some of the kids seem to be familiar with them and start dressing themselves.

“Miss, I don’t know how to tie my skates.”

You look down to find Yasmin standing there. She’s a shy little girl, and it has taken her a few weeks to even look you in the eyes, but when she started talking to you it had felt like your greatest accomplishment ever. Now, you’re staring at the skates in her hands with horror in your eyes.

“Uhm.”

“Need help with those?”

The voice that interrupts your moment of panic is deep and unfamiliar, and yet, at the sound of it, almost all of your students turn around in lightning speed. When you also turn, you understand why.

Opposite you stands Carter Hart. You don’t know much about him but you’ve Googled him on the bus ride here, wanting to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool out of yourself by not recognizing him. On Google, he’d seemed cute, but in real life, he’s gorgeous. With toned arms, which he has crossed over his muscular chest, and a lot taller than you’d somehow expected, he looks like he’s walked straight out of a gym membership commercial, and you know what?

If guys that went to the gym looked like that, you might actually go.

You’re torn out of your oggling moment by Yasmin’s little hands clinging around your leg. She’s staring up at Carter with big eyes and you can’t help but giggle at the starstruck, but terrified, look on her face.

“We really, really do,” you tell Carter honestly. “I can’t say I’ve ever tied a skate in my life.” Carter laughs at that, and points to the bench in Yasmin’s stall. “Take a seat, honey.” There’s something soft and friendly to his voice, and it doesn’t surprise you that Yasmin obliges immediately.

“It took me a while to learn how to tie them, too,” Carter speaks softly, while he sits down next to Yasmin and extends his hand. “Can you give me your leg?”

You watch in awe as Yasmin does as she’s told, then, looks up at him and quietly says: “Thank you.”

Unbelievable. It took you three weeks to get her to talk to you. You understand Carter is a lot more attractive to talk to than you, but still. Three weeks!

Carter ties the skates, then stands up and looks around the room. “Anyone else need help?”

Everyone raises their hands, even the ones that clearly don’t need help at all, and you laugh. “No, no lying! If you’ve got your gear on, sit down and wait for the rest. Who actually needs help?” Only a few hands remain, and Carter goes by them one by one, dutifully tying skates and tucking jerseys and strapping on pads.

“Is anyone here a goalie?” he asks, but the room stayed quiet. You know a bunch of the kids have played hockey before, but so far you’ve not heard of any aspiring goalies. When no answer comes, Carter shrugs. “I guess you all just have to shoot on me then.”

This causes a loud, communal cheer to erupt, and everyone follows him to the ice.

You sit on the bench on the side of the rink as you watch the kids. Some of them are actually decent skaters, others are clinging to a chair for dear life.

If you were on the ice, that’d be you, so you stay where you are, burying your hands in the pockets of your hoodie.

Who knew an ice rink would be so cold.

Apart from Carter, you’ve been joined by Janine again, a bunch of ice girls, and of course, Gritty. In Gritty, Carter has some competition for favorite, as your class has crowded around the giant orange mascot and is currently trying to bring him down.

“He’s popular with the kids, huh?” Carter skates over to the boards, leaning over them to peek into the bench. “Are you not coming out?”

“It’s kinda weird, cause he’s terrifying,” you admit with a smile. “And no, I’ve never skated in my life.”

“Ah, come on, time to change that!” With seemingly no effort, Carter hops over the boards and plops himself down on the bench next to you, asking Janine to go get you some skates before you manage to protest. While he speaks to her about what your size is, you allow yourself to look at him for a few seconds.

God, he’s handsome. It’s so ridiculously unfair, that most of the time when you see him on TV, his face is hidden by that giant hockey mask.

He’s not wearing that, today. In fact, he’s not wearing any gear, just some skates and sweatpants with a hoodie.

“Do you know how to put them on?” Carter turns towards you as he talks and if he catches you staring, he’s polite enough not to call you out on it, although the hint of a smile dancing on his face leads you to believe he definitely noticed.

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you frown. “Uhm, I mean, it can’t be hard.” You wiggle your feet into your skates.

“Let me tie them for you,” Carter hurries to say, when he sees you struggling, and drops to his knees to grab your foot. And, well, you don’t want your skin to burn at his touch, but you can’t really help that. “They need to be tight, or you’re gonna break an ankle.”

That’s when you remember most kids have tied their own skates, and a wave of worry washes over you.

It’s quickly pushed away with worry over your own health and wellbeing, when Carter stands up and extends his hand. “Ready?”

You snort out a laugh. “Absolutely not.” Yet, there’s no way you could say no to those blue eyes of his, and you grab his hand and let him pull you up.

The ice, unsurprisingly, is slippery, and you cling to the boards for dear life. Carter’s laughter rings through the air.

“Do you want me to bring one of those chairs?” he teases, then reaches out and grabs your elbow, attempting to steady you. You glare at him, but your pride takes over and you try to let go of the boards.

Just when you think you’ve found your footing, Rachel comes skating over. It’s clear that it’s not her first time on skates, and your pride takes another blow as you realize the 7 year skates better then you probably ever will.

“Miss Y/N, you’re skating!” Rachel might be better at skating, but she isn’t that good at stopping, and before you grasp what’s happening, she bumps into your leg and your legs slip out from under you.

For a split second, you’re convinced this is it for you; you feel yourself plummeting towards the ice, and surely you will hit your head and split it open and Carter’s worried face will be the last thing you ever see.

Not that that’s the worst thing you could see, but you’re not ready to die.

But instead of the cold hard ice, you’re met with something hard and warm, strong hands gripping your arms as you bang your head against his chest, the soft fabric of his hoodie against your cheek.

“Wow, careful.” His voice is soft, his breath warm against your hair as he speaks. You have to push against his chest to get yourself back upright, and damn your face for flushing as red as it does at just the mere contact. His hands remain on you, but slowly go down from your arms to your hands, grabbing them. “About that chair…” he drawls, and you would’ve hit him if you weren’t using your hands to hold onto him for dear life.

“Sorry, miss Y/N!” Rachel says. She fell too, but is already standing back upright. “Isn’t it lucky that Carter was there to save your life?”

“Save your life, huh?” Carter chuckles, and there is a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“So lucky,” you tell Rachel, who beams up at you before skating away again, and then you look up at Carter. “Saving my life might be a bit dramatic, but you did save me from going face first into the floor, so thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he hums, and that’s when you realize your hands are still in his.

Just when you’re starting to think you couldn’t possibly blush any more than you already were.

Then, a voice calls from the tunnel.

“Hartsy, time for practice, dude!” You assume it’s one of Carter’s teammates, although you have no clue who it could be.

“Coming!” Carter calls back, then shoots you an apologetic look. “Time to wrap this up, I guess.”

You swallow. “Could you, uhm, perhaps, bring me back to the bench?”

Ah, you definitely can blush more.

He laughs, and slowly starts guiding you towards the bench, one of your hands in his and his other hand on the small of your back, softly pushing you. You gratefully grab the boards and manage to climb back onto the normal floor yourself.

Thank God.

“Kids, time to say goodbye to Carter!”

Immediately, the kids come skating over to him, giving him hugs and high fives and saying thank you. Only Yasmin stays behind – her skating has been, possibly, even worse than yours – and Carter goes to get her, lifting her in the air and carrying her back to the safety of the ground.

“Thank you, mister Hart,” Yasmin says, her voice soft but clear, and he smiles at her.

“You’re so welcome, Yasmin.”

Finally, he comes over to you. “Thanks for bringing them, this was fun,” he says, and are you imagining it, or does he look genuinely sorry for having to leave?

“Thanks for saving my life,” you joke, and he laughs.

He waves again, and then he skates away. But before he reaches the tunnel, he calls over his shoulder: “See you around!”

And when you find out later from Nancy that he’s going to come back to your school to do a PE class for the kids, well, it’s in a completely professional way that you feel excited like a kid on Christmas morning.

#carter hart #carter hart imagine #carter hart one shot #nhl imagine #nhl one shot #nhl writing #philadephia flyers #philadephia flyers imagine #philadelphia flyers one shot #carter hart fic #philadephia flyers fic #nhl fic #hockey one shot #hockey imagine

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hommedeseptiles · 4 years

Text

IsFly Musings and In-Game Scribbles

Overtime Period One

I open the browser and see a heavy shot total. Isles lead 44-20. And the thing has gone into overtime. Leading three-two after leading three-one .. is fine. So many such series end 4-2. But. If you let them back in after 3-1 up, especially in hockey ... it's a concern. A hot risk.

Varlamov is in net for Isles. Thomas Greiss only logged one game this playoff. Tho the 34 year-old is capable. And could start forty a season, likely. [Ed note: He's started 39, 38 and 49 with Isles in varying years; just 28 this year. Varlamov is a 6M man to Greiss' 3M. Varlamov started 39 this year and has 13 playoff starts to Greiss' one.]

I struggle with various streams ... I can't be bothered with my box downstairs. Not now. Not this season. Yes, it still works. However. It's complicated.

Six and forty-five.

Isles enter, the Flyers are five in the screen as they steal back and look organized.

The Isles don't have a slick, untouchable, unrankable forward .. no franchise player. They've come, perhaps not full circle but some kind of time-mango to the team I enjoyed about six seasons ago. When Jack whatshisname was the coach [Jack Capuano; seven seasons with a 47-win register in 14-15]. And they were a bunch of No Names. Buoniconti's Bees. Or whatever. Am-I-Rite? [Ed note: You've confused to Miami Dolphin entities; the Buoniconti-era No Name Defence and the Woodley-era Bees]

Four and fifty.

The Isles make comfortable ovals around the tight fingers of the cyborg orange. Flyers are coached by still-likeable Alain Vigneault (yes, THAT Alain Vigneault) but they're still P for putrid.

Faceoff to Carter Holt's left. Carter Bailey? Carter Barter? These names. He's good, tho. And not a bad kid.

The Isles shot lead is now 50-20. I've missed most of the game so I don't know what kind of 50-20 we're talking about here. Knowing the Isles, the number probably means early-game verve and then third period Flyer Failings. The Isles also gear down in the final frame; great goals for-against ratio in the playoff third.

Oh those Fliers.

I'm a bit busted. And shelved. And so forth. But I've been bookish. Filmish. Sipe. Fouts. Chuck Knox. Staubach and Dorsett against Bradshaw and Franco.

Also Ali. Jimmy Young. The Foreman. Some other odds and ends including an appearance on Donahue by Norton, Holmes, Frazier and Ali.

Two and thirty.

The Flyers seem to be waiting for Doom. No. Not that Doom [Ed note: Legion of Doom]. The 2020 Doom.

Komarov fires off a drop-pass and it hits wild and high. Vigneault's suit is not as sharp as last game's but still sharper than most other coaches'. I guess Vigneault made an insensitive remark last week that got flash-featured on RDS' Instagram feed. Remember RDS? Ah ha ha. Of course you do. So do I.

Habs are still in my dawghawse. Fire MB, bro.

Isles penalty. Moments later, Cizikis is hauled down on a short-handed thrust... cross-check-shoved from behind by Flyer d-man Sanheim at the circle. We go to fours.

And 1:18 left in the period.

The first OT period of this game (as per my feed). My, ah, procured feed.

<shrug>

I've paid so much. And what about all the dropped wifi. Fuck Rogers.

Thirty-eight seconds.

Leddy low behind his end line. Back and forth. Now they emerge. Pelech. Up for Pageau. Drives left to right, crosses the crease but the puck dribbles off.

And then the siren.

First Intermission (OT) Isles 4, Fliers 4

Do I really need to hear Vegas pronounced "VEGG-USS"? No, I don't. It's VAY GUSS. Ok?

Vancouver is down 3-2 in that "series" and if anyone SHOULD tie up a series after being down 3-1 (which the Canucks WERE) it's Vancouver. Ok?

I'm going to end each paragraph with "ok?" for now. Ok?

Ok. The feed fades to commercial imagery as I face a commercial break. Ok?

I've also been watching Derek Carr games prior to the Gruden hire. And just generally catching up on missed NFL footage. I missed 2004-2018 as you may or may not recall. Ok?

Hm. I forgot about ALT-F4 but just instinctively used it to down some unwanted sprung pages from yet another feed. These feeds are reliable, yes. I haven't decided how I want to view games at home. Over the past six years (essentially the length of my musings absence; with the odd short exception) I've kept watching .. more each season (minus Montreal) but almost always in public. And often with a beer involved. Different from the coffee period. Tonight is coffee, of course. But you wouldn't know why it's "of course". You THINK you know. But you DON'T KNOW. And you NEVER WILL. JK. Ok? Overtime Second Period Isles 4, Fliers 4

We resume. A quick shot of Alain. His usual expression for "situation" situations. Isles have a brief advantage and they control. Anders Lee. Loses it on the hash.

Fliers' number eighteen escapes [Ed note: Tyler Pitlick RW]. Wrister. Free, a defender just out of the picture. Varlamov extends his glove across his left post and nabs it. Announcer says it was easy. But I felt some quease.

Prior to the regular season, I went on record (somewhere) to say Isles would win the Cup. My pool picks were according(ly). Ok?

Fuck boomers, bro.

And many of my Gen X compatriots. They've forgotten what it was like to get followed around the 7-11. Or Blockbuster. Rogers Video. Etc.

And now we have Gen Z. Yes! As cool as millenials. But different style.

The penalty elapsed. Back to fives. Regular season OT means four-on-four. But, NHL conservatism (what remains of it) requires fives in the playoffs. Heaven forbid that skill should settle a contest (over brawn, sistas and bruthas, over brawn).

Flyers swarm. They close. Varlamov is a vacuum man, lost papers, lost trinkets ... the tools twinkle and he closes the pad. Boy does it look like a puck went in on the rear-net replay. Nope. That was a stick blade. Then the helicopter view above the crease shows Varlamov's boot curvetouch the puck out. And Pelech drops, face to boot and helps elbow the puck into exile. Clutching Varly's pad, a dainty shoeman showman.

No goal.

And that hectic moment is forgotten. Neutral zone calm. But the Flyers accelerate. They dare. It's daring because any uptick from Philly results in Isle commitment. Isles ARE the better team. And the Flyers best hope is a languid opponent. I wish I'd seen the first three periods. Maybe tomorrow. (There's a song about that)

Fourteen and fourteen left.

Oh. And it's Carter Hart. He's about twenty. It's his second or so full season. Image search shows a possibly likeable young fella.

Shots are 52-28, Isles.

Wrap. Whoah. Flyers Are able to ... take advantage of fatigue. Isles emerge. Eberle, he of Oil fame, winds and fires. We hear a ting but not a post-ting. Eberle's wild shots are part of his charm. Right?

Ok?

Flyers settle in for another five-on-five unwanted visit in Islander ice.

Nelson carries it out. Flushed out after a shot. Isles re-enter. Uncle Leo. Yes, he's an Isle now.

So. When we're talking about these blue-name no name Island Aislers ... lotta functional no-mistake hockey merchants ... forward names include Anders Lee, Mathew Barzal, Jordan Eberle (that's your tabbed first forward line). Anthony Beauvillier, Brock Nelson, Josh Bailey, Derrick Brassard, Jean-Gabriel Pageau and Uncle Leo. I guess <sigh> he's not as annoying as before. But.

Nine and twenty-five.

Isles start to press. Pageeau line. He's the centre. Brassard and Leo. First pairing on the blue; Adam Pelech and Ryan Pulock.

They're pushed back and then emerge quietly. Sneakily. Flyers are more concerned with maintaining their starfish five formation then just childishly lunging for the puck. They're taking away any slot passes and happy to let Isles ping from the outside. Seems effective.

Ok. So Hart. He's 21. He started thirty last year and 40 this season. Most teams completed 62 games before the season was postponed. Yes. Covid-19. If you're reading this in 2030.

He was 0.917 last year and 0.914 this season. The bulk of starters will rank between 0.910 and 0.920. I would suggest that increments of 0.35 are significant. It's a team stat, too, of course. And must be superimposed with the usual criteria; shot quality and contestation, opponent formations, opponent quality ... etc, etc, blah blah blah. Ok?

Your friend Carter is from Sherwood Park, Alberta (just outside Edmonton).

Six and forty.

Flyers beat Montreal last round in what was described by some as a tight and tough series ("some" being certain interviewed Flyers).

Their captain is Claude Giroux. Yes. He's a captain now. And that should tell you about the P for putrid. Putridity varies from spot to spot in the rink, of course. In the building(s). But yes. It's still the Fliers you love. Ah ha ha.

Brian Elliott, that paragon of goaltending arrogance (not alone in the league) started 27 Flier games. His save percentage was 0.899. Yes. You can laugh out loud.

Fliers score. The puck ekes through the pads.

There will be a game seven.

Hm.

Cuthbert cites a Mayfield broken stick as the pumpkin break. He was shooting from their blue. Stick broke (these dumb modern sticks .. I mean how many years have they had to get them right). Typical Flier goal.

Just shooooooot. Shooooooooot. We gotta get more rubber on net.

Some tyrannies counted bullets.

FINAL Philadelphia Flyers 5 New York Islanders 4 (2 OT)

Series tied 3-3

NBC Stars: Provorov, Barzal, Lindblom HDS Stars: Not enough hockey viewed

#Montreal Mystique #Homme de Sept-Iles #NYI #NHL #Flyers #Fliers #nhlplayoffs #hockey #Philadelphia #New York Islanders

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