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kyberconfessions · 3 years ago

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No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. part 3

Hi everyone! We have made it to Part 3! Thank you for coming on this wonderful journey with me. I have at least 6 chapters already written and the story will be longer than that. I appreciate all of your love and reblogs and everything you say about it. Seriously, I love you all. Also, I am toying with the idea of a Bad Batch x reader story AU. Let me know if there is any want for that. Thanks!!!

As always:

This will eventually be a 18+ older fic and will deal with anxiety, death, sex, PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.

Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate.

Rating: 18+

TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 3: Again

It had taken you longer to get to Hondo than you would have liked. But, of course he had to be by some out of the way planet, forgotten by most. You pride yourself on your extensive knowledge of the planetary systems, knowing obscure things that even had Master Yoda chuckling with delight. But this place? You had no idea where it was. It never showed up on any star chart and quite frankly you were fairly certain he gave you incorrect coordinates. But, still, you went there to meet him. You had to laugh to yourself when you saw his ship waiting for you, floating in the dead of space. Hondo was telling the truth.

"Kriffing pirates," you mumbled to no one, chuckling as you started preparing your ship to dock with his. No matter how many star charts you studied, how many space lanes you memorized, he would always know more obscure things than you.

As you finished the docking sequence and began to enter his ship, you mulled over what he would want to show you. Something he was either desperate to have or knew you would want immediately. Something he wouldn’t risk saying over a commed link, even if it was secure. Honestly if this was another wild goose chase he put you on for something he could find at any market stall on any of the core planets...well you wouldn’t do anything except grumble while you went and got it. You should hate the power Hondo had over you, but you didn’t. He never did anything to you out of ill will or because he could. Hondo was just eccentric.

‘But…,’you couldn’t help think. But what if? What if? What if he finally found something you truly needed?

Could it finally be Cody’s helm? Or could it be a piece of Rex? You knew in your heart it wasn’t either of those, it never was, but still you hoped. Still you held on and asked the Force to give you just this one win. Just this once, let you have something of Rex. Anything would do. A pauldron, his Kama, a piece off of his belt, something, anything. You just wanted some piece of him to hold onto. You missed him so much. You missed them both, but where Cody could be hard and demanding and strict, Rex was soft and loving. He would hold your fingers in secret where Cody would just stand. Rex would let his hand linger on your shoulder a few seconds longer than need be, while Cody would just grunt in acknowledgement. Rex would praise you after training; Cody would demand perfection, pushing you harder than Obi-Wan ever would. But when he would show you his love, Cody would love with the brilliance of a burning sun.

Hondo waved at you from the otherside of his door, giving you a flourished bow before opening the airlock. But as you walked in, your mind wandered, thinking to your lovers.

You missed them both so much and you could use a few of their pep-talks, especially now.

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Obi-Wan and Anakin stood on the Training Observation Deck of the Negotiator, watching their Padawans work through a strenuous series of obstacles and training droids.

Cody and Rex stood on the sides of their respective Generals, watching as well.

Ashoka did well, flipping, moving, and swinging her saber with ease. Each of her targets went down with raw power, showing how strong she was getting. You, on the other hand, were tired and sore and not moving as quickly as you usually do. But, that was because Ashoka just came back off a week's leave from Coruscant and you had recently gotten shipside from a long and drawn out campaign with Foxtrot Group. You were exhausted when she was refreshed. But that didn't mean you could slack off in your training. You had to be stronger, you had to be better. You were Jedi, you would not fail.

Ashoka finished the trial a few seconds before you did, landing at the finish line on one foot. Just as you were about to execute your final flip, the training block shifted underneath you, causing your foot to slip. Before you could right yourself, a stun bolt hit you square in the back, knocking you down. You landed on the ground with a hard and loud thud, ending the exercise.

Obi-Wan watched as Ashoka went to help you up, feeling guilty for having you train. He knew you were tired and drained, but you had insisted on working with the other Padawan. He should have put his foot down and told you to get some sleep. But he didn't and here you all were.

Anakin walked forward to the console and stopped the exercise, reseting it.

"Good job Snips, finally getting that barrel flip down.” He called over the comm. “Thank you, Master.”

You were standing behind Ashoka as she spoke to her Master, dusting off your robes and massaging your neck, disappointed in yourself. You should have sensed that bolt coming, you should have been able to right yourself and finish the test. You stood there, mentally berating yourself so much that you didn't realize Obi-Wan had started to address you.

"It's alright Young One, you did excellent, but I fear your exhaustion has hindered your training for today. Why don't you go and eat and get some much needed rest and we can revisit this at a later time."

Obi-Wan, ever the loving caretaker, cursed himself for even allowing you to work in your state. You could have gotten seriously injured and where would that have put you? He knew in all honesty you should be in the medbay getting checked out and possibly doing a little time in a bacta tank.

But, Marshal Commander Cody thought differently. Ever the perfectionist, he would not accept this as the end of your session. With his bucket under his left arm, he walked up to the console and pressed the comm, calling you.

"No Jed'ika. Start over."

You looked up into the window of the viewing deck and saw him staring at you, eyes hard. The others looked on in mild concern and irritation. Obi-Wan was about to chastise his second, when he noticed you move to the beginning and prepare for another assault. You knew he was right, he always was. You could do better, you should be doing better, but you let your exhaustion lie to you. You weren’t so tired that you couldn’t finish this level. You’ve done this countless times, late in the evening, with Cody at your side. There was absolutely no reason you couldn’t finish it now.

Cody looked back to his General for a split second, as if looking for permission, before restarting the training exercise. This time, as you went though the course, you only made it halfway before failing again. There was a trick shot the training droids took that you weren’t prepared for and you took another bolt to your upper thigh. You were going to have an ugly bruise in a few hours.

Gingerly you stood, favoring your leg for a few seconds before shaking it off. Just another color added to your already mottled and scarred skin.

As you went to stand, you saw the course reset once more and heard Cody’s voice over the comms, “Again.”

Rex didn’t like this, but he knew what Cody was doing. He knew if you were just pushed harder, if you were taken to your limit, you would not fail. He also knew that if you left the course without succeeding you would beat yourself up for days, feeling weak and useless. Rex didn’t like it, but he agreed. Obi-Wan watched on, focusing on your resilience and strength in the Force, humbled by his young Padawan. Anakin, on the other hand, didn’t like what was happening and felt that the Commander of the 212th was being too careless with your safety. This went on for some time, Cody would call for you to restart, you would fail, you would get up, and he would call again. Over and over and over.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Anakin had enough. “This is absurd! She’s clearly tired and needs rest. Hells, she needs time in the Medbay!” He walked up to the console and used his shoulder to push Cody out of the way, calling to you, “Padawan, you’re done now. Go straight to the Medbay. I want Kix to look you over.” He turned to Rex, “See she gets there, I don’t trust the Commander at the moment.”

Ashoka looked visibly uncomfortable from where she stood on the viewing deck and gazed up at Obi-Wan for any kind of reaction. He said nothing, just watching his Padawan try to get up off of the mat while pulling at the hairs in his beard. Before he could give the order for Cody to help take you to the medbay, Cody unceremoniously stomped over to the lift door and went down into the training room. They watched as he approached you and pulled you up, speaking harshly in a hushed tone to you.

You watched as Cody barreled towards you and crouched down at your eyelevel to look at you sternly. “Get up, Jed’ika. Get up. You don’t have time to wallow in your self pity. You don’t have time to lay here. You don’t have time to fail! Get up!” You listened to his words and tried to stand, but your knee where you had just taken a bolt gave out and you fell. Cody wrapped his hand around your bicep firmly and pulled you up.

“Each time you fail, another one of your men dies! You get up and you do it again! Each failure is another soldiers life gone! The men you swore to protect! Get up!” You nodded and stood on your own feet, albeit wearily. He was right. “You are a Jedi. You are not some clanker who falls over with the slightest push. You are better than this! You are better than your failure. You are Jedi. Do better. What is it that you’re always quoting from General Yoda? There is no try. You either do it, or you fail. And I do not accept failure! AGAIN.” Once he knew you were on stable legs, he stalked off to the sideline and prepared to yell at you more as you went through the program.

“Master, this is ridiculous! Cody has lost his mind! She’s too tired and needs medical attention.” Anakin was almost shaking; he was so upset. Who did Cody think he was? You were going to get seriously injured if you continued on. You needed rest and bacta, not constant berating and training. This wasn’t the way one taught a Padawan. This wasn’t the way Obi-Wan taught him.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow at Anakin and breathed loudly out his nose, removing his hand from his beard. “Yes, I do believe you are right, Anakin. It seems I have let this get out of hand.” He stood closer to the control panel, hand hovering over the comms, but instead of turning off the program, he restarted it and turned it to a higher level of intensity. Anakin balked.

“Master! She’s going to get killed!” Ashoka cried out, looked to her Master and back to Obi-Wan, a strange feeling of anxiety sitting in her throat. It seemed through all the arguing and annoyances the Jedi were currently engaged in, they forgot about the Captain standing there, bucket under his arm, watching his brother and his Jed’ika. In his mind he kept a chant of ‘Come on, come on, you can do this.’ Over and over he thought, urging you to finish it. He wanted nothing more than in that moment to run down there and do as Cody was doing. He wanted to push you further, to push you to where he knew you could go. But he couldn’t, he was made to stand at ease and watch everything from the viewing deck. But, everything in him was down there on the mat with you, his most beloved, urging you to be better. The only thing on his mind was watching you finish this training exercise, going to your quarters to help you bathe, wrap your wounds, and finally making sure you ate a good meal. If he knew his brother, which he did, Cody was thinking the same thing.

You stood at the beginning once more and took a deep breath, hearing the mechanical beep signaling the beginning of the exercise. ‘Do better,’ you thought, before starting. You moved quickly through, dodging each blast, flipping and jumping higher and higher onto different ledges, using your saber to volley away bolts you could not dodge on your own, until you got to the point where you kept failing. Through the course, you could hear Cody yelling at you to keep going, keep moving, to not stop. You could hear him demanding excellence from you, he wanted more than what you thought you could give. He wanted perfection. It pushed you to go further, to work harder, to be better. You wouldn't fail your men and you wouldn't fail Cody. You dug deep into yourself and thought back to the training your former Master gave you, to that harsh and dangerous form. You could do it, you just had to concentrate. If you could find your center, you could toe that line made of shadows while still holding onto the light. You breathed deep, ‘allow your emotions to guide your strikes...feel that bubbling of anger and frustration, grab onto it to push you further. But do not give in. Just use it to fuel your power.’ Your old Master’s voice rang in your head, their training at the forefront of your mind. Multiple bolts fired at once, but instead of one landing a hit, you switched into Form VII, into Juyo. The most difficult saber form, Juyo was dark and dangerous, only used by those skillful Masters equipped with the knowledge of what it means to touch the Darkside and still stand in the Light. Used by your old Master.. taught to you by them in the shadows of Malachor… You shook your muscles out before jumping up against a wall structure, running its length with ease as more bolts were blocked. As you reached its end, you bounced over to the other wall and repeated the pattern, running and blocking, before twisting up onto its ledge. You stood, saber drawn across your body, balancing on the balls of your left foot as your right sat crossed on your thigh. You waited, breathing in and feeling the pulse of the machines across the Force.

THERE.

You flipped up, saber swinging around you in a figure eight, blocking each bolt back, volleying them towards the mechanical guns that sprang from the walls.

You landed once more in your previous spot before swan diving to the ground, landing with practiced grace and ease at the end, having finally completed the exercise. “Kark yeah!” Cody grunted, quickly walking to you. You had a tired smile on your face when he reached you. He reached out to grab your shoulder, squeezing it gently, before letting his hand fall away just as quickly. You looked up at him with adoration.

“I knew you could do it, Cyare,” he whispered, praising you, before taking a respectful stance, remembering that you were a superior and that you both were not alone. You nodded your thanks and tried to give him a look that said, "I love you". Hopefully he understood. He did.

Cody went to get you a towel to wipe your face as the others joined you on the mat. There were praises and excitement from the other Padawan, but both Obi-Wan and Anakin shared a look; they knew those moves. Knew that stance. A dangerous form like Juyo left unchecked could cause irreparable damage. It might be time for you to study a little under Master Windu if you are to continue in that form. Either way, Obi-Wan could feel the relief and happiness rolling off you, it could wait for another day. He also noticed a few feelings not very Jedi-like, aimed at the Marshall Commander and the Jaig-eyed Captain of the 501st. He quirked an eyebrow, but still he smiled his dazzling smile at you.

Obi-Wan was so proud of you, you felt giddy. It was all you ever wanted, and you knew you had it. He was proud of you.You proved to yourself and your Master that you weren’t some weak kid playing at being a Jedi. You truly were one and no matter how tired or weary you were, you could finish what you started.

Later that evening, after getting off duty, Rex made his way to your quarters, a tray of food in hand and a few bandages in the other. He hadn't even stopped at his bunk to change out of his armor. He went straight to the mess hall and then to you, wanting to check in.

When he approached your door, he knocked once before punching in your code, knowing he'd always be welcomed in. When the door slid open, he couldn't help but smile under his helmet at the sight.

You were sitting on the edge of your desk, freshly showered, robes put away, wearing loose, grey, linen pants and a black smallshirt. Cody was also freshly showered and in clean blacks, his armor stacked neatly by your bed. He sat in your chair, positioned between your legs, wrapping scrapes and cuts from the campaign and the training from earlier in fresh bandages, rubbing bacta on your bruises, and whispering words of praise and love to you.

Beside you both were 3 trays of untouched food, waiting to be consumed; one for you, one for Cody, and one for Rex.

Rex entered, letting the door slide closed behind him, a soft smile on his lips. He placed the extra tray of food next to the others, took off his bucket, and dropped a kiss to the top of your head before heading to your small refresher. When he exited, loose towel around his waist, Cody’s head was already buried between your naked thighs.

That night you all had the best sleep in ages, you sandwiched between the two men, tangled in sheets and their limbs, finally able to be together after so long apart. None of you would trade it for the world.

#cody x reader #cody x reader x rex #Marshall Commander Cody #rex x reader #captain rex #rebels!rex x reader #angst #Reader is an Ex!Jedi #reader is now a bounty hunter #Hondo Ohnaka #Hondo is your best friend #Dad!Obi-Wan x Padawan!Reader #Anakin Skywalker doesn't know how to NOT big brother #Asohka Tano #Anakin might hate Cody

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strawberryspotsstuff · 2 years ago

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WOWOWOW NEW IDEA IN HEAD YIPEE !! HELLO LADIES AND GENTLEMAN iTS FIZZAROLLI ANON BACK AGAIN WITH A FIZZAROLLI REQUEST !! SO THIS ONE IS MY FIRST OC X CANON REQUEST SO BE NICE TO MY OC,,,,, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/liminxl/693314317818494977?source=share

so basically uhhhhhh lemme explain his lore bc this is REALLY really important: moloch grew up with fizzarolli and blitzo in the circus, and yk they all had separate fates (moloch got kicked out of the circus for messing up too much) and hes overall forgot about it besides the occasional photo he finds of all of them together growing up; basically i had the idea of maybe u could write a fic moloch going to ozzies and seeing fizzarolli and is like "bro i cant believe you just abandoned our friendship for this" uhhhhhhhhhh yhea if u dont want to write this dont answer lol i wont mind -w-''

DAMMNNNN YOUR ART!!!!!! SOOO GOOOD!!!!!!,, platoniccc heart eyeessss,,, WOWIEEE!!!!!

but yes!! my first oc x cannon, it would be a blessing to write it ;D ((hopefully i did alright,, sweats.))

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Fizzarolli x OC, Moloch.

Moloch roamed the streets of Hell, yawning as his tail gathered dust behind him as it was dragged behind on the cold pavement. It was the dead of night, Hell's moon glowed brightly, in contrast to the dark, black clouded sky.

Bored and lonesome, he looked around, seeing the one and only, "House of Asmodeus" Humming on his options, deciding to see what the hype about this place was.

He watched the piles of monsters lined outside of the place, and slid into a crowd of quiet tall, and towering monsters, following them into the establishment, hiding from the security guard by an inch. Exhaling softly he stepped out of the crowd and gasped in amazement. The room was filled head to toe with coloured fire and magic, neon lights lighting up the various stages that had performers. Until Moloch moved his gaze to the main stage. His eyes widened as he took a seat close to it, watching the two popular performers.

"Fizz?" Moloch questioned out-loud, watching with a tilt of his head.

He sung proudly with Asmodeus, before bowing and a loud cheer and jeer erupted from the crowd, screaming and even flowers thrown on stage.

"You're too kind!" Asmo laughed out-loud and picked it up, kissing it, making an audience member scream in response.

"THAT'S MY FLOWER!"

Moloch rolled his eyes, before catching the attention of the starring and silent Fizz. Both of them stared at each other for a minute long.

"Well, it seems like Fizz found a long lost friend" Asmo announced, leaning down and whispering something into his "ear" before waving good bye and disappeared into the curtains.

"MOLOCH" Fizz smiled, rolling off the stage.

"I cant believe you just abandoned our friendship for this" Moloch blinked frowning, crossing his arms.

Fizz sheepishly shrugged, humming.

"IT PAYS WELL"

"and you get to spend time with your new, what? hubbie?"

"FRIEND!" he shrieked.

Moloch sighed in amusement, shaking his head. "'right"

Fizz twiddled his thumbs. "SO, WHY ARE YOU HERE? OH! AND DID YOU WANNA GET A DRINK?"

Moloch looked around at the rest of the patrons, as they all went back to their own performance or food.

"Well, 1, I was here cause I just wanted to? And yeah, sounds good." Moloch smiled, his tail waving back and forth.

Fizz took his hand and lead him to the fancy bar that was tucked away from the public eye, the stages being the main attraction but still had a good reputation of its own.

"WHAT SUITS YOUR FANCY?"

"uh, wine" he asked.

"ONE WINE!" He glared at one of the bartenders, they quickly going to work.

They both sat down at the leather stools, chattering softly, sipping on their chosen of beverages. Talking about their life, catching up.

At the end of the night both were, very, drunk, but their smiles were genuine.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

TAADAAA!!!

hopefully moloch likes wine, if not i'll correct it :''')))

#x OC #strawberrycow writes #OC X CANNON #Hellvua Boss #hellvua boss x oc #OC request

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 4 years ago

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Desperate situations call for desperate measures. Ch.II Dave York x F!reader. #Writer Wednesday 05/19/21

#Writer Wednesday 05/19/21 for @autumnleaves1991-blog

Summary: After you did your first job for Dave, you’ve been training for this moment. Your first job alone, your first kill.

Warning: Dave York, he’s a warning in his own, descriptions of murder and death, anxiety and panic attacks, blood and injuries. Maybe some kissing...or not

A/N: This is a second part of a series that started with the second picture challenge in a #Writer Wednesday called “Desperate situations call for desperate measures” read it here, it would not make sense if you read this alone. This is slow burn and for the moment I let everything a bit suggestive but it would eventually become hotter. Because Dave is Dave and he likes to torture us.

Desperate situation call for desperate measures. Chapter II

8518 Rayburn Rd, Bethesda, MD 20817

“I’m sorry everything is a mess. I was not used to live alone. My wife left a month ago and I thought I could manage everything by myself at first, but...” the man opens the door to you and lowers his head in shame.

You can see the bare mattress since the fitted sheet is partly touching the carpet and the duvet is a ball at one side, you can see from here that he didn’t bother to change the pillowcases and the one he uses has his head shaped into it with yellowish marks of sweat on them. The rest of the room is sprinkled with dirty laundry and empty glasses and dirty dishes. In front of the bed the closet stays open, no clothes hanging in it as the laundry basket is full and the clothes spills over until they fall around it.

The room stinks and the half closed shutters and the window glass full of dust assure he hasn’t aired it in a long time. He’s a pig, a lazy dirty pig but, does he deserve to die? You breathe deeply trying to ignore the sour taste the smell of the room leaves in your mouth.

“I will do the laundry and change the sheets first” you say with a soft smile

“Thank you, I’ll be in my office if you need me” he walks away in his pajamas and drags his feet over the carpet as if he couldn’t even raise the weight of his legs, destroyed and done with the world, with no clean clothes just a pajama and two non matching socks. And he will die like this. You think is not fair, whatever he has done, he deserves a little bit of dignity. But that’s not your choice. That’s what you have to do, it’s not personal.

You try not to breathe while you pretend to tidy up. When you hear the soft muffle tunes of country music, you know it’s time. You take off your shoes and walk stealthily towards the room at the end of the aisle. From the door you see his bald head, eyes fixed on his computer, and he doesn’t hear you when you come close to him as you have observe from weeks of stalking you know he listens to his music too loudly, so when you insert the needle on his carotid that’s the first time he notices you.

His head turns with an expression of horror and surprise, his blue eyes widely open while his thin capillaries burst clouding his eyeballs in red while he gasps.

“Shhh” you hear yourself making soothing sounds to him and you hold his head with care with your hands covered in black latex gloves. It’s no personal, you repeat in your head when you see how he face contorts when the air is not longer getting inside his lungs, the veins in his neck are thick and visible through his now red skin. You turn your head and try to remember all the shit Dave has told you. You try to remember his deep voice, his hands guiding your movements

“It’s not personal” he said and now you repeat it loudly, the target expires and he tenses for a moment and then you let him go, his face hitting the keyboard.

“It’s not personal” you whimper and hold back the tears remembering the DNA that you absolutely cannot leave.

You didn’t even catch his name, you actually think you ignore it once he told you, but now it doesn’t matter, because with name or without it, his face will burn forever in your mind. Your first job, your first kill.

It’s not personal.

6 months ago. Dave’s car, after the phone booth call

“We have arrived” his palm burns on your cheek and you suddenly remember where you are. His cologne and aftershave on his wool coat, the fresh and clean scent inside his car and the mud you have brought inside it.

“Arrive where?” you raise on your sit and look through the windows, it’s a common street, small apartments buildings stuck to one and other, a few cars parked to both sides and the sidewalks glow with the dew of the imminent sunrise.

“Safe house” he says before exiting the car, you see him turn until he opens your door and bends down looking at you like evaluating if you could get out on yourself “Come” Dave lends you his hand and you take it holding it tightly trying to gather the strength to move your legs but they shake so violently that Dave grabs you by the waist and pulls you out of the car. Your body, used to the warmth inside the vehicle, tremble and your muscles stiffen in the chill air of the dawn.

You lean on Dave and let him drag you to the stairs of the building while your head rests on his shoulder “we haven’t use this once in a while, but for tonight it will do” he comments as he opens the glass door. There’s no sound coming from the few flats on each floor, some of the walls look half painted and you wonder if there’s someone living here, would he own a damn building in the center of the city?

The apartment is big, dark wood parquet and white walls make the room look open and there’s only a marble isle with two stools close to the kitchen and a grey sofa in front of it.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom. You need a warm bath”

He lets you seated on the toilet while he prepares everything. You observe him, he wears all black: a hoodie and sweatpants and it’s a drastic change from the first time you met him. His brown hair is disheveled as if he had taken off a hat or a helmet. Where was he before you called him?

“There’re only man clothes here, but tomorrow I will bring you something more suitable” He has a duffle bag and he takes out some small shampoo and shower gel bottles, toothbrush and paste and a plastic zip bag full of what looks like to be different medication.

“You’re always prepared” you mutter and you feel your voice coarse and how it stings to say anything. You screamed, a lot, you remember now how they killed Tom and how you fled.

“We have to be” Dave bends down and adjusts the temperature while the water runs down from the shower head. He extends his hand to the stream “I think it’s warm enough. I leave you to it” he gives you one of those warm smiles and you notice now that a dimple appears when he does it. You know nothing of him but for some reason you’re sure that he doesn’t let many people see this kind of gentleness and it makes your heart beat faster. You hope that smile is only for you, that you own that little part of him.

You get up and stumble when your head turns

“Hey take it easy. There’s a towel just on the sink. I’ll wait outside” he lingers on the door frame when you don’t move for a few minutes, your gaze fixed on the bathroom mirror, the steam from the shower cannot conceal the horror it reflects. Your hair is a mess, some of it glued in sweat and mud on your cheek, you have bruises and bleeding scratches all over the skin your stupid dress didn’t cover.

“I’ll be just here, say something if you need me” Dave interrupts your thoughts and he closes the door leaving you alone with you reflection. That woman out of a horror movie you don’t recognize. You strip feeling how every movement makes you flinch, every fiber of your body screaming in pain. You remember how you ran, how you waited hours in the cold mud. Your feet hurt as if you were stepping on fire when you touch the warm water, it runs towards the drain black and red, when your feet are clean you see the blisters and cuts you have on them. You walk humming slowly and you sound just like a zombie and you feel like one. But you’re not dead.

When the warm running water hits your back you moan and you stay there until you feel your muscle untangle, head down watching all the dirt leaving your body. And it feels so nice that you could fall sleep right here, it feels so peaceful that you feel as if your soul could leave your body. But you’re not dead.

You know who’s dead? a voice asks in your head. You mumble his name, the name of your friend. Tom. Yes, he’s dead, probably his body stiff and cold in a puddle of his own blood on the pavement of that dreadful place, and here you are in a nice apartment taking a warm shower. Probably the nicest place you’ve been in a while, your house, his house, the house of your dead friend was not this classy and tidy, but he put a roof over your head, shared the food he had with you even if it was just crumbles, even if he was stupid. Nobody deserves to die like a pig and be let wherever to be never seen again.

Does he have a family? You met other friends of his, they must be worried. What did they do with his body? Where’s his mum? Now that you think about it he used to have some long calls on weekends, maybe it was her o maybe a partner. Anyway somebody must be looking for him or they will be once he doesn’t show up in a few days. They deserve to know. You have to tell Dave about it. No, he will dismiss it. It’s too dangerous...you’re the last person somebody saw Tom with, you lived with him these past few weeks so once they look for him, they will look for you... and how will you explain...

You haven’t noticed how the water is burning your skin and how you breathing is getting faster and faster until you cannot get enough air in your lungs for much you try. You attempt to call Dave but your chest feels like it’s made of stones. The steam and you eyes starts to blurry making it impossible to get out and you hit the glass screen to get out and suddenly they are open and from the white mist you feel his body holding you

He hushes on your forehead as he did when he had picked you up. Holding your head on his big palms he makes you look at him.

“Breathe for me. Can you do that?” and you nod “Try to match my breathing” He place your head to his chest and he inhales deeply and let his air out slowly. You whimper feeling as if your lungs could expand and release the air, but hearing his breathing and feeling how his strong chest is pressed against you pushing you out and back in again. And you can breathe again. “Let’s get you clean and then you can rest” He places your numb body under the shower head while he pours some shower gel on his hand.

It smells just like him, fresh and some deep tones you cannot identify but it relaxes you instantly. You pay no mind that you’re naked as the day you wear born and Dave doesn’t give any sign that it bothers him. He softly grabs one of your arms and brushes his hand leaving pearly white bubbles over your skin and he turns you and cleans your back and then he slowly repeats the process to the other arm “Stay here” he says getting you back to the wall while switches to the shampoo bottle “Lower your head for me” he commands and gently brushes two of his fingers over you nape leaving your skin in gooseflesh.

He scratches your scalp softly massaging from the forehead to your neck, his knuckles softly pressing on your hurting vertebrae and you moan loudly. The pressure you felt over your shoulders swiftly being relieved. “Let’s rinse it and you can go to sleep” his voice is soft and deep, the sweetest music you’ve heard mixed with the murmur of the water. He passes the shower head over your head until you imagine there’s no more soap and then he wraps you in a soft white towel and gets you out of the shower. You walk on your tiptoes, your feet too hurt to fully press them on the ground.

“Almost there” he whispers

The bed is the nicest you have tested in your whole life, the pillows adapt to your head and you moan feeling a mixture of pain, pleasure and tiredness as you have never experience.

“I will let you sleep now and I will come back in the morning” he flips his wrist, his silver watch shakes and he looks at it with disgust for a second “well, in a few hours, you need at least a good 8 hours, and we will see what to do next”

Your mind is foggy and you watch him through semi closed eyes “Thank you” you whisper “but what happens with Tom?” you ask, mid sentence your voice breaks and you exhale all your air before you could give in to the panic again.

Dave raises one eyebrow, seated next to you on the bed; he evaluates you for a second.

“I know he’s dead, I...what about his body? his family?”

“Sadly nobody knows what happened to him... or to you” he sighs, his face show a perfect image of sadness “And nobody will” the change it’s fast, you can see his eyes turn darker, it’s a warning. Nobody will know and you better keep it that way

“But...the police” he hushes you again and a kindly brushes his knuckles over your cheek

“We’ll talk later. Do you think you will sleep or you need me to get you something to help you fall asleep?” he points to the bathroom where he left the plastic zip bag

“No, thank you” you answer and you feel already how you’re slurring the words

“Good girl”

You will think later it was part of your dreams. That your brain was so desperate to find any comfort, to try to stop the never ending loop of Tom’s death in your head that it imagined something you have wanted since you met Dave.

He bends down and comes closer until your faces are almost touching. You feel the tip of his nose and his fresh breath over your cheek but in a second he goes a few millimeters down and his lips touch yours so briefly that when your mind can process it, it’s already gone.

You fight your eyes and your body, you want to whine and ask for more, ask for his body against yours again, but you fall sleep and when you wake up, sweating, scared and screaming, he’s not there.

8518 Rayburn Rd, Bethesda, MD 20817. Half an hour after the target’s death.

You have clean everything up. Somebody will ask for him, his neighbors, maybe his family or friends, probably his boss. They will think that he must have mixed two of his medicaments, the one his doctor specifically had advice to keep apart because it could be dangerous to mix together but since it was his wife who organized everything and now she’s gone; they will find that he had effectively mixed the two inside the cupboards. The house is a mess, his mind was too so nobody will be surprised he committed a silly fatal error. His dirty laundry will stay there until they empty the house and throw away his things, those permanent things will disappear from earth as he had. And nobody will know the truth.

You carefully take out your gloves and the needle with the small glass bottle inside a zipper plastic bag and you get out of the house. A dark big truck waits for you and you get on the passenger’s seat.

“So, how did it go?” he asks

“Fine. it’s done” you take out your wig and the net that keeps your hair carefully tucked inside to prevent you from leaving DNA

Dave looks at you for a moment and reaches for your head massaging the scalp and you press your lips together so a moan doesn’t escape from it though his fingers untangling an relieving the pressure from the wig is the most intimate and delicious thing you’ve felt. Well, since the day he had showered you because you were exhausted.

He’s nicely dressed in a grey suit and a red tie, from the rearview mirror you see his wool coat and black leather briefcase. Where is going? where was he ? It’s been six month since he started your training and still you have no clue of who he really is.

You snap back to reality once you feel his hand on your chin

“Are you sure?” he asks. His brown eyes penetrate you and you wish that that bridge he builds between you two would be a two way street. That one day you will know every little corner of him as he knows about yourself and your mind. But for the moment you’re lost in his presence, blindfolded and wishing he could show you more but scare of what you might find.

“He’s dead, I watched him die and checked him minutes after like you taught me” you respond lowering your head. You don’t want to show him how you were on the break of tears, how you had second thoughts and how you pitied the poor man.

“I’m not asking about him, I’m asking about you” he lifts your face up

“I’m okay” you mutter and cough to gain a little bit more of strength in your voice “I’m fine”

“Then congratulations” he smiles and you look at him confused “It’s your first job alone and you did well” he explains “Open the glove box” he starts the car while you wait confused by the whole thing “Open it, c’mon, there’s a gift for you” he smirks

You do and there’s a white laminated badge. You recognize Dave’s face and you see for the first time his full name: David York, CIA.

You turn your head to him, a cold stream of sweat runs through your nape.

“I know you’ve worried about the police, how they will find you; and you’ve been loyal, obedient and efficient. As I told you, you will learn to trust me as the team and I will trust you back” he looks at the road while he speaks and you cannot take out your eyes from the badge

“Am I...am I working for the CIA?” you ask

“God, no!” he laughs, a deep husky chuckle “What I mean, it’s that we’re safe. I can contain things when we need to. So you can relax”

Relax? If anything you’re way more scared of him now you know this. He must me lying; he can falsify one of those...right? Or is he being honest?

“And that’s my gift?” you say closing the small door. You cannot lay your eyes anymore on that thing

“No, there’s more”

He parks at your neighborhood, the same he took you to six month ago. It’s not fully decorated yet but you’re proud of what you’re doing with it and it reminds you of the houses that you used to see in those style magazines: open concept, simple colors and practical furniture. On the tea table at the center of the leaving room there’s a blue box with a ribbon. Dave points to it “That’s for you”

You open it and gasp: There’s a small cactus, your book but it hasn’t its usual yellowish pages and the covers are not wrinkled, and that old picture, the only happy memory of your childhood is now framed in a nice silver frame. The things you left months ago in Tom’s house.

“You kept my things...all this time?”

“I couldn’t take them when Resnik went to make sure there was nothing to tie him to us, but he gave me a list of your belongings and I thought it will be nice if you keep something from your old life”

“How did you find that picture, the only person that has another copy is...” you open your eyes widely “You haven’t...”

“He’s alive; I just took what I wanted to know about you and that picture”

“Thank you” you hold the frame to your chest holding back tears

“You’re welcome”

He nods and turns away to leave

“Dave?”

“Hm?”

“What did he do?”

“What did I tell you?”

“It’s not personal”

and he nods but he gazes at you and how your hands hold the frame tightly and you’re starting to breathe deeply

“Would it help if you knew that he was a horrible human being?”

“Well...” you bite your lip

“It won’t, I assure you” he walks slowly towards you until he’s so close and you wish it wouldn’t be so easy, that you wouldn’t be tamed as a small pet just with his presence close to you and his scent clouding your judgment.

“That’s what you do for the CIA?”

“Don’t be eager. You and I will eventually know each other really well” he grins and takes the frame from your hands “You were a very beautiful baby” he smiles at the picture

“Thanks”

“What are you dress up as?” He gives you one of those warm smiles and you feel the hunger to just jump to his lips and kiss him. My smile, that warmth, that small spark of kindness is mine.

“A fairy...a princess, something like that”

“Very pretty” he carefully puts the frame at the center of the table

“That girl would be very surprised to know that now she kills people”

“She will, and have to be, very proud to be a survivor” there’s something in his eyes, an anger but not towards you, something that hurts him and you wish to know, that he’d be as naked and transparent as you are for him.

“I don’t feel very proud today” you keep your eyes fixed on that baby almost lost on the pink tulle, smiling with almost no teeth to the woman holding her on her lap. Tears gather on the corner of your eyes

“You will learn to let it go, I promise” his hand hold you and you feel that you’ve landed back on earth after many memories have awaken the storm inside your heart.

How can he calm you, scare you, make you feel safe and weak at the same time?

“So I didn’t graduate today?” you shake your head and he smiles

“Not yet. You’re closer to be what I wanted and needed, but not yet there, sweetheart”

“What else is there to be taught?” you’ve training not stop for the past six months.

“So much” his thumb traces your jaw line

“Until I’m what you want and need” you repeat his words

“Exactly, do you still want to?”

You give a last look at the past, at your past self, that happy innocent baby that would never thought she will be so lost in the future, so desperate and alone until she found this man that had give her this twisted life, full of shadows and dark thoughts, lies and death and that you’re dying to be even more tangled with him that you already are.

“I’m yours, Dave”

(Since you were interested in a continuation for the first chapter, here you go. Thank you for you nice feedback on the first one and I hope you like it and sorry for taking so long to get a second part : @ericasabe @1andthesame)

#writer wednesday #Dave York #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york pit #the equalizer 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #Pedro Pascal characters fanfic

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the--sad--hatter · 4 years ago

Text

Red - One-Shot (Loki x Reader)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Warnings: Injury, blood, moral compass shifting.

Summary: When the cost of being a hero is too high, what will become of you? And when you’re on the precipice of change, who’s the person who helps you?

Scores of hero’s had battled him before you had your turn, and it was only luck that placed you in his path when he was already exhausted. Or maybe it wasn’t luck at all.

Maybe it was fate.

Whatever it was, it was the crucible in which your downfall was contained. You might have been an Avenger, a fighter, a hero, but you were not equipped to fight a god and survive, let alone win. But he was already weakened by the Widows bite, his ribs bruised by the Captains Shield, his energy depleted by the witches power, his flesh scorched by Iron Man’s repulsors, his spirit sapped by his brothers ego. He had been battled into near submission and when you drove your dagger into his chest, he could not stop it. The blade pierced his skin, sliding between his ribs with ease, and crimson blood poured from the wound you had inflicted, spilling over your hand.

His blood was cold, dripping down your wrist like icy water and coating your hand like a scarlet glove.

You both moved in tandem, looking down at the dagger, each as equally shocked as the other. Your breath crystallised in the cold air as you gasped, heart hammering in your chest. It was in the moment you realised you may have slain Loki, that you realised you really didn’t want to. Fear gripped your heart, squeezing until it hurt so much that you couldn’t breathe.

Had you just killed someone, killed the god of Mischief?

“You missed.” He whispered, his voice filled with sympathy.

You’d just stabbed him, and he was showing you sympathy? You dragged your eyes away from the terrible wound you’d inflicted, from your fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade sticking out of his chest. His words settled over the fog around your mind and seeped through it, until they made some kind of sense.

“I missed?” You repeated hopefully, pleading with your eyes.

His face softened exponentially as he gave you a small and fleeting smile.

“Yes. You did not pierce my heart with your dagger.” He clarified, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and very carefully pulling your hand away until you released your grip on the fateful blade.

You let him manoeuvre your shaking hand away, trying and failing to swallow down the whimper in your throat as blood continued to pulse out the edges of his wound.

“Wait! No! Stop!” You yelped as he grasped the handle, stalling him before he could pull it out.

“I must remove it so my body can begin to heal it.” He sighed, his already pale skin growing paler by the second.

Right, Asgardian, or something. Not human. He probably wouldn’t bleed to death if he removed it, hopefully. You ignored the incessant buzzing in your ears, vaguely familiar voices demanding information, begging for assurances of your safety. All your attention was reserved for Loki, and for what you had done to him. He yanked the blade out in one swift movement, before you had a chance to prepare for it. Crimson liquid welled up in the gash left behind, streaming out of it in an alarming stream, and your hands moved of their own accord, twisting to press against the wound in a fruitless attempt to keep any more of his blood from spilling out. His blood was, quite literally, on your hands.

What the hell had you done?

You had trained for this, every day for months. You had been trained to be a hero by the best of them, but you hadn’t prepared yourself for what it meant to be a killer. Adrenaline and training had pushed you forward in your task, and only when the blade had sunk deep and it was too late, did you realise what your task really was.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You whimpered, choking on the fucking useless apology. “Please don’t die. I don’t want you to die.”

“You don’t want me to die, or you don’t want to be my killer?” He chuckled weakly, devoid of humour and dripping with weariness.

But even as he had asked the harsh but fair question, his hand cupped your cheek, gently lifting your face until you met his eyes. There was absolutely no anger in his gaze, none. No rage, no hate, no disdain. Just exhaustion, pain, and sympathy.

“I don’t want you to die.” You admitted.

You didn’t want to kill him, you didn’t want to kill anyone, you knew that now. But more than that, you didn’t like that he was hurt, and you couldn’t bear to see him injured any further. He was supposed to be the villain here, but he was the one comforting his attempted assassin, and the hero’s were the one ‘s who had put the knife in your hand and told you where to strike.

Good and bad weren’t simple concepts right now, they weren’t black and white. They were just red, blood red.

“In that, we have common ground. I would prefer to survive this as well.” He sassed, and against all odd you found a laugh bubbling out of your chest.

“There, that’s much better.” He crowed softly, tracing the edge of your smile with his thumb.

“Why? I hurt you. I…” You whispered against his fingertips.

“You’re not like the others, you’re not like anyone. Of all those who have hurt me, and there have been many, you are the first to show any kind of remorse. Strong enough to stab a god, and kind enough to cry for him.” He explained. “You are not like them.”

Your heart had been hanging on by a flimsy thread, but his admittance obliterated it. You could feel the fissure’s running through it, feel it tremble in your chest, and just as it was about to crumble into dust, he wrapped his arm around your waist and strode forwards, leading you with him in some kind of tragic waltz across the battlefield. Darkness fell over the two of you as he backed you into the shadows of a nearby building, pressing you further into the darkness as the sky shook and the familiar figure of Thor fell from the clouds and landed on the concrete.

Loki’s arms fell away from you and he stepped to the side, letting you see what he’d left behind. You, held aloft in his grip, eyes filled with fear. An illusion, meant for Thor.

“LOKI!” Thor bellowed. “Unhand her, and face me brother!”

“Step out of the shadows, show him you are quite safe.” Loki, the real Loki whispered.

An offer, not a challenge. One you didn’t understand the point of.

“Or?” You asked.

“Let The Avengers watch you burn into ash at my hand, and escape them and the life you so clearly do not want.”

He was offering to kill you. To have your team watch you die. A cruel offer, a dark one, but…

You didn’t want this life, he was right. And you never really had, you had only gone along with everybody else’s plans for you. You had let Earth’s Mightiest Hero’s mould you, twist you into one of them, suit you up as an Avenger, never once really telling you what that might mean. What it might cost you.

Cruel, Dark, and Justified.

“Kill me.” You hissed decisively.

They would suffer, but they would survive. You weren’t close to them, not really. There would be some guilt, a little anger, and then they would move on. They would be more affected by having lost something to Loki, than actually having lost you. So you didn’t feel a shred of guilt as illusory flames roared to life over your doppelgänger.

Thor’s roar was all rage, and not pain. His eyes were fixed upon the fake Loki, and not the smouldering remains of what he believed to be you. Loki’s illusion moved in tandem with him, both conjuring a glowing blue cube from nowhere. In the distance you saw the rest of The Avengers converge upon the scene, and you turned your back on them, concerning yourself with the only thing that mattered anymore.

“Take me away.” You begged, ripping the jacket of your super suit off and pressing it to Loki’s wound.

The hero was dead, long live whatever the hell you were going to become now.

“Come. Freedom awaits us.” Loki whispered in your ear, wrapping his arm around you once again as the world bled into blue.

Loki Taglist (Open) @myfandomlife-blog @unfriendlyrightfighter @cateyes315 @ibraggins27 @midgardian-mistress @cinnamonmouse8 @nonsensicalobsessions @sarahs-castle-of-clouds @elizabethlaufeyson @sarahs-castle-of-clouds @marvelsangels @queenneso @elizabethlaufeyson @superdoggo-39

Everything Taglist (Temporarily Open) @helloimanavenger @littleredstarfish @dilaila95 @buckysknifecollection @justellu @spnrvt @deathofmissjackson @sexyvixen7 @fairislesheets @rvgrsbrns @dahkness @riverdaleserpent04 @jazztherebel @tell-me-a-poem @hiddles-rose @severepienerdturkey @life-wanderer @unlikelygalaxygiver @fangirlwithatrowel @abo4280ooof @destiel-artemis @dilaila95 @tarastudiesalot @toxic-pineapple @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @breezy1415 @chaoticfiretaconerd @marvelfansworld @stareyedplanet @themusingsofmany @zeannastardust @littleredstarfish @sammyissassy @alexakeyloveloki @kaz22992 @randomidiot4444 @inquisitor-selvala @lianadelphius @happybookmuffin @tony-stank3 @amoonagedaydreamer @dropthepizza346 @my-drowning-in-time @belles-garden @lieswithoutfairytales @rororo06 @lookalivefrosty

#loki #loki x reader #avengers #the avengers #the avengers x reader

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di-kut · 5 years ago

Text

Morning

Pero Tovar x Reader

A/N: I am again writing Tovar to avoid writing other things. Set in the same world as this, a small (meant to be) oneshot I wrote on my main blog, but much earlier in time. Reader and Tovar wake up after their second night together. They talk. Things are weird. I don’t really know what this is except I wanted more so here it is. This is very short and unedited. You don’t have to read the other post to read this one.

The sound of someone moving about the kitchen wakes you. It’s a slow, syrupy sort of wakening. Your eyelids and limbs feel thick and heavy. The blankets are pushed back to your waist. Dust mites float gently through the stream of late morning light in the window. Piece by piece the cottage comes into being. The boots in the corner. The clucking of the hens. More of a scrabbling. You blink slowly. The kitchen has gone quiet again.

The night before settles in your mind. You push yourself upright, throw off the covers. Turn your head to the boots again and the heavy leather cuirass. Had thought they were your husband’s, still half asleep. Realise now how they could not possibly have been. Your legs shake when you touch your feet to the ground. Makes you flush, from your hairline to your breasts. The bruises are constellations on your thighs and your stomach. Around your nipples. The shape of his mouth. The soldier. Tovar. You hear things being shifted in the kitchen again. Hear the hens, the scratching, still stuck in their pen. The sun is climbing well above the trees, the sky a bright, brilliant blue. You have not slept so late in months.

You dress with shaking hands. Your head feels full of wool and your mouth dry. You did not drink ale. Had never drunk ale. Until last night. Until the soldier you had only met once, and now bedded twice, had bought it to you. From England, he’d said. Your hair is so tangled you give up braiding it, listen to the sounds of the stranger digging through your things. Through your life. Think of the meagre purse of coin in the drawer with the cutlery. Your dress is the same one you had worn yesterday. Cotton. Used to be a pretty blue, one of your favourites, now threadbare and faded. Piled under the arms and around the neck. You wrap the woollen shawl over it, high around your neck despite the warmth. A necessary protection. Make your way to the kitchen.

He is sitting at your table. Elbows crowded around his plate, legs splayed beneath. Wearing his trousers and his undershirt, but not his armour. His dark eyes find you immediately, knowing and unreadable. His scar pulls at his left eye as he eats, rips the bread with thick fingers and shoves it into his mouth. Smiles when he sees you. It isn’t a particularly nice smile – certainly not friendly. A secret smile, a knowing one. One that makes you flush pink all over again. You lean in the small doorway, unsure. Feel displaced in your own house, feel like he seems more at home here than you do. And maybe it’s true. You certainly haven’t felt as if you belonged in the cottage in months. You envy him. At ease in a place he does not know. Think it must be his life to live like that, from place to place. Feel suddenly very small and very childish in your small corner of the world.

“Sit,” he says to you.

You hesitate. Lean back slightly into the small bedroom and then step out. The floor is stone in the main part of the house, and cool even in the warm summer. Makes you curl your toes as you walk and settle into the stool across from him. Wince when you sit too hard.

He does not miss it. His smile grows, from secretive to smug. “Be careful, yes?” He doesn’t expect an answer, but you nod anyway. “Here, eat.”

You take the large piece of bread he rips off for you gingerly. Hold it over the table in front of you and watch him. He bites into his. He is not gentle, or well mannered. Crumbs fall all around him. Your eyes drop to his mouth, the same mouth which had last night been between your legs. Had called you beautiful. He chuckles. It draws your gaze back up. You go red again and bite into the bread, look away from him completely.

“You are shy. You look at me. You did more than look last night.” You can’t meet his eyes. Stare at a knot in the wood of the tabletop. He laughs again. “Very shy. Your husband does not do such things?”

“I – No.” You swallow. “My husband did not… He never…”

Tovar pushes the rest of the bread towards you. “You must ask him to do this. It makes it much more enjoyable for you, yes?” You are glad he does not expect an answer, this time, because you can make none. You are so flushed it makes you almost dizzy. “Best not to say to him where you get this idea from. He may not like that.”

“My husband is dead.” You say. Still staring at the knot in the wood. “He died when the attacks came from the east. Last summer.”

Tovar is quiet. You risk a glance. He is watching you still, but the smile is gone. He looks almost – pensive. Like he is lingering between two thoughts. He does not say sorry. He does not offer you any condolences. And it makes you guilty, but you are glad. Do not wish to hear anymore pity or second-hand sadness. He just watches you with his dark eyes. You take another small bite from the bread he’d given you. The bread he had brought with him from the inn in town when he’d followed you in the dusk back to your cottage. The bread you had watched him take from the bag of another man, a traveller with a velvet doublet and silk undershirt. It is very good bread. Filled with dried fruits and nuts. You push yourself up carefully and cross to the small chest of drawers. Pull the top drawer open and pretend to search for a knife. Stick your hand in far enough to pick up the purse which is still there and test its weight in your palm. Return it and pull out a long, serrated knife for the bread. Sit back at the table across from him.

He grins at you. “I did not steal your coin.”

You slice a piece and nibble at the side of it. Disappointed. Thought you had been more subtle than that. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do. And you are wise to check this.”

You say nothing to him. Continue to eat until you cannot anymore, and you push the last of it back to the middle of the table. Tovar takes it without another word and wraps it again in the wax paper it had been stolen in. Places it on the wide bench at the side of the room. Picks up one of the rags slung over the edge of the beam beneath it and wipes the crumbs onto the floor, nudges your arms off the surface of the table so he can wipe it over. You watch him, surprised. Had not expected him to show such care.

You need to let the hens out. To check the gardens. You had planted a bed too early in the winter and it had failed, and the rest you had planted too late. Had let the winter vegetables sit for too long before harvesting them. Had not turned the soil in preparation for summer. And now you were behind. You had not grown up on a farming property, and what you had learned from your husband you had never expected to have to do alone. Had expected to be able to afford to keep on your manservant. Had expected children. Had expected him to live longer. You rub at your brow and move into the bedroom to ready yourself. Don’t know how to ask Tovar to leave. Not sure you trust him in the cottage alone.

Tovar joins you while you dress, does not comment when you turn your back to him, pulling on your apron and attempting to tame your hair into a braid. Have to comb it for some time. He watches you openly. Pulls on his boots while you struggle with the knots. Watches your hands while you braid. Stares at the bruises trailing the length of your neck and jaw, phantom touches left behind, a trail from your ear to your nipple, disappearing beneath your dress. Does not seem to care that this embarrasses you. If anything he seems to enjoy it more because you squirm under his heavy gaze.

“I am going. I must go back to the camp.”

You nod without looking to him. Concentrate on tying the scarf around your hair.

“You will be sore today,” he says. As if this means nothing. As if he is simply observing something. And he is, you suppose. But it makes your stomach twist up and your thighs ache at the memory of him between them the night before. “You should not work too hard.”

The question tumbles out before you can stop it. Before you have even registered the thought. Not jealous. Not exactly. Curious. Scared. This is a world you have never known before this man, this soldier. A world you did not explore even with your husband. Are not allowed to talk about.

“Is that normal?” You frown.

“Hurting? Some types of hurting, these are good. Should not be a bad hurting.”

“No, I – ” You pick at your nailbed. “Not hurting. When, when you, with your mouth. You have done that before? With others?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

And the whole things makes you feel childish again. Silly and small. He is surprisingly kind. His is not laughing at you any longer. “This thing. Knowing these things. This is easier for men, because we are not blamed to seek these flesh comforts. But you should not feel bad for learning them. If they make you feel good.” He shrugs. “This way you can find many more things you like which will make you feel good.”

“There are more ways?”

He does laugh at this. “Many ways.”

“My husband, he never…” You cut yourself off. Horrified you would bring him up with this man, like this. Different to explaining his absence. Comparing them. You clamp your mouth shut. Tovar crosses to you and lays a hot, large hand over your shoulder. “How long are you staying in town?”

“I do not know. A week, maybe. And then we will go east again. This is how my life is.”

He sounds pleased with this. You do not ask him if you will see him again. He pulls his armour over his head and straps it around his torso. Collects his sword from where it leans. You walk him through the kitchen and into the stable, a wooden shack built against the stone wall of the cottage. His horse is mottled white and brown. Makes your mule skittish. You stay with him until he leads the mare out through your yard and into the fields surrounding. Far enough out of town that there are no people to watch him go. Close enough that you can hear the distant clamour of the regiment of army overflowing the village. You close the gate between you.

“Do you worry you will die?” You ask as he swings onto his mount.

“We will all die.” He says simply. “This is why we do the things which bring us pleasure.”

#look i am just soft for pero rn #and avoiding two other writing things like the plague #this is just so self indulgent again #i dont know what this is #honestly #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #my fic #fic #the great wall #pedro pascal

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 5 years ago

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Small Town Girl

Summary: Sometimes when you want someone, you have to prove it to them. Pairing: Chris Pratt x Reader Word Count: 2160 Warnings: None, unless you don’t like fluff! Challenge: This is a transfer from my multi-fandiom blog. I wrote it a while back for Ash’s ‘90s Challenge. My prompt was Shape of My Heart by BSB – I went more with the spirit of the song. @captain-s-rogers

The summer day was cool, even for Seattle. Chris zipped up his jacket and continued his trek from the pier where the ferry had docked, to the farmers’ market he visited one or two weekends every month. Sometimes he brought cuts of lamb to barter for other products, but today he came with only his backpack and his wallet.

Customers and merchants alike were bustling around the market. There wasn’t a bad time to be part of the crowd, but Chris always preferred to come out mid-morning so that he could get his purchases done and return back to his home on San Juan Island to enjoy the rest of the day.

“Mr. Pratt, I have fresh spinach bunches, just for you!” an old man called to him.

Chris smiled and made his first stop of the day at Mr. Lewis’s greens stand. “You’re too kind. Thanks for setting them aside for me.”

“Of course, of course,” the elderly man replied. “Have you seen Y/N yet today?”

“Just arrived, actually,” Chris said, chuckling through the slight blush that dusted over the tops of his cheeks. “She busy today?”

“As always,” Mr. Lewis replied.

Chris nodded and handed the man a couple of bills to pay for the spinach. He put the paper-wrapped vegetable in his backpack. He waved to Mr. Lewis and promised to stop by on his way back to the ferry.

As he made stop after stop at various stands, filling his backpack and visiting with the regular vendors, Chris took his time getting to Y/N’s stand. She sold flowers mostly, but occasionally set out fruits and vegetables if she had an overabundance from her garden. He had met her on her first day at the farmers’ market, fell in love with her laugh the first time he heard it, and did whatever he could when they crossed paths to make her smile. Her flowers often graced his kitchen table, giving him justification to think about her on the days between his visits to the market.

Mr. Lewis wasn’t the only one aware of his attraction to the woman, thanks to several inquiries Chris had made during his first few visits after meeting her. He hadn’t been told a single bad thing, and had mustered up the courage to casually ask her out for dinner — a few times, actually. Despite his persistence, Y/N always laughed him off, told him the joke was going to get old one day, and to let her know when he found an actress or singer or someone else in the entertainment industry that had captured his heart.

Until he figured out how to convince her that he was serious, he would just have to make due with seeing her during these visits to Seattle.

Backpack almost full, Chris finally made way to Y/N’s stand. She smiled and waved her acknowledgement of his while she finished up with a couple of customers, then sauntered down where he was checking out her selection of dahlias.

“These are even fuller than your last batch, I think,” he mentioned.

Y/N nodded. “I’ve been singing to them.”

“Really?” Chris raised his brow.

“No,” she laughed. “The whole crop of them would be dead if I did that.”

Chris laughed with her. “Well, you got me. How’s life, Y/N/N?”

She shrugged. “Life is life. I plant, I grow, spend time with friends and family. The usual. Oh! I only had a couple of extra heirloom tomatoes, and you’ve got to take them home. They’ll go with anything, but I’ve been eating them on their own, actually.”

Y/N busied herself with searching through the crumped paper bags with her belongings, coming up with two, plump, bright red tomatoes. She handed them to Chris, and he pointed to the dahlias.

“I’ll take a bunch of those, too.”

“Tomatoes are on the house; five for the dahlias.”

They finished out their transaction, Chris put the tomatoes in his backpack, and kept a careful grip on the dahlias. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Y/N cut him off.

“No.”

Chris frowned. “No, what?”

“Chris,” Y/N sighed. “You’ve been coming to my stand for almost four months now, and every time you’ve asked me to dinner, I tell you no. Thanks to Mr. Lewis, I’ve caught on that you’re not joking, but I still think you’re crazy. I’m happy to see you when you come by and I —” She held up her hands and shook her head. “Anyway, the point is, you deserve better than me. You’re way out of my league.”

“That was very honest,” he said, not sure what to make of her answer.

Y/N shrugged. “I’m an honest person.”

Gripping the dahlias a little tighter, Chris leaned forward and spoke so only she could hear him. “You and I are not a crazy idea, and I’m going to show you how serious I am. Just you wait and see.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, then sauntered back towards Mr. Lewis’s stand for some help with the plan already forming in his mind.

* * * * *

Y/N was packing up the few vegetables and flowers left on her table at the end of the day, ready to get home and relax, when Mr. Lewis approached her.

“You had a successful day, it looks like,” Mr. Lewis commented.

Y/N smiled and handed him the last bundle of dahlias. “For Mrs. Lewis — and you’re right, I did have a good day.”

Mr. Lewis smiled his appreciation. “Sophie will love these for the dinner table. Oh, speaking of dinner … this is a huge favor to ask, but I do hope you’ll humor an old man. The church Sophie and I attend has a father-daughter dinner every year, but my daughter isn’t able to attend this year. It’s tonight, which I know is last minute, but perhaps you’d accompany me?”

Y/N smiled. “Of course, Mr. Lewis. I don’t usually make big plans after farmers’ market day, anyway.”

“Then I’m in luck.” He waited for her to write down her address, then tucked the paper safely into his pocket. “I’ll see you just before seven, my dear.”

“I’ll be ready.”

The two friends said their see-you-laters before parting ways. On her way home, Y/N mentally flipped through her closet, deciding which dress would be most appropriate for the event. She wouldn’t have much time to get ready by the time she got home, but she would make it work.

* * * * *

Y/N smoothed out her yellow dress, primped her curls, and checked her makeup in the hallway mirror before answering the door for Mr. Lewis.

“Ah, you look lovely,” he complimented. “Ready?”

Y/N nodded, accepting the elbow he offered to escort her to his car; she noted that he was still in the same clothes he had been wearing at the farmers’ market and felt over-dressed. Not wanting to be rude, Y/N kept the thoughts to herself, instead engaging in small talk with the older man as he navigated through Seattle traffic.

“Mr. Lewis?”

“Yes.”

Y/N bit her lip, hesitating in asking the next question. “I don’t mean to seem rude or anything, but — this seems like the way to the farmers’ market.”

“Yes.”

Y/N frowned then. The man was being tight-lipped for a reason, she was now catching on. The conversation stopped as she tried to figure out what in the world was going on. She didn’t get to wonder for long as they were pulling into a parking space at the market, and Mr. Lewis was coming around to open the door for her. She stepped out and her attention was caught by the candlelight in the distance.

“Go ahead, dear,” Mr. Lewis encouraged. “And hopefully once you’re completely in the know, you’ll forgive me for this little trick. I’ll wait here in case you don’t want to stay — although I’ll be very surprised if you don’t.”

Fear never crossed her mind, only confusion. Y/N made her way across the market lot, towards the candlelight. Her breathing was heavy as excitement took over her emotions; she still didn’t know what was happening, but her interest was piqued enough to keep moving towards the candlelight.

There had to have been at least one hundred candles lit all around the area of the market where she set up her booth. The overhead lights helped, but the candles were what gave way to the whole set up: a table for two with a pretty tablecloth and two tall candles, dahlias in the middle of the table in a pretty vase, and a chair on either side of the round table.

Y/N swallowed hard, as it seemed no one else was around, except for one man standing off the to the side in a suit, with a towel over his arm — obviously in the role of a waiter. When no one else appeared, she took a deep breath.

“Hello?”

Movement to her left caught her attention; Chris stepped out from behind a market banner. He was dressed in a button-up shirt, dark jeans, and dress shoes. Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

“You,” she grinned, shaking her head.

“Me,” Chris confirmed, approaching her. He shoved his hands into his pocket and shrugged. “You wouldn’t accept a dinner date with me, and I get your reasoning, Y/N, but I had to prove to you that I’m serious.”

Her smile fell a little as she remembered her reasoning. “Why? Why me? This is all … it’s amazing — that seems like an understatement. This is the most romantic gesture of my life, okay? But I’m … I’m no one. I moved to Seattle from Small Town, Nowhere, and I live a quiet life here. Your life is — it’s big. It’s bigger than me.”

He pulled one hand from his pocket and interlaced his fingers with hers. “I don’t care about any of that, and I hope someday you don’t, either. Right now though, I’m not asking you to figure out how your life fits with mine. I’m not asking you to marry me or to even start some long-term thing. I can’t say I haven’t thought about that — the point is, I’m just asking you to have dinner with me. One meal. Then we can take it from there. As long as that dinner’s with you … that’s all I need, it’s all I want.”

Y/N couldn’t tell if she was hyperventilating or had stopped breathing all together. Though his words were charming, there was no ulterior motive behind his speech; no intentionally greased words to convince her to have dinner with him. Only true and genuine desires.

“You really were serious before,” she said, squeezing his hand and taken by slight surprise as the lump in her throat.

“Yeah,” Chris said, his other hand coming up to caress her cheek. “I was.”

Y/N let out a deep breath, blinking back the happy, excited tears that were pooling in her eyes. “I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, but if you kissed me before dinner, I wouldn’t be upset. You know, if you’re okay with that.”

Chris smirked. “You kidding me? I’ve been waiting months to kiss you, Y/N.”

He dropped her hand and reached around her waist to pull her flush against him. He caressed her face again as he pressed his lips to her, softly at first, and then with more earnest as both arms encircled her. Y/N’s hands had started on his shoulders, but slowly moved up behind his neck as the kiss deepened.

Before the kiss could turn into a full-on make-out session, the waiter cleared his throat. “Pardon me, but your meal is getting cold, Mr. Pratt.”

Chris cleared his throat and nodded at the waiter before looking back to Y/N. “Guess we should eat, huh?”

She giggled, wiping at her smeared lip gloss. “Guess so.”

The food was delicious, and the conversation even better. By the time Chris and Y/N parted ways — phone numbers exchanged and a second date planned — hours had gone by, and all of the candles had been extinguished by light breezes as they came through the market. Y/N had called a cab to take her home, and Chris waited with her in the parking lot until the yellow car arrived.

“Sure you won’t let me take you home?”

Y/N shook her head. “Just dinner, remember?”

Chris took a deep breath and let it out. His own words were coming back to bite him in the ass. “You’re right. Just dinner. And … another kiss?”

Y/N glanced in the driver’s direction as she leaned with one hand on the open car door. “Okay, but the meter’s running.”

“I’ll give ‘em my card,” Chris whispered before touching his lips to hers once more.

* * * * * * * * * *

Tags: @captain-s-rogers @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @xtina2191

#marvel #fanfiction #chris pratt #reader #reader insert #chris x reader #chris pratt x reader #fluff #chris pratt fluff #chris pratt x reader fluff #chris fluff #chris x reader fluff #random post

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fountainpenguin · 5 years ago

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Do you have any more information on the "Aspen incident" that's been mentioned in a few of your pixie fics? I'm kinda curious to find out what exactly happened but when I search the name Aspen on your blog nothing comes up

Ooh, Aspen’s fun. I worked it out and you technically have all the information you need to answer that question, but it’s all scattered across different pieces because you’re not supposed to know yet. We don’t get to Aspen’s plot for a long time.

I will not give the answer directly, but I will help you out by collecting some hints in this post. Aspen is someone who was associated with some pixies in an ambiguous pre-series time period. He is not alive yet in Origin or Knots, but we will see him towards the end (in both stories). Here are some things Sanderson mentioned about him in Prompt 14, “Minion”-

“I haven’t been forced from a gyne since the incident with Aspen.”

“Our arrangement would only be temporary. But then again, so is my arrangement with the Head Pixie.”

As I stripped away my shirt, I tried to remember who had planted such treacherous thoughts in my head. Were they all mine, or were they what was left of Aspen’s influence, acting up now that I was here in the Pink Castle again, the very place where I had come to know him so well? It seemed like Aspen would have been in understandable favor of Longwood over any other figure…

Here is what Longwood had to say about him in Pink and Gray:

“Dear dust,” he says, “I’m obsessed.”

“With yourself?”

“With children.”

Rosencrantz doesn’t know how to respond to this. Rosencrantz is pretty sure Longwood has confessed to something illegal.

“Not like that,” Longwood clarifies, always one step ahead of the younger pixie and gleaning his thoughts. With a thought and a twitch of the ballpoint pen he uses as a wand, he pings a small picture into his free hand. The frame is dented, the glass shattered long ago. It’s not even a real photograph–only a crayon drawing. A child’s crayon drawing. Longwood hunkers into the chair anyway, caressing the picture with his eyes while holding the shaking chocolate mug to his mouth. He says, “I’m obsessed with that–that shadowman you used to call a mentor.”

“Sanderson?” Rosencrantz presses him cautiously. […]

“I saved his life, Rosebud. You wouldn’t remember. It was long ago. Centuries before you were born, I traded the one I held most dear to save that snotlick’s life, and I pine after him even now. You didn’t know Aspen. But I did. I had the chance. I could have chosen to save what I wanted most. What does that make me feel?”

At this, Longwood bends his head, his wings jolting every few beats. He sinks a little closer to the sidewalk. “H.P., I–You owe me for Aspen.”

“I owe you for what you chose to do to Aspen?”

Longwood looks away. It’s an insult. He shouldn’t have asked.

“Sir, it wasn’t a choice. I had to. It was his fate. If I'd��If I’d tried to protect Aspen, Sanderson would have died. And…”

This pause is tenser.

“And that’s your fault. Isn’t it, sir?”

[…]

Longwood’s fists grow tighter, not looser. He does not raise his head. “I let go of Aspen for you, H.P.”

“Pretend that Sanderson is Aspen, and start enjoying his company,” the Head Pixie says. Stepping off the sidewalk, he circles Longwood and continues on his way.

“Sir,” he says, whisking after his boss, “please.”

“What’s the issue? Sanderson and Aspen have a lot in common. They both enjoy cheese and crackers. They both play with their food.”

Now it’s insulting. “Sir–”

“They favor gingertie wands. They do enjoy their music.”

“Please–”

“And this one’s a gimme, but you know how fond they both are of water.”

“Stop it!”

Longwood isn’t aware that his own ipewood wand is out of its sheath until it’s pointed at the back of his boss’s head. H.P. slows. He turns, the metal star on the dangling tail of his hat ringing out in the silent night like a bell on a bobtail. He’s amused, not upset. When his eyes glint, they seem to cast a sheen across his glasses as a whole. Longwood suddenly realizes his mistake, and jerks his hand down.

“Sir, I–I didn’t mean to–” He grabs for his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ní larki… Please don’t make jokes about water at Aspen’s expense, sir. He gets night terrors. Calming him down is embarrassing. And if Sanderson ever knew Aspen was still…”

“I liked your singing,” Betty told him. “You sing very well.”

Longwood glanced over at her, pulling Kenny’s blankets up to his shoulder. “Thank you for your response. I wasn’t sure I would. It’s been centuries since I’ve sung to a child.” He picked a large plush shark up from the nightstand and tucked it under Kenny’s arm. Kenny snuggled up to it and instantly went right back to sleep.

“Do you have kids?” She hoped he’d say yes. She hadn’t seen any pixie kids yet. True, Sanderson said she and Gary couldn’t live in Pixie World forever or else they’d run out of air to breathe, but Betty hoped they’d visit enough that she could make friends with some pixie kids. Did her Earth friends think she was dead? H.P. had made it sound like they did, or would soon enough. She couldn’t go back to Kansas. No more friends. No more family. No more horses. No more softball. No more school. Betty was trying not to think about that.

“I… had a kid, yes,” Longwood said. “He’s gone.”

“Where does he live now?”

Longwood looked at her more seriously. “I mean, he’s gone. He isn’t ever coming back.”

“Oh. That kind of gone.” Betty looked again at the shark he’d given Kenny. “So is that a dead person’s toy?”

“Aspen’s not dead,” Longwood snapped, and Betty jumped at the shoulders. He inhaled through his teeth. “My apologies for startling you, but I always have to express my disagreement when people state that. Aspen isn’t entirely dead. He’s still in there. I can recognize tells of it sometimes. He’s just… not as alive as he could be.” He scratched his wrist, long nails scraping his skin. “I’m sorry. Aspen was my baby. I know it was highly unprofessional of me, but I grew attached to him.”

Kenny stirred in the bed, but didn’t get up. “I’d be so sad if anything happened to Kenny,” Betty murmured. “I’m sorry. Did someone kidnap Aspen? Or did he run away?”

“No. No, he didn’t run!” Longwood’s throat briefly strangled his voice. “He was so trusting. Sanderson cornered him, and he didn’t even–think–when I saw–No.” He shook his head. “No. You would need a full lesson in Fairykind anatomy to understand exactly what happened, Ms. Betty. It’s black magic stuff. I’m sorry. Anything involving Aspen is very difficult for me to discuss, and I would prefer not to breach the subject with a child I just met, you realize.”

(Note - Black magic is performed by doctors. It’s surgery magic.)

That’s all you “officially” know right now, but you’re about to get some really juicy stuff in Origin.

Solve For Aspen

More hints about Aspen’s identity and what’s coming in Origin of the Pixies:

- Technically you’ve already met “Aspen,” but he does not use this name in public. You’ve seen him in a lot of Prompts and some other stories, but not yet in Origin or Knots.

- The life-giving organ in Fae is called the core. It is left behind when a Fae dies (Think about Anti-Cosmo finding Fairy cores on the road in “Tangled Threads”). A firstborn’s core is different from the core of a second-born (It has extra layers of magic around it). Pixies are infected with the bacteria Wolbachia pipientis, meaning they are genetically identical; Sanderson, being H.P.’s firstborn, has a firstborn core.

- Cores take on shapes specific to the individual (For instance, H.P.’s is a laser cannon, Wanda’s is a radar, and Sanderson’s is a pencil sharpener).

- Longwood was born in the Year of Leaves on the Fae zodiac. Aspen was not. So why is Aspen named after a tree?

- Think about what Finley has around his neck. We see him wearing it as an adult in “All I Ever Wanted” but not as a kid in “Evolution Hopeful” or “This Is a Box.” What could it be and why would he start wearing this thing at that age? Why Finley? What’s different about his life compared to all the other pixies?

- Sanderson and Longwood got in an argument during the “Grooming” Prompt. What exact words does Sanderson use in this scene? Why do they affect Longwood so strongly and why does Sanderson feel guilty?

- Where was Sanderson in “Minion” when he started thinking about Aspen? What unique qualities do we know this location has?

- Think about some settings we’ve visited in Origin of the Pixies that explicitly have special qualities. I foreshadowed a location in Chapter 3 (“Love Struck Out”). It comes up again later. Why did H.P. go out of his way to visit in that later chapter and what did he want to do? Why did I think it was important enough to foreshadow?

HINT: It’s near the beginning because it’s also near the end

- Try to remember if there’s a Prompt that struck you as really, really odd… Something that described special location qualities.

- In that Prompt, there were four people who could sense something. One of them showed up late and did not volunteer the same information as the other three. Who was it and what can we not confirm because they stayed silent? What could be happening off-screen during that odd Prompt?

- Sanderson flinched when the Fairy Elder went to touch him in “Minion.” Look at that encounter and focus on what he’s saying. What does he look at and what do you know about that thing?

HINT: Cross-reference with what Anti-Cosmo says about the Fairy Elder in the Frayed Knots chapter “If She Hollers.” Take his words literally.

- Knowing what you know about Pixies and the Fairy Elder, what would you guess triggered the plot in the “really, really odd” Prompt mentioned above?

HINT: Sanderson uses a certain phrase in “Grooming” that also appears in the odd Prompt. What does he describe with that phrase?

- Just before H.P. and Sanderson meet the Fairy Elder in “Minion,” H.P. names a specific location. What is this location and why would I want you, the reader, to know that it’s there?

HINT: Who can get to it?

HINT 2: Don’t overthink it. What is this place literally called?

HINT 3: In several ‘fics, we see special magic keys. Where do you think such keys go and what is the significance of having keys made of different materials?

HINT 4: Why do Fairies not have “perfect memories?” Why do Anti-Fairies supposedly have perfect memories? Why would Fairies not want Anti-Fairies to know about and use these keys?

HINT 5: We will see keys in the 130 Prompt “Repeat.” What material are these keys and where do they come from?

- We now have a person, two places, and some items (and technically a time). How might this information change the way you read Origin?

- Longwood says only one thing in the Origin chapter “Snowflake.” What does he say? Why was Longwood mentioned in the previous chapter (“How to Yoo-Doo”)? Why do these details conflict? What conclusions can be drawn?

- In Origin’s Act 2 finale, “Fruitful Fruition,” H.P. and Sanderson have a conversation where H.P. makes verbatim reference to a quote in a Season 4 episode. What is the context of his talk with Sanderson? What can I do in a backstory ‘fic that sets us up for that episode?

HINT: It’s not a Pixie episode

HINT 2: The quote is VERY specific to that episode and the episode specifically draws attention to it

HINT 3: There is a detail about Sanderson that is easy to forget, so I brought it up earlier in this post. I specifically designed this part of Sanderson in reference to that episode

HINT 4: What was the context of the original quote in the episode? Above all else, the full quote and the context behind it is what Origin of the Pixies is about.

- Four books were recently stolen from the Pink Castle library. Judging by their titles, what information would you guess is in them? (The titles were named in “The Facts of Life” and “What Karma Is”)

- Why could no one solve the crime?

- Take your new information and read “Grooming” again. What does Longwood do at night? Does this remind you of another thing that happens at night?

HINT: Something referenced in this post

If you can answer all of the above, you should know who took the books, why they took them, what Longwood’s relationship to Aspen is, why Aspen is gone, and why Longwood believes Aspen is alive. Review the quoted text in the first half of this post and maybe you’ll realize why Longwood’s relationship with Sanderson is so complex.

That’s Aspen.

You can send asks here on Tumblr or PM me on FFN/AO3 if you want to share your thoughts, which I’m happy to talk to you about… or you can quietly watch it unfold. Up to you!

#Aspen #asks #Anon #We're Pixies!#Cedar toothpick #Sanderson is neat #I'm wasp dad trash #Pink and Gray #Origin of the Pixies #130 Prompts #Long post

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goddamnitdazai · 6 years ago

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After Midnight | Dazai

{ thank you to my patron who allowed me to upload their gift to my blog <3 } There was something attractive and endearing about the sour expression left on Dazai’s features. Brows knit together beneath the line of wrinkles forming in his skin, bottom of his left eye twitching rapidly. Thin steam wavering from the leftover noodles hanging limply on the chopsticks held tightly in his grip. The pink dusting his cheeks adding a drop of innocence as his tongue flops out in disgust. “_____!” He chokes out dropping the chopsticks and dramatically waving his hand in front of his tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this spicy!” He wails, grabbing your ice water and chugging it without a second thought. You snort into your palm. “I wasn’t aware you didn’t like spicy food. Besides, it’s bright red how did you not realize that meant it was spicy?” You smile and take another big bite savoring the spices mixing in with the pork belly and noodles moaning just as dramatically after swallowing a big bite. Dazai sticks his tongue out before pouting your direction. Shoving a posticker whole in his mouth as he watches you eat the ramen with an expression painted in antipathy. “I didn’t think you liked eating volcanic sulfur. Such bad taste in food. Good thing you have amazingly good taste in men~” Dazai winks; your eyes roll.

“What makes you think that?” He gasps at your words arms flying to his chest as he cries loudly about your words shredding his heart like a dagger. You laugh into your glass of iced tea crossing one leg over the other foot running up his shin beneath the table. Somehow, he’d managed to find you without much prompting. A night at the bar led him to your bed. Expecting him to leave once the sheets were stained and you both were satisfied but a conversation about something ridiculous led to another hour spent in bed together. A few days went by and now he was sitting in front of you stealing your food at two am in one of the very few, very secretive gems of Yokohama that served food all night when the city slept peacefully beneath the moonlight. “You said yes to me didn’t you? And I’m the best there is! You remember don’t you?” Despite the sultry drop in his voice the playful edges made it hard to take seriously. His chin rests in his palm free hand drawing circles over your knuckles as you take another sip of tea and order two shots of sweet sake. His brow arcs. “How’d you know I like that kind of sake? Following me~?” “Everyone likes that sake. It tastes fucking good without burning your throat.” You retort, taking another bite of ramen to settle the butterflies in your stomach. Tingling trail burning through your skin following the movement of his fingers on your knuckles. Simple figure eights that make you shiver. Dazai’s fingers slow. Middle applying more pressure than the rest as they roll over the dips between your knuckles then up the center to trace a line back and forth between the expanse of your wrist. Honey brown eyes darkening a fragment and flickering with hints of gold as he watches you with a lopsided smirk. “Can’t you just admit we have similar tastes?” He teases, pout returning. A lump forms in your throat when his leg moves closer letting the edge of your shoe run up the inside of his leg. “Other than the ramen. It’s terrible!” Your laugh resonates around the small table. Sake set in front of both of you while you take another bite staring Dazai dead in the eye purposely chewing slowly, methodically. He gags and yanks your free hand up to bury his face in your open palm wailing about taste bud betrayal. After a few minutes of his theatrics you set your chopsticks down and hold the sake cup up. He mimics your actions smirk returning as he leans in closer. “What should we toast to?” He asks hand setting yours back down to continue drawing patterns along the inside of your wrist. Your heart skips a beat. “After midnight. When the city belongs to people with terrible sleeping habits.” Dazai smiles at your words holding the small white cup up to cheers. You both down it in unison flavors mixing perfectly and settling like a ball of fire in your stomach. Dazai’s fingers continue to play your body like a violin despite him merely touching the skin on your wrist. An addiction beginning to form in slow motion right in front of your eyes. But, you didn’t want to stop it. You’d been fighting the ghost of his touch for days like his hands had implanted their memory all over your body just to tease you until your very last breath. From his teeth red marks had blossomed like roses in the summer on the inside of your thighs. The rest so strategically placed you’d only found a few by running your fingers up the side of your neck in places normally hidden by your hair. “A lot of good things happen around this time don’t they _____?” He wiggles his eyebrows making you snort again into your closed palm. Dazai drags his finger down your middle finger while ordering a whisky neat along with a second plate of potstickers. He’d inhaled most of them when he sat down uninvited in the booth not wanting to admit it had been a day or two since he’d eaten. The rain that had been pounding the sidewalk since he’d arrived disheveled and wet begins to let up as the night ticks on. Hard raindrops becoming light patterings against the window. “We made it home around this time.” He muses, voice lowering to a soft wave of silk rather than the elevated playful tone he’d been using before. This happened the night you two met. Voice soaked in a cheery disposition that descended to a quiet, gentle tone when his mind would wander off to another world for a few seconds. It was mesmerizing really, but it made you all too curious. Too curious for a one night stand. “We did. You’re very charming when I’ve drank my weight in vodka.” You joke. He chuckles lightly and pushes the fresh plate of potstickers your direction. “You’re not the first lady to claim alcohol made them fall for me~” He says leaning back in his chair to stretch out his arms. “Have you had that much yet or should we get more sake?” He winks. You grab a potsticker and lean over the table shoving it into his mouth. Brown eyes widening in surprise before he chews quickly. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” “I don’t need alcohol to want to go home with you, but I wasn’t planning on going home yet.” You muse ignoring the initial question. In truth the man seemed hungry and exhausted despite how he was acting. He practically inhaled half the food on the table when he sat down. You take another bite and tilt your head slightly Dazai mimicking you immediately like a cat in a mirror. “How’d you find me? I don’t geotag on Instagram.” Dazai smiles. Another chuckle falling as soft as snow from his lips before they enclose around a warm potsticker. “I’m a detective.” He replies. Your brow arcs a bit. The man looked nothing like a police officer. Some of his antics pointed to the type of person that would be running from the police not running on the same side. Though, it would explain his ability to find you so quickly without much information. Dazai watches you intently eyes gleaming beneath the overhead lights. City beginning to fall in to a rhythmic slumber outside the small diner tucked in the basement of a dress shop. Neon noodle sign glowing red and green outside mid autumn wind knocking dried leaves up against it. “Like a cop? Homicide shit?” You ask eyes unable to focus on anything but the warm pools of honey radiating back your direction. Dazai shakes his head catching his chin beneath his curved fingers elbow propped on the table. “I’m not a cop.” He says with a smirk, as if some inside joke had been laced in those four words. “Where are you planning on going? A lovely lady shouldn’t be out so late at night by herself.” A waitress with a sweet smile takes your empty bowl and refills the water glass untouched now since Dazai ordered the sake. He takes another shot before offering to pour you second. It was too late to play it safe. You take another; he smiles behind his glass. “Somewhere dark.” Dazai’s brows rise in curiosity. Before you can get your wallet out he tells the girl to put it on his tab hand extended to help you up. “How exciting~.” ____ Last time it hadn't been this gorey but Dazai didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the screams of the undead didn’t faze him in the least and his eyes tended to wander off the massive projector to the people around him before landing back on you. No matter how in depth you fell into the movie it was hard to ignore the heat from Dazai’s gaze lingering on every curve and dip. Spending a moment or two longer scanning the column of your throat up to the angle of your jawline. Long legs sprawled out and tangled in yours a top the comforter you’d left stuffed in the trunk of your car for nights like this. Screams blare from the speakers other couples around you knotting in to each other. Dazai’s palm remains flat behind your back on the ground to hold himself up, free hand tracing more unknown patterns and shapes up and down your arm. His chin suddenly plops on your shoulder causing you to jolt up. He smirks and whispers an apology in your ear the hand at your arm slinking over your middle to rest on your hip heart beginning to race as he drops a gentle kiss beneath your earlobe. A shiver trails down your spine as Dazai’s teeth nibble playfully up the shell until you can’t remember how to breathe. “Dazai.” You whisper tapping his cheek with your fingertips. “Shhh, the movie.” He says with a smile, turning his attention back to the screen. “Oh she shouldn’t hide there.” He mocks quietly fingertips drumming against your hip bone. A woman’s scream echoes throughout the warehouse making you gasp louder than intended. Dazai’s eyes flit your direction hand squeezing you gently. “Are you scared?” He inquires scooting closer and tugging you in simultaneously. “You can sit between my legs if you want I’ll protect you from the flesh eating zombies~”. His voice is gentle, smooth, but the playful tone is more subtle than before. Serious, in a way. The shock factor is more what startled you, but you’d be lying if you said sitting in a warehouse watching a horror movie closer to four am didn’t give you the chills one way or the other. Quietly you scoot up and over Dazai’s leg plopping down against the worn tatami mat beneath the blanket. Long bandaged arms immediately encircling your waist to bring your back flush with his chest. Heartbeat strong against the center of your shoulders even through his clothes and yours. Beating a little too fast to be normal; your stomach flutters. Your squirming becomes less about the movie and more of a reaction to Dazai’s hands on you. Subtle squeezes to your ribcage when a jumpscare is about to happen. A little roll of his fingertips down to your hip bone then back up again during dialogue.The scent of his shampoo mixed with the remaining aroma of sweet sake glues itself to the air you breathe. Dazai’s warm breath coasts down the back of your neck drawing chills on your arms. Before he can comment low in your ear you blame it on the wind. “What wind?” He asks dumbly. You bite the inside of your cheek and tuck your knees up feigning apprehension when the camera begins to pan down a dark hallway. One of Dazai’s hands had always been roaming the expanse of your torso or hip. Now, with your knees scrunched up his fingers splay up your thigh pulling at a loose string in the denim unwilling to share even the slightest bit of attention with the movie, or he just enjoyed fucking with you. Instinct tells you it’s both. The movie ends at a quarter till five with a hint of sunlight barely peeking over the water’s edge. Most moviegoers getting up to leave immediately yawning and sprouting love poems to the bed that awaits them when they get home. Dazai doesn’t move. Eyes flickering from left to right watching the environment as the old warehouse begins to empty. Slivers of coral peeking through turning navy blue to violet strips through the high windows. “Watch the sunrise with me?” You ask, tilting your head back slightly to catch his gaze. “How romantic ____.” The teasing is back. But, it was starting to become more endearing than factory. Even if he spoke to all the women he wanted another round with in the same fashion. “Not in here though its musty and gross. Why would you ever want to sit on cold concrete? Can’t they spring for a chair or a bench!” He sighs, the back of one hand coming to rest on his forehead as he speaks. “Maybe if your ass wasn’t as flat as a pancake you wouldn’t be in so much pain.” You retort with a smile, poking his nose with your forefinger. Dazai frowns. Refusing to stand until you admit it didn’t matter what is ass looked like because the talent was all in his hands, and elsewhere. You stick your tongue out as he grabs your hand rising to his feet and dusting his pants off. Coat left unbuttoned despite the cold he complained about just a minute before. Dazai opens the warehouse door allowing you out first. Slight autumn chill biting at your shoulders. Wordlessly he sheds his coat and wraps it over your shoulders eyes softening for a brief moment before returning to their normal state. He could charm and coax you back home without all of this nonsense. Sunsets were repetitive for the most part. Deemed romantic by some artistic asshole centuries ago giving notion that the sunrise was more than just the natural rhythm of the universe. But, it was rare that he felt able to sit in silence without much of a need to play the part of entertainer, not completely. A feeling adjacent to comfort. The docks were relatively empty for a Thursday morning. Only a few ships idling in the calm ocean emptied of their cargo and crew for the time being. Dazai walks beside you holding the folded blanket draped over his forearm. “There’s a bench over there.” You mention with a yawn pointing to it with your forefinger. Dazai nods and follows you watching the approaching sunlight drop diamonds over the still water and shed more light to your features. The supple pout of your bottom lip and the curve of your nose, miniscule scar on the bridge that looked old. Childhood accident of some sort. “Sorry your pancake ass is going to be cold again.” Dazai rolls his eyes and scoffs through a smile as he plops down next to you throwing the blanket over your shoulders. “____ this blanket is too small I’m going to freeze.” He pouts, encircling your waist to pull you back on to his lap shifting your body so your back lies inside the crook of his elbow feet planted on the other side of his thigh. You duck into his grasp leaning against him as your head falls to his shoulder. Feather light wind rippling over the dark ocean. Stirring the galaxy mirrored in its water from the sky above. His mind wanders in the silence but his attention remains centered on the little movements happening beneath the blanket. How you slowly inch closer until the tip of your nose rests against his neck. His pulsepoint, to be exact. The first few tries weren’t successful but you remained still once the comfort of his heartbeat reached your skin. Intimate, he thinks, for strangers. Instinct makes him question it out of habit but the longer he stays absolutely motionless the more it becomes...enjoyable. Warmth from another outside the actions of sex and release was not something Dazai tended to enjoy nor seek. He found you to fuck you out of his system, out of his head. Not this. Intimacy; Kouyou once called him touch-starved. Peach strips of light begin to crest the horizon adding a sheen over the water far off in the distance. Dazai’s hands reset themselves around your waist hands crossed over one another on your hip. He still couldn’t see the romance in this, but a silenced world was rare. Often he found himself staring into emptiness until the sunlight began to rise just like this. Slow motion. Blurry. He’d douse himself in alcohol before the clock hit four am just so he could sleep a few hours without dreams or nightmares. Sobriety made it less appealing in a sense of entertainment. Maybe it wasn’t the sight itself people found sentimental. “Why do you stay up so late?” Dazai inquires chin resting on the top of your head. You didn’t seem the type to get lost in the emptiness and dark corners of your mind alone. From the few hints around your apartment you both shared a fondness for drinking off the monsters at times, whatever yours happened to be, but riding out the emptiness alone didn’t fit. You were surrounded by people at the bar and the pictures decorating the small apartment enlarged the initial social circle he’d seen before he whisked you away. But, you were lonely. He recognized the mask in the way you laughed and spoke to who you were with. The connection mostly surface rather than deep and meaningful. Maybe you really cared for them and vice versa, but how much of it was based upon the person you created to take those happy pictures? “I can’t ever fall asleep.” You admit quietly, turning more into his throat as you speak. “Not without pushing myself to stay awake then I just..pass out I guess.” You shrug against him. “I like the nighttime though its...calming. Which sounds cliche as hell but its comfortable and just..better. I guess.” Words spew out without much of a second thought. Talking to Dazai felt less synthetic. Perhaps the detachment in not fully having a strong connection outside of sex made it easier for the hidden spots to seep through. Or, his charm managed to break through more than necessary. More than he wanted or intended. Perhaps both. Dazai’s eyes fall to the water fingertips dancing patterns beneath your shirt along your stomach and hips as your words soak in to his brain. The night, in his mind, had been when he spent the most time with Odasaku at the bar. Now, most of his nights were spent by himself in his apartment. He didn’t mind the emptiness. Not all the time. Tonight, though, he couldn’t find amusement elsewhere and you’d managed to keep him well past the physical act without trying. He couldn’t even remember where the conversation had landed, something about constellations and star signs trickling into ridiculous theories on aliens. Trivial conversation that led to a well executed trick on Kunikida to keep his partner from blowing a gasket over a recent job and it’s lengthy extradition. Trivial bored him; most things did. Perhaps it’s why he found himself straying to you for a second time. A surprise relief. Lighter--that was the word. The world was less heavy in your presence despite the shared sentiment of isolation buried deep in both of you. “You’re surprisingly comfortable.” You say, breaking the silence. Dazai blinks and tilts his head down as yours arcs back. Gazes locking beneath warm violet and leftover stars losing their glow. He can’t help it. You smile as he kisses you, not soft, but a kiss that toes the line between intimate and greedy. Dazai’s tongue darts out running over your bottom lip before slipping in your mouth to trail over the back of your teeth. His kiss saps the air from your lungs leaving you dizzy until he breaks apart to satiate his own need to breathe. “You taste like sake.” A smirk rides up the side of Dazai’s face as he exhales. “So do you.” He ignores the tingling in his stomach. Instead, his arms retrace their previous position to hold you closer to his chest pulling you down with him once he lays fully on the park bench head facing the water. Orange and pink swirling higher and higher as the red glow of the morning sun breaks the surface dancing idly on the edge of the ocean. Thin arms wrapped tightly over your middle to keep your back flush with his chest, legs tangled as one mess at the end of the bench. “Still comfortable?” You yawn and nod. “Mhm.” Dazai catches the hint of sleepiness trickling in to your voice. His own following after a few minutes of undisturbed peace. Just the sound of your breathing and the ocean water rippling beneath gentle, nearly untraceable wind carrying the scent of salt water through the park. His lips find their way to the back of your throat without his permission, but he keeps them there anyway after a few light kisses down the curve of your neck. “We can..go back to my apartment. There’s a view..kind of.” You murmur, tracing patterns on the top of his hand. Dazai’s chest flutters. “Finally! I’ve been waiting all night for you to take me home!” Dazai’s voice hits that playful tenor that makes you laugh. He lets you sit up first to keep the blanket draped over your shoulders before he rises and follows you back. Cold air prickling his skin with goosebumps the deeper into the city you both walk. Quiet sidewalks greeting you as Yokohama remains asleep under the peaceful lighting. By the time Dazai flops on to your bed his skin feels like ice. “Why didn’t you take your coat back?” You ask, shedding the blanket and throwing it over his head as you hang the aforementioned coat on the back of a chair. “I’m a gentleman!” “You are not.” Dazai frowns and tosses his vest somewhere in the corner after setting his bolo tie down on the nightstand. You yawn and flick the lights off remembering his weird necessity for having the room nearly blackout the last time he was in your bed. Sunlight filters through the blinds in soft stripes weaving a pattern over the bed and up the walls etching a golden glow through the small space as you crawl beneath the covers. Dazai yawns loudly and stretches his arms over your stomach pulling you against him. Your hands fall flat on his chest one finger playing with the button on his shirt mindlessly legs sliding between his to seek warmth against the cold apartment air. You wait for him to tear at your clothes -- a repeat of the night you met. There were still buttons from his shirt somewhere under the dresser. Not that you would mind nor saw a hint of anything different. Dazai was transparent when he wanted to be, or at least when it came to things of this nature. Yet, the gentle touch of his hands on your lower back felt sensual and comforting in the same stroke. Heat from your skin warming up his hands as his lips fall to yours before trailing down your chin and across your jaw. Then right back up again. A yawn breaks up his motions. “Shit sorry.” You murmur, groaning in to your pillow. Dazai chuckles laying his cheek back on the pillow hair fanning out in stark contrast against the white. You scoot closer hesitantly and kiss him hand moving up from his chest to tangle in his hair. He can’t stop it quick enough. The soft, almost pathetic sigh that comes from his mouth as you kiss him. You smile. “You’re sleepy.” He whispers. “So are you.” He shrugs, but doesn’t press for more kisses nor move. You stay near him one hand draped over his rib the other tucked beneath your pillow as your eyes flutter shut. Dazai lies utterly still beside you. Watching the rise and fall of your chest until he can no longer fight the exhaustion pulling him down. Arm slung lazily over your hip head tilting forward until his nose reaches yours. The familiar sounds of Yokohama beginning to wake fill his ears; cars gliding through rain puddles, the smell of coffee from the apartment across the hall. A normal soundtrack to doze off too, except, the warmth radiating from your body dulled the ache in his head that kept him from sleeping peacefully. That was different. Intimate.

#dazai #dazai osamu #bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai imagines #my writing #my writing dazai #scenario:fluff/dazai #reader x dazai #bsd fanfic #dazai fanfic

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hphm-imagines · 6 years ago

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The bathroom incident (Charlie Weasley x prefect!MC)

Soooooooo, this is my first imagine on this blog, I guess. This whole thing is definitely a spur of the moment kind of thing. English isn’t even my main language (but do feel free to correct it or send me any kind of criticism so I can improve). Anyway, this MC is a female and a Slytherin but you could picture any other House.

Here, Charlie Weasley and the MC, both prefects, mess around in the large bathtub (pool?) of the prefects’ bathroom. It is all very awkward and somewhat innocent.

Disclaimer: nothing graphic, however, there’s some crude language (sorry)

The night was falling over Hogwarts castle, children were leaving the library or the Great Hall, friends excitedly chatting about the dessert, their upcoming assignment, the latest Quidditch game…

(Y/N) (L/N) was quieter than usual, she couldn’t help but think about Charlie Weasley. He had skipped dinner again and she felt her own stomach twist in concern. Damn, Red, pull yourself together.

She passed by a window and spotted a shadow walking briskly in the darkness. Unmistakably, she recognized her friend’s strut as he discreetly came back from wherever he had been all evening, most probably someplace forbidden, she thought. Feeling a slight relief she couldn’t explain to herself, she resumed her casual stroll back to her dorms.

A group of 2nd Year Slytherins walked past her, insistently whispering among themselves and immediately quieting down once they spotted their prefect.

“Stay out of trouble kids.” she playfully advised, a charming half-smile forming on her face.

The girls blushed furiously and quickened their pace, (Y/N) stifled a laugh. Eventually, she reached her dorm and started to gather her toiletries. This day had been straining and it was time for her to make good use of the perks of her position.

“You’re going to the prefects’ bathroom?” Asked Rowan, laying on her stomach

“Damn right I am”

Towel and change of clothing in hand, (Y/N) pushed the door to the prefects’ bathroom. Immediately, she noticed a red head of hair poking out of the tub, facing away from her. Charlie. He turned towards her, his cheeks lightly dusted in pink; either because the situation was embarrassing or because the water was hot but truth be told, both might be right. The situation dawned on (Y/N) as she felt her own face heat up. Damn, it’s hot in here.

“Oh, hey Charlie, do you mind?” She asked, gesturing towards the large bath in the least natural way possible, she thought, scolding herself. Charlie awkwardly returned his gaze to the water in front of him.

“No, it’s fine”

“Thanks”

But Charlie Weasley immediately regretted his words. As he realized he could hear his friend undress behind his back, he swore he had never felt this embarrassed in his entire 15 years of life. He heard the fabric of her shirt slide along the skin of her arms, he could hear her stockings being rolled down her legs and her bare feet traveling around the pool. He lifted his eyes and caught a glimpse of her as she entered the water, wrapped in her towel and sat down on the ledge and let out a weary sigh.

They were sitting at a respectful distance from each other but, at the moment, it felt both weirdly far apart and way too close. Her hand went to her hair and she started to comb through it, undoing her braid, eyes closed.

“Awkward right?” She spoke with a smile and a glint in her eye “You’d think this school would think twice before allowing teenagers to share such luxurious bathroom unsupervised”

“Well, prefects are supposed to be an example for the other students, if they can’t trust us, it spells serious trouble for them.” He reasoned “Plus we’ve got that strict towel policy implemented, and, y’know the other rules…”

“Ah yes, she mused, the infamous no-shagging rule”

They both snickered as they remembered a very embarrassed Bill trying to communicate those restricting rules to a bunch of newly-appointed prefects who were all incredibly bad at hiding their discontent.

“Red, are you seriously trying to make me believe that no prefect in the history of Hogwarts has ever boned in this bathtub?”

“Gross” Charlie cringed as very graphic pictures invaded his mind and (Y/N)’s laugh resonated in the large room. She refocused her look on the bubbles before her for a hard minute and a heavy silence settled between them. Being a teenager really is the worst. She glanced hesitantly towards him.

“Soooooo, you missed dinner.”

“Did I?” He smiled playfully, raising his eyebrows.

“Forbidden forest?”

“You know it” he tried to answer in a casual way that ended up sounding really really fake. He mentally beat himself up.

Great, now it's awkward again. Well done Weasley.

“D’you hurt yourself again?” She asked. Her tone was bored and resigned She already knew the answer. He gave her a sheepish smile and she scooted towards him.

“Want me to take a look at it for you?”

He refused her help.

“You’re sure?” She insisted jokingly “I could kiss it better”

“I’m pretty sure the rules don’t allow that”

They laughed again as they realized that they were slowly starting to ease into this whole situation.

“Okay but bear with me, started Charlie, a dangerous air on his face, even if you could have sex in here, would you? I mean, given the people you’d have to work with.”

(Y/N) let out an interested hum as she started her introspection.

“I think I wouldn’t mind getting it on with any of the Quidditch captains.” She pondered, stroking her chin for good measure. “I do like very violent sports. Kind of a turn on, honestly”

Charlie would not have known what to do with this statement had it not been for her impish smirk signaling that she was most definitely messing with him.

“Is it now?” He retorted, mocking her expression and tone.

For a while, they felt comfortable sitting and indulging in the bath. It was so relaxing, they could almost fall asleep.

“Oh, I know!” (Y/N) abruptly shot her eyes wide open and sat upright.

“Know what?” Inquired her friend who was just starting to relax and was just a tinge annoyed by her recent outburst.

“Who I’d bang.” She said as if it were obvious. All of a sudden, Charlie was interested again. He straightened his back and cleared his throat discreetly.

“So who?”

She announced her pick in the most simple of ways.

“Bill.”

She watched as an alarmed look came to Charlie’s face.

What. The. Fuck. (Y/N).

“He’s my brother!” He reminded her with the most offended expression she’d ever seen on him. She continued to tease him.

“Oh, you’re right Charles, I’m sorry. I would never fuck your hot, brilliant, friendly - did I say hot? - reliable older brother?”

Before she could finish, Charlie’s hands were covering his ears.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up - ”

“Have I ever mentioned how hot he is?” She added, trying her best not to laugh at the traumatized face Charlie was making.

Charlie grabbed her by the upper arms and brought her face closer to his as he yelled forcefully.

“I beg of you, SHUT UP!”

For a second she went silent and he felt his stomach fill with dread as he saw her form the most mischievous look ever witnessed.

“Have you ever seen his red hair shine in the su- ” she was promptly cut off as Charlie pushed her head backward and into the water. She emerged to see her Gryffindor friend’s scandalized face and exploded into laughter. Charlie would have to if he hadn’t been scarred for life by (Y/N)’s words … and if he hadn’t realized the position they were in.

When he had dunked her underwater, her body slipped off the ledge they were both sitting on. Her arms were gripping onto her towel, keeping it from moving. Basically, the only thing keeping her from floating away was the redhead’s hands holding her upper arms tightly. Her feet settled on the bottom of the pool, allowing her legs to graze against his. She stopped shaking from laughter, her face became very serious (too serious?) and her eyes bore into his as he realized that his grip was the only thing preventing her from regaining her balance. He loosened his grasp and she dove underwater.

In the blink of an eye, she emerged a few feet from him, eyes still fixed on his own with a cryptic look he couldn’t decipher. They stared at each other in silence.

What was that just now? That was weird right?

Charlie’s mind was racing, trying to understand that absolutely neutral expression she had. Suddenly, a wave of soapy water came crashing down on him. He shook his hair away from his face and looked at her in betrayal.

“You’re dead to me, (L/N).”

He dove forward to catch her.

After a few minutes of play fighting, kicking, screaming and - (Y/N) would swear - almost drowning, Charlie ended up sitting on the step again, this time on the other side of the pool, his back flush against the wall, hands up in defeat. (Y/N)’s forearm was pressing gently against his clavicle while her other hand was gripping the edge of the tub. If her left foot was firmly grounded at the bottom of the pool, he could definitely feel her right knee resting on his lap, preventing him from moving. Hearts beating hard and fast, faces red and chests panting, they looked at each other in confusion and wonder as if they finally understood their own feelings for the first time (It was the case). Eyes traveled nervously towards lips and heads inched ever so slightly closer.

Unfortunately for the both of them, the door to the bathroom suddenly went flying open as Bill Weasley interrupted them. For a moment all three students looked at each other incredulously until (Y/N) realized exactly what she and Charlie’s positions suggested and retreated immediately. The eldest Weasley sighed, visibly distressed.

“You, he marked a pause for emphasis, were the only ones I didn’t have to worry about!”

Charlie stepped in to try and settle things

“Bill, it’s not like that -”

“Oh really, his brother cut him off, you’re gonna give me the old ‘It’s not what you think Bill, we weren’t about to disobey your very distinct and clear orders’? You guys had ONE job: Do. Not. Get. Caught. Doing. Stupid. Shit. But NO, you guys had to be the loudest idiots possible. I could hear you from the other side of the hall!”

Bill kept on going for a few more minutes about how they were lucky that Bill had been the one to hear them, how they were really fucking stupid, how Mrs. Weasley was going to be so happy for them, how he was going to have to punish them…

“BILL WE WEREN’T DOING ANYTHING” Shouted Charlie, who didn’t really care about anything Bill had just said up until the part about telling their mother. What a nightmare!

Bill stopped his rambling.

“Okay, I’m going to be really clear with you, kids: firstly, you will never be allowed alone together in this bathroom; secondly, I expect to hear the whole story from both points of view by the time I write my next letter home so I can tell Mum everything. Understood?”

(Y/N) got up and walked a straight towards Bill and planted herself right in front of him. She looked really mad and Bill immediately felt like he was about to get scolded by his mother.

“Nothing happened.” She insisted coldly “There is no story to tell, Charlie and I aren’t together. You should really learn to listen to people before you draw conclusions.”

She picked up her things and locked herself in a toilet stall. Both boys remained immobile and silent while she changed. Bill was, after all, still a teenager and he really had trouble understanding girls sometimes. He failed to see how he offended her so. Charlie, on his part, was also mad at Bill but right now, the only thing he could think about was how disgusted she looked just now. For once, he thought things weren’t going terribly and, if he was absolutely honest, he was kinda thrilled at the idea of kissing her just moments earlier. She clearly didn’t feel the same.

(Y/N) got out of her stall, fully dressed, damp hair falling on her shoulders. She still looked angry. She took a few steps.

“I’m going to bed now.” She informed Bill. She sounded like she was trying to remain civil but could tear his eyeballs out. Her falsely sweet tone sent a shiver down his spine. Before she exited the room, she stopped one last time, turn to Charlie with an apologetic smile that lifted the weight on his stomach “Seen you around Char.”

The two Weasley were left staring at each other. Charlie, who was now relieved to see that his friend was not angry with him at all, leaned back in the bath.

“You can be kind of an asshole, sometimes.” He confirmed and Bill raised an eyebrow.

“Because I draw to a conclusion before I listen to people?”

Charlie hummed in agreement. Bill really disliked the smug look on his brother’s face.

“Charlie, get out of the bath.” He said sternly. The younger brother sighed, trying his best to seem casual.

“Nah, I was planning on sticking around”

“Charles, get up.”

“I want to enjoy the water a little bit more.”

“I’m not asking.” Bill insisted in his best big brother voice.

“And I would rather not get up, Bill.” This time, Charlie was slightly more pleading as he confirmed his brother’s suspicions.

“Nothing happened!” Bill mocked in a high pitched voice as he walked away “Like I’m gonna believe that.”

#charlie weasley #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #charlie x mc #charlie weasley x mc #prefects bathroom #imagine

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displacedleylines · 5 years ago

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Maybe

(Drafted this over a month ago but just now finished it. WHUPS. Writing drabble for my WoW toon Cameron. He doesn’t have his own blog, so this is going here.) The deeper tunnels of the Stormwind Stockades with its musty and stale air was where you went when you were to be forgotten. Most of these cells were empty; or, one could argue that there was so little hope left in anyone who was stuck here, that all the cells were empty. The torches survived the stagnant halls only because a clever or perhaps lazy guard years ago, thought to have the flames enchanted to stay burning. That way, no one would never have to look to see if any needed relighting. Occasionally, yes, a guard or two would patrol these halls. Usually, if they were avoiding some other duty, wanted some peace and quiet, or actually remembered that there were people back there who needed to eat. Sometimes, though it happened not as often these days, the smell of death would linger in the halls, wafting into the cells of those who had the misfortune of still being alive. Thankfully, this was not one of those days, and the air smelled instead of dust with a dampness that lingered in your chest with every breath. Cameron knew every corridor by heart. He had to. Working for the city like he did, understanding every passage, every nook, every hidden secret was part of being an agent. This, plus the ability to stealth past most people was significant not only in helping to keep the city safe but to sneak into places where he didn't belong. However, if caught, Cameron could easily argue that as an SI:7 Agent, he had every right to occasionally patrol the Stockades without needing to announce himself beforehand. Though thus far, he never needed to use that excuse, nor did he ever plan on needing it. In fact, he was so confident now about never being caught back there, that the moment he moved past the area of the Stockades that held the rowdiest, most well-known prisoners, he would come out of stealth and saunter down the corridor as if walking into his own home. What did it matter if one of the forgotten prisoners saw him? Who were they going to tell? Even if they pulled aside any guard that walked by, Cameron would either be long gone. That of course, was also assuming any guard that was told would actually care enough to question it. "One of these days..." He would think to himself at the same right hand turn every visit, "I'm going to find the key that works on these cells, and I'm just going to let everyone out." Cameron wasn't terrible at picking locks, he was quite good at it, just like most other rogues, but no matter what he did, no matter how many times he tried he couldn't get any of these cells open. A mystery he wanted to solve, but not one he could easily ask for help with.

Eventually, his routine future promise to no one but himself was once more broken upon reaching his destination. There was nothing different about this cell's appearance, it looked like every other cell in the block. Stubborn bars that were wide enough for an arm to squeeze through lit only by a couple of torches on the wall across from the cell door. This was when Cameron would pull back the blue leather hood with the attached golden, bird-like mask to reveal his messy brown hair and young, freckled face. This undramatic reveal was always how he announced himself, even though it couldn't possibly be anyone else. "Is it Tuesday already?" The words fell out of his father's mouth with a deep, slow drawl. "Could've sworn you were just here. Guess time is just gettin' all muddled now." His father scooted closer to the bars, too tired to stand today. Cameron kneeled and grasped the bars, giving them a ritualistic tug in hopes they'd rusted through. "Nah. It hasn't been a week. I managed to sneak in a bonus visit this week." "It ain't Winter's veil already is it?" His Dad joked with a deep laugh. "Pffft. No. It's just my birthday. And I decided that what I wanted was to see you both." "Happy birthday, baby bird. Our gift to you is that you didn't find us dead." His mother called out from the back of the cell. Tired, dirty. Her left shoulder was pressed against the wall as her head used the masonry as a pillow, staring out ahead as if somehow the other wall would provide a miracle despite all hope having been long lost. "You wastin' a birthday in here?" His Dad snorted. "Don't you got friends to go an have fun with?" Cameron didn't answer, he simply pursed his lips together in annoyance before changing the subject. "They still have me mostly working the graveyard shift, digging holes. I'm starting to think that's all I'm good for." His Dad scoffed and reached through what little space the bars offered to place a tired hand on Cameron's uninjured left cheek. Despite the callused thumb that brushed more dirt on Cameron's face than it took off, the gesture was soft, kind, gentle. "We seem to have doomed you to digging holes. And we weren't even farmers! Though I guess if bein' an Agent doesn't work, it's a good skill for real cemetery work." Chhk. Chhk. Chhk. It didn't matter where he dug, dirt always sounded the same. Chhk. Chhk. Chhk. The sound echoed in Cameron's memories as he stared at his parents. He could see them both. Right there. In the cell. And he could see them back in Westfall. Packing. Hiding valuables as Cameron dug graves for the rest of the family. Chhk. Chhk. Chhk. Chhk. Just a kid, but he made sure every single plot was the right size, the proper depth. They had to be perfect now because there would be no chance to fix them later. "Yeah. It's been handy. Really sells the cover I'm just a cemetery worker. Burying other people's handy work." Cameron replied with a snort, his dad answered with a playful wink. "Hey. That's not a bag gig. Knowing where some of the bodies are buried." "It's just petty people that no one would miss anyway. It's not like they're trusting me with anyone important." "Heey. Hey, now." Rictor pulled his hand away from his son's cheek and shook a pointed finger at him instead. "No such thing as an unimportant person. Hey, hey, look at me." Cameron had glanced away, pretending as if something more interesting was happening down the dark hallway. "Cameron James Trafton. You look at me right now, yer an adult, not a child, so quit lookin' around for Great father Winter, and look at me." Cameron puffed his cheeks out before he gave in and turned his head to look his father right in his tired, dark eyes. "Everyone is important to somebody. And those somebodies are important to others, and those others are loved by even more others until all those others stop bein' strangers you don't know, and they all start bein' people you care about." Rictor poked Cameron's forehead as if to strengthen the point he wanted to make to his son. "Which is why, whenever you do anythin' for the SI:7, even if it's takin' out a Horde soldier or findin' out where some mark is just so someone else can kill them; you remember that what you do, will hurt someone else, and that pain will spread and change until it comes right back to you. And don't think for one moment, don't you dare think that there aren't people other than me and your mother who care about you now. I don't care who they are, and I sure as hell don't give a damn if you don't like their company or where they come from, or what their social status is." He ceased the forehead poking and resumed shaking his finger at Cameron, who was now rolling his eyes in disgust. Rictor reached through the bars again to turn Cameron's face and attention back at him. "Dad. I don't want anything to do with Nobles, or Stormwind, or the Alliance or their...war." Cameron protested with a heavy huff, pushing the memories of Undercity out of his mind as quickly as possible. "I know. And I don't blame you. But our issues lie with a dead King. Look, I'm not tellin' you to throw out everythin' red that you own. And I'm not tellin' you to forget everythin' that happened. Hell no!" He scoffed, shaking his head. He pulled his hand away and pointed at Cameron for the third time. "But you need to be damn careful about who you hurt. Be it someone above or below you." Chhk. Cameron stuck the shovel in the dirt, having finally finished his grim task. His mother, Isabelle, grasped his shoulder gently as the three of them stared at the graves of the rest of the family. No time for words, no time for flowers, they went back into their home to discover they now had no time to escape. Maybe if the guards had been a little bit slower, or maybe if the house had been a little bit further off the road, they could have gotten away. Maybe the hidden tunnel in the basement could have saved them, a genuine lifeline to live in relative freedom another day. But there was no time to even fantasize that. Despite having her own face slapped into the wooden floor, Cam's mother started screeching and swearing when the guards dared to shove her only child onto the wood. "He isn't even a TEENAGER you motherless sons of ogres!" She squirmed as her arms were pinned behind her back. "Didn't know the DAMN ALLIANCE, threw CHILDREN IN THE STOCKADES. You put ANDUIN in there too when he misbehaves!?" Cam was too scared to remember what his Dad was trying to say. Too frightened to remember anything but the pounding headache and the thumping of his heart in his chest. The guards looked at each other, and to their superior. They had their orders, but she was right. "So. Don't hurt people, and somehow, also don't stop being Defias. Is what I'm hearing. Basically." Cameron rolled his eyes and started to glance up at the ceiling. "That makes absolutely no sense." His Dad snapped his fingers in his Son's face to bring his attention back. "The King and the Nobles hurt us. We got angry at him. and Queen Tiffin died instead. Did that solve our problem?" "No." "Exactly. And what I'm sayin' is. If you got a friend, who's a guard, or a Noble. Who likes you. Sees you as a friend, and you'd like them otherwise if it weren't for their job or status. All I'm sayin is. Don't stab them in the back for the Brotherhood, Cam. Doesn't matter if you think they're not important. It'll come back to screw you over. Defend yourself, stand up for yourself. And I get it, y' gonna get orders that you won't like and will make you feel like everythin' I just said was a waste or hypocritical or somethin'. Whatever. Just be smart about it. Don't kill anyone you don't have to."

Cam was lifted from the floor and plopped in a chair at the kitchen table. An object that was once the center of a loving family freely eating their meals together was now an impromptu cage. The old, tired captain knelt in front of Cameron, looking up at the boy wearily. "Kid. Do you consider yourself Defias?"Rictor shut his eyes, praying Cam would be smart and say no. "YES."His heart sank, but Rictor knew if he spoke out, nothing he said would help or change the situation. The captain sighed as he rubbed his forehead, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tried to not think of his own kids back in Stormwind who were roughly the same age as the one who defiantly sat before him. "Have you actually done anything, for the Defias? Steal anything? Kill anyone?"Cameron thought about the magic casters. He thought about how the mages could light their targets on fire. Maybe he could do the same thing. Perhaps he could light all the guards on fire, and they could escape. Maybe, if he understood how it worked...

Cameron fought back the tears as some memories refused to stay quiet. "It's not fair. They said they'd let you out if...and they still haven't....and." His Dad waved a hand dismissively with a grunt. "The Brotherhood might not be seen as much of a threat any more Cam. But that doesn't mean there aren't still people who hate us. Either this is the pain we caused coming right back on us, or somebody with pull doesn't want you out of the SI:7." "I'm a terrible agent, I don't know why they'd keep me around. I just mess up constantly. I can't even do most of the stuff other rogues do. I can't even use that shadow dance magic dance thing. I can't stealth without a device. I've seen others better than me get kicked out for not being good enough. Why the hell, would they keep you in here, just to keep me with them." He rubbed his eyes, frustrated and embarrassed at his inability to use real magic. His Dad exhaled slowly with a quiet shake of his head, he had no answers for his son, and he wished desperately he did. Isabelle had quietly crawled over, grasping the bars with her frail fingers and pushed her face right up against the metal. Her eyes were wide as she stared Cameron down. "Knowledge is just as valuable as skill. Baby bird, do y'know somethin' most others don't? Is it somethin' that you're not telling them?" A lot of answers played through Cam's mind. A lot of memories presented themselves as possibilities. But two stuck out in his mind the strongest, although he had no idea if they were the correct memories to focus on. Cameron thought about the Captain asking questions about the Defias at the dinner table. "Do you know the names of other members? Do you know of any hiding places we don't know of? C'mon kid. I'd rather see you go to a Stormwind Orphanage than the Stocks. Don't let the crimes of your parents ruin the rest of your life." "You're already here." Cameron glared up at the man. "You already have my parents in chains, you already killed the rest of my family. You already ruined the rest of my life. I'm never forgivin' you for this." Cam thought about the Death Knight who used to be his best friend. "You tell anyone. Anyone. About me and what you just found. Your life is not only forfeit, but I will raise you as a mindless ghoul for the Scourge. Have I made myself clear?" His fingers dug into Cameron's neck, who nodded frantically, properly scared for his life for the first time. "You're going to go back, to the SI:7, and you're going to tell them that it was a false lead. Just a rumor put in place by jealous competitors who had the money to make it look convincing." "Th...That doesn't mean they'll stop sending me to Northrend."Gilzo smiled very sweetly, fluttering his eyes as he took a moment to use his free hand to flip his hair. "Then you better pray that if they do. I don't hear about it. You only go to Northrend if you're doing something for me. Any other time, and it's you begging to be killed. Which I'd really rather not do, Cammie. So don't test me. Please. For your sake and mine, don't test me." Cam shrugged, shaking his head. "No. I haven't dug up any deep secrets. " His mother stared at him in silence, fully aware that her son was lying to her but unable to fully figure out the truth. She leaned forward to give him a dry peck on his cheek before slipping back to her spot on the wall. "I can tell when somebody's protectin' somebody else. They better be worth protectin." His Dad looked up at him curiously as Cam tried to find the right words. He started thinking about a lot of people. A lot more people than he wanted to think about. A pain grasped Cameron's chest as he realized that despite earlier silence implying that he had no friends to spend his birthday with, despite his constant denial every visit that there wasn't anyone or anything he cared about other than his parents; Cameron started to think of a lot of people he did, actually, give a damn about. He had broken his own rule of not getting attached to anyone. Not just once, or twice, no. He'd gotten a bit carried away, not realizing how attached he had gotten to not just Gilzo, but to Mary. Haleth, Frena. Barnabe. Raam. He even thought Morgen, Moz, and Lauree were fun although he'd never admit to that last one even if his life depended on it. He didn't want to think about everyone in the Stormwind Guard who never asked for his Agent name and opted to call him Greenie whenever they saw him. And of course, Morrowgrove, who started that trend and whom he accidentally referred to as "Cat-mom" once in front of Gilzo. He thought of a lot of things. Eventually thinking about the promise he made Gilzo again. It wasn't the worst of his secrets, but it certainly ate away at him but... "I...I can't." At one point, he would have utterly betrayed his promise the first chance he could do it safely. But by the time that opportunity arrived, he'd notice that there was a drastic change in the Death Knight as he slowly reconnected with his family. Cameron grasped the bars and thunked his head against them. "I can't. Break up another family. That's finally pulling itself together." He closed his eyes, waiting to be chastised. Instead, his mother called out sweetly. "Honey, that's nothin' worth bein' ashamed over. And if you think the SI:7 or the guard will fuck somethin' good up just for the sake of fuckin' it up don't you tell them a damn thing." But not telling the guard also risked hurting the ones in there that he liked. There was no guarantee they'd be understanding and not do anything about it. His mind started to race about how badly things could go after that, unsure what daydreams were plausible and what were just paranoid delusions. Cameron now sat across from the Captain in his office back in Stormwind. "Kid. This is what I can do for you. Your parents are going to the stocks. Nothing's changing about that. But listen. We'll set bail, we know no one will pay it, but you'll be someone's ward where you can grow up in a lovely house and get a proper education. When you're old enough you can yourself trained up, give your skills to the SI:7, earn some money, you can pay it off that way. Or you can join them in the stocks and spend the rest of your childhood there. " Cam thought about it. He wanted to say no. But maybe one day, maybe...if he was in the SI:7 if the Defias ever got another chance.....he could help. "Fine." The rare sound of footsteps quickly snapped Cameron out of his memories. He needed to leave. A silent goodbye as he pulled his hood up over his face and he was gone before the guards walked by. "Evenin' Trafton's." "Howdy." "Wish I was coming by to say I can finally let you out, but I'm just passing through." "Ha. Yeah. Maybe tomorrow." "Yeah. Maybe tomorrow."

#wra #my writing #cameron trafton #wow OC

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ritacaroline · 5 years ago

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Starshine Ch.50 Jimmy Page Fan Fiction

The four hikers, Jill, Jim, Percy and Linda, set out for the trail they heard about earlier in the evening. Autumn leaves are particularly magnificent when viewed around sundown. The sideways approaching sunlight turns the colors more intense and brilliant. So, the four began the trail, and the views were incredible. Glimpses of the sparkling lakes could be seen from the higher points in the hills of the grounds.

Jimmy was still a little out of sorts following his dangerous fall into the deep water earlier. Jill was also still a bit shook over it. But, the cool crisp air and the

outdoorsy walking adventure did well to take their minds off it. After only a quarter mile, they had to cross a long bridge over a stream. It was rickety, but no holes nor worn through areas. After they spanned it, they traveled through many interesting little paths and wooden staircases through the forest. Watching carefully for the reflectors nailed to the trees, indicating their path. Jimmy had his arm around Jill’s waist. Holding her near to him, as an unconscious attempt to keep her safe.

They were talking, laughing and so involved in the gorgeous foliage and sights, no one was keeping track of the time nor how much daylight remained for them to get back to the castle. The darkness approached them rather suddenly, it seemed. A couple of them had flashlights, and those came to some good use now. So immediately, then turned around and headed back. The

sky was clear, plenty of clarity for the stars. Also the full moon was a big help. However, a lot of mist and fogginess occupied the forest and the entire low ground. It occurred especially this time of evening, after sundown. The air was getting colder and damp and uncomfortable. Jim was beginning to regret allowing Percy to persuade them onto the scenic hike. They knew that a long bridge was located near the end of this trail. Once they crossed it, they knew only about another quarter mile remained to the doors of the castle. The visibility was not so great anymore. Soon, the entrance for the bridge began to come into focus. And, strangely, a lantern light was seen ahead also, just at the head of the bridge. The closer they got, the more they could see that there was a person there as well. He was holding the lit lantern. Upon standing right in front of him, they observed an older man, approximately 80 yrs old. Wearing a grey heavy raincoat and boots, similar to garb a seaman might wear. Heavy gray beard and mustache he wore. He greeted them, rather unemotionally, but kindly nonetheless. “I’m Zach Griffins. Outdoor groundskeeper for the castle. Here to escort you with a light across the bridge this fine evening. Help ya ta see a bit better with this light. Where are you all from ?”

Percy of course spoke up, “We’re here from London, just enjoying the great outdoors and seeking some R and R. Ya know. And thanks, we’d love an escort, for the long trail across the bridge. ”

Zach spoke, and walked slowly, in regard to his age, most probably. He hobbled a little as he moved. Holding his lantern high. “I’m an old sailor ya know. Sailed upon many ships during the nineteen twenties. Long long ago. Lived in this castle for a while during my thirties and it was grand then. Had a family, they be all gone now. I’m the last of my line. It’s sad.”

Jill spoke, “How do you feel about the renovations in the castle ? The modern stuff, I mean ?”

Zach, “Ah, the new stuff. Well, I didn’t particularly see the need for it. Things were fine, a little broken down, but still usable before the newer fangled stuff was brought in. But, I’m not one who likes change, ya see.“

Jill, ” Understandable. But it sure has plenty of old world flavor and charm in it still. We’re really enjoying our stay here.“

Zach said, in his scratchy voice and old Irish brogue, ”Well then, good for you all then. By the way, for your enjoyment. I’ll give ya a great tip. There’s a special kind of treat the chef used to make. It was blueberry scone. The best I’d ever tried. Tell your chef or your waiter I guess, that you must have a blueberry scone, people. It’ll be the highlight of your stay, I promise ya. Tell him old Zach recommended them. They’ll remember. T'was my favorite.“

As they all stepped off the end of the bridge, Jimmy and Percy each shook the old sailor’s hand and thanked him genuinely for his assistance and they all wished each other a wonderful night. The group walked a few yards, and Jill turned to give old Zach one last wave and a smile. But… she stopped dead cold in her tracks. Speaking loudly, she cried out, “Where is he ? Where did he go ? “ The rest of them turned around as well, and sure as dust, he was gone. No sign of him. Nor the lantern. They called out for him, but no response, nor the lantern light came about. All 4 looked intensely at each other, wide eyed. Then began to run toward the castle, a quarter mile away.

Once they arrived through the front doors, they immediately sought out Gary, their original tour guide. Percy saw him through a bunch of guests, and began.

Percy : Gary ! We need you ! Some bizarre incidents took place.

Gary : Ah yes, Mr. Plant, Mr. Page. How may I be of help ?

Percy : Well, just returned from a hike through the trail path you recommended.

Gary : Oh ? Rather late for a hike, since it’s dark out now. But, go on.

Percy : Something odd took place. Out by the long bridge.

Gary : Like what ?

Percy : We met an old sailor out there, who works here as groundskeeper. He was leaning against the edge of the railing, holding a lantern and offered to light our way as we crossed over. Old Zach he called himself. He came to us at the start of that bridge nearby and walked us across to light our way. But when we turned to wave to him, there was no one there. No one !! He gave a last name as well, anyone remember it ?

Jim : yeah, Griffins.

Gary : Oh my goodness. You just gave me a chill through my body !!

Percy : Why ?

Gary : You’ll see why. Just follow me. To the wall of legacy photos. You’ll see.

_________________________________________________ Next chap, 51: https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/188221307476/starshine-ch51-jimmy-page-fan-fiction

Chapter Index for “Starshine” is located at bottom section of Ch.1 , click here :

https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/184383708541/starshine-ch-1-jimmy

Link to “In The Light” - original fan fic -https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/173286165501/in-the-light-jimmy-page-fan-fiction

JimJam Mistresses : @tremble-and-shake @ledoftherings @gimmeeshelter @adonna1964 @justanotherzosofangirl @starchild0985 @girlofthemoon75 @bonscottintheimpala @12909168 @jjullz @cherryfloyd @tenementcrazylittlefruitcake @save-me-from-the-gallows-pole @soy-laprincessa @marauderofworlds @ultrabitchystudentperfectionus @satanspizzadeliveryguy @misspenylane @zi-zidane @catherine0627 @pagingpage-the-original @amythesticon @strangerspassinginthestreet @ thezeppelinbeatles @pour-some-sugar-on-mee @carryfire18 @j-james-thlk @70shoney @strange-broo @page-daddy @nadianad1337 @yerawizardjimmeh @jimmyypagey @magnetacuddles84 @rock6880 @ledxzeppelin @kinkyspice @thelandofnevermore @my-golden-lion @itsblackbetty @luvejimmy @palenickelsaladparty @jennmarieetn @honeydewgroupie @how-many-more-times-blog @loveinher-eyess @rocknrollababes-blog @princesssofpeace @frauweide @dontyouhearmecallingyou @zozjaa @miniaturewinnerwonderland @http-jinx @chennington @venicebeachx @wanna-be-groupie @where-the-hot-springs-blow @basementmermaid @crying-over-rock-legends @cherrrywitch @scarletrossetti @sixpackonthefrontseat @miamorjimmypage @jimmypageismylife @pennylane1968 @jlmmypage

*Please advise if you would like to be tagged or untagged.

#Fan Fiction #submission

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daddysfangirls-marvel · 6 years ago

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Aftermath

(Endgame spoiler)

Summary: Half was gone in the snap and then five years later they were back. Those who they left behind now have to explain and deal with the repercussions.

warning: Panic attack, sadness, mention of death, a bit of fluff but mostly sadness

Note: This has kind of been a theory I’ve been thinking about and wondering about. Like this is something someone should look into because like this is a bit plot hole or plot point no one has discussed, at least from what I've seen. I decided ot make a story about it I hope it is good.

She woke up gasping for air and clawing at her chest a thin sheet of sweat covering her body. She couldn’t breathe a deep ack in her chest, she couldn’t hear the blood rushing to her ears, she could barely move a deep tingle within her weak body.

“(Y/n)” she heard someone call her name in the distance but she doesn’t acknowledge them. Falling out of her bed she stumbles through her apartment leaning on the front door she takes her keys out of the bowl by the door she falls out into the hall crawling to her neighbors across the hall.

“sweetheart” Through all of this she is still gasping for air she is still in pain. With shaky hands, she looks for the key to the door. She feels an arm wrap around her waist and brings her to her feet. “ Hold on a minute baby” she shakes her head as she continues desperately looking for that one key.

Suddenly the door swings open. She drops the keys as she sees the woman standing in front of her she let out a sob as she collapses in the woman’s arms. She clings to the woman desperately sinking her nails into her skin but she doesn’t seem to mind her hold on her is just as desperate.

“It’s okay I’ve got you honey bunny” she whispers in her ears as she rubs her back.

“W-where where-”

“I know, I know let's go” she leads her through the apartment to a room.

“Sorry May I know you go to work early in the morning”

“It’s okay I’ve got her now. You can stay and take the couch tonight”

“I- I need- I need-”

“I know baby I know”

Going to a room down the hall she gentle kicks the door open leading her to the bed. She gasps seeing the lump in the bed Pulling back the covers she helps her into the bed. The lump turns around revealing itself opening his eyes he sighs and opens his arms “ (y/n)”

“P-P-Peter, Peter you were g-g...where were you? where were you?” Cuddling into his arms as she began to sob. May climbed in with them spooning her. Peter kissed her forehead and May rubs her back. (Y/n) continued to sob until she passed out.

A few hours later (Y/n) woke up again but this time it was calmer and gentle not startling. The first thing she sees is him sleeping calmly and peacefully he was here. She ran her fingers through his hair he hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t wake. He was here.

Tears started to gather in her eyes again. He was here. He was back, alive, well, and here. Five years and here he was back like he never left like nothing changed but everything changed.

They were twins when he left sibling. Same age born on the same day in the same grade born 15 minutes apart leaving him the oldest. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Not since that day.

Peter was gone. No one could find him. He was supposed to be on a field trip, (y/n) was also supposed to be on the field trip but wasn’t feeling well so she opted to stay home with Aunt May, He wasn’t on the bus with the other kids and he wasn’t answering his phone.

“AUNT MAY” (Y/n) screamed calling on her aunt from the kitchen “ I found him”

“where?” she came rushing into the living room to see her nephew aka Spiderman on TV on a ... spaceship?

“space” a loud thud was heard behind the couch “ Aunt May? AUNT MAY” Looking behind the couch she found her Aunt passed out. With little strength she had she dragged her Aunt on to the couch. It was about 10 minutes before she woke up again they both realized there was nothing they could do so they took a seat and simply watched as the drama unfolded on tv. The drama went on for several hours before It happened.

She was sitting on the couch holding her aunt's hand when she suddenly didn’t feel her hand anymore. She turned just in time to see her aunt fall into a pile off the dust on the couch.

“AAHHHHHHHHH”

It took her three days to figure out it had happened to half the world. She spent four weeks locked up in the apartment until she got some sense and grew some balls. Packing a bag she took a four days journey to the Avenger’s compound by foot. Once she had arrived, it had been 27 days since the incidents. She found Mr. Stark and explained what happened to her Aunt he then revealed that the same thing happened to Peter in space. Realizing she had no one left (y/n) collapsed she sobbed again until she passed out. She spent the next three days crying none stop.

(Y/n) didn’t have anyone after the snap so Pepper and Tony took her in and took care of her as their own daughter (Basically making her morgen’s older sister), within a year she started calling them mom and dad.

That same year she met a man named Wade Wilson, he was .... interesting, they hit it off pretty quickly. They were friends for about two years before they started a relationship that was now on its third year.

In a matter of five years (y/n) grieved and moved on making a new life with a new family. She didn’t truly move on she just found new ways to cope with the missing pieces.

Now the missing pieces were back and she was realizing how much she truly missed them and how much pain she was in without them and how much she had grown without them. She made missed so much of her life they had missed so many important things. But it was a trade, an exchange of sorts she got two important people for the price of one. Tony. Her father.

“you should sleep” he whispered tiptoeing into the room as she sat up moving to the foot of the bed putting her head in her hands “ you need it, babe”. He could already see her heading into another panic attack her breathing picking up to panting and eyes becoming glassy.

“I-I need- I need-” kneeling in front of her gives her phone she nods in thanks. Going through her phone she finds a saved video on her phone.

“Hey Kid” It’s Tony, “ So I know you’re probably busy but I want you to know what’s going on right now. I think- I think I found a way to fix everything and I’d be damn not to try it. It involves -what for it- time travel, boom. It’s going to be awesome it is going to be epic and I’m going to tell you all about it on Sunday Dinner.I’ll see you then honeybunny. Loads of love. Oh, and hey, send Morgan 3000 for me.” It ended with a wink.

The video ended and she pressed repeat. She played it again and again and again until it finally died. Silent tears streaming down her face

“I have nightmares. Me and him we’re doing the things we use to do homework, projects, building Legos. Then suddenly he isn't there anymore just a pile of dust or even worse he fades away in my arms.”

“He’s here now and everything is okay”

“But it’s not okay. He’s my twin brother yet he’s 18 and I’m 23. All my past friends are in high school while over here looking for a house and continuing my career. I’m an adult there was no high school graduation or college because everyone was dead. I was supposed to do all that with him. Now he’s doing it alone. We’re twins yet we are at two different points in our lives”

“That’s okay because now you have alcohol and me”

(y/n) Chuckles leaning forward she traces the scars on his face “ I guess you’re right. You’re one good thing that came out of this”

“you know...your aunt has microwave burritos I made six do you want one.”

She smiles gently kissing his chap lips she turns around and crawls back into bed under the sheets between her brother and her Aunt “good night Wade”.

“I’ll save you one, good night”

“(y/n)?”

“Yes Peter”

“Your boyfriend is weird”

“I know Peter, good night”

“night”

Permanent tags

@sexysamsungl @totallyweirdsam @geeksareunique @iamwarrenspeace @lovely-lollipops-blog @lilylovelyxo @that-random-emu @supreme-leader-jazlo-ren @stone2576 @lil-dino-trash @metal-armed-dino @theshortegg @dontevenblink-badwolf-tardis @mandylove1000 @isnotashtonstan @broitsmydick @onceaballeralwaysaballer1213 @mypage-myfandoms @jordynhartley2001 @midnightdream83 @i-am-marvel-trash-forever @mandylove1000 @gabriels-gumdrop @lokilvrr1 @the-best-alchemist @smile-my-bean @valeriae2903 @cassiopeia-barrow @lookinsidemyhead @spideyboiiiiiii

#Avengers #avengers fanfiction #avenger: endgame #marvel endgame #peter parker #spiderman #fanfiction #siblings #peter park fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction

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popatochisssp · 6 years ago

Text

Hope for the Holidays

Sans is stuck in the past, even a whole year after reaching the surface with no more RESETs.

Maybe he could use a pep talk...or a Pap talk.

AO3 Link

I wrote this for the Undertale Secret Santa 2018! Pure Sans & Papyrus brotherly fluff. :3

It never got any easier.

Sans would’ve thought after about the millionth time it happened, he’d have gotten used to it, jolting awake in a cold sweat, his magic flaring as his soul was crushed by the overwhelming weight of panicked despair—fight-or-flight instincts sharpened by the horrible knowledge that it was all completely, utterly, terribly…

Useless.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, taking deep breaths and trying to quell his own rattling.

This had to stop.

It was over now…wasn’t it?

……His insistent nightmares disagreed.

Sans sighed, checking the clock next to the window—shades open, always open to the sky above the surface and its proof of an intact timeline—and he slumped in disappointment.

4:27 AM.

Too early for Grillby’s, too late to try going back to sleep, even for him.

There was only one thing to do.

Nothing calmed the nerves like a good, old-fashioned midnight snack, whether it was midnight or not…or whether any actual nerves were involved.

Sans was used to taking a quick shortcut down to kitchen for leftovers. It was a route he knew all the way down to his bones.

…heh.

Silently digging through the fridge and cutlery drawer was old-hat, ignoring the lights and the microwave for stealth reasons easy and familiar.

The taste of the cold spaghetti he shoveled into his mouth with shaking hands, though…

That was different.

It was edible, for one thing, with barely any glitter in it. It actually tasted…pretty good, a triumph of all the hours Papyrus had spent up here watching cooking shows and stalking recipe blogs.

Hours that haven’t all been RESET back to nothing by a world-bending power a kid should’ve never had.

Sans was grateful for it.

He was happy for the way things had turned out, really, he was.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about what it took to get it, either.

All the failed attempts, the do-overs, the ‘what would happen if I…’s

(The times Sans had to watch his world fall apart because of a child swinging a little plastic knife.)

Frisk promised.

They swore it was over, all of it, never to happen again.

No more RESETs. This is the best ending.

So…why couldn’t Sans just…believe that?

After a year up top, free of the Underground, it seemed like the truth. Life was finally moving forward, linearly, after stars only knew how long it had looped and weaved and stopped dead before starting over somewhere else.

Everyone else was diving right into surface life, vacations, new jobs, new hobbies, new lives—and it felt like Sans was the only one who couldn’t trust it.

He’d spent so long wanting this exact thing but now that he had it, it didn’t even seem real.

Why bother with anything? It was all just going to…

Sans buried his face in his hands and shuddered.

He hated this. All of it.

He wanted it to be over. He wanted to trust it was over.

But he just felt…hopeless.

He didn’t even notice at first when the kitchen light flicked on.

“SANS?”

That, he noticed.

Sans straightened, scrambling to put an easy grin on his skull for his brother, who was frowning at him in the doorway.

“hey, Pap.” Good, that sounded casual. “what’re you doin’ up?”

Papyrus just scoffed. “YOU KNOW I DON’T SLEEP MUCH. I’M NOT A LAZYBONES LIKE YOU.” He narrowed his eye-sockets, suspiciously demanding, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP? THE SUN HASN’T EVEN RISEN YET!”

Oh, stars, the sun.

Sans was gonna miss that the most when everything got RESET again.

The thought was unexpectedly painful and Sans rushed to cover it.

“ah, y’know, thought maybe the sun had the light idea, gettin’ an early start to the day.”

Expectedly, Papyrus’ frown deepened at the barrage of jokes.

Unexpectedly…he didn’t take the bait.

“YOU LOOK TERRIBLE,” he said instead. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

Sans laughed a little, hoping the nervous edge to it was only so noticeable to him.

He should’ve known a half-assed lie wouldn’t work on his bro—he was just too cool to fall for that.

A whole-assed lie, on the other hand…

Sans sighed, a little dramatically.

“alright,” he said, “alright, ya’ caught me. guess i am a little upset this mornin’…”

Papyrus finally came all the way into the room, browbones knit in concern. “CAN I HELP?”

“don’t worry about it, you already are.”

That just earned Sans a confused look.

Sans grinned, as infuriatingly wide as he could, waggling his forkful of pasta at his brother. “how can i be upsetti when i got your spaghetti?”

Papyrus scowled.

…But instead of throwing his arms up and stomping off in exasperation like he was supposed to, he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY TRYING TO GET RID OF ME,” Papyrus deduced, “SO YOU MUST REALLY BE OUT OF SORTS AND TRYING TO HIDE IT FOR SOME STUPID REASON.”

Sans’ eye-sockets went wide. “what? no, i—”

“AND NOW YOU THINK DOUBLING DOWN IS GOING TO WORK LIKE I HAVEN’T KNOWN YOU LITERALLY MY ENTIRE LIFE AND CAN’T SEE YOU SWEATING.”

Ah, jeez, was he? “look, Pap, seriously, it’s—”

“‘NOT THAT BAD’?” Papyrus guessed, folding his arms over his chest. “IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY TO ME, EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE OUT OF BED BEFORE NOON AND I COULD HEAR YOU RATTLING EARLIER ALL THE WAY FROM MY ROOM?”

“……”

damn.

“i just—”

Papyrus cut him off again. “THIS ISN’T THE FIRST TIME YOU HAD A BAD NIGHT, SANS. WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION AND JOKES AREN’T GOING TO GET YOU OUT OF IT.”

Sans doesn’t even get his mouth all the way open before yet another warning.

“MEMES AREN’T GOING TO GET YOU OUT OF IT, EITHER.”

………damn.

Papyrus was just way too good.

Sans never stood a chance.

He wilted a little in his chair, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Pap obviously wasn’t about to be dissuaded now, but…where to even begin with the bullshit plaguing him now? For years at least, if his data on the RESETs had been even marginally accurate.

It was… It was a lot, but…

Well, hell.

Sans had to start somewhere.

“alright. okay. rhetorical question, then.”

“FINE,” Papyrus agreed. “A COMPLETELY RHETORICALLY, DEFINITELY NOT ABOUT YOU AT ALL SORT OF QUESTION.”

“…really not makin’ this easier, bro.”

Papyrus had the grace to look a teensy bit chastened. “YES, OF COURSE. PURELY RHETORICAL.”

Sans took a breath, a long moment to weigh his words.

“have ya’ ever just felt…stuck?” he wondered slowly. “like…like nothin’ matters an’ there’s no point doin’…anything ‘cause it’s just…nothin’s gonna change anyway, no matter what ya’ do?”

“YES. OFTEN.”

Sans’ head shot up in surprise. “wh… for…for real?”

Papyrus just looked at him, like he’d be rolling his eyes if he had any. “STARS, SANS, OF COURSE I HAVE. WE WERE TRAPPED UNDERGROUND FOR THE ENTIRETY OF OUR LIVES WITH MINIMAL HOPE OF ESCAPE, BARRING THE EXTREMELY RANDOM CHANCE THAT THE LAST HUMAN MIGHT FALL SOMETIME BEFORE WE DUSTED OF OLD AGE.”

“……oh. right.”

Funny how easily he’d just…forgotten about that.

…Maybe not easily.

“WE ALL FELT STUCK, SANS,” Papyrus continued, not unempathetically. “PROBABLY BECAUSE WE WERE. IT WAS SO…LIMITING DOWN THERE! I HAD SO MANY THINGS I WANTED TO DO THAT I THOUGHT WERE IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE LONGEST TIME… UNTIL THEY WEREN’T ANYMORE! I CAN LIVE ALL OF MY DREAMS, NOW!”

Sans followed the logic—they were free now, and if Papyrus could live his dreams, he could too!

Except…

Sans remembered some of those dreams Pap had mentioned: getting to drive down an open road for miles with no end in sight, fresh breezes, real sunlight…

Sure, he had all of those things now…but for how long?

“what if…what if you couldn’t, though?” Sans asked, fiddling with his fork. “what if one day, it was all just…gone? we were back underground, trapped all over again, an’…an’ nothin’ we did would make any difference?”

“THAT SOUNDS LIKE IT WOULD BE A HUGE BUMMER.”

The glib delivery startled a laugh out of Sans. For all that he was the comedian of the two of them, he’d never seen a better Straight Man than his brother.

Papyrus knew it, too, if the smug look he wore was any indication.

“WELL, IT’S OBVIOUS TO ME,” he proclaimed, “THAT YOU, DEAR BROTHER, ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOME VERY EXISTENTIAL PROFUNDITY.”

Sans couldn’t deny that. “yeah, pretty much.”

“IN THAT CASE! I WOULD LIKE TO OFFER YOU SOME ADVICE!”

“…heheheh…yeah?”

“YES!” Papyrus exclaimed. “I KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT KEEPING MY SPIRITS UP, EVEN WHEN PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING ELSE IS TERRIBLE. THERE’S A TRICK TO IT, SO YOU WON’T EVEN HAVE TO WORK VERY HARD—I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU HATE THAT. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR IT?”

Couldn’t hurt…right?

“okay. lay it on me. what’s the trick?”

“MY AMAZING, FOOLPROOF, NEVER-FAIL TRICK TO STAYING POSITIVE……” Sans struggled to hold back a snicker at Papyrus’ suitably dramatic pause. “…IS REMEMBERING THAT NO MATTER WHAT, MY REALLY COOL BROTHER IS GOING TO BE THERE WITH ME! SO EVEN WHEN LIFE ISN’T PERFECT, IT’S STILL PRETTY DARN GOOD!”

Sans’ grin dropped.

“………”

It wasn’t often that he was rendered completely speechless.

But of course, if anyone could do it, it would be Papyrus.

And he wasn’t even done yet.

“YOU’RE ENOUGH, SANS,” he said, brooking no argument. “EVEN IF EVERYTHING SUCKS AND YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING TO FIX IT, YOU STILL MATTER. TO A LOT OF PEOPLE…BUT ESPECIALLY TO ME! SO IF YOU EVER NEED A PEP TALK…OR…OR JUST A REGULAR TALK…I’M HERE.”

……he was.

Papyrus was always there.

Even when the entire timeline uprooted and went back to the start, Papyrus was the very first thing Sans woke up to, kicking down his door for sleeping late instead of being at his sentry-post.

Even through the bad runs, Papyrus was there to hold things together when monsters were being dusted or spared all over the place and Sans drove himself crazy trying to guess a reason for which.

(And even…even when he wasn’t there, on the really bad runs…he kind of was still there, giving Sans something to focus on long enough to reach the Judgment Hall.)

Sans was dumbfounded for a few long moments.

How could he ever have forgotten that there was at least one constant, no matter how many RESETs there were?

Papyrus was always a real star, bright and shining.

Maybe Sans couldn’t believe yet that the RESETs were over, or that this peace on the surface world was something that could actually last.

But maybe…

Maybe he could believe in something else.

Sans shortcutted himself to the other side of the table and tugged Papyrus into a hug. His eye-sockets started to feel suspiciously wet, but he ignored it.

“bro…you’re the coolest.”

“NYEH-HEH-HEH, I KNOW!” Papyrus squeezed him back, standing and pulling him right up off the kitchen tile with the force of his hugging. “YOU RAISED ME THAT WAY! SO BY THE TRANSITIVE PROPERTY OF COOLNESS, YOU’RE PRETTY COOL, TOO!”

“not as cool as you.”

Papyrus scoffed. “OBVIOUSLY, BUT THAT’S AN IMPOSSIBLE STANDARD! OUR INTENSE, COMBINED RADICALNESS IS BLINDING NONETHELESS!”

Sans started to chuckle. “hey, maybe i oughta start sellin’ sunglasses. y’know, for the poor, unsuspecting saps we pass on the street.”

Papyrus pulled back, squinting at him. “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO START THAT UNLICENSED VENDORING STUFF UP AGAIN, ARE YOU?” he asked. “THAT’S ILLEGAL, YOU KNOW!”

“nah, i won’t, you’re right,” Sans relented. “that’d be pretty…shady of me, wouldn’t it?”

“…………”

Sans was unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

“I TAKE IT BACK,” Papyrus said, a surly look on his skull. “YOU’RE NOT COOL AT ALL—YOU’RE ACTUALLY THE WORST AND I’M DISOWNING YOU.”

Sans laughed, louder and more genuine than he had in…

Stars, how long had it been?

He didn’t think he could say for sure, but it felt good.

The kitchen was getting a little brighter, more light coming in from the window as the sun started to come up outside.

It gave Sans an impulsive thought, and for once, he actually felt like chasing it.

“hey, if i’m disowned, can i still hang out on your porch to watch the sunrise?”

Papyrus, already turning on his heel and feigning aloofness, replied, “TAKE A SCARF, IT’S CHILLY—AND NOT A WORD ABOUT THE COLD ‘GOING RIGHT THROUGH YOU,’ SANS, THAT’S NOT EVEN A JOKE, IT’S A FACTUAL STATEMENT! HAVE SOME PRIDE, PUT SOME EFFORT INTO YOUR WITTICISMS FOR ONCE!”

Sans headed to the coat-rack by the front door, tugging down a skull-print scarf—human fashion, go figure—and putting it on.

“pride?” he echoed in disbelief. “effort? jeez, Pap, who do you think you’re havin’ a conversation wit here?”

Sans didn’t have to wonder if Papyrus heard him all the way from the kitchen, because he heard exactly the sound he’d been hoping for in response: distant and begrudging laughter.

“…NYEH-HEH-HEH, DAMN IT, THAT ONE WAS ACTUALLY PRETTY GOOD. GO, ALREADY, OR YOU’RE GOING TO MISS THE PINK CLOUDS! THOSE ARE THE BEST PART!”

It wasn’t until Sans was actually outside, watching the winter sky light up like a watercolor painting, that he realized he had to disagree with Papyrus.

The pink clouds were pretty cool…but when his brother came out to bring him a fresh mug of coffee, dressed in his own signature scarf, Sans couldn’t help but think that the scarlet-orange streaks were way cooler.

Seeing that color up there in the sky…Sans was really starting to feel like he could do anything he wanted up here.

Like it might actually stick.

Watching the sun come up with his brother by his side, Sans was filled with hope.

#undertale #fanfiction #sans #papyrus #myfic

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icecubelotr44 · 6 years ago

Text

Clear and Present Danger (6/16)

Summary: Homicide detective Killian Jones has been searching for a way to bring Milah’s murderer to justice. There’s only one small problem: Robert Gold is the captain of the same homicide division. Enter Emma Swan, Internal Affairs investigator, looking into Gold’s shady dealings. Between the two of them, can they unravel the web of deals and lies that have gotten Gold to where he is?

Rated: T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump (you expected different?

TW: character death, mention of past self-harm, fatal car accident, school hostage situation

Other ships: mentions past Millian in a good light, Outlaw Queen, Snowing

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @cocohook38 made the cover you can see above and on her blog here. Later in the story, she’s illustrated some key points to the fic and I can’t thank her enough for her work! Chapter Four’s art is HERE. Go show her some love!

Beta reader: @gusenitsaa took on this monster without probably knowing exactly what she was getting into (what do you mean 100,000 words?!) and any mistakes that you find are probably me being stubborn and ignoring her advice! Thank you!

A/N: Written as part of the 2018 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge. You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Sunday from now until its completion.

Take it away, It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Word count: ~ 6,450 (100k Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: AO3 / FFN

Current Chapter: ao3 | ffn

CHAPTER SIX: OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE

Killian sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning alone. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before - after he'd docked the Jolly, Emma had bolted for her car so fast he couldn't even wish her a good night. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. He'd thought… well, he'd thought that maybe they were making progress. That maybe she was starting to trust him.

This morning was starting out spectacularly. Liam had left again, before the sun rose and before even Killian was out of bed - a note on the fridge just said "Cabin, Call You" - and had apparently taken the last of the coffee with him. The line at Dunkin Donuts had been ridiculous, some woman and her fourteen kids (he might have been exaggerating) had all ordered a full breakfast and, he'd swear, lunch as well.

Then, he'd gotten to work only to find that somehow, the greasy substance he was waiting for results on had been mishandled and destroyed. No one in the lab could explain how it had happened, but the evidence had been lost and there was nothing he could do about it.

Now they were stuck in traffic. Not the normal, pull your hair out because no one knew how to drive between the hours of seven and nine am kind of traffic. No, it was the slow, torturous crawl of bottlenecked accident traffic. According to the scanner, some idiot had stopped short in front of a tractor trailer, possibly for a small animal, and two lanes had been shut down completely as a result.

While he was glad he wasn't on that particular detail, Killian just wanted to get to Cambridge. He had a feeling that whatever Belle French could tell them, it would be worth the trip. If anyone knew LeGume and what he was into that got him killed, it would be the secret girlfriend.

"Bloody hell," Robin muttered under his breath as the car next to them merged and cut them off. His fingers clenched spasmodically around the wheel as if he were going to strangle it. "Don't they see we're in a police car?"

Killian huffed out an annoyed laugh in sympathy "It's unmarked, remember. And I don't think it's the steering wheel's fault, mate."

Robin cut his glare over to Killian and narrowed his eyes further. Killian resisted the urge to grab the wheel himself, knowing Locksley was capable of driving distracted but not wanting to make the evening news anyway.

Local homicide officers exacerbate accident. Story at eleven.

Finally, Robin gave up trying to wring the frustration out of the wheel and sat back with a resigned sigh. They weren't getting anywhere fast. "Did I tell you that Roland got a gold star for sharing yesterday?"

Killian grinned. "And you and Regina were worried that being an only child would stunt his growth," he teased jovially.

Robin rolled his eyes. "Says the man with a brother."

"You can borrow him any time you'd like," Killian said as seriously as he was able.

Robin cut a glance at him, clearly in disbelief.

"Oh, thank God," Killian muttered under his breath when they finally made it past the orange cones and could pick up speed again. Robin agreed by stepping harder on the accelerator and blowing by the soccer mom who had cut them off.

"So what did Roland share that earned him a gold star and, I'm sure, an ice cream cone?" Killian smirked as Robin grinned proudly.

"He shared his new markers with a girl at his art table. Let her use his green one, even."

Green was quite plainly Roland's favorite color. Killian knew this as well as he knew that his eyes were blue and Liam was his older brother. It was just the way it was.

Robin continued to fill Killian in on Roland's progress in kindergarten as they wound their way north to Cambridge. They finally turned down Ms. French's street and, surprisingly for the way the morning had gone, found a parking spot not too far away.

"Detectives?" Ms. French met them at the door, one hand holding it open while the other flipped up to check her watch. They were much later than Robin had told her they'd be there.

"Yes, ma'am," Robin acknowledged, showing her his badge and introducing both of them. "May we come in?"

She nodded, stepping back into the entryway to allow them access. "You said this is about Gaston? I haven't spoken with him in… well, nearly a week now."

Killian ignored the clenching in his heart that came every time he had to notify kin. "We're very sorry to tell you, ma'am, but Mr. LeGume was found dead earlier this week."

She blanched immediately, and the less cynical side of Killian whispered that there was no faking that. Whatever else she did or didn't tell them, Belle hadn't known that her lover was dead.

Robin took her arm gently when she swayed, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a cry of shock. He helped her towards the couch in the front room, lowering her gently to sit as Killian moved into the kitchen where he found a still-steaming cup of tea. He filled a glass with water from the tap anyway and brought both back to her.

"Ma'am," Killian called gently when he crouched down next to Robin. She looked up to smile blankly at him, and the empty look in her eyes was so familiar that he nearly had to turn away.

"Call me Belle, please," she allowed, taking the cup of tea from him and cradling it in her hands. "I'm not that old yet."

Killian nodded, placing the glass on a coaster made to look like an old first-edition book cover. Treasure Island, he read. The whole room was filled with books - some in floor to ceiling shelves and some scattered on the coffee and side tables. It was a miniature library and Killian got the feeling that it wasn't just for show. For one thing, the books were well cared for - but also well worn. There was no dust on the bookcases; she clearly took pride in each one.

"I don't know what I can tell you," she admitted. "Gaston and I… we talked about books. We went out up on the North Shore where we wouldn't be recognized. We didn't… he didn't talk about anything else."

Killian got the feeling that LeGume didn't do much talking at all, if the way Belle's cheeks grew red as she turned introspective were any indication. He remembered those early days with Milah. "You didn't want to be recognized? Or he didn't?" he tried.

Belle grimaced. "It was more of a mutual agreement. It wouldn't be good for him to be seen with a student, even if I weren't being graded by him. And I-" she cut herself off with a shake of her head and covered by taking a gulp of tea. It was clearly still too hot, and she nearly choked. Her eyes started to water and once that dam was broken, it was as if she'd given herself permission to grieve. Tears came fast and hard, though she was surprisingly silent.

Killian looked guiltily away, unable to handle the young woman's grief. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been the same way: trying to put on a front when all he wanted to do was collapse into himself and break.

He might have done so irreparably if Liam and Robin and the Nolans hadn't held him together with superglue, duct tape, and chocolate chip cookies. Mary Margaret's cookies were to die for.

Some days, he still felt like he might just shatter, and even the world's fastest jigsaw-er wouldn't be able to fit all the pieces into the puzzle.

"I'm sorry," Belle managed a few moments later, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she'd produced out of thin air, it seemed. "I know that you're busy trying to find out what happened, but I just-"

"No need to apologize, ma'am," Robin soothed, reaching out to take the mug away when her fingers slackened around it. "I know this must come as a bit of a shock."

Belle laughed daintily, but it rang hollow and the smile that crossed her face was pained at best. "A bit," she parroted wryly and Robin had the good grace to look chagrined.

"An unfortunate turn of phrase," he apologized.

Belle nodded her acceptance of this, but remained otherwise silent. Killian took the opportunity to sidle out of the room and look around the main floor. There were more books scattered haphazardly about - all well-loved and clearly taken care of, but within reach instead of on display. It looked like Belle would wander her home reading and leave the book wherever she was when she finished.

For all of the books that she owned, Belle had very few photographs adorning her walls. There were a few of her in various locations across the world, but she was alone in each shot.

"I've always loved traveling," she said quietly from behind Killian, but it still made him jump.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, placing down the copy of Oliver Twist that he'd picked up somewhere in his search. "I just-"

Belle smiled. "You were doing your job, Detective. I don't blame you for that. Do you read much?" she asked, nodding her head towards the book in front of him.

"My brother used to read this to me when we were kids," Killian allowed. "I'm afraid I don't read as much as I'd like to, anymore, though."

"None of us do."

Killian couldn't argue with that. He smiled politely and followed Belle back to where Robin was still looking contrite. They spoke for a while longer, but it was clear that the young woman's mind wasn't focused on the conversation any longer.

"If you think of anything else, Ms. French, here's my card. Please call," Killian finally allowed her an out which she took with alacrity. She snatched the card from him before looking sheepish, but ushered them towards the door anyway.

Killian would never figure out why they hadn't seen the photo on the way into the apartment. It wasn't like it was hidden, or something they wouldn't have noticed.

It was a picture of Belle, in front of Quincy Market, with Gold's arms wrapped around her from behind. They were both smiling into the camera, taken from such a low angle that it could only have been shot by a child.

"You know Captain Gold?" Killian asked before he could think better of it.

Robin's head whipped around and followed Killian's gaze to the photo.

"You mean Robert?" Belle asked offhandedly, something almost chilling in her tone.

Killian nodded slowly, the disharmony ringing in his ears over seeing his tormentor looking so happy with his arms around a woman who wasn't Milah. He looked so happy; they both looked so goddamned happy while Milah had been so miserable. Killian didn't understand. "When" - he cleared his throat - "when was this taken?"

"Oh, about three years ago."

Gold had still been married to Milah.

Killian was going to tear him apart. There wasn't a dark enough hellhole to drop him in. There weren't enough Hellhounds in the underworld to torment him. There wasn't-

Robin said something that Killian didn't catch, but it was enough distraction for him to mutter a strangled, "Thank you for your help," before nearly sprinting out the door.

The bright light of the sun assaulted him, making him blink rapidly to keep the tears out of his eyes. From the sun. Of course. Not because the bastard had been cheating on Milah for who knew how long and had spent all of that time castigating her for finding happiness with him.

"You all right, mate?" Robin asked a few minutes later, coming up to stand next to Killian so that they were shoulder to shoulder looking down the street. Killian wasn't seeing any of it.

The first time Milah had come to him, tears in her eyes and a stubborn look on her face, she hadn't told him what Gold had said to her. She'd muttered that she didn't want to talk about it, that it didn't matter; they were all that mattered to her and she'd go to Hell and back before she'd allow her husband to ruin the freedom she found with Killian. For his part, Killian had held her close and promised her the world - he'd have moved mountains or fled to the most remote corner of the world he could find if only she'd ask.

He thought she'd have done it, too, if it wasn't for her son. Killian had met the boy a few times, heard plenty of stories about "Bae"and his adventures in the Neverlands and Enchanted Forests in their backyard. But if there was one thing he knew as well as the fact that Milah loved him, it was that Robert Gold loved his son to an unhealthy degree. They'd never wrest the boy from his father's grasp and Milah would never truly leave him behind.

So Killian had settled. He'd accepted his relationship with her for what it was, loved her for the love she had for her son, and made do with the time that was given to him.

"Aye," he finally lied to Robin, squaring his shoulders and opening the car door. "Let's just get back to the station before we hit any more bloody traffic."

Emma couldn't believe it. She was looking at the results herself and she couldn't believe it. She'd found the note buried in one of Jones's files on the boat weeks ago and had tucked it in her pocket to ask him about later. He'd been dismissive, but the threat had stuck with her: LET THIS GO IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU. On a whim, she'd had it dusted for prints at an independent lab. Now, she finally had the results and she couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Detective Nottingham.

She didn't know the man well, just well enough to dislike him, but he didn't seem the type to stick his neck where it didn't belong. Still, a threat to a police officer wasn't something to be taken lightly and when Emma had questioned him, he'd been straightforward and succinct.

"Yeah, I put it on Jones's car. Bugger doesn't deserve the shield he carries." Nottingham had shrugged then and leaned back in his chair, as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Yanked the battery wire, too. Thought about… well, never mind."

Emma blinked. And then blinked again. "You're… admitting to threatening a police officer?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded succinctly, smirking at her.

"Tell me who put you up to this," she tried, sure that he'd never have admitted to it so smugly if he'd done it on his own.

A look of fear crossed his features before it was carefully masked behind the arrogance once more. "Don't know what you're talking about," he deflected - almost convincingly.

"Of course you do," Emma tried again. "The investigation into LeGume hasn't turned up any leads that would tie him to you; you had no reason to threaten Lieutenant Jones. Whoever put you up to it must have wanted the detective to look the other way. Someone told you to put that note on his car. Someone told you to destroy the evidence Jones found at the scene."

She thought that adding in that second charge would throw him off balance. Evidence tampering was much harder to wave off than what ended up being an empty threat to a fellow officer.

Nottingham just shrugged. "Nope. Just me. Thought losing the evidence would get him booted. What are you going to do about it?"

Emma read him his rights.

It was only when she finished that he began to splutter, rising to his feet with a look of utter disbelief as she cinched handcuffs around his wrists and led him to a cell. He didn't fight her, per se, but he wasn't willingly ambling along either. Emma thought about securing him in with the rest of the detainees overnight while she processed his paperwork, but wanted to make sure everything went by the book. So, a cell to himself, it was.

The clang of the jail cell slamming shut seemed to flip the switch in Nottingham, as if he had begun to realize that whoever his benefactor was - and Emma didn't need to pass a detective's exam to guess who it was - he wasn't coming to the rescue. Nottingham stalked the length of the cell, muttering under his breath the entire time, looking up every once in awhile before sulking to the back corner and starting his circuit again.

Emma needed to go fill out all the paperwork, but she was transfixed by the pattern Nottingham was making. Was he really willing to sacrifice himself rather than give up Gold?

"Thank you for taking out the trash as it were," Gold praised as he appeared behind her out of nowhere. Emma refused to jump, though he'd startled her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a sneer. His eyes never left the scene playing out in front of them, Nottingham pacing behind the bars of the cell like a caged wolf.

Emma turned to face him, not willing to watch the scapegoat any longer. "You're not getting away with this," she promised, seething.

"Actually, I am." Gold smirked and leaned forward a bit. "I think you'll find that all your evidence conveniently points to Nottingham. Won't find a thing to tie me to any of this. I'm going to walk away from this with clean hands."

He was right. The bastard was right and there wasn't anything Emma could do to change it.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to try. "That's not gonna happen," she assured herself more than threatened him. Emma had dealt with her fair share of bullies growing up. He was just another one.

"I like your confidence," Gold admitted with a disarming smile. Emma saw why Jones called him a crocodile, with all his teeth proudly glinting in the fluorescent lighting. "It's charming. But it doesn't change the fact that I win again."

Emma snarled. "You know I'm going to figure this out. I'm willing to roll the dice. Follow whatever bread crumbs I have to to finish this. And when I do, who knows what might come out about you in the process. Somehow I suspect there is more to you than a simple Homicide captain. You really want to start that fight?"

Gold grinned, but Emma could see the flicker of unease that he was trying to hide. It was gone an instant later, but Emma had seen it and that was all that mattered.

Gold's days were numbered.

"I like you, Ms. Swan," he blustered. "You're not afraid of me, and that's either cocky or presumptuous. Either way, I'd rather have you finish your investigation and get out of my precinct."

He walked away before Emma could get another word in. She shuddered with the need to do something. She was sure that Nottingham had been the one to threaten Jones and impede his investigation into LeGume's murder; he'd admitted it and he wasn't lying. But he wasn't the type to do it on his own.

No, Emma would have to dig deeper if she was going to figure out what Gold had on the officer, but she would find it and once she did, she'd use it herself to flip Nottingham on his leash-holder. With nothing else to do with or for Nottingham, Emma turned resolutely away and stomped back to her desk.

She nearly screeched when a hand darted out from the stairway and tugged her inside. Killian grabbed her wrist before she could punch him in the face, using his size to crowd her back against the wall and out of sight from the rest of the precinct.

"What the hell, Jones!" she hissed vehemently, wriggling and trying to get free.

Killian smirked, not hurting her, but clearly using his height advantage to stop her from getting free. "You want to calm down, darling?" he asked, a hint of something sharp in his tone.

Emma stomped on his instep, not hard enough to do any real damage, but enough to make him yelp and let her go.

"Bloody hell, woman," he whined, one hand pushed against her shoulder to keep her in place while the other reached in vain for his injured foot.

"Let. Me. Go!" Emma ordered, reaching threateningly for his pinky finger.

Killian gingerly put his foot down and made a show of taking his hand off her shoulder. "What did Gold want? Are you all right?" he finally asked.

Emma blinked. That was what all of this was for? "Are you kidding me right now? I thought we agreed that the less people see of us together, the better.

Killian shrugged and Emma wanted to be annoyed. She did. Half of the evidence they were able to compile on Gold had remained untainted because Killian wasn't connected with her. And she wasn't connected with him. But he looked so sincere and goddamned endearing that it was a struggle to keep the smile from escaping.

"I'm fine, Jones," she assured him softly, reaching out to lay her hand on his chest. What the hell are you doing? she thought before yanking her hand back like she'd been burned. "He was just spewing nonsense about how he's going to get away with everything. The arrogance…"

Emma could see the frustration and… was that resignation on Jones's face?

"We'll get him, Swan," Killian vowed, shaking away whatever Emma had seen in his eyes. "We have to. I have to. For Milah."

"Get out of my bloody way!" he shouts, trying to push past the two men holding him back. "That's my… that's… I need…"

God, he doesn't know what he needs. To start the day over? To be in the car with her? To get to her side, hold her hand, pretend that he was there in her last moments?

All of the above?

He knows it's too late; he heard the call for the medical examiner on the way across the city, lights and sirens blaring even though he knew he'd be suspended for it. She's already gone and there's nothing he can do about it.

But he still needs to get to her side.

"Liam!" he shouts, catching sight of his brother with a notepad and pen. "Liam, tell them to let me through!"

Killian watches as his brother looks up, can see the regret etched across Liam's face even from this far away. It's not grief there, no of course it isn't. Liam has never approved of what his little brother has gotten involved in. But Killian knows his brother isn't heartless, either. Not even his misgivings about the situation would stand in the way of-

"You can't be here, little brother," Liam says, but the words don't make any sense.

Killian shakes his head, not understanding. "Liam, I have to…"

"You have to go, Killian. You can't be here, right now. The scene-"

"I don't care a bloody whit about the scene, Liam!" he shouts, struggling against the other men still holding him back. "I need to get to her. Brother, please."

Milah is right there, still sitting in the car as though waiting for the tree to pull up its roots and move out of her way. He can't see her face, but he can see her hair, the curls blowing in the breeze. Bloody hell, he couldn't even count the number of times they'd driven down to the Cape and he'd spent half of the ride spitting her hair out of his mouth. It was all about freedom, she'd told him time and time again. She felt like she could breathe when she was with him, so the last thing she wanted to do was restrict her hair.

"I'm sorry, Killian, you know I can't-" Liam's head snaps to the side as Killian's knuckles collide with his cheek. Blood drips from a cut that one of his rings left behind.

Killian almost feels bad. Almost.

"Some bloody brother, you are," Killian hisses, yanking his other arm free from the officer and stepping back. He wants his brother to hit him back, wants to fight with someone - anyone - so he doesn't have to concentrate on-

"I know you don't mean that," Liam says calmly, pulling out a handkerchief to blot at the blood before it can sully his crime scene. That's all it is to him, Killian realizes, just another case.

"Liam," he pleads, "I have to see her. I don't care what the rules are."

"But I do," Liam insists, ducking under the tape and trying to pull Killian away.

Killian resists, tearing his brother's hand off his shoulder and spinning away from him, trying once again to get to her car.

"Killian, listen to me. You can't help her, not anymore. All you're going to do is give Gold an excuse to implicate you."

Killian freezes, but only for a moment. "You think my fingerprints, my DNA isn't all over that car? I'm already going to be a suspect, you bloody moron. What difference does it make?"

Liam takes a step back, the look on his face some combination of brotherly horror and resignation. "I'm sorry, little brother," he tries again.

"No! Liam, you have to-" he cuts himself off, shoving Liam aside and storming through the tape.

Liam grabs him one more time and Killian swings again, red coloring his vision as he gives in to the fiery anger coursing through him. He doesn't know how many times he hits his brother before he's lying facedown on the ground, Locksley's knee in his back and handcuffs around his wrists.

"No! Liam, no, don't do this! Robin, let me go!" he keeps shouting, not noticing nor caring how many eyes from the precinct are on him. Not caring about how all of this is going to get back to Gold. Let him know how much Killian still… will always love Milah. Let him see what Gold should have felt about her.

Robin doesn't move as Liam kneels next to Killian's head. Killian forces his head back, arching his neck so that he can glare at his brother. Liam is bleeding from the nose now, his left eye already swelling.

"I hate you," Killian hisses. "I hate you and I wish-"

"Don't say something you'll regret later, little brother. I already forgive you," Liam says gently. "Robin's going to get you out of here before someone decides to-"

"I hate you," Killian hisses again, but the fight is leaching out of him as quickly as it came. Even his anger isn't enough to get him out of handcuffs.

Liam nods sadly, but motions to Locksley and moves to help stand Killian up. They frog march him back to the squad car and fold him into the backseat, both ignoring the threats and the callous remarks he throws their way.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you with him like this," Liam apologizes to Robin and it just ramps the anger right back up. Liam has been apologizing for him all their lives; Killian hates it now even more than he had growing up. "I wish I could-"

"Captain Gold is already gunning for him, sir," Locksley interrupts. Their words are muffled through the window, but Killian can still hear them. "We don't need you getting in trouble, too. I'll take care of him."

"I know you will, mate. Here, I don't know if he has the keys with him." Liam hands over a set of keys, wincing when Killian's shoulder hits the glass. Killian glares at him when he bends down to make sure he didn't hurt himself. "Take him to the marina, see if you can't get him inside. I'll be along as soon as I can get away."

Killian doesn't even wait for Robin to shut the driver's door before he lays into him. He keeps screaming as they pull away from the scene.

Away from Milah.

"Where'd you go, Jones?" Emma asked softly, drawing his attention from where he was staring a hole in the wall back to her. The haunted look in his eyes frightened her; men who looked like that were unpredictable when it came to their crusades.

Captain Gold and his eventual downfall was definitely a crusade.

But Killian just shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs and grinned disarmingly at her. It didn't reach his eyes. "Nowhere fun," was all the answer he'd give.

Emma didn't need him to tell her - she could read him like an open book. She wondered how many times a month… or week… or day Killian relived Milah's death. He'd never told her the story, but officer reports put him at the scene soon after her official time of death. Emma could put two and two together.

"Look, Killian, I get it. I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like for you, working under him every day while you know what he did to her. But we've got to be smart about this. We-"

"You think I don't know that?"

Emma stared for a moment. "What part of 'we can't be associated with each other' did you miss, then?"

He shrugged. "No one's paying attention. I just…" he trails off, scratching behind his ear. It was a tell if ever Emma saw one.

"You just what?" she prompted beseechingly.

But Killian didn't answer. The slam of a door somewhere above him echoed through the stairwell and was followed by thudding footsteps.

"Go home, Jones," Emma hissed to avoid being heard by whomever was above them. "I promise I'll steer clear of Gold and his fancy words if you'll be a little more careful about being seen with me."

Killian nodded, slipping silently down the stairs before whoever was coming saw him. When he was gone, Emma slumped back against the wall and let out the breath she'd been holding for what felt like ever.

"Afternoon, ma'am," Henry Mills called out when he stepped onto the stairs just above her. "Can I help you with something?"

The sheer feeling of relief that overtook her seeing it was Nolan's rookie rather than one of Gold's lackeys surprised her. Would it really kill her case if someone saw her and Jones talking? No. She'd done fine without him before all this and she would do fine when this case was over and they were back to separate departments. So why the concern?

A niggling feeling at the back of Emma's mind told her she already knew the answer, but didn't want to admit it to anyone - least of all, herself.

"Ma'am?" Mills questioned again when Emma was silent for too long.

She nodded. "I could use some help pulling Nottingham's files," she began.

"Sure!" the rookie practically beamed at the idea of helping her. No one would bat an eye at the kid working with her, so the question remained.

Why is it different with Jones?

Hours later, Emma and Henry had pulled dozens of cases that Nottingham had closed. One thing was certain, though no one seemed to like the man, he was effective in what he did. The problem was, there were too many complaints sandwiched between the successful cases for Emma to even begin to decipher where Gold's interference came into play.

"Thank you, Henry," she said sincerely after making her last copy of the day. She was exhausted and even the rookie's exuberance had waned with the passing hours. The poor kid looked as dead on his feet as she felt.

"No problem," he replied tiredly, slamming the last filing cabinet drawer closed and pushing the lock button. He tossed her the keys, nodding his head towards the officer who was waiting to log them out. "You want to take care of 'Grumpy' over there?"

Emma bit back a smirk. "I'll handle him. You get out of here."

He grinned gratefully before slipping past the surly officer with a nod. Emma watched him go before squaring her shoulders and heading out the same way.

"It's about time, sister!" the officer growled as he snatched the keys from her. "Some of us got better things to do than wait around for you IA rats to burrow into the past."

Emma just raised an eyebrow. "I'll be back tomorrow," she promised, determined to find some kind of link.

Leroy - according to the name tag that had seen better days - just scowled. "Fine, fine. Just try not to stay so late, huh?"

Emma whipped her head around to find the clock behind his desk.

11:45pm.

No wonder the little man was pissed. Emma's stomach voiced its own protest at her long hours, the bear claw she'd had for lunch long since forgotten. She tried to look a little sheepish to mollify the officer, but he just glared and turned away. Taking the dismissal for what it was, Emma beat it out of there, determined to keep going until she'd crossed the threshold of her apartment and found her bed.

The squad room was nearly deserted as she passed by, only a few angry eyes watching her progress as she walked, head held high. She barely stopped at her desk to grab her bag before walking calmly for the elevator.

The night air was cool on her face and she paused for a second to soak it in. Boston may be filled with city air and city sounds, but it was home. She loved the bustle and the smell, the history and the modern melding into one culture that filled the city with whatever someone wanted to find. It was all there, waiting to be explored.

Her stomach growled again and Emma amended her earlier resolve to head straight home. If she hurried, she could get to Downtown Crossing and find something to eat that wasn't freezer burned or past its expiration date. Sleep could wait; her stomach couldn't.

Footsteps. Damnit.

Emma rolled her eyes as she turned the corner into the same alleyway where she'd first threatened Jones all those weeks ago. It was late, she was tired, and she'd honestly thought that he'd left the station hours ago. She was glad that Killian had taken her edict seriously and he wasn't trying to corner her in the office again, but whatever he wanted could wait until tomorrow. On the boat. After she'd had some sleep.

"For the love of God, can't you take a hint?" she asked testily, whirling around to face him.

Emma was still speaking when the fist ploughed into her face and sent her sprawling. "What the-" was all she could get out around the vice that gripped her chest when the wall behind her knocked the wind out of her.

Not Jones, her brain helpfully informed her a split second before someone's billy club sliced through the night air. Emma only just managed to duck away, the hard rod impacting her shoulder blade rather than her neck - her assailant's intended target. The blow still stunned her, making Emma stumble and throw one hand out to steady herself against the wall. The other reached for the knife she always kept in her pocket, needing something - anything - to protect her.

She rued the fact that she didn't carry her gun on a daily basis.

The familiar icy feeling of the metal grip pushed back some of the fear from being attacked. Emma harnessed the adrenaline as she'd been trained and spun on her heel to face her attacker.

Attackers.

There were three men circled around her, masks on their faces that made them look like they'd come straight off a B-movie set.

"Who are you, the Three Stooges? It gonna take all three of you to take down little old me?" Emma snarked, eyeing the badges clipped to their belts.

Cops.

Gold's men.

None of them were small enough to be Isaac, but Emma couldn't worry about their identities now. Stringbean and R2-D2 stepped back and she turned to face her third attacker head on. She ducked and slashed when the beefiest of the three took a swing at her, trying to grab her jacket. He pulled back with a howl, clutching his hand where blood oozed out. A painful wound, but not enough to slow him down, she catalogued automatically.

Keep track of all targets, it may save your life, her training echoed in her thoughts.

It was easier said than done. They came at her all at once, ducking and weaving around her own strikes and trying their best to catch hold of her. Emma wasn't aware of the damage they were inflicting at the time, her fight or flight response far too well engaged to notice trivial things like pain.

And then she was very aware of the lightning strike of pain at the base of her skull. One of the bastards had caught hold of her hair and yanked her off balance. Another trapped her arm under his and pried the knife from her desperately clenched fingers.

"What are you, seventh grade girls?" she managed to mutter before Beefy slammed his fist into her solar plexus, driving every last bit of air from her lungs.

Gasping and choking, Emma could do little more than go limp as Stringbean shoved her face-first into the brick wall. Her head hit the wall with a resounding thump and Emma slid down in spite of her best attentions.

R2-D2 began to kick at her and Emma pulled herself into as small of a ball as she could manage, wincing each time he connected with her ribs and biting back the tears - of pain and frustration both - until she could find an opening to regain her footing.

It never came.

Emma howled when Stringbean stomped on her hand, something underneath it shredding her palm open. He didn't give her the opportunity to pull it protectively into her chest, just stood with all his weight on it before hauling back and kicking her in the head with his other foot.

"Get your ass out of our house, bitch," was the last thing she heard before blackness closed in around her.

tagging: @killian-whump, @gilliangrissom, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable

#csbb #cs ff #cs fic #ouat ff #ouat fic

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