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luci-in-trenchcoats · 1 year ago

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The Princess & The Playboy (Part 1)

Summary: After one of the reader's last concerts of the year, she unexpectedly runs into notorious playboy Dean Winchester, quarterback of the LA Wolves. Only Dean's a big fan and he seems to want more than just a photo if given the chance...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 4,400ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping

A/N: I promise there'll be more Dean and reader interacting in person next part! Needed to set the scene with this!

_________

You groaned the second you were alone. You’d survived the summer tour but you were exhausted. All you wanted was a greasy hamburger, chicken nuggets, and to sleep for a month. After changing into a pair of joggers and oversized hoodie, you texted your bodyguard Eric, telling him you wanted to get out of there quietly. He knocked twice on your dressing room door before entering with a smile.

“Great show tonight,” he said. You rolled your eyes, Eric grabbing your backpack for you.

“Like you pay attention to anything besides harassing the security team,” you said, resting your forehead against his strong chest. “I never want to tour again. I’m so tired.”

“You’re just cranky cause you’re hungry and need sleep,” he said rubbing your back. “You only have two more shows this year and then we can sit on the couch eating cookies and binging divorce court.”

“This is why I keep you around, buddy,” you laughed, taking a deep breathe before looking up. “Speaking of food-“

“Let’s get you out of here and full of some chicken nuggies.”

“Back in five,” you said to Eric thirty minutes later, your wallet in hand and panic button in your pocket. He let you go out without it sometimes but not after a show and especially not when you were in the press so much lately.

It was nearly midnight as you walked into the nearly empty McDonald’s, a guy in a hoodie at the counter with his back to you.

“Hi,” you said, stepping up to the other register. “Can I get a quarter pounder with cheese, a medium fry and a twenty piece chicken nugget with barbecue sauce? Oh and a bottle of water.”

You paid, the girl behind the counter staring at you like she recognized you but was too nervous to say anything.

“Holy shit,” said a male voice. You glanced left, the man in the hoodie pushing it down to reveal him in a black baseball cap. He was incredibly handsome and had such pretty green eyes. Something seemed vaguely familiar about him but you couldn’t place it. “You’re Y/N Y/L/N…and apparently you eat like a linebacker.”

“Dance on stage for three hours every night and you would too,” you said, the man humming.

“Do you mind if I get a pic?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, the man handing his phone to the girl behind the counter who eagerly took a few. He was practically giddy when he got his phone back, a bag of food coming out for him.

“Thanks for indulging me,” he said. You noticed a few strands of confetti on top of his hat and smiled. He must have been at the concert. He almost walked away and out the door when he spun around, parting his lips. “Can I give you my number?”

“Sure,” you said again. It was much safer to just take the number and hand it off to Eric to do a background check on the person than try a rejection. The man scribbled it down on the back of your receipt, your cashier now acting as his wing woman and making sure he had a pen.

“I uh, hope to hear from you soon,” he said, flashing you a wink before leaving. You eased when he was gone, the girl at the counter handing you your bag of food after a moment.

“He’s so hot, isn’t he?” she said, your eyebrows raising. Not the reaction you were expecting from her.

“Mhm. Thanks for the food. Have a good night,” you said, quickly leaving. You ducked outside, Eric waiting in the backseat for you.

“Any trouble?” he asked, nodding to the man farther down the parking lot, slipping into a large SUV.

“Just a fan,” you said, handing him the paper with the guys number. He gave you a side eye as he took it from your fingers. “He was harmless.”

“I’ll check it out to be sure,” he grumbled, stealing a fry from your bag. “Did you get me-“

“Yes I got you your nuggets,” you said, Eric relaxing back into his seat. Your driver headed for home and in twenty minutes you were on your couch chowing down. Eric was at the kitchen counter, lazily scrolling through his phone, probably grateful that you were secure in the house for the night.

You watch his eyes go wide, gaze shooting to you.

“I swear I didn’t do anything.” You kept eating your burger, Eric silently watching you. “Dude, you’re freaking me out.”

“That fan from McDonald’s posted the pic of you,” he said. You rolled your eyes and got up, sulking over to him.

“Oh tell me he’s not some whack job.”

“He’s Dean Winchester,” he said, showing his phone to you. You shrugged, walking back to the couch. “Dean Winchester? NFL quarterback? Three time Super Bowl winner?”

You stared at him, Eric groaning.

“He’s the quarterback for the LA Wolves…he went to Kansas State the same time you did, Y/N. You probably went to his football games.” He rolled his eyes at you. “How do you not realize you’re taking a picture with a sports legend?”

“I must have missed it with all my free time over the past dozen years with all the touring and ten albums and other shit in my life. And frankly you’re the one that told me it doesn’t matter who it is, I need to be careful of everyone, whether they’re famous or not.” He sighed, putting his phone away.

“Alright, I get your point,” he said, returning to eating. “Dude’s kind of a player anyways it seems like. Nice guy but I know you’re more the sensitive guy type.”

“Emotionally available,” you corrected, plopping down on the couch once more. “Why would you think he’s into me anyways? Plenty of people are fans without wanting to get in my pants.”

“Well, it’s Dean Winchester so he definitely wants in your pants,” he joked. “Also the caption, genius.”

You quirked your eyebrow, Eric tossing his phone over to you. You pouted when you went back to the post, actually reading it this time.

DWinchester67 Y/N Y/L/N Saturday Night Concert at the Wolves stadium. AMAZING TIME with the crew. Worth getting ragged on by the boys all week for taking them to the show just to see them belt their hearts out to #FinishLine (video soon)

Then had the awesome luck to snag a pic with Y/N grabbing a midnight snack. I was dying on the inside at meeting my crush. Sorry for being awkward when you were trying to get your grub on. Next time it’s on me ;)

Your eyes met Eric’s when you finished, his chicken nuggets nearly gone.

“Yeah, like no reason he’s into you, right?” smirked Eric. You grumbled, returning to your late night dinner. “I’ll background check that number in the morning.”

“He’s a player that wants to have sex. Don’t bother with the background work. He’s harmless.”

“As you wish, princess,” he said with a little bow, earning himself being hit in the face with your balled up burger wrapper. “The abuse I put up with. Tsk tsk.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell that to your generous benefits package,” you said, Eric chuckling as he double checked the back doors were locked one last time. “Eric…”

“Mhm,” he hummed, ruffling your head gently as he walked past the back of the couch. “See you in the morning, kiddo.”

“Night. Oh!” you said, sitting up on your knees on the couch, Eric throwing his head back. “It’s nothing bad! Just…can you ban everyone from the house until ten? I really want to sleep in and try to catch up.”

“You want me to fend off your team? After Dean Winchester posted that? What do I get out of this?” he teased, crossing his arms. You batted your eyes, jutting out your lip. “You got to do better than that.”

“I’ll buy you box seats to an LA Wolves game of your choice?” He looked blank faced which meant he was really tempted to take the offer. But Eric didn’t like extravagant gifts from you for doing his job. He already said his paycheck was more than enough and he barely accepted the Christmas and birthday presents you’d get for him.

You held up a finger, Eric calculating the move.

“Give me one good reason for not accepting.”

“First off, it’s too much. Second, I’m your primary protection agent and need to be available-”

“Please Eric? They’re going to be vultures in the morning with that whole post and you haven’t had a day off in six months. You’re as exhausted as I am. I’m asking as your friend, not your boss.” He grumbled, shaking his head. “Is that a yes?”

“It means I’ll think about it and I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. “We’re going to watch football all day. I’ll teach you all about it.”

You growled, Eric snickering the whole way out.

Dean POV

The first game of the season was always a good one. The team was healthy. We had home field advantage for once.

And I really enjoyed the hell out of playing football in a packed stadium. It wasn’t an ego thing like for some people. No, I loved putting on a show and entertaining people for a few hours a week, give them a fun escape before they had to return to the reality of their lives.

That’s what football had always been to me and I knew for most fans, it gave them that same sense of belonging.

And women tended to really like seeing a bunch of muscular men run around in tight pants.

“Winchester, surprised you’re here,” said Michael. I glanced over my shoulder in the locker room, a big smirk on his face. “I thought you’d be in the burn unit with how hard you crashed and burned with Y/N Y/L/N last night.”

I rolled my eyes at the taunts of the room, ignoring them as they riffed on me for a good ten minutes. When Benny walked in though they finally calmed down, Ben taking a seat in his cubby beside me.

“Let me have it,” I sighed. Benny leaned in close, covering his mouth from the rest of the room.

“If you really want that girl to go out with you, you got to do more than make an insta post. She’s classy. She’s not going to fawn over you like every dipshit you’ve dated because you’re good looking. So you better impress her.” He gave me one last look before reaching down to his duffel and pulling out his cleats.

He had a point. Y/N had never cared for cocky flirts. I could remember her in college, always spending time at parties with the shy academic guys that chatted her ear off about music theory and english papers. I swear the only time she gave a single jock attention was when she’d grab a guitar in the late hours of the night and sing a song none of us had heard before. She could stop a group of drunken college students in their tracks with a single note. Nowadays her music was all pop but back then, just her and a guitar…I’d have sworn an angel fell out of the sky straight in front of me.

No woman had made my heart swell up with comfort and longing the way she had the night I laid eyes on her for the first time.

The years had done little to diminish a teenage boy’s crush. If anything, seeing her last night, getting to talk to her for even a brief moment, made my insides burn hotter than before. Maybe it was only a crush, an infatuation with a beautiful woman with an even more beautiful voice.

I felt Benny’s stare on me as I lazily watched my feet before me.

“You’re still in love with her.” He said it as a statement so I didn’t respond. I’d never claimed such a thing despite Benny insisting on it back in college. But he’d always been good at sensing those kinds of things.

Or at least he wasn’t afraid to say it out loud.

“I talked to her in english lit once, about you.” My head snapped up, eyes wide as he was now down to his boxer briefs, tugging up his pants. “She heard what happened to Sam.”

“Why are you bringing up Sam?” I whispered, giving him a hard glare. Benny smiled, curious since he knew not to bring him up unless I did. “Half the school offered their condolences. Of course she-”

“She didn’t. She offered…hope. Apparently her little brother went missing once too.” I turned my head away.

“Everyone who knows anything about Y/N Y/L/N heard that story. Congrats. We both have little brothers that were kidnapped and never heard from again. Fucking awesome we can share that trauma,” I spit out. Benny leaned in close, gripping my shoulder.

“She wrote a song for her brother. Finish Line. She showed it to me long before she got famous. Look up who it’s fucking dedicated to and maybe realize there is a deeper reason why you fell in love at first sight with that girl. I have a feeling she’s the only girl in the world that could get you and you knew it long before your head did.”

I was seething, storming out of the locker room and into a trainers room next door, quickly shutting the door behind me. What the fuck was Benny thinking bringing Sam up right before a game? I could handle thinking about a girl but Sam?

I angrily typed Finish Line dedication into google, freezing at the short paragraph that appeared as the top result.

Chart topper Finish Line by Y/N Y/L/N was notoriously written by Y/L/N in her senior year of highschool after the disappearance of her younger brother, Max. Max is presumed to have been abducted while walking home from a friends house. The music video of Finish Line states the song is “For Max & Sam” although Y/L/N has never stated who Sam is. Fans theorize “Sam” is a representation of all abduction victims however…

I immediately tapped on the youtube video of the song, scrolling all the way to the end, bottom lip wobbling as I read the stark white letters against the black background.

She never gave me the time of day back then yet she knew who I was, what it felt like to have a piece of you go missing and you couldn’t do anything about it. She put my baby brother in a song for her baby brother and we weren’t even friends.

I swallowed thickly, forcing myself to calm down.

“Sammy,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “Is this a sign or something? Is she as fucked up as I am and the world doesn’t know it? Is that why she’s never been seen with a boyfriend her whole career? Did she shy away from connections when I buried myself in meaningless ones? Are we both so screwed up on the biggest stage in the world and that’s why I still feel breathless when I see her? Tell me I’m not crazy, Sammy. Tell me there’s a reason I’m still head over heels for this girl.”

I slowly opened my eyelids, staring at coach who was staring back at me on the other side of the room by the far entrance. I quickly cleared my throat and turned to leave, coach’s whistle stopping me in my tracks.

“I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about son, but my advice as someone who’s been married longer than you’ve been alive…you know when you fall in love. That’s the easy part. Admitting it and trying to get the balls to say it to her face is the harder part.”

“Sir, she doesn’t even know I exist. Or barely knows I do,” I said quietly. “I should-”

“Your little brother, god rest his soul, wants you to be happy, Winchester. So shoot your shot with this girl so you can stop having an existential crisis before my home opener, got it?” I glanced over my shoulder, coach’s face surprisingly soft for how close we were to game time. “She must be special to tame you.”

“She had me the whole time. The rest were me trying to forget.” He nodded, picking up his playbook again.

“Then go get this girl so you have your answer,” he said. “And stay out of my training room before games. Only place they can’t find me.”

“Yes sir.” I ducked back into the locker room, Benny gave me a raised eyebrow, silently asking if I was okay. I nodded and sat down to tie up my shoes, an idea sparking in my mind before I opened instagram. “Ben, take a picture of me.”

“Good god,” groaned Michael from my other side. “Like your insta doesn’t have enough shirtless selfies.”

He snagged my phone out of my hands, sighing as he took a photo of me smirking in my cubby.

“I regret being your friend,” he said, handing it back to me while Benny chuckled.

“Same, Michael,” I smiled back before I was on insta and typing furiously. I posted before I could stop myself, Benny and Michael sharing a look and immediately going to their own phones. But they weren’t fast enough apparently.

“Winchester are you serious?” shouted Gabe from across the room, the whole team looking at their phones now.

“Yup,” I said, standing and tugging on my under armor v-neck, my shoulder pads and then my jersey.

“You can’t force a girl to go out with you!” he shouted.

“I’m not forcing. I’m offering a donation to her charity if she does feel inclined to go out with me,” I said with a shrug. Benny grabbed my shoulders, looking at me like I was crazy.

“Five million dollars? That’s not what I mean when I said impress her you idiot!” he said.

“That’s what the picture was for,” I said with a wink, my phone already buzzing non-stop at the incoming flood of texts and calls. “You think she’ll take me up on my offer?”

“This fucker’s really about to get a fucking date with Y/N Y/L/N through a fucking bribe,” said Michael, shaking his head. “Dude, you’re crushing so hard it’s in psycho territory.”

“One date is all I want,” I said, smiling when coach walked in, rolling his eyes at me. “Come on boys, time to focus on the game!”

Y/N POV

I was currently hiding in my bedroom, reading a book on Sunday evening, Eric doing his best to get my agent and manager and PR head out of the house without force. As expected, they’d reemed my ass out for not capitalizing on the Dean Winchester picture in the moment but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about hanging out with pretty fuck boys for publicity’s sake.

But I had followed him on my private account no one knew about. It’d taken a moment but I remembered who Dean Winchester was in our college days. He was flirty back then I remembered. And a good football player I guess. But I just remembered what happened in the spring semester, how the whole campus knew his pain before he had a chance to even process it.

My heart ached for a boy I’d said nothing more than a passing hello to at parties.

I still felt that ache whenever I sang Finish Line. I’d never realized Dean went on to his own version of fame all those years ago. But I knew the hurt still existed in his heart. There was no healing it but some part of me wished I could soothe it for a moment. I forgot in the music sometimes. Maybe he could do the same when he played his games.

Maybe I really should have talked to him last night.

My phone buzzed and I saw a new post, this one of him making my jaw drop. “Hot damn you are good looking, Winchester.”

Then I shrieked when I looked at the caption.

DWinchester67 Hey @Y/NY/L/N it was fun running into you last night. How about you take me up on my offer and let me buy dinner for our first date?

Oh and to sweeten the deal, I’ll donate five million dollars to your charity if you say yes (plus another million for each touchdown I throw tonight, those are freebies for ya).

You got my number so waiting on you sweetheart. ;)

Eric was in the room before I could raise my head, eyes darting around the room before he determined there was no threat.

“Jesus, girl. I swear if you saw a bug-”

“Dean Winchester asked me out. Publicly.” Eric narrowed his eyes as he tucked his gun back into the holster.

“Okay…you made it clear to the team today you don’t want anything to do with a publicity stunt. What’s the problem?” You tossed the phone to the end of the bed, Eric sitting on the bench at the bottom to pick it up. He did a double take, eyes skirting to meet yours. “I’m doing a full background check on this man. He either really wants in your pants, to profit off you or he’s obsessive. To be honest, I don’t like any of those options.”

“Me either but five million dollars to the charity? Plus more? That could help kids, Eric. We could find a safe way to do this, right?” He pursed his lips, nodding once.

“One date at a place of my choosing. My team will be there in the background and I’m going to talk to this boy and let him know all of the ways I can kill him if he tries anything.” You smiled, Eric handing the phone back.

“You’d kill your favorite football player for me. You’re too sweet Eric,” you chuckled. He stood up, adjusting his sports blazer.

“You know why I stuck with you when my agency assigned me to the Princess?” he asked, a dry laugh leaving his lips. “You always listened to me. You didn’t always agree but you listened and we could have conversations. We could have conversations about safety without you acting like a brat or me like an asshole. You respected me and that earned you loyalty all these years later.”

You stared your hands in your lap. “My parents lost one child. I don’t want them to lose another.”

You were surprised to find him come closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, turning to face you. He tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling softly.

“Don’t lose hope now, kiddo. I’ve always admired that about you.” You looked away, Eric stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Someday we’ll find the truth. I promise.”

“My mom wishes it were me,” you said, shaking your head. “If I didn’t make my parents so much money I’d think they’d be plenty happy to let some crazy fan take me away forever. All because I was five minutes late to pick up Max and he decided to walk home.”

“Hey!” Eric gripped your shoulders hard, hard enough that you felt the strength of his hands down in your bones. He was always so gentle you with guiding touches here and there you often forgot he was as deadly with his hands as he was a weapon.

You met his gaze, Eric sighing.

“That is not true and you know it.” His stern expression softened when you shook your head.

“She told me the day we had a funeral for him Max should have been there and I should have been the one missing. So I know, Eric.” He pulled you into a hug, letting you squeeze him tight.

“I know she did,” he whispered, your chin resting on his shoulder. “She has so many regrets from that time and knows what she said broke something with the two of you. But I have had countless conversations with them over the years. I know you trust me so trust me when I say, you are their world and it would destroy them to lose you. She always asks me if you’re happy because she says you put on your fake smile for her. She doesn’t blame you one bit for it.”

“I hate when you have points,” you said, closing your eyes, getting another squeeze from him.

“Happy to help my buddy. So you don’t give up on Max yet, alright? Everyone else has. If he’s out there, he needs you to keep going for him.”

“No wonder your team adores you. Soft cuddly bear under all the threats of violence aren’t you?”

“It’s how I land so many chicks,” he chuckled. He kissed your temple and stood, cracking his back. “Respond back yes if you want to. Let me look into this Dean Winchester before you agree to anything else though.”

You hummed, clearing your throat when Eric was in the doorframe. “I-I do remember one thing about Dean in college. He had a younger brother Sam that went missing too. Never found him.”

Eric kept his back to you for a beat, nodding once.

“Do you think Dean is a bad guy?”

“Gut check says no. Probably just wants a hookup,” he said before stepping out and pulling the door shut fast behind him. “Rowan, I swear to god you bother this girl tonight and I’ll shove my glock up your ass.”

“He asked her out! I need to talk to her!” he yelled back on the other side of the door. You sighed and put on your noise canceling headphones before going to instagram and tapping on his post.

Y/NY/L/N @DWinchester67 One date. As friends Winchester

Not five seconds later you received a winking emoji and “friends” in response.

“Dear god, you’re going to be a handful, Winchester.”

________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #football au #au #dean winchester x #dean winchester au #spn au #spn fanfic #dean winchester x you #football player!dean x reader #series #supernatural fanfic

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nightxcreature · 2 months ago

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Summary: Reader relaxes while Dean is away.

Warnings: Panic attack, Death, Grief, Angst

Pairing: DeanxReader, SamxReader (platonic)

A/N: I’m so sorry. 😬 I love you.

Written quickly, edited poorly. You don’t have permission to copy my work, so don’t. 18+ only.

Yellow light cascaded across the room from the lamp beside me leaving a faint film across the pages of the book in my hands. I’d had the bunker to myself this weekend while Sam and Dean went on a quick hunt not too far from home, and I was taking full advantage of the silence. Miracle was curled up at my feet mouthing a squeaky bear and enjoying our lazy day. After the busy few weeks we’ve had, a little reprieve with man’s best friend in the library was much needed as the next several weeks would be even busier. Dean had planned a roadtrip to celebrate this hunt, our bags packed and ready to go by our bedroom door. Excitement and exhaustion were imminent and I knew this moment of peace would be required to make it through whatever plans my lover had made.

I smiled softly at the thought of Dean and the life we would have after this. He’d never been one for marriage or kids or the Apple-pie life, but the moment Chuck was gone I knew something had changed for him.

—————————————————————————

The door to our shared bedroom was open as I worked making the stomp of Deans heavy boots reach my ears before he reached the doorway.

“Hey,” He calls as he steps inside, placing a kiss to my temple and dropping a few papers onto the desk in front of me.

“What’s this?” I’d asked, smirking up at him as I lifted the packet to my eyes. The question hung in the air for a moment as I read over the papers before me, “An application for the fire department, and…” My head jerks back slightly in surprise as I read over the next page, “You wanna buy a house? Like white picket fence-barefoot and pregnant-with a dog-buy a house?”

“Uh, It doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to. I just-you know, I’ve always wanted to be a firefighter, and, I’ll need a job. Plus, we can’t always live here so I- uh, I just thought maybe you’d like to move in with me. Like…our own place.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, an adorable sheepish smile on his face, “We can talk about the barefoot and pregnant part later.”

My eyes widened a bit as I took in his response. Leaning back in the chair I placed my pen against my lips and grinned, “So, a house and my own personal Magic Mike?”

He’d rolled his eyes, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips as he nodded, “Yeah, but only if you want.”

I’d dropped the pen in my hand quickly and jumped up to kiss his lips. His hands immediately finding my waist and pulling me closer, our hips slamming against one another as he dug his fingers into my skin. My hands were covering his blush-stained cheeks, pulling his face into mine harshly. When we broke apart grinning, he’d chuckled softly. “So, is that a yes?” He’d asked, breathlessly.

“Absolutely.” I mumbled, placing my lips over his again and quickly finding myself underneath him.

——————————————————————————

My train of thought is abruptly broken by the steel door slamming open at the top of the stairs and Miracle whining at my feet. I duck my head to see which brother comes down first when Sam stops short of the last step. I close my book as I watch him there, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed low.

“Hey, Sammy. You okay?” I ask as I stand, worry building in my veins. He doesn’t speak as I reach him, doesn’t raise his head or acknowledge me in anyway until I place a hand on his arm, “Sam, look at me.”

Slowly he raises his head, tears falling down his red and swollen face, “I’m so sorry.” He whispers out, “I’m so, so sorry.” He collapsed into my arms, heavy sobs leaving his body. I wrap my arms tightly around him, pulling him to stand as best I can before wracking my brain for whatever could cause him to go into such a….

Suddenly the world goes deathly still, only the sound of my heartbeat and Sam’s broken sobs reach my ears. My chest is heaving and the world is spinning and I can’t seem to form a coherent thought when I raise my trembling hands to push him off of me. Pointing a single shaking finger in his direction.

“No.” I whisper quietly, “Sam, no.”

“I’m so sorry.” He mutters again, devastation covering his face, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” I snap, “Stop it!”

My feet are moving before I register that I’m halfway up the stairs, the steel door the only barrier between me and what lies ahead. I sling it open, half expecting to see Dean standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face and saying “Gotcha!”, but I’m met with nothing. I push my way through the bunker, Sam following quickly behind me, practically begging me to turn around, but I can’t stop my feet. I can’t stop the need to see him.

I fling open the garage door and am met with the sight of Baby parked in her usual spot. I stop short of the drivers door, already able to see the white cloth covering the backseat.

“Is that…” I choke out.

“Yeah.”

Neither of us speak for a moment, the silence deafening between us. I take several slow steps closer, my mind and heart at war as I reach up to open the back door. I place my hand on his head, taking a deep breath as I push the sheet down to see his face. A sob racks through me and I drop to my knees, cradling his head in my hands. His eyes are closed, his face a picture of peace that I’d never seen before. I would believe he’s sleeping if I didn’t know any better. The dark freckles that scattered his face are pale, his lips ashen, all signs of the life my love lived have long since left. I stroke my thumb across his cold cheek and place my lips to his forehead as I cry.

“You ass.” I whisper against his skin, “We had plans. What am I supposed to do now?”

The tears falling from my eyes find themselves on his own face, covering his cheeks as if, even in death, he’s crying with me; Mourning the life we could’ve had…The life we should’ve had.

“This isn’t supposed to happen now.” I mumble, shaking his limp shoulders, “Chucks dead! You’re supposed to be happy. We’re supposed to be happy, Dean! Wake up! Please, Wake up! This isn’t real. This isn’t real!”

My eyes suddenly snap open, the light from our bedside lamp igniting the green orbs in front of me. Dean’s face full of worry as his arms wrap protectively around me.

“Hey, hey. It isn’t real. Shh. It isn’t real, Baby.” He whispers, rocking me back and forth as I cry against his chest, “I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re fine.”

Hot tears coat my cheeks and I lift my head to see they’ve stained his shirt, “I’m-I’m sorry. I just-I can’t-I”

He reaches over and grabs one of my hands, placing it over his heart as he cups my face with his other, “Focus on my heart. I’m right here, you’re safe. This is real.”

I focus solely on his heart beating beneath my fingers, the panic subsiding but the tears coming quicker than ever, “I thought you were dead.” I whisper, “I dreamed it and it-it seemed so real.”

He wraps his big arms around my torso and pulls me into his lap as he leans against the headboard, “Not dead, yet. I couldn’t leave you like that, I promised you Magic Mike and a couple babies, didn’t I?” He teases, placing sweet kisses across my face as my breathing slows, “Can’t get rid of me until I hold up my end of the bargain.”

I smile and place my head in the crook of his neck as I tuck into his side, “I know. It just felt so real.”

He shakes his head slowly and pulls the blankets up our bodies to rid us of the bunkers chill, “I ain’t leaving ya anytime soon.” He whispers, kissing the top of my head and sliding down so we’re laying on the mattress again, my head on his chest and his hand in my hair, “Well, after I take care of that Vamp nest with Sammy tomorrow.”

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @k-slla @enigmalynne @envysarchive

@daisydark @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @manicjk @aylacavebear

@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser

#spn 15x20 #spn fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester #spnfandom #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles #dean winchester x you #jensen fucking ackles #sam and dean

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the-raindeer-king · 7 months ago

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Monster au (no content warning. Gn reader, use of y/n, reader is a medium)

The two of them always show up late in the evening, far after the sun has set. It's easy to clock which one of them is a vampire, especially since you've never really seen him eat anything. He'll order something, sure. But the food always gets packed away in a to-go box that Johnny takes.

You learn through Johnny that the other man's name is Simon. Oddly normal name for a vampire, you think. But maybe he hasn't been around long. You don't bother asking, it seems rude too.

But that's the routine. Johnny and Simon come in late, sit in your section, and have dinner. Sometimes you take your break with them. It doesn't feel like you're forcing yourself into their little group. Hell, Johnny's your roommate. But sometimes, the way Simon stares at you makes butterflies erupt in your tummy and heats your cheeks.

You're pleasantly surprised when Simon comes in with someone else tonight. It's not a complete shock; Johnny's preoccupied with the full moon. But you've never seen them come in with anyone else, and you've certainly never seen this man before.

You head over to his table with a smile, already pulling your pen out of your apron pocket. “Hey, Si. You're here early,” you comment. A technical truth. The sun had set only thirty minutes ago; the sky still aglow with the remains of the day.

“Soap said you don't work late tonight,” he replies.

Another truth. One of the new girls took your typical shift, meaning you'd have been long gone by the time Simon normally comes in.

“Couldn't lose your favorite server,” you joke, noting the way his eyes crinkle, a sign he's smiling under his medical mask.

You turn to his friend, an apologetic smile on your face. “Where are my manners? I'm Y/N. I'll be your server tonight.”

Both men stare at you, different looks on their faces. Simon's eyebrows are furrowed together, confusion dancing across his eyes. The other man, dark hair and even darker eyes, stares at you in shock, mouth agape.

“Love, who are you talking to?” Simon asks carefully, his honeyed eyes darting between you and the other man.

“Your friend,” you answer, reality already settling heavy in your chest. You've gotten pretty good at telling the difference between the living and the dead, and haven't had a slip up in awhile. Only to ruin it all in front of the man you've been trying to impress.

“I, uh, I mean… let me get you some water,” you awkwardly fumble out, turning and practically running away.

You fumble around in the kitchen for fifteen minutes, hoping maybe he'll just leave. But that's the thing with the undead: they've got endless patience. Simon's practically glaring holes into the other side of the booth, as you return with a glass of ice water.

“Sit.”

It's not a question, and you know better than to argue. The other man scoots over, and you sit beside him. Subconsciously, you wrap your hands around the glass of the cup, the cold grounding you to the present situation.

The man moves his hand slowly, mouthing something as he does. It takes you a second to realize that he’s using sign language, that either he didn’t speak during life or his death removed the ability to. You don’t ask, just appreciate that he’s signing slowly so you can keep up.

“Your nickname was Roach?” you ask, outloud, missing the way Simon’s posture changes at the statement.

The man explains that his name is Gary, but Simon knows him as Roach. They were in the military together, before Simon got turned. This is news to you, as you had only gathered bits and pieces of Simon’s life from the things Johnny and him had dropped during casual conversation. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t a lot of information.

Finally, you turn to look at Simon, who stares like he’s seen a ghost (pun not intended). He stares intensely at the spot where Gary sits, like if he stares hard enough he’ll be able to see him. After a moment, he turns his dark eyes on you, frowning.

“So, you can see the dead?” he asks.

“I prefer the term medium, but yes, I can see the dead,” you agree. “Can hear them too, sometimes. It depends on the spirit.”

Simon sighs, leaning back in the booth. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to go off on you. For a man, literally and metaphorically, surrounded by the ghosts of his past, he’s equally impressed as he is pissed that you didn’t say anything sooner. But, for now, he needs to know what Roach wants. The man deserves peace, after everything they went through together.

“Okay, so what does he want?”

“What?”

“Sanderson. What does he want?”

Now, it’s your turn to stare in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together. “What do you mean?”

Simon grumbles under his breath for a moment. “Don’t ghosts usually linger when they’ve got unfinished business, or whatever? So, if he’s still hanging around, then what’s the issue? Why hasn’t he passed on yet?”

“Oh, uh…” you reply, glancing over at Gary, who shrugs in response.

You learned pretty early on that, in some cases, the deceased just can’t move on. Sometimes it’s because they need help moving on, a burial in the wrong spot, missing important items, ect. Tangible things that they have no power in controlling. But, sometimes, it’s because they’re stuck in eternal limbo, better known as purgatory, condemned to wander the earth forever. But you’ve got a feeling that telling Simon this isn’t going to end well, so you keep it to yourself for now.

“He, uh, he doesn’t know,” you tell Simon, who looks like he might blow a gasket.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley x reader #if i decide to continue this there will be elements of ghost x roach #simon is a vampire. roach is a ghost. soap is a werewolf.#*drops this with little to no explanation and runs*#my writing #monster au

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nebulaofbangtan · 23 days ago

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here's a lil Hualian fic I wrote- credits to @scrapimmortal for the idea!! Basically Xie Lian goes to get a tattoo, Hua Cheng is the tattooist, Xie Lian has a minor freak out, snacks and nice weather. I hope you enjoy 𓂃 ִֶָ𐀔 genre: fluffy fluffiness tw's: tad bit of swearing, mentions of death, angst if you squint and tilt your head from a distance, self harm, sh scars, mentions of suicide word count:

Summer had bloomed bright and hot, but that day there was a thankful breeze that cooled Xie Lian's nerves. He'd gotten tattoos before, so it wasn't that he was scared of; more just the 'talking to the tattoo artist' bit. It's an intimate thing, you know? Especially when the content of the tattoo is quite personal; a total stranger is injecting ink into your skin and hoping that it portrays what you wanted. Xie Lian swiped his clammy palms on his jeans and pushed open the door of the tattoo parlour. It was quiet, cool, soft music playing from an unseen speaker. Fidgeting for a moment, he tugged at his hair anxiously. He knew it would all go smoothly- tattoo inspiration saved on his phone, ID and wallet in his pocket- it was just his bloody brain getting the better of him.

A door opened at the other end of the room, and a tall young guy with punky black hair, a multitude of piercings, and a black eyepatch walked in. He caught sight of Xie Lian and smiled, coming over to the counter. "Hey, sorry to keep you waiting," the guy said. "What can I do for you?" Xie Lian swallowed- damnfuckshit the tattooist was HOT. "I- uh, I made a booking a few days ago, for an appointment?" The guy nods, looking at the computer. "Sweet, what name was the booking under?" Oh gods, this guy was so hot. "Xie Lian... um, X-I-E-" "-L-I-A-N? Got it," the guy finished, typing into the computer. Xie Lian only just noticed his name badge, decorated with butterfly stickers- Hua Cheng. "Tattoo appointment for 2pm... jeez, you're early." He chuckled, which sent butterflies crashing into Xie Lian's stomach. "Ha.... yeah, I guess I got worried that I'd be late..." Oh dear, why did he have to sound this lame and awkward??? "Fair enough.." Hua Cheng turned his gaze back to Xie Lian. He had a spiky piercing on the bridge of his nose and a scar running down his right cheek from under the eyepatch. "Now, I will have to see some ID just to make sure you're of legal age, blah blah blah... and there's a form you need to sign as well. Do you have your ID on you?" "Uh, yeah.." Xie Lian dug out his license and placed it on the counter. Hua Cheng took the license, glanced at it then up at Xie Lian's face, chuckled, then handed it back. "You know, you're the only person I've met whose license photo actually looks good," Hua Cheng said. With his tone, it was hard to tell whether he was being genuine or not. The tattooist got out a form and a pen and slid it over to Xie Lian. As he filled it out, Hua Cheng went over to one of the tattooing chairs and started to set up.

Form filled out and space set up, the art process began. By this point, Xie Lian's previous nerves had gone away- until he had to show the tattoo design itself. It looked simple at first- a safety pin with some Roman numerals reading 'MMXIV' underneath- but the mere act of showing it to the stranger that was Hua Cheng made his hands tremble. Hua Cheng didn't show any emotion in his sharp features as he took in the tattoo design. God knows what he thought of Xie Lian.

"I can do that," he said. "Is there any meaning behind it? Sorry for prying, but.." "It's okay, I don't mind," Xie Lian replied. "My parents, they passed away in 2014, and safety pins.... I used to, um, self harm with them..." He took a shuddering breath, not able to meet Hua Cheng's eye.

The process went on. The two talked, not much, but still decent conversation. Xie Lian was slightly unsure of where to get the tattoo, but the two settled on nestling the tattoo between two of the faded scars on Xie Lian's inner forearm. "We do have numbing gel, if you want," Hua Cheng informed him. Xie Lian considered this for a moment. "I'm alright, but thank you." "If you're sure. Also, let me know if you need any breaks, okay?" Xie Lian replied with a simple nod, and so it begun.

The familiar gentle pulse and sting of the needle worked its way slowly, Hua Cheng's slender hands firm and steady. But only twenty minutes in, Xie Lian could feel his lungs compress and his heart race uncomfortably. "Are you okay?" Hua Cheng asked softly. "Y-yeah.. I'm all good, thanks." This was not the time for Xie Lian to admit he was having some sort of minor anxiety attack due to a fricking tattoo. (dumb dumb)

They continued, but Xie Lian only felt worse with every throb of the gun. It was almost done when he started shaking. "Hey, are you sure you're alright? We can take a break." Hua Cheng stopped the needle, his voice reassuring. Xie Lian only nodded, then swung himself so he sat on the side of the tattooing chair/table thingy. He took deep breaths, shutting his eyes as he pressed the heels of his palms against them.

Reflected in his inner eyelids was the sight of his parents hanging, dead, from the rafters of the barn those ten years ago, blood dripping from their glassy eyes and slack mouths, necks broken. How he, too, tried to hang himself- thank Gods he couldn't reach high enough to hang the noose.

He truly must've been out of it if he didn't even register that Hua Cheng was sitting beside him with a hand on his shoulder asking him if he was okay. What was he meant to say? 'Yeah, just reminiscing about my parents committing double suicide' like-??

"I- it's just-" Xie Lian sighed, uncovering his face but staring blankly at the floor "it's hard. The tattoo itself is fine, but..... what I think about when I see it..... I'm so sorry..." "Hey, hey, it's alright. I get it- some tattoos bring up memories we wish we didn't have." Hua Cheng twined his hand over Xie Lian's gently. "Do you want some water or a snack? We have some." "Oh, I don't want to be a bother, really..." Damn the introvertedness. "You're not a bother at all," replied HUa Cheng, standing up from the seat. "We have Lay's." Okay. That was a selling point. "Are you having some?" Xie Lian asked. "Yeah. So I'm guessing that's a 'yes'...?" Xie Lian nodded. Hua Cheng got up and left, coming back shortly later with two snack-sized bags of chips. He passed one of them to Xie Lian- and coincidentally, it was his favourite flavour.

The two sat in the quiet for a little while, nomming on the chips and talking through some of what Xie Lian was going through. After about half an incense time, they decided to finish off the tattoo. And with that final swipe of the cool cloth, it was done; the gentle curvature of the safety pin contrasted against the rigidness of the Roman numerals, the details delicate and.... perfect.

Was is professional that they exchanged phone numbers? Probably not. Was is professional that they started going out with each other after a couple of weeks? Nope. But all that mattered was that they both found hope in each other they shared a liking for the same flavour of chips.

#hualian #hualian fic #xie lian fic #hua cheng fic #xie lian #hua cheng #san lang #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tgcf fic

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gayhorrorboy · 7 months ago

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happy narumitsu week!! i didnt have anything done for day 1 so heres day 2 lol.

this ideally would slot somewhere around the end of t&t but i didnt have a set timeline spot in mind. its just a cute confession scene

NaruMitsu Week Day 2: Flowers

Word Count: 1894

Read on Ao3 link

Read on Tumblr under the cut

When Edgeworth saw the gift that had been left for him, his first thought was that Oldbag had found some way around the instructions he’d given security about her. An elegant vase with a spray of flowers–lavender, mint leaves, autumn Adonis, and a single maroon rhododendron bloom. It had been left on his desk. There wasn’t a card in the arrangement. Slowly, Edgeworth set his briefcase down, studying the arrangement. It was too small and too tasteful for Oldbag.

He reached for the vase–a simple thing, of curved green glass. There was a small card tucked under it. The slip of paper had typed words, no identifying handwriting. No signature either.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.

Seven words, four types of flowers, and no signature. Edgeworth picked up the vase, moving it to the shelf under his window. It stood next to his tea set, unassuming, not looking like the source of a mystery Edgeworth now felt compelled to solve.

When he opened his laptop, he disregarded his case files, opening a new search.

Lavender, according to an 1865 book on flower meanings, could signify distrust, but an 1884 one noted it could also mean confession. The same 1865 source said mint could mean positive feelings towards someone. It added that Adonis’ flower meant painful memories, and that the ‘burgundy’ rhododendron meant ‘unconscious beauty.’ The same two books also agreed that in general, a rhododendron meant love, privacy, and trusting confidence.

Edgeworth sat back in his chair. Distrust, confession, warm feelings, painful memories, love, privacy, and whatever ‘unconscious beauty’ meant. There were very few people that could be from. He would investigate after he did his work.

The rest of the workday was spent assembling arguments in between fielding questions and evidence reports from detectives. It felt like days before Edgeworth could finally repack his briefcase and hurry downstairs to his car. A brief wave to the security room and he was out of the office. He’d gone there very few times, but he navigated to the Wright and Co. Law Offices from memory. Two lefts here, then a right. Park in the back lot, tucked away from the street. Take the office building’s main elevator up to the space occupied by Phoenix Wright and his rotating group of teenaged assistants.

Today it was the young Ms. Fey that answered the door, her jaw dropping at the sight of him. She couldn’t be a very good assistant if she made such obvious faces all the time, but she’d proved to be rather competent as a legal aide in the courtroom.

Now she called, “PHOEEEENIXXXXX!” as she ran to toss open the door to the inner office. Edgeworth winced. Maya Fey had quite the set of pipes. When he entered the office, he found the youngest Miss Fey watching television as Phoenix Wright sat at his desk, distractedly chewing on a pen.

“Mr. Edgeworth came to see you!” Maya sing-songed before joining Pearl by the TV. The pen fell out of Phoenix’s mouth.

“Uh–Edgeworth! I wasn’t expecting you!”

“I can see. Just as I wasn’t expecting to find this in my office this morning, Wright.” Edgeworth lifted the card that had come with the arrangement.

“I–um. Maya, have you and Pearl eaten dinner?”

“Not yet.” Ms. Fey was back on her feet at the mention of food. Edgeworth watched as his rival pulled a few crumpled dollar bills from his pocket, passing them to Maya distractedly. So this was how a stellar defense lawyer operated.

“Take Pearl and get burgers or something. Take your time.”

“Thanks, Phoenix! Pearly, come on!” The Feys cleared out quickly.

“Well?” Edgeworth leaned against a chair, looking around the room. Phoenix buried his face in his hands as Edgeworth looked at the scraggly plant by the window. It had been the eldest Ms. Fey’s once.

“I didn’t know how to say it.”

“To say what, exactly? A bouquet of flowers with conflicting meanings isn’t a good way of sending a message.”

“It was Maya’s idea. I just looked for the meanings I wanted.”

“Taking relationship advice from a nineteen year old may also not be a good course of action. What were you trying to say?”

“...Just sit down for a minute.” Phoenix scrubbed his hands over his face as he sat straighter in his chair. Edgeworth obliged. The sun was setting outside as he waited for Phoenix to speak.

It wasn’t silent in the office. The girls hadn’t turned off the television. A box fan was struggling against the heat that came with the final days of summer, before the autumn chill set in.

Over that, he could hear Phoenix whisper, “I didn’t want to ruin what we have.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We’re only just trusting each other again. I don’t even know if you’d call me a friend. I thought if I didn’t tell you then maybe we could have at least a friendship.”

“Didn’t tell me what, Wright?” Edgeworth asked, even as he had an awful suspicion of what Phoenix was about to say. Mint for warmth, rhododendron for love and privacy.

“You don’t change your entire career plans for a man just because you were childhood friends, Edgeworth.”

“Ah.”

“I like finding out you’re my opposing counsel in court. I like watching you argue. I like listening to your voice. I like when you tell me something about yourself that you wouldn’t tell anyone else. I like seeing you be kind to kids–”

“Kids that you bring to crime scenes. I’m distracting them so you can’t permanently scar them.”

“Maya and Ema both approached me first!”

“Ms. Skye was brought into a situation she could barely comprehend, and she needed all the help she could get.”

“She still has that fingerprinting kit you gave her.”

“I’m aware.” Edgeworth had the Polaroid he’d been sent, of Ms. Skye waving her acceptance letter to the forensics academy, tucked in a drawer of his desk. It sat next to other pictures, mostly of Franziska after winning trials. There was one from the end of Maya Fey’s trial as well, of her waving a victory banner in front of both himself and Phoenix. He could admit he was prone to a certain sentimental streak.

“But back to topic! I… I like you, Edgeworth… Miles.”

Well. That certainly wasn’t what Edgeworth had been expecting when he’d come to see Phoenix today.

“And you didn’t want to speak to me, so you made a bouquet? Were you banking on me looking up the meanings?” Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Phoenix buried his face in his hands.

“I know you probably never want to hear from me again, but–”

“For God’s sake, Wright, pull yourself together. How on earth did you become a lawyer if this is the extent of your communication skills? Being afraid of rejection is no reason to act purposely obtuse.”

“I–I just–”

“I haven’t even rejected you and already you’re acting like your life is over.”

“Yeah.”

“Look at me …Phoenix.” Miles waited for Phoenix to lift his head. He hadn’t used his first name to address him in a very long time. “I… also have feelings for you. Our rivalry is limited to the courtroom, and you know this.”

“I do?” Lord, the man was frustrating.

“...And, I greatly admire your ability to be selfless, your endless empathy, and your strength and dedication to your ideals.”

“Do you also like my hair?” Phoenix’s face had a giant, stupid grin on it. Miles glared across the desk at him.

“My affection has its limits. But perhaps the way it frames your face has a certain charm.” Sensing Phoenix was gearing up with an awful comeback, Miles hurried to finish his statement. “It took time for me to understand what I felt for you, and even now it is taking everything in me to suggest we be anything less than utterly professional.”

“According to the judge, Godot, and even your sister, I’ve never once been even a smidge professional. Speaking of which, can I take you to dinner?” Franziska would have so many opinions on this, Miles was sure. And yet he continued in his new unprofessional behavior.

“Can you afford to?”

“Uhm…!”

“I’m joking. Naturally, I will take you out to dinner.” Miles stood, waiting for Phoenix’s response. And so he got to watch the object of his affections stumble to his feet, catch himself on the desk, and then knock over a stack of papers as he rushed to grab Miles’ hand.

“Can I kiss you?” Miles shot a look at the mess of papers on the floor before he looked back to Phoenix. “...I’ll get those put back later.”

“I suppose.” Miles leaned in, one hand coming to frame Phoenix’s face. He’d noticed he had heterochromia before, but now he got to stare into those beautiful eyes before Phoenix closed them and kissed him.

Phoenix’s lips were slightly chapped. He met Miles with enthusiasm, as if he had been waiting and anticipating this. Miles had kissed very few people before, his focus always on his work before anything else, and a part of him was unsure if Phoenix would be disappointed by the experience.

But when Phoenix pulled back, he dropped Miles’ hand to instead squeeze his face between his palms. “You’re beautiful, Miles.”

“You are also lovely. Where would you like to get dinner?” There were those shining eyes, one blue, one brown, blinking at him. Phoenix had nice eyelashes.

“I probably don’t know the fancy spots you like to eat at.” Most days Miles would pick up takeout and eat it in his office, but Phoenix didn’t need to know that.

“I’m certain I can choose something you’ll enjoy.” But Miles didn’t move, didn’t pull away from studying Phoenix’s face (he’d never noticed the freckles across the other man’s nose before) until the office door flew open.

“Phoenix! –OH!” At Maya’s yelp, Miles pulled back, suddenly quite aware of the two girls in the doorway and his own hand on Phoenix’s cheek. He didn’t have much time to process his feelings before the youngest Fey stalked up to Phoenix.

“Mr. Nick! That’s so unprofessional! In your office?! With Mr. Edgeworth?! How could you, Mr. Nick?!” To emphasize each sentence, Miss Fey punched Phoenix in the stomach. Miles hadn’t known how strong a preteen girl could be.

“Miss Pearl–”

“And you, Mr. Edgeworth!” She whirled on him. “You two are rivals! Why not at least try to act like it?”

“It’s complicated, Pearls. How about you and Maya hang out here while I head out for a bit? The evening cartoons are about to start.”

“Fine.” Pearl crossed her arms in a huff, walking back to the television as if she owned the office.

Maya didn’t say anything at first, but as Phoenix started to walk out ahead of Miles she whispered, “I knew it.”

Phoenix went bright red. Miles knew he probably looked much the same. When they made it to the elevator, Miles spoke again.

“Well… I know a lovely sushi place, over near the beach.”

“That sounds great.” Phoenix turned to Miles, giving him a peck on the cheek. How unprofessional. Anyone in the hall could’ve seen them before the elevator doors closed. But somehow, Miles found he didn’t mind.

#nmweek24 #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #narumitsu #wrightworth #jess posts txt #gayhorrorboy #nrmtweek24 #narumitsuweek

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inuhalfdemon · 11 months ago

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Dirty Dealings (4/21)

Word Count: 2,460 Words

Chapter 4: The Grave

“I’m a demon, my dear.” Alastor told her warmly. “I really don’t give a damn.”

Lafayette, Louisiana

June 25th, 1970

“I’m not fucking around, here.” The guy yelled in Addie’s face, shoving her hard so that she stumbled and fell backward into the alley behind the apartments. “I told you to get lost, bitch!”

“But…” She gasped, shaking from his escalated aggression. “I-I paid for-“

“You fucking didn’t!” The man screamed at her. “You’d think I’d forget a face that’s staying in my apartments!?”

There was a sound of someone clearing their throat. The man who had shoved Addie, whirled around, his eyes finding Alastor leaning against a brick wall – ‘dressed-to-the-nines’- in his human form with a smile on his face.

“My good man,” He said, casually “Is there a problem?”

“Luc…?” Addie breathed, shakily.

“This broad here thinks she can get away with staying in my apartments rent free.” The guy spit, turning back toward Addie. “I was just seeing her out.”

“Hm…well.” Alastor pushed off from the wall and strolled over to where Addie was, offering his hand to help her from the dirty cement. “Perhaps, a tad excessive.”

“Excuse me.” The guy turned on Alastor. “You have something you want to fucking say?”

“How about a magic trick!?” Alastor snapped his fingers, bright green smoke bursting in the man’s face. The man wobbled backwards. He shook his head and blinked at Alastor and Addie in confusion.

“I-uh…” He grunted. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” He asked, all anger gone now.

“We were just discussing my sister-in-law.” Alastor explained to him happily. “You see, she needs a place to stay when she comes here for work. We were interested in one of your apartments but she will be new to the area, you have never met her before and I worry that you won’t know who she is when she comes to stay in a room that’s already been paid for.”

“Oh,” The guy started to say, “Well, I suppose-“

“You were just getting ready to sign this document!” Alastor smiled, suddenly showing him a paper and pen. “It will provide your signature in the event that if any problems should arise, my dear sister-in-law could produce it and provide to you the proper proof of purchase.”

“Of-of course.” The man stated, fumbling for the pen. He continued to blink repeatedly, his hand sweeping clumsily across the page as he signed.

“Pleasure doing business with you, my good fellow!” Alastor exclaimed happily, flourishing the document and pen back into his hand. “But, now, my friend and I must be off.”

Turning away, Alastor led Addie quietly away from the man and out of the alley.

Addie paused, glancing back into the alley briefly. “Did you just…?” She looked at him pointedly.

“Heaven’s no!” Alastor waved a hand. “This was for you, not me.” He handed her the document. “You show that to him at anytime and he won’t be giving you any more trouble. Stay there as long as you like, it won’t make a difference, the paper will still do the trick.”

Addie took the page from him. It glowed briefly, warm in her hands before the ink melted into the paper, fading away. The paper had become blank but she could feel it thrumming softly against the skin of her fingers. She carefully folded the sheet, placing it within a pocket of her jeans.

“Well, thank you…I guess.” She told him, not quite sure how she should feel about the situation. “You do realize if I use this, it will be stealing…”

“I’m a demon, my dear.” Alastor told her warmly. “I really don’t give a damn.”

“Thank you, then.” Addie told him. “Truly.”

“Think nothing of it.” He told her. “Now, there is the matter of our anniversary. I am afraid that I have a pressing engagement that will require my absence from you tonight. I’m sure you are quite devastated.”

“Not really.” Addie told him.

“I thought as much.” He chuckled softly.

“However, why don’t you get settled in to your new place? I have an errand to run in New Orleans; won’t take me long. I can come back…say…in the next couple of hours?”

“You’re going to New Orleans?” She asked. “I-I haven’t been there in…ages…” She suddenly realized.

“You are welcome to join me, if you’d like!” He happily offered.

“…really?” She asked. “I mean, I-I think I’d like to.”

“Splendid!” He took a large, sweeping step back. Snapping his fingers, green sparked and formed into whirling pool of smoke that spun beside them.

“Ladies first,” He dipped, an arm out toward the portal.

She hesitated.

“It is quite safe, I can assure you.” He promised.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the spinning portal, preparing herself for all sorts of…unpleasantness.

As she stepped through though, nothing happened. She simply stepped out into the same exact bright daylight she had left and felt entirely the same.

A young black man, hurriedly stepped directly into where she was standing and she gasped loudly, surprised. When the man never stopped or even touched her, she whirled around, disoriented. He and the friend that was with him had kept walking - somehow - right through where she had been without seeing or touching her.

“Quite, alright.” Alastor told her, stepping beside her. “These things do have their ‘fool proofs’.” He glanced around briefly, checking that no one was looking, before snapping his fingers. Addie realized that a soft green glow had been surrounding her and it dissipated immediately – fully materializing her to the spot. They were standing just off from a quiet street in New Orleans.

“Can all demons…do that?” She asked him.

He was swiping at his hair, trying to get the sweep just how he liked it. “No.” He answered, simply. “So, would you like some time to see the town? I can pop back by when I’m done.”

“I thought you were going into town yourself.” She said, confused.

“Oh, no. I have another outing in mind.” He told her. “Another kind of anniversary, in fact.”

“Oh, well, I-“ She wasn’t sure how to admit it. She was excited to be back in New Orleans. She hadn’t been back here since…well, since returning to the swamps the night after their deal had been made. That was 1950…had it really already been 20 years?

“You are welcome to come along.” He told her, still fussing with his hair. “I can’t say that it will be especially exciting for you.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” She asked him.

“Not at all.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Oh, blast it.” He sighed, done trying with his hair. “Would you mind terribly if I…well, if I took a more comfortable form? This one suited me fine for quite some time but it gets rather….stale, after awhile.” He was trying to explain.

“I guess not.” She said, having seen him in a few forms now and wondering why he even felt the need to ask.

“Humans will not be able to see me,” He explained. “You will, but others will see you talking only to yourself.”

“They would forget about me doing anything as soon as they no longer saw me, so why do I care?” She asked him dryly.

“Well, I’m just being polite.” He told her, before producing a long black cane and spinning it agilely about. In an instant, he was no longer human. He took the form of the dealer demon she had shook hands with those many years ago out by the bayou.

Obvious relief brightened both his smile and his mood. His long black cane now was a red and black staff with a microphone fixed to the top. He wore the same bright red, flashy clothing he had the night of their deal and his ears and antlers were even more pronounced in the light of day. Spinning the staff with the microphone, he began to walk away down a dirt road that led away from the city of New Orleans. The staff disappeared entirely, before he crossed his hands to the small of his back and whistled happily as he strolled away.

“Wait.” She said.

He paused, tilting his head and smiling at her.

“If you could already do all that…why even bother?” She asked.

He didn’t reply. He simply, happily shrugged.

She sighed, going over to where he had stopped. “Well, if you don’t know then I’m not going to try to understand it.”

“So, where are we going?” She asked him, falling in-step beside him when he turned to continue his jaunt.

“To visit someone very dear to me.” He told her but then saying nothing else. She noticed his voice had that same crackling-old radio sound it had had before as well.

They walked quietly for a few moments, Addie wanting to know more but also not wanting to annoy him.

“You know,” He said. “These were my old stomping grounds when I was alive.”

“Really?” She thought about it briefly. She supposed it made sense.

“Were you anyone I would know or remember?” She asked him.

He laughed. “Hardly. No, my dear, I spent my time in much different circles of society than you would appreciate, I think. But, I was a host to one of the earliest radio broadcasts in our lifetimes.” He proudly told her.

“That’s…interesting.” She admitted. “I can’t say that I’ve accomplished much myself…even with our deal that we made.”

He didn’t offer any comment to this, but if his ears were any indication, he was listening to her as they kept walking.

“The clause you added…” She told him. “It makes everything too hard. I want to do meaningful things, travel, see the world, find something I’m good at but…” She vented to him, frustratedly. “I can’t. No one remembers me long enough to make an impact or get anything done. I can’t apply for travel documents, I can’t get a job….I can’t even fucking write or draw, everything I ever make an impression on just…fades away.”

Alastor chuckled. “I made it so you can never be remembered, Adeline. Part of that is not being able to make any meaningful impact or form any meaningful relationships with others.”

“Not to mention that even just day-to-day tasks are…incredibly difficult now.” She sighed.

“Yes, well.” He giggled. “That’s just a bonus.”

She glared at him. Of course he was enjoying this. He would.

They were approaching the end of the dirt road now, an old rusted black metal fence encircled what looked to be an old cemetery. Alastor never slowed, but went to the old gate at the fence and swung it out wide, the metal screeching. He waited politely for Addie to walk through before following her, closing the gate behind them.

Addie paused, looking around the graveyard. There was a much nicer cemetery actually in New Orleans but she saw that these headstones were…very old. The most recent date she saw were ones that had the year 1929 but there were many other stones that were there dating back into the 1800’s.

She followed Alastor as he kept his strolling gait between the rows of long-since dead. At the edge of the graveyard, a large, beautiful oak grew just beyond the perimeter fence. Its branches casted long and twisting limbs over and into the yard. Just beneath, engulfed in shadow, was a lone headstone.

Alastor stopped at the grave and Addie watched him. He still wore a large smile across his face, but his eyes had softened and there was a gentle sadness there that she didn’t expect to see from him. Several moments passed with him standing there, just like that, completely and utterly still.

Addie thought about stepping away and leaving him alone, when he told her, “She was my mother.”

“Your…mother?” She wasn’t sure what she had anticipated. Looking more closely at the gravestone now she saw that the day of death was June 25th…

“You come here…” Addie said, starring at the worn stone. “Every year? On the day she died…” Addie hadn’t visited the grave of either of her parents. Not once.

“Not every year.” He told her, almost as if they were chatting happily. “But, every year that I am able.”

“Isn’t the day though…” Addie wasn’t sure how to ask it. “I mean, it’s kind of depressing right? Why not visit on another day of the year? Her birthday even?” Addie couldn’t fathom it.

“I wasn’t around when she was born, Adeline.” He told her. “I was there when she died.”

Addie didn’t know what to say to that.

“Do you…? She offered, after some time. “Do you want me to go-?”

“No, no that is quite alright.” He told her. Snapping his fingers, he produced a brilliantly colored, red rose. Bending down, he tenderly placed the rose atop of the grave’s headstone.

“Do you…?” Addie fumbled, not sure if she should even be asking him this. “Do you know where she is now?”

“Heaven.” He told her. “But, even it doesn’t deserve her.”

“What do you think she’d say…? You know, about you being what you are now?” She wondered.

“Oh, she would be horrified.” Alastor laughed. “Absolutely, and truly mortified. But,..” He looked at Addie, now, the radio static falling from his voice briefly. “She would still love me.”

Addie suddenly was fighting back tears. “Wow..” She breathed.

He looked at her, his expression happily curious.

“It’s just…” She sighed, really trying not to cry. “I really miss my dad.”

He watched her, not saying anything.

“He died before…well, before our deal so it’s not like that changed anything… But, you come here every year you possibly can to visit your mom? I’m not even sure I know where his grave even is…” She said it, realizing it was true. “What kind of a person does that make me?”

Alastor offered her no reply.

“My dad…” Addie wanted to explain but she just didn’t know how to do his memory the justice it deserved. Instead, she told him, “You probably wouldn’t remember it…but I gave you a ring. A wooden ring. He had carved it for me just before he died…” She was losing her words, unsure of how to say just how much her father had meant to her.

“You mean,” Alastor snapped his fingers, and in a rush of green the wooden ring appeared in his hand. “This ring.”

Addie starred at it, uncomprehending. “B-but you-you burnt it. You said it was worthless and you burned it away right in front of me!”

“I never said it was worthless, darling.” He smiled coyly back at her. “I said it held no value to me. It obviously had meant quite a lot to you, however, and there is much greater worth in that. So, I kept it.”

She starred back at him. She was torn between wanting to scream in his face for all of this petty-shit-stuff he was putting her through - just for his own amusement – but then, also in being overwhelmingly grateful that he had kept the ring all this time, safe and sound.

He chuckled deeply when some time passed and she still hadn’t sorted through all of her feelings.

“Well, my dear, Adeline.” He smiled. “Happy 20th Anniversary.” And he, gave her the ring.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 5

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kkatastrophic · 5 months ago

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Tsumugi fic so far:

Tsumugi shirogane let out a breathy laugh. She twisted one of her blue curls around her finger and smoothed her dress. The outfit she had created herself was her favourite. Especially the orange bow. It reminded her of sunshine. She had voluntarily written Danganronpa with a team and voluntarily gone into the killing game. She was like the puppet master. All of this didn't stop her from missing simple things like sunshine, comic cons, her adoring fans on the other side... oh she just knew that they would love her more once the students started to die! She knew that when they all chose hope or despair and kill her, the world will errupt in applause for her final performance! It was like a final bow - her resignation letter - and she was almost too excited for the ending to come! But that would take weeks... and she had to make sure everybody stuck to their scripts! Otherwise she'd just use the pen in her pocket to rewrite what her creation! - a new ending - one where none of them survived!

"Uh Tsumugi?" The voice snapped her put of her trance. "Wow, you have this strange almost... sexy aura about you! What'd you say your last name was?" Tsumugi focused her gaze on the blonde girl standing infront of her. And the blue haired boy shyly behind. The characters she had written herself, the protagonists of Danganronoa V3 themselves! She had a hard time containing her excitement, she was a big fan of their characters, because she wrote them!

"Aha, I'm Tsumugi Shirogane who are you?" She smiled sweetly and laughed as Kaede introduced herself. She already knew who Kaede Akamatsu and Shuichi Saihara were, she had then hand picked from the drawing board! After making over 100 drafts of character designs and attributes she was left with the 15 that made the Killing Game more interesting! A detective in the ranks made a pretty big target, and an optimistic pianist seemed to be the perfect cliche for a Protagonist!

Tsumugi herself was bland, so she gave all her characters a quality that she would want! She could cosplay all of them if she wanted to! Shirogane had given Kaede optimism, to keep the killing game going! Her attitude would stop the group from giving up! Which would clash perfectly with an antagonistic and unapologetically mischievous personality of which Kokichi Oma possessed! And Tenko Chabashira... she would hate so many cast members! Tsumugi wished she had her physique and confidence... but if she was going to make it far in the Killing Game she would have to keep a low profile. She would have to be bland, boring, simple.

Unlike the people around her with complex and varied personalities, she would keep a target off her back easily! As Kaede and Shuichi walked off and back over to the dining hall Tsumugi took it upon herself to talk to Rantaro. The green haired Ultimate Question mark... she had taken away all of his identity! He would be the biggest mystery of the Danganronoa cast since the Ultimate Detective from the very first season! But Rantaro Amami would be one to last close until the end! It was in her original plan to have him survive until the sixth chapter, but she had to run it by the higher-ups to see what changes they could make to the story.

They said that they wouldn't kill Tsumugi until the end! And if they were to disobey their promise then Tsumugi could simply shatter the season mere moments before her demise. She could tell whomever was trying to end her life that they were fictional! Plus, if something like that happened the script composers upstairs would just revive her with the chapter three motive! It was all so simple! In a dangerous situation, Tsumugi was in no peril!

"Tsumugi Shirogane..." She whipped her head around to see who had softly spoken her name. It was the green haired boy. It seemed that the writers had changed his initial design, and had used the fifth costume draft for him. It would mean that the other four outfits for Rantaro Amami she had brought along would come of no use. "Ah, hello! You're Amami, correct?" Tsumugi smiled gazing at the ceiling that was covered in dust and vines. She had wanted the series to revert back to the original forum, but the writers insisted on making it more futuristic! Oh, how she longed to go to the original Hope's Peak! She didn't want the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles to have her name all over it! The whole campus was a downgrade from the island from season two!

Even the camp grounds from season 34 was better than this! The amount if ground that she had to cover when placing cameras and nanobugs was ridiculous! Luckily she had Keebo as a camera, his eyes was the audience perspective, and when he slept the nanobugs would track! The Northern side of the world would sleep and the Southern Hemisphere would awaken to a replay of the previous day! Tsumugi had to search through all the footage of Danganronpa. It was a tiresome job, and each game lasted at least a month, this would be no different. She had spent years watching through the gruesome murders, motives and executions.

She was going to create the perfect killing game! She had an e-mail-like system set up on her Monopad, the messages were transmitted through Monokuma or the closest Monokub straight to her specially manufactured device. Her and her bosses - the higher-ups - would use this device to communicate. She began to spiral, her thought process going from topic to topic, season to season of Danganronpa. This was until Rantaro Amami stared at the girl confused. It was just like her script.

[Tsumugi]: *ahaha... danganronpa! The world of Danganronpa... how did I stick to the original?[Rantaro]: "Shirogane-San? Did you...-"

"...hear me?" Rantaro finished his sentence and waited for an answer. "Oh! Ahaha, apologies Amami! I was just lost in thought for a brief moment. Could you please repeat your sentence?" She laughed. Shirogane had stuck to her part of the script flawlessly, now it was Rantaros turn. Would it work? She hoped so... her many years of planning had worked up to this exact moment. "I asked if you wanted to explore together? I think the basement would be the best place to start."

Almost perfect. Tsumugi had imagined his tone as less relaxed, but he almost stuck to the script, the higher-ups had reread and edited her script after all! They were supposed to go to the garden, but the basement worked perfectly fine. It would be where Akamatsu-Chan would later murder Harukawa-Chan!

This would decrease the optimism of the game drastically, a mysterious girl being murdered by the kindest person in the Academy? The secrets if Maki Harukawas past would be hidden forever.... until the sixth chapter, where her Ultimate Lab would open on the highest floor of the Academy and provide further insight to her true talent. She was not the Ultimate Child Care-Giver!

As Rantaro and Tsumugi walked down the basement stairs she stopped and turned on her heel. "Is something wrong?" Rantaro asked, one hand was swinging lazily by his side, the other resting lazily in his pocket. "Ah, no, I just thought that I may have heard a sound of some sort. Probably just..." Tsumugi was interrupted by a beep from her Monopad.

She had forgotten to turn the noise off after the flashback light! "What was that noise?" Rantaro asked, he stepped forward, Tsumugi backed against the wall. "Ah? What noise, I didn't seem to notice it." Tsumugi prayed for the higher-ups to hear her thoughts and prayers. Rantaro couldn't find her suspicious this early on! Why would they write this in the script?! "Something beeped. What're you hiding behind your back?" He leaned closer, he wasn't aggressive about it, he seemed more curious than anything else. Placing a hand on the wall to stop her from squeaming, he sighed.

"What? Tsumugi, what is it?" He smiled at her, a nice gesture that Shirogane appreciated. She just had to lie to get out of it. "It's my Monopad, I found it on my bed in my dorm" She returned his smile, her face flushing a pink shade. Rantaro took the Monopad in his hands and turned the switch on. "I didn't know the dorms were open." "Neither did I until I found my Monopad!" Shirogane laughed nervously. "That was a lie." A voice from behind the two spoke without much hesitation. Tsumugi hadn't noticed him before because he was so short compared to her and Rantaro, bit Kokichi Oma had made his way down the first flight of stairs and into the conversation. Typical of the purple haired brat. Tsumugi hoped the writers agreed with her plan to kill him off in chapter two.

---

I know this is hard to read in one big block of texts but my noted app has an issue where I can only copy one block of text at a time so I had to do it like this or I'd be pasting it forever lmao.

#This is just so I can move it from here to wattpad drafts or google docs or something #danganronpa #v3 #Drv3 #Ndrv3 #Tsumugi shirogane #Rantaro amami #Kaede akamatsu #Shuichi saihara #Kokichi oma #Kokichi ouma

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year ago

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Mr Evershed x teen!reader - we all struggle

can I request Mr Evershed X teen!reader with prompt 31 and 61 from the 2024 list? Thank you - Anon💜

31: “Why is it every time I come here you seem to be here too?” “I study here.” “In detention?”

61: “Stop throwing things!” “No!”

Looking at the text book in front of you, you idly flipped to the next page, not really paying much attention to whatever was it in, just pretending so you looked busy.

You didn’t want to get stuck with whatever it was they had the other detention students doing, that didn’t interest you at all.

Hearing the door open and closed, you quickly picked up your pen, writing down the title of the chapter.

“I didn’t think there was anybody else in here.”

“There isn’t, they’ve all gone to go help with something.”

Mr Evershed hummed a little, dragging a chair over to your desk and he sat down in front of you, setting his bag on the ground.

“Can I ask you something (Y/N)?”

“You just did.”

He chuckled a little and you looked up at him, grinning a little as you turned your attention back to the book.

“Why is it every time I come here you seem to be here too?” He asked.

You shrugged slightly, not looking up from the fake notes you were taking, you didn’t even know if they were right.

“I study here.”

Mr Evershed took the pen from you, making you look at him.

“In detention?”

“What can I say sir, it’s quiet.”

“And this has nothing to do with detention?”

“Nope.”

He took your notes and turned the textbook towards him so he could have a look at what you were doing.

Even at a quick glance he could tell that you were only pretending to be taking notes, so he set the paper down and flicked back a few pages, starting some new notes for you.

“I heard that you have been having issues with your grades and attendance.”

“Nobody’s business but mine.”

“And mine, I’ve been asked to speak to you about it. Would you like to tell me why?”

You shook your head, looking at the sheet of paper as he passed it back to you.

“Nah.”

“You’re going to have to eventually kiddo, you can’t keep going down the road you’re going down.”

You scoffed.

“Look, it’s my education, my life right? Not yours, which means you don’t get a say in this.”

“Except when it comes to one of my students I do get a say, and my say is that I’m genuinely concerned (Y/N).”

“Maybe a few more detentions will help straighten things out.”

He closed the text book, and picked up your bag from under the desk to pass to you before grabbing his own bag and standing up.

“I don’t think so, come on, let’s take a walk. How does that sound?”

“This gonna lead into me helping with whatever crap the others are being forced to help with?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“No, no it’s not, now come on, and stop swearing how many times do we have to tell you?”

You blew raspberries at him, and stuffed your papers in your bag before you trailed after him towards the door.

You walked into the hallway, hands stuffed into the pockets of your hoodie, looking around the empty hallways.

“I want you to know if somethings going on you can talk to me about it (Y/N), I’m here to listen, help if I can.”

“Uh huh.”

He sighed.

“I know you don’t like other people all that well, especially not people your age, but that doesn’t mean you can keep acting like this.”

“What’re you gonna do about it? Punch me?”

“You’d love that huh? Get to sue the school and get free money.”

“Hell yeah, I’ll even give you a cut, what you say Mr E? Free shot.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re trouble, you know that? No amount of money you’re gonna split with me is going to make me change my mind.”

You grinned a little.

“Come on, free money.”

“Not for hitting you, not a chance. I wouldn’t hit you either way.”

“Give it time, I have a way of pissing people off.”

“Hey, language.”

You guys walked over to the stairs and you sat down, watching as he stood a few steps down, looking at you with crossed arms.

He sighed a bit.

“I know you struggle, god knows I can’t even begin to understand, but I am here, we can offer support, help.”

You shook your head.

“Nah.”

He sighed, walking up the steps and sat next to you, clasping his hands together.

“(Y/N), everything’s going to be alright, I know it’s hard to see that right now, and maybe you don’t, you can’t believe that, but it will be. You’re smart, and you’re strong, you’re going to be alright I promise.”

“Can we just change the topic, hell, I’ll even go help with that stupid crap that everybody else is helping with.”

“Alright then, come on, we’ll go help set up the main hall for the dance.”

Mr Evershed led you to the hall, and he took you over to a table.

“I’ll come check on you in a little while, you think you can sort these lights for me?”

You looked at the tangled mess of lights and have a half shrug.

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”

He smiled and walked away to talk to a few other teachers that were overseeing everything and you focused on the task at hand.

Sitting on the table, you began to work through the tangled lights, occasionally looking around at the other detention students.

They were glancing at whispering.

“The fuck you looking at?”

One of them smirked.

“You whipped now? Do what those assholes tell you?”

“I want out as quick as possible, I do this I can do. Simple logic shit brains.”

“Bet by tomorrow you’ll be a good student, doing your homework and all that just like your parents wanted. Maybe then they woulda kept you.”

You set the lights aside.

“Shut your damn mouth.”

They scoffed and you picked something up from the table and threw it at them.

Grabbing another object, you threw that next and it shattered which got the attention of everybody in the hall.

“(Y/N)!”

Mr Evershed dropped his bag and jogged over, ducking under the next decoration that you had thrown.

“Stop throwing things!”

You glared at him, picking something else up.

“No!”

You went to throw it and he quickly grabbed your hand, taking the decorative ball from you and he set it down.

“No more…” he whispered.

You glared at him, and he picked up your bag, handing it to you.

“Go hone, alright? Come find me in the morning and we’ll talk.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You pushed him aside and stormed out of the hall.

You weren’t mad at him, he had done everything he had to and more in order to help you, but you were just mad.

That was it.

Mad.

You needed time to cool off, calm down, whether you went back tomorrow, or even at all was a different story and you would deal with that when it came to it.

All you wanted to do now was just go home, so that’s what you did

#ackley bridge #ackley bridge imagine #ackley bridge x reader #ackley bridge x you #mr evershed #mr evershed x reader #mr evershed imagine #mr evershed x you

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purpleprincessonfyre · 1 year ago

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OUAT AU - Electric Touch

Ib: @jackiequick

Characters: Liane Felton St. James, Ethan Lensherr Long, Rick Banner, Cassandra Ashfield Sean, Belladonna, Sherrif Erik Lensherr

Ship: Ethan x Liane

Being a mother is hard. A role your body never builds you for specifically, that you take on nevertheless, is always more special and beautiful when you choose it for yourself. At least, that's what Liane St. James was telling herself as she paced on her lawn, trying not to blow her stack in front of the Sherrif, her neighbour Rick and her best friend Cassandra Sean who was trying to say soothing things.

"She could have already gotten on a plane and flown to another country by now!"

"Be reasonable Lia, Bella is a smart girl."

"Yeah too smart! I'm such a bad mother! She could be dead in a ditch and I wouldn't know...why didn't I give her a cellphone for her birthday..."

"She would never have used it. Trust me, she won't have gone far."

Liane's temper cooled but never fully disappeared. It was a flaw of hers that she had a rather hot temper and if looks could kill she could've hurt many people with a single withering glare. Cassandra was one of the few people who could handle Liane's temper and she was a great friend to her when her rage started to bubble over.

"We can't put out a missing person's alert yet, Miss St. James, its still too early. Besides, she's a teenager. They rebel more than most." The Sherrif scoffed, really wishing he wasn't there. The adults continued to argue as the sound of tires were heard from up the road as an unfamiliar blue car was heading towards the house. Liane was still pacing as the car pulled up and her daughter Belladonna stepped out along with a man who looked to be in his late 20s, perhaps early 30s, with dark hair, green eyes and a clean shaven face. Rick was still grilling his daughter Riley before they realised Belladonna had returned.

"For the eighth time, where is Belladonna?"

"I'm right here."

Liane turned around to see her daughter standing on the lawn and instantly she ran to embrace her intelligent little girl, tears rolling down her cheeks as her heels clacked against the concrete.

"Oh my God you scared me half to death!"

"You can be so dramatic Mother."

"Where did you go? What happened?! I was worried sick..."

"I found my birth father and an uh pen pal.."

Liane looked up and saw a man with her daughters hair and her nose staring back at her, letting go of Bella to greet this stranger who felt oh so familiar to her in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on. He approached nervously and smiled, hands stuffed in his pockets, shrugging.

"Hi."

The Sherrif gave Liane a look before introducing himself to the newcomer and taking Belladonna inside so the adults could talk. Liane looked up at Bella's father trying to look confident but was tapping her nails on her knee the way she did when she was nervous.

"Liane St. James, I'm her adoptive mother."

"Ethan. Ethan Long. It's nice to meet you."

He held out a hand for her to shake and she took it, a crackle of electricity seeming to pass through her as they touched, something seeming to spark inside her as they shook hands. The silence was awkward after they let go of each other and Liane tried to break the ice a little.

"Well I guess I should thank you for bringing her back. Would you like to come inside? I don't know how far she travelled to find you but I wouldn't want you to get back on the road so soon after that...revelation. Uh, drink?"

"Uh.. yeah yeah that would...yeah. Thanks."

Liane smiled and led him inside of her house. The house was very obviously decorated with femininity in mind, pastel shades on the walls, bursts of pink and purple scattered throughout the decor and furniture and a few items that belonged to Bella in shades of jet black or grey showed that their tastes very clearly differed.

Ethan took a seat in the kitchen as Liane busied herself looking for supplies, rummaging through cupboards for cups and such to make him feel welcome.

"Tea? Coffee?"

"Uh coffee is fine thanks."

"Black?"

"Yeah Uh two sugars thanks."

Liane got to work making drinks, dumping coffee into a mug that said Fighter-Town, Maine on it and brewing a vibrant tea in a dainty tea cup covered in flowers for herself.

"So Ethan, where did my elusive girl find you?"

"Uh Boston actually so not...not very far."

"Oh I see, is it just you then?"

"Yeah uh...yeah it's just me."

Liane brought over the mug of coffee and her tea and sat at the table with him, taking off her dark blazer to reveal a pink frilled blouse and kicked off a pair of pink kitten heels as she sipped her tea. She loosened her long blonde hair from its tight chignon and it cascaded down her back, instantly looking at least ten years younger.

"So what happened to Bella's mother, if that's not too personal a question?"

"Uh well its sort of complicated I guess. Messy breakup, neither of us felt ready, it wasn't really my decision but we were young and foolish."

"I know what that's like...." Liane responded, stirring her cup listlessly. There was sadness in her eyes as she gazed just past Ethan at the window overlooking the town, clearly trying not to dwell on the past but not quite being able to escape it.

"Uh so what about you? Is there someone in your life?"

Liane laughed but there was no humor. She put the teaspoon down and looked at Ethan directly as she spoke.

"Not anymore. There was someone, started out like a dream and then turned into a nightmare. I've never been very lucky with love. I tend to attract the wrong type of person. Lucky for me Bella has her head screwed on right. She sees through those men quick as anything, her opinions are harsh but she's never been wrong. If she comes up to me and says 'Mom, that man is dangerous' I listen good and get out of there fast. She's a smart girl."

"So I've heard..." Ethan quipped, trying to lighten the mood. Liane smiled, starting to relax. She was beginning to see flashes of her daughter in him, the way he spoke, his mannerisms, the way his eyes moved as she spoke, it was eerie but strangely comforting.

"So how does one end up in Fighter-Town eh?"

"I was born here, it's all I've ever known. Never wanted to go anywhere else, never tried either..." she said, once again gazing out the window. This seemed to take Ethan by surprise, a slight air of suspicion coming over him as her eyes seemed to cloud over for a moment before returning to him.

"What never? Not even on vacation? Disneyland? Niagara Falls? Yellowstone? Hell, NYC?"

"Nope. Never really felt the need to go anywhere. Besides this place isn't that bad. We do have a beach!"

"A beach? What color is the sea?"

"Depends on the time of year but its almost blue?"

Ethan laughed at that, making Liane chuckle too.

"It's not much but, it's home I guess. Always has been."

They fell silent again after that, not really sure of what else to say. Liane traced the lip of her cup carefully while Ethan just sat there awkwardly, checking his phone every so often.

"Damn, reception up here is kinda lousy."

"Eh you get used to it. Internet comes and goes and sometimes phone calls get cut off but yknow."

"So uh well, what do you do? For work I guess."

"Oh uh I'm a lawyer. Self-employed which is easier said than done. Doesn't pay...that well I suppose but it makes me happy and keeps food on the table. And people tend to trust you when you vouch for them."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting to hear that but pleasantly surprised to learn his daughter was being raised by an intelligent woman. As he finished his coffee, the Sherrif poked his head into the room, saying his goodbyes.

"I'd best be off, I'll be at the station if you need anything else, Ms St. James. Bella seems alright, you take care of yourselves now."

"Thanks again Sherrif. I'll see you around."

The Sherrif nodded, touching his hat and headed out the door, leaving the two alone.

"So...the decor, Bella's idea?"

"Oh no! Not even a little bit. She hates it all, pastels, pinks, fluffy and cute is not her style. But she respects my love for it. On her ninth birthday she very politely informed me that my taste didn't match her own and she would prefer to wear darker clothes and have a bedroom that suits her style from now on. And that she would like to play the violin. So we went out and got her all those things and she seemed content."

"Wow she just asked that? And you weren't offended?"

Liane chuckled, picking up a lavender leather jacket off the back off Ethan's chair and hanging it on a hook by the door.

"I always treated Bella like a person when raising her. Never used baby talk with her, never spoke down to her, told it like it is, she was the one who told Me Santa wasn't real so that tradition died early on, never believed in the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny but she's a hell of a reader. Her shelves are covered in fantasy stories, I guess she likes the escape."

Ethan smiled and the light seemed to dance in his eyes as he did, bringing a warm smile to Liane's face in turn. She felt comfortable around Ethan for some reason, but she wasn't quite sure why yet. She noticed his cup was empty and went to reach for it to put it away and accidentally grabbed his hand instead, the two of them suddenly locking eyes as that feeling of electricity suddenly ran through Liane again, that warm spark that made her question everything.

"I'm so sorry..."

"I was reaching for the-"

"No you're good I-"

"Wow, your hand is warm-"

"Well I-"

They were cut short by the sound of Belladonna clearing her throat by the door, her arms crossed over her chest as her large, dark eyes landed on Liane's.

"Your show about insipid doctors and nurses wishing to fornicate with one another has started. Your love for it dictates that you wouldn't want to miss it."

"Forni- oh Grey's! Of course, thanks sweetie, thank you for the reminder."

"Grey's Anatomy?"

"Yeah the characters are intriguing. Oh judge me, I could care less, I'm allowed to like dumb things."

Ethan laughed and the flicker of a smile appeared on Bella's face briefly as well. Liane rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she got up and walked Ethan to the door.

"It's been a pleasure, uh I would suggest if you plan on sticking around you find a room at Grandpa's Diner up the road, I don't really have the space to accommodate you unless you were okay with the couch?"

"No uh, I'll go check out that diner place and..."

"It's okay if you need space after all this. Take as much time as you need. Really." She smiled, seeing the sun start to sink in the distance, the sky now a burning pink and purple as the day drew to a close.

"Here uh, take my number if you want to come and see Bella at all, just in case you drop by and we're not in." She offered, handing him a pink business card with her details on. He smiled and wrinkled his nose, noting the scent of freshly cut roses on the card.

"Scented?"

"It leaves an impression, yknow?"

"Sure does. See you around St. James."

"Welcome to Fighter-Town, Ethan." Liane smiled, waving him off as he left. As she shut the door she saw his car pull away and watched him go, feeling that tug in her chest again, and sighed.

"You are the least subtle person I know."

Liane jumped, turning around to see Belladonna stood behind her, her face as always impassive but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

"Don't. It's only natural to try and connect with someone so closely linked to your family. Do you want to stay in touch?"

"Do you?"

"Yeah, but he's your Dad, what's your verdict, my little raven?"

"I'd like to see him again. Ask him questions. Tell him about myself. Fix things. And other stuff."

"Duly noted. Please tell me you paused the TV."

Bella reached into the pocket of her dress, holding out the TV remote.

"It boggles my mind that you still doubt my intellect to this day."

Liane smiled, taking the remote from her and headed for the lounge, a strange warmth now lingering on her heart. Ethan Long was now occupying space in her mind. Here we go again.

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks again to Lor for restarting my OUAT obsession and getting my mind into the world of fantasy..again

@jackiequick @gcthvile @blueboirick @mallowbee4 @meiramel @ask-starrk @ask-missparker @askstevella @wizzzardofoz @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @finlayholmes @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh

#ouat #ouat au #liane felton #askliane #liane's blog #violet pyre #mcu fandom #ethan lensherr #ethane #cassandra ashfield #belladonna #marvel roleplay #once upon a time #fantasy au

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spartanguard · 1 year ago

Text

cryptid chaos (A Tall Tail)

Summary: It's almost Halloween, and the recently freed Author has decided to make Storybrooke into the setting of a horror novel. Emma suddenly has actual swan wings; Killian is even more of a mer-creature than usual. But how do they undo all the changes when no one knows how the Author's power works? Can they figure it out--or are they stuck? a/n: Welcome back to the A Tall Tail verse! So I definitely meant to have this done for Halloween, but…it's still spooky season, right? Hope you enjoy some silliniess! rated T | 8.7k words | AO3 | A Tall Tail

Emma let out a long sigh as she stared across the water of the harbor, the full moon’s dappled reflection dancing in the waves. What a freakin’ week. In all the chaos of the so-called Queens of Darkness and locking Gold away, they’d kind of forgotten about one of the bigger things they’d been trying to do: tracking down the mysterious author of Henry’s storybook in search of Regina’s happy ending.

Once things had settled down a bit, they got back into it—kind of literally; it turned out the Author (whose name was Isaac, apparently) had actually been trapped inside the book. She was becoming more and more used to (or jaded by) magical bullshit, so to see a man emerge from the pages of a gigantic tome from a key inserted to an illustration of a door wasn’t the oddest thing she’d seen, but it was still weird.

Although now it’s just a headache, she complained to herself.

Since his arrival—or, rather, escape—the squirrelly man had been causing all sorts of drama across town; I guess that’s what a writer does, huh? It had all been petty nonsense, or people with bones to pick about how their life had gone (and really with no one to blame for it but themselves), but everyone had been demanding her help in dealing with it and she needed a damn break.

Which was why she was waiting for Killian on the deck of the Jolly Roger; he’d gone out for one of his usual swims to calm his magic, but they had plans to spend the night together. Alone. And very close, with few clothes. (Maybe with some rum in there, too.) Technically, Emma was early, but her little brother was teething and, though she felt bad leaving her parents to deal with that, she’d needed to get away from the chaos of the loft.

Being by the water was definitely calming her down, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off; maybe it was just Isaac, and the psychological upheaval he seemed to be inducing in most of the town; or maybe it was just the fact that it was a full moon and they were a few days away from Halloween—gods only know what kind of trouble that can bring to a town like this.

That was a problem for future Emma, though; current Emma smiled when she heard footsteps fall on the gangplank and began to turn around to greet her True Love.

“Was wondering when you’d…oh.” Her face fell; it was Isaac. “Can I help you?” (...Get out of town, preferably.)

“Actually, I was hoping it’d be the other way around,” he said, in a way that reminded her of an appliance store salesman.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Have you ever heard of the legend of swan maidens?” he asked, moving closer to her; she wanted to yell at him about setting foot on deck without the captain’s permission, but she was too confused.

“Uh, some of it, I guess?”

He pulled out a pad of paper and an antique-looking pen from his coat pocket as he went on. “Well, there’s a few, but I’ve always been a fan of some of the Irish stories—the ones where their goddesses choose to take on the form of a swan, only identifiable by a chain around their neck,” he said, nodding at Emma’s own silver necklace. Instinctively, her hand went to it—to hide it, she guessed, even though her old swan pendant was long gone and the necklace she’d fashioned for her magic seashell was made of leather. What the hell is he getting at?

He looked down at his notepad and started to scribble something down. “I imagine that would come with a lot of freedom—especially from some unwanted burdens,” he continued. Oh, like your presence? Emma quipped in her head. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I guess,” she said, unconvinced. Her phone then vibrated in her pocket; hopefully, Isaac was almost done here.

“Good,” he replied, with a smile on his face that she couldn’t quite read. Then he tore the page off his notebook and handed it to her.

Not thinking, she took it. She tried to read the drying ink on the paper, but only managed to recognize the word “wings” before a blast of magic sent her falling backwards—and over the railing of the ship into the water below.

Please let Killian be here, she hoped; but no such luck. Instead, she fell into the sea with a splash and the cold water stole her breath. She tried to move her arms up and down to ascend, but it felt like they were made of lead. Still, she pushed through, and finally broke through the surface.

She gave herself a minute to float and catch her breath before swimming back over to the ship (and punching the crap out of Isaac).

It was odd, though—usually, she needed more lower-body effort to tread water, but her arms alone were keeping her above surface-level.

So that’s when she looked at her arms—and screamed. “What the fuck? What the FUCK?” She didn’t care who heard her swear—but, on second thought, she did care who saw her.

Because she now had freaking wings where her arms had been. Not, like, angel wings coming from her back or something—literal long, feathered appendages where her much-shorter arms had been a minute ago. In fact, they looked like…”A swan,” she realized on a breath. Just what the hell did Isaac do?

She glanced around for the piece of paper he’d given her, but it was floating ahead of her, completely soaked—and illegible. But it had to be him, right?

Well, first thing first: she had to get out of the water. Can I fly? She flapped her arms—wings—whatever they were, if only to see what would happen. Astonishingly, she did rise out of the water a bit, before falling back even farther in.

Undeterred (and starting to feel self-conscious), she did again, and again, until, somehow, she was in the air. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but some new sort of muscle memory took over and all too soon, she was soaring around the harbor. This is actually kind of cool, she acknowledged, but definitely not something I want permanently.

Isaac was no longer on the ship; she should probably try to track him down, but she had no clue how to counter…whatever it was he was doing. She was still pretty fuzzy on his powers and how they worked. Regina was the most likely person to find, but for some reason, she didn’t want to bother her just yet; nor did she want to terrify her parents by turning up at the loft like this.

And she definitely didn’t want Killian to see her. So she headed to the only place she could think of—the cove; he wouldn’t think to look for her there, and she could stay away from prying eyes. And gods only know what this wind is doing to my hair.

Somehow, she managed to land on her feet on the rocky shore, though she wouldn’t call it graceful. Her wings instinctively folded in on themselves; that’s gonna take some getting used to. And she paced the beach while thinking of what to do—and coming up with no ideas.

She was the Savior and the Sheriff; shouldn’t I be out there trying to stop him? But how could she when she didn’t know how? And was this a targeted attack, or was he going to do this again? Is this why I can’t shake this weird feeling about him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by splashing near Killian’s rock. Oh crap; that better not be him. Cautiously, she stepped closer, but extended her wings in case she needed to make a hasty escape.

Something reached up from the water—but it wasn’t her True Love. It had webbed fingers, and blue-toned skin covered in scales, like some creature out of a horror film.

Nope. Not dealing with monsters, too. Before whatever-it-was could climb out of the water and terrify her further, she took flight (much faster this time) and flew off into the night. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she was getting as far away from the water as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian broke through the surface at the cove to see something flying away. Bloody hell; I bet that was her. Given what had just happened to him—and comments that bloody author fellow had made—he had to assume something similar happened to Emma. And whatever that creature was looked particularly like a swan.

He’d been out for his regular swim, with plans to meet Emma at his ship for a much-needed evening alone. There were times when he was under water that he lost track of time, but tonight was not one of them—not when he knew he’d be having much more fun above the surface.

But when he ascended to the deck of the Jolly Roger, he was shocked to see Isaac there. Alone. When he asked if he could assist him, the man instead returned the offer, then pointed to Killian’s tail, on full display as he perched on the railing. “What a plot twist,” the man commented. “I never could have anticipated that. Makes for an excellent story.”

“Aye; I suppose,” Killian had responded, confused. Isaac continued on, though, talking about other creatures of the deep; honestly, Killian was distracted, and starting to get worried about Emma, when he mindlessly agreed to something Isaac had said—perhaps about truly embracing his powers?

The author had written something with a queer-looking quill on a notepad, then tore it off and came closer to Killian. “I’m glad you agree; Emma did, too.” Then he handed the sheet over.

“What did Emma—” Killian started to ask as he took the slip of paper, but he didn’t get to finish his question before a wave of magic came from nowhere and toppled him off his seat.

He was distinctly aware of the way some odd magic was wrapping around him as he fell back into the ocean—it was definitely transformation magic, but unlike the kind he usually felt, which focused on his lower half, this went all over. It’s like when the Dark One cursed me…but at least not painful.

Once he regained his orientation underwater, he gave himself a checkover; for starters, he could see much clearer than he should have been able to at this time of night. He definitely had gills on his neck again—but also a few along his ribcage as well. He ran his fingers over them, which when he noticed that the webbing between them had returned—but rather than his usual pallor, his skin seemed to have taken on a bluish hue and was covered with even more scales. And he took my bloody chest hair again.

The real question was if it had the same effect on his ability to breathe out of the water; thankfully, when he broke the surface, he didn’t suffocate. That will at least make this easier—whatever this is. He hated to make a retreat, but he didn’t want to draw any undue attention by his odd appearance now, so he dove back under and made for the cove; he had to hope Emma would understand—and prayed she wasn’t dealing with a similar transformation of some sort.

But seeing the winged creature fleeing the beach seemed to confirm his fears; and knowing Emma, despite everything, she’d want to deal with it on her own. Like hell I’ll let her, though.

But he’d give her a moment to calm down, and took one of his own to assess if this new spell had altered his powers; thankfully, as a whirlpool formed in the water in front of him where he sat on the edge of the rock, he seemed to be alright on that front. He wasn’t sure what was ahead, but had a feeling those would be necessary.

Then he reached for the shell necklace that always hung around his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was trying to live up to the bird stereotype by perching in a tree in the middle of the forest. Trying being the operative word; oh right—swans are waterfowl. But she eventually managed to find her balance high up in a birch. It was only a temporary solution, but it was the one she felt most confident about right now. She just wished her unexpected dive hadn’t fried her phone so she could let her parents or Killian know she was fine; not like I could really use it now anyway, what with the lack of fingers and all.

Of course, that’s when her other means of communication made itself known. “Swan?”

She cringed for a moment; normally, she loved the way Killian said her chosen surname, but it was a little too on the nose right now. (At least I don’t have a beak too, I guess?)

Taking hold of the shell was a whole other thing, though; it worked best when held in a hand, but she wasn’t sure how it would work with—gods, what even was her bone structure right now? She’d never had an ornithology class like Henry did.

Regardless, she had to figure out how to get some sort of grip on the shell hanging around her neck; it took a fair amount of fumbling, but she somehow managed to bend her wings just enough to prop the shell on her elbows(?) and bring it closer to her mouth.

“Hey, I’m here,” she finally answered, though her tone was far from casual.

“Are you…okay, love?” He sounded like he already knew the answer; it wasn’t her thing to stand him up without a word.

“I…don’t really know,” she answered.

“Something happened,” he said more than asked.

“Yeah.”

“Isaac?”

Uh-oh. “Yeah,” she replied, a bit more confidently.

“Me too.” He at least sounded less morose than she did, but this—this wasn’t good. “I’m at the cove; meet me here?”

“I, uh,” she stammered. “I don’t know if you’d, ah, want to see me right now.”

“Emma, you know I always want to see you. Besides, I likely have more reason to say that—although I dare say you’ve seen me looking less than ideal before.”

Gods, what had happened to him? He was right, though; he always freaking is. “Yeah, okay; just—give me a few.”

“I can’t wait.” She smiled; regardless of—whatever was going on, she knew he was telling the truth.

Flying was getting easier; she wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but was really just concerned about what kinds of phone calls were coming into the station about some giant bird flying over Storybrooke. Not a problem for tonight though.

Landing, however, was still hit or miss; in this instance, a miss: she didn’t quite slow down enough as she came into the cove and ended up rolling across the pebbled shore. “Owww,” she moaned as she stood and shook the sand from her feathers—then froze when she heard a gasp come from behind her.

She turned—and her own breath stilled. It was definitely Killian seated on the rock (who was definitely the owner of the hand that had scared her earlier, she was embarrassed to admit). His whole upper body was that blue color, made all the more apparent by his lack of body or facial hair (goddammit, Isaac took his beard?)—like when he was under that weird merrow curse, but apparently without the confinement to the water.

Slowly, she moved closer, noticing other new features and—was it just her, or were his eyes an even brighter blue? Or did they just seem like that with how much younger he always looked without his scruff? She wanted to touch his skin, to see what it felt like; she started to reach for him until she remembered—she couldn’t.

Killian, for his part, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her; his expression was unusually unreadable. “What?” she had to ask, feeling even more self conscious.

He smiled, his dimples even more visible. “Still so beautiful, Swan.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, emphasis on the swan part.”

“I dare say you ‘rock it’, as Henry says.”

Well, that made her laugh. “Okay, fine, but they shouldn’t be here at all,” she complained, her subsequent huff even more visible now.

“Nor should this,” he countered, waving his now-webbed fingers at her. “And we’ll figure out how to get back to normal. But perhaps we'll leave it for tomorrow?” He stroked the edge of her wing with the back of his hand, sending a chill up her spine—a good feeling for the first time since…has it only been an hour? Damn.

She knelt down next to him and, awkwardly, wrapped her wings around him in the best approximation of a hug she could manage. He slipped his arms around her waist to pull her close; he was even colder than usual, but it was the closest she’d felt to normal since this all started, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

It certainly wasn’t how she planned on spending their night, but it’d have to do for now; with any luck, they’d at least be able to go without interruption for a bit.

“Mom? Hook?” Spoke too soon. She didn’t move away from Killian, but she did sit up and look over her shoulder; Henry was standing not far from them, looking confused and concerned. “Something weird is going on.”

Obviously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s the matter, lad?” It was obvious to Killian that Henry was avoiding eye contact, and he didn’t blame him—he was sure they were quite the sight. But hopefully if he remained somewhat calm, Henry would, too.

“Well, I…uh, I was going to say that Isaac has been going around and changing things, but I think you might kinda know?”

“What else has he done?” Emma asked, stiffening in Killian’s arms.

“A bunch of things,” Henry explained. “It started with my mom—I don’t know exactly what he did, but she ran off to her vault, and was covering her face. So I went to see Grandma & Grandpa, but they didn’t answer—I just heard some weird noises behind the door. No one was at Granny’s but I think she’s a wolf again, because there was a big silver one hanging out with Ruby. And I think I saw a swarm of fairies or something? I’ve never seen them small like that.”

Bloody hell; what a mess. It would have been naive to assume he and Emma were Isaac’s only targets, but he’d thought the man was trying to help Regina; why had he attacked her, too?

“What the hell is he doing—making his own little circus sideshow?” Emma complained; that’s certainly what it felt like. “I didn’t think he could even do that.”

“I’ve been working with Belle to figure out how his powers work, but we haven’t gotten very far,” Henry said. “And he won’t say.”

“To the library, then?” Killian posited; one of the best things about regaining his legs was his ability to help out there again. But, speaking of—

“How can we get you there?” Emma wondered, reading his mind. “I can barely fly myself, let alone both of us.”

“Maybe my cuff still works? It’s still on the ship.”

“I’ll go get it.”

Watching Emma take flight was somewhat amusing, but also somewhat beautiful, particularly when she opened her wings fully to lift her off the ground. And much like how quickly he adapted to a lack of legs, there was something almost natural about her flying.

“Wow,” Henry gasped as she took to the air. “That’s…wow.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed. “Obviously none of this is ideal, but I don’t think anyone would complain if you managed to get some pictures with your talking device?”

Henry smirked. “I’ll try.” But his face quickly fell.

“Hey—we’ll figure this out,” Killian assured him. “We always do.”

“I know,” the boy answered. “It was just—the way my mom looked at me before she left. It was Ike she was scared…of me.”

No wonder he’s shaken; poor kid. “Whatever it was, I’m sure she was just trying to keep you safe; I’ve never known her to have any other motivation,” Killian told him, hoping that comforted him.

“Yeah; I’m just worried.”

“Understandable. But let’s try to channel that into focus, aye?” He’d had many an anxious deckhand over the years, not to mention his time spent with Henry’s father, so coaching a nervous young man was nothing new.

Henry nodded just as Emma returned; damn, that was quick. Her land was much more graceful this time around (still far from perfect, but just as endearing).

She had the cuff in her mouth and nearly spat it at him. “Sorry; wasn’t sure how else to hold it,” she explained, before opening her mouth to stretch her jaw.

“It’s fine,” he waved off, ignoring the new teeth marks in the leather. “Here’s hoping this works.” He slipped it on and felt the familiar transformation magic take hold; at least it’s welcome this time.

It worked—mostly. “Huh,” was all he could manage to say when he pulled his legs from the water. He had them, at least, but they had the same pallor and texture as the rest of his skin. (At least, for Henry’s sake, my briefs returned, too.)

“Well? How do you feel?” Emma asked as he stood up.

“Parched,” he answered honestly. Despite being able to breathe out of the water, he immediately felt dehydrated.

“Yeah, you look a little…dull,” Henry confirmed.

He mused for a second, then called up some water from the sea. It swirled around his legs and waist, creating a sort of aquatic garment. It likely looked strange, but he immediately felt better.

“Shall we?”

The three of them surely made an odd sight as they walked through town—of all the weird things Storybrooke had seen, a harpy and a creature from the depths traipsing down Main Street was definitely up there. Despite knowing he wasn’t the only one in a new form tonight, Killian couldn’t help but feel rather like a fish out of water, quite literally; he didn’t often feel self conscious, but the sooner he stopped dripping water down the sidewalk, the better. He just hoped that idiot author hadn't done anything too drastic to anyone else.

The library was unlocked—unsurprising, given the unusually late hours Belle kept it open (typically for situations just like this)—but the mess that greeted them in the foyer was a shock. What in Poseidon’s name happened here?

“Belle, love? You here?” he called out; the worry in his voice was obvious. It wasn’t like her to leave things like this unless something was wrong.

“Back here,” Belle’s voice said, but—why is she so loud?

The three of them made their way to the back part of the library—he was careful not to drip on any of the strewn books—to where it looked like even more of a disaster area. Shelves were knocked down domino-style and ceiling tiles were scattered over them. A few lights had been knocked out, too, making the farthest part of the library dark—but not so dark they couldn’t still see Belle.

It would be hard for her to hide—she was probably 20 feet tall now, if not more, but she’d somehow managed to curl up along the back wall.

“Well, you’re finally taller than me,” Killian eventually quipped, once he found his voice again. What else was he supposed to say? Emma tried to slap him with the back of her hand, but only ended up smacking his chest with the end of her wing and making him stumble backwards.

Belle chuckled—making the whole building vibrate—but then admonished, “Don’t you dare drip on any of these books?”

I’m bloody trying! Regardless, he acknowledged the order with a salute, but Henry got down to business. “What happened?”

“Isaac,” Belle spat. Now that they were closer to her, though, her voice boomed in the comparatively smaller space, making them all wince. “Oh, sorry,” she said softer—but that just brought her back to normal volume. “Something tells me you lot have seen him too?”

“Yup,” Emma confirmed, concurrent with Killian’s “aye”.

“He was commenting on my height,” she started—throwing a pointed look at Killian— “and how impressive it was that someone so small had such power over the Dark One.” The roll of her eyes was almost audible. “Then he said something about my stature matching my personality; I thought he was joking so I said ‘sure’, then he handed me a piece of paper and—this happened.”

“Yeah, that’s what he did to us, too,” Emma said; evidently, Isaac could alter things by writing them—but how?

“Do you have the paper?” Henry asked.

“Um,” Belle hummed, glancing around at the debris surrounding her. “Yeah, here it is,” she said when she found it, placing her (massive) finger on it and sliding it across the tile to them.

Henry picked it up and read aloud: “A giantess: so your stature matches your spirit.” His brow furrowed. “He’s turning people into cryptids?”

“At least, various kinds of mythical beasts,” Killian concurred; if there were actually any beasts out there that resembled him at the moment, he’d have likely encountered them by now. “But you had to agree with him first, right, Belle?”

“I guess so; was it the same with you?”

“He can only change our fate if we want him to,” Emma concluded; he agreed with the hypothesis. “Isn’t that why he was working with Regina?”

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed. “But he did something to her, too.”

“Do you know anything about how his powers work?” Killian wondered, turning back to Belle.

“Only what I saw firsthand,” she supplied. “It’s definitely connected to writing, but I don’t know yet if it’s his own magic or if there’s a conduit, like the pen or the ink. Regina might; or…” She chewed on her bottom lip and ducked her head. “Or Rumple would.”

Of bloody course he would. But they all cast their eyes downward, knowing the Dark One was still locked up in a cell a hundred feet below them.

Before he could start to steel himself to face the Crocodile again, Emma decided. “Regina first,” she stated. “Before we go, do you need anything? Like, can we help you get out or anything?”

“No; I’m fine for now; but I might need some food if this goes on much longer.”

“We’ll do our best to get it worked out,” Killian assured her; there was no way he was going to let his best friend essentially become a prisoner in her favorite place. And who’d have thought it’d be an author that put her there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After saying goodbye, they hustled across town to the cemetery. Along the way, they were startled by the two wolves prowling the patio at Granny’s, and it felt like there was something lurking down every alley, hiding in the shadows.

A stream of colored, bobbing lights flew overhead—the fairies, in their true form, Emma had to assume. Farther up the street, it looked like the dwarves had gathered together, too. Oh gods—what did he do to them?

Surprisingly: nothing. “That weirdo tried to ‘revert us to normal’ or something, but whatever he did, it didn’t work. Probably because we’re already technically ‘magical’ creatures,” Leroy explained, using plenty of finger quotes. “So we’ve just been patrolling for trouble since it seems like we’re the only ones not dealing with shit.” He heavily glanced at Emma’s wings then.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, studying the pavement. “If anything happens, text Henry or Regina, okay?”

“Will do, sister; think we filled up the answering machine at the station anyways.” Yeah, that checks out; she sighed and carried on.

The vault door was open once they got there, but the crypt was closed over the hidden door; that was easy enough to move, though.

“Mom?” Henry called out as he descended the steps ahead of her. “Are you okay?”

Regina was nowhere to be seen in the first room at the foot of the stairs, so Emma called out for her, too—while being careful to keep her wings tucked in and not knock anything over.

“You shouldn’t be here!” Regina’s voice came from…somewhere farther back in the vault—a part Emma had never been to.

“Wait here,” she told Henry, then crept off in the direction it sounded like Regina was hiding in. It was dusty and, weirdly, she felt it settle on her feathers in a way that itched. But down a passage and behind some shelves, she saw a huddled form. “Regina? You alright?”

“Why are you here, Miss Swan?” she bit back, hiding in the shadows. “And why did you bring our son?”

“Because he’s worried about you,” she tossed back. “And honestly, I am, too; what’s going on?”

“That stupid author—that’s what,” Regina spat. “Supposedly, this is how he’s helping me get my ‘happy ending’.”

“...By making everyone else something out of a horror movie?”

“And by making me an immortal, apparently.” Regina stepped into what little light there was. She looked a bit pale, but not a lot more than usual. If anything, she was somehow more gorgeous. (Yes, despite their past issues, Emma could still admit that Regina was an impossibly beautiful woman.)

“Immortal how?”

Regina smiled—kind of; more like bared her teeth. But that’s when Emma saw it: she had fangs. Like a… “Vampire?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Regina said sadly. “I didn’t even know what he was getting at when he started writing it down; he just went on about ‘getting away from my problems someday’. I didn’t think he meant outliving them.”

Who on earth would think that was a good idea? “Is that why you ran away from Henry?”

Regina nodded. “This is going to sound awful, but…his blood smelled amazing.”

“Shit.” I’d run away, too. “Uh, do you need me to leave, too?”

“No; apparently, I don’t have the palate for bird blood.”

“Hopefully you don’t want fish, either,” she quipped back.

Brow furrowing (in a way that absolutely made her look like something out of Buffy), Regina sniffed the air. “Hook? What did he do to him?”

“Did you ever see The Shape of Water?”

“Oh, wow. Well, uh, have fun with that.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No—and definitely not in front of Henry.”

They both giggled, but it was only a brief moment of levity. “So can you tell me anything about how this happened—like, how the author powers work? So we can undo it?”

“Some, but he hasn’t been very forthcoming with the details,” Regina answered; she confirmed that his powers were tied to his pen and ink, as well as their theory that it has to be something they want. “He can change things but he still needs some level of consent from at least one party. We should be glad he didn’t write us into an entirely new reality.”

Emma shuddered. “So, what—we just track him down and force him to change it?”

“Maybe? It’s a good theory, but Rumpelstiltskin knows far more about this than I do.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Sorry. Just…don’t bring Henry down there, okay?”

Emma was about to protest—where the hell else am I going to take him to keep him safe from Isaac?—when Regina’s phone rang.

“Crap—what did he do to them?” the mayor complained when she saw who was calling—Snow. She answered the call with a snarky “And what shape are you in?”

Except—she didn’t get a response. Normally, Snow would huff at Regina’s sass, but the only thing that came across was just a series of grunts and grumbles.

“Snow?” The grunting seemed to make a noise of affirmation. “What is going on over there? This better not be the world’s worst butt dial.” (“They don’t sound like that,” Emma quipped, cringing.) But then crying came over the speaker—definitely Neal.

“He’s still teething?” Regina winced. “That was the worst.”

“Yeah—but who’s there with him?” If her parents were fine, nothing would be stopping them from trying to soothe him; Neal pretty much only wanted to be held by her dad right now. “We better check that out first.”

“Absolutely. And let me know how everything else goes.”

“Will do. Do you need anything before we go?”

Regina chewed on her lip, her fangs even more apparent. “Did you see any squirrels up there? I’m starving.” Emma bit back a giggle. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious. And if you ever bring this up again, I can make sure those wings are permanent.”

Emma definitely laughed to herself all the way to the loft, though. Until she heard the sound of her brother crying and her motherly instincts kicked in. “Wait here; let me see what’s going on first,” she told the boys, then knocked on the door with one of her elbows (or whatever those joints were). The same grunting she heard on the phone came from the other side, but somehow more urgent.

Henry ended up having to turn the knob for her, but then she slipped in—and, yet again, her jaw dropped.

“Well, Mom does always say you have big feet,” she said, once she regained something resembling her faculties.

The sandy-blond sasquatch that had David’s eyes huffed in annoyance. Meanwhile, the snow-white yeti that vaguely looked like her mom wasn’t hesitating to take her by the wing and drag her to the bassinet, where Neal was inconsolable.

“He’s scared of you?” Emma guessed; Snow nodded sadly.

(Seriously—Snow, a yeti? At least Isaac has a sense of humor.)

“Okay, but I can’t do much either,” she said, flapping her wings. “Henry? It’s okay; can you come in?”

She saw his phone come through the door before he did, no doubt taking plenty of photos and videos for them to look back on. “That’s just wrong,” he concluded at the sight of his (much hairier) grandparents; Killian was clearly holding back a quip, no doubt in response to David’s many jokes in the past about his chest hair (especially given the current reversal of that situation).

“Kid, think you can take care of your uncle while we figure the rest of this out?”

He pocketed his phone and quickly scooped up Neal. “Sure thing. We got this, right, little dude?” Neal quieted for a little bit, but then let out another ear-piercing scream. Everyone cringed.

“Okay; good luck with that—bye!” she called over her shoulder as she shoved Killian ahead of her in a hasty escape.

“Will they be okay?” Killian asked as they headed back down the stairs.

“Oh yeah, they’ll be fine. My ears will not be, though.” They shared a laugh. “Alright; let’s get this over with.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Back again?” Belle greeted them at the library, having moved slightly from her cramped spot in the back to a no more comfortable, but at least larger spot, having shoved the ruined shelves aside and laying across the whole room.

“Aye; into the belly of the beast, as it were,” Killian replied as they headed to the elevator.

“Good luck,” she said, sounding more bored than anything; despite the public’s requests, the library had yet to seriously invest in any large-print books that might help her pass the time.

As they descended in the creaky elevator, he wasn’t sure if the creeping chill he felt slipping up his spine was due to the inherent cool temperature of the caverns below, or his own emotions at facing his longtime foe for the first time in a long while—since Rumple nearly killed him that day on the docks.

Emma’s feathers brushed against his hand, startling him from his thoughts. “Sorry; I was trying to grab your hand, until I forgot I can’t. You gonna be okay?”

“I will,” he answered, hoping he could convince himself as much as her. There was nothing the Crocodile could do to them, he knew; but despite thinking he’d moved past what he’d experienced at the Dark One’s hands, his anxieties were creeping up.

“I’ll take the lead, though, okay?”

“I appreciate that, love,” he thanked, and squeezed the edge of her wing.

The caves below the library were little changed from his last trip down here, even if he was on the opposite side of things now—with the heroes, rather than against. However, this was the first time he’d seen the cage that had been fabricated to hold the imp. It was set deep into the wall, not unlike the one that had once held him back in the Enchanted Forest, but with solid metal bars clearly from this realm. It wasn’t hard to feel the magic radiating off them, though.

“Rumple? You there?” Emma called out; this cell went farther back than the light could reach, so it was easy for the man to hide. For the first time, Killian wondered what his mental state might be, given his brief insanity after being held hostage by Zelena (body sharing with his son notwithstanding).

“No,” the Crocodile’s voice called out from the shadows. “Come back later and I might be, though.”

“Ha. We found the Author.” She stood in front of the far edge of the cell.

She’s wise not to ask for help, he noticed. Handing Rumpelstiltskin any cards was a terrible idea.

“Good for you; what does that have to do with me?”

Emma had been fiddling with something on the wall with one of the joints of her wings; all of a sudden, light flooded the cell, revealing a rather dusty but otherwise normal-looking Dark One, still wearing the same (stylish, he hated to admit) suit as the day they locked him up.

Rumple blinked his eyes at the sudden brightness, but once his sight had adjusted, he skimmed over Emma and then Killian. “I see,” he said. “I’d be happy to undo it, if you let me out.”

“Nice try, but no. We’ve just been trying to figure out how his powers work. We know his pen and ink are involved. Trying to figure out if it’s worth it to steal it back.”

Killian had to school his features; he was genuinely impressed at Emma’s negotiation tactics here. Obviously, they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t need help, but outright asking would get them nowhere. As such, it was taking more effort than expected to keep a proud (or smug) look off his face.

“It’s not,” Rumple replied. “That’s only half of it.”

“Really? Regina seemed to think that’s all we needed.”

“Regina is wrong. But the only person who can actually help you is currently locked away.”

“Again, you’re not getting out.”

“Not me,” he hissed. “But the pirate knows who.”

Emma turned to Killian, confused. “Huh?”

For a brief second, he was also unsure—until he glanced over at the Dark One, who was smirking—and wiggling the fingers of his left hand.

Oh, bloody hell. Killian sighed and curled in on himself a bit. “The old man.”

“Otherwise known as the Sorcerer's Apprentice—and a thorn in my side for quite a few years, until I finally had some assistance locking him away.”

Shame flushed hot on Killian’s unusually cold cheeks. “He’s in the hat box, love,” he said quietly.

“Ah, crap,” she cursed. “Does Regina know how to get anyone else out of there, or was that a one-time thing?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me—” Rumple started, only to be cut off.

“No!” Emma interjected. “C’mon; I bet Belle knows.”

“How…how is she?” the Dark One asked, suddenly sounding rather genuine.

“She’s a bloody giantess and stuck in the library right now, thanks to that idiot author,” Killian jumped in. “But otherwise fine.”

The Crocodile opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and slumped in on himself. “The fairies,” he said, resigned. “They’ll know how to get him out by now.”

“Thanks,” Killian said quickly, then grabbed Emma by the wingtip and practically dragged her back to the elevator.

What little adrenaline he had faded on the slow ride up, and he simply wrapped himself around Emma. “Hey—this doesn’t feel like okay,” she said softly as she folded her wings around him—a feeling he was coming to quite enjoy, odd as it was.

“Just—being reminded of the man I used to be, even not that long ago,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“Hey—we’ll figure it out. And remember: that was way more Rumpelstiltskin than you.”

“I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit, love.”

“This is the one time you should just accept less of the blame, alright?”

He chuckled a bit; she knows my tendency towards self-flagellation well. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. So now, we find the hat, and then the fairies. And then maybe it’ll all be done?”

“Let’s hope.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is this night fucking over yet? Emma took a moment to breathe after Killian left to retrieve the Sorcerer’s hat box thing from Gold’s shop, per Belle’s instructions. The fact that their to-do list kept growing was really annoying, and gods only knew what else Isaac had done in the last few hours.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it still seemed like it was incredibly far away.

And she was craving fish sticks. Is that a swan thing? Or is that an I-never-had-dinner thing?

She gave herself one more minute to brood before starting the search for the fairies. On the bright side, they literally were—bright; she just had to be on the look out for a cloud of multicolored lights (giving off far more Christmas vibes than Halloween). But they weren’t in the middle of town, so that meant actually looking, and she did not have the energy to go traipsing around on her own right now.

Might as well use these while I have them. For hopefully the last time, she took to the sky, hoping a (literal) birds-eye view would help her locate the swarm of fairies faster. Sure enough, once she was fairly high above Main Street, she saw the floating baubles—near the convent, unsurprisingly.

They were a little miffed when she accidentally flew through the middle of them, but when she explained what was going on and what they needed, they practically carried her back downtown on their breeze.

Killian was already standing outside the library with the golden box, looking visibly uncomfortable with it. Don’t blame him. Before she even had a chance to (try to) properly land, Blue was buzzing in front of him, conducting a few other fairies to take the box and hold it in front of her.

She stood next to Killian and watched as the head fairy went to work quickly, waving her wand and muttering something over the cylinder. The starry blue top began to swirl, like it had when they released the fairies, and glowed as it became something more resembling a portal.

All of a sudden, it stopped, and an old man that Emma had seen around town a couple times was seated on the pavement, looking rather bedraggled (though I think he kind of always did).

Killian didn’t hesitate to rush forward and help the man up, no doubt uttering profuse apologies as he did. The Apprentice was trying to get his bearings, it seemed, but was at least appreciative for his freedom.

“Hi,” Emma jumped in, not wanting to delay things any longer. “I know you just got out of that hellhole, but we were kind of hoping you could help us with something.”

He looked her up and down, and then Killian. “I can see that,” he said gruffly. “I don’t recall the Savior having wings.”

“Uh, yeah, recent addition. What can you tell us about the Author?”

She didn’t think it was possible for the man’s bushy brow to furrow further, but it did. “That blasted fool…this was Isaac’s doing?”

Everyone nodded—and that was a lot of everyones; at some point, more and more townsfolk had converged on the main intersection, and it was apparent that all manner of mythical creature and cryptid were now among its citizens.

The Apprentice looked around at everyone, then tutted. “Shameful, shameful—abusing his powers like that. That’s why I banished him in the first place. Whose brilliant idea was it to free him?”

“Uh, mine,” Regina said, stepping forward (with a scarf wrapped around her face, likely to block the smell of…everyone).

“Yeah, that checks out,” the Apprentice huffed. “Well, on the bright side, he’s probably ran out of power by now. He can no longer do harm, but he also won’t be able to undo what he’s done.”

“Can’t you just give him a magical eraser or something?” Emma wondered. (Regina smirked, even under the scarf.)

The Apprentice chuckled. “No; I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. However, if Isaac has lost his powers, then a new Author needs to be chosen, and I have a feeling we’ll find one here.”

“Where?” Killian practically demanded.

“The Author has to believe in the stories, truly—in their heart,” he said dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

She and Regina exchanged a look; we know someone who fits that description exactly.

Emma called up to Blue, asking them to find Isaac and bring him there, while she took off in the direction of the loft.

In the time it took her to get her son (and her parents, because they should really be there for whatever was about to happen, too), something resembling chaos broke out in the scene that she had left. An angry mob formed in the crossroad, surrounding Isaac, who lay prone on the pavement, being held down by an irate Regina, baring her fangs.

“You did this to me,” she hissed. “Why shouldn’t I use it against you?”

The man looked terrified; serves him right. The crowd was shouting for him to fix what he’d done (her parents grumbling incoherently in agreement), several voices demanding he undo it.

“I can’t!” he shouted back. “The pen doesn’t work for me anymore!” To underline his point, he tossed the enchanted quill away.

“I warned you not to abuse your power this way,” the Apprentice said, his voice deafening even the most frantic shouts around him. “You deserve everything these people might do to you.”

Isaac glanced at Granny and Ruby, who were snarling at him, and whimpered.

Emma was distracted, though, by Henry. He had something of a faraway look in his eyes, and almost mindlessly passed Neal off to Snow (at least the kid was asleep). His focus narrowed on something ahead of him, on the ground: the pen.

She watched as he carefully moved forward, almost as if he was drawn to it. Emma’s gaze darted briefly, first to Regina, who was also watching; then to the Apprentice, who almost seemed to be smiling where he stood next to Killian.

The crowd also realized what was going on and a hushed silence fell as Henry neared the object.

He knelt in front of it, reached out, and carefully picked it up. It glowed as soon as his fingers touched the enchanted instrument.

“I thought so,” the Apprentice said warmly. Emma couldn’t help but beam with pride and ruffle her feathers; Regina grinned too, not bothering to hide her fangs.

Henry blinked and stood. “Wait, what?”

“You, young sir, are the new Author,” the Apprentice explained, approaching Henry. From thin air, he produced a vial of ink. “And I dare say far more worthy than your predecessor.” He threw a dirty look at Isaac, who was still cowering.

Cautiously, Henry took the ink. “Thanks, but…what does that mean?”

The Apprentice chuckled. “I’ll explain it all; don’t worry. But right now, I believe there’s some unnecessary plot twists that need to be straightened.

“Right!” Henry felt around his pockets for—something, but came up empty. “Crap, I don’t have any paper.”

“Over here!” Belle called out from an open window in the library, her face taking up most of it. “Henry—here!” A few pieces of paper looked no bigger than a Post-it in her fingers as she reached through the window. Henry ran over and grabbed it, but wasn’t sure what to do when he returned.

“I can help you with this first one,” the Apprentice offered. “Start with the ink.”

A few people chuckled as Henry struggled with getting ink from the bottle to the quill tip, Killian included; assholes—ballpoint pens were invented for a reason.

“Now, you’re not supposed to change or influence things, but undoing an abuse of power like this—that’s okay. Try writing…this: ‘those whose physical forms had been affected by the previous author’s changes that night were reverted back to their original forms.’”

“To…their…original…forms,” Henry repeated, writing the words, then ended it with a forceful period. No sooner had the pen left the paper than a burst of magic rippled through the crowd.

Emma curled in on herself as what had been done was undone; she’d been too distracted when Isaac first came after her to really pay attention to the magic happening, but now that it was being reversed—ugh, it’s like my feathers are being plucked. (She wished she’d been standing closer to Killian so she could lean on him, but he’s probably going through something similar.)

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. Once the odd sensation passed, she stood up straight, rolled her shoulders back, and stretched her arms—just arms once more—above her head. “Thank frick,” she sighed.

Behind her, her parents laughed; she turned to see that they were back to normal (and Neal was clamoring for David). All around, everyone was standing and stretching as they shook off the effects of what they’d just been through. Regina was hugging Henry tightly in the middle of it all.

To little surprise, Granny and Ruby were still fierce, and were dragging Isaac in the direction of the cells below the hospital. Well, he’s still gonna be a headache—but one that could wait a day or so.

Across the way, Killian was talking to a normal-sized Belle while standing in a puddle; his skin was back to its normal pallor and the gills were gone. (His beard and chest hair had also returned, thank the gods.)

He caught her gaze and appeared to excuse himself from Belle, then headed her way. “That looks better, Swan.”

“Not literally, thankfully,” she quipped back. “You look much improved yourself,” she added, resting her hands on his chest.

“Certainly feel more like myself,” he answered. “Although—I’m not generally this exposed around so many people.” He was only wearing his usual swimming briefs—and a blush that was creeping up his cheeks.

“Mm, then perhaps we should find somewhere private to be half naked.”

“I like the way you think, love.”

“Too bad I can’t fly us away anymore, though.”

He hummed, then pulled his hand between them, where a white feather was twirling in his fingers. “Maybe you can channel that?”

She giggled, and transported them back to his ship. Placing a kiss against his (scruffy) cheek, she grabbed his hand (finally!) and pulled him toward the stairs. “Let’s get to what we were going to do earlier.”

“Gladly,” he sighed, and followed her to his cabin…

…where they promptly fell asleep. (But got to the fun stuff the next morning.)

Cryptid Night, as it came to be known, went down in Storybrooke legend; and thankfully, no one experienced any long-lasting effects. (Well, other than David complaining about finding fur around the loft for a few weeks after.)

Emma did notice, though, that the pure white feather Killian had picked up was displayed prominently on a shelf in his cabin. As much as she never wished to relive that night, she always smiled when she saw it—and was glad Henry had taken plenty of pictures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

thanks for reading! tagging some mermates: @cocohook38 @kat2609 @mryddinwilt @xpumpkindumplingx @optomisticgirl @shipsxahoy @clockadile @kmomof4 @initiala @snowbellewells @word-bug @idristardis @wingedlioness @theonceoverthinker @annytecture and I can’t remember who else was into this

#cs ff #cs halloween #mermaid!killian #a tall tail #my ff

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karl-raccoon-in-a-teacup · 2 months ago

Note

△

oscar! what's the thing you miss most about gide

paratom! what would you do if one of you died early

hester! do you think you could ever be brainwashed like nathaniel was and does that haunt you

shelley! what is your biggest regret

orwell! is there anything in particular you miss about your childhood

OSCAR WILDE

"...A four, in difficulty." Slender fingers tapping against the arm of his chair. "I suppose... what I miss most?

His presence. Having him simply there, knowing where he stands by simple, invisible things, even when my eyes were not on him. Soft breathes, you know, his footsteps were often quiet, but I could hear them anyways.

The way his hand would rest with mine..."

Oscar trails off, staring at the window. He is not a man easy to read, his expression does not waver.

"I retract my earlier statement. I would call this an eight, rather than four."

To say words is easy, after all.

To not feel pain from them is what's truly difficult.

PARADOX AND TOM

A laugh, from one, laying on the other as they're both entwined as always.

"Two, obviously," Paradox says, "I mean, we're both planning to die early, what sort of thing is that?"

"Mmh, I'd say it's a four, moreso," Tom would say, nuzzling his partner. "Like, it kinda depends how it goes. But I think it's safe to say whoever goes first, the other'll follow after. Right?"

"Right." Paradox, lanky like a cat, slides into their partner's lap. "It'd be a shame not to go together, but I'm sure we'll at least get buried together. And that's what matters."

"Together in life..." He squeezes their hand. "Together in death."

"Forever, and always."

HESTER O'HARA

A swallow, tense and thick.

"Jesus, why would you ask something like that?" He looks away, hands shoved in his pockets as he sweats, nervous. "Fuck off, I-"

She grits her teeth. The less he thinks about it the better, really, but...

"Probably. Yeah." It comes out softer than she means it to, more shaky and less strong. "I mean- partway there, really. Whether it haunts me- wouldn't it haunt anyone?"

He fidgets, staring away. "Ten. Leave me alone."

DR. SHELLEY

"Regret?" She laughs, smiling in a way to show teeth. "Darling, do you know the type of person I am?"

She leans back in her hair, taping on the desk with her pen. "I find it such a silly word, regret. To act like there's a point in feeling sorry for yourself, actions you took all on your own."

She rocks in her chair, back and forth. Eventually, the smile drops somewhat, becoming more somber.

"Well... I was going to call this a one and move on, but I had to think for a moment- so let's call it a three. After all..." Tap. Tap. "I'm not exactly pleased with the Bloodwolf being half a child. And had I known Teruko's true identity, she would not exist."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Is that satisfactory enough?"

GEORGE ORWELL

"...My childhood, huh?"

He scratches at his neck, a long held nervous habit he's never gotten rid of.

"Uh- I don't... think about it much. It feels weird to, really, cause things used to be so... quiet, I guess? Simple. Uh... miss the pigs. Most of the animals, really, they're all... long gone, now."

He laughs, somewhat nervously.

"I guess I miss how I used to be happy, really. But it seems a little odd to focus on that of all things, eh?"

He stares out the window, fog covering the city, and scratches his neck again.

"Six- no, seven. That's how... hard it was."

#bsd george orwell #bsd oscar wilde #bsd dr shelley #oc: paradox #oc: tom #oc: hester #raccoon writing #bsd fic #bsd #bungou stray dogs

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sawyerquinnbrown · 1 year ago

Text

Poltergeists, Et Cetera: Chapter One

When Frankie came in with the gremlin, Joey was finishing up re-reading his favorite Company Manual, ‘Magical Denizens of the Midwest.’ Dismayed at the interruption, Joey tucked a hand under the back of his dreadlocks and rubbed at his neck.

Frankie’s short, black hair was falling out of its tight ponytail and wisps of it lay against the light brown skin of her face and neck. “Brought you a present,” announced Frankie in her New Zealand accent, shoving the protesting, handcuffed gremlin ahead of her into the back room. The little creature was human-shaped but about half-size, and a lurid green.

“So nice of you,” said Joey quietly, wrinkling his nose. The gremlin brought with it a stench of B.O. mixed with sulfur that immediately spread through the small room. Joey glanced nervously at the many reference books lining the walls, hoping the paper wouldn’t absorb the unpleasant smell. “Why is it here?”

Frankie admonished, “Speak up, bro. I can never hear you when you talk.”

“Why is it here?” repeated Joey patiently.

A heavy Chicago accent came through the open doorway. “We couldn’t categorize it.” Hanging up his bow and quiver on the wall, Mac pushed gray bangs back over his pale forehead and blew out a breath. The grin he flashed at Joey briefly rearranged the wrinkles on his face. “Needed your expertise.”

The gremlin gave a loud grunt. Green goo sprayed from all the pores left uncovered by its clothing, spattering the run-down furniture and bookshelves with a wet splork.

“What the hell!” Joey threw himself over the open book on the desk a fraction of a second too late. He sat up again, grimacing, green goo on the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, it’s been doing that,” said Frankie as if remarking on a mildly concerning sound her car had been making. “So what kind is it?”

Pulling a handful of tissues from the tissue box in his desk drawer, Joey wiped at the goo, first swiping at his face then dabbing at his clothes. The green yuck almost seemed to glow against his dark skin. It also looked as if it would further stain his already-stained shirt. Joey sighed. “Gremlin type 3,” he finally answered. In the corner Mac was using a pocket handkerchief to mop up his arms and face.

“Nuh-uh!” protested the gremlin in a nasal voice. “I’m at least a type 2. Probably higher quality. Probably a type 1.”

Frankie shook the gremlin by its handcuffed wrists. “You’re welcome to shut up any time, buddy.”

“Found it in this guy’s backyard tearing up his patio set.” Mac crossed the room to the filing cabinet and opened a drawer, thumbing through the papers within. “It killed a dog.”

“It’s a type 3,” Joey told Mac, who’d pulled out a form and started scribbling on it with a pen from Joey’s desk. “You can tell because of the shorter snout, and types 1 and 2 have exposed teeth. Can you put it in a Box, please?” he complained to Frankie. “Protect my books.”

“I got it,” said Mac, handing the form to Joey. Grabbing the gremlin’s handcuffs from Frankie, he dragged it into his office to Box it up so they could ship it to Home Office.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Frankie once Mac and the gremlin had gone. She flopped into an ancient armchair and fumbled with the sheathed machete on her belt. “Tissues?”

Joey offered her the box, and she pulled some out to wipe down the machete’s handle and sheath. Always the machete. Never mind her clothes, which Joey now observed were spattered with several older splotches of slime. “It’s fine,” he mumbled, sitting back down and pulling the partially finished form toward him.

“Gotta clean the van, too. Reckon we should hire a cleaning service?”

Joey was focusing on filling out the form with the usual information. Contents of Box: Gremlin Type 3. Captured by:…

“Was it you or Mac who caught it?”

“I caught it.”

“Cool.” Joey bent to write this. On paperwork Frankie was identified by her birth name, ‘Airini’. Seven years prior she’d been introduced to Joey as ‘Frankie’ . He had only found out later that her real name was Māori. He’d always wanted to ask why ‘Frankie’, which seemed to have no relation to her real name, but Frankie was honestly a little scary so Joey kept his questions to himself.

“Job would’ve been easier if Shay had still been around,” said Frankie, and Joey looked up to see her frowning at her backup knife, also newly cleaned of goo. “We needed a Spy to keep a lookout for the house owner. Dude kept getting in the way when we were trying to take the critter down. Almost got hurt.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. They mostly didn’t talk about what had happened to Shay. It had been a grisly business with a rogue phoenix; a vampire had been keeping the phoenix as a pet, but they really were wild animals, not suited to captivity. Shay had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, the bird had panicked, and when phoenixes panic, fire is generally involved. Before Shay had left the burn unit, he’d handed in his resignation.

Their jobs were dangerous; they all knew that. Joey was just glad that he was the Researcher—he’d never been in the field, and never wanted to be. Left to his books, he’d be happy, thank you very much.

Frankie crossed to sit on the desk, facing away from Joey, and Joey grumbled a quiet complaint as she sat on one of his open books. She barely took up any of the desk space. Sometimes he forgot how small Frankie was compared to him. She seemed to dominate every space she inhabited. But then occasionally, like right now, something would make her pull into herself and Joey felt like the giant he really was next to her: his 6’2” bulky frame next to her 5’3” wiry muscled one.

While Frankie projected an aura of immense size, Joey did everything he could to make himself seem small. He had always been big for his age, mistaken for an adult even as young as 13, and early on developed the habit of slouching to appear shorter, much to his parents’ dismay. It helped that he’d always been bookish and quiet—he tended to fade into the background, hiding in quiet nooks in the back of the library.

“I miss him,” admitted Joey, referring to Shay, and Frankie nodded, silent for once. “I’ll ask Mac if we’re getting a new Spy.” Frankie nodded again.

A crash came from the direction of Mac’s office. Joey and Frankie met eyes, and she said, “You go. I’ll start cleanup out here.”

“No chemicals,” said Joey. “Only water. And only on the outsides of the books. And gently,” he insisted, and Frankie waved a dismissive hand as Joey crossed to Mac’s office door.

When he peeked around the door frame, he saw Mac still wrangling with the gremlin, which had managed to slip loose from his hold and prop itself up in a corner of the ceiling. There was a fresh spatter of goo on the walls. Mac had a broom in the air and poked at the gremlin with it, trying to dislodge it from the ceiling, to which it was suctioned by the surfaces of its hands and feet.

“How can I help?” said Joey, trying not to panic, and Mac glanced over at him.

“Box.”

“Right.” Joey grabbed one of the devices from the top of the shelves against the wall. He’d never used one before but he knew the basic idea. The metal Box was warm in his hand from the magic that powered its insides. It was dwarfed by Joey’s hands, and he fumbled with it for a minute before finding the catch that would open it. A bright light shone out of it where the four triangles that made up the side of the Box had popped open.

“Boooo,” complained the gremlin. With shaking hands, Joey angled the light toward the gremlin, stepping closer but holding the Box as far away from himself as possible. The Box vibrated against his fingers as it drew the gremlin into it, and though the process itself was silent, Joey imagined he could hear a slurping noise, as though the Box was sipping the gremlin through a straw. The gremlin’s distorted, stretched features quickly disappeared into the Box, which snapped itself shut and grew even warmer in Joey’s hands.

Joey turned the Box this way and that, squinting at it. “Weird.”

“Give it here,” said Mac, and Joey handed the Box over. Mac tucked it into a regular cardboard box with several Boxes already stacked inside from previous gigs, then settled himself in his desk chair, exhausted. “Thanks, kid. Getting a little long in the tooth for this job.”

“Frankie wants me to ask if we’re getting a new Spy.”

“Fax just came through, let me check if it’s that. I sent in a request three weeks ago already.”

That made sense. “Home Office?” asked Joey.

Raising his eyebrows, Mac gave him an amused look. “Home Office,” he agreed. Mac made grabby hands at the fax machine in the corner and Joey retrieved the papers for him. Examining them, Mac said, “Yeah, we’re getting a Spy. Coming in Friday.”

“Who are they?”

“Just gives a name, ‘Indira Khatun’. Ugh, they always do this. I’ll have to send in a request for her personnel file. Again. Hey, can you do me a favor and send my order in to the deli? My usual.”

Mac’s ‘usual’ was a bologna sandwich with brown mustard and banana peppers. He usually asked Joey to send in the orders for the deli because Mac himself was uncomfortable with modern technology. The computer in his office hadn’t been replaced since 2004; it was still running Windows Vista, which Mac swore by. Joey had decided not to judge him.

“Sure, Mac,” said Joey, and turned to go.

“After that you can take off. Don’t worry about the paperwork for tonight. You can finish it tomorrow.” Back out of Mac’s office into the back room, where Frankie was just finishing a haphazard job of wiping down the spines of the books. Contrary to instructions, she was using all-purpose cleaner. Joey sighed and reached for the paper towels.

---

This is a chapter from my new web novel, Poltergeists, Et Cetera, which can be found HERE. If you enjoyed, I sure would love it if you would come read subsequent chapters, leave a comment, subscribe, reblog this post, follow this blog, etc.

Joey Wilson is a member of the Chicago chapter of a nationwide organization of ‘fixers’—people who handle supernatural problems for a fee. Joey is quite happy as a Researcher, staying behind in headquarters to classify creatures and do paperwork, but orders come from on high that he’s to step out of his office and into the field. At the same time a new person joins their team: a handsome and mysterious magic-user named Caden. Can Joey find a way past his fears to succeed on missions and impress Caden? And what’s with this rash of disappearing magical artifacts in Chicago?

#chicago #writing #fantasy #modern fantasy #original work #comedy #supernatural

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