#canon fic

[rafecameronssl4t]

Chasing Smoke || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off season 2 ep 4 where Rafe and Barry visit John B's house while they were all hiding

Warnings: gun use, swearing, drinking, if theres anything else lmk

Word count: 1,423

A/n: boy do i love writing canon fics hehehehe. I’m also compiling a bunch of fics in my queue because I’m going to be busy w school so pls put in your requests!!!!!

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

You were sipping on your fruity drink as you conversed in conversations with a few of your girlfriends, Rafe standing just a few feet away animatedly chatting with his friends. “Bro, the kick on a Glock 17, man. You load it up, line it up, and it's like—" he mimed the motion enthusiastically. Before you could warn Rafe about the guy sitting close behind him, he had already backed into him. "It knocks you off your freakin' feet."

"Hey, excuse me," the guy interjected, his expression one of clear annoyance. "Yeah?" Rafe responded, completely unfazed. "Do you mind?" The man stared at Rafe in disbelief. "I'm so sor—" you began, trying to smooth things over, but Rafe cut you off. "Hey, hey, don't apologize. Let me handle it, yeah?"

Rafe turned his head around, leaning casually on the counter. "I'm sorry?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm. The man raised an eyebrow, his irritation clear. "I said, do you mind?" he repeated, his voice growing sharper.

Rafe took a moment before replying, "Yeah, I do mind, Bob." He smirked as the man scoffed in disbelief. "Take a shot with me, pussy," Rafe challenged, his voice dripping with mockery. You slapped his shoulder, "stop it," you hissed at him.

"Come on. Take a shot," Rafe continued, his voice steady as he poured his drink onto the man's hand. The man shot up from his seat, shoving Rafe hard. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone around. Your eyes widened in alarm as heads turned.

In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Kelce rushing towards you, his expression frantic and urgent. His footsteps echoed in the dimly lit bar as he approached, weaving through the tables and chairs.

"Take a seat. That's what you need to do," Rafe commanded firmly, his voice cutting through the tension as he pushed Bob back into his seat. The atmosphere was full of unease, the murmurs of other patrons now audible as they glanced over at the commotion.

“Whoa! Whoa!" Kelce interjected, his hands instinctively reaching out to grab Rafe's shoulders, attempting to calm him down. You exhaled a breath you didn't realise you were holding, grateful for Kelce's intervention. "Go get the manager. He's crazy!" Bob's voice rose above the murmurs.

"Eat shit," Rafe retorted sharply, his frustration palpable as he resisted Kelce's efforts to pull him away from the conflict. Kelce persisted, trying to redirect Rafe's attention. "Hey," he began, his tone soothing yet urgent. "What?" Rafe snapped, his gaze still locked on Bob with a mixture of defiance and irritation.

"Calm down, all right?" Kelce urged, his voice steadier now, trying to reason with his friend. Rafe rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the tension in his shoulders began to ease slightly. "I swear to God, 20 minutes ago, I just saw John B and your sister, bro."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your lips parting as your mind struggles to process Kelce's words. "You're joking, right?" you managed to utter, searching Kelce's face. "I'm not kidding! They're alive," Kelce insisted.

Rafe and you exchanged a stunned glance. "Me and my girl are just tryin' to relax, and you're telling me this bullshit?" Rafe responded, disbelief and annoyance laced in his tone.

"I know you're trying to relax, bro, but I saw them buying beer at Geechie's!" Kelce pressed on. "That's bullshit," you interjected, not believing him. "Do you guys wanna go see for yourselves?" Kelce challenged, his eyes darting between you and Rafe. "I'm telling you, I saw them. Go sober up, man." Without waiting for a response, Kelce dragged both of you towards the exit. "Hey, put it on Cameron!" Rafe called out.

~

"I need to know who's over here at John B's spot," Barry's voice cuts through the tension in the car, his grip on the gun drawing your annoyance. "Barry, could you please not hold the gun like that? Seriously, I don't even know why I'm here!" you groan from the backseat, frustration evident in your voice.

Rafe turns around from the passenger seat, fixing you with a stern look. "You're here because I told you to be, alright? So just be quiet," he grumbles, turning back to Barry.

"Listen, I don't know if he's there, okay? I just know he's on the island," Rafe says, trying to reason with Barry. "That's a complete lack of discipline, man," Barry shakes his head, irritation coloring his tone.

"Then what's your suggestion? We're about two minutes from the fuckin’ place, alright?" Rafe snaps back. "We do some recon," Barry suggests firmly. "Why don't you just follow my lead for once and shut up? all right?" he adds, frustration clear in his eyes as he looks at Rafe.

"Recon, huh?" Rafe mutters under his breath, clearly not thrilled with Barry's suggestion. "This is ridiculous," you interject from the backseat. "Yeah, Princess here agrees. Why'd you bring your girl out here with us, Rafe?" Barry questions, prompting an eye-roll from Rafe. "She's here because I told her to be, alright? Just shut up and drive," Rafe retorts, his tone edged with impatience.

~

"Tranquillo. You feel me?" Barry says to Rafe as he pulls up just a few meters from John B's house. "Tranquillo?" Rafe repeats skeptically, his gaze fixed on the house ahead. "Tranquillo, baby," Barry reassures him as you roll your eyes at the two.

"Let's be smart," Barry advises as you all exit the car. "Rafe, just to be clear, the gun is just for show, right? You're not planning on shooting anyone," you whisper urgently to Rafe as he hums in affirmation, as you exchange a look with Barry.

You follow closely behind the two men, your senses heightened as you scan the surroundings. "Okay, check it," Rafe whispers as the three of you huddle behind some bins. "All right, I ain't see shit, what 'bout you?" Barry asks quietly.

"Nothing," you add nervously, your eyes darting around anxiously. "No. They can't be far though," Rafe whispers, his voice tense with anticipation. "Right, here's what we gon' do," Barry begins, and you lean in closer to hear him clearly. "I'm gonna go inside. I'm gonna flush them out if they're in there. I want you to flank left, meet me out there by the porch."

"And princess, well, you're gonna be with Rafe, aight'? Make sure he ain't gonna do something he'll go cry about later on to us," Barry instructs, loading his gun that you were unaware he was carrying. "You have a gun too?" you whisper sharply at him as Rafe quickly covers your mouth with his hand. "'Course I do. Now, let's go!" Barry commands, rising from the cover, and Rafe pulls you along with him.

You and Rafe step cautiously into the front yard, your hand gripping his arm for reassurance. You point silently to the recently extinguished fire pit, sharing a worried glance with him. Rafe clicks his tongue in frustration, muttering under his breath, "Where the hell are you?"

~

You flinch instinctively at the sharp sound of glass shattering nearby, turning with Rafe to see Barry angrily tossing aside a few bottles. "Yo!" Rafe calls out, his voice tense with frustration as Barry storms out of the house, slamming the door open. "Anything?" Rafe asks urgently.

Barry scoffs, his expression darkening. "No, ain't shit in there, bro," he replies curtly, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. Rafe closes his eyes briefly, disappointment evident on his face. "No? Nothing?" he presses, hoping for a different answer.

"No, nothing, Rafe," Barry responds firmly. "They were obviously just here though, judging by the smoke," Rafe points out, scanning the surroundings. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Great observation, boy scout!" Barry retorts mockingly, earning an eye-roll from you as you observe the banter between the two boys.

"They can't be far, you know?" Rafe continues, his voice tinged with determination. "Smokey the bear! Look at you, bro!" Barry laughs with sarcasm. "They gotta be around here somewhere," Rafe reassures himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration, while you sigh and settle onto a nearby log.

As the tension mounts, Rafe falls silent, his gaze shifting towards a massive tree nearby. Both you and Barry follow his gaze, noticing the initials carved into the bark. "P4L," Barry reads aloud with a chuckle, and Rafe joins in, shaking his head in disbelief. He makes eye contact with you as you stand up from your spot.

"So your sister's a pogue for life, huh, Rafe? Who would've thought?" you mutter under your breath, a hint of irony in your tone, prompting a laugh from Barry. Rafe remains quiet for a few seconds, shaking his head in frustration. You immediately regret your remark as his anger visibly simmers.

"Shit!" Rafe suddenly erupts in anger, causing you to flinch back instinctively. Barry moves swiftly to place a hand on your back, his expression shifting to concern. "Rafe, chill, man," he urges calmly, sensing Rafe's escalating temper. You gulp nervously, knowing Rafe was beyond furious right now.

Without warning, Rafe starts shooting his gun wildly at the tree, bullets whizzing dangerously close to you. The loud bangs echo in the quiet surroundings, and you instinctively cover your ears, fear gripping you. "Hey! Whoa! Hey, chill, bro! Rafe!" Barry intervenes, grabbing Rafe's shoulders in an attempt to restrain him.

Your hands tremble as you yank the gun out of Rafe's grip, your voice shaking with anger and fear. "What the fuck, Rafe! You're going to get us caught, you idiot!" you yell at him, adrenaline coursing through you.

Barry looks around anxiously, realizing the precariousness of the situation. "Let's bounce, let's bounce. Let's go!" he urges urgently, starting to move away quickly. You follow suit, grabbing Rafe's arm firmly. "Hurry up!" you plead, snapping him out of his daze, and together you rush back to the car.

[gerec]

Do you have any canon movie fics to recommend? (could be canon divergence too)

the best ones of course

Hi Anon,

It's impossible to define 'best ones' when it comes to fic as everyone has their own set of preferences but I'm happy to share some of my personal favourites. :D And this list barely scratches the surface of all the incredible fic we've been blessed with in this fandom so def. do your own search on ao3 and filter for your preferred tropes! Also, feel free to check out some of my previous fic recs posts on my blog for more options! Happy reading!

XMFC

never too late to be who you might have been by acetamide Erik wakes suddenly and takes a deep breath, and realises that there is nothing.

Replay by SlightWeasel (series) After Magneto of an X2-ish future succeeds in the unthinkable, Charles sends his consciousness back to 1962 to guide Erik away from the path that will lead to the genocide of the human race forty years hence.Charles knows that Erik has always loved him, and intends to use this knowledge + sex to seduce Erik away from his ideals in his youth.There’s no way this well-thought-out, sensible, debugged and 100% bulletproof plan can possibly go wrong.

When We Two Parted by nekosmuse At the end of X3, a still depowered Erik travels back in time to meet 1962 Charles. Cue angst, desperate kissing and happy endings for all. Written for the x-men kink meme.

Lucid Dreaming by listerinezero Magneto finds himself in 1962, on the morning they go to Cuba, in the bed of the young Charles who’d spent months letting him think they were in love before breaking his heart. But he is not the same man he was forty years earlier, and as he gets to know young Charles again, he discovers that things might not have been exactly the way he remembered them after all.

Time to Grow by zarah5 In which you'll find chess dates which aren't dates (or maybe Charles is wrong about that). -- Based on First Class, this turns (slightly) AU during the beach scene.

Not Half As Blinding by keire-ke Cuban beach AU. Charles discovers that death does, in fact, solve everything.

Blood and Steel and Miles Between by dreamlittleyo (Post-movie AU.) On a beach in Cuba, Charles manages to talk Erik down from the edge. But even after the missiles have been diverted, compromise is impossible. There are two different futures to build, and Erik and Charles will always be separated by their principles. But when Charles is kidnapped and the X-Men can't find him, Erik will get him back no matter the consequences.

Homecoming by nekosmuse Five years after they part ways on a beach in Cuba, Charles sends a telepathic message: We are under attack.. Erik drops everything to rush to Charles' side. In which battles are fought, war is avoided, a middle ground is found, and happily ever afters do exist.

how near to fairyland by ikeracity Since childhood, Charles has kept all the things he can't let go of in a beautiful room in his head. Cuba brings his precarious balancing act crashing down.

The Line in the Sand by ikeracity The CIA agents on the base are bullying the children, mocking them for their mutations. Charles will not tolerate it.

DOFP

Hope by daymarket  A near-decade of hatred can't be wiped out with a single summer, no matter how eventful that summer might be. When Erik shows up uninvited at the mansion, Charles is just barely civil enough to not throw him out, but that doesn't mean he'll let him stay.

Mile High by cygnaut There’s only so much time you can spend sublimating your emotions into chess.

Spark Me Up by blarfkey “This is Erik raw. This is Erik lost. This is Erik looking at Charles like he is the only piece of wreckage in a vast ocean. The only star in the sky.

And such a look does things to Charles.”

After ten years, they are both starving for each other.

XMA

third time's the charm by Gerec XMA ficlets and missing scenes

Regrets by SlightWeasel After Apocalypse, Charles and Erik sleep together—but it’s way too soon for Erik.

as it arcs towards the sun by pearl_o

night by night by pearl_o

things worth fearing by pearl_o

Dark Phoenix

After the End of the World (One Bad Day) by kianspo Set during and immediately after the events of X-Men: Dark Phoenix. Everyone deals with the aftermath of Jean's transformation and everything that comes with it in their own way. Could there be found a measure of peace and happiness after everything they've lost?

Never a Place by kianspo It takes some getting used to. Charles hasn’t seen Erik cheerful, actually cheerful without a homicidal intent of some sort in a very long time—perhaps never. Or. Charles takes Erik up on his offer while trying to process everything. Erik is remarkably patient until he isn't.

rue de la paix by Ireliss Post Dark Phoenix. Charles, Erik, and the winding road towards peace.

The First Move by TurtleTotem Charles and Erik live together now, in Genosha. They get up together, spend the day together. And then... go to sleep in their separate beds.

Charles is going quietly crazy.

[okaystopwhore]

BRO DO NOT READ THIS STORY UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR HEART RIPPED OUT AND STOMPED ON.

The ending was so beautiful-I can’t. (The author should fr update the “sequel”)

I literally stayed up all night crying thinking about them 😫 🫶

IF ANYONE HAS READ THIS PLS TALK TO ME

[youchangedmedestiel]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005)

Rating: Not Rated 

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Words:1,894   

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester 

Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester 

Additional Tags: Season/Series 12, Canon Universe, Because maybe it happened but they just didn't show it to us on the show, I'm sure this is what happened, Dancing, Dancing and Singing, Cleaning, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Led Zeppelin References, Song: Whole Lotta Love, Rock and Roll, Pining, Pining Castiel (Supernatural), POV Castiel (Supernatural) 

Summary:

Dean is doing some cleaning around the bunker with some loud music playing. He can’t help but to start dancing in the library, knowing everybody is out somewhere else. He is shy at first and then he goes wild. Only noticing someone has been watching him this whole time once the song is over. What will be his reaction?

[homosociallyyours]

for the 'i wish you would write a fic where...' : ... Harry watches a live of the Arenal Sound Festival (where Louis said he hurt his toe and went on stage inebriated)(and went to barricade twice) and afterwards calls Louis, worried. your decision how angsty you wanna make it (if Louis just jokes about being clumsy while playing footie or if there's ~more) maybe Harry even decides to fly out for a short visit and they 'reunite' after weeks apart... (again, dealer's choice where/how far you wanna take it!)

😊 (of course no pressure tho!)

HELLOOOOO thank you!!!

I really love the idea of Harry being simultaneously 1) distracted by how hot Louis looks, 2) worried about him being injured, and 3) jealous of people touching all over him who aren't Harry here!!

Louis, however, is mostly oblivious to a lot of this. He had a good time, enjoyed himself, and really didn't hurt himself too badly, and though he sees a missed call from Harry between his post-show wind down with the band and going to bed, he doesn't think anything of it, really. They'll check in tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Harry has a few days with absolutely nothing scheduled and decides it's time for Louis to get a little TLC.

---

Louis could typically sleep like the dead on tour, but the incessant buzzing of his phone was particularly disruptive this morning and he couldn't figure out why. He slapped at the spot where he thought it should be, somewhere on his bedside, but instead of finding a hard surface he met was met with warm skin.

Instantly he paused, mind racing to recall everything that had happened before he fell asleep. He certainly hadn't been drunk enough to bring someone back for sex, he was sure of that. Peeling open his eyes, he turned his head to find a tanned thigh right there beside him. A familiar thigh.

"Harry?"

"Oh good, you're awake," Harry said, silencing the annoying buzzing which was apparently coming from his phone, not Louis'.

"What are you--"

Harry set his phone aside and stood, picking up a little bag from the floor. He was dressed in a ridiculous pair of stretchy white boxer briefs with a red cross over the front of them and a funny hat perched on his head.

"I heard you had some injuries, sir, and I've come to tend to them." He lifted the bag, the contents making a little noise as they bumped against each other.

Louis looked just behind Harry and saw a plate of snacks and a few bottles of water alongside the good arnica balm they used after heavy play. He had no idea what Harry had in store for him, but he was down for it.

"You'll have to be thorough, nurse," Louis said, wriggling beneath the duvet. His cock was already perking up. "Afraid I've not been taking the best care of myself lately."

---

Naughty times ensue!! And only a little angst near the end when Harry explains that whenever he watches people touching all over Louis he gets a little jealous and Louis accidentally laughs because as fun as he finds his time at the barricade, it's not directly sexual for him. Fortunately they both get that jealousy isn't really the most rational emotion, so it all works out.

hope you like that even though it's not quite what your ask was leaning toward, i think??

Send me a summary of a fic you wish I would write if you want!! (or just reblog the post for yourself)

[asleepingtiger]

Walking Among Wolves: Chapter 3 - Half Moon

Little Snippet

“You are stupid Raven,” Anya sighed, she stood up from the bed and poured some fresh water from a clay jug in a small bowl and reached into her satchel that was attached to her belt. She pulled out some green leaves and some purple seeds.

“What have you got there?” Raven asked as she watched Anya crush them together and mixed them with the water creating some sort of paste.

Anya took her outside gear off and dropped it on the floor then grabbed the bowl of ingredients, she sat on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know if it will help, but the purple flowers are good for the scent and then the green leaves are a medicinal plant, too much of it can make you…”

“High?” Raven offered and smirked when Anya looked at her amused.

“Yes, high is a good description.”

Anya scooped up the paste and rubbed it on Raven’s swollen knee. The carefulness with how Anya applied it was something Raven wouldn’t expect, Anya was gentle and rubbed carefully around the inflamed knee. The paste was cool and it was doing wonders for the throbbing pain.

“How does it feel now?” Anya was adding the last of the paste before rinsing her hands.

“Honestly, the coldness is helping,” Raven was surprised then looked at Anya, “Thank you, Anya.”

[bayoubodycount]

I am intrigued by Rest & Equilibrium 👀

Hiya!👋

Rest & Equilibrium will be a spicy one-shot, porn with a HEAP of feels, I hope, because my demi butt just luvs love🤷‍♀️While Loustat is my favorite IWTV ship, I love everyone in this bar and a close second ship is Devil's Minion😈

Rest & Equilibrium summary:

After all the truths have been revealed, and their relationship mended, Daniel decides to sever another tie with humanity. All that's left is to go home to Armand and celebrate the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another.

This is a song fic because I ADORE the idea of Daniel finally letting go of such hang ups like his physical human age vs Armand's and also him settling his human affairs to more freely embark on his new immortal ones. It's inspired by "Lay Low" by Josh Turner and is basically Danmand celebrating the beginning of a new chapter for them offically *together.*

SNEAK PEEK:

Daniel smells the body wash Armand uses on his crisp, clean naked skin. It mixes with the exotic scent that is wholly Armand and Daniel's body feels as if it's responding on a molecular level.

“You haven't fed enough today, jaan.”

“Was trying to amend that,” Daniel manages to breath out, passing the other glass of AB negative to Armand who tosses it back like a shot of Red Label. ”We run out of towels?”

Armand sets his glass down and replies, “You're thirsty and hungry. I'm wet. Shall we remedy the situation?”

Daniel has to admire Armand's commitment to making him weak in the knees, especially since he's not even standing. “Uh,” he squeaks and immediately clears his throat, “yeah.”

**I'm hoping to have the ficlet complete by mid to late September(I'm focusing on one fic at a time right now, but already have half of this one written!)😉thanks for the ask @she-likesorchids!

[im-95-not-dead]

Everybody Needs Somebody on ao3

Pairing: Clint Barton & Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: T

Event: @buckybarnesevents Build A Bucky Bingo 2023 || April prompt: gradually moving in together

Tags: canon, Fraction-inspired Clint, mostly wholesome, Clint and Bucky have issues, roommates, platonic winterhawk, Lucky the pizza dog

Summary:

“He… lives with you. Since when?” Natasha asked.

Clint shrugged. “Dunno. Couple weeks or so, maybe more.”

Part 4 of Build A Bucky Bingo 2023

[Feb/Mar are still in progress]

[kpforpresident]

Would Clarke ever get a tattoo in any of your fics?

Canon Clarke, absolutely. I read a fanfic (The Lady and the Laborer, which all of you should go read if you haven't) that mentions that Clarke gets a tattoo of Lexa's war paint. I could see Clarke getting a band around her forearm to match the swirling black of Lexa's paint, something to trace absentmindedly in long meeting while Lexa is called away to be Heda elsewhere.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Trapped || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @whumpypepsigal

Summary: canon fic based off season 2 episode 9

Warnings: swearing, reader dr*gs Sarah, mention of dead body, reader lowk is abit crazy

Word count: 1,463

A/n: guys I acc have an addiction to writing canon fics but I can’t help myself, they’re so fun to write 😭

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

"What the hell!" Sarah screamed, throwing another wine glass at the door, its contents spraying everywhere. "You asshole!" she continued, banging her fist against the wood. "Rafe! Let me out!"

"I'm not letting you out, Sarah. Not until you calm down, okay?" Rafe's voice came through the door, surprisingly calm despite Sarah's outburst. "Screw you!" Sarah fired back, frustration evident in her voice.

Walking down the staircase, you were startled awake by the commotion. "Rafe, what's going on?" you called out, confusion etched on your face as Rafe turned to face you, "who is that?". "Y/n?" Sarah's voice came from behind the door, filled with relief.

"Sarah?" you said incredulously, glancing between Rafe and the locked door. "Yeah," Rafe replied casually, causing your breath to hitch in disbelief. "Why is she locked in there?" you asked, trying to make sense of the situation. "Rafe locked me in here!" Sarah's voice was strained with frustration and panic.

"She's in there because sometimes you have to make the hard choice, right?" Rafe explained as you stare at him in shock, "she just didn't get that," he continues with a shrug. "Right choice? What- what the fuck is going on, Rafe. You're scaring me," you gulp, your voice trembling as you tried to comprehend the situation, your eyes darting from the door to Rafe.

"You fail to understand that constantly, don't you? Huh?"Rafe's voice rose slightly as he banged his hand against the door. "Shut the hell up!" Sarah yelled from inside the room, her desperation audible as you run a hand through your hair, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

"You need to calm down!" Rafe shouted at the door, his frustration palpable. You reached out and gripped his shoulders firmly. As Sarah’s screams echoed through the room—“What do you mean, calm down? What is wrong with you?”—you closed your eyes briefly, steadying yourself. Placing your hands on either side of Rafe’s face, you forced him to look at you.

“Go upstairs. I’ve got this,” you said, managing to keep your voice calm. Rafe hesitated, then nodded, seemingly trusting you. “All right,” he agreed, but you noticed his eyes flicking back toward the door. “Just go!” you insisted, your tone firmer. As he finally turned and walked up the stairs, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart while watching him disappear from view.

Turning back to the door, you approached it slowly. "Sarah," you called out gently. "Can you let me out?" Sarah's voice came back, filled with desperation. "I need you to calm down, Sarah," you urged softly, bracing yourself as Sarah continued to pound on the door. "Let me out!" she sobbed, her fear palpable.

"I really want to help you, Sarah, but I need to get the key first, okay?" you explained patiently, trying to soothe her panic. "I can't let you out without the key. Sarah, listen to me," you said firmly, your voice unwavering despite the urgency of the situation. "I promise you, I won't let Rafe do anything to you. But I need you to stay calm. Can you do that for me? I'll be right back."

"No, no, no, no," Sarah repeated, her voice trembling with panic as you stepped away from the door. "Y/n! Y/n! Please... please don't leave!" she pleaded desperately, her distress palpable.

When you made it upstairs, Rafe was nowhere to be found. You hurried to the kitchen, riffling through the medicine drawer. "What are you doing?" Wheezie's voice came from behind, making you jump. Your hand flying to your chest to steady your racing heart. "Jesus, Wheez, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Go back to your room, you should be asleep right now," you said, still searching through the pill bottles until you found what you were looking for. "What is that for?" Wheezie questions, coming closer to you. "It's for me," you replied, trying to stay calm as you set up a tea set on a tray. "I can't sleep."

"Right," Wheezie nodded as you glanced at her. "Go to bed, Eloise. I'm serious," you insisted, your tone firm as she raised her hands in surrender. "All right, all right," she muttered, and you watched her retreat upstairs.

Letting out a shaky breath, you opened the teapot and placed it on the stove, letting it steep for a few moments. Then, grabbing the keys from the counter, you collected the tea set and headed downstairs.

Unlocking the door with a quiet click, it creaked open slowly. "Sarah?" you called out, seeing her scramble towards you. Her eyes were red and puffy, her appearance disheveled. "I need to call 911. We need to—" Her voice trembled with urgency, but you gently took her hand.

"Okay, sit down," you urged, guiding her to the armchair. "Sarah, it's okay," you said softly, trying to calm her as she struggled to catch her breath. "Tell me what happened." You sat beside her, speaking in a soothing tone. "Take deep breaths. In and out. That's it," you encouraged, mirroring your breaths with hers. "It's okay."

"It's okay," you repeated reassuringly, pouring tea into a cup. With a shaky voice, Sarah began to explain. "I came home, and, um, I was looking for something. And there's a truck outside," she said, taking the tea cup you passed to her.

"Here, here. Take some tea," you said gently, helping Sarah hold the cup in her shaky hands. "There's a body back there, y/n!" she whispered, tears streaming down her face, and your eyes widened in shock.

"We need to turn him in," Sarah's voice cracked as she took sips of the tea. "We'll get to the bottom of it, okay?" you reassured her, though your own voice trembled slightly. "Will you help me call?" Sarah asked with a shaky voice, and your heart broke knowing what lay ahead.

"I will help you. Here, drink more," you encouraged, guiding the cup close to her mouth while pretending to drink from your own. "I'm afraid Rafe has killed someone else," Sarah's words made you pause, setting the cup back down. "And last time he did that... Dad took the blame, and you see where that got him," she sniffled, and you listened intently.

"Sarah, you're right. Something is wrong with Rafe, okay?" You affirmed softly, reaching out to squeeze her hand in reassurance. Sarah nodded, her tears flowing freely now. “I’m so tired of it,” she sobbed. "I know. You just need to calm down. It's gonna be okay," you offered her a gentle smile, your hand patting her thigh reassuringly. "You need to rest, Sarah."

"I don't need—" Sarah began, her voice trembling as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "No, you do," you interjected gently but firmly as you knelt beside her. "I'm fine!" Sarah insisted, her words strained as she leaned back in the chair, her whole body tense with anxiety.

"And then, when you wake up, everything's gonna be so much better," you said softly, trying to reassure her. "Yeah, I'm gonna come with you guys on this little trip. What do you think about that?" you suggested, watching Sarah's gaze drop to the cup in her trembling hands. Her breathing grew heavy, and she seemed overwhelmed.

“What—what did you do?” Sarah whispered, looking at you with a mixture of fear and betrayal, tears welling in her eyes, mirrored by your own. "Sarah, I'm really sorry," your voice cracked with emotion as you pulled out the pill bottle. Sarah's face fell as she stared at it, realization dawning.

"Nothing bad is gonna happen to you, I promise. I promise nothing bad is gonna happen to you, but I needed you to rest," you pleaded, tears now streaming down your face as Sarah shook her head in disbelief,

"No, no, no. You're just like him, you're just like Rafe, I—" You couldn't bear to hear Sarah's words, your eyes screwing shut and your hand instinctively covering your mouth. Just like Rafe. The words echoed painfully in your mind.

"I had to do it, Sarah. You won't understand," you murmured sadly, shaking your head at her. But Sarah's eyes rolled back, her body suddenly going limp, the cup slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. “I’m so sorry,” You whispered, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you leave.

~

“Rafe,” you called out weakly, your voice barely above a whisper as he turned around, his eyes widening in concern as he took in your disheveled appearance. “What is going on—” Your voice cracked, tears welling up in your eyes. Before you could say more, Rafe rushed over and wrapped you in a tight embrace.

You sniffled against his chest, feeling his hand move soothingly across your back in comforting circles. He kissed your forehead gently, his touch warm and reassuring. “Everything will be okay, yeah?” he murmured, trying to calm you down.

“I just talked to Sarah,” you began, your words catching in your throat. “She said there’s a body in the truck, right?”Rafe’s expression grew serious as he pulled back slightly to look at you. “That’s Renfield,” he confirmed with a deep sigh. His voice was steady, almost detached, as if he were trying to distance himself from the gravity of the situation.

You slowly pulled away from his grip, your mind racing with questions and doubts. Seeing your reaction, worry filled his eyes. “No, no, y/n. I didn’t do shit, okay? I didn’t do shit!” he insisted, his tone urgent as he tried to convince you. You studied his face, searching for any sign of deception.

“Limbrey did it. I took the truck, and I left the old lady at the hangar, all right?” Rafe explained in a calm, measured tone, stepping closer to you. You could feel your breathing quicken, your heart pounding in your chest. “I got the cross for all of us, okay?”

Your hand came up to your forehead, a headache starting to throb painfully. “This is all so much—” you whispered, feeling overwhelmed by what just happened. Noticing your panic, Rafe gently took your hands in his. “Here, you need to sit down,” he said softly, guiding you to an armchair and helping you to sit.

As you sank into the chair, Rafe knelt beside you, his eyes never leaving yours. “I got the cross for all of us, okay?” he spoke, his voice steady. You remained quiet, focusing on steadying your breathing. “Okay?” Rafe repeated, his voice rising slightly in urgency. You quickly nodded, hoping to calm him down.

“And I was just getting ready to take care of Renfield when you came up,” Rafe continued, his tone shifting to one of anger and annoyance. You looked at him in disbelief. “Why are you getting mad at me right now—” you began, but Rafe cut you off.

“You should be… you should be thanking me,” he insisted, his gaze intense and unyielding. “Thanking you? What the fuck, Rafe, I just drugged Sarah for you,” you exclaimed, pushing his hand off of you in frustration. Rafe furrowed his brows, confusion mingling with anger. “I didn’t—I didn’t ask you to do that, okay—” he started, but you cut him off with a stern voice.

“What was I supposed to do, Rafe? She already knew about the body and she was freaking the fuck out. She was going to turn you in!” Your voice rose in volume, the tension between you thickening. Rafe stayed quiet, absorbing your words, the reality of the situation sinking in.

“Sarah was out of control, and I had to do something,” you continued, your voice trembling with emotion. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing. “I can’t keep doing these things for you,” you sniffled, your fingers nervously playing with the initials on your necklace, the small charm feeling like a heavy weight.

“Hey, what are you trying to say—” Rafe began, his face a mask of confusion and concern as he took a step closer to you. “But I will,” you interrupted, your voice breaking slightly. You looked up at him with a mix of resignation and love in your eyes.

“Because I love you, and I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone,” you said quietly, your heart aching with the truth of your words. Rafe’s expression softened as he reached out and pulled you into a deep, reassuring kiss. His lips were warm and familiar, a brief moment of comfort in the chaos.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my family. I’m serious,” Rafe murmured against your lips, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. He pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You felt a wave of exhaustion wash over you, your body and mind drained from everything that just happened.

“Go to bed. I’ll sort it all out, okay?” Rafe said softly, helping you stand up. His hands were gentle but firm, guiding you towards the stairs. You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and weariness.

[gerec]

do you know of any quite long vaguely canon compliant cherik fics? ive just started getting into the fandom and i live your recs :)

Hello friend, I just made this post of canon movie fic recs that should serve you well!

Happy reading!

[jessicanjpa]

New Tale of Years one-shot posted!

1989: Fairy Wings and Playboy Cars (Remix)

Summary: Alice has a human admirer; shenanigans ensue. This one-shot is an expansion of the locker headcanon in this post. Thank you @poultryproductions for requesting this!

Word count: 4.5K

POV: Edward

Warnings: mild stalking and creepy thoughts (male student), discussions of body image and self-esteem

Read it on FFN here

Read it on A03 here

******

This is the 50th one-shot in this collection, and there will be many more! A good time to say thank you to all you lovely readers... your encouragement means so much to me ❤️

******

[youchangedmedestiel]

I haven't got the time to work on my fics lately, especially last week. I was busy and my brain couldn't focus on that. So I didn't even write a single word. And I miss it. Fortunately, next week will be calmer so I'll be able to.

In the meantime, if you didn't get the chance to read those, here are the last 6 fanfics I wrote (every fics are based on canon with little changes obviously), each link is on the titles:

SMUT

Thanked as deserved: Post 15x19

Castiel stays at the bunker, while Sam and Eileen go to hunt what happens to be a new kind of wraith. And Dean goes to work on his own werewolf case alone, he needs time to think now that Cas is back from the Empty. When he comes back from the hunt, he has a small cut on his cheek and his muscles are sore, Castiel offers to take care of the last one and thanks him for saving people, saving the world, like he deserves it. He doesn’t just massage his back.

Inspiring Fanfiction: Post 10x05, I updated this one with a 2nd smutty chapter

Dean discovers fanfics about Destiel, thanks to Marie, the high school girl that directed the show about their lives. She sent him some fic links to read, when she saw his reaction about Destiel. That’s how Dean ends up reading the one fiction that disturbs him in a way he couldn’t have imagine. And then I have to face Cas at some point.

NO SMUT

A gift to listen and keep: If you're still in a Christmas mood. Post 12x14, famous mixtape mentioned.

The brothers are back on good terms with their mother after the Alpha vampire was killed by Sam at the British Men of Letters' headquarters. Dean forgave her for working with them. He got scared of losing her again. Plus he - they - almost lost Cas not so long ago. So he decided that those reasons, and his mother being back from the dead should be good enough to celebrate Christmas this year.

Need for comfort: 14x08

Jack just died. Sam leaves the kitchen first after their drinking session to mourn Jack together as a family, leaving Dean and Cas alone. They drink a little bit more, just the two of them. Then Cas decides to leave the kitchen, but Dean calls him once he is in the hallway. The angel turns around and comes back to Dean.

There is nothing stupid about you and me: 10x09

Dean and Cas are on their burger date while Sam searches on how to find Claire. They talk about the Mark, but their conversation doesn’t just stop there like on the show. Instead, Dean tells Cas about the high school kids’ show about their lives, based on Chuck’s books, Sam and he attended to. He even mentions Marie and her view on Cas and Dean’s relationship, allowing him to know how Cas feels about it.

Healing guilt: Post 11x03

Dean refuses to be healed by Cas, after Cas beat him when he was under Rowena’s dog spell, because he feels guilty about almost killing Cas when he had the Mark of Cain. But Cas thinks about a plan to heal him anyway without Dean knowing.

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Fic: Piano Lessons (Crosspost)

Word Count: 3501

Summary:

It’s 1918, and a young Hare has been sent to teach piano to Ignatius Becile, his maker’s oldest estranged son. But Ignatius is thirteen, full of that age’s anger and desperation, and in Hare he sees an opportunity to impress the father he’s never met.

With thanks to BlueSpine for the prompt and some ideas, and to Dionysus for helping break my writer's block!

　　1918.

　　“So, you and Pops was pen pals?” Hare asked.

　　The Widow Becile’s lips twitched up in a faint smile. “He’d never call it such. But yes, we initially traded correspondence while he was incarcerated. His letters were dictated, of course, due to his injuries.”

　　The Widow Becile was not, in truth, a widow. Thadeus Becile was still very much alive; Hare had seen him just that morning. But notoriety made waves, and the Widow was a quiet woman.

　　Hare didn’t know anything about Delilah Morreo beside her name, and he couldn’t have started to guess why Pops had liked her so much. But he could see why Pops liked this woman enough to marry her on the sly: she was smart, distant, and her eyes were cunning as knives, just like him.

　　Why they’d had two kids together, and what strings they had pulled to make the first one happen while Pops was still behind bars, Hare didn’t dare ask.

　　They sat in the Widow’s garden at a little tea table with a glass top. The two-story townhouse it surrounded was painted pale yellow, with little patches of decorative ivy crawling up the sides. The flowers were bountiful and the bushes long in the tooth, and Hare watched white butterflies dance above the leaves. It was small compared to the Becile Estate where Hare lived, but it was just as silent, like a painting no one could touch.

　　Hare, the Widow, and the baby Norman had been sitting there for half an hour, he judged by the church bells. Hare tried to be polite as he could be for the lady as she patiently grilled him with question after question, Norman sleeping silently in her arms. How old was Hare? Just over a year, ma’am. (That made him about a year younger than Norman.) How long had he played piano? Most of his life. Did he enjoy playing? Oh, yeah, loved it. Loved performing, too. She should come see, sometime. Was he good? Well, he liked to think so.

　　Good. The house was too quiet for a boy Ignatius’ age, a hale thirteen. He needed something to do with his hands beside tinkering.

　　The wooden gate clattered close behind a row of bushes nearby. Hare turned in his seat, already watching the space when Ignatius came around the corner. The boy was halfway into his growth spurt, a little lanky but not yet tall, features starting to sharpen under his short curls and large glasses. His school uniform was clean, if slightly wrinkled, but the bulging backpack over his shoulder was well-loved. Ignatius pulled up short, seeing Hare, and his face flashed darkly for a second before dissolving into a carefully practiced blank.

　　If the Widow had caught the piercing look, she didn’t react. “Ignatius, welcome home. You remember I asked your father to send one of his robots to teach you the piano. This one is named Hare.”

　　“Pleasure’s all mine, kid,” Hare said affably, standing.

　　Ignatius nodded slowly. There was a second-too-long pause before he said, “Nice to meet you.”

　　Oh boy, Hare thought. Hare might have been young, but he had a knack for reading people, and this boy was simmering.

　　“Go drop off your school books and change your clothes,” The Widow Becile said to Ignatius calmly. “You may have a moment to breathe while I show Hare the piano.”

　　The new stand-up had been placed in the parlor next to a large window, angled perpendicular to the wall. Hare had stuffed his vents with filters to minimize his dark smoke, not wanting to pollute what he’d correctly assumed to be a lovely residence, but he was relieved to see the window all the same. He swung the frames outward and sat down on the piano bench, lifting the fallboard and casting his green eyes over the keys. The ivory was as white as clouds and shone in a way Hare had never seen on another instrument. He tentatively pressed middle C and smiled at the bright tone. Giddy at the opportunity, Hare set his hands on the keys and began to play ragtime, improvising a riff. He almost didn’t hear the floorboards behind him creak.

　　“Mother won’t be happy if you teach me that music,” Ignatius drawled. Hare turned to see him standing in the doorway, arms folded, head slightly cocked to the side as he regarded Hare through his glasses. “She says ragtime and jazz are for scoundrels.”

　　Hare paused, then lifted a brow. “Yeah? And what do you think?”

　　“I think it’s a glaring over-generalization, and I don’t see how music could predicate moral fiber,” Ignatius said. “After all, Mother says my father prefers classical music, and he’s a bastard.”

　　Hare whistled an impressed, sliding note. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Hare said, readying himself to spar.

　　“Of course I do. If she doesn’t know I swear, she can’t know the difference,” Ignatius said, walking into the room. “All the same, I’m not interested in offending her over something so trivial, so you’d best stick to teaching me the classics.”

　　���Is that what you’re interested in?” Hare asked. “’Cause I was gonna teach you theory, first, unless all you want is to play by rote.”

　　That gave Ignatius a moment of pause. “Theory? Like science?”

　　“You could spin it that way,” Hare said.

　　“I’m surprised you know that much,” Ignatius said frankly. “Were you programmed to know it?”

　　“Nope. But I got better recall than most humans. Makes learning patterns real easy.” Hare scooted over on the bench and nodded toward the empty space next to him. Ignatius grimaced slightly, hesitating, before he sat down.

　　-

　　Ignatius was a quick study when it came to principles, and Hare could see the growing wear and tear on the study books he lent the boy, but he got frustrated when his muscle memory couldn’t keep up. Hare came back twice a week, and he tried to be friendly, tried to be encouraging. But Ignatius kept him at arms length, his gaze always calculating when he looked Hare in the eye. Occasionally Norman would toddle into the room and watch them, ever silent, often chewing on his thumb or a part of his shirt. Ignatius would pointedly ignore him.

　　“This one’s a Hare Becile original,” Hare said, placing a few sheaves of sheet music on the stand. The notes were written in sharp, inky scratches. “I made the arrangement easier than the way I play it, but the melody line’s the same.”

　　Ignatius looked the papers over, his lips slightly moving as he worked through the solfège and rhythm. He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to dumb your music down for me,” he said bluntly.

　　“Ain’t ‘dumbing down,’ Ig’, it’s adapting,” Hare said.

　　“How do you play it?” Ignatius challenged.

　　Hare rolled his head to the side in a feigned stretch, smirked, and started playing. It was a dark sound, minor and slick, with high trills and a low, continuous rumble. His hands flashed across the keys, jumping between octaves, and when it was over, Ignatius was wide-eyed and silent.

　　“How am I supposed to catch up to you?” Ignatius eventually blurted out. “I’ll never be able to play like that!”

　　“What, giving up before you’ve tried?” Hare asked. “That ain’t the Becile way.”

　　Ignatius shot him a pointed look. “You’d know better than me,” he grumbled. “But what’s the point if you’re always going to be second best?”

　　Hare thought for a moment. “You enjoy being alive?”

　　“Of course,” Ignatius said moodily.

　　“You ever feel more alive than usual? Even in a bad way?” Hare laid a hand gently on the piano keys. “That’s the point. Your ‘best’ isn’t about being better than someone else, it’s about the ride.”

　　“You say that,” Ignatius said slowly. “What about Walter’s band of robots?”

　　Hare stiffened up. “What about them?”

　　“My father made you to compete with them, didn’t he? I saw them at the World’s Fair. It doesn’t take a genius to see the connection.”

　　Hare felt the fire in his chest burning hotter. He hadn’t seen Rabbit for most of a year-- not since her conscription into the war overseas. For all he knew, she’d never return. Maybe if she didn’t, their rivalry would stop haunting him-- but then he kicked himself. Wishing for Rabbit’s destruction was a step too far. “Look, that’s… complicated. More complicated than I wanna talk about. You don’t got that problem.”

　　“Don’t I?” Ignatius muttered.

　　“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hare asked.

　　“Forget it. Let me hear the simplified arrangement so I can get started practicing.”

　　-

　　“Piano’s getting out of tune,” Hare said a few weeks later.

　　Ignatius quirked an eyebrow and stopped playing. “It sounds fine to me.”

　　“It ain’t by much, but it’s there, in the low notes.” Hare looked out the window that was directly to the piano’s left. “It’s probably from the weather.”

　　“Well, we have to keep it open for you during lessons,” Ignatius said. “I don’t want to choke.”

　　“This may be a shock, Ig’, but the temperature around windows is always a bit more like the other side,” Hare said. “Even when the pane’s closed.”

　　“Can you even feel temperature?” Ignatius asked.

　　Hare blinked. “No. I just… know that.”

　　Ignatius rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to stop playing?” he asked, lifting his hands from the keys.

　　Hare hummed thoughtfully. “Well, now I gotta think. I don’t want you getting used to an off tune. But if you can’t hear the difference yet, it shouldn’t matter. It’s gonna drive me batty, though.” Hare performatively stuck his pinky finger in his ear, as if trying to shake out a bout of tinnitus. “Course, it really comes down to your mother paying for a tune up.”

　　Ignatius was quiet as Hare talked. His eyes followed Hare’s hand as he lowered it from his head.

　　“Hey,” Ignatius said. “Could you take off your gloves? I want to see how your hands work.”

　　Hare startled at the request. “Uh, sure, I guess,” he said. He peeled his gloves off gingerly. He never touched a piano without them on; his fingertips were too thin to hit the keys correctly and so sharp as to leave scratches. “Mind the blades.”

　　Ignatius seized his right hand first, turning it this way and that. “You don’t have a lot of plating here,” he observed. “The mechanics are exposed in places, like you’ve been flayed. Fascinating.”

　　“Flayed? Gross,” Hare said. “They’re just like that so’s they’re easier to fix.”

　　“And the gloves act as sheathes,” Ignatius mumbled. He ran an index finger along the length of one of the blade edges, then pulled back with a hiss, blood blossoming on his fingertip.

　　Hare jerked his hand away, head starting to swim in an unfamiliar way at the sight of the blood. “I told ya’!” he said, standing. “Criminy, you know where the bandages are? Kitchen? Bathroom?”

　　“Kitchen. But it’s barely a papercut,” Ignatius grumbled.

　　“Don’t care, we’re patching it up anyway.” Hare stuffed his hands back into his gloves and headed for the kitchen. “I ain’t going back to Pops to tell him you got lockjaw ‘cause of me.”

　　Hare didn’t reply when, as he stepped out of the room, he heard Ignatius quietly say, “Like he’d care.”

　　-

　　Things continued in their passable way for a few months. Ignatius’ playing improved steadily, if not quickly. He even guardedly asked for pointers on composing his own music, scrawling out fragments on scrap paper and collecting them in a folder. Hare thought they were making progress, and he didn’t think much of the occasional times Ignatius asked to look at his hands.

　　Then the Widow was invited to see Pops.

　　Ignatius’ face was dark as storm clouds as Hare helped the Widow into her coat. He sat at the piano, chewing his lower lip, glowering at the sheet music in front of him.

　　“Watch your brother, Ignatius,” the Widow said over her shoulder to his back. “If there’s any problems, the neighbors are home.” Only Hare caught the slow turn of Ignatius’ head, how he stared at her with one eye.

　　Hare offered the Widow his arm as they left the house, and she took it. He tried to keep her talking as they walked to the streetcar, hoping it would be enough to distract her from Ignatius following them. All things considered, the kid was stealthier than Hare expected, but he chose amateur hiding spots. Hare guided the Widow to a seat on the streetcar so that she faced away from the way they’d come, and he thought they lost Ignatius there.

　　They met The Skull at the gates of the Becile Estate. He doffed his hat for the Widow, muttering a quiet, “Ma’am.” He then led them up the remnants of the gravel trail to the house, pausing to take the Widow’s coat and hat at the door, and through the halls to Pops’ study.

　　After the door to the study clicked close behind the Widow, Hare grabbed The Skull’s arm and started pulling him down the hallway. “Listen, Skulls, we gotta do a sweep. Their oldest kid, the one I’ve been teaching piano, he was following us part of the way.” Hare said quickly. “I don’t know if he caught the next trolley after us, but Pops’ll have our hides if the kid shows up uninvited.”

　　The Skull nodded, and they split ways at the parlor. Hare searched one wing of the house, while The Skull searched the other. Hare could hear The Jack practicing his violin in the basement as he passed by the stairs, and he decided not to get him involved.

　　A muffled shout caught Hare’s attention. He ran to the noise to find The Skull holding a struggling Ignatius by the open kitchen window, some of the clutter from the counter knocked onto the floor around their feet. Ignatius, seeing Hare, slowed his flailing and sullenly glared at him from under his brows. He wore his ragged backpack, the straps barely hanging onto his shoulders after his fight against capture.

　　“What’s a’ matter with you? You hate your old man,” Hare said in a hushed tone. “Your mom’s gonna rake you over the coals for leaving Norman alone.”

　　“I locked him in his crib,” Ignatius said. “He won’t get out before I get back.”

　　Hare shook his head. “Cripes, kid. You gotta know Pops won’t see you.”

　　“Exactly,” Ignatius said vehemently. “I want to know why.”

　　“Ig’, we live with the guy, and we don’t know why he does half the things he does,” Hare said. “He don’t take kindly to questions and takes even less to surprises. You gotta scram.”

　　“Like hell,” Ignatius snarled. “You don’t get it. You’re just a machine. Why did he even make you? Why did he give mother Norman when he refuses to speak to me? What am I here for?!”

　　Hare stared at Ignatius for a moment, then traded looks with The Skull, before sighing, allowing a cloud of dark smoke to pass his vents. “Pops might not want you around, but your mother does. Sometimes, that’s gotta be enough.”

　　“Well, it’s not! Let go of me!” Ignatius demanded, eyes wet. “I’m going to get answers!”

　　Hare shook his head. “You got two choices-- you go home with dignity, or we carry you back like a sack of screaming potatoes. Look, I’m sorry. I know it ain’t fair.”

　　Ignatius inhaled, meaning to shriek, only for The Skull to clamp a hand over his mouth. The Skull gave Hare a confused look, obviously uncomfortable using force on a child, but held him tight regardless.

　　“What do we do?” The Skull asked Hare.

　　Hare ground his teeth as he thought. “We gotta get him outta the house. I don’t wanna gag him, but if we’re gonna carry him--”

　　“That will be unnecessary.”

　　The three froze as Pops walked into the room. The Widow hovered in the doorway behind him, looking at Ignatius with disappointment.

　　“The Skull, release him,” Pops said flatly.

　　The Skull obeyed, and Ignatius took a teetering step forward, regaining his balance, eyes locked on Pops.

　　Hare winced and said, “We tried to take care of things. Figured you wouldn’t want your visit interrupted. We can take him home--”

　　“You will.” Pops regarded Ignatius with all the passivity of a wall. “But first, I intend to reduce his reasons to invade my home a second time.”

　　Ignatius, his mouth a thin line, unslung his backpack and darted a hand into it. Without a word, he pulled a contraption out of the bag, its parts clicking against each other as he held it out for Pops to see. “I made this,” Ignatius said flatly.

　　Hare stared at the thing, not immediately comprehending what he was looking at. Then the bottom dropped out of his furnace, and he felt impossibly sick

　　Ignatius was holding a replica of Hare’s hand.

　　Pops’ brow lifted a fraction, and he held out his own metal-encased palm to take the replica. Ignatius shuffled forward a few steps and passed it over, watching Pops closely as he examined the construction.

　　“Where did you get the parts for this?” Pops asked Ignatius, testing the range of motion of a finger.

　　Ignatius hesitated for a second, avoiding his mother’s gaze, before saying, “Junkyards. Scrap metal and broken toys. A few pocket knives.”

　　“And you made this to impress me?”

　　“No.” Ignatius straightened up proudly. “I made it to prove that I could.”

　　Hare wished he could melt into the floor tiles. The Skull was avoiding looking at him, his hands nervously clenching.

　　“I see,” Pops said. He gave the replica back to Ignatius. “I’m loathe to reward you for breaking in. But I suppose if you’re going to pursue mechanical engineering under the Becile name, I would rather oversee your development. You’re old enough now to not be a nuisance.” Pops looked down at Ignatius through his glasses. “I’ll discuss a schedule with your mother. Bare in mind that you’re starting on thin ice. You will not enter this house again without my permission. Understood?”

　　“Yes,” Ignatius breathed. He glanced at Hare and grinned. Hare did not grin back.

　　The Widow cleared her throat. “I’m not exactly opposed,” she said. “But if it’s all the same, I’d like him to continue his piano lessons as well.”

　　Hare frowned and folded his arms, tucking his hands out of view. Before he could protest, Pops spoke again.

　　“There may not be time. But we shall see.” Pops looked at The Skull, who snapped to attention. “The Skull, get my guest’s coat for her. You’ll escort her and Ignatius to the streetcar.”

　　“Yes, sir,” The Skull said. He barely glanced at Hare as he swiftly left the room.

　　The Widow held out her hand to Ignatius, who slowly passed Pops to go to her. They followed The Skull, leaving Pops and Hare alone.

　　“You disapprove,” Pops said.

　　“Am I weird for feeling weird about it?” Hare asked, a note of pleading in his voice. “He didn’t tell me he was doing it. He didn’t ask. He just copied me like, like a thing, like a piece of homework.”

　　“Hare, you are a thing,” Pops said.

　　“Yeah,” Hare’s voice faded to a whisper as he looked at the ground. “But he don’t gotta treat me like one.”

　　Pops shrugged. “In any case, I expect you to continue to be respectful. Keep your reservations to yourself, and if time allows for your piano training, challenge him.”

　　Hare narrowed his eyes. “… You got it, Pops.”

　　-

　　Over the next four years, Hare and Ignatius’s lessons became more ever more sporadic. Hare never shook the feeling of violation, and while he was not a cruel teacher, he wasn’t proud of the spitefulness that churned in his chest when he was cool in the face of Ignatius’ improvement. It was only when Ignatius formally ended their lessons and Hare felt a wave of relief that he realized just how long he’d held the grudge.

　　Ignatius seemed to thrive under pressure-- at first. He devoured the books on engineering Pops assigned him, kept his grades up in school, learned to dance his skilled fingers across the ivories. He was hard-working, prodigious. As far as talent went, he was everything a man could hope for in an heir.

　　At seventeen, he broke.

　　Hare could hear Ignatius screaming from the other side of the manor, though the words weren’t clear. When The Jack and The Skull started to stand up from their game of cards, he shook his head.

　　“You guys really wanna get between those two?” he said quietly.

　　The Jack and The Skull traded looks, and they awkwardly sat back down.

　　“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Hare muttered. He looked at his hand for a moment, balled it into a fist. “Let him burn his bridges.

　　“I never liked how he looked at me, anyway.”

[aero-erin]

ShunYuto Duel Links canon fic!