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bluefirewrites · 4 years ago

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T.Rex, Velveeta, and Other Fun Names

A one shot I made, thanks to @lydias--stiles and @blush-and-books.

We were talking about what Luke’s middle name could be and it sparked an idea for this quick little one shot (which is neither quick or little actually.)

Could also be read on AO3.

ENJOY!

____________

Lucas T. Patterson

The madness of this week all started when Julie thumbed through Luke’s journal and found her songwriting partner’s messy scrawl inscribed in the behind the front cover.

Yeah, it was his name, Julie would have griped about how illegible it was and moved on to whatever song she and Luke had been workshopping the day before and thought nothing of it-

If it weren’t for the fact that there was a flurry of deep inset scratches of pen scribbling out the space where his middle name was supposed to be, leaving only the ‘T’ unscathed…

“So I was thinking, maybe we change the key. I thought I was feeling A Major,” Luke rattled off, playing the aforementioned series of chords on his electric, “But now, I think we could really intensify it by flipping to a minor key-”

“What’s the 'T' stand for?”

The ghost looked up, confused, “Huh?”

Julie held up the inner cover of the journal, pointing to his name, “Lucas T. Patterson. The ‘T’- what does it stand for?”

It was a simple question, but all color drained from his face.

“O-Oh. Oh that?” Luke stammered through, struggling to rid himself of his guitar, the skull and rose strap kept swatting his face in his hurry.

She nodded.

He was across the room in seconds, back facing her, pretending to fiddle with the amp settings, even going as far as inspecting Alex’s drums. Thank goodness the drummer wasn’t there right now or else he would be getting a thorough lecture. ("Tell him to stop touching my drums!" extended to his bandmates as well).

“It, uh, stands for my middle name,” he said, still not looking at her.

“I get that. So what is it?”

“It’s nothing,”

Julie rose from the piano bench, traversing the studio until she was right behind him. She forced him to pivot and face her, “No, it’s clearly something.”

Luke gave a dismissive wave and a weak nonchalant laugh, “It’s not a big deal,”

“It clearly is if you won’t tell me,”

Then his head cocked to the side. He cupped his ear, “Uh, what’s that? I think I heard Carlos!”

“What?” She couldn’t hear anything.

“Oh, you need help, Carlos? On my way!”

“He can’t even-”

In a flash of light and warp of reality, Julie was alone in the studio.

“- hear you...”

Oh boy.

Now what was that about?

________________

Ever since then, Julie’s curiosity only grew. Why was Luke so evasive when it came to his middle name? What could possibly be the reason?

With all the secrecy and going great lengths to omit it from his journal, she was betting on it being insanely embarrassing.

Which made Julie want to find out even more.

Luke didn’t get embarrassed so easily, not much to weaponize against him whenever they all made playful jabs at each other from time to time, like the friends they were. Really it was stuff like ‘Beware, Luke this shirt has sleeves’ which basically translated to ‘Haha, you’re attractive’.

Which did not pack quite the punch.

She was determined to decode Luke’s middle name, if not to quench her curiosity then to humble the guy.

He couldn’t be attractive and talented. Something’s gotta give.

(And no, she didn’t often think about how attractive and talented he was… Nope. Not at all).

“Tristan?” she threw out while they were backstage at their next gig.

Luke tuned his guitar, “Nope”

“Thomas?”

“Nuh-uh”

“Terrence?”

He finally looked up, smirking, “You will never find out.”

The tech burst in, phasing through the ghostly forms of the boys, to lead her out onto the stage.

She inwardly cursed. Saved by the bell.

“Break a leg, boss,” Luke wiggled his fingers at her before she was practically pushed past the curtain.

Even when she sat down to play the piano, Julie could not get the image of Luke’s smug face out of her mind. Oh, he probably thought her attempts were just so cute.

Yeah, cute for now.

But she wasn’t done yet.

____________________

“Alright, guys. Help me solve the mystery. What’s Luke’s middle name?”

It was one of those rare occasions where Luke was out of the house, leaving her, Alex, and Reggie alone.

The boys had been present for her previous tries to weasel Luke’s middle name out of him, and they were amused for the most part- Well, never as amused as Luke ‘Thinks He’s All That’ Patterson (not a serious contender in her guessing, by the way).

With their reactions, and however many years of brotherhood shared among the three of them, Alex and Reggie just had to know.

They were all chilling in the kitchen, Reggie perched on top of the counter and Alex lounging at the table. Julie poured herself a juice, waiting on the answer.

The bassist straightened up, “Oh. It’s-” Then he stopped, face scrunched up in a frown of concentration.

Julie directed her gaze at Alex, who was ready to jump in.

“No, wait it’s…” He faltered.

The two boys’s heads snapped to stare at each other as they pieced it together.

“Dude, I don’t think-”

“No. He had to have. I’m just blanking,”

“Guys?”

“Oh my god,” Alex uttered, pushing his golden locks back into his cap, “It took us this long to notice?!”

They were now on their feet, sandwiching Julie.

“We... don’t...know,” Reggie winced, admitting it out loud.

“How could you not know?”

“I don’t think he ever told us!” was the bassist’s defense, “He’s Fort Luke when he wants to be!”

He made the gesture of locking his lips and throwing away the key to which Alex nodded.

“Now I wanna know!”

“Me too!”

Now this was a development. If Luke’s boys had no clue, then it must be really juicy.

Taking a sip from her cup, Julie was all ready to recruit two new members for the noble cause…

_________________

Julie, Alex, and Reggie huddled in a circle at the studio, all bearing notebooks and furiously whispering at each other and scribbling away when Luke decided to make an appearance.

They dispersed, making their collusion all the more suspicious.

“Luke,” They all greeted, with the same level of enthusiasm… at the same time.

The guitarist eyed them skeptically. Then he took in the notebooks, “You’re having a band meeting. Without me?” he asked, hurt flashed in his hazel eyes.

“No, silly. We’re having a band meeting about you,”

“Reggie!” Alex and Julie hissed.

That only added to Luke’s hurt and confusion.

Sending him a reassuring smile, she guided him to an empty chair, placed right in the middle, just beyond the coffee table, “Sit down. Please.”

“Okay?” Slow steps and weird stares later, his butt plopped onto the seat, “Can someone tell me what’s all this abo-?”

“Lucas Theodore Patterson?” Alex leapt in front of Luke, reading his guess off his notebook.

Luke’s shoulders slumped, seeing where this was all going.

“Guys, really? You too-?”

“Is it or is it not Theodore?” Julie backed Alex up.

“God no,”

Reggie was up next, “Lucas Timothy Patterson?”

The nose scrunch answered for them.

“Lucas Tyrone Patterson?” as was Julie’s turn.

“No flow,”

And so they were stuck in a circle for the next 20 minutes, everyone taking turns guessing Luke’s middle name, their lists growing more desperate and random as they continued, even going as far as borderline yelling the names at him- that was how frustrated they were.

“Lucas Troy Patterson,”

“No”

“Lucas Trixie Patterson?!”

“That’s not even- that’s not even a guys name-”

“It’s Tyrannosaurus Rex. I’m telling you. It has to be!” Reggie slammed his notebook down, poking Luke hard in the chest with his index finger, “Admit it! LUCAS. T. REX PATTERSON!”

“Boy, I wish,”

Their guessing game, once the last of the names have been recited, left all of them breathless (even though two of them were ghosts!).

On any other occasion, Luke would have been sympathetic, especially seeing how broken up and defeated they all looked collapsed onto the couch, glaring at him like he was the enemy.

But their fruitless attempts only made him all the more victorious.

“Nice try guys,” he patted each of them on the shoulder before heading out.

Best to give them a break.

Ya know, to deal with the defeat.

____________________

She was nothing if not persistent.

But Julie knew she might have been taking things too far when she had made the trip to Emily’s.

Look, she thought she could just pay the woman a visit, to check up on her, catch up-

Maybe ask leading questions in order to trick her into telling her her son’s middle name?

Yeah, the plan was flawed from the start because how could she so subtly direct the conversation to her dead son’s middle name.

Maybe get her to tell a story about Luke getting in big enough trouble that would have warranted the whole ‘yelling-out-your-full-name’ treatment? Which was a total stretch.

But she didn’t expect it to be the complete and utter disaster that it was.

If Alex and Reggie hadn’t gotten impatient and started snooping around Luke’s old room and digging through his things to find some sort of sign for his name, and if Luke hadn’t decided to intervene, creating all kinds of ruckus in other rooms for his mom to stop and check-

Then maybe they wouldn’t all be sitting on the Molina living room couch hours, getting read the riot act by Luke Patterson of all people.

“I had to tip over my aunt’s vase!!”

“Well, if it's any consolation, your mom always hated that vase?” Reggie chuckled before being promptly silenced by one look from Luke.

Alex spluttered, “But, like, you didn’t have to break it??”

“I did what I had to do,”

“Your mom was so freaked out!”

“Well, that’s on you guys,”

Julie just about had enough with all these games, she pushed herself up from the couch, squaring up against Luke’s unwavering gaze, “You’re being ridiculous!”

“Me?” he yelled, taken aback, “ You went to my house!”

“We just wanted to know!”

“Oh my god!” His hands gripped at his hair, “Why do you wanna know my middle name so badly?”

“I like knowing stuff about you, okay!”

Luke stepped back. Eyes wide.

That-

That wasn’t meant to come out.

Especially in the booming, shrill tone she used.

“Oh…”

Luke was playing with the sleeves of his oversized flannel, the air between them thick and brimming with awkwardness. It didn’t help that Alex and Reggie took this as the opportunity to flee.

Now it was just the two of them in the living room.

Breathing deeply to collect herself because it finally hit her- they were in a screaming match all because of a middle name . Like, Luke wasn’t the only one being ridiculous. It was her too. This whole quest to figure out what the T in his name stood for was so pointless.

They were fighting and Julie didn’t like it.

“And,” she cleared her throat, dislodging the unpleasantness, “there’s something clearly bothering you about it. Just… maybe thought I could help?”

Julie had been kidding herself. Messing with Luke might have been her initial goal, but what bugged her most about not knowing his middle name was the fact that even after all the time they spent together, there were things that Luke still wouldn’t tell her.

He was entitled to keep his secrets, yes, and she still felt bad for spying on him on his birthday. But, they were bandmates, writing partners, friends . She had confided in him a lot and he with her, and they just…

They always had this closeness. A closeness that she appreciated and didn’t take for granted.

And she had acted so recklessly because of it.

Luke nodded, taking it in. He didn’t look mad, but he understood. Julie could tell he was able to get more from her than the words she spouted at him.

“It’s, just,” his voice lowered into a self-conscious whisper, “It’s just something I don’t like a lot of people knowing...”

“I’m sorry. I pushed,”

“It’s okay,” the left corner of his mouth twitched, “You wouldn’t be Julie, if you didn’t” he playfully punched her shoulder.

She gaped at him in mock offense, “Hey!”

“Just saying. Tt’s not the first time you showed up on my doorstep, digging up my past,” she instinctively grimaced but Luke reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, “But I know it’s coming from a good place. Thanks.”

He really shouldn’t be so forgiving, Julie thought. But she was just happy that they could just leave this mess behind them.

“I’ll get the guys to drop it,” she offered.

That made Luke laugh, “Good luck with that. Reggie’s wearing Alex down. Now he’s seriously considering my middle name to be ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’,”

“If it was that embarrassing, I’d see why you’d keep it a secret,”

It seemed like Luke wanted to say something but shook his head and thought better of it. Instead he tugged her by the hand to the door, “Come on. You never did give me your opinion on the key change…”

_______________

It was months later when it finally came out.

They were in her room. She was doing homework and he was getting a jump start on their newest song, working side by side on the floor.

Her laptop was open, some randomly chosen Spotify playlist streaming in the background. All was well when the familiar chords of ‘Get Lost’ started playing, causing Luke to visibly tense up.

“Trevor,”

“Right. Sorry, I’ll turn it off-”

“No. That’s…” He sighed and moved into a kneeling position.

Pushing his already opened journal to Julie, Luke flipped it to the cover, where his name was written.

He pointed to the scribbles over his middle name.

Where only the T was exposed…

Trevor.

“Lucas...Trevor...Patterson?”

“My full name. Ba-da?” his jazz hands fell flat, betrayed by the quiver in his voice.

“Oh,”

“I, uh, never liked how it sounded. And you know how I feel… about things that just don’t flow right”

Julie did. For sure. Scrapped lyrics and melodies were often what happened. Never to be brought up again.

He continued, “My mom would insist on writing out my full name on my notebooks for school- Luke Patterson is already so generic,” and the first genuine chuckle of the night huffed out, “Never used them for class of course. Just to write songs.”

“Tre-Bobby,” she corrected herself “He would have needed proof that he wrote everything...”

“My old notebook. That had ‘Get Lost’ and ‘Crooked Teeth’. Made the mistake of writing it in pencil. It’d be so easy to just-”

Slamming the laptop closed, silencing the song, Julie enveloped the ghost in a hug. He melted against her, hands gripping onto her shoulders from behind, for dear life, the weight of the reveal finally taking its toll.

“I didn’t like my middle name before. Now, I just- I just can’t stand it,” he whispered into her shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Luke”

“Were the songs not enough? He had to steal my name too?”

The ache carried by his voice made Julie squeeze tighter.

She had no words.

What Bobby did, what he took from Luke, was more than she could ever fathom. She didn’t know what to do, what to say to him to soothe the pain.

She only held him.

For as long as he needed.

___________

"How come Alex and Reggie never found out?" she would ask him later.

"Didn't make it habit to show off my journal"

She frowned, "But you let me read it."

Luke, too, had no words in response.

____________

“Hey, wanna go on a walk with me?” Julie asked him out of the blue one evening.

Luke could definitely use a break, especially from whatever row Alex and Reggie had just gotten into. He nodded and took her offered hand.

They took a stroll down her street, hands still joined but hidden in Julie’s hoodie pocket (as to not make it seem like she was grasping at air). The sun was beginning to set over the hills as they could see from their vantage point in the park, their set destination.

Julie seemed to have some purpose for this random walk because she was leading him around until they reached a tree in a more secluded part of the grounds.

Whipping out a pocket knife, Julie replaced her hand in her grasp with the odd tool.

“What’s this?”

“For a while, I lost all sense of what music meant to me. I thought music was my mom. That if she’s gone then there’s no point in going on,”

“Aw, Jules”

Her sunny disposition shone through in a smile, “It’s okay. I had to redefine music for myself. Give it new meaning. Music is not just my mom. It’s my family and Flynn. It’s you and the guys” she shrugged, “It’s me.”

“I would have told you that,” A tender touch to her forearm coaxed an even bigger smile from the girl, “You definitely are music.”

Momentarily distracted by the compliment, it took a moment for Julie to get back on track.

“What I’m trying to say is. I think it’s time for you to redefine yourself. There’s stuff in your old life that you miss, but there’s also stuff you want to leave in the past…”

It dawned on Luke what Julie was referring to.

“That ‘T’ is a placeholder. You could go by a different middle name. You could do whatever you want. You’re a ghost now. You can… move on. So,” she revealed the blade and placed it in his palm once more. She nodded at the tree.

“Go ahead. Go give your name a new meaning, Make your mark,”

Grinning, Luke picked up on her plan and began carving into the trunk, his initials, all three letters representing his name, with each mark easier to craft than the last, imbuing more love and meaning into them, just like what Julie said.

Once done, he admired his handiwork, floored by how cathartic it was, to have his name on something that was gonna last.

L.T.P

He was taking back his goddamn name.

He beheld it with pride.

“I’ll ask again,” Julie leaned against the tree, tracing the letters with her fingers, “What’s the 'T' stand for?”

With no hesitation he said-

“Thundercat,”

“W-What?” Julie choked.

He lost it at her reaction, “You said whatever I want. I loved that show as a kid!” he giggled.

“Lucas… Thundercat… Patterson,” Julie so badly wanted to make a comment, Luke could tell. But she changed her mind, “You know what? If it makes you so happy then go for it. Who am I to stop you?”

“Nah, I’ll think of something else later on. But it’s my afterlife. I could go through as many middle names as I want, right?”

“Exactly,”

Luke returned her knife and thought she was going to slip it back into her pocket. Instead, she strode up to the tree and proceeded to carve her own initials right below his.

“There. So your name doesn’t have to be lonely up there,” she folded up the blade and put it away.

“You know that, uh, couples usually do that kind of thing,” Luke couldn’t help but notice that, with the way their initials were oriented on the tree.

A rosy hue graced the girl’s cheeks, “Oh...yeah.”

A beat of silence followed, just the two of them staring at the tree.

“I like how our names look next to each other though,”

Luke nodded, a warm feeling settling in the pit of his stomach and rising, “Me too.”

Squinting, he read Julie’s initials, “ J.V.M. What does the ‘V’ stand for?”

A devious glint sparkled in her eyes, “Maybe you’ll just have to guess.”

“Aw come on!”

She raised an eyebrow, “Oh as if you made it easy for me?”

Ok. She had him there, “Fair enough.”

The whole walk home, Luke ran through all the ‘V’ names he could think of.

“Julianna Valeria?”

“Nope,”

“Julianna Vanessa?”

“C’mon, songwriter. Where’s the flow?” she teased.

Luke snapped his fingers, believing he cracked the code, “Victoria. After your aunt,”

“No. But imagine how mad she was when she found out,”

“Venus, Vanilla, Vaseline-”

“Vaseline?”

They were at her doorstep, and he bounded in front of her, blocking her path, “I won’t give up.”

“I don’t expect you to,”

“Velveeta. Like the cheese”

“It’s Valentina,” she finally said, pushing him aside, fishing through her pockets for the keys to open the front door.

“You got Valentina while I got stuck with Trevor?” She lucked out in the middle name department, that was for sure.

Of course someone like Julie got shacked up with a beautiful name like Valentina…

“I could change mine too. In solidarity,” she said offhandedly.

“If I go with Reggie’s suggestion: Tyrannosaurus Rex then would you be Velociraptor?”

“T.Rex and Velociraptor?” she laughed in disbelief, finally walking through the threshold of her house. Thank goodness everyone else was already upstairs.

“From this day forth, I will be known Lucas Tyrannosaurus Rex Patterson!” he confidently declared

“And I’ll be Julianna Velociraptor Molina!” she repeated, taking much pleasure in the absurdity of it.

“Were you a dinosaur kid?”

“You saw my slippers and my PJs...”

“True,”

_______

Luke didn’t expect for them to take the whole new middle name thing so seriously.

But if they so happened to greet each other next time with prehistoric roars and with him tackling her onto the studio couch and pretending to bite her like the carnivore he was, then that was for them to know…

And for Alex and Reggie to remain confused about.

__________

Bonus:

And after some years down the line and one magical reincarnation later, Luke decided to change his name again.

“Patterson’s okay,” he said to Julie, “But I think I need something new.”

“Oh yeah? What are you thinking?”

Luke went down on one knee, in front of the tree they marked up when they were teenagers, ring in hand.

“Molina sounds pretty good to me…”

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatp fic #juke #palina #juke-box #julie x luke #luke x julie #julie molina #luke patterson #for unofficial juke week #fandometrics babyyyy #almost had a tidbit here where flynn tries to say her last name but gets cut off #like why are we here thinking about luke's middle name #flynn and willie need last names

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thelastpilot · 4 years ago

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‘On GOD We Are Going to Get You a Girlfriend’- A Lovesquare Story as suffered by Nino

My last charity fic for @mlbforblm! The prompt was Aged Up College AU lovesquare, in which Adrien is struggling with his love for both Marinette and Ladybug and Nino is put in the position to be the ultimate wingman. I went a little off script with this prompt but I hope it scratches that itch nonetheless.

The concept itself lent itself much better to 15k than 4 but I did what I could! Hope it gets a laugh out of you.

It was twilight in Paris, the tail end of sunset slipping away as people all across campus engaged in extremely varied states of productivity. That is to say, at most 20% of the campus’ live-in population was actually getting any work done, while the rest of them were either limping along or had already given up.

It was midterms week, clearly.

In the dim space of a reasonable apartment accommodation were well -intentioned study implements of every kind. The completely average couch and carpet were covered with just enough of a layer of highlighters, pens, and printed pages to give a really studious impression at a glance, but whatever vibe it might have managed was thoroughly ruined by a young man laying face down on the floor, a game console nearly tumbling from his hands. Another, separate, but equally as unfocused young man had his back to plain white wall against which they had been meaning to put like… a chair or something at least for most of the semester now, staring idly out of the sliding glass door to his left that offered only a sliver of a view from his current position. At most he could see two lovely, but neglected, potted plants and a shoddy balcony looking off towards the main body of their college campus.

He watched the small patch of sky he could see succumb to a light coverage of clouds, and as he considered the possibility of rain, he sighed.

“Nino?” he finally spoke, looking away from his strip of sky. He waited for a response for a second or two, before reaching out with his foot and gently prodding his friend’s side to check he was alive, smirking slightly when he received a grunt for his efforts.

“Mm,” Nino answered from his curled up position, the glasses on his face a perfect reflection of his Pokemon team’s stats, which was ironic considering that Stats was exactly the thing Nino was avoiding at the minute. After a beat too long, he realized his friend was still waiting on his response. He lifted his head slightly, his hat falling free to the ground as he said, “Mm? Yeah?” He blinked slowly. “What?”

Adrien smiled down at him, chuckling a little before tossing aside a textbook he had been pretending to take notes from for the last hour. When his lap was free he leaned forward and rolled to the ground, mimicking Nino’s exact positioning on the ground a small distance away from him, sighing again (louder this time).

“What?” Nino repeated himself, laughing when Adrien leveled him with a sour look. He rolled his eyes but dutifully paused his game, shutting his Switch off and putting it on the ground out of their eyeline. “Go for it dude, what’s up.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Is it a girl thing?” Nino asked flatly, raising an eyebrow when all Adrien managed was a sheepish smile. “Dude.”

“Come on! You’re my friend, you’re contractually obligated. Look don’t make fun of me just help okay; I’m really stuck now.” Adrien pleaded with him, bringing his hands in front of him to cartoonishly beg for his grace. He got another eye roll for his trouble but Nino hadn’t gotten up and left yet so that was a good sign.

It wasn’t that his friend didn’t want to help him, its just that… well.

Adrien always had some kind of girl problem, pretty much off and on for the past five years. He knew it got hard to listen to and Nino had put in way more than his fair share of time into this. Especially since he had made essentially no progress whatsoever in all that time, but boy was he almost on to something here.

Nino said nothing else, making a vague hand gesture for him to continue and Adrien did as he always did.

He hesitated, carefully considering how to phrase something.

“So um, there is this girl. That uh, girl, I always talk about. The one you don’t know. And then there is another girl, one who you do know.”

“Do we HAVE to be so vague man? We’re in our own place, there is no one around. Can’t you just say it? I get so confused when we do it like this.”

Adrien tensed slightly, discomfort crawling up his back. “I uh, I can’t. Just- just listen okay? I can’t explain it.”

“We’re in our house,” Nino complained again. But Adrien ignored him, because he always ignored him when he said that.

“Just listen okay?”

Nino looked at him squarely, or at least as squarely as he could manage while laying on the ground. When Adrien patiently waited for a response Nino finally sighed, rolling on his stomach and laying his face sideways on the floor to match him, nodding stiffly for him to continue.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to a head. I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I have never ONCE in my entire LIFE gotten the timing right Nino, I’m dead serious.” Adrien rolled around a little gripping his hair with both hands. “I get the timing wrong EVERY TIME. I have never been where I’m supposed to be! I’ve never made a move at the right time I have never done it right. I get close with one girl but she doesn’t reciprocate or she tells me to wait or she says that its complicated, then I get close to the other girl but I feel GUILTY because I still care about the first girl. But she says it isn’t right so I work on it I let go but then the other girl is gone or moves on or life gets in the way. I have been in the wrong place EVERY TIME-,”

Adrien’s ranting continues, rolling around on their carpet as he incredibly vaguely and very stupidly details a problem that he has had for many, many years. Nino can feel himself retreating into his own thoughts, more focused on Adrien’s animated rolling than his actual words. He reaches out once to save a stack of notes from getting creased and ruined, but other than that remains completely still and lets his friend do his thing.

This happened maybe once a week or so, maybe a little less often or more often depending on the status of the girls.

The fact that Adrien literally REFUSED to say their names made this completely incoherent, but where in his love life he was inconsistent, when it came to never talking about work Adrien was true to form.

Nino blinked blearily as Adrien continued, pouring over the reasons he cared so deeply for them both and why that made him feel like a bad person. It left Nino to stew, wondering much like always why they did it like this.

The two of them were superheroes. Spoilers if you didn’t know. He didn’t feel like much of a superhero when he was sprawled out on his shared apartment floor suffering the long run up to failing his Stats midterm like any other student. But the fact remained that he was one, and so was Adrien. The problem was that Adrien was serious about keeping life and work separate. It was pretty much only hard and fast rule about this gig that Nino had picked up on when he first joined. Never talk about work as a civilian, under any circumstances. You only get to talk about work when you’re suited up, and you’re only allowed to talk about life in plain clothes.

Honestly, it was so hard to do it that way, but the rules were clear, not that anyone had actually stopped to explain them to him. Adrien froze up whenever he even so much as mentioned an akuma attack or asked about an injury. Don’t talk about work, but…

They lived together now, this was the first semester where they had done so and Nino was so hyped about it. Like FINALLY, our kwamis can relax and we can be ourselves. He had been so excited about it, but to his profound disappointment Adrien refused to relent on his rule. Their kwamis were never even out in the open except for in their rooms, like he knew Adrien was strict but surely he wasn’t that committed.

Nino understood that it was probably Ladybug’s rule but still, it’s not like she was here. He wouldn’t advocate for disobeying her but… come on man. His brain hurt.

He KNEW Adrien was talking about Ladybug/Marinette. He knew that for a fact, but Adrien would never say her name out loud, because that overlaps with work (even though they hang out with her in person like every single day.) Maybe Nino didn’t know who the heck this second girl he was talking about was, but at the very least he could be clear about one of them.

Whoever the second girl actually was sounded a lot like Marinette, so the for-sure thing was that he had a type. Honestly though he had stopped trying to figure it out years ago. If he wasn’t so exhausted from not studying he would humor him like he always did, but today… man he was kind of tired.

He waited until Adrien was done talking, undoubtably ending by asking for advice as per the usual. Then, like always, Nino said what he always did.

“You need to communicate. If you are not crystal clear with these girls about what they want and what you want nothing with ever happen. You need to bite the bullet and TELL them, at least ONE of them, what you’re thinking.”

And like always, Adrien groaned and covered his face and said, “It’s not that easy!”

They both grumbled dejectedly into the carpet, repeating their years old platitudes until they gave up on each other. Nino usually did this a lot better but he reserved the right to tap out and Adrien usually seemed to accept that.

The only different thing Adrien actually said was when he was standing. He mumbled, “I know, I know. You’re right, as usual but… I’m maybe gonna ask someone else. See what they think.”

“I don’t know what answer you’re hoping for, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“I know,” Adrien sighed, offering a hand to help him off the ground. He smiled gently, but his eyes were sad. Enough of a gesture to explain that he wasn’t actually mad at Nino’s dismissiveness. He had a right to refrain.

They spent an idle few minutes cleaning up their mess, consolidating their notes and books into two loose piles and neither saying much. It was only about thirty or so minutes later when Adrien announced vaguely, “I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Yeah man,” Nino answered, knowing by heart Adrien’s codeword for ‘patrol’. Didn’t know why he didn’t just say it, but that was a dead horse long beaten.

Adrien left within a minute or two but Nino stood blearily for awhile in the living room, staring at nothing as he debated just going to bed for the day.

He was just about to head to his room to ask if Wayzz was ready for dinner when the kwami in question came flying into the room, confidently out in the open space now that Adrien was gone.

“You’re getting a call!” Wayzz piped up importantly, waving his little flippers a bit to sell the point. “It’s Cat Noir!”

“I- what?” Nino sputtered, glancing towards the apartment door in confusion. “He literally just- ugh.” Nino groaned as loudly as possible, Wayzz shaking his head a little. “Why is he LIKE THIS, he could have just TOLD ME TO COME.”

“I know he’s odd about it, but he must have his reasons. You should go, he must need you for patrol.”

Nino demanded a few more moments of frustration, which Wayzz indulged, before grabbing his keys and unlocking a window in case he didn’t feel like using them. It was Adrien’s turn tonight but okay whatever.

It only took him a minute or two to transform and get out onto their building’s roof, stretching a bit before raising his wrist. He forced himself to take a deep breath and remind himself of the rules while he returned Adrien’s call.

Through the hazy, green, holographic screen he saw the face of Cat Noir answer on the first ring, the feline superhero sighing in relief and smiling widely.

“There you are! I was hoping you were out. Hey, I know this is kind of sudden but… um I was wondering if you were willing to meet up with me. I want to ask you about something.”

He allowed himself to hang his head in frustration just out of the video feeds eyeline, pulling a sharp breath through his teeth before answering, “Yeah bud. Lets meet up.”

“Great!” Cat Noir answered enthusiastically, genuinely happy that he had agreed for whatever reason. “Meet me here when you get a second,” and he sent over his current location. Sure enough he was literally like, one block over.

He hung up without a goodbye, dragging his feet as he started to head that way. He was slow about it sine it was at most five seconds away for him. Adrien was so INTENSE about this charade some days it just drove him completely crazy. But rules are rules.

He waited for about a minute to distance their patterns, then with a short jump and a few corner’s turned he found Cat Noir crouched on top of the Linguistics building.

“Hey, you got here fast,” Cat greeted him happily, a little nervous looking actually. ‘Carapace’ as he was really had to resist the eye roll there, deciding instead to nod.

He went over and sat somewhat heavily, not pretending with an greeting at all and just watching him flatly. For whatever reason this made Cat Noir hesitate a little, but he quickly got over it, pushing through the weirdness and folding his hands in his lap.

“Well, listen I won’t waste your time much. I know we don’t really do this, we only ever talk about work and that’s the safe thing, I get how it is.” Cat Noir looked away, his gaze fixated on the possibility of rain, before he finally sighed.

“I just… I was wondering if I could get some… girl advice?”

Cat Noir looked to his ally, scanning his face and getting even more nervous as he more or less saw a brick wall of an expression on Carapace’s face.

Carapace blinked, saying nothing as Cat Noir began to talk unprompted, persevering despite the lack of reciprocation.

“So um, there is a girl, and you know that. I always talk about her, and there is another girl, one that you don’t know.”

Carapace blinked.

He softly let out a “Bro…” but Cat Noir was hyping himself up now and he started rolling.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to this point where like, I-,”

He kept going, looking down at his gloved hands and missing Carapace’s slowly warping expression. He started rambling, about how he always got the timing wrong, about how he cared about both these girls so much and he just didn’t know what to do. He started and he didn’t stop, completely unaware of Carapace starting to lose touch with reality.

Finally Carapace interrupted, stammering slightly in a tone that was wildly like…

Disbelief?

“Dude I- stop, hang on. Dude I just- I know?” He waited for a beat, watching Cat Noir blink in confusion. He scanned his face, looking for just- literally anything. After another moment that was way too long, he finally braved it. “We- we already, we already talked about this.”

Cat straightened, throwing his head back in exasperation and groaning loudly, “Okay I know I talk about girls sometimes but I honestly never bother you with this much can you humor me please?”

“No I-,” Carapace paused, his voice getting quieter. “We just… literally we-,”.

“Please man I- UGH I’m really having trouble!” He nearly shouted it, looking so genuinely unheard that Carapace was reeling. “You’re one of my only close guy friends I NEED a second opinion, I’m begging now. I already asked my other friend but he always says the exact same thing and he’s RIGHT but I need someone to say something else!” Cat suddenly mimicked his voice saying, “”You need to communicate.” That’s what he says, he’s RIGHT obviously but I just-,”

He kept talking, briefly glossing over how this ‘friend of his’ wasn’t particularly helpful with this line of questioning, so Cat Noir had chosen to seek HIM out instead.

And as he went on with his rant, Carapace slowly brought his hands to his face in intense contemplation.

Suddenly, in the middle of Cat Noir’s over the top love ranting Carapace decided to interrupt him.

“Hold up- hold on now. I need to clarify something, just cause I need to double check alright, just checkin’ something.”

Cat Noir paused, looking to him and slowly saying, “…okay?”

“You KNOW I know you’re Adrien Agreste right?”

Silence. Cat abruptly went rigid, but Carapace just splayed his hands wide, rapidly searching his face for confirmation of the impossible.

“Like dawg you KNOW that right? You’re aware? You know that right?”

Cat Noir was frozen, holding as still as possible like Carapace was a T-Rex and if he didn’t move this problem was just gonna go away. But Carapace pressed further, getting louder as he said “DUDE you know who I AM RIGHT?!”

The feline superheroes breathing was starting to pick up, his eyes blown wide as he REALLY looked at his friend, before he nearly inaudibly squeaked, “…no?”

“ADRIEN-,”

“Shhh!” Cat Noir leapt forward, trying to grapple him as he went into full panic mode, “Wait shut up shut up!”

“IT’S BEEN FIVE YEARS!”

“SHUT UP!”

They started to wrestle, Cat Noir violently shushing his companion as he had a full melt down, saying things like “All this time-!” and “You’re an idiot!” and “I thought you were just- oh my god!”

“Please!!! This is terrible Carapace shut up!! I don’t know how you found out my identity but I-,”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL-!?”

“Lower your voice!”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL”

“What do you mean?!”

Carapace gripped him hard by the shoulders and threw them both until Cat Noir was flat on his back with a harsh thump against the roof tiles. The turtle hero held him tight and shook his shoulders, his eyes crazed with years of realization colliding together at once. “Who is the second girl in your ridiculous life, what’s her name?!”

Cat Noir looked wild and frightened, finally becoming so flustered that he just hissed in a whisper, “It’s Marinette okay!?”

“And?”

“And WHAT!?”

“AND?” Carapace reiterated, shaking him harder.

“And LADYBUG you MORON!” he hissed as quietly as he possibly could.

Instantly Carapace stopped, holding him in a vice like grip just above the tiles. After an incredibly still moment, he dropped him, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face.

Cat Noir was flat on his back, panting heavily and staring up at him freaked out, but it was like Carapace had been struck by lightning and he was just sitting there, completely still.

“Oh,” was all he finally said, curling in on himself slightly. Before suddenly, he pitched to the side and just lay there on the roof tiles, rolling onto his stomach.

“…oh?!” Cat eventually managed, twisting onto his side to look at him just laying there. “That’s all you have to say?! Of COURSE it’s Ladybug! I talk about her EVERY. DAY.”

“This… explains… so much,” Carapace muttered, not even listening to him. With a huff Cat crawled onto all four and went over to him, his heart racing in what was nearly a panic attack at this point. But all of Carapace’s energy had been spent, and he just mumbled dejectedly with his face smooshed against the tiles.

Cat Noir’s ears twisted forward, trying to make out the words, before he just lost his patience and hissed “What are you saying?!”

“I said YOU’RE STUPID!” the turtle barked out, turning his face back into the filthy roof.

“Why am I- UGH forget it! Just forget it we have a way bigger problem here- If Ladybug finds out my identity has been compromised she’s going to-,”

“Is SHE stupid too!?” Carapace interjected, twisting just enough to look up at him incredulously. “Is everyone stupid but ME?”

“What the hell are you talking about?! Dude there is RULES! No one is allowed to know anyone elses identity!”

Carapace just gaped at him, before his eyes unfocused and he just went limp. He whispered it when he said, “So she IS stupid…”

He waited a beat, and wretchedly mumbled to himself, “Oh god you’re both so stupid.”

Cat Noir was at a loss, looking all around him like he was desperately trying to make sense of it all, stopping only to try and sort of Carapace’s miserable breakdown.

He was about to give up and just drag Carapace to a lockable room somewhere before his friend propped himself up all at once with the most exasperated expression he had ever seen on a human person.

“So help me- someone has to do some shit about this, listen to me-,” Carapace got to his knees and lunged forward to grab him by the bell. He pulled him forward, and with all the determination of a war general he proclaimed, “On GOD I am going to get you a girlfriend, do you hear me? I am going to make this happen because I can not STAND another DAY of this. Got it?!”

“I- Carapace I-!?”

“GOT IT?!”

Cat Noir dangled helplessly in his grip, and with his last wits he sputtered out, “Okay, okay!!! I’ll do whatever you say!”

#adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #love square #adrienette #ladynoir #carapace #mlbforblm #sorry if this isnt my best #but #it cannot be overstated how much i love the fact that almost all of ninos dialogue #is delivered while face down on the floor #cause thats a mood

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fanficparker · 3 years ago

Text

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER SIX

“They agreed with each other violently and disagreed with each other pleasurably.” - A Suitable Boy, Seth

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.13k words

Warning: Swearing, guns, knives.

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

<< FIVE [ MASTERLIST ] SEVEN >>

"Who let you enter my private study?"

Harrison asked, stopping with one step inside his office, fixing the watch on his wrist. His eyes focused on the uninvited guest.

"My ability to walk." A smirk played over Sandhya's lips as she flipped a page in the file she was holding, twirling the ball pen between her fingers. The base of the pen rested below her lip as she lifted her eyelid to catch a glimpse of Harrison's irritable face. And damn he indeed was irritated.

"No one comes here without my permission." He hissed, striding into the centre of the room, staring at her furtively until his gaze landed on the other parts of his office. His office was a mess. Not anywhere near how he left it. His file cabinet was open and at least twenty files were lying on the sofa and a few over his desk. There were two on Sandhya's lap as she sat with her legs crossed over each other, leaning back leisurely in one of the chairs, skimming through the papers. An empty plate and a coffee mug were also sitting on his desk. The mug wasn't even placed over a coaster. He could even see some bread crumbs scattered on the wood.

He barely managed to not lash out at her, clenching his fists. Drawing in a shallow breath, he opened his mouth in an attempt to reason with her but she was the first one to speak.

"Can you log into the system? I need to look up something." She pointed the tip of the pen at the computer placed on his desk. Her voice was far from that of requesting even if she framed it as a question.

Harrison's brows pinched, "Are you serious?!" His voice sounded so pitchy, almost resembling a train wreck about to happen.

"Yes."

That's all? His stomach rumbled with anger. She didn't even look up at him. That bland yes twisted like a snake in his gut. He was past taking orders, especially from her. So, he walked up to her, swallowing his building rage and snatched the file she was holding.

"Hey!" She squealed, trying to take it back as he pushed it over his head and out of her reach.

She rose from the chair, about to grab it when he dropped the file on the floor behind his back, scattering the papers.

"Why would you--"

"Because it's my office and those are my files! And fucking," he seethed, trying to keep his voice casual, lifting the mug from the table, "We don't eat in the study, let alone dump the scraps on the desk. Also, you didn't even use a coaster!" He groaned upon noticing the ring the liquid left on the wood before he settled the mug again on the table, only this time there was a coaster beneath it.

Her eyebrows pulled together, disbelief roaring through her head, "You are worried about the coaster--"

"The white oak---"

"The uncle was murdered in this house and the nephew is more interested in coffee stains." She squinted her eyes, shaking her head.

Harrison bit back a groan. Her words had managed to flip his stomach. He sighed keeping his conduct civil.

"As much as I am curious about Clarke's mysterious death," he spoke as calmly as he could, meeting her eyes, "We aren't even sure if he was murdered in the first place."

"You gotta be kidding me!"

"I am not kidding you!" He bit back, "And anyway, get out of here. I don't like outsiders touching my stuff," he shifted his gaze to the side, hands folded across his chest.

She scoffed, almost scornfully. "Says the one who had no problem sleeping together."

Harrison's neck snapped at the words, his temper reaching new heights. Gritting his teeth, he took a step forward, looking down at her face. "If I had known it was you, I would have never--"

"Exactly!" She snapped, "You didn't know who you were sleeping with, how do I ensure you know about the people working here?"

"That's bullshit."

Sandhya exhaled, failing to reason with him. It was harder than she had expected. So, she tried the gentler way, trying to make her words sound closer to a request, "I need you to give me access to your computer." For no avail--

"What made you think I would do that? You have already seen enough." His hands dropped from his chest and she fought back the urge to roll her eyes.

The last attempt at asking and being gentle, "Look Harrison," her voice was sweeter as if she had accepted her defeat, moving to the last resort, "You have already ruined my Plan A and now I need to know about certain things to come up with a Plan B."

"You really think you're some kind of mastermind in planning? Don't you?"

"Harrison, that was my job back then--"

"Oh. I thought your job was to seduce strangers and sleep with them." He didn't hesitate but when the words finally parted his lips, he noticed the light in her eyes dimming for a brief second, the little grin on her lips fading. His heart thumped in his throat. Perhaps, he went too far.

But what he said wasn't a lie. Perhaps, it was okay. He didn't care anyway, yet his eyes moved to her neck, somewhere-anywhere, away from her face.

Those scars on her throat fell into his line of sight. Fine red lines, shallow, peeking off from her pink hoodie. He hadn't paid much attention before but she looked cute in the outfit, a way he had never expected her to look. Her expression defied the notion though, driving his brain back to the thick air that engulfed them.

Her hand came to cover her throat, gently rubbing across the marks. He swallowed. His eyes flickered back to hers and she averted her gaze to the side. Probably, that was the closest he would ever get at marking her.

He was waiting for a reply, a sharp hit back. Instead, the air between them seemed to hum quietly. Harrison had hit the mark so blatantly, Sandhya didn't even bother refuting it. And that somehow bothered him.

She tore her gaze from him, turning on her heel. He felt the urgent need to cut the silence.

"I don't support the idea of a murderer walking among us." He spoke slowly.

He heard her sigh heavily.

"Well enough," she made up her mind, walking away from him and picking up the file, he had previously dropped, "You live in your protected shell, dreaming about sunshine and rainbows while someone stabs you in your sleep," her voice was still without heat or anger, "But you know what..."

She turned to face him again, eyes hardening, "I don't want to die or lose what I have earned so, I'm going to do something about it."

"Good luck." He muttered, eyes never leaving her figure as she stormed off the room.

***

The day was heavy on Sandhya. Checking up all the records of the people Clarke had ever worked with was more time consuming than she had thought, especially considering how her initial plan of dividing the work with Harrison went amiss.

She had navigated through whatever documents he had in his room, along with Clarke's and had taken the help of Holly to get access to their server. It would have been nicer to have her in person than on a phone but she was indeed helpful, although, Sandhya hadn't found anything game-changing. There was at least a compact list of people she had her suspicions on, though.

The library was bigger than what it appeared from afar. Probably they could shoot a Jurassic Park movie in here. Or Night at the Museum or library or whatever. She had laughed at the thought. She had also walked through all three tiers of the magnificent space, analyzing the delicately carved rosewood shelves carrying books older than time. They even had some of the original manuscripts of the classics. Unbelievable.

But now she was tired. It was over six hours, she was sitting there, skimming through all the information she could get her hands on. The mob business was full of mischief. Interacting with people you should definitely keep a six feet distance from was customary .

She sighed, shutting the library computer and keeping the files aside. Untying her hair and pressing her fingers against the pulsing side of her head, she tried to relax. A gasp left her lips. She bet she saw a shadow move outside.

Her heart stopped for a moment when the lights flickered. There was definitely someone who shouldn't be here.

Slowly, carefully, she rose from her seat, ducking down the table. Then she heard it. Footsteps. She scrambled forward, keeping low, hiding behind a pillar, drawing the knife from her clothes. She waited and waited, breathing through her nose. But no one came for her. And then it hit her.

They could be here for Harrison.

She risked a peek, looking outside the library. There was still no one in sight. The alleyway seemed dark, dead; enough to accelerate her pulse. She climbed down the stairs, one foot at a time, letting her eyes wander around the hall. Stopping and hiding behind an intersected wall, she saw it: A guy in all black, twisting the knob to Harrison's room, the haft helpless in the vice of his grip. He entered inside.

Sandhya swallowed. Her throat felt dry. She only had a knife on herself right now. Protecting Harrison at all costs was a requisite. Even when he was an insufferable jerk.

He was a team.

And she hated teamwork.

She also hated jerks.

Harrison turned in his sleep, lying over the left side of his body, hugging the silk sheets that covered him. His room was pitch black, with curtains all drawn shut. He preferred sleeping in the dark and maybe that was the reason why the silver light shining over his thin eyelids discomforted him. He wasn't a heavy sleeper and little sounds managed to bother him.

He had somehow grown accustomed to the noise his clock made. His mind erratically jumped between disconnected, unwanted thoughts whenever he sensed other sounds in his proximity. Sounds that didn't match the rhythm of his clock.

Noises of shallow breathing.

Noises of out of tune footfalls.

Out of tune...

His eyes flew open, wide, fixed on the dagger that stood three feet above his chest, reflecting the minimal amount of light his window shades failed to conceal.

He tried to kick off his sheets but the dagger lunged forward swiftly like a wild animal. He squirmed, unable to move, waiting for the impact. Only that he never felt the object pierce his body. The guy groaned, his steps faltering backwards.

Harrison unspooled himself from the sheets, quickly switching on the lamp. Leaping from the bed, hands first, he landed on his toes, squatting.

Sandhya's arms were crossed around the guy's neck from the back. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she tried to push him back.

"Don't just stand there!" She cried, struggling to hold the big guy as she pulled him backwards, pressing her forearms against his throat.

Harrison shook his head, jumping forward. His heart pounded in his chest as he hit the man over his shoulder. The guy with his face blocked out with a black woollen mask, wailed, stumbling on his feet. He slammed Sandhya's back against the window, dropping both his weapon and the whimpering girl on the floor.

Harrison tried to catch him but he ran, pushing him back, storming off the door. His eyes roamed at the door and then at Sandhya. He sighed, giving out his hand. Grabbing it, she pulled herself on her feet.

"Don't say it." He mumbled, jutting his tongue out of his compressed lips.

"Told you so." She said anyway, voice so low that only he could hear, flashing him a small grin, more of a grimace, actually. His own mouth twisted but then his eye caught the sight of his window, the shades drawn away because of the rustling. His slight frown turned into a scowl.

"Watch out--" He grabbed Sandhya by her waist, pulling her down with him, capturing her body beneath his as a gunshot blasted the window of his room, crashing, shattering the glass over them.

A moment passed in silence as they tried catching up their breath.

"Are we even?" He mouthed, manoeuvring his eye line back up to her face. She was horrified, her chest rising and falling.

"We'll see..."

____________________

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…TO BE CONTINUED… // COMMENTS WILL BE APPRECIATED.

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#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #harrison osterfield fanfic #harrison osterfield fanfiction #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield series #haz osterfield fanfic #haz osterfield fanfiction #haz osterfield x reader #haz osterfield imagine #haz osterfield series #agodah #agodah fic #haz osterfield moodboard #harrison osterfield moodboard #moodboard #mob! haz #mafia! haz

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vindicatedvirgil · 4 years ago

Text

art is (not) dead / analogical

inspired by an idea brainstormed in a discord server i’m in.

art critic logan!!!!! give him art rights! immediately!!!!

[masterlist]

---

Logan adjusted his glasses, eyes focused on the abstract painting in front of him. When it came to artwork in that style, he either appreciated it or it confused him, and this piece fell into the latter category. It was a white canvas with cloud-like shapes in various shades of purple, gray, and black. Logan wanted to understand what the artist was trying to convey, but he only felt perplexed. As he stepped up to read the information about the piece, a man stood to his left.

“Priced a bit high,” Logan muttered, gripping his pen a little tighter. He scribbled down the title, price, and artist of the piece, then straightened back up. He spun on his heel, and the man who was standing there was looking at him, frowning. Logan observed the badge on his black coat, denoting him as an artist. The name… “Oh, this is your piece,” Logan said, recalling the name he had just written down.

“Is there something wrong with my art…” the man, named Virgil Storm, narrowed his eyes onto Logan’s badge, explaining that he was the critic at the show, “...Mr. Crofters?” Logan sighed, glancing back to the large art piece.

“I do not understand why you have titled it ‘anxiety’,” Logan explained, “and the colors don’t… bring any certain emotion.” Virgil rolled his eyes, inhaling sharply. He was used to this by now, critics claiming they knew what art needed to be, but he was sick of it. The art represented how he felt, no matter how abstract it was.

“Look, you don’t need to understand art for it to be worth something,” Virgil explained, gesturing to all of the art surrounding them. “It means something to the artist. But you wouldn’t understand that, you just like critiquing and judging the things that people put countless hours into, hmm?” Logan frowned at this, and felt a pang of unease. “Yes, Mr. Crofters. I’ve heard of you and your… critiquing. You caused Roman Prince, one of the greatest artists in the area, to have a mental breakdown because you didn’t ‘understand’ the piece that he dedicated to his brother.”

“Look, Storm. This is what I studied. I know art-”

“You know what you like, and I don’t care if you think my art is overpriced. You couldn’t create something with half as much heart or emotion, I’m sure,” Virgil started to step away, but Logan stepped in front of him, eyes dark.

“I can paint,” Logan informed him. He thought he was no good, though, which is why he became a critic. He hadn’t painted in years.

“Oh? Prove it, then,” Virgil fished a business card out of his pocket. “The address for my studio is there. Come by tomorrow and prove to me that you can do art.”

Logan stared at the brick building, the wide windows startling him. He considered turning back, going home, because why did he need to prove himself to a cocky artist like Virgil Storm? Except he didn’t turn back, he gripped the paints that he had dug out of his closet a little tighter in his hand and stepped to the door, knocking only once. If Virgil didn’t hear him, then he could say it wasn’t his fault-

Of course, Logan was not that lucky. The door swung open, revealing Virgil with a stained button-up lavender shirt, paint-splattered black pants, his long hair pulled into a bun. “Ah, the critic,” Virgil smirked, stepping aside to let Logan inside. “Didn’t think you’d have the guts to show after my painting sold for higher than the listed price.”

Logan glanced around at the bottom floor of the lofted building; it was covered with full, half-full, and blank canvases and plants, and he could see that on the second level there was a full bedroom. There were two easels set up, one with what Logan assumed was Virgil’s current work in progress, the other with a blank canvas. He glanced down at his own clothes; his polo shirt and tie and slacks, and wondered if he should have worn something that he didn’t mind getting paint on.

“Need an apron?” Virgil asked, strolling over to the easels. He pulled an apron from behind one of them, paint splatters and charcoal stains coating most of the fabric. “You can use this one,” he tossed it at Logan, who nearly dropped his paints in the process. Virgil lifted a paintbrush from his easel, and Logan noted the bright colors he was using with the current piece; yellows, pinks, and teals in a pattern that almost resembled a sunset.

“Thanks,” Logan set his paints down on the bottom of the easel and slipped the apron over his head, then got out his brush. He glanced over at Virgil, who seemed to be deep in thought, lips pursed as he splattered some orange onto the canvas. Logan began with black paint, outlining a figure, and the two painted in silence for a while, until Virgil set his paintbrush down and stretched his arms up, his shirt riding up to reveal a pierced belly button. Logan blinked, then returned his focus to the silhouette he was painting.

“Want anything to drink? I’ve got about twenty types of tea, but there’s also wine…” He ran a hand through his hair to fix it back up into a bun, not realizing that there was yellow paint on his fingers, and Logan bit back a grin when the paint streaked Virgil’s dark hair.

“Um, tea’s fine. Whatever kind you’re having,” Logan responded. He had loosened his tie earlier and his glasses were situated on the top of his head, and he felt more relaxed than he had in years; painting was something he enjoyed so much, but with his work schedule and the discouragement he faced from those around him… he had stepped away from the thing that he was so passionate about.

Logan refocused on his painting; it was a silhouette of a man standing outside, and he had decided that he would paint the night sky around the frame of the man’s likeness. After a few minutes, he felt Virgil standing next to him, and noted that the artist had placed a mug of tea on the table between the easels.

“Wow,” Virgil breathed out, his eyes focused on the painting. “Your silhouette work is incredible,” he murmured, and Logan glanced at him, wondering if he was being mocked, but the expression on Virgil’s face only showed admiration.

“Oh. Um. Thank you,” Logan grabbed the mug of tea, holding it up to his lips to distract from the blush that had coated his cheeks. The aroma of roses and jasmine wafted into his nose, and he felt a bit calmer. No one had ever complimented his art; he didn’t know how to react to Virgil’s kind words.

Luckily, he didn’t need to say anything more, as Virgil stepped away and back to his easel.

By the time they had both finished their paintings, the sun had gone down and Virgil had flipped on the lights of the loft, revealing several sets of fairy lights in the windows. It was almost… magical, Logan thought, and as he pulled the apron back over his head, hanging it off of the easel, he wondered if he’d be allowed to come back and paint another time.

Virgil stood beside him, hand on his chin, looking at Logan’s painting closely. Perhaps unconsciously, Logan had given the silhouetted man a bun and a paintbrush, and he wondered if Virgil would notice.

“Well, it looks like I owe you an apology, Mr. Art Critic,” Virgil finally said, turning to glance at Logan. “You can paint, and you’re good. You should enter in the next show.”

“It’s really not… that good,” Logan muttered, closing the case with his paints. “It’s been a long time since I painted. I don’t think I’ve touched a paintbrush since college.”

“Why is that?” Virgil asked, eyes focused on the way that Logan’s face was turning a pale pink.

“I was… discouraged often. My parents didn’t think that painting was a worthwhile endeavor, but I didn’t want to step away from the world of art,” Logan’s eyes followed Virgil, who sat down on a plastic-covered couch, then beckoned the critic over. He sat down next to him, and Virgil pulled his legs under him, his elbow on the edge of the couch and his chin in the palm of his hand.

“You realize that’s what you’ve become, don’t you?” Virgil asked incredulously. Logan raised his eyebrows, frowning. “Roman hasn’t painted in weeks. If I wasn’t familiar with my own self-doubt, your words could have stopped me, too. Art isn’t meant to be judged, it’s meant to be appreciated and encouraged, and you should be aware of that, if that’s what you went through.”

“I… I’m sorry.” Logan didn’t say anything else, he wanted to run and never come back, but he felt like he could trust being around Virgil. “Do you… have Roman’s phone number? I would like to apologize to him.” Virgil nodded, but made no other movements, except to flutter his eyes shut. “I should go.”

“Do you want to take your painting with you?” Virgil asked, glancing over at the easels. Logan glanced, too, and shook his head.

“No. You can keep it,” he wanted to ask Virgil if he could come back the following day to paint some more, but he didn’t want to impose. Or be annoying. Logan often found that people didn’t want to spend time with him, so he began to favor being alone. “It was nice to paint again, if only for a bit.”

“You’re not going to get back into it?” Virgil’s hand was on his forearm, and Logan sucked in a deep breath, then shook his head.

“I have no reason to,” he explained, wanting to pull his arm away. Virgil grimaced at this.

“Yes you do. You love it. You’re good at it. Don’t give up on it again,” Virgil’s voice was nearly pleading, and Logan looked away from the man, because the emotions were too strong, and he couldn’t bear to feel them. He didn’t want to feel anything. “Logan.”

“I can’t. I don’t have an easel or canvases or…” Logan trailed off, and Virgil squeezed his arm gently. “I can’t get back into it. It’s not… serious enough. I want to be taken seriously. I need to be.”

“Why?” Virgil’s voice was calling him back, his long fingers warm against Logan’s skin, and the critic resisted the urge to run again. “Why do you need to be taken seriously? Because of your parents? Logan, your skills speak for themselves. You can be taken seriously as an artist.”

“Does your family take you seriously?” Logan asked, and Virgil’s eyes opened. He chewed on his lower lip, then sighed before responding.

“I haven’t spoken to my family since I was seventeen. There was a lot more than just my art that they didn’t accept me for,” Virgil’s voice was low, and Logan just nodded, understanding. “You can come back to paint whenever you want, Logan.”

And so he did. The following morning, he showed up at Virgil’s loft, bagels and coffee in hand. Instead of his normal professional attire, he was wearing an old pair of jeans and a NASA t-shirt that had bleach stains. The door was open when he approached it, so he peeked in to see Virgil already at his easel, a new painting in the works, dressed in the same outfit as the day before.

“Um, good morning, Virgil,” Logan said, announcing his presence. “I brought some bagels and coffee,” he said, stepping over to set the food and drinks on the kitchen counters.

“Thank goodness, I’m going to need caffeine. I didn’t finish the painting from yesterday until three in the morning,” Virgil groaned, stepping away from the easel temporarily to grab the coffee Logan had brought for him. “You’re my hero.” Logan turned bright red at this, looking down at his feet. “Oh. I talked to Roman. He actually started painting again. Let me get my phone to show you the picture,” Virgil stepped away, and Logan had to hold back again. Standing close to the other man was intoxicating, but he craved it. Even though he had only known the painter for two days, he was entranced, and had never felt the need to gravitate around another person in that way.

When Virgil stepped back over to him, phone showing a picture of a painting of a throne. Logan smiled faintly at it, remembering Roman’s penchant for theatricality and royalty. And then Logan realized just how close he was standing to Virgil. The artist seemed to notice, as well, because he stepped away, clearing his throat. Without saying anything, the two went to their easels, and painted in silence for some time.

Virgil had given his canvas a thorough once-over with black paint, and allowed it to dry before starting to add colors on top of it; dark blues and purples were swirled on. Logan found himself pause what he was doing to watch the way that Virgil arched his wrist in a precise way to allow for different points of pressure from the brush. He wondered if Virgil had studied art, and glanced around the room to see if he could locate any degrees. None were visible, though, and he didn’t want to ask and break the comfortable silence they had entered.

They painted in that space of tranquility for a few hours, until Logan heard his stomach grumble. Virgil chuckled a bit at this, setting his brush down and stepping back from his own easel. “I’ll order us some lunch, is Chinese takeout alright?”

“Sounds delicious. Kung Pao Chicken, please,” Logan responded, setting his brush down to look at his painting as a whole. It was a silhouette again, but this time there were two figures, and it looked like they were dancing. He hadn’t done the background yet, but he wanted to do something similar to the galaxy he had painted the day before. He heard Virgil finish making the order for takeout, and then felt his presence next to him.

“Are they dancing?” Virgil asked, letting his hair out of its bun. Logan ignored the way that his dark hair framed his pale face, and instead just nodded. “You must be familiar with dancing, I can almost see the movement in them.”

“I’m not much of a dancer, but my cousin Patton is,” he explained, remembering the times when, as teenagers, he and Patton would learn different styles of dance, even ballroom dancing. A smile crossed his features, and he barely noticed that music started playing from a speaker. Then he felt arms on his, pulling him into Virgil’s arms so they could move to the music. “Virgil, I-”

“Shh, just dance with me,” Virgil’s voice was calm, and Logan leaned into the touch, his head resting on the other man’s shoulder, Virgil’s hands settling on his waist. They moved around the empty space of the room until the doorbell rang, and Logan felt as if he had been pulled out of a dream. The two ate their takeout in silence, though the quiet was not as pleasant as it had been prior; there was now this tension spread out in front of them, and neither of them knew what to do with that.

By the time they had both finished eating and returned to their easels, Logan knew that he was visibly rigid, but his hands shook with every movement. He could barely press his paintbrush against the canvas without needing to pull away for fear of making one wrong move. Of course, it was the fact that he was afraid of all of his past wrong moves and the fear that if he made a false choice now, the progress he had made and the confidence he had built up with his painting again would fade away.

Virgil could practically feel the unease dripping from Logan’s body, so he left his painting to dry (at this point, all he wanted to do was add some white borders to the swirls), and stepped over to Logan, taking the brush from his hand. “You want to talk about it?” Logan wouldn’t meet his eyes, but nodded, and the two moved to sit on the couch, Virgil leaning close into the cushions, watching Logan with those dark eyes of his.

“I want to learn how to be okay with the things that I tried to push back,” he finally said, and Virgil knew it wasn’t just the painting he was talking about. “But… I don’t know where to start.”

“You already have started, Logan. You’re painting again, and you need to keep painting, no matter how hard it is or how conflicted you feel,” Virgil’s voice was soft as he scooted a little closer to the critic, and his fingers pulled Logan’s face to look at him. “As for the other things… take your time. Be open. It’s… hard. But… I think that everyone deserves a second chance, and I’m happy to help you on your journey.”

Logan stepped into the building and walked up to the table with badges, scanning the rows until he found the one he was looking for: Logan Crofters, Artist, Dancing Under the Stars. A faint smile crossed his face as he pinned it to his jacket, and then he wandered to where he knew the canvas was hung.

On his way there, he passed Roman, whose throne painting was hung proudly as the center of the show, and they shook hands, exchanged friendly greetings, and made promises to see each other at the after party. Then Logan went to stand by his painting, the lights from up above illuminating the silhouettes in a way that no natural light could.

Logan felt a presence to his left, and glanced over to see Virgil beaming brightly. His sunset painting was on display a few exhibits over. Their hands linked together, Virgil’s thumb brushing comfortably over the back of Logan’s hand, and Logan leaned up to press a kiss to Virgil’s cheek.

“I put in my notices,” he informed Virgil, who nodded, still smiling. “No more critiquing. No more boring apartment.” He hadn’t been spending much time in his apartment over the past several months, anyways. Each morning he’d find himself waking up in Virgil’s warm embrace, the fairy lights of the loft illuminating their way, and each afternoon they’d paint side by side like they had at the start, except now when they needed a break, they’d fall into each other’s arms, cascading across the room, lips brushing together like paintbrushes on a canvas.

#amanda writes sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #analogical #ts analogical #romantic analogical #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #ts sanders sides #sanders sides #art critic logan #painter virgil

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bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years ago

Text

Stolen

Pairing : Fukuzawa x Reader

A/N : Taking a trip down simplicity lane with this one! No mentions of pregnancy, jut some good old fashioned angst.

T/W : Kidnapping ; Violence ; Torture ; General Angst

Word Count : 3.4K

Angstember Day 7

Being with Fukuzawa had it's perks, but there was also the sad reality that you could never tell anyone that he and you were together. It was for your safety, that's what he always said, but also for the safety of the Agency. None of the members had a clue, well, except for Ranpo who was sworn to secrecy, but other than him, everyone else was clueless. You didn't have an ability, you were just a secretary at the office. The last thing you thought would happen when you first started working there was that you would end up with the President of the company, but he was an amazing man. Even though you couldn't show affection to each other often, you always felt so safe, so protected when you were around him. You knew that he would never let anything happen to you, not when he was there.

Things were pretty silent in the office, it was a slow day and everyone was wandering around the office, trying to find anything to do to keep their mind busy until something came up. You sat at your desk, tapping your pen against the surface rapidly as you stared out the window. You had a small office space to yourself, it wasn't much larger than a large closet, but it fit your desk, and the small window had a nice view of the street below, and it allowed an adequate amount of sunlight to stream in during the day.

There was a small knock at the door and then he walked in, shutting the door quietly behind him. "I can hear you tapping your pen from my office. You're bored, darling." Fukuzawa mused as he stared down at you, his hands folded in front of him. He was always especially quiet when he spoke to you, his terms of endearment was always whispered so low that you almost couldn't hear them at all.

"I think I'll be fine, I only have..." You looked at the clock on the wall, it was only ten o'clock in the morning, you chuckled and shook your head as you turned your gaze back towards him. "Seven more hours. I'm sure something will come up soon."

"But you'll still be stuck in your office." He cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. He always looked so handsome when he looked at you that way, and you found it hard sometimes to keep yourself from kissing him.

"Wrong-o! I'll have paper work to do. I love paper work." Your voice was cheerful as you joked with him. It wasn't often that the two of you really communicated while in the office other than to talk about paper work, you were enjoying the secret moment that you shared with him. He reached out to place his hand over yours, stopping the tapping of the pen that you had completely forgotten about.

"How about you go to the store, it's your turn to pick dinner for tonight. You can take Naomi and Junichiro with you as well." He offered, his thumb brushing over your knuckles before pulling his hand away quickly. It's not that he didn't want to touch you, he just worried that someone would walk in, or someone from outside would see inside.

You jumped at the offer, going shopping with those two was always enjoyable. They held decent conversations, and they were good people to have around in general. Everyone else in the office was always either too serious, or not serious at all. Naomi and Junichiro were able to find the fine line between the two, so their company was always very much appreciated.

Naomi clung to Junichiro's arm as the three of you walked down the street. She was always so happy, it seemed contagious, or maybe it was the fact that you were able to enjoy the sun outside the office, feel the cool breeze of late spring against your skin, or it could be the mixture of both. Enjoying the weather with two great people, the only thing that would make it better was if Fukuzawa was able to join the three of you.

She stopped outside a small store with cute nicknacks lining the shelves inside and the store front window. "Oh! Junichiro lets go in there!" She cheered, pulling him to a stop in front of the door. He gave you an apologetic glance as she pulled him into the store, but you didn't mind much. She would probably have him stuck in there for hours, you would be able to get to the grocery store and back before she actually picked anything.

The two quickly disappeared through the door as you continued down the street. The streets were pretty much empty, everyone was either at work or school, it was peaceful, relaxing even. You decided to take your time, letting the bright sun bathe your skin in its golden glow. Everything seemed perfect, then you heard the scream coming from the alley. It was shrill, unexpected, you jumped at the sound of it. Your head quickly whipped in the direction, contemplating whether to run down there and see what was going on, or call one of the other members of the Agency to check it out.

You might just be a secretary, but you were still a member of the Agency and you had to do the right thing. You took off down the alley, expecting to find the woman who had made the sound, but it was a dead end. There was no one there, there was nothing there at all, but you couldn't deny the growing feeling of dread that was building in the pit of your stomach. You were about to turn to leave the alleyway, wanting desperately to get back to the main sidewalk where the sun shone down on you, that's when the figure appeared.

"Well, well, well. That was easy. Can't believe they allow someone as dense as you into the Agency." The voice was altered, their entire body was shrouded in black cloth, their face was masked. They reached their hand out to brush it along your face but you quickly smacked it away. "Hmm, feisty. It would be better if you didn't struggle though, I just need to get a message across."

"What are you talking about?" You attempted to back up, but they grabbed your wrists, holding them in a vice type grip. "H-Hey! Let me go!" Trying to pull your hands away proved to be useless, the persons grip only got tighter.

"I told you not to struggle." They laughed at your feeble attempts, but you didn't give up. Not until they brought their hand up and before you knew what was happening, it landed on your face. You were stunned into silence, falling back from the force of it. "There we go, that's better, isn't it? Now, let's go."

The person pulled you out of the alleyway, wrapping their arm around you so onlookers wouldn't question it. You were brought to a car and quickly pushed in, but you didn't fight against it, still in a state of shock. The slamming of the drivers side door as they climbed in finally brought you back to reality, you went to reach into your purse only to realize that you had dropped it in the alley. You were screwed.

Naomi and Junichiro ran into the office, she was clutching your purse against her chest. They were both out of breath, having been running the entire time to get back to the office. Everyone turned to look at the two, wondering why the two had entered in such a way. There was no time to question it though, Naomi was already shouting to everyone. "It's Y/N! Something bad's happened!" She screamed, and much to everyone's surprise, it was Fukuzawa who rushed out of his office at the sound of your name.

"What do you mean something bad has happened? Where is she?" His usual cool and calm demeanor wasn't present, he looked furious, but not only that, he looked terrified. Nobody answered his question, nobody had answers. "Weren't you two supposed to be with her? What happened?" He tried to keep his voice low, but the thought of you being in danger had him panicking, the fact that you weren't protected when you went out even though Junichiro was there had him furious.

Naomi bowed in front of him, and Junichiro followed suit right behind her. "I'm sorry, sir. I went into the store, and I made him follow me in. It's all my fault, sir." Her voice sounded weak, she felt awful for what had happened, but there was nothing she could do to make it better, and Fukuzawa didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear any apologies, he just wanted to know where you were at and to know if you were okay.

"Stand up. I need to know where she is right now, I will hear your apologies when she's safe. For now, we have to look for her." He looked to Ranpo after grabbing your purse from Junichiro's hand. "We need to go to where she was last seen, or where you found the purse. Let's go."

Kunikida jumped up from his chair, moving to stand in front of Fukuzawa. "With all due respect sir, I do believe that it would be safer if you stayed back at the office. I'm sure Ranpo will be able to track her down and bring her back safely." Ranpo nodded in agreement, but Fukuzawa only shook his head, moving quickly past everyone and out the door.

You were being held in what looked to be a basement, there was little light streaming in through the small windows in the wall, and all of the light bulbs had been broken. The rope that your captors had used to tie your hands behind the large metal pole in the middle of the floor was rough, it scratched against your wrists whenever you moved. You were alone, the person that had brought you here had quickly left after restraining you. Would Naomi and Junichiro be able to find out what happened? You were hoping that they'd realize that you hadn't returned to meet up with them, or maybe they'd go to the store and look for you, maybe they'd find your purse and put two and two together. Hopefully someone was on their way to find you.

The floorboards creaked above you and you tried to listen closely, hoping to hear any voice, or any conversation that would give reason to why you had been taken. "She's just the secretary! Do you really think they'd waste time, risk themselves to come looking for the damned secretary!?" The voice was different from the one you had heard in the alleyway. This voice was much deeper, he sounded agitated, angry even that it had been you and not someone more important who had been kidnapped.

"Sir, she was the only one around, but I'm sure they'll come looking for her. They wouldn't just leave the secretary to be tortured, they have morals." The voice was definitely that of a man now that it wasn't being altered. He seemed to be pleading with the other man, and you wondered if they would even come down to check on you.

Your questions were answered as the footsteps moved deeper through the house, stopping at the door to the basement. It slowly creaked open, you felt your heart racing, beating too fast as the stairs groaned at the weight of the men walking down. You tried to back away, but you were trapped, your hands were tied, literally.

The man stood in front of you, eyeing you up and down as if you were an object instead of a person. "I must say, she is cute. But, will she get the job done?" The man asked, kneeling down in front of you, grabbing your face to look at you.

"Don't touch me." You tried to move your face out of his hand but he only held it tighter, squeezing your jaw with such force that it made your entire face ache.

"Was she this way with you?" The man turned to look at the other man behind him, he nodded in response. "What did you do to shut her up?"

"I knocked her out, sir. It was the only way. She struggles too damn much." The main man hummed as he contemplated what to do with you, turning your head side to side as he looked over your features.

"And you're sure they'll come to find her? What about the president?"

Your eyes widened at the mention of Fukuzawa, you tried to pull your hands free of the rope. "The president of the Agency would never come out here! Do you really think he would risk himself just to save the damn secretary?" The main man growled, throwing your head back against the pole. The room blurred for a second, your head was throbbing. "You'll never get to the president, so you might as well give up." You mumbled, your head was dropped as you tried to get used to the pain in the back of your head.

"Well if that's the case, you're useless to us." The man said, pushing himself up off the floor. He turned as if he was about to walk away, then he stopped, turning on his heels to look at you once more. "You look tired, let me help you sleep." He brought his foot to your face full force, your head hitting against the pole once more before finally blacking out.

Fukuzawa and the entirety of the Agency were standing in the middle of the alley as Ranpo scoured the ground for clues. "Have you found anything?" Fukuzawa asked, he was getting antsy and everyone was picking up on it.

"Sir, I know that she's a member of the Agency, but I'm picking up on some other type of feelings here right now." Dazai commented, pulling Fukuzawa out of his worry filled rage for a second. He turned to look at him before turning back to Ranpo, he didn't have time for Dazai's silly, but true, accusations.

"She's not close by, but look..." Ranpo pointed down to footprints in the dirt covered alley, there was one set of prints, and then a long line where someone had been dragged, and that someone was you. They followed the trail out to the street, and then Ranpo found the tire marks, and a small drip of oil. "I'm sure that the car that she was thrown into was parked here, and it's got an oil leak, so if we can follow the leak it might take us to where she's at, sir." Fukuzawa nodded, turning to face the rest of the members.

"Atsushi, Dazai, and Ranpo, I need you to follow the spill. The rest of us will stay on the lookout here just in case anyone comes back to the scene. If you three get there before anyone comes here, call one of us." Fukuzawa ordered the boys and they took off down the road.

"Sir, I really do believe that it would be in your best interest to stay at the office. I don't believe this is a matter that you should be risking yourself for." Kunikida pointed out once more. Nobody would understand, not yet at least. He would tell them though, he would let everyone at the Agency know what was going on between the two of you, and maybe then they would be more careful.

Only thirty minutes had passed, but it felt like forever for Fukuzawa. He heard Kunikida's cellphone ring from behind him and he quickly turned around, watching as he fumbled to pull the phone out of his pocket. "Right... okay... we're on our way. Thank you." He answered quickly and then closed his phone, returning it back to his pocket. "They found the place. Let's go." They all started racing down the street, Kunikida leading the way. Fukuzawa stayed close behind him, he had tunnel vision and the only thing he saw at the end of the tunnel was you.

The house they ended up at was old and abandoned, the porch was falling off the front, the roof was caving in, windows were busted out, the grass was overgrown and unkempt. When Fukuzawa saw it, his heart started racing faster. This wasn't the type of place you should be, he didn't even want to imagine what could be happening to you in there. Ranpo pointed out the car that was parked out front. Compared to the state of abandon that the house was in, the car looked almost pristine. "There's people in there right now. I think we should let-" Fukuzawa held his hand up, stopping Ranpo in the middle of his sentence.

"No. I'm going in there. I'm going to help save her." No one had it in them to fight him on it, they had all begun to suspect what his reasons were for being so involved, but no one voiced their opinions on it. He had already started walking towards the house, and they couldn't stop him, so they followed close behind. Even Kunikida couldn't do anything about it, so he kept his gun drawn, him and Dazai flanking both sides of him as he rushed through the door.

The house seemed empty from what they first saw, and then they were ambushed. The two men had come out from seemingly nowhere, running towards Fukuzawa. "I told you he'd come, didn't I!" The lesser ranking man shouted as he got closer, but his excitement was cut short as Dazai and Kunikida started firing off rounds at the men before they could get any closer.

They fell to the ground, and Fukuzawa couldn't be bothered to even check on them. As long as they weren't breathing, that's all that mattered. He stepped over them calmly, moving deeper into the house, opening side doors and checking into any rooms as he went along. Kunikida was on edge the rest of the time, fearing that there would be more people in the house. Dazai seemed slightly excited about the thought of more people being in the house, he had quite a bit of fun shooting those two men, but Fukuzawa was on a mission to find you.

He finally got to the basement door, pushing it open slowly. "Y/N..." He called out your name as he peaked down the stairs, everyone else stood behind him, everyone was listening and waiting for your response, and all of their hearts seemed to collectively fall when they were only met with silence. "She's gotta be down there." Fukuzawa said, slowly making his way down the stairs, but he wasn't ready to see what was there.

There was blood dripping down your face, and there was so much of it. Your head was still hung low, the blood was dripping down onto the floor creating a puddle between your legs. The sight of it made Fukuzawa drop to his knees, he practically crawled across the floor to get to you, lifting your head up slowly. "Y/N, darling, talk to me." He urged you, not even caring anymore that anyone else was around. They had all heard him clearly though, but none of them would bring it up, not until they knew you were okay. "Help... help me get her untied..." He said weakly, looking behind him at everyone, anyone.

Kunikida rushed over, unraveling the knot that had bound your wrists behind the pole. You started to fall over, but Fukuzawa's arms were quickly around you, pulling you close against his chest. "It's okay, you'll be safe soon."

You had a mild concussion but recovered quickly. Things had changed from then on, the biggest change was the fact that everyone in the office was now aware of your relationship with Fukuzawa. Most of them respected it and still kept their mouths shut, but Dazai was still the way he is about most things, he would often joke about it which would earn him a few glares from Fukuzawa. He would now openly walk down the street, your hand held tightly in his, if anyone were to try to mess with you now, they would have to deal with him first. Your protection and safety was still of the utmost importance to him, he just had to change the way he would keep you safe. He refused to risk losing you again. You were the love of his life, and he would do anything to keep you safe, to know that you would be by his side forever and always.

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years ago

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I just found your blog and I was wondering if could you do a James potter fic where him and the reader (hufflepuff) are in a prank war and their friends are all laughing at them cuz they so obviously like each other but they don't realize until the end and it just gets all fluffy when they finally realize? please and thank you, I love your writing!!

JAMES GOD DAMN POTTER

This damn bastard was known as a pranking king to the Slytherins. And the poor Hufflepuffs (much like yourself) that got caught in the middle. There was the explosion in the potions classroom, the paint bomb, the hair dye incident, letting a troll loose in the dungeon and the one that pissed you off the most: The Bathroom flooding (assistance of Peeves included). That was the final straw with him that day.

You walked into Potions, soaked. Slughorn looked up from his desk as you marched over to James with a book and clocked him with it. “Ow-- Slughorn she just hit me!” James winced. “Your stupid pranks don’t just affect Slytherin!” You shouted. “MAYBE YOU SHOULD TELL ME THAT BEFORE YOU INFLICT PAIN!” James said. “Watch yourself Potter. You fucked up.” You said walking towards the door. “Should I be scared or something?” James asked as you gripped the door handle. You glared at him, it being so threatening he actually jumped back a little. “You should be terrified.” You growled before leaving. “Sounds like you really messed up James.” Sirius said to him.

Oh he did. Oh he REALLY messed up. This boy had many pranks pulled on him, all of them only hitting him. There was the howler, the notebook fire, the laxatives, and the best one that Sirius nearly died at: The literal exploding pen. James knew exactly who was doing this. It was you, of course it was you. After all you were making a point by strictly keeping the pranks focus on James and not the entire house of Gryffindor.

You sat in the library, your hair pulled back when someone sat down in front of you. “You.” James huffed. You didn’t bother to look up. “Yes Potter?” You asked, turning the page. “You’ve made your fucking point.” James huffed. “Did I now?” You asked, still not looking up. “I’ll admit, the exploding pen was clever, so was the howler.” James began. You smiled, hearing his frustration. “But releasing a God damn flock of pixies is extreme!” James huffed. You looked up confused. “I didn’t--” “Don’t play koi with me. I know that was you.” James halted. “James, I really didn’t do that.” you said. “Sure. Okay.” He said sarcastically. “All of my pranks are directed strictly at you, that’s directed at all of Gryffindor, I didn’t do it.” You explained. James blinked. “Wait then who did it?” “Probably one of the many Slytherins you pissed off.” You sighed putting your book in your bag. “Well now I need your help!” James said, earning a snort from you as you got up. He rose as well, following you as you walked. “You want me to help you?” You asked him, walking down one of the many corridors within the school.

James huffed, walking next to you. “Yes! I need to find the culprit, the others are pissed!” James said. “That’s not enough for me to help you when you have made my life a living hell Potter.” You sighed, walking down the stairs. James groaned. “I may have already openly accused you to Gryffindor.” He said making you stop dead in your tracks. “What?” You asked. “Well it seemed like a logical thing to say since you’ve been pranking me and a lot of them agreed with it!” James said. “Oh my GOD JAMES!” You yelled, smacking his arm. “Sorry-- Wait did you call me by my name!?” “I cannot believe you, first the endless pranks that got Hufflepuff involved and now Gryffindors pissed off at me because you made the worst educated guess of your lifetime!” you yelled. James sighed. “Y/n, I’m sorry. But if you help me find the idiot Slytherin that did this then we can clear your name and all will be right with the world!” James said. “You’re lucky I don’t shove you down the God damn stairs right this instant!” You snapped. “Y/n... Please.” James sighed. You shook your head.

“It’s probably a student in Care of Magical Creatures.” You finally sighed. “What?” James asked. “They’d have to know what keeps pixies at bay in order to get them in the common room or else they’d be flying around us right now.” You explained. “What Slytherins are in that class with me?” James asked. You scoffed. “You never learned their names?” You asked, walking again. “See that would require talking to them, I don’t talk to Slytherins--” “Shut up.” You snapped. He blinked. “Has it occurred to you how fucking stupid the house wars actually are James!? How destructive they are or who they even affect!?” You asked. “I--” “There is not God damn point in being so elitist over a house that isn’t going to help you after you graduate, unless you’re a teacher here! You are absolutely insufferable and I just want your voice to STOP. TALKING.” You said making him blink. He took a sarcastic bow, walking away from you as you walked into the Hufflepuff common room.

“I cannot believe her. Calling me Elitist.” James huffed to Sirius who was sitting on the floor in front of him. “She does make a valid point though, houses are pretty useless outside of school.” Remus said. “Mooney, I don’t give a flying fuck about that. She said my name.” James said, running a hand over his face. “As opposed to...?” Sirius asked confused. “She calls me by my last name-- She always calls me by my last name. But today...” James sighed and Remus rose a brow. “She called you ‘James’?” Sirius asked. “Yes and it..” James noticed the boys smiling at him. “You like her.” Peter declared. “Oh no Wormtail. He loves her.” Sirius corrected. James snorted. “She is the same girl that managed to dye my hair in my sleep and you think I’m in love with her?” James asked. “Yes.” The group answered in unison. “How in God’s name do you figure that?” He asked. “In the midst of all the insane stunts this girl has pulled, everytime you encountered her traps you smiled. You never once fought her on it unless it was teasingly. I think you’re upset because for the first time she’s actually pissed with you.” Remus said, the boys nodding in agreement. “Face it Prongs.” Sirius said getting up. “You like her.” He said before walking out.

That was an absolutely ridiculous theory. Right?

Wrong. James didn’t sleep for the next three days. He was watching you and everytime you looked at him you were glaring or shaking your head. There was this expression you had though, that James couldn’t describe. It was almost... Sad. James couldn’t get you out of his head though and he was slowly beginning to break down. “James. I said pass me the eye of newt.” Lily sighed. James blinked a few times. “Sorry.” James murmured, watching you work with your friend. Lily rose a brow, noticing the dark bags under his eyes and the fixation on you. “You should talk to her.” Lily said, dropping the eye of newt into the cauldron. “Talk to who?” James asked. “The girl you’re obviously into that is known as Y/n.” Lily said sarcastically. ��Alright class, by now your potions should be complete.” Slughorn announced. You sighed, noticing James’ reflection on an empty glass bottle. You hated being mad at him.

Yeah, the bastard was annoying but most of the time he was actually making you smile in some kind of way. His pranks weren’t.... unfunny. They actually made you laugh before they pulled you into them. James knew that too. He always watched you when he pulled off a prank. Seeing that smile is what made him want to see it all the damn time, even if he used unethical methods to see it. “Miss Y/n, what do you smell?” Slughorn asked. You sniffed the potion. “Morning dew, the forest and coffee.” You answered, halfway paying attention before you realized who you described. Oh no. No no no no no--

Remus rose a brow and looked at Sirius. You slowly lowered your head, praying that James was not paying attention. Oh but he was though. You saying that you smelled him definitely got James’ attention. “And Miss McKinnon?” Slughorn asked your partner. “Leather, cigarettes and wet dog.” Marlene said looking at Sirius with a smirk. Sirius smiled back, winking at her and earning a light smack from Remus. “And you Mister Potter?” Slughorn asked. “Roses, rain and honey.” He said looking at you. You lowered your head more, more whispers erupting from the class.

When class finally did end, you slipped out before James could catch up, going to the common room. However the fun thing about the Marauders is they knew all of the passwords to every common room and they certainly could sweet talk those damn portraits into letting them in places they shouldn’t have been in. James grabbed your hand and you gasped. “James--” “I have not slept in three days.” He said. You swallowed. “I have stayed up for seventy two hours with you in my head. I don’t care if you smelled me in that damn Amortentia but I don’t want you to call me James.” He said. You swallowed looking into those hazel eyes. “What do you want me to call you then?” You asked. “What you always do when you’re not angry.” James said. “Potter?” You asked. “That’s it.” James said. “...James I’m still very much angry with you--” “Then tell me how to fix it. Please.” James pleaded. You eyed him up and down, pulling your hand out of his. “Fix your relationship with the Slytherins.” You said. “Oh Christ--” “Do it.” You said sternly. He nodded and walked out.

What the hell was he about to do?

Well the answer was simple. He sat in the Slytherin common room at a desk and literally asked them to write him all of their complaints about him so he could fix it. He got a couple of “You are a piece of shit” responses along with a few serious requests of “Don’t mess with Rachel Newburry again” or “Could you prank Ravenclaw like once? They need a good laugh now and again too.”

He came back to you in the library, showing you everything he did and you sighed. “Alright Potter. Did you ever find out who pranked Gryffindor?” you asked. “No.” “I know who it is.” You sighed. “Who?” “Rachel Newburry’s boyfriend Jacob Canterville.” You answered. “How do you figure?” James asked. “Because he told me.” You admitted. “Oh.” James nodded. You sighed and went back to your reading. “I’ll stop with the pranks.” James said making you look up. “Hmm?” You asked. “The pranks. I’ll stop--” “I never said to stop James I said to stop roping outsiders into it.” You said. He rose a brow. “So... You liked the pranks?” James asked, a smile tugging at the boy’s lips. You chuckled “You’ve got to tell me how you got Peeves to help you.” You laughed. “I honestly don’t know, he just took a liking to me.” James admitted. You smiled at James and he smiled back. “Oh and uhm.. You might want to throw out your quill.” You admitted. “Why?” James asked. “Might’ve.. used something that makes it catch fire when you try to write with it?” you admitted making him snort. “I’ll throw it out later.” He chuckled. “You also might want to throw out your shampoo.” you added. “That’s where you put the hair dye!” He realized. “Yeaaahh.” you nodded. “Is there anything else?” James asked. “uh... Don’t try to open your potions textbook for the next two hours because it will most definitely attack you.” you noted. “Wait how--” “I made it sentient temporarily” you said making him gape. “Oh don’t give me that look! You’re the one that rigged six paint bombs in the dungeon last month!” You said. “Oh yeah, that was me.” he remembered. “You forgot you had done that!?” You asked. “Yeah, that one was me testing out if the paint bombs actually worked.” he answered making you facepalm.

“You’re an absolute mess Potter.” you laughed. “You know you wouldn’t have it any other way Y/n.” He said making you smile. You shook your head looking at the boy in front of you. He smiled at you, moving strands of your hair out of the way. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before getting up and walking towards the door. “You’re right.” You said making him turn around. “About what?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Taglist: @amhyeah @newtaholic-staygold @bbeauttyybbx @fleurho @yodeadxss @secretaccshh

#james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #james potter

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years ago

Text

The House on Aspen Street

Switch AU

Hehehehehehe >:3 That’s the sound I made while writing this part. I want to get right to the action so I’m gonna keep this author’s note short. To summarize it, Anti goes to meet Distorter, gets a ride on the way and learns some interesting things about the house he’s going to, and at the end of this meeting, he meets someone new :) Hope you enjoy :)

More of this AU found here

Emergency meeting. Soon as possible.

Jackie read over the message one more time, despite already reading it at least once every hour since Anti sent it to the group chat. When he’d sent it, Schneep had been at work, so it was impossible for all of them to meet immediately. So after some discussion, they’d decided to meet later that night, around eight o’clock. Schneep had volunteered his apartment as the meeting place once he’d actually seen the message, and everyone had agreed.

Now it was approaching meeting time, and Jackie kept rereading the conversation, legs jiggling nervously while he sat on the sofa. Schneep looked over towards him from where he was standing in the kitchenette. “You are just making yourself more nervous the more you stare at that,” he said bluntly.

“I have a right to be nervous,” Jackie muttered. “I mean, you read the whole conversation, right? About what happened with Marvin and everything?”

“Yes, but you should not wallow in it. Like a pig.”

“I’m not a pig,” Jackie said absentmindedly. “If I was an animal, I’d be a...I don’t know, I want to be a kind of dog. Dogs are cool. And you can be one of those big cats, like a cheetah or something. Or should Marvin be the only cat? Cause, you know, he’s definitely one of those. But I think he’s a housecat so maybe it’s different enough. JJ knows a magical animal spell, right? Maybe we could find out.”

Schneep raises an eyebrow. “I see the train of thought is speeding down your tracks.” He leans back, taking a long sip of coffee from the mug in his hand. “But fine. What animal do you think Jamie and Anti would be, then?”

“Well JJ says that when he’s tried the spell he starts to turn into a bird of some sort before actually failing to, uh...do it, or whatever. Can’t get all the way through the spell yet. Anti...I don’t know, I think he’d be a reptile. Like a snake. Or a turtle.”

“He is about as defensive as a turtle sometimes,” Schneep said under his breath.

Jackie laughed.

Before they could continue the conversation, there was a heavy knocking at the door. They glanced at each other, all previous levity disappearing, then Schneep set down the coffee cup and walked over to open the door.

“Hey!” Anti immediately shoved past him and into the room. Marvin followed shortly after, half-leaning on him. “Who’s here? Everyone here?”

“No, JJ isn’t here yet,” Jackie explained. “Uh...Marvin, are you okay?”

“‘m just grand,” Marvin mumbled. “Fuckin’ swanky.”

“He’s been sleeping on and off ever since he showed up at my place this morning,” Anti explained. He walked over to the nearest chair, letting Marvin collapse on the seat. A small green light poked out from Anti’s jacket pocket and flew into the air. Sam. They landed on Marvin’s shoulder and nuzzled against his neck as he rubbed his eyes. “Honestly I don’t blame him.”

“So...it’s all...really happened, then?” Jackie asked fretfully.

“Just like I said in the chat.” Anti sounded irritable. “You think I’d make something like that up?”

“Well...no, I just...” Jackie looked back down at the text conversation on his phone. He shivered. Distorter had been in all their houses by now. Was nowhere safe?

“Do you two need anything?” Schneep asked. “I just made coffee.”

“Yeah, sure,” Anti shrugged.

“No t’anks,” Marvin said. “I prefer tea.”

“You and Jamie and your leaf juice,” Schneep muttered. “It’s because of you I have some in my cupboard. You like mint, yes?”

“Wh—y-yes. T’anks.”

The apartment was silent for a few minutes, except for the sound of Schneep making the drinks. He finished just in time for someone else to start knocking frantically on the door. Anti went to get it this time, pulling it open slowly at first. But the moment the door opened a little it was shoved open the rest of the way as JJ rushed in.

“Mar—!” He gasped, then coughed the moment the first sound left his throat.

“Jems?” Marvin twisted in his seat to look at him. “Ye shouldn’ strain your voice like that.”

JJ hurried over to his side, and gave him a quick, tight hug. He then reached into his shoulder bag to take out a notebook and pen. Are you alright? Hurt? Tired?

“‘m a bit tired, yes, but fine other t’an t’at,” Marvin reassured him. “Bit...bit shaken.”

Nodding, JJ reached into his bag again and pulled out a small box, handing it to Marvin. Thought you might want these. I also brought a pair of headphones, just in case.

“Oh. Oh!” Marvin opened the box from the side, sliding out a deck of cards. “Oh, t’ank you, Jems. You were right, I missed these.” He fanned out the cards, then separated them into two decks and started shuffling them, already looking a bit better.

“Okay, super-ultra-best-friends,” Anti said, closing the apartment door. “Glad to see you’re immediately attached to each other, like always.” He paused. “Sorry for, uh...keeping him at my apartment all day, Jackson.”

It’s fine, couldn’t be helped, JJ wrote. But now I must ask. Why’d you call the meeting? What is this more serious business you were referring to? Because this is already quite serious.

“Right.” Anti walked over, standing closer to the others but still on the outskirts of the circle they’d subconsciously formed. “So. We all know the background of Marvin showing up at my place this morning?”

“Yes. It was him,” Jackie whispered.

Anti paused a moment. “Well, to put it bluntly, yeah. He wanted to deliver a message.”

“Said Anti would listen t’me, not t’him,” Marvin muttered.

“Well that is some faulty logic if I have ever heard any,” Schneep said angrily. “Is still coming from him, either way.”

What was the message? JJ asked.

“An address and a time,” Anti said. “He wanted to see me there, noon in three days. 68 Aspen Street.”

Jackie and Jameson stiffened in unison. “Wait, that’s the—isn’t that—” Jackie stammered. “That’s the ghost family house.”

“Ghost family house?” Marvin repeated, confused.

“Ah, right, you still don’t know,” Anti said. “I told Schneep the story, I think—” Schneep nodded in confirmation. “—but haven’t gotten around to telling you.” Anti folded his arms. Normally he’d relish the chance for a scary story, but right now, he was ready to get to the point. “A whole family of four were killed in that house. Years ago, now, but anyone who tried to live there since then died as well. So it’s basically abandoned. I think someone owns it, but it’s just for like, real estate or some shit like that. No one lives there.”

“Family of four...” Marvin repeated, looking lost in thought. “I t’ink I heard somet’ing about somet’ing like that. Recently.”

“Only a matter of time ‘til you found out,” Anti said dismissively. “It’s a local legend.”

“But you’re not actually going to go to that meeting, are you, Anti?” Jackie asked.

“Uh, well.” Anti hesitated. “That’s sort of why I asked everyone to meet. To discuss this in person.”

Jackie blinked. “You...you can’t be considering it, Anti!” His voice slowly rose higher. “You can’t be trusting anything from him! It’s clearly a trap!”

“Well, yeah, probably,” Anti admitted. “But—”

“But nothing! You can’t listen to him!” Jackie gripped the front of his hoodie tightly. “Doesn’t he want you dead, anyway? He’ll kill you, or worse!”

JJ whistled for attention. Jackie, calm down. We have to think this through. Distorter has a bargaining chip: the kids. We don’t know what will happen to Will and Michelle if Anti doesn’t show up.

Jackie’s face drained of any remaining color.

“What does he even want?” Schneep cried. “Except for some of us dead and others of us worse?”

“Not sure,” Marvin admitted. “I t’ink...he just does t’is. To anyone he can find.”

“So I’m definitely going to the meeting,” Anti said, bringing the subject back around. “But the question is, do any of you want to come too? As backup?”

Silence for a moment. “Well...will something happen if we do?” Schneep asked.

“The message didn’t say anything about other people,” Anti recalled. “It was just the time and address. Um...Marvin?”

“I don’ remember any instructions about t’at,” Marvin replied. “But then again, he might have been plannin’ t’relay instructions of the sort, but then I got snapped out of it before he could. He didn’...really give me orders beforehand. It was like...his voice. In my head.” His eyes go distant. JJ squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to the present, where he started vigorously shuffling the cards again.

“But he probably won’t be happy about it, if someone does show up,” Jackie said. “And he might...the kids...i-it’s not worth it.”

“But we could lose Anti, too,” Schneep argued. “In a much more permanent way.”

“If I have to die to get my son and my goddaughter back, I will,” Anti said, fully determined.

“We might not even get them back,” Schneep said quietly. “We might lose everyone.”

“No. Nope. I’m not going to let that happen.” Anti folded his arms, physically standing his ground. “I say it’s much more risky to have someone else come. He could get angry and do something to the kids if he finds out, and given his freaky thought-sensing powers, I bet he would. I’m gonna go to this ghost house, I’m going to get the kids back, and I’m going to step out alive. Any objections?”

Another moment as silence fell. Everyone else looked at each other, then JJ picked up his pen and wrote, Well, you’ve clearly made up your mind.

“I, uh...well, I didn’t realize I did until now,” Anti said.

“Sometimes you just need someone to bounce your ideas off of,” Schneep said. “So you can figure it out yourself.”

If you’re determined to do this, we won’t stop you, JJ said. We’ll help you with anything you need. The others made various sounds of agreement.

“Thanks,” Anti muttered. Sam hopped from Marvin’s shoulder over to his, stubbornly wriggling into the fabric.

“I t’ink Sam wants to come wit’ you either way,” Marvin chuckled.

“Is that okay?” Jackie worried.

“I think so. They’re not exactly another person.” Anti patted them.

“Well, in that case.” Schneep sighed. “I suppose all there is to do now...is wait.”

———————

The three-day wait was absolute agony, anticipation mounting into a tense anxiety for all of them involved. But the wait passed, far too quickly it seemed like, and around eleven o’clock Anti texted the others to tell them he was leaving to go to the house on Aspen Street. A bit early, but he’d rather not risk missing the deadline.

Unfortunately, he almost did. While on the bus, he was so nervous that he got off at the wrong stop. He found himself on the edge of the neighborhood where Aspen Street was, and walked for about two blocks before realizing something was wrong. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, reaching into his pocket to get his phone. When he pulled it out, Sam came as well. It felt like they were looking at him with a concerned expression as he double-checked the maps app. “Fuck,” he repeated. “It’s 11:45, the next bus won’t be coming for fifteen minutes. And it’s a fifteen minute walk anyway. Fuck, I fucked up. We’re fucked.”

Sam nudged his arm. He looked down at them. “It’s not excessive, not in this situation.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. “But if I run I might just barely make it in time.” Sam bobbed, almost like a nod, then hopped onto his shoulder, hanging on tight as he broke into a run.

Anti was a pretty fast runner, but he wasn’t sure he was fast enough. And it had been a while since he’d ran, at least in a dedicated manner. About five minutes later, he had to slow down, ragged breaths tearing at his lungs. “I guess...there’s something to say...about spending most of my time at a computer,” he said under his breath. He took out his phone and double-checked he was going in the right direction.

A car turned onto the street. Anti didn’t look up at it as it passed him. But then it stopped. And reversed. And the window rolled down, accompanied by a voice saying, “Oh my god, Anti?”

“Wh...?” Anti looked over at the car as Sam ducked back into his pocket. His expression soured as he saw who was driving. “Oh hey. Stacy lady.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Heading somewhere,” Anti said vaguely. “Need to be there by noon.”

“It’s 11:51.”

“And it’s nine minutes away. It’s fine.”

Stacy frowned. “Do you...want a ride? I could probably get you there in half the time.”

Anti glared at her. As much as he didn’t like this strange woman who’d inserted herself into their lives, he had to admit time was of the essence. “Sure,” he said reluctantly, walking over to the car. Stacy unlocked the doors and he climbed inside.

“Right.” Stacy started driving again. “Where are you heading?”

“Uh...68 Aspen Street.”

Stacy immediately hit the breaks. She turned to look at him. “Is this a joke?”

“What? No.” Anti blinked, confused. “What the fuck kind of joke would that be? ‘Oh, let’s drive by the ghost house, just for shits and gigg—’”

“Ghost house?” Stacy repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, the ghost house. Well, I guess you wouldn’t know the story, being American and not local and everything.”

“What story?” Stacy prompted.

Anti rolled his eyes and huffed. “Some family died there and now it’s haunted and other people who live there get into accidents and sometimes die. Pretty typical urban legend.” Stacy said nothing for a moment, looking Anti over. It was actually sort of uncomfortable. “Can you stop fucking analyzing me?” He snapped. “Do you think you’re Sherlock Holmes or something?”

“Why are you going to a haunted house, then?” Stacy ignored his comments and pressed on. “Not for ‘shits and giggles,’ if the way you talked about it was any indication.”

“Look, it’s not important. Someone asked to meet me there at noon, and it’s now 11:53, so if you’re not going to drive me just let me know so I can get out and run.”

Stacy sighed, then started driving again. She was going a little over the speed limit, but Anti was fine with that. He took out his phone once again and checked the maps. After a moment, he frowned. “Hey, uh...do you know where you’re going?”

“Yes,” Stacy said shortly.

“Funny, because if you’re not from around here, why would you know how to get to this very specific address?”

Stacy tensed. “Well, I...take a vacation here every year. It’s usually just a week or so, but I extended it this year purely due to you guys’s shenanigans.”

“‘You guys’s shenanigans’,” Anti muttered in an exaggerated American accent. “Why do you even come here every year, anyway? Oh yeah, Mirygale, that one random British city that’s just like every other urban area ever with absolutely nothing notable, I’ll vacation there.”

Stacy gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I have my reasons.”

“They must be damn good reasons. What is it? Sentimental value?”

“Why do you live here?” Stacy snapped. “You’re Irish, shouldn’t you be back in Ireland?”

“I would be, except for living there sucked ass for me personally,” Anti said vaguely. “But I didn’t mean to choose this city when running away, I just ended up here. You choose it, repeatedly, every year.”

“I come here to visit my sister and her kids, okay?!” Stacy finally said, looking over at him.

“Oh. Well, you should’ve just said that from the start.” But something still felt off to Anti. “Where do they live?”

“This place called Spring Oak Park,” Stacy said flatly.

Anti blinked. “Oh. That’s a...oh.” Spring Oak Memorial Park was a cemetery near this part of town. “I’m...sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Stacy inhaled deeply through her nose, letting it out through her mouth. “I guess it was a bit suspicious.”

“Sorry,” Anti mumbled.

A few moments of silence passed. Stacy turned onto another street. “I didn’t know their deaths had become a local ghost story,” she said quietly.

“Wait. They were the ones who—oh my god. I am so fucking sorry.” Anti’s face turned white as he realized why Stacy had reacted the way she had to hearing the address he was going. She must have thought he’d figured out her connection to the house and was mocking her.

“It’s fine,” Stacy said again. “I...don’t really get to talk about it that much. Actually, I met your friend Marvin at the bookstore the other day and just...poured it all out. It was probably a bit awkward for him, he was just working.” She looked a bit guilty about that. “But...nobody really asks. Did they really become a ghost story?”

“Yeah,” Anti said softly. “Pretty famous local one. Cause the story made the news big.”

“It would,” Stacy nodded.

Another few moments of silence. Then Anti couldn’t help but ask, “So...if you’re American, that would mean your sister was, too, right? How’d she get here?”

“College. The local university likes to attract out-of-country students, she and I both got offered a scholarship but only she went. Then she met her boyfriend. They were like...the only two Americans in the whole place, so they got along. Then they got married when they were both barely twenty.” Stacy paused. “Never liked him, honestly. Even before...everything.”

“I could see why,” Anti commented.

“No no no, he wasn’t an asshole or anything, he was actually pretty nice,” Stacy hurried to say. “He just...wasn’t right for Roxy. Really good with kids, but...not in other aspects of being married. One of those types who just didn’t have his life together, you know?” She shook her head. “None of us were expecting...that.”

“Huh.” Anti went quiet, thinking over the information he’d just received.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and at 11:58, Stacy pulled to the side of the road in front of 68 Aspen Street. Anti pushed open the door and hopped out, pausing for a moment before turning around and saying a quiet, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Stacy said. “Want me to stick around for a ride back?”

“No, I don’t know how long this’ll take.” Anti hesitated. “Did you really just stick around this year ‘cause of me and my friends? That just...that’s a bit weird.”

“It is,” Stacy agreed. “But I don’t know...For some reason, you guys seem a bit...familiar. Like you remind me of someone. I just can’t figure out who.”

“Huh.” Anti stepped back. “Well...bye.”

“Bye. Have fun with whatever this is.” Stacy reached over and pulled the door shut, then drove away, soon vanishing from sight.

“‘Have fun’,” Anti repeated. He giggled. “‘Have fun’...I’ll only have fun if I get to put my knife through Distorter’s fucking smile.” Sam popped out of his pocket again and looked at him. “Oh c’mon, Sam, it’s an exaggeration.” Mostly. “Now...we’re here.”

The house at 68 Aspen Street didn’t fit in with its well-kept neighbors. The yard was overrun with plants; plants that had quickly died and were now clumps of yellow in between patches of dirt. The roof was missing shingles and the paint on the walls was grayed and peeling. Dirty windows were blocked up by nailed wooden planks, and the white front door was speckled with spots of brown. Anti slowly walked up the path to the threshold, avoiding the cracks in the paved squares. Once at the front door, he checked his phone, watching the time change from 11:59 to 12:00 exactly. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the rusted knob and opened the door, stepping inside.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. But somehow, it wasn’t a normal living room. Well, mostly normal. It had a sofa and chairs, a coffee table and a couple end tables. Even an old TV, one of the boxy ones. The room was lit up by one of those round ceiling lights, dim and leaving some shadows. There was an attached hallway leading into darkness and an archway leading into another, more lit up room. Mostly normal. Except for the boards over the windows. And the fact that everything was shades of gray. Furniture, carpet, wallpaper, ceiling. All gray. But not like they’d been made that way. Rather, like the color had been drained out of everything.

Anti shivered, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pocket knife and flicking it open. The familiar weight was comforting, made this all feel a bit safer. Taking a deep breath, he walked fully into the living room.

Of course, the moment he was far enough in, the door shut behind him.

Spinning around, he tried to open again, but naturally found it wouldn’t budge. “Fucking...fuck,” he muttered. He glanced into his pocket. “You okay?” Sam wriggled around inside, showing that they were fine. “Great. Well, guess we’re going deeper.”

Not quite wanting to brave the dark hallway yet, Anti walked into the other room through the open archway. This looked like a combination kitchen/dining room. There was a sliding glass door on one wall that had been boarded up similarly to the windows. Once again, it looked pretty normal, except for the lack of color. Oh, and the rope wrapped around the backs of the dining room chairs, the knife gouges in the wooden table, the kitchen knives lined up on the counter, and the bottles of what looked like cleaning supplies dotting the tiled kitchen floor. “What the hell?” Anti whispered.

Unfortunately, this room was a dead end, and nobody was in here, so Anti backed out. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the dark hallway. Guess there was no other option.

He reached over to the wall, tapping it. Sam peeked out, their green glow—was it just him, or was it a bit more faint than it usually was?—helping him look around. Anti patted them, then let out a small gasp as he found a light switch. Flicking it on turned the suspicious hallway into a mostly-normal one. A bit more reassured, Anti set off to explore it.

The hallway turned out to be an L-shape, with doors for five rooms all ajar. Anti checked them as he passed. A gray bedroom, empty except for a single bed in the center with a nightstand next to it. A gray bathroom, the medicine cabinet overflowing with way too many bottles. Another gray bedroom, this time regularly furnished and mostly-normal except for childish drawings of stick figures scrawled on the wall in a dried red-brown liquid. A gray closet, with regular scratches on the inside clustered in groups of five. And one closed, gray door that refused to open.

“Well, shit. That’s all, isn’t it?” Anti looked around. This whole house was...creepy, yes, but also empty. “Hello?” He called out. “I thought you wanted to see me.”

No response. The air felt heavy, like the pressure of many miles of water bearing down on a person stuck deep underneath the surface. It was chilly. Not cold. Just chilly.

With nothing else to explore, Anti decides to turn around and look a second time, see if he missed anything. But nothing in the other rooms had changed at all. And there was still no one else in the house except for him.

By the time Anti returned to the living room, he was very, very confused, and starting to feel the edge of panic creeping up behind him. What would happen if he couldn’t find Distorter? Would he count that as not showing up? “Hey! Give me a clue or something!” He shouted, turning on his heel and running back down the hallway.

When he reached the spot where the hallway turned, the toe of his boot hit something, and he tripped.

“Aack—!” Anti reached out to catch himself, sending a jolt through his hands and up his forearms. “Fuck,” he said, gritting his teeth. Standing up again, he looked at what his boot had been caught on.

In the middle of the hallway, there was a square of the carpet lined in a metal frame. A handle was embedded in it, perfectly fitted so it would be smooth unless you pulled on it. A trapdoor. Had...that been there before? Anti was sure he would’ve noticed it. “What d’you think, Sam?” Anti said, looking down at his pocket.

Sam peeked out, wiggling out a bit so they could look down at the trapdoor. Then they looked up at him. They wiggled again, a bit more slowly this time.

“You don’t know what to make of it, huh? Me neither. I mean, not a lot of houses in cities have cellars. Or basements, whatever. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house with a basement.” Anti hesitated, then bent over to grab the handle. It took more effort than expected, but he managed to pull it open, revealing a wooden ladder leading down into pitch black darkness. “Ohhh fuck that. I’ve consumed enough horror to know that’s where shit goes down.” He took a few steps back. Then punched the nearest wall. “Fuuuuck, that means I probably have to go down there. Shit. Ass. Dicks.”

Sam looked up at him, clearly concerned.

“Alright, fine, Distorter, I’ll play this game,” Anti muttered, reaching into his pocket. Unfortunately, he had to trade his knife for his phone, as he’d only be able to hold one thing while going down that ladder. “Not happy about it. But I’ll do it.” He switched on the flashlight, shining it into the trapdoor. It looked like there was a concrete floor at the bottom. Taking a deep breath, he sat down on the edge of the trapdoor, then once he’d settled his feet on the ladder rungs, he stood up on it. Quickly, he pulled off one of his bracelets and set it down on the trapdoor edge, near the part where it swung. It wasn’t a lot, but it was all he had to make sure the trapdoor didn’t close like the front door did. Then, carefully, reluctantly, he started descending.

Landing on the floor, Anti shined his phone flashlight around. Light reflected off a pair of concrete walls to either side, and complete darkness in front and back. Another hallway. Anti crept up to the wall, reaching out and looking for a light switch of some kind. Nothing. Just cold cement. “Hey Sam? You mind helping out?”

Sam wriggled out of his pocket, flew into the air, and hovered for a few seconds. Then their light flickered and they fell to the ground, dropping like a brick.

“Sam!” Anti knelt down and scooped them up again. Their light was still there, but much dimmer, barely bright enough to see. They looked up at him and weakly wagged their tail.

“Shit,” Anti muttered. “Okay, nevermind. You don’t have to help. Just rest up.” He placed them back in his jacket pocket. “Guess this place does something to you.” Honestly? He could see why. The atmosphere had suddenly thickened the moment he climbed down the ladder, bearing down oppressively. But he shook it off for now, and headed forward down the hallway, shining the light from his phone flashlight ahead of him.

And he just walked.

And walked.

And after what felt like five minutes, he had to stop. “This is impossible,” he said to himself. If the hallway was this long, it would extend into the street, and that would interfere with piping and other underground municipal matters. He couldn’t have really been walking this long. Was he just going in a circle or something? And why hadn’t there been any rooms or branching halls? There had to be an answer...there had to be an answer...

Anti shook his head. He’d spaced out for a moment there, and had to struggle to come back to reality. Like...like some sort of brain fog. Edging its way into his mind against and clouding it up. Dragging him down. No, he had to keep walking. Eventually, the hallway had to end.

It felt like ten minutes passed before he finally did reach that end of the hall. Another concrete wall blocked his way forward, and despite shining his light all over it, he couldn’t see any sort of hidden doorway or window or anything. Stepping backwards, he sighed. Guess he went the wrong way of the two directions.

Someone laughed.

No, not just someone. Anti stiffened and spun around. He’d recognize that laughter anywhere. “Will?” He called. “Where are you, bud?” No response. Anti hesitated. This was surely a trap. But he couldn’t turn away. That was his kid. “Will?!” He started walking again, a bit faster than before but not as fast as he would have liked.

More laughter, children giggling. It sounded like more than one. “Will?! Michelle?! Are you here?!” He tried to pick up the pace, but in doing so, his toe hit something and caused him to fall. Unable to catch himself this time, he hit the ground hard enough to make his bones ache. The phone went flying out of his hand, somehow turning off, as if the darkness snuffed out its light.

“Shit,” Anti groaned. He got to his hands and knees and started patting the ground to look for the phone. But he couldn’t find it anywhere.

His hand ran into something else, though. Immediately snatching it up, he turned it over a couple times, fiddling with it, until suddenly a tiny flame appeared. A lighter. What was that doing here? He hadn’t seen it on the way here. And now, using this new source of light, he still couldn’t see his phone anywhere. Swearing under his breath, he stood up. He patted his jacket pocket to make sure Sam was still alright—they were there, but not moving, which was worrying—and then pulled his knife out of his pants pocket, holding it in front of him defensively as he slowly started walking again.

This felt...familiar. Had he had a dream like this once? Or was it just because his head was slowly spinning?

The sound of the children’s laughter echoed through the hall, getting louder, getting closer. “Will?! Michelle?!” He shouted, voice cracking. Nothing. Just more laughter. He blinked back sudden tears in his eyes—wait, he was crying? He never cried.

There was a turn in the hallway. A turn that appeared before the trapdoor to the house did. But...he hadn’t turned on the way down here. Cautiously, he peered around the corner.

This was not a dark endless hallway. Rather, it ended in a doorway. Beyond which came a crimson glow. And there was someone standing there. A dark silhouette. Anti’s vision blurred and wavered as he felt the floor tilt beneath his feet. “Who’s there?”

The silhouette turned around, the head tilting unnaturally far to the side. A white grin reflected the red light. It felt like his ears were ringing. His eyes were leaking.

“Where are they?!” He cried. “What do you want from me?!”

The sight before him smeared. The silhouette moved closer, then farther, then closer again in an unnatural way. He couldn’t tell how far away it was until a hand reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, nails easily tearing at the cloth. “What do you think?” A voice hissed, completely unrememberable.

Anti swallowed nervously, leaning backwards. “It’s you,” he said quietly.

“Of course it’s me!” Distorter giggled. “What were you expecting? You knew why you came here, right?”

He tried to shine the light from the lighter at Distorter’s face, but somehow, it never lit up any details. “Yes. I do. You wanted to see me. Why? Where are the kids, you fucking nightmare?!”

“They’re fine. Nice kids.” Distorter let go of Anti’s shirt, but stayed just as close to him. “You know what I think? I think they should stay here forever. Their parents should come, too. That includes you! What do you think? Instead of killing you, I could let you be my friend.”

“I’d rather you kill me,” Anti muttered.

“Because death is a more familiar concept to you?” Distorter slid his finger across his throat. “You hide the scar well, but I’ve seen that memory. Does anyone think it’s weird how your neck is always covered?”

Anti froze for a moment, starting to reach upward before stopping, remembering how he was still holding his knife. “Shut the fuck up!” He suddenly roared, and lunged forward with the blade. To his surprise, Distorter didn’t dodge at all, and the hit landed squarely on his shoulder with a surprising and sickening crack!

“Oh.” Distorter looked down, disinterested in the way the blade was lodged in his shoulder. “What a reaction. Anger’s always how to respond, isn’t it? How lucky is your kid, that he��s never seen a response like that?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Anti repeated, though his voice now shook. “You dare—stupid—I’m not an asshole. I know how to control myself.”

“Now.” Distorter emphasized.

“I would never—never—if you can see into my head, you know this. You’re trying to fuck with me.” Anti staggered backwards, pressing a hand to the side of his head as it spun. “Stop it.”

“But it’s so much fun. And it’s all a worthless piece of trash like you is good for, anyway.” Distorter laughed again in pure delight. “But you’re right, we have to move on to business, don’t we? Why do you think you’re here?”

Anti couldn’t hold back a hysterical laugh. “What is this, a job interview?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Distorter put a hand on the side of his head, grabbing his hair and pulling his head to the side until his neck cracked. “Well, that’s fine. I’ll tell you. You see, even though these kids are wonderful to have around, I’m starting to realize that I’m not equipped to keep them yet. So I’ve decided to give them back. In exchange for something else.”

“Something else?” Anti repeated. His mouth felt suddenly dry, but he pressed on. “What, do you want...me? I-if that’s the case, fine, you can have me, just leave the kids alone.”

“Oh, so selfless! Or maybe it’s just that you know you’ll just die alone anyway, so you think it’s best to give yourself up for a worthwhile cause.”

“I—”

“But that’s not what I want.” Though Distorter’s smile never faded, his tone was cold.

Anti blinked. “Then...what?”

Distorter didn’t answer, just continued to stare and smile. Laughter echoed through the hallway. More children’s laughter, too much to come from just two children. It grew louder, closer, until it was a shrieking cacophony. Anti looked around frantically but there was nothing to make this sound. Tears and blood flowed from his eyes. In an effort to make it stop, he pressed both hands to his ears, dropping the lighter in the process.

It clattered against the floor. In the couple seconds before the flame winked out, he saw Distorter’s blackened hand reach out, his grinning, dripping face coming closer.

———————

Sunlight was seeping through his closed eyelids. Something was tickling his face and hands. A couple hard, small things pressed uncomfortably into his stomach where he was lying down. In short, he figured out he was outside, on the ground, somewhere with grass and rocks. His head...hurt. Not just a little ache, but a piercing pain attacking from all angles. Squeezing his eyes, he rolled onto his back and covered his face with an arm, hoping that blocking the light would help. It did not.

Something nudged his shoulder. Sam, probably. He paid them no mind. Right now, he didn’t want to get up like they were undoubtedly urging him to. “Mmm..no’ now,” he said, the simple two words coming out slurred. He was too tired from...from...why was he tired?

“Hey!” An unfamiliar voice shouted. “Are you okay?”

Anti groaned. “Fucking marvelous.”

“Yeah, you really look it.” The voice belonged to a man. And Anti was surprised to recognize an Irish accent. “Want me to call someone?”

Gritting his teeth, Anti pulled his arm away from his face and opened one eye, squinting in the direction the voice was coming from. For a moment, the bright sunlight blinded him, before he picked out the slightly darker silhouette of a man a few feet away, getting closer. “No, I want you to fuck off.”

“Wow. Okay. Just trying to help.” The man stopped approaching, holding up his hands in the international gesture of ‘I mean no harm.’ “Thought you might—Sam?”

“Sam?” Anti lifted his head up a bit, glancing down to notice Sam joyfully bouncing on the ground next to him. They leaped into the air and flew over to the man, circling him a couple times before landing in his outstretched hand.

“Sam!” The man repeated happily. “There you are!” He brought Sam up to his face, where they nuzzled his cheek. “I was so fucking worried! Next time, don’t wander off on your own, okay? No matter how important it is.”

“Wait...what’s going on?” Anti finally managed to sit up and open both eyes, blinking a bit to get used to the sunlight. It looked like he was in the park, lying in an open patch of grass quite a ways away from any of the park’s paths. The man who Sam had flown up to was standing nearby. He was wearing a red shirt, black jacket, and jeans, and his hair was dyed a highlighter-bright shade of green. Blue eyes glanced over towards Anti, looking him over from behind a pair of glasses. The man also looked a lot like him, but not in the way that all his friends who looked like him did. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Jack,” the man introduced himself. “Jack McLoughlin. Sam says you’ve been taking care of them. Thank you so much!”

“Wh...Sam ‘says’? But...they’re an eye.” Was he hallucinating? Was that it? Did he eat or drink something laced with drugs without him knowing? Did Distorter decide to send him off with a confusing illusion?

“Well, yeah, but we share a connection, see? I can understand them.” Jack patted Sam, who flicked their tail happily at the contact. “For example, they say your name is Anti.”

“Hey!” Anti glared at Sam. “Don’t just tell people that!”

“Oh, they say sorry. They thought it was alright.” Jack tilted his head, brow furrowing in confusion. “You know...you kinda look like me. Except for the eyes. Are we related?”

“Definitely not.” Anti tried to stand up, then cried out as the movement caused his headache to intensify. His hands shot up to press against the sides of his head in a vain effort to make it stop.

“Dude, you’re clearly not alright,” Jack said, clearly concerned. He almost reached out, but then Sam swatted his arm and he stopped. “Can I call you a ride or something? Like an Uber?”

“We don’t have Uber here,” Anti said through clenched teeth. “Not Lyft, either. Just public transport.”

“Ah. Shit. Well I can walk you to the bus stop, then?”

Anti really didn’t want to accept help from some random stranger, but his head really, really hurt. And this person was apparently Sam’s original...owner? No, that sounded weird. Friend. Sam’s friend. And Sam was alright, so he probably was, too. “Fine,” Anti muttered. “Give me a second.” He slowly climbed to his feet, keeping his vision low to the ground so the light wouldn’t make his headache worse.

“Alright. Take your time.” Jack waited patiently. “You, uh...want to lean on me or something?”

No, he didn’t want to, but he probably had to. Silently, Anti walked the few steps closer to Jack and ended up half-falling on him.

“Whoa, careful.” Jack smiled encouragingly. “What happened, anyway? Sam won’t tell me.”

“Uh...I don’t...remember.” That was probably a bad sign. He remembered walking into the house on Aspen Street, finding that basement, walking down a long, dark hallway, and confronting Distorter, who said he would let the kids go. But after that? Nothing.

“Ah, one of those things. Well, it’s alright, we’ll just take it slow.” Jack looked around. “I think the bus stop is...this way. C’mon.”

The two of them ended up walking to the stop and waiting in silence. Once the bus came, Anti let Jack come with him to the stop closest to his apartment building, as well as help him walk the few blocks to the building itself, but refused to let him come inside. Jack backed down, then wrote his phone number on a spare napkin and gave it to Anti, telling him to call if he needed anything else. Then he left, Sam flying along with him.

Anti managed to take the elevator up to his apartment and get inside on his own. He then headed straight to the sleeper sofa, still in bed mode, and collapsed, curling up into a ball and holding his head.

What had happened in that visit? Why couldn’t he remember? He’d lost his phone, so he couldn’t call anyone to see if Will was really back with the others. All he could do was lie there and hope the strange headache subsided.

Eventually, he fell asleep, suffering strange, feverish dreams of a red-lit hallway and a smiling figure reaching out to grab him.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos #septic egos au #antisepticeye #programmer anti #chase brody #distorter #all the boys show up but those two are the most important so im sticking to them #brigid writes fanfiction #septicswitchau

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lordoffiction · 5 years ago

Text

Thor’s Lightning: Chapter one.☁

here we go! a day late but it’s finally here.

please make sure you read the prologue before this!

enjoy! please leave feedback. ♡

WORD COUNT: 3,713.

WARNINGS: swearing, fighting, a little scene with Hvitty, Ivar calling you mean words.

gif isn’t mine. all credits to the owner.

_______________________________

It had been a week since you arrived in Kattegat, it still felt surreal to you that you were here.

You weren't in a coma and you weren’t dead, you had just been thrown back three-hundred years before you were even born. You tried to relive that night over and over again, seeing the night sky, feeling the rain on your face and back. Seeing that lightning that made your breath get stuck in your throat, how it all went white. You were struck by the lightning, you were certain of it. You just didn’t know why you were sent here of all places. You had noticed the day after that you had a scar going down the middle of your breast bone, in the same pattern of lightning.

“Y/N,” Embla repeated, staring up at you from the other side of the hut.

In the week you had been here, you and Embla had gotten along like two peas in a pod. She reminded you of your late mother, she had that vibe about her that just made you feel warm and safe.

“Hm? Sorry, Embla, I was stuck in my thoughts.” You continued preparing for tonight's dinner, cutting up the vegetables. You had your chores to do here, it was the least you could do for Embla for letting you stay here for free.

“Still thinking about that night?” She asked carefully, knowing the frustration it brought you. You had told her about your life before this one, she was the only one to know about it as she told you to be wary of telling others and what they would do with the information. You had told her about the year you were from, about cars and tall buildings. All the things that aren't invented yet. Embla believed you right away, she knew you weren’t lying from the things you had with you when you first arrived, like your phone and notebook and pen, your earphones and money.

You nodded slowly, a deep frown pulling at your brows.

“It must have been Thor’s will. He must have great plans for you here, child.”

You learned about their Gods here, Embla had told you about them all one night when you couldn’t sleep, nightmares fuelled by the gruesome scene of your parents' death. She had told you that Thor had put that mark on your chest to show you were chosen by him. But chosen for what?

“Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” You smiled over to her, finishing the last of the vegetables. “Is there anything else you need me to do, Embla?”

“Actually, yes. I need you to go to the forest and pick some herbs for me. I only got enough for me before you arrived, I didn’t realise how fast they would go.”

“Of course!” You nodded, picking up the woven basket from the small table. “I should be back in a few hours.”

Walking out the hut door, you headed into the direction of the forest.

Embla had provided you with clothes more suited to this age, though you decided to keep your boots for that little bit of you in your new look. She would braid your hair for you, and make sure you were well fed and rested. You would be eternally grateful for her, for, without her, you would surely be dead.

Whilst you walked in the direction of green, you hummed one of your favourite songs, something you’d do more often than not since your phone broke. God, you missed music. It was like your therapist. And you missed all your books. And your friends.

You closed your eyes as you reached the middle of the green sea, the sound of birds chirping gave you a sense of reality and the breeze here was different from the one at home in Kattegat market.

Home.

You’ve already forgotten about your real home?

Shaking your head, you stepped forward again as you scanned the ground for herbs that Embla could use. What were you thinking? That place wasn’t your home. It was just a place of survival-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a large axe landing next to your head, embedding itself into the tree, inches away from your face. You stumbled backward, tripping up and landing onto your backside.

“Fucking hell!” You gasped, eyes wide as you stared at the axe.

“Are you alright?!” You heard someone call to you, running in your direction. “I didn't see you standing there and... Oh, it’s you.”

Your E/C orbs flickered up to the owner of the axe, seeing a familiar face.

“You.”

It was the man from the first day you arrived here, the one who was eating whilst his brother grilled you out. Embla had told you about the princes after the dramatic scene you caused by your mini-mental breakdown, about their father and mother. How they go on raids and how they all led an army. How they would kill you in a second if they wanted to and how they treated their women.

There were five brothers at one point but the youngest, Ivar, had killed him. It makes you think how on earth you didn’t get killed that day.

Björn was the eldest and then followed by Ubbe, Hvitserk and the lastly, Ivar the boneless.

Though the brother in front of you was Hvitserk. The ladies man.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, ripping his weapon from the bark of the tree, holding his free hand out for you to grab.

“Are you blind?!” You yelled, ignoring his hand and using the tree to bring yourself back onto your feet. “You could have killed me!”

His brows frowned together, staring at you as he took his hand back to his side.

“Well, if you had looked where you were going, you would have seen that there’s a massive target on the tree.” He shot back at you, making you turn and look that therefor, in fact, was a massive target on the tree. “Are you sure you aren't blind as my brother said?” Hvitserk’s lips turned up into a boyish grin.

Was he making fun of you right now?

“And that’s no way to talk to your prince.”

“You aren’t my prince,” you barked back at him, leaning down to pick up your basket you had dropped.

“Oh, I'm not?” He said innocently. “Then who is? Because I don't see anyone else around.”

“No one is my ‘prince’. What is this? The royal family of England?” You said the last part to yourself as you walked past him but Hvitserk heard you, grabbing onto the top of your arm quickly.

“What did you say?” He asked lowly, a threatening look glazing over his eyes. “You’re from England? Are you a Christian?”

His grip tightened at the last question, making your eyes glare daggers at him.

“No, I'm not a Christian. I don't believe there is a god.” Ripping your arm out of his grip, you huffed.

Hvitserk stood there stunned, how could you not believe in the gods? You weren’t from here, clearly, but where were you from? So many questions spun in his mind.

“What’s your name?” He asked you after a short period of not talking.

You stayed silent for a second, not sure if you should tell him or not. Embla had warned you about them, but the look in his eyes made you want to surrender under him. Wait, what?

“Y/N.” You answered before realising, still confused about what you just said about his eyes.

“That name is rare. I’ve never heard it before.” He hummed. Hvitserk had to admit, you were a beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman he had seen and he was surprised he hadn't noticed it the first time he saw you, though you were covered in dirt and blood. And those eyes, gods, those eyes. He was sure Freyja herself had gifted them to you. His eyes travelled across your body, spotting the gold necklace your mother had given you for your sixteenth birthday. It was a chain that was identical to hers, you never take it off. It was the only thing you had left of her.

“You wear gold, are you rich?” He questioned, causing you to scoff slightly.

“I wish.” You replied, your eyes locking with his. You couldn't put your finger on the exact colour they were. In some shades of light they looked green, in others they looked gold.

The two of you stayed silent for a little longer, your eyes drifted from his piercing ones onto the floor, a small tint of red freckled onto your cheeks. You had never been good around men, they made you nervous. It didn't help that you went to an only girls school whilst growing up.

“I think we started on the wrong foot,” Hvitserk said, stepping closer to you and held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Hvitserk.”

You took his hand in yours, his one easily engulfing yours in size. “Nice to meet you, again, Hvitserk.”

“So what are you doing out here alone?” He questioned, throwing his axe up into the air and catching it again.

“I’m picking herbs for the woman I'm staying with, though I'm not doing very well.” You laughed slightly, looking into the bare basket. “You ask a lot of questions, don't you, Hvitserk?”

“I’m a curious man.” He grinned.

“What about you then? Why are you out here?” Your eyebrow quirked at him, leaning against the tree with your basket held in front of you.

“I come here to practice, all of my brothers do, though it’s just me today.” He hummed.

“Isn’t it hard to practice by yourself?” You tucked a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, looking at all the different weapons he had laid out. Swords, bow and arrows, axes, there were all different kinds of weapons here.

“Sometimes. It just doesn't give you the real thrill of fighting someone when you practice with someone else.”

“I’ll practice with you.” You offered. Why not? If you were going to spend the rest of your life here then surely you’ll need to know how to defend yourself and fight.

Your offer made Hvitserk burst out laughing, holding his side as he mocked you.

“What’s so funny?” You asked offensively, standing up a little straighter.

“You look like you wouldn't last two seconds, Y/N.” Hvitserk wiped his eyes from the tears of laughter.

“Then teach me and let me practice with you! A woman should be taught how to protect herself if she’s in danger.”

His eyes searched yours, seeing how serious you were about this. Letting out a sigh, he nodded his head.

“Fine,” He said, earning a smile out of you. “But only on the condition that you do as I say and you listen to me when I'm teaching you. This will take a lot out of you, fighting isn’t just physical, it’s mental too. You have to have the right mindset.”

You nodded eagerly at him.

“Place that basket down to the side.” He said, pointing to the ground with his axe as he walked over to the tree where all the weapons laid. “First, you’ll learn how to use a shield. It’s the heaviest to hold and you need to know how to block attacks.”

Hvitserk picked up a circled shape shield, walking back over to you after you placed your basket down, taking the shield off of him.

“Fuck.” You grunted, the thing nearly pulling you to the floor. It was fucking heavy.

“Now, I'm going to attack you and you need to use that shield to fight me off and protect yourself.” Hvitserk stepped closer to you, getting into his fighting stance, a smirk on his face. “Ready?”

Fuck no you weren't ready. You’ve never needed to do this before, you only needed pepper spray before coming here.

You nodded anyway, swallowing harshly. “Ready.”

He came at you so quickly, you barely stopped him in time, his axe colliding with the shield in your grip.

“Use one hand to hold it, imagine you're carrying something else in your right hand.” He yelled to you, still throwing blows at you.

One hand?! You can barely hold this fucking thing with two hands!

You let go of it with your right hand, stepping backward with each hit he threw down until his axe came through the wood of the shield, making you yelp slightly. Hvitserk moved quickly to get his sword, spinning around and hitting the shield again with it.

“Holy shit!” You cursed out, he was too fast for you, too skilled. You knew then that he could kill you in a blink of an eye and if this was real, you would have been dead minutes ago.

He kept going though, each hit was harder and stronger than the last.

“Push me back, Y/N! Fight me!”

You stepped forward again, trying to push back against him whilst he was also pushing onto you. You made the mistake of looking behind you and taking your eyes off of him, making sure you didn’t trip up on anything. Hvitserk saw that as an opening to get you, moving your shield away from you with his free arm, pushing you back up against the tree nearest to you, pressing the cold metal of his sword against your throat, using his body to trap you between the tree and himself, his face inches from yours.

Oh fuck.

You could feel his breath on your face, his lips inches away from yours as your eyes burned into his green ones. Your breath got caught in your throat, the thrill this gave you was something you’d never felt before. The excitement, the fighting, the blood pumping all over and now the fact that Hvitserk was inches from your lips. Your cheeks burned a bright crimson, your eyes tearing away from his.

He licked his lips before grinning, getting closer to your ear.

“You’re dead.” He whispered into your ear, sending a small shiver down your back as he stepped away from you.

“Again!”

Cocky bastard.

______________________________

You trained with Hvitserk for hours and hours until it got dark and you had to go home. He had walked you to your hut, and told you that he’d send one of his thralls to bring round the herbs you needed since you lost track of time on getting them.

Your body was sore and bruised from the training, groaning as you sat down at the small table.

“I never knew picking herbs would cause you so much pain,” Embla said, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, no I... I ran into one of the princes, Hvitserk. He almost killed me with his axe.” You snorted, stirring the soup in your bowl with your spoon.

“Prince Hvitserk? You-”

A knock on the hut door made her stop talking, getting up and opening the door to see a woman holding a basket with different types of herbs tucked inside.

“Is this where Y/N is staying?” You heard her ask, standing up from where you were sitting and walking over to stand next to Embla.

“That’s me.” You said, smiling softly at her. This must be the thrall Hvitserk said he’d be sending by with the herbs. She looked like she was the same age as you, maybe a bit younger. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old?

“Prince Hvitserk brings you these herbs, he hopes its enough for you and he apologises for keeping you out so late today.” She mumbled, passing the basket to you. “Goodnight.”

The thrall walked back off into the direction of the Great Hall, leaving Embla staring at you as you placed the basket on the table.

You’d never get used to this world and the fact that a prince just sent a slave to give you a basket of plants.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today or shall I guess?” Embla said, sitting across from you at the table.

____________________________

The next day you were awake early, Hvitserk had told you to be at the same place for your training.

Of course, you were running late though. You were meant to be there at sunrise, so you could have more hours to practice.

You ran towards the forest, you didn’t have time to do your hair in multiple braids today, so Embla only did two small braids at the front, connecting them into one braid at the back of your head, the rest of your hair just let loose. You wore trousers today with a sleeveless wool top, a belt wrapping around your waist.

You wheezed slightly as you reached the clearing, slowing down to a jog as you arrived.

“God! I’m sorry, Hvitserk. I accidentally slept in and Embla didn't wake me up and now that I don't have an alarm, it's so much harder for me to wake up.” You placed your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath before looking up and seeing three pair of eyes staring back at you. “And there's other people here.” You mumbled.

“What is she doing here?” Ivar sneered, looking in your direction. “We’re meant to be training.”

“Y/N!” Hvitserk grinned, walking over to you and slinging an arm over your shoulders. “You’re late, but I’ll forgive you since you worked so hard yesterday.” He winked at you, causing you to blush slightly.

Fuck sake.

“Ubbe, Ivar, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us for practice from now on.”

“A pleasure to meet you, I'm glad we’re meeting each other on better circumstances,” Ubbe said, going up to you and shaking your hand, his eyes were a beautiful shade of blue. He was the one who stopped Ivar from backhanding you in the market.

“The pleasure’s mine, Prince Ubbe.”

“Just Ubbe will do since you’ll be training with us now.”

What’s with these brothers? Why are they so hot? Their parents must’ve looked like gods.

Your eyes trailed over to were Ivar sat on the stump of a tree, his crutched next to him. He had a sour look on his face, staring off in the other direction. Did he think that if he can't see you, he can pretend you’re not there?

You walked over to him whilst Hvitserk and Ubbe spoke.

“Prince Ivar,” You said with a soft sigh. “I know we didn't meet on a good note but-”

“I don’t care.” Ivar interrupted you. “I don’t care if you’re the new whore my brother fucks and you want some kind of approval from me and Ubbe. Stay out my way.”

Your mouth was left agape. What? WHAT? Did he just call a whore?

“How dare you.” You threatened, your fist tightening at your side. “How dare you talk to me like that, you don't even know who I am and already you assume I'm your brothers' whore? I tried to be nice to you, to make a new start because I'm going to be here every day and I don't want any bad blood. But I will not let a fucking man talk to me like that! I didn't allow it back home and I won't fucking allow it here!” You shouted at him, your face red and chest heaving. The temptation to smack that look off his face was overpowering, but you dug your nails into the palm of your hand to stop yourself.

If looks could kill, Ivar’s glare would kill you once now and then once more in your next life. He stood up, using his crutch to balance himself.

“Enough,” Hvitserk said. “We’re here to train for future raids and battles. We don't need you two bickering the whole time.”

____________________________

“So,” Hvitserk began, popping a piece of meat into his mouth. “What do you both think of Y/N?”

The three brothers had returned to the Great Hall, you had gone back to your hut for the night to bathe and rest. You had taken quite a beating today off of Ubbe, he was a bit more built than Hvitserk and he had knocked you on your ass more than once.

“She’s a nice girl. She’s got potential in her to be a good fighter if she keeps practicing the way she is.” Ubbe said, taking a sip of mead from his cup. “She’s got quite the tongue too. Why, Hvitserk? Are you thinking about marrying her?” He smirked, teasing his younger brother.

Ivar scoffed into his cup.

“We have to train with her and now you want to talk about her? What? Are you obsessing over your new toy?” Ivar said, causing Hvitserk to roll his eyes.

“You’re just angry that she hurt your pride at the market.”

“No, I just don’t trust her.” Ivar shrugged. “She talks differently and she acts like she's never seen a weapon before. And didn’t you see her shoes? She’s clearly not from here. She could be a spy.”

“How could she possibly be a spy, Ivar?” Hvitserk questioned him, swallowing the food he had in his mouth.

“Look how she was when we first met her, she wore strange things and we’ve never seen her before now. No one knows who she is. And what the fuck is an ‘alarm’?”

“That’s true. She did tell me she didn't believe in the gods, which shocked me.” Hvitserk said, bringing his cup up to his lips. “But I don’t think it’s possible she's a spy. She’s too clumsy and too inexperienced with a weapon.”

“We can’t trust her until we know more about her, Ivar’s right.” Ubbe chirped in. “But Hvitserk is right too, she can't be a spy.”

Ivar growled slightly, he didn't know what it was about you that made him constantly think about you. You consumed his every thought, at night he would think about that look in your eyes when you bumped into him, how you stared at him with fire in your eyes as you stood dup to him. No one stood up to him apart from family.

No matter what, Ivar thought. I will find out who you really are, Y/N.

____________________________________________

tags: @thespottedcreature @youbloodymadgenius @tragicmisfits @greeneyedthief

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lambourngb · 4 years ago

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How bout some Michael POV for your masterpiece?!!!

This takes place during chapter 2, Michael has just exited the mindspace and is waiting for the agents to question him.

“I take my last chance, to burn a bridge or two”

Michael had passed the point of exhaustion both two days and ten years ago.

The thin, plastic covered cushion in the holding cell at Chaves County Sheriff's Office had the same feel of familiar comfort as his camp bed mattress in the Airstream, both places adequately met his needs after a bender or a brawl. He was never one to shy away from dropping into oblivion, met in the bottom of the bottle or at the end of a long night of working on his ship, until today. Closing his eyes meant slipping into the almost hypnotic state of the mindspace, and then he would hear her voice again.

His mother. Golden and whole for a moment. She was the energy between his cells, the original instructor of his atoms, funneling life into him; to grow and be strong.

“Oh my beloved son, oh you’re here, you’re here already grown and bound, I’m here, but no time, not enough time, there’s so much you should know my beautiful boy, I love you, I love you so much, I will always love you, now go, run, run for me.”

His eyes snapped open as the burn of tears threatened again. Goddamn it, he didn’t have time for that. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the unremarkable ceiling to force his mind to go quiet. It was an old building, but built soundly. Not a crack in the plaster, not a flaw to betray its age. It housed the broken, who knew where home was but stayed away in the arms of intoxication; the evil, who knew home as a place for violence or thievery, and the lost, who longed for a home but never found the way back. All those souls gathered under its roof, this solid roof that sheltered without wear or tear.

At one time Michael had been all of those; deep into the dark warmth of drunk, or full of crooked wagers from dice games, he had even been picked up on a cold night a time or two with nowhere to go. Marked by violence in a tool shed, the system shocked with such a hard shove on his orbit, that he was knocked forever from the path he once had as a teenager, left to wander in all of those grim directions.

Once upon a time his English teacher assigned to the class, near the end of term with graduation nipping at their heels, some busy work in the form of a ‘where do you see yourself in ten years’ thought experiment. His hand had sketched out a good job, college degree, and a house, while his mind traveled the fantasies of holding the small hands of a child, of helping pat dirt down over a buried seed in his garden, of Alex, always Alex, playing his guitar on the back porch-

Fuck. His bare left hand, now whole and hale, mocked him.

Michael wrenched his mind back to the present, and dug out a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket to wrap over his left hand. He tied a knot, pulling it tight with his teeth. A bitter smile crept over his mouth, using his teeth again for the grip he lost in his hand was familiar at least.

Hopefully whatever trouble that Max was in, was teaching him a lesson in meddling where he wasn’t wanted. High on power Max thought to heal his hand, but took no care to think about the damn consequences of everything, of Noah, of the things Noah was up to in Roswell. He flexed his hand again, the tight constriction of the fabric felt comfortably close to how the scar tissue pulled and tugged over his ruined knuckles. Already there were too many questions to answer, he didn’t need one more on his hand.

As angry as he was at Max, he couldn’t help but hope that the flash of pain/wrong/vacuum wasn’t so serious that he couldn’t be useful now. Ride into the Sheriff’s Office, explain away the questions to his boss about Noah and Racist Hank, so Michael could be released without need of Alex and Alex’s story.

Goddamn it Alex. Showing up at the Wild Pony, those hopeful dark eyes turning wounded and betrayed as he realized that just because he didn’t see Michael as suitable, someone else did. Like he had the right to protest Michael moving on from them. It wasn’t Michael saying that they couldn’t be together because of Michael’s record, and it certainly wasn’t Michael saying that their relationship wasn’t worthy of a pyrotechnic breakup.

And yet. When the pyrotechnics were happening, Alex was there. Immovable. Saying everything that Michael had longed to hear for ten long years.

“I love you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you and I would give anything to have this story be true, that you were mine all along.”

A tear slipped down his unshaven face as he blinked rapidly. Alex was so stupid, how could he miss the fact that Michael had been his? Across the years, through two different battlefields, and after Alex had finally come home, Michael had worn two concrete boots, Alex and Isobel. Each his own anchor to this planet, as he worked to complete his ship.

The door swung open, startling Michael off the bunk, as a tall, dark haired man was escorted into the room by Agent Ross, who shot Michael an annoyed look. “Just knock on the door when you’re ready.”

The imposing cut of the military uniform and densely packed square of ribbons on his chest sent a shivered down Michael’s spine. It was only just over two days since Michael had been involved in the destruction of a secret military operation.

“Michael Guerin?”

“Depends on who is asking.”

“I’m Major Mark Torres, attached to the JAG office at Kirtland Air Force Base.” The officer tucked his cover under his arm and held his hand out toward Michael.

None of what this Mark Torres said made any sense to him. Kirtland was three hours away, Holloman was the closest base to the Caulfield facility. Michael lifted his eyebrows mockingly, but made no move to step closer to the open cell door, “That’s nice and all, but I’ve got nothing to say to anyone until my lawyer shows up.”

An amused smirk flitted over his mouth, “I am your lawyer, Alex sent me.” Instead of waiting for a response, Mark entered the cell and took a seat on the bunk, turning to Michael with a patient expectation. He placed the brim of his cover next to Michael’s black cowboy hat and then pulled his slim briefcase into his lap. “I admit, this isn’t how I expected to meet you, the infamous Michael.”

“Alex got me an Air Force lawyer?” The rest of that implication, that Alex had spoken of them to anyone in the past, let alone someone in the service was too much to even think about.

“I’m a lawyer who’s in the Air Force, and I’m doing this in the civilian court system pro-bono,” Mark replied easily, and popped the fasteners of his briefcase open to pull out a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Now that we’ve covered why I’m here, let’s talk about why you’re here. Tell me everything you know about Noah Bracken, what your connection to him, why the police might think you’re involved with his disappearance, and why they found a body when they came to question you.”

Michael stared at Major Mark Torres for a long moment, weighing his extremely limited options. The distant place inside him, where his faint connection to Max lived, was still and empty. He rubbed his wrapped fist against his face before sighing as he took a seat next to him. Alex said to trust him that he would get Michael out of this, and whatever mess that lay between them after Caulfield and now Maria, Michael believed wholeheartedly that Alex didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

As a rule Alex Manes didn’t make promises at all, to anyone, least of all to Michael.

“I know Noah Bracken, I mean everyone does in this town and I have a record, petty shit obviously, but that’s enough I guess for them to suspect me. But I have an alibi, I was with my boyfriend all night- hell, I’m with him every night. We’re kinda makin’ up for lost time since he was in Iraq, until well-”

“You’re referring to Captain Alexander Manes, correct?” Mark asked, scratching notes down on his pad without looking up.

“No one calls him ‘Alexander’, but yeah. Alex.” Michael licked his lips almost nervously, before he took a deep breath. This was the easy part of the alibi. “Alex is everything to me. I fell in love with him when we were seventeen, and I never stopped fallin’.”

“He did mention you were a romantic.” Mark nodded in approval of Michael’s words and capped his pen, “let’s start with the last time people saw Bracken in public at that-, good God, this town has a museum dedicated to aliens? What a thing to celebrate. Anyway, Alex tells me you’re a mechanic, that you can fix anything you put your hands on, were you at the gala for business purposes?”

Michael stuttered a little, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to anyone singing his praises, let alone a complete stranger. What did Alex say to this guy? “Um I helped do the lighting and sound for the organizer, Isobel. Um, Isobel Evans-Bracken. I left Alex at home, err, my Airstream ‘cause he doesn’t really enjoy the dog-and-pony show even though there was free booze. I gave a friend a ride home, Maria Deluca, and then spent the rest of the evening with Alex. In bed.”

His pen never stopped moving, “and last night, when this Hank Gibbons ended up dead, you were with Alex again? At your Airstream again?”

“Yeah, um, Alex lives pretty far out of town, and I had work in town. Um, during the week he spends a couple nights at mine, on weekends we’re at his place. Compromise.”

Spinning this fairy tale of shared residences to Torres, of disappearing to Alex’s cabin on the weekends and splitting the time apart during the week renewed an ache inside Michael. The slow turn of a bolt, burrowing into his heart as the threads of the light caught on hope and corkscrewed deeper into place.

“No one can corroborate that, correct? Other than Alex?”

“We’ve been keeping our relationship quiet. For personal reasons.”

This time Mark’s pen came to a halt, and he looked over to Michael with a sad understanding smile, “I’ve met Alex’s dad. He’s a first class prick. I’ve never met anyone more different from Alex in my life.”

“That’s for sure. Niger can have him. In fact, I hope he gets Ebola over there.” His eyes glanced up to the video camera on the corner before dropping to Torres again. Michael paused, hedging the risk of this disclosure, before continuing, “I’m not a violent man, but if I were, I wouldn’t bother with the town lawyer or the local racist asshole, it would be to protect Alex from that guy.”

Mark followed his gaze to the camera and back, before nodding. “I think I know all I need to know about you, Michael. Let’s go clear this up with the locals and get you released.”

***

“You were with Captain Manes all night? You didn’t leave at all?” Agent Ross asked quietly, his thin face placid, while his partner, Agent Rollins barely held back the curl of disgust from his face.

“Have you seen Alex? Like dude, I know I’m punching way above my class with him, you would have to be crazy to leave a bed that had him in it.” Michael smirked, fiddling with his hat on the table. Next to him, Major Torres stayed quiet taking notes.

“And he can confirm that?”

“Yes. I know he didn’t let you have a good look, but my Airstream isn’t big enough for him to miss me leaving. Trust me. We were together all night.”

“Let’s go back to the fight you had with Mr. Bracken-”

“Man, that’s bullshit, okay?!” Michael cut him off, “I did not have a fight with Noah, and whoever says differently is lying.”

Mark set down his pen to touch Michael’s hand lightly, before looking at the two agents evenly, “one eyewitness, on a dark night, does not overturn the alibi provided by Captain Manes. Let’s move on, shall we?”

“This relationship you’re in with Captain Manes, he’s alluded to the fact that it was kept secret. I find that rather convenient, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to help out a friend. Maybe cover up the fact you were having an affair with the wife of our missing lawyer?” Rollins smirked, exchanging glances with his partner.

It took a moment before Michael could catch the inference, and then only Mark’s tight grip on his wrist kept him in his seat. “Wait?! You think I’m lying about Alex to cover up for an affair with Isobel? What the fuck, man? Number one, that’s gross on a number of levels, number two, Alex is the most stubborn man alive, but he’s also the most honorable. He wouldn’t do that for anyone, especially not about adultery. He could get court martialed for that shit.”

Ross picked up his turn to provoke, offering another even almost-bored question to Michael, ��I see, you deny that an affair was going on with Ms. Bracken. So you’re not attracted to women then?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Torres protested.

“Mr. Guerin opened the door earlier, basing his alibi on how attractive a bed partner Captain Manes was.”

Michael took a deep breath again, pushing down the nettled feelings of exposure. Of all things he thought he would be discussing at the sheriff’s office, this wasn’t anywhere on the list. “Not that it’s relevant, but I’m bisexual, yes. I’m also monogamous. It’s not that difficult to understand. I love Alex, I wouldn’t cheat on him with anyone.”

“So on the night of the Gala, that was thrown by your platonic good friend Mrs. Bracken, you were there, without Captain Manes, but in the company of a Ms. Maria Deluca. Another platonic friend, I assume. Do you remember anyone bothering Mr. Bracken? Someone who might have wanted to harm him?”

***

Hours later, after they had combed through every minute of Michael’s time at the gala and the night before when Hank Gibbons was at the Wild Pony, the agents finally concluded their questions and granted his release from temporary custody. There was still an air of disbelief from both agents regarding his alibi being with Alex.

From the outside, Michael couldn’t blame them. Even setting aside his spotty employment record, rap sheet, and history of being in care of the state, anyone with eyes could see that Alex Manes was a man who could have his pick of partners. Why would he pick the outcast of Roswell? It didn’t make sense to Michael that was for sure, and that had been true almost from the beginning.

“This was fun, Agent Rollins. Let me know if you want me to go over my movements from the other night again, and Alex’s even better movements. I can really open up on that, if it helps,” Michael offered, stomping the blood back into his boots as he left the interview room eagerly.

There was some satisfaction in seeing out of the corner of his eye, Agent Rollins looking as if he had bit into a lemon.

Next to him, Torres grabbed Michael’s forearm with a warning squeeze and steered him down the hall where Alex was waiting with a worried expression. “What my client means is, you have my number if you wish to schedule a follow-up interview. We’re happy to cooperate in any investigation, especially if it leads to Mr Bracken returning safely home.”

Alex’s eyes flickered from Torres’s hand on his shoulder to the agents and back to Michael, but there was a hint of smug satisfaction in those dark eyes. Somehow Michael knew that Alex was holding back amusement over his graphic words to the bigoted agent. Well, there was no sense in not completing the performance.

He moved into Alex’s space comfortably, and brought his hands to Alex’s neck to draw him into a kiss. His last memory of kissing Alex, had been handled and revisited to the point of being thread-bare before being set aside as an old fantasy out of reach. Feeling Alex’s arms come up and hold him close, sent shocks down his fingertips as he cupped Alex’s chin to hide the chasteness of the kiss from view.

Alex wasn’t playing fair in return.

Those big, firm hands of his slid up Michael’s back, and threaded into the sweat-thick curls of his hair. Michael felt Alex’s lips part against his, that clever hot mouth opening to Michael, and nothing tempted Michael more in that moment, than following Alex’s lead.

That long bolt of the lie, turned deeper inside him, shredding the few safeguards he had in place. Alex loved him, Alex wanted to protect him, Alex had never stayed before- so many truths, so many reasons he wasn’t able to trust this especially now. Michael kept his mouth closed, and after a second, he felt Alex back away. They were good at that at least, retreating.

Alex’s cheeks were warm, probably from the public nature of the kiss, even as his face showed only the firm resolve of their shared story. His eyes drifted down, playing his role of a shy lover with Michael expertly. “You uh, ready to go home then?”

“Long past ready, darlin’.” Michael exhaled tiredly, already wondering how he was going to make it through this without losing more of his heart than he had to spare in the process. He reached for the familiar weight of his hat in his hand, and tipped it to the still watching agents.

#malex fic #fake dating your ex because of the feds #no beta here #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #missing scene #no excuses ask meme #hmd023

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mooshs-crack-headcanons · 4 years ago

Note

Hello and welcome to tumblr if you're new! I'm the person behind skys-op-imagines. ANYWAY~ May I request a fluffy scenario where ace's s/o has been busy for awhile with paperwork and helping pops and ace boi drags her away and just showers her with love and affection? His s/o reacting shyly because its in front of the other commanders and he teases her? Gotta love the flame boi!

My second request, I hope this is alright!

Her legs bounced up and down where she sat, her makeshift desk (a pile of boxes) wiggling with her. All the noise of crew mates around her tuned out hours ago, she stared at the stack of pages in front of her. Ugh, they stopped making sense after the first eight pages, the words jumbled in her head.

How does Marco and Deuce put up with all this?

“Kid, you know you don’t have to do all that work! I can see the tiredness as plain as day on you! Let Marco take care of that, he’s used to it!” She looked away from the documents to the loud voice next to her that snapped away the silence. It took her a few moments to recollect what he’d said, she shook her head.

“Sorry, Pops. I just wanted to help out with your health.” The Yonko, Whitebeard let out a scoff.

“My health? Woman that’s something that’s absurd to worry about! Worry about your own well being!” He went back to chugging his sake. (Name) let a sigh from her lips. That was a lie, Pop’s health had been degrading with every year it was something Marco was definitely worried about, and that’s why she agreed to hand his workload for the day to give the First Commander a break. The woman went back onto the paperwork, hearing Whitebeard’s disappointed sigh next to her, but the Yonko let her continue.

“Yo, you’ve seen (Name)?”

“Yeah, over there working next to Pops.”

“STILL?!”

Oh no. (Name) knew what was coming.

Loud footsteps clambered their way towards the female with the loud familiar call of: “Hey, (Name)!" She sighed as she continued to work. It wasn't until a loud thud came from next to her and a thick arm came around her shoulder that she dropped her pen, her eyes falling to an annoyed half drop. "What do you want, Ace?"

"Your still working? I thought you'd be done by now." (Name) looked over to him, her hands holding the thick stash of paper. "You really think a checkup docs of the entire crew is going to get done in an hour?" The raven haired male tilted his head side to side. "Maybe with a little will power?" (Name)'s head fell back.

"Oh my god, Ace!" She snapped to look back at him holding up a few dozen papers. "Do you realize how many people are on this ONE ship alone?! For God's sake this isn't even all of them! I still have more in Marco's office!" Ace's arm dropped from the female's shoulder to stretch at the back of his head, his eyes looking away. (Name) sighed.

"I finally understand why Marco needs all the 'goods'. He has to deal with this shit every day." Ace choked back a laugh, only for (Name) to look back at him dead serious. The raven Haired man then raised himself to his feet, turning to stand in front of his girlfriend, hands on his hips.

"That's why you need a break." He turned to Whitebeard. "Right, Pops?"

The Yonko stopped mid sip on his sake jug. "The kid's finally right about something, (Name). Take that break like I told 'ya."

"But-" Ace tugged on her arm. "Now you heard Pops! Captain's orders!"

"But Marco-"

"Nope!" He yanked the documents out of her hands and placed them next to her before yanking her to her feet. "Now, we're going to the cabin, there we WILL cuddle. You understand?" (Name)'s face flushed.

"But Ace-"

"No 'but Ace's." The female was pulled closer to him, his strong arms wrapping around her. She instantly began to try to pull away only to be brought back against him rougher. "Ace, Marco's depending on me!" The raven haired male leaned into her neck.

"That's his problem."

"No but really!" She once again tried to get pit of his grip

"Babe if you're going to keep fighting me I guess I have no choice but to cuddle you here."

"Acccccccce." Her eyes darted all over the deck, instantly taking notice of the eyes and whistles directed at them. Light kisses were darted all across her face. "A-Ace the crew!" Pecks came to her cheeks. "What about them?" The women's cheeks went scarlet.

"They're watching!" Kisses to her jaw.

"So? You can stop this all if you agree to stop forcing yourself with work and come cuddle with me in the cabin…~" (Name) looked away and muttered through her teeth.

"Alright fine, Ace please." The kisses stopped as he used his fingers to make her meet his gaze, he gave her his trademark wide smile.

"That's my girl." (Name) felt her heart swoon in her chest as she smiled back, his forehead meeting with hers.

"I love you, (Name)."

"I love you too, Ace."

In a heartfelt silence moment between them, their lips found their way to each other.

"Woah! Is that Ace and (Name) eating each other's faces on deck?! I'm surprised haven't seen it sooner!"

They pulled apart. That was Thatch, definitely Thatch.

"Oh, how romantic. I wonder when's the wedding?" Izo, nooooooo.

"I figured he'd try this at some point. Surprised not sooner." Oh god Marco.

(Name)'s face brightened more in embarrassment as incoherent noises left her lips. Ace's smile grew wider as he held the female closer to him, his laugh echoing all throughout the deck.

With one smooth tug, (Name) dragged off her boyfriend off to their cabin, her face as scarlet than anyone has ever seen it and Ace's continued laughter.

Vista sighed as he continued cleaning his swords. "Oh I remember young love...I miss those days…" Jozu stood next to the swordsman with a raised eyebrow. "I don't remember you ever having that." Vista snapped back a glare at the fellow Commander.

"No one asked you."

Another loud laugh spilled over the deck. Whitebeard clutched his sake in one large hand and the other held onto his chest. Nurses and Marco rushed to him but he waved them off.

"No, no. I'm in perfect health, back off!" His laughter died down. "But I'm happy I can see all my children happy...and I can see possible future grandchildren before I die!"

The Yonko's next burst of laughter made all the Whitebeard pirates look around at each other and smile amongst themselves.

#one piece #one piece/reader #portgas d. ace #mine #portgas d ace/reader

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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years ago

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Headfirst for Halos (ch. 5)

*does a fortnite dance* this took me wayy too long to write

Ship: Tate Langdon/fem!Reader

WARNINGS: allusions to both physical and emotional abuse from a family member, actual physical abuse between a freshman and a senior, allusions to mental illnesses such as depression, student v. student violence. A certain way an event was phrased could be considered an allusion to molestation. strong language. a reference to homophobic slurs (none were used)

general comments: the american rock band My Chemical Romance was referenced in this story, yes it doesn’t work with the timeline, no I do not care. pretend mcr was around in the 80′s and 90′s. overall, I’m pretty proud of how this turned out. SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1 FOR AMERICAN HORROR STORY AHEAD. pre-death tate, pre-shooting tate, pre-beau death

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

It's cold. My blood runs like ice through my veins, the image of my mother still fresh in my mind. The cops had arrived at some point, their red and blue flashing lights coming through the windows. The neighbors must've heard me scream. An officer attempted to console me, but I couldn't register his words. Everything is just so cold, and that's all I can focus on.

I refused to let Delilah anywhere near the house after I saw the body. I picked her up and held her, the chilling numbness of shock consuming me. I'm shivering, and I can't tell whether that's due to the cold or the scene. I think I threw up, I can't remember. Everything is all blurry, the only thing I can remember clearly is her cold, empty, horrific gaze. Hundreds of muffled voices surround me, each of them fading away with each passing second. One familiar voice cuts through the mob of unending murmuring.

“Y/n? Hey, Y/n, are you alright?” Pluto’s worried eyes meet mine. “Shit, Y/n, I came over as soon as I’d heard.”

“Why?” My voice is weak, my throat is sore from screaming. I don’t intend to come off bitter, I’m genuinely asking.

“Because I thought you’d want a familiar face around in this chaos.” Pluto says firmly, their eyes not leaving mine. Their concern is comforting, the knitted sweater they’re wearing softly brushes against my skin as they envelop Delilah and I in a tight embrace.

“She’s dead.” I say quietly. “She’s dead. My mother is dead.” The tears spilled over onto my cheeks as the realization set in. The shock faded away, and the raw emotions consumed my body causing my senses to numb and my chest to tighten. Whenever I close my eyes I see her. I see her stare. I see the deep gash in her throat, the remnants of a petrifying fear in her eyes. It isn’t long before I’m in hysterics, catching the attention of the officers around us.

It’s only then that two paramedics exit my house, carrying my mother’s corpse on a stretcher. The thin sheet over her body is blown by the wind, revealing her upper torso to me once again. I guess the initial shack shielded me from seeing the extent of her injuries. She looked ghastly, dark bruises covering her face. Scratch marks ran down her arms, her fingers broken; she looked as if someone had beaten her down before slitting her throat. The sight does nothing to sooth my sobbing, it only fuels my emotion as Delilah begins to cry, too. It’s going to be a long night.

________

“Tell me again, in your own words, what were you doing when you found your mother.” Officer McCoin asks, his cold eyes glaring at me from across the metal table.

“I took my little sister, Delilah, out for ice cream. We left around 4PM and got back around 7PM--”

“You were out for three hours? Getting ice cream?” I nod.

“We went exploring for a while. We wanted to stay out of the house.” I noticed the officer’s eyebrow twitch.

“Why did you want to stay out of the house?” I stayed silent for a moment, and Officer McCoin took my silence for advantage. “Miss L/n, what happened to your face?”

“I-.. uh, I-” My thoughts are jumbled, the mixture of shock and pressure making my brain go fuzzy. I know what’ll happen; if I tell them my mother hit me, they’ll find some way to connect me to her death. That’s how cops operate-- make the evidence shown reflect who they personally suspect. “Some kids at school roughed me up a bit. It’s nothing too serious. We wanted to stay out of the house because of the heat. The air conditioning in our house is broken, it’s much cooler outside with ice cream.” That wasn’t totally a lie-- our AC was broken. Thankfully, Officer McCoin is quite gullible. He simply nods and makes notes on a small pad of paper beside him.

“What were you doing earlier that day? Before you left?”

“I had a friend over and we listened to music for a little while. After that he went home and Delilah and I left.” I explain.

“Could you give me the name of your friend?” Officer McCoin grabs the notepad and pen, preparing to take notes. “And, uh, your relation to this person.” My jaw clenched at McCoin’s insinuation.

“His name is Tate Langdon, and he’s my… friend.” Wait, fuck, are Tate and I just friends? Does getting each other off on occasion count as a relationship? Probably not, but I’m still not quite sure. Officer McCoin’s eyebrow twitches once I say Tate’s name.

“Alright, Miss L/n, that’s all for now. You’re free to leave.” I immediately stand up, turning to exit the interrogation room. Officer McCoin speaks once more before I leave. “Miss L/n? Be careful around that Langdon kid. He’s bad news.” Anger ripples through my veins as I walk out the door. Who does that asshole think he is? Tate isn’t bad news, hell, he wouldn’t hurt a fly! The rush of emotion makes me feel like I’m spiraling with no one to catch me. That is, until I see Pluto outside the police station.

“Pluto--” is all I can muster before I collapse into their arms, clutching them like they’re my last hope. My fingers dig into their shoulders as I steady myself, letting my emotions out in one good hard cry. Pluto informs me that Delilah was setting up at their house.

“Y/n, you’re going to stay with me for a while, okay?” I simply nod, any attempt at a verbal confirmation diminished by my sobbing. Everything went so wrong so fast-- I was falling and I needed someone to grip onto. I know I can’t trust Pluto, not after our previous interactions. Suddenly, he pops into my head.

“Tate,” I say quietly, my voice thick with tears. “I want to see Tate.” Pluto gives me a weird look.

“You wanna see Langdon? Why?” Pluto inquires, gently leading me out of the police station towards their car.

“He might’ve gotten hurt or seen someone or something. He was coming from that direction last time I saw him.” I neglected to mention the fact I also wanted to see Tate because he made me feel safe. Pluto doesn’t need to know that, hell, I’m not sure they care. This is just another charity case for them, isn’t it? Well, I don’t really care. I need a place to stay, and Pluto has one-- charity case or not.

“... alright. I’ll give him a call--”

“No!” I snap. I’m not sure why, but I’m the one who needs to do it. Admittedly, my outburst was out of left field. “Uh, no. I’ll call him.”

I’m quick to compose myself, wiping away the tear tracks on my face and blowing my stuffy nose. My voice was still low from my screams and cries, but it’s much stronger than before. Pluto and I drive in silence, their dark eyes trained on the road. Eventually, I break the silence.

“Why are you doing this?” Pluto hesitates.

“Because you’re just a kid.” That’s all Pluto says on that topic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to say all that stuff back there.” “Yes you did, Pluto.” I said firmly. “It’s okay, I understand.” Pluto looks hurt but I don’t really care. They exit the room with a huff, leaving me in silence. I sit there for a minute, taking time to breathe. Things have changed so quickly, but at least I still have a few constants. I grab the phone and quickly dial Tate’s phone number.

Ring

I still have Delilah

Ring

I still have myself

Ring

I still have Tate.

Ri-- “Hello?” It’s so nice to hear his voice again.

“Hey, uh, it’s Y/n.” My voice sounds unnatural and odd, but I don’t really care.

“Oh my god, Y/n, are you ok?” Tate gushes, and I can practically see his face contorted in concern. “I’m so sorry about your mom, I really meant to call earlier but I thought I’d give you space--”

“It’s okay, Tate. It’s good to hear you now.” A voice echoes slightly on the other line, and Tate is quick to cover it with his own. I can tell it was his mother, and I can tell that she was angry. I felt defensive, the last thing I want is for Tate to have to experience what I did.

“Hey, uh, do you wanna, maybe, come over like… right now? I think you could use a hug.” Tate laughs ever so lightly.

“God, yes, I just want to see you.” I sound desperate. I am. “I’ll be there in 10.”

“See you then.”

“Bye, Tate.”

“Goodbye, Y/n.”

#tate langdon #tate langdon fanfiction #ahs tate langdon #tate langdon x reader #Evan Peters #AHS Evan Peters #AHS #ahs murder house #ahs fanfiction #american horror story #american horror story fanfiction #headfirst for halos #irl dont look

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sugarcoated-eloquence · 5 years ago

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Foreboding (Targets: Part 2)

A/N: Hello, hello! Welcome to the shitshow, aka my blog. This is part two of a potential 4/5 part series that I am co-writing with the lovely @sweetestrequiems. Click here for Part 1. Each chapter is focused on a different queen or issue related to the queens. This specific chapter is Catherine Parr centric, but the other queens are all very present.

Please note the following ships are canon in this fic’s universe: Parrlyn, Aramour

{Trigger warnings: anxiety, mention of blood, slight violence}

I should also note some passages are written in German and Spanish and should be google searched to better comprehend the story.

Taglist: @sweetestrequiems, @theatergirl06, @silverpetals97, @six-fragile-dreams, @patdfobmcr-yt, @frogs-in-clogs, @mindless-pidgeon

Other than that..... enjoy! Below the cut.

It would not stop.

The constant feeling like something would go wrong.

Katherine Howard could not tell if it was the anxiety, or if it was something else. She physically felt okay, and everything seemed fine, but for the life of her, the girl could not put her finger on that bad feeling. Being so lost in her thoughts, Howard was found, brows furrowed, staring down at her food, rather than eating it. Of course, this raised concerns with her cousin, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour. Boleyn’s face began to reflect the concern when she raised an eyebrow. Seymour had more of a sad-looking face, but nonetheless, the worry was quite present.

“Katherine?”

“Hey, Kitty… you okay?”

The two voices snapped Howard out of her trance. She looked up, shaking her head seconds after her attention went to the two women. “Yeah, yeah! Just had something come across my mind is all. I’m fine, really. Guess I’m just getting the typical pre-show jitters everyone gets,” which wasn’t a lie, either. But, Katherine did feel a pang of guilt in having to be dishonest with Jane and Anne. Howard was one of the Queens who always got some pre-show anxiety, alongside Catherine of Aragon– (much to everyone’s surprise)– and Boleyn. It wasn’t a rare occasion, though, considering they had just about an hour before they had to head to the theatre. It wouldn’t seem like much now, but this feeling Katherine Howard was having was not a good one.

––––––––––

During the matinee, Katherine could not shake off that constant thought.

But she was not alone. The feeling had begun to haunt her cousin Anne.

Anne Boleyn’s eyes began to glance around the audience, knowing that Katherine was in the middle of delivering the roast of the century to Jane, Catherine Parr, and Anna of Cleves. A certain man had caught her eye up in the upper level; the second row in the left Circle Slip of the Arts Theatre, to be more precise. Something about that blond hair. And cold, blue eyes. Something about the way he was leaning on the railing while he sat began to bother Anne. Her attention snapped right back to the show when she heard Katherine say, “I can’t even begin to think of how I could compete with you all. Oh wait, like this!” to signal the start of All You Wanna Do. But even with her focus on the show, Boleyn’s glances kept going back up to that strange man.

“I think we can all agree I’m the ten amongst these threes!”

What about him bothered Anne Boleyn so much? She did not know.

Was it his face? No, he seemed to be fairly attractive. Was it the way he stared at all of them? Possibly, since he seemed to be rather uncomfortable when Aragon brought up Leviticus and Mary in No Way. He also looked disgusted during Boleyn’s spotlight in Don’t Lose Ur Head. He looked very, very abhorred with Haus of Holbein and Anna of Cleves. But his eyes when Katherine Howard was singing screamed danger, and Anne could see it. Her frequent glancing that first day saw him tense up upon a few lines:

“Tall, large, Henry the Eighth.

Supreme Head of the Church of England.

Globally revered, although you wouldn’t know it from the look of that beard.”

And the end of All You Wanna Do, as far as Anne could tell from where she was on the stage, had him gripping the railing tightly. Was anger the reason he furrowed his eyebrows, or something else? The distance was not helping her much. Overall, she was picking up a few assumptions just from the one matinee show. This guy was either a historian that pretty much agreed with Henry VIII’s horrible decisions in life, or someone the Queens knew personally. What Anne decided to think though, was the former. Maybe this guy was just a historian and unimpressed with the show, right?

That first show could have not ended sooner. But as the lights on the stage went somewhat dim to allow the six ladies to exit, Anne Boleyn paused and allowed the others to go in front of her. She kept her gaze on that very man, and watched him stand up, turn around, and head on out of the seating area. The fact that she was the last one to leave concerned Cleves a bit. Right before she could even reach the dressing room, the queen in red put a hand on the green queen’s shoulder. “Moment mal, Anne. Was stört dich? Du hast anscheinend nicht dein gewohntes Lächeln am Ende der Show gehabt,” the German gently gave the shoulder a squeeze. Boleyn found herself sighing. “What’s going on? You normally smile and you were barely holding one up today by the end of the show,” Cleves made herself translate what she had previously said.

“I don’t know, honestly. I guess I thought I saw someone that Maggie knew in the audience. It was weird. I’m normally not out of it either. Anyways, if Aragon took the couch, she’s going to regret it. It’s my nap time,” the cheeky grin came back to the ruby lips. A nod from Cleves, and the two were well on their way to the dressing room. Was Aragon on the couch? Absolutely. And Anne 100% kicked her off of it just so she could lay down and sleep after she changed back into her comfortable clothes. No space buns, no makeup– just a giant hoodie and some sweatpants.

––––––––––

The other dressing room was a little more lively for a good while.

Katherine Howard was up on her feet, bouncing around with energy. Catherine Parr had decided to join her this afternoon. What were the two doing while Jane Seymour took the time to answer some tweets and messages? Dancing. The two ladies were dancing, which was almost the catalyst for Jane setting her phone down and joining them. In fact, she just wanted in on the fun. The three danced around for maybe half an hour, before a yawning Katherine Howard took to the couch to take a nap herself. Parr and Seymour stayed awake, with Parr looking for her notebook and Seymour going back to the tweets and messages.

“Cathy, look at this,” tapping her counterpart on the shoulder, the blonde woman moved her phone to be between them both. “It’s us with our kids!” If there was one thing Jane Seymour loved about the fans they had, it was all of the fanart of them with their kids. A smile was brought to Catherine Parr’s face as she looked up to meet Jane’s eyes. “If there’s one thing I have always appreciated, it’s that they know we aren’t the only Tudors that kicked some serious ass.” The laugh both of them shared was quiet, as to not wake Katherine up from her post-show nap.

The calligraphy pen twirled around Parr’s fingers for a solid minute or so before she finally began to write. Each queen had their thing to do post-matinee if it was a two-show day.

Catherine Parr wrote notes about her performances.

Jane Seymour responded to fans. And to as many of them as possible, too!

Both of the Beheaded Cousins slept their time away.

Anna of Cleves did various things, such as meditate and listen to music.

Catherine of Aragon normally left the dressing room to find a quiet spot in the theatre’s backstage to pray.

This normal routine was going to be shaken up a little too much. So much that Boleyn and Howard were too tense to take their usual between show naps.

––––––––––

The same seat every damn time.

Who the hell was this guy?

And why was he now looking so bitter towards Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard?

Three weeks since the mystery man had first caught Boleyn’s eyes in the middle of a performance. But now it was a pattern. Two night shows and a matinee, and always on the exact same nights. Exact same seat, exact same everything. This was starting to piss Boleyn off, and scare Howard. He looked at them with more than just malicious intent in his eyes, to the point that Katherine sometimes blanked on her lines. It was to the point when Anne was singing, she’d put more emphasis on “Hold up, let me tell you how it went down.” just to spite him. This historian guy, or whoever he truly was, did not settle well with the cousins.

But on the night of a Sunday performance, the Queens all got a rude awakening they were not ready for. And the two to be given the first wave were none other than the Beheaded Cousins themselves:

Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard.

––––––––––

This tension was so chilling that it even caused Anne to fumble a few of her lines. Even the infamous “Yeah, I read.” was not the usual confident, snarky remark it usually was. Having made eye contact with the mystery man while trying to deliver the line was definitely part of it, and for a moment there was a stiff awkwardness in the air. They’d recover quickly, of course, but the general consensus between the group was that something was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

The man quickly left, before the end of bows, and somehow located an usher and told him he was an old friend of the girls’. The girls weren’t too akin to refusing to meet people, so immediately after stagedooring and meeting fans, they all headed backstage to meet whoever had requested a personal meet and greet. Kit’s the first through the door and she stops dead in her tracks. Those eyes. They were the same bright blue eyes that she saw in her dreams at night, the same eyes she stared into right before… well…

She swallows, backing up a little. Anne comes crashing through the door, chaos embodied, and happily dances around for a moment before noticing the anxiety seething from Howard’s small frame. “What’s wrong, love?” Kit simply points to the man, and Anne’s heart drops to her stomach as well. She too, can’t look away from those crystal eyes. The blond hair. The everything.

Anne can barely talk above a whisper could even tell it was him would make the situation less real. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe he was just another person. One can hope, but no luck there, Anne. She can feel Kit shaking, and reaches to take her hand, letting out a shaky breath and considering shouting for Parr.

The others trickle in quickly after, the ‘mystery man’ still just staring at the two cousins with ferocious intensity. The last to enter, though, is Jane Seymour. The metaphorical mother of the group, the caretaker, any other synonym you can think of. Jane is never one to cast judgement. She walks in, and despite the obvious tension, says a polite hello to the man. He simply nods in response.

Parr joins Anne at the hip, whispering to her. “Is he what’s got you all rattled, love?” Anne lets out a small nod. “It’s him.”

That statement reaches Jane’s ears and immediately her demeanor changes. She stands up a little straighter, setting her microphone down on the dressing room’s main table, and just looks at him. She moves a little closer, pushing the other girls behind her, and she can only say one thing.

“...Henry?”

He steps forward, and while the other girls move back, Jane stays planted to her spot. He smiles, trying to turn on the charm, reaching for her hands. “The one I truly lov—” He’s cut off by a slap. Yes, Jane Seymour just slapped a man. He brings a hand up to his red cheek, eye showing that it indeed, hurt. Cleves stifles a laugh.

“Don’t ever associate that word with me. You don’t know what love is.” A few tears well up in the blonde’s eyes, but refuses to let them fall. Not for him. “Love isn’t keeping your wife from holding her newborn child!” Her voice breaks slightly, but she takes a deep breath, centering herself.

“You all look so different.” The scruffy voice chimes, and immediately Kit visibly tenses up. She, unlike Jane, is unable to hold the tears in. Though they flow silently, they flow heavily. “There’s no need to cry, Katherine… or should I say ‘Kitty’, now?”

“Don’t speak to her. You do not have permission to do that.” Jane moves to block his view, but he simply repositions himself. Anne elects to go in for a dig. The devilish smirk returns, though small, and she gives Kit’s hand a squeeze before moving a tiny step forward.

“You know, mate, if you’re still having trouble… you know, with your little friend, we can get you a prescription for Viagra. Or Cialis, plenty of options.” She emphasizes ‘little’ by using her thumb and pointer finger to indicate his size. It makes Kit smile a little. The silence in the air was broken by a stifled laughter. That had to be the funniest thing Cleves ever heard Boleyn say outside of the wit written in the script. Aragon gave her a nudge, but even she agreed with the sentiment.

The blond man, finally revealed as the reincarnated Henry VIII, just narrowed his eyes. “How funny, laughter coming from someone who couldn’t perform.” Anne’s smirk went away, as she looked back towards Cleves with a hurt expression. Cleves’ grin was gone, with gritted teeth behind a closed mouth replacing it. Aragon let out a sigh. “That’s low for the man who so easily says he believes–”

“Catalina, don’t even get me started on you either.”

Not a single comment from Catherine Parr. She just stood there, feeling herself drift between a rational mind and pure impulse. Did this guy just come back to insult them, and get a second wind to take Katherine? Oh no, that was not happening. She saw it all, too. Jane’s reddening face from holding back the tears, Cleves’ rather tame anger, Aragon’s scowl… Kit’s pale face from the fear, and Anne being powerless. Jane Seymour honestly, had lost her mind way before Catherine Parr did in this scenario, but… there was always going to be a breaking point for the quiet one.

“So you and your whore cousin think you can just slander my name like that? I’d have you both back at the scaffold in front of the Tower if I had–”

“Scaffolds don’t exist anymore, you twat,” Boleyn hissed under her breath.

“Enough, Henry.”

This was where Parr had enough. The other Queens gave a glance at their surviving counterpart, who wasn’t even looking up at him. She was staring at the floor, but for now. “Cathy, you should probably not… y’know, say anything,” Boleyn barely managed to get that sentence out, considering the crushing feeling she had inside of her chest. All that got as a response was a laugh.

“The survivor, Catherine Parr. Tell me then, my love, are you just as stubborn as you were back then?” He got every other one to crack, but little did he know that he would be the one about to shatter like glass. “Because you should’ve been the one to meet an untimely fate like your counterparts here. Of course, new body means a second chance at being able to–”

Henry stops when he sees Parr’s shoulders shake a little. She’s… laughing?

That’s why she was looking down. When she did look up, one saw her smile shining on like a light. Safe to say, Catherine Parr was about to tear someone apart. “You’ve still got quite a loud mouth for an old man. Tell me, did you ever finally learn to take care of yourself, you bobolyne? Thinking you have any right to talk to the mother of not only your damned son, but also the woman who was loyal to you for twenty four years?! And even better, the one you so graciously called your sister after your marriage? You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

Jane felt a little insulted that she had to take a jab at Edward, but had the feeling it was necessary considering the situation. Hopefully Parr would apologize for it later on.

“Okay, okay… fair. Not bad, Parr. But why do those two get to wear shiny chokers while the rest of you have crowns? Does it further emphasize my point that Anne Boleyn’s just a hell of a tempting woman and that Katherine Howard–”

The smile from Parr’s face faded. The anger was present and everyone was mortified to see someone so quiet speaking up like she was. With vitriol in her voice, Catherine Parr officially lost her temper.

“You KNOW exactly what the fuck happened, Henry.”

Aragon felt herself go to cover Katherine’s ears as her goddaughter began to lose her composure. “You KNOW why they have to wear those. You know damn well the crimes you fucking committed against them both, especially Katherine! She was a child, Henry! A fucking child who got manipulated and used! I want to hear nothing from your mouth, you snoutband! You have nothing to defend yourself with!”

Wiping a tear or two away, Jane Seymour began to lean into Anna of Cleves for some form of comfort. Even the German was surprised to be hearing the resentment coming out of such a powerful and rather cool-tempered woman. Just as Henry went to open his mouth, he stopped.

“Oh no, no sir! You have no right to talk here! Anne Boleyn lost her head over what, your delusions that she was out and about with men when you were just going around like you weren’t married? And because of that, she has to struggle to change her name? Are you actually insane or some shit?” The northern accent Parr had was thick. She was angry, and her voice said it for her if her facial expression did not. “Jane Seymour never got to hold Edward because you took him straight away for his christening. And she had to sit there, alone, in bed! Suffering through illness until she died without saying goodbye to her baby boy!”

Boleyn goes pale. Where did this anger even come from? She had no idea, but Parr was scaring her.

“My damn godmother was near a saint with all of the bullshit she had to put up with! Twenty four fucking years, and it wasn’t Anne who ruined the marriage. It was YOU. Aragon did some insanely remarkable things despite how you treated her! And Cleves! You just decide to take Cleves and humiliate her because she wasn’t beautiful enough for you? You’re an absolute wandought, Henry! You brought a Spanish lady and a German lady out of their comfort zones all because you didn’t know how to use your damn brain!”

At this point, Aragon had managed to sneak off into the dressing room, with Cleves now being the one to hold Howard. Boleyn was now hugging Seymour, actually terrified of not just Henry, but Parr.

Henry began to go pale. He was not going to recover from this.

“Who am I missing… let’s see, Katherine Howard? No, I got her. Anne Boleyn? Also got her. Jane Seymour? Check. Anna of Cleves? Check. Catherine of Aragon? Oh, yeah, her too. Would you look at that… I’m the only one left. Surprise surprise, the fucking survivor surviving again and this time, she gets to give it to you the exact way she wants to.”

“Cathy–”

“Shut up you lot. My turn to finally talk.”

A flinch from the group. Aragon had to take glances in and out of the dressing room.

“Oh wow, Catherine Parr. The survivor. The one who draws lines in arbitrary places, blah blah! She had two other husbands, what good could have she done being a Tudor queen? I DIDN’T TAKE ANY OF YOUR BULLSHIT IS WHAT I DID. Those books that everyone rumoured a woman was writing? Surprise, you tallowcatch! It was me! I’m the famed author of Tudor history. And I published under my own name once your pitiful body finally died. That can’t be that bad, Cathy. What a sad excuse for a sob story, right?”

Katherine Howard began to tremble more than she already was in Anna of Cleves’ arms. Catherine Parr made herself stand face to face with Henry.

“Ah, right, because she survived she deserves the backing vocals. WELL GUESS WHAT, HENRY? I’M HERE TO STAY. I HAD TO GIVE UP MY LIFE, MY LOVE, AND WHATEVER ELSE I WAS DOING TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SORRY ASS. You might have forced these women into submission but no, I am not going to submit to some sad old man. You took away their rights, you took away their children… and poor Katherine…” A laugh. “You took poor Katherine’s childhood. You turned her into a disgraced whore. She is not and will never be one. She is a victim of your bullshit.”

“Catherine, my love–”

“No excuses now, Henry. I’m through. Your love ran cold years ago. And call me love one more damn time. See what happens.”

“My love–”

The weight of the sleeves helped Parr send her fist flying into his face. He stumbled back, feeling a warm sensation drip from his nose. Blood. He… was bleeding? “You actually got the nerve to punch an English King? You’re a mad woman, Parr. I’ll have you thrown on that scaffold just how–” A second punch, and this time, there was an audible crack of sorts.

“You wear a crown, but you’re no king. You’re a disgrace to human life, Henry. And this is for all of the women you hurt, manipulated, abused… and killed,” a lunge forward. The third strike was to his jaw, and the fourth was a solid kick to the chest with her heel being the first thing to make impact. Henry, having been taken by surprise from every hit, stumbled right back into a pair of men. Shaking her fist off, some of the blood ended up getting on the floor, and part of it remained on her hands.

“I’ll be back, Catherine! Mark my damn words! Let go of me, you imbeciles!”

“Like hell you’ll be back!”

And just as she took a step forward, Aragon went to hold on to one of her arms. “Someone help me hold her back!” Aragon needed the help. Parr was under such a fit of rage she was dragging her godmother across the hallway. Seymour had to let go of Boleyn to try and hold on to Parr’s other arm. She slowed down, but still had enough adrenaline surging through her to keep going. Cleves just gave Howard a gentle kiss on the cheek before running over to help the other two ladies. No arms? No problem. She just held on to one of Parr’s legs.

Boleyn pulled her cousin into a tight hug, feeling a shaky exhale leave her body. “Kitty? Kitty, are you okay?” Just a nod. Howard was terrified to open her mouth after seeing the ungodly wrath unfold before her eyes. “I-Is… she mad at us, Annie?” Quiet and almost inaudible. The poor girl was terrified to even talk out of fear that Parr was not just angry at Henry, but at them too.

“Catherine Parr, what in God’s name has gotten into you?” Aragon furrows her eyebrows. “This is not you. What is going on? Talk to me, please.”

Anne reaches to take Kit’s hand. “She’s… upset. Not at us, I promise.” Anne had to admit, all of the ferocity coming from Parr scared her a little bit. The yelling reminded her a little of when Henry first stormed in and accused her. Of course, she would set it aside, but it was scary in the moment. She looks in Kit’s eyes, which are now full of tears, sighing and pulling her into another tight hug and rubbing her back. “It’s okay, babes… He’s gonna go away and we will be okay, I promise. The girls aren’t gonna let him get to us.” Kit just buries her face into Anne’s shoulder and lets out the remainder of what she wouldn’t let out in front of Henry. Thank goodness the men had taken him into another room until the police arrived.

Anne pulls out of the hug for a moment and then walks Kit outside. “You look absolutely knackered, love… maybe we should head home as soon as all of this is over. Do you wanna change into something else? C’mon.” They both decide to change, but do so in the staff bathroom rather than in the dressing room. On the off chance Henry was able to see into the dressing room, they didn’t want him to see anything. Anne also thought a door with a lock was the safest.

Once they finish hanging up their costumes, the two settle into the couch, and just hold each other. Anne hums a little of La Vie en Rose, and quickly, Kit falls asleep. Anne doesn’t mind. They were all done with the day, it had already put them through the ringer.

There’s an apparent veil of exhaustion amongst all of the women, except Parr.

Sure, Henry had been apprehended at this point and he was stuck with his hands cuffed behind his back, but that didn’t stop him from being inches away from Parr’s face with a very devious smile. “I’ll be back, Catherine. And you six will have to deal with me all over again. Especially Kat–”

“Like hell you are!”

Catherine Parr broke her left arm free from Catherine of Aragon’s grip, and her right arm from Jane Seymour’s. The right hand took a vice-like grip on his shirt collar before her left fist came swinging at full power, and thensome since the weight of the costume added force. That impact had a very, very nasty sound to it. Even Cleves flinched at it, soon seeing the blond man fall straight to the floor with a bloody face. “Get anywhere near us and I will have you laying your head on a prison bench just how you made poor Katherine and Anne lay down as you murdered them!”

The officers picked up the unconscious Henry, and kindly thanked Jane, Anna, and Aragon for their cooperation. Parr however, got a warning, but that was about it.

Giving it a moment, knowing they would be out of earshot at this point, Parr releases a rather annoyed grumble. “He’ll fucking pay for his crimes against all of you. I swear on my life he will rot in a prison cell for what he did. If he thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and come back here to take us for fools, he’s wrong,” she almost hissed at the end. The thickness of her accent was making Aragon concerned, since to see someone as rational as her goddaughter be in such a state was a rare experience. Cleves and Seymour both looked up with mortified faces. Ever seen revenge personified as human? No? Now you have.

And her name was Catherine Parr.

“What in heaven was that?” Maggie asks, getting up and peeking out into the hallway. A small laugh. The thud was actually loud enough to wake the cousins, and they both get up, confused a little, and sleepily walk to join her at the door frame. Anne rubs her eyes and yawns, looking at Henry, now being pulled up by two police men.

She glances to Parr, and then to Henry, and upon sight of Parr’s hands, she lets out a small, startled gasp. His blood was actually on her knuckles. Probably mixed with her own, if her knuckles had bust. Kit has a similar reaction, coupled with hiding behind Anne at the sight of the wicked man. “Cathy… let me help you get cleaned up. Mags, can you grab the first aid kit out of my backpack?”

“Let’s just go home, first.” Parr says, a little cold, while watching an officer take Henry away. She wanted to watch up until he was inside of the car, so she could ensure he was going away for good. The other officer asks her a few questions about the situation, and she tells him everything that happened, down to the fact that they would be filing a restraining order, and that Henry was not allowed to see their show again.

––––––––––

The six women had gone home after waiting… maybe an extra ten minutes after Parr finished talking to the police officer. The car was dead silent on the ride back to the house, too.

“I’m actually mad about the fact that he’s actually attractive now,” Boleyn rolls her eyes as she walks in after Seymour. “I’m kidding, obvs. But how is he alive? We’ve been free for… who knows how long now and he comes back? What did he want, anyways?” Seymour turned to face Boleyn, giving the brunette a gentle pat on the head. “It sounded like revenge, but I think Cathy has the actual answer to that. We can talk to her when she’s a lot calmer, though… she’s very…”

“Upset, angry… name it, I am probably feeling it.”

“We all are, love…” Anne goes to her, gently taking her hands, looking at them carefully. One’s very busted up, and the blood has now dried and solidified. “Let me clean you up, c’mon.” She motions to the kitchen, and the two head in there, Parr sitting on the counter while Anne gets the first aid kit out. “I’m not ashamed of what I did today.” Parr stares at the floor, expecting some sort of lecture or argument to happen, but it doesn’t.

“You protected me. That’s all I could ever want.” Anne kisses her quickly on the cheek before pouring some hydrogen peroxide on a gauze cloth. Before she starts to press it to Cathy’s knuckles, she looks the girl straight in the eyes. “Don’t be mad for how much this is going to hurt, please.”

While those two work on that, the other girls drop their bags next to the door and slump into the chairs around the kitchen table, an apparent awkwardness in the air. Jane is the first to speak, and it’s absolutely filled with regret and apology. “Ladies, I am so sorry I lost my cool today. I shouldn’t have gotten so ‘up in arms.’ He just… I never…” She’s tearing up a little, and Kit offers a hand for her to squeeze as she tries to work through her words. She takes a deep breath, brushing some of her blonde hair out of her face.

“I never got to tell him all of that. All of the resentment.”

Cathy grumbles from the counter, agreeing with her statement. “He sure got a taste of all of my resentment.” Her cheeks were reddening, and Anne doesn’t know what else to do past wrapping the girl’s knuckles, so she lays a kiss on them, hoping that will calm her down. “Shhh… no need to get worked up over that toff, not again.” Her hand goes to hold Parr’s face. “Let’s be happy, okay?”

“Jane, we all had every right to react the way we did. Even Cathy had a right to bash his ugly face in.” Kit nods reassuringly, and the other queens mumble words of agreement, Anne and Parr silently making their way over to the table. Something about Parr’s energy was off, but the queens wouldn’t question it for the time being. They were all rattled, it didn’t take much to see it.

“I just feel that as the mother of the group, I reacted rather rashly. I think–” She has to hold back some tears. “I think I should’ve composed myself.” This ends with the ladies all essentially tackling Jane with a group hug, even Parr, though not really seeming to want to participate. It was getting late, anyways, and it was almost time for her to begin her nightly writing. It would help.

Anne clears her throat. “I think you did perfectly, Jane. He’s an absolute tosser for thinking he could face all six of us at once.” Kit laughs in agreement, and the two head upstairs. Parr quickly dismisses herself, Aragon trailing quickly behind after giving Jane a tight hug.

Cleves takes Jane’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Gute Nacht, Jane. Versuche nicht zu viel darüber nachzudenken.” Jane sighs. “Still don’t speak German, love.”

“Try not to think too much about it.”

“Catherine,” Aragon knocks on the open door, furrowing her eyebrows. “Mija, what got into you today? That isn’t you. Where… where did you even go?” A sharp look from the sixth wife to the first, before it softened up. It eventually became more of a look of shame as Parr’s eyes went to the bandaged hand. She really did do a number on herself, but that blond haired Tudor nightmare deserved it. She wasn’t wrong, was she? Or, had her morality become such an ambiguous grey area that maybe it was wrong for her to have sucker punched the man who beheaded Katherine Howard so unfairly.

The shameful eyes look up, seeing Aragon’s concern despite the slight scowl. “I’m sorry, Lina. I… no se. Yo lo vi y... Me congelé. Es como si todo el sentido racional dejara mi cuerpo y me quedara con impulso. Lo juro, no... siempre así. Tu lo sabes! Aunque asusté a todos, no?” The hurt in her voice was evident. Parr knew she became the morally ambiguous of the group, which was normally not the good thing. Aragon’s expression lightened up just a little as she approached her goddaughter, and pulled her into a side hug. “Sucede, amor. Pero no te enfades tanto con alguien tan horrible. Seguimos amándote, y siempre nos preocuparemos por ti. Ninguna de nosotras te tiene miedo, y eso te lo prometo.”

Those last words gave Catherine Parr just a little bit of hope. Catherine of Aragon gave one last hug to the woman before heading on out the door, but not without “Don’t stay up late.” being the last thing she said to the sixth wife.

Kit and Anne stand in the hallway, chatting before going to their rooms, which were across from each other. “Lock your window, Annie, please.” It’s evident that Kit is still very worried about Henry figuring out where they live or figuring out how to get in. Anne nods, despite the fact that they lived on the second floor.. “Of course.” The girls hug and in a matter of seconds, they are both behind their respective closed doors.

Kit leans against the door for a moment after closing it, but not locking it, and a few silent tears fall before she starts to change into her pajamas. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” She mumbles to herself, turning on her string lights and turning off the main light of the room. She debates what kind of music to listen to, mulling over it for a few minutes before turning on some classical. It was different, but it would work.

Anne, on the other hand, immediately goes to lock her window and pull the shades closed, which was slightly saddening because she did enjoy looking at the night sky before she fell asleep. She sits on the edge of her bed for a moment, deep in thought about Cathy. She had to admit, the girl she saw today was one she had never seen before, and one she was pretty afraid of seeing again. That fire, while endearing… shook Anne a little. She has to force herself to shake off the thought that anger immediately translates to a person being anything remotely similar to Henry.

“Right, then… bed it is.” Anne shuts off her lights and lays down, picturing that starry sky in her own mind. It would do.

Jane settles in with the current book she was reading, a copy of Pride and Prejudice. A story of true love, one could say, and the text was actually helping to calm the blonde down about the events of the day. Aragon peeks in for a moment, and Jane gives her a soft smile, an unspoken agreement that they would be okay.

Though it seemed as if everyone was settling down, Catherine Parr had a storm bigger than a hurricane brewing inside.

––––––––––

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Catherine Parr let that be the only sound to fill the silence. Normally, it would be music or something, but not tonight.

The calligraphy pen in her hands danced around her fingers, barely having touched the pages of the open notebook. Her vision was still blurred, much to her own surprise. Wrath was a powerful thing, and to have something take over the body for an amount of time would lead to consequences later in the night. In her case, it was a very horrid case of insomnia. While she dealt with insomnia most nights, she had the slightest feeling this was not the typical time to go to bed at 2 in the morning case. The pen began to slow down in her hand, and she held it still for the first time that whole night.

“It’s not the first time you write about how you feel, Cathy. It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine.”

It was not fine.

No matter how many times she told herself it would be fine, she could never believe it. Catherine Parr saw her hand shake, just the slightest, every time she wrote. Every memory from the last few hours was hazy, but simultaneously at the forefront of her mind. The usually clean lines of her penmanship were just the bit off from the feelings. Word after word, the anger began to flow onto the pages like water flowing down a river’s stream. So shaky, and so violent were the movements of Parr’s wrist. In comparison to the surprisingly smooth transition from thought to thought, her actions made her look a little crazed. One could even say she looked oddly desperate to finish writing.

Almost as if she was running out of time.

She was a writer in her past life. An author, really. The woman wrote books, psalms, meditations… name it, she probably has a manuscript of it somewhere. But this? This was not her. This frantic drive to write and write until the pages could take no more and the ink began to go through them was not Catherine Parr. In a way, it was almost symbolic. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

There it was again. The ticking of the clock.

Time was no longer a relevant thing for Parr. She just let the time go on.

Last she could remember, it was midnight. But nay, the clock spoke otherwise. A glance at it revealed it to be four in the morning. Her hand and wrist were cramped up, and the tears that she felt falling were drying on her face. The pages had become full of nonsensical phrases, mostly a result of the anger still in her system. But that anger began to fade from anger into a depression.

Why couldn’t she be stronger?

Why didn’t she do enough at the moment?

The pain finally struck her heart. Silence began to be her worst enemy, and something she thought she’d never do is what she did. Parr slams her hands on the desk, crying out, almost as if it were a scream or cry for help. The scream was enough to wake up Catherine of Aragon in an instant. A second and third one woke Jane Seymour and Anna of Cleves up. The fourth one got to Anne Boleyn. In a worried hurry, Aragon got out of bed and ran down the stairs to get to the door before almost ramming it down with her own body.

“Cathy? Mija, what’s the–… Cathy?”

What she saw was a torn woman in front of her. Her bandaged hand had a little blood seeping through the ends. Some of the curls were sticking to her face, and her eyes were all puffy and red. Aragon gently pulled Parr up and into a tight embrace. “Escúchame. Todo está bien, Cathy. Estamos en la casa.” Normally, Aragon had a commanding nature that gave off the feeling of someone being safeguarded behind a wall, but this was one of those moments she was willing to let her wall down. Parr’s grip tightened, with the tears coming back and rushing in like an ocean’s grey waves.

Catherine learned just a smidge of Spanish for her godmother. Enough to get by with a conversation or two, but she was not fluent in any way. “Duele, Lina,” a sniffle. “Todo esto duele y no hice lo suficiente para ayudar.” And there was something about her goddaughter using Spanish in such a defeated manner that made Aragon crack a little on the inside. Her own eyes were welling up with tears as she looked to the door.

Seymour, Cleves, and Boleyn.

All three of them with wide eyes and fairly concerned expressions. But it was Anne who saw the tears forming in Aragon’s eyes and threatening to spill. The two lock eyes and it takes everything in Anne to not crack too. She gives Aragon a look that says, ‘Let me try.’ Lina nods and gives Cathy’s hand a small squeeze, and Anne goes and kneels on the floor in front of her.

The other three stand in the hallway, knowing it was probably best to give the two a moment. “Did that not wake Kitty?” Cleves pauses, and then points in the general direction of Howard’s room, loud classical music streaming through her closed door.

Anne takes Parr’s hands. “Cathy, please talk to me… please, love.” It takes Parr a moment to look into Boleyn’s eyes, which are also filled with tears at this point. “It kills me to see you hurting.” A hand goes to wipe some tears from Parr’s cheeks. It lingers there, cupping her cheek, Anne’s thumb reflexively going back and forth to wipe more tears as they fall.

“It kills me to see you hurting.” Her statement is coupled with a small voice crack, and not one that you would usually find endearing. This was out of pure sadness and anger. She sighs. “I should’ve done more.” She looks at the floor, past Boleyn, though her head is now resting on the girl’s hand.

“He’s the one that deserves to be on a scaffold!” She starts to sob again, leaning forward, and Anne catches her, in a sense. Shaking with anger, she lets it out, nearly soaking Anne’s shirt in a matter of seconds. “He deserves to die! Why is he here?” Her breathing becomes slightly erratic, heaving breaths joining in with shallow sobs.

The three in the hallway silently elect to let the two work through it. It really seemed as if Anne was the only one who was going to be able to get her to calm down, even if only a fraction. Aragon lingers for a moment, and then decides finally to go back to her room, leaving the door open in case anyone needed anything. Jane does the same, but reads for a few minutes before going back to sleep.

Anne isn’t sure what to do, so she stands both of them up, having to support Parr a little, and just holds her, swaying back and forth slowly. “Shh… babe… he doesn’t deserve your tears…” Anne, you preach this, yet you’re a mess too. Albeit, a mess because Cathy is crying, but a mess nonetheless. “He… he’s getting his karma. He has to watch us thrive. And he can’t do a damned thing to us. We’re untouchable.” She was also telling herself this.

Parr nods quietly, latching on to Anne even more, as if letting her go would mean she’d disappear into thin air. Though she hadn’t actually said it, she knew she loved Anne. More than anything, and if punching Henry in the face was what she had to do to protect her, she’d do it every day for the rest of her life.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She speaks softly, voice scratchy as a result of the outburst. It was nearing five o’clock at this point, but it didn’t matter. With no hesitation, Anne replies with a simple “Of course,” pulling away slightly to look Parr in the eyes. Those tired, red eyes, still wet with tears formed over a man who didn’t matter one bit. Not in this moment, he didn’t.

The two make their way to Boleyn’s room, a twin bed being the only place for them, but it would be plenty of space. Anne lays down first, patting the small space next to her for Parr to join. It’s almost as if they’re out as soon as they cover up.

Kit sleeps through all of this. Perhaps it’s the music blaring from her speakers, or the exhaustion from the events of the day, but it’s the first night the girl doesn’t wake up screaming. The other queens are really surprised to see her downstairs in the morning, looking well rested and pouring herself a cup of tea, seemingly fine. “G’morning.” She yawns, and the others just kind of look at each other as if reality has shifted. “Where are Cathy and Annie?”

“In bed, still.”

“Ja.”

“I should check on them.” Kit says, setting her tea down. Cleves joins her, cringing a little when Kit knocks awfully loudly on the door and pushes it open. “Halt die Klappe, Kit…” Kit turns and looks at her, a puzzled look on her face. Cleves rolls her eyes jokingly, and then whispers again. “You’re too loud.”

The sight upon opening the door is a combination of comedic and sweet. Parr is absolutely sprawled out on top of Anne, snoring loudly and taking up most of the bed. One of her hands is on Anne’s cheek, as if she had fallen asleep holding the girl’s face. Anne is awake, quietly scrolling through TikTok with headphones in. She looks at the two in the doorframe and smiles, looking down at Parr. ‘We’re okay.’ She mouths, and Jane and Aragon peek in, a small laugh coming from the Spanish queen. It warmed her heart to see the two all bundled up and Parr seemingly at peace, even if only for a moment.

Parr makes a small noise and shifts, essentially pulling Anne closer and wrapping a leg around her. The ladies all smile, electing to leave the two alone. It was evident that everything would be okay, at least for now. Anne kisses Cathy on the forehead, letting out a happy sigh. Parr subconsciously replies with a small snore, and the two stay there, safe in each other's arms, for most of the day.

A couple hours seem to pass and it’s about… noon, when Parr starts stirring. Anne notices this, and begins to smile. At least she was waking up. However, things were not going to go to plan, because in comparison to Anne, Catherine was a whole lot taller, and took up just a bit more space. Thinking for a moment she was still in her room, Parr went to try and roll to the other side of the bed, but immediately woke up at not having anything underneath her. A loud enough thudding noise got everyone’s attention.

The other four queens almost immediately ran to the doorframe, and Anne was sitting up.

In typical Boleyn fashion, she was laughing.

Parr on the other hand, was not very happy. “Ow…” Looking up, she just sees the green queen essentially laying back down because of the laughter, and a glance to the doorway reveals four others holding back laughter. “Oh haha, funny that Cathy Parr fell off a bed now is it?”

Through the laughter, Boleyn responds.

“It’s marvelous, love!”

#tw: blood #tw: violence #six #six musical #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #catalina de aragon #anna of cleves #anne boleyn #katherine howard #kitty howard #The Beheaded Cousins Write #sixfic #six fanfiction #parrlyn #aramour

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