#don’t you dare even look at the Arctic I’ll stop you to death with my hooves | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kyberphilosopher · 4 years ago

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Smile

Word Count: 3467 Requested: yes. Based off ‘505′ Warnings: strong hints to sexual disposition. Spoilers if you squint.

“I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck... I did last time I checked.” -Arctic Monkeys, ‘505′.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

With hoarse breath and unwavering eyes, you look up to the stars as you speak. “So, you’re really going to do it then?”

“I have to,” you hear him say. His voice has gotten far more mature and calm since the first time you’d heard him speak. Still angry and determined, but in an intelligent, adult way. Eren is a more capable person now. The only thing left to do is wait and see if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

“What do you think are the chances of winning?” you question. A shooting star whizzes across the sky at that very moment, and it’s gone before you can think of a wish.

You turn around to face him, but his eyes are already on you. Once upon a time, Eren’s eyes were emerald and teal and deep. Now they’re paler. They are cold and steady as a byproduct of who he’s become. It’s hard not to wonder what he’s thinking about when he looks at you like this, especially since he’s become harder to read over the years.

At first, Eren was one of the most insufferable people you’d ever met. He acted out so often, it was hard to see him as another person of intelligent life. You mostly just minded your business through your cadet years, usually hanging around Reiner, who was also difficult to see as intelligent life. Sometimes you and Eren would argue, but it was never passionate. You just had different world views.

Things got better when you found out what Eren really was. Since you hadn’t made top ten, you could only choose between the Garrison Regiment, or the Scout Regiment. And with Eren’s newly discovered power showing the promise of hope, you decided on the Scouts. He liked that.

After that, it was hard not to mature at the same time as he. Eren often blamed himself for the death and carnage that surrounded the regiment. You were solely responsible for the passing of your best friend. And after everything that happened with the government, almost dying at Shiganshina- you knew you couldn’t stand this much longer. With your relationship with Eren still budding in its early and steamy stages, he was the only one you told of your desertion. You abandoned the corps, finding a small, abandoned farm within wall Maria to hide out in.

Eren was too tired and sick of everything to think you were being cowardly. He wanted to leave too. Maybe come with you. But Eren had plans in the works that he couldn’t leave alone. He visited you less and less. Luckily you never made a fuss.

And now Eren wants to end the world, to save the world. How does he expect you to react to this?

“I just thought I should see you,” Eren replies. You know he’s deflecting your question. You’re not stupid.

You nod slowly, blinking as you think. “Am I going to die?”

Your companion crosses his arms calmly. “Yes,” he tells you.

There it is.

“You know I can’t support you in this, right?” you tell Eren, equally as calm.

He only replies after a moment, also in deep thought. “I know.”

You look back up to the sky, sighing out through your nose. “Why did you come, Eren? Did you want me to tell you that I think you’re doing the right thing? Or was it because you need to let out some anger? I wonder.”

“I did want to see you.”

“Do you still?”

Silence.

“Yes.”

“And I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“No.”

The stars are glittering with pastel hues, like a rainbow, or kaleidoscope. Each one is a different size, bordering on different shapes, all fusing and melting together like your idea of heaven. You can barely even see the midnight color of the sky through all them. It is beautiful, but it’s also bitter. Everything is bitter, here.

“I didn’t make myself any dinner yet,” you say. “Couldn’t think of anything.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

When she was alive, Eren’s mother would make a soup for the family. It was creamy, hot, filled with meat and cheese at the bottom. Eren never liked soup, but he did love that dish. She was always sure to make extra for him, so that he could enjoy it for several days. And although it wasn’t until after she was gone that Eren realized he rarely ever thanked her for it, it was still one of the warmest memories Eren had.

He fills your wooden bowl with it, being awfully generous. He knows that even though you haven’t eaten much in the last few years, you too had grown fond of the soup. He knows no matter how slowly you force it down, you are enjoying it. It burns the roof of your mouth every time, but you’ve never cared. All that matters is the creamy sauce, and the cow cooked to perfection.

You stare at the fireplace beside you, flames cackling and licking upward. Eren sets the bowl in front of you, and takes the seat on the other side. You know he sets his long hair behind his shoulders. You’re already prepared. From your pocket, you produce a stretchy brown hair tie on the verge of snapping, handing it to him.

“Thanks,” he says, even though this routine has happened however many times he’s seen you.

“You’re welcome.”

The soup is as amazing as usual. You’re willing to bet Eren makes it even better than his mother did, but you dare not say it aloud. It’s creamy, perfectly seasoned. It goes down your throat, still steaming.

“Does Mikasa know about this?” you question, taking one more delicious bite.

“No. None of them do,” Eren answers. “Armin will figure it out soon.”

“You want me to kill ‘em?”

Eren shakes his head. To a lot of people, this would be taken as a joke. But this is nowhere near it. Your tone is too casual, too low for it to be humor of any kind. And the way the man across from you reacts- he’s thinking the same thing.

“No.”

“How are they, then?”

Eren thinks as he takes another bite, the warmth creeping up his chest sweetly. “They’re alright for now. I don’t know for how much longer. I can’t see everything.”

“Can you see who’s next?”

He squints at his bowl as if he were angry, but his eyebrows barely move. “Sasha.”

Sasha. She was always a good presence to have around. While she seemed like the type of person who would annoy you, it was hard to hate her. And you admired her keen intuition anyway.

“Will you give her something for me?”

Eren nods. Then you both go back to eating for a few seconds, basking in the orange glow from the flames.

“How are things here?” he questions after a minute.

“The same,” you tell him. “I think the cow might die soon.”

Some people might reply with condolences, or sympathy. But your lover does not, and you do not expect him to. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says flatly, almost like a promise. You nod once.

Despite the atmosphere which can only be described as bitter, you’re glad to see Eren again. You’re glad that he’s alive, and as alright as he can be. The bed is always colder without him, heated up only by your lingering fingers that you pretend are his every other night. Whenever he leaves an article of clothing behind, usually on purpose, you hold off on washing it so it can smell like him for you as long as possible. Then there are the hair ties you keep either in your pocket or on your wrist, specifically for him. The razors in your cabinet he often didn’t even bother using.

Even with the sullen demeanor that had managed to overtake both of you, there was at least one thing you cared about in the world still. Maybe it wasn’t the most conventional kind of caring, or the healthiest coping mechanism. But it was still caring. And all that you cared about was him.

You knew you weren’t Eren’s first priority. You were probably second, or third. It didn’t bother you. Eren’s head was one of the first things lost when the truth was presented to him. It came back coldly and sternly, in contrast to how previously hot and impatient it had been. But by then your head had also grown colder and sterner. In simpler terms, Eren did care for you. He did love you. But he would consider letting you die if it meant achieving what he set out to do, and you knew this.

Across the table, Eren lifts his head to look up at you as he chews slowly. The burning meal slides down his throat easily, albeit painfully. It doesn’t even register with him, his piercing eyes slowly gaining a glint from the fire light.

You meet his eyes after a few seconds, feeling them on you. You don’t say a word, don’t even give a questioning look. You just hold him patiently, which is something the two of you find yourself doing often.

“You can’t stop it,” Eren speaks, looking you dead in the eyes with a steady gaze. There is love behind his eyes, far behind the anger, but you can tell from the tone of voice he is trying to tell you something as if it were an order. Your lips part slightly from the intensity radiating from your lover, who doesn’t move a muscle. “You’ll be free soon.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Dinner ends. Eren helps clean up the dishes for you and goes to get water from your well so you can clean easier. You already know from the way his thumb brushed against your own when you took the bowls that you’ll likely be bent over the sink in a few minutes, which you don’t mind, but you wonder if he’ll be willing to be softer than usual as an apology for what he’d said earlier.

He’d meant to scare you. You’re intelligent enough to figure that out. Even though you don’t scare easy, and you didn’t even give an extreme reaction, the look in Eren’s eyes had made your heart drop to your stomach. Sometimes you forget that Eren sees everything. Then he says something like that to remind you in the most memorable way.

The wooden door opens and closes behind you. Boots scuff the ground for a few seconds, drawing closer and closer as something in you sparks with anticipation, as it always does. A pail of water hits the surface beside you, partially sloshing over the sides, shining silver in the moonlight from the tall window in front of you. Finally, ultra hot hands slide around your waist and push gently but tightly against where your ribs diverge.

A jaw leans down on your right shoulder, chin poking against your collarbone. Locks of hair brush against your own, just as the hand on the left runs across your side to finally put a small band in your pocket.

“I did miss you,” Eren’s low voice seemingly growls, his chest rumbling softly against your back.

“I was thinking about you,” you admit with monotone, knowing your lover can read through it like as easily as a knife slices through skin.

“I hope I didn’t worry you,” he says, though you can also read through his own tone. He probably didn’t care about worrying you. He definitely doesn’t still.

“You didn’t.”

You place a both bowls in the sink, running your fingers over the dirty spoons. Eren’s orbs follow your movement. You can feel his chin change positions ever so slightly in the coming seconds.

“Can you pass me the rag?” you ask, eyes focused on a piece of food on the spoon that doesn’t even exist.

In response, Eren doesn’t pass you anything. Only his right hand gives you any kind of acknowledgement, passing from on your ribs to down lower. His fingertips skin over the erogenous zone under the waistband of your undergarments.

“I worried about you,” Eren murmurs boldly. The hot fingertips pass under the cloth finally, pricks of stubble on his jaw scratching your neck and shoulder as he shifts. “I wanted you to be okay.” His left hand raises to grasp the breast above it. Slowly at first, then firmly, like a warning. Everything is a warning with him.

Your head lulls back uncontrollably. The back of your hair matts up as it rolls against his own shoulder.

“I said you worried me,” your partner grumbles. “Did you hear me?”

“No,” you lie lowly, refusing to let your voice shake despite the shiver in your throat.

“Mm,” Eren hums in condescending understanding. A force presses against your core, which has turned burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The force pulls away, a string of something smooth and slimy following it that makes a sound draw from your lips. It’s high pitched, weak, and unstoppable. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so associated with Eren.

His hand gives your breast a firm squeeze, soreness blossoming from the center. Your back arches quickly and returns lax against him, though now something pokes against your bottom that makes your eyes pop open with a new alertness. Eren’s hand gives you no time again. From your chest, it flies to your throat, holding it back with soft strictness as the other finally dips into the hot pool between your hips.

“I worried about you.”

A strangled groan releases from between your lips again, this time fully carried up through the air. To Eren, it must sound like nothing more than music, or background noise.

Thick cylinders pump inside you to the knuckle. They feel better than your own. They always have.

It feels good. Full. Tight and fast and like the inside of you is quivering under the weight of something that you can’t see or hear. Eren is like a blanket supporting you from falling over, keeping you upright with his grip and his fingers buried inside of you. Prodding every angle, every spot. Not necessarily romantically, but still lovingly. He has always had this goal during intimacy. Nothing matters but communicating to you just how close he wants to be.

“Eren,” you choke, a dribble of spit sliding from the corner of your lips.

“Again,” he hisses in response. His fingers hit a tight spot, making every muscle in your body clench at the same time.

You don’t say another word, your mouth hanging partially open as you focus on everything around you. And it’s all Eren Jaeger. His smell, his growls, his voice, his breathing, his chest, his muscles, his hair, his anger, his bitterness, his intelligence, his determination. It’s overwhelming. It reminds you of getting swept in one of those waves at the ocean he described to you. He’s yours. No- more likely, you’re his. End of story.

“I said again.”

“Eren,” you moan.

His head nuzzles into your neck comfortingly, his fingers pushing faster and harder. You can feel how warm you are, never mind how slick. And the way your own body holds around his digits every time he pulls away is enough to make you all the more warm and slick.

But then...

What is he doing?

He had said “you’ll be free soon”. And yet, here he is, gripping you tightly as he forces you into the corner of submitting. And yes, it is hot. It arouses you as it always has. But something about it makes your stomach turn into a knot of unpleasantness, in contrast to the other one of liquid pleasure.

“Eren,” you strain, squirming against him.

Eren speeds up again. A grunt falls from his own mouth from his own power, and you know he’s getting off almost as much as you are. It doesn’t stop feeling good. Feeling euphoric.

It’s getting rougher. Rougher and harder and faster, more intense.

“Eren.”

Another gruff moan from him.

“Eren! Stop! Stop!”

Eren’s palm softens away at once. It lifts away, his eyes opening and his hand stilling inside of you. He watches you shake as you gaze up to the ceiling, wide eyed. Your thighs sputter, entire body twitching. You didn’t cum.

His eyes trail over you. You’ve worked up a steady sweat glistening and glowing, shivering and shaking and quaking because of him in the best way. You’re his. His partner, his friend, his ally he knows for a fact he can rely on.

“C-can we... Eren...”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Drips of water dribbling down Eren’s temple. One of your hands are threaded in his brunette locks, holding them back so you can have an uninterrupted view. The other hand is dabbing cloth against his forehead and hairline, bathing him softly.

He’d gone a while without bathing again. You could tell. Eren’s eyes are glued to yours, deep teal memorizing all the flecks in your own as if he hadn’t a million times over.

Eren loves you. Dearly. He’d travel all seven hours and forty five minutes just to tell you that. He doesn’t know what made you stop earlier. He doesn’t ask. But he’s not mad. Overall, Eren understands that it doesn’t matter what you asked to stop for. You give the word, he obeys. Not because he has to, but because he loves you.

Still, he knows something is wrong. You don’t show it. You’re steady, calm, mature, apathetic as always. But in the pit of Eren’s stomach, something brews. A warm, strange feeling of intuition and omniscience.

“You look very pretty today,” Eren ventures, wondering only of your response. “Did I tell you that?”

Your eyes squint. “Thank you,” you reply back.

The cloth continues to rub against his skin, cleaning something that probably doesn’t even exist. Dirt, maybe. Eren’s stopped taking care of his skin in the past few years.

“You’re welcome.”

Your eyes squint again. This time, they gloss over with sharp wetness like glass. The eyebrows crease like a break, your bottom lip trembling as you suck it between your teeth.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But your lover wasn’t expecting this.

Eren hates when you cry. He can remember the first time he’d seen it, but not the most recent. You didn’t cry often- you were strong. Crying over something as useless and flimsy as emotions didn’t seem worth it. So what was this for? What were you about to make Eren break down inside over?

Your hand falls limply from his forehead. Shoulders hunch over in defeat, staring down at the floor as your hair covers over your face. And then the sniffles come, choked out coughs like sobs.

Eren can see the lightest of bruises he’d left on you from earlier, but you’d never had a problem with it before. No, it was something else. But what?

Silent, your teeth grit together as you wince, tears streaming down your face inexplicably.

“Earlier w-when you,” you gulp, snot beginning to form, “when you- I did worry a-about you. I- I don’t know why I didn’t...”

You stumble forward. Eren stands from your bath tub to catch you as you slump against him tiredly.

“I hate it when you go.”

Eren switches positions with you, pushing you down to sit on the edge of the tub. He takes the wet rag from your hand and holds your shoulder back so he can have a good look at you. Then the cloth dabs against your own forehead, just as you had done to him.

“I hate it here,” you sigh, a single tear drop blurring your vision as it falls finally.

Your lover moves the cloth from your head to your cheeks, smearing the wetness into your skin and away. They moisten and dry, your eyes red and shiny. Eren tilts your head up under your jaw, creasing his brows and using the towel to clean closer to your eyes.

“If it helps,” he says, looking straight into your eyes, “you’re crying, but I still think you look pretty.”

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t help even a little, because you love him.

A soft smile creeps to your lips, your hands dropping in between your thighs.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

No I didn’t reread this lmfao enjoy. Hope I did you justice anon

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fandomwriterstuff · 3 years ago

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Getaway Car

Another plot-filled Rick Flag fic from me! I might add another chapter if this goes over well so let me know your thoughts!

~2.2k words

Rated T

You're the Suicide Squad's getaway driver and you're got a serious crush on their commanding officer, Rick Flag.

You were what one might call a liability in the operation. You weren’t a soldier under Amanda Waller’s thumb, and you weren’t a prisoner that she could threaten. You were purely there for the thrill at first. But you kept coming back for him. Rick Flag. The commanding officer of your dreams, a real hero. You weren’t sure if you idolized him or wanted to fuck him. Maybe it was a bit of both.

But as you sat in the car and eyed up the team sprinting out of the building, you skipped to your getaway song - Brianstorm by Arctic Monkeys - and revved the engine.

“Punch it, Baby!” Harley cackled as the three prisoners (plus Rick) slammed themselves into your vehicle.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You thought it over as you narrowly evaded enemy trucks and sped down a dirt road. You were technically working for the law, so they shouldn’t need a getaway car, but they always were getting themselves into tight spots so you supposed it made sense.

It was a few minutes of beating drums, wild guitar solos, and Harley’s cackles as the playlist continued (House of the Rising Sun by the Animals came on just as you dared to slow down). You finally looked over to your right, and raised an eyebrow.

“You doing alright, Colonel?” You took stock of the dark, wet blood covering the left side of his face and the way he was cradling his right fist.

“Never better, darlin,” he offered you a signature smirk and you gave a nod before turning back to the road. You were on a main stretch now, paved and full of other vehicles. You’d likely lost your pursuers but it was your job to get away from them, so you kept an eye on the horizon behind you.

“How you always seem to be in the right place at the right time blows my mind, kid,” Boomer huffed a relieved laugh from the backseat.

“That’s sort of my job,” you replied in kind, smirking into the rearview mirror as you pulled onto the highway that would take you straight back to Belle Reve.

“You don’t talk about your job much though, I noticed,” he pushed and you rolled your eyes. You didn’t talk about yourself, and you didn’t talk about how you got into the getaway business.

“I like to have an air of mystery,” you caught the amused smile Rick tried to hide and brushed your hair back out of your eyes.

“What I’m wonderin,” he continued as if you hadn’t spoken, his accent coming through as he leaned forward through the gap between you and Rick. “Is how a pretty young thing like you got involved with a cold hearted bitch like Amanda Waller.”

You tightened your grip on the wheel (hopefully imperceptibly), and offered a light smile over to him.

“We’ve all got a past, Boomerang Man. Mine didn’t land me in prison, but I’m still here working for you weirdos,” you laughed and signaled your exit towards the Louisiana based metahuman prison.

“I’ll get your story some day, sweet cheeks, you’ll see,” he leaned back as you showed your identification to the guard and pulled into the penitentiary.

After you let the three prisoners off at their dropoff location (like a bunch of kindergarteners going to school), you pulled up to the employee parking area.

“You sure you’re alright?” You were quieter this time, worriedly glancing over at Rick again now that you were alone.

“Don’t you go worrying about me, pretty girl,” he pulled out all the stops with the cute pet name and the thousand megawatt smile, eyes warm and inviting. You were a goner, and you immediately dropped the subject. “I’ll see you in the debrief room,” you sighed after he’d closed the door and pulled the vehicle into your spot.

Another day, another debrief with that fucking psychopath Waller.

You smoothed down your jeans and t-shirt, you might work for the (wo)man, but you weren’t about to dress like a stuck up business person, or like a prison guard. You were too young for that bullshit.

“Baby,” Amanda Waller greeted you as you passed her into the meeting room. You hid your smirk, as you always did, when you took your seat. You’d forged all of your documentation upon taking this job, knowing that you didn’t want this woman knowing anything about your personal life. She didn’t know your real name, hell, she might not even know that Baby was your pseudonym. You sort of felt bad that you hadn’t ever told Rick your name, but you couldn’t risk it.

The debrief was a mess. You’d gotten out with the information the team went in for, but two out of the four of them were injured. Including the Colonel.

“Seems like the only person doing their job here is the fucking chauffer,” Waller spat before turning her eyes on a still-bloodied Rick Flag. “You can do better than this,” she spoke quietly before walking out. The others emptied out, leaving you leaning back in your chair, cotton candy pink Barbie™ t-shirt nearly glowing in the fluorescent lighting.

“I think you’re going to give her an aneurysm. She doesn’t know your identity and you don’t follow the dress code,” Rick had his eyes closed at the end of the long table, but he somehow knew you were alone in there together. You bit your lip. So she knew ‘Baby’ was a pseudonym. Good to know.

“She can’t get rid of me, she needs me,” you shrugged, nonchalant, but this was the wrong answer and you knew it immediately. You’d been working with Rick long enough to see the telltale signs of stress. Tightened shoulders, biceps bulging in his uniform, that vein struggling at his throat.

“You should be out there living your life, Baby,” his eyes shot open, darker than you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t be working yourself to death for Amanda Waller. Not like me and these guys. You don’t have a reason to be here,” you looked down, picking at the skull ring on your middle finger. You did have a reason. You were addicted to the feeling of being near Rick. You were obsessed with the way he spoke to you, the way he leaned in close when he was joking around with you, the way his eyes lit up when you made him laugh.

“I’m not about to tell you my life story in an audio and visually recorded meeting room,” you finally spoke, tone harsher than you intended. You stood, turned away from him and towards the door, your voice carrying as you exited. “You’re gonna have to buy me a drink if you want to get anything out of me.”

You didn’t look back to see the slack-jawed look on his face as you sauntered out of the debrief room.

You were in the deep swamp lands of Central Florida this time. Not your favorite place to be. You were blasting the air conditioning in the car as Stick Up by grandson blasted through the car stereo, your favorite angry song to listen to. This wasn’t a job you wanted to be on, but you had a contract and you were making money, and you got to work with Rick again, so it was alright. But it was a new team. Harley was out of jail and Boomer was injured from a prison fight. They were the two people you normally worked with other than Rick.

You had a gut feeling that something was going to go down, but you didn’t know what.

“Start the car!” one of the new members shouted and you frowned. The car was on already. But whatever, you shifted into Drive and waited for Rick and Co. to make it to the car. Only it was just the one guy. He hopped into the backseat and stared at you with wide eyes.

“What are you doing, get us out of here!” He was shouting but you aggressively put the car into Park.

“Where’s Rick? Where’s the rest of the team?”

“Dude, get us out of here!” The man was clearly panicking, and you glanced over at the building the team were supposed to infiltrate, biting your lip.

“Baby, why aren’t you moving?” Waller asked in your ear.

“It’s just the circus freak dude, no Rick, and no team members,” you replied calmly. “What are my orders?”

“Get us out!” The circus freak dude in question (you didn’t bother to ask his name), was bemoaning your existence from the backseat and you snapped. You jerked the center console open and pulled out your gun, pointing it back at him.

“Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut you up myself,” you put all of your fear, rage, and contempt into your glare, staring down the psycho prisoner just enough to put the fear of a woman into him, and he backed down.

“Colonel Flag is alive in there, but he’s the last one. Get in there, pick him up, and get out,” you grinned, shark-like at Waller’s voice. You could do that. You revved the engine, put the car into Drive, and hauled ass towards the building. You tuned out the moaning and wailing from the backseat and flicked the switch that activated your enhanced shields. With that in place, you drove straight towards the brick building at full speed. You could do this. You could do this. You hyped yourself up and didn’t flinch when the car made impact with the wall, immediately breaking through and skidding into a large open room. You looked around, assessing the group of men with guns pointing towards a closed door. Rick must be in there. You flipped another switch, this one with a gun sticker above it, and pulled at the steering wheel to aim the guns that came out of the front of the car. When all of the men finally turned towards you, you opened fire on them.

You’d killed for Waller before, usually by hitting people with the car, and while this was thrilling, you’d never had to actually use a gun on someone before. When they were all down, you pulled the car up, trying to ignore the crunching of bodies under the tires and opened the passenger side window.

“Get in the fucking car, Flag,” you screeched, and the door creaked the tiniest bit open. Rick peeked his head out, looked around for a hot second before locking eyes with you, and walked over before putting his ass in the passenger seat.

“I didn’t know the car had a gun in it,” he muttered, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Oh she has several,” the circus dude piped up from the back, and Rick side eyed you before promptly yelling at the other for leaving him behind. You took that as your cue to get the fuck out of there.

“You haven’t said anything in two hours,” Rick finally said as you entered Louisiana. He’d been on the phone with Waller for a while and then writing his debrief up on his phone.

“I’ve never shot anyone before. It’s a tad stressful,” you didn’t let on how nerve-wracking it had been to think you’d lost him, but you especially didn’t let on how freaked out you were about opening fire on a group of over a dozen men. You shrugged and kept your eyes on the road. He nodded in understanding. You didn’t want to talk about it. You appreciated his silence. When you finally dropped the circus dude off you had about six minutes before making it back to Rick’s dropoff.

“Baby?” He asked as you slowed down for a stop sign. You hummed in question, but he put his hand over yours, and you kept your foot on the brake as he shifted the car into park. You looked over at him, a frown on your face until he reached out and cupped your jaw with one calloused palm. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip and it felt like time wasn’t passing anymore.

“Thank you for coming back for me,” he murmured, and damn you thought he might kiss you. He didn’t, though. He tucked a stray piece of hand behind your ear, the feel of his fingertips caressing your neck made you shiver, and he smirked at the sight. It suddenly dawned on you.

He knew exactly what he did to you. He knew exactly how he was making you feel. That turned you the fuck on. He was teasing you.

“I think I’d like to take you out for that drink tonight, darlin. Maybe you’ll give me a good story. Maybe I’ll finally get your name,” he was so close to you, and god but you wanted to kiss him. But as you leaned in, he leaned back with a growing grin.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll get what you want, too,” he whispered before sitting back in his seat. “I’ll grab you after the debrief,” and that was him dismissing your advances until a later time. So, you put the car into Drive and pulled up to his drop off location. Luckily it had taken all day to get back to Belle Reve, so you’d only have to wait for the debrief to be over and it would be around eight at night. You’d finally get a drink with Rick tonight. You smiled to yourself as you pulled the car into your spot. Things would be changing.

#rick flag imagine #rick flag x you #rick flag imagines #rick flag x reader #rick flag #rick flag x female reader #baby driver inspired #dceu fanfiction #rick flag fanfic #rick flag fanfiction #rick flag dc #the suicide squad #getaway car

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years ago

Text

Day 70: Patronus

"I'm doomed," Draco hissed at Pansy as they left the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. "The final is in less than a month! How could Higgins spring this on us?"

"Calm down," Pansy said.

"Calm down? Calm down?! Pansy, you recall that I have a dark mark don't you? The final is half of our grade! I'm going to fail."

She shook her head, "You're not going to fail," she informed him calmly. "You'll learn Draco, you have over three weeks."

"But I'm an ex-death eater," he whispered, as though anyone could ever forget. "Death eaters can't cast a patronus, you know that."

"That's not true," a voice behind them piped up, making Draco jump.

"For Circe's sake, Potter, stop sneaking around," he grumbled.

The other boy shrugged, "Sorry," he said unrepentantly, "Couldn't help but overhear what you were saying."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Oh, you just couldn't help it, huh?"

He flicked a careless grin at Draco, his dimple showing, and as always, Draco didn't know quite what to do with that. "I'm just saying that death eaters could cast a patronus."

"How would you know?" Draco asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Snape could cast one, and Merlin knows that you did far less horrific shite than he did," Potter replied as he sauntered past them and into the common room. "I could help you, if you want," he called over his shoulder before walking out of view.

Pansy opened her mouth and he cut her off, "Don't," he said, holding up a hand.

(Read more below the cut)

She cackled, "I bet there's a thing or two he could help you with."

"Why am I friends with you?" he groaned. "I'll figure it out myself," he added with a haughty sniff.

---------

A week and a half passed and Draco was no closer than he'd been the day she'd first assigned this task to them as part of their final. Draco sat in the library, pouring over textbooks that were supposed to help to teach you to cast one but none of them seemed to help.

"Hey," Potter said as he dropped into the chair across from Draco like they were friends or something. He'd been doing it since February and Draco still couldn't understand it. "How are you?"

"Awful," Draco replied with a groan. "I'm going to fail my Defense final and then I'm going to go to prison because passing all of my classes is part of my parole," he said, the words pouring out of his mouth without his consent. "And I never imagined that passing my classes would be a problem, but-"

"Draco," Potter said, his voice calm and unruffled, "Let me help you."

"You can't," he said shaking his head.

Potter tilted his head consideringly, "Maybe not but would it hurt to try? I've taught like over twenty other teens to do it," he added.

Draco bit his lip, what could it really hurt?

"Come on," Potter said, standing up and holding out a hand to pull Draco to his feet. "If it fails you can always come back and read through dusty books some more."

"Fine," he sighed, reaching out and taking Harry's hand, a thrill tingling up his arm at the contact.

Harry didn't let go right away as he started walking and Draco's heart tripped along inside of his chest as he stumbled after him.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked.

He released his hand but gave him a little smile, "we can't very well practice it in the library, can we?"

Then Harry took off running and Draco had no choice but to jog after him, spluttering indignantly. "Why are we running?"

"Because it feels good," Harry replied as he raced down the stairs and outside.

When they reached just the edge of the forest, where there weren't any signs of other students Potter stopped and took off his cloak, enlarged it, and laid down on it.

"What are you doing?"

Harry just patted the cloak beside him.

"Potter," he said, hands on his hips.

The other boy opened his eyes and said, "Trust the process. Come lay down."

With a sigh he laid down on the cloak and stared up at the sun peaking through the branches.

"Relax," Harry whispered, covering Draco's hand with his own.

Somehow, it soothed Draco and made him panic all at once but at least it wasn't the normal kind anxiety, it actually made him feel a weird sort of excited anticipation.

"Think of a happy memory," he murmured, "A really happy one that you can feel all the way down to your toes."

He was quiet, trying to think, "It's been a while since I've been that happy," he confessed.

Harry's hand squeezed his gently and he thought this was probably as happy a moment as any. He focused on the feelings in his body.

"When you're ready," Harry said a few minutes later, "we'll stand up and try to cast. You've already got the mechanics down, it's just about getting the feelings right."

Draco nodded, then pushed himself to his feet.

The other boy stood behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder, "Think of your happy moment," he murmured. "Let it fill you up."

He inhaled, thinking of the way Harry's body felt next to his, of the warmth of his hand, the tingles in the pit of his stomach; and then he cast. "Expecto Patronum," he said, circling his wand.

A thin, silvery mist appeared from the end of his wand and he stared at it in shock, "Did you-?" he started.

"Well done," Harry encouraged. "See. You can do it."

"Can you show me yours once?" he asked. "It would be helpful to see your technique," and while this was the truth, it wasn't the whole truth; mostly Draco was just curious to see Harry's patronus for himself.

Harry nodded slowly, "Just, don't tell anyone."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's changed," Harry replied "and I don't mind you knowing but I don't know quite what it means and I'd rather figure it out before the press catches wind of it."

"You don't have to show me," he ventured.

The other boy shook his head and took a deep breath "Expecto patronum," he said and his wand produced what appeared to be a fox of some sort. "Hermione thinks it's an arctic fox," Harry said as they watched it lope around the clearing.

"It's beautiful," Draco breathed.

"Thanks," Harry said with a little smile. "She tells me it's because I've become more withdrawn, that I had to be more reliant on myself," he shrugged.

"Do you miss your stag?"

He nodded, "It was nice to be connected to my mum and dad, you know? To have something in common with them."

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly.

Harry shrugged, "There must be a bigger reason," he said. "I hope, anyway." His fox dissipated and Harry turned to him, "Let's see yours again."

-------

Over the next two weeks, Draco's patronus charm got stronger, and once he thought he'd caught the glimpse of a what appeared to be a dog's nose, perhaps, but nothing more.

"The final's tomorrow," he told Harry as they laid out under the trees, "And I still haven't been able to conjure it. I'm going to fail."

"What's your happy memory?" Harry asked.

"What's your's?" Draco countered.

Harry hummed thoughtfully, "It changes," he said. "The first time I cast one it was of my mum's voice. I don't even know if it was a real memory of not," he added.

"What about the last one you cast?" Draco asked.

The other boy turned his head to look at Draco, "It was that you were giving me a chance," he confessed softly with a little smile. "Will you tell me yours?" he asked.

Draco bit his lip, "Just this," he whispered finally. "There's something about you that just," he trailed off, searching for the right descriptor, "Thrills me. And it used to be in all the wrong ways, but..." he trailed off feeling a little shy and embarrassed.

"But now it feels a little bit like flying," Harry whispered. "At least that's how it feels for me."

The corner of his mouth tipped up, "Me too."

Harry rolled onto his side, "Can I kiss you?"

Draco nodded up at him and Harry leaned down to press his mouth softly to Draco's, his fingers brushing the hair lightly back from his face.

He reached out and pulled the other boy a little closer, tilting his head to find a better angle. After a minute, he pulled back, "Wait a second," he said as he stood up and set himself up to cast. He let the kiss wash over him again in his memory, filling him up with boundless joy, and the silver mist came out thicker than ever before.

Harry stood up and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck. "Try again," he murmured.

Draco took a deep breath, feeling the heat radiating off of Harry's body. "Expecto Patronum!" he said once more and his patronus burst from the end of his wand.

He stared at it, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing.

Harry's breath caught as he leaned forward, pressing against Draco's back to get a closer look. "I hoped so," he said softly as Draco's little arctic fox trotted around them.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry said and his arctic fox appeared, making a beeline for Draco's.

Draco leaned back against Harry, "What does mean that they're the same?"

"My mum's and dad's were the same animal," he said, "and Snapes was the same as her's."

"What does it mean?" he asked again, he had his suspicions but he needed to hear Harry say it first.

Harry cleared his throat, "Well I don't want speak for you, but I think it means that at the very least, I'm in love with you."

Draco blinked, then turned himself around in Harry arms, "I think I'm in love with you, too," he confessed with a smile.

And this was only the start of the many, many ways that they would spend the rest of their lives making one another happy.

-----------

Thanks so much @oviovs, for the prompt! It's not quite established at the beginning but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thank you for all of the love and encouragement you leave on my little stories. <3

Day 69: Soaked | Day 71: Return

#100 days of drarry drabbles #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabble #Day 70 #Patronus #hogwarts 8th year

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years ago

Text

GF - Can’t Stand It

For @ho-ne-ye.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan was having a bad day. Well, a bad week. Scratch that, a bad month.

It was March, a beautiful time out in the Arctic. For several weeks the Stan twins hardly ever saw the sun or didn’t see it at all. Closer to the holidays they traveled down south to Northern Europe, exploring the United Kingdom and the Northern Islands in order to enjoy daylight, but now that Summer was approaching and Spring was on their side, the Stan O’ War II was moving up to sail above Canada, breaking melting ice and meeting new creatures.

Today they had stumbled across an island covered in woods. The twins had docked to enjoy stable land, but of course it didn’t take long for them to stumble into trouble when they explored the island. Something about trespassing, Stan may or may not have been magically transformed into a small and cute version of himself, but then turned back to normal by a knocked-over potion. It was all a blur, and it all ended with Stan and Ford being tied together hanging over a raging fire as the clan of seal-people with war paint danced around them and singing a weird song.

Enough was enough. With a knife slipped out of a boot and a few left and right hooks, Ford and Stan managed to get away, now being chased by the angry clan and flying arrows. Stan dove on top of Ford to shield his brother from an arrow and they both scurried to their feet and ran deeper into the woods, heading for the beach, but their path was blocked by a giant monster, a half-spider, half-scorpion kind of creature with eight legs, pinchers, a sharp tail, four red eyes, and an angry kiss as it’s hairs vibrated.

Ford shot at it with his ray gun and that only made it angry. It dove for the six-fingered scientist, but Stan shoved him out of the way and soon Stan was thrown back to a tree and made very little attempts to get back up.

“STANLEY!” Ford cried out and shot at the monster again, this time hitting it in the eye. Temporarily blinded and distracted, Ford was about to grab a nearby spear thrown by a villager, pierce the monster, and leave it to bleed to death as he ran to his brother and knelt in front of him. “Stanley! Stanley, can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

“M’fine, m’fine,” The old sailor mumbled as he blinked a few times. “Just lemme catch my breath…”

Ford noticed how he had a hand to his side. He gently prided it away and was horrified to find blood. The monster must have pierced Stan. In one swift motion the eldest by fifteen minutes scooped Stan up and began to carry him to the shore. “You’ll be okay. I’ll fix you up, I can fix this.”

His brother grunted in response, his hands loosely over his wound, but Stan was losing his strength. Ford then noticed a bead of blood dripping down the back of Stan’s neck; he must have also hit his head perfectly on the tree. Ford swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bobble, and he firmly instructed, “Stay with me, Stanley. Don’t go to sleep. You might have a concussion.”

“M’tired.” He muttered in his twin’s chest. They were close, so close to home. Ford’s boots crushed the sand beneath them.

“Stanley Pines, stay with me!” Ford shouted, ignoring the way his brown eyes stung.

“Why should I?”

Ford’s heart threatened to stop. Stan’s voice had been so quiet that he had nearly missed it, but the old scientist heard every word. The wounds didn’t look that bad, Stan would be fine, he was too tough to be taken down by some pathetic monster like that, but the fact that Stan was even considering…

“Wh-Why?!” Ford repeated, mortified by his brother’s delusional question. “Why?! Because I need you! Don’t you dare think about giving up on me, Stanley, don’t you dare! C-Come on, d-d-don’t you wanna see Dipper and Mabel again? Don’t you wanna see Soos marry that Melody girl?”

Stan’s breathing was shallow against his twin’s blue jacket. “You’d be better off…”

“NO!” Ford screamed as he saw the boat farther along the beach. He broke into a faster run. “No, we wouldn’t! I swear! Stay with me, we’re almost there!”

But Stan wasn’t answering. He was very quiet. And a bit limp in Ford’s hold.

“Stanley?! Stanley! Lee! Lee, don’t you dare give up! Don’t you dare leave me, please! I… I can’t do it!” He shut his eyes at the thought and let tears flow down his cheeks as he climbed up onto the Stan O’ War II. “I can’t lose you again. Please, don’t make me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t fair.

Stan should be perfectly fine, he should be happy. He got his brother back, he had a real family for the first time in forty years, he was living out his dream with his best friend. He wasn’t alien to feeling this cruddy about himself, but at least back then he had something to work towards, something to keep him going, and something to distract him from the voices in his head. But now his thoughts were more apparent now more than ever before and they wouldn’t go away.

The fact remained that everyone would be better off without Stan. He was a mistake, the screw-up, a criminal, a con-artist, a dirty sailor, a worthless heap of flesh. No one really wanted him around, and the people who did would soon get sick of him. Dipper and Mabel called them less and less (which to be fair they have been very busy with exams on the way). And even if it was Ford’s idea to go sailing, how long would it be before he changed his mind? Or had he really meant what he said? Or had he only said what he said because he felt guilty?

No. There was no changing the old man’s mind. Everyone would be better off without him.

He walked down the dock with his hands in the pocket of his brown trenchcoat, his boots clicking against the wood gently. It was bright and shiny and beautiful without it hurting his eyes or requiring sunglasses over his regular glasses. The sun glistened on the water and a soft breeze made him comfortable. The only odd thing was that there was only one boat.

A small boat, actually. It had a sail, like their dream boat as kids, with a cabin down in the bunkers. It was plain and clean and new, with a golden pole and rims on the windows. On it sat a young lady, about early-twenties, with short blonde hair. She was odd, wearing a white Hawaiian shirt with golden palm leaves, white shorts, and had a golden watch on her wrist as she filed her nails, reminding Stan of a secretary from high school. This girl was sitting on the boat with her legs crossed, sporting white sneakers, and hummed a familiar tune, though Stan couldn’t pinpoint it.

The girl glanced up at him, put her eyes back on her work, and called, “You coming?”

Stan shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “Depends. Where you going, sweetie?”

“Well I’m hoping to grant a handsome sailor his wish, but it’s whatever.” The woman said as she held up her hand to look at her nails boringly.

Stan smiled cockily. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“You think everyone would be better off without you, right?” The woman stood and gestured to her boat. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Stan blinked. Okay this was weird. Was he on TV? He shook his head like a wet dog and scratched next to his red beanie. “Uh… ‘cuse me?”

“You heard me. Wanna see if you’re right?”

“How are you gonna show me if I’m right or not?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The woman sighed as she glanced at her watch. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so here’s how it’s gonna go. I’m gonna go sailing to a timeline in which you were never born. Ford never had a twin, Caryn and Filbrick only had two sons, et cetera and et cetera. Then we can talk about where we’ll go from there. But whether you’re coming or not, this boat is leaving in thirty seconds.”

Stan looked away from the woman, down at the sea crashing against the dock gently. This didn’t make any sense. This was like something out of a cheesy movie. He didn’t have to go with this girl and see a world without him in it, but it might answer some of his questions. He just wasn’t sure if he would get the answers he wanted. Oh well, it’s not like he had anything better to do.

“Ten seconds.”

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Stan shrugged and climbed up on board. “Set sail, Ms… Hey, what’s your name, anyways?”

“You can call me Honey.”

“Okay, Honey…”

“Oh my God, he called me honey…”

“Wait wut?”

“Time to go!” The woman grinned for the first time, a sly foxy smile with sparkling eyes and beautiful lips curled upward. She stood from her seat, pulled her sail loose, and it suddenly jetted across the sea so fast it threw Stan back and he had to catch himself from falling into the ocean, meanwhile the girl in all white stood perfectly calm.

“So, where we going?”

“I told you,” Honey said calmly. “We’re gonna go see what it would've been like if you had never been born.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“First stop, Gravity Falls.” The sea around them was fading into woods and trees and dirt, and soon the bot came to such a sudden stop that Stan was thrown to the other side and sat his head on a pinetree, growling as he stood up straight on the sailboat and rubbed his forehead.

Stan looked around and recognized the woods. Yup, this was definitely Gravity Falls, but… something was off. It was gray and cloudy overhead. And they were in front of a big open patch of woods Stan had never seen before.

“What is this place?” Stan asked as he hopped off the sailboat in the mud.

“Gravity Falls.”

“I know that! I mean… I’ve never been here before.”

“Yes you have.” The woman said as she got off her ride and stood beside the old sailor. “You lived here for thirty years in another timeline.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “No… Is this where the Mystery Shack’s supposed to be?”

“You got it.”

“But…” Stan was racking his brain, thinking. “What, did Ford never come here? Cuz he went to that West Coast Tech school he never came here?”

“Nope. Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, which means no Mystery Shack.”

“I always thought there’d be a big mansion here or something.” Stan shrugged and said, “Okay, so there’s no rundown tourist trap. Big deal.”

“Eh, so you think.” Honey started to walk into the woods, giving no invitation for Stan to follow, making it easier for the conman to do so. “Do you remember what this town was like before the Shack?”

Stan shrugged with his hands in the pocket of his trenchcoat. “Not much. Just a bunch of paranoid weirdos who needed a good laugh.”

They emerged from the woods and Stan gasped at the town. It was even more worn down and cheap than it had been when Stan came thirty years ago. Broken windows were boarded up, pavement was cracked, and either ketchup or blood was splattered here and there.

“Whoa hey, what happened?” Stan asked as they left the woods and walked through the town, shouts and coughs being heard in the distance. “I know this place is a dump, but not this much of a dump.”

“Stan, do you really think your business was the only one to succeed due to the tourists coming in?” The woman in white asked. “What about the motels? Diners like Greasy’s? Stores and gas stations? All those out-of-state tourists didn’t just give money to the Shack. You’d be surprised how much one tourist trap helps the economy of one struggling town.”

“Okay, sure, but there’s no way the Shack helped out the town this much.” Stan argued, gesturing around them lazily.

“No, you’re right. Really, the town didn’t hit hard times until about five years ago.”

“Why…”

Screeching tires interrupted the old man. He and Honey watched as a very nice, rich-looking pick-up truck spun around the corner and came to a sudden stop in front of a grocery store. Stan’s jaw dropped to the pavement as he watched someone he barely recognized get out of the passenger’s seat.

Soos had a black baseball cap on backwards, wearing a cold, spiky, black-leather jacket, torn jeans, and a gothic, graphic t-shirt. His eyes were so cold and menacing, he seemed a bit taller due to holding himself up with so much pride, and when he snapped his fingers and pointed to the grocery store, five guys emerged from the truck and raided it like it was the end of the world.

“S-Soos?!” Stan gasped. “Soos, what are you doing?!” But he was ignored.

“No one can see or hear us, Stanley.” Honey said as they watched Soos’ gang drag a cashier out by her long hair and began to pumble her just because they could. Soos did nothing to stop it, even smiled a little as the girl screamed for help.

“I don't get it… Soos is a good kid! He’d never hurt a fly! Why in Moses’ name is he…” Stan couldn’t finish the sentence. He was frighteningly reminded of the Colombian gang he was once under.

“Oh, c'mon sweetie, connect the dots. Who do you think taught Soos to be a good kid?”

“His abuelita did.”

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “She tried, but as he got older it really began to hurt that his dad didn’t wanna be around him. And cuz you weren’t there to tell him otherwise… let’s just say high school never happened for him.”

“What?!”

“He dropped out of school in the eighth grade and joined a small gang outside of town. Eventually he made his way up the ranks and now his little gang terrorized the bottom half of Oregon.”

“B-But why?! All cuz I wasn’t there?” Stan asked, shaking his head. “There’s no way…”

“Stanley, who do you think taught him that he was worth something? Who taught him how to stand up for himself and give bullies left hooks? Who had him put all of his energy into hard work?”

Stan stared at his pretty tour guide. There was no way Stan did all that, no way. Sure, he liked the kid a lot, but he never actually thought he impacted Soos’ life this much. Stan looked back at this horrible version of Soos as his gang loaded the car with food and cash and they sped off, leaving the woman to bleed on the sidewalk and wipe the blood from her lips.

“C’mon,” Honey said and gestured onward. “We’ve got more people to see.”

“Okay so,” Stan followed her and racked his brain. Surely somebody benefited from him not being alive. “What about Wendy? Is she still around?”

“Nope. Without you to give her a job here in town, she had to move upstate to her cousin’s lodge, remember? She had to leave all of her friends behind and she was miserable. Still is, actually. Very quiet gal. Doesn’t say or do much.”

“Wendy? Quiet? I don’t believe you.”

The woman opened a door to a shop, but instead of the inside of the building they saw a black-haired Wendy sitting on her bed in her new room, criss-crossed, holding her pillow as she listened to depressing heavy metal.

Stan winced. “Yikes. She turned into a real Robbie.”

“That kid joined Soos’ gang, BTW.” The woman said as she closed the door.

Stan was having a hard time buying the idea that nobody actually got some good out of him not being around. "Wh-What about that lil' troll? Gideon?"

Honey snorted and led the way through town. As they walked, Stan was having a hard time buying this scenario. There was no way he made this much of a difference. Okay, sure, if he not being alive meant Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, and that meant Gravity Falls changed a bit, Stan could understand that, but there was no way this town turned for the worst all because Stan wasn’t there. There was no way the screw-up actually made things better. Right?

“Here we are.” The woman said to snap Stan out of his thoughts.

The car dealership looked mostly the same. A little more run-down, sure, and there was no Tent of Telepathy in sight, but Bud still wore that stupid straw hat with a baby-blue Hawaiian shirt and tan pants, but he didn’t look quite right, either. Heavy bags were under his eyes, looking a bit more like his wife, and the little bit of hair he had was graying a bit too early. He waved his customer goodbye with a smile, but the second they were gone he sighed tiredly and was frightened by a window being shattered by a rock.

“DADDY! GET OVER HERE!”

“Oh, boy.” Bud steadied himself and went back to the house.

“Hey, how come the little jerk’s business isn’t booming?” Stan asked, more interested as to why his biggest competitor wasn’t flourishing in a town that needed someone to believe in. “He’d do great here! He could’ve used his little camera to tell people when S-... when the gang was gonna strike, or…”

“Stanley, sweetie, how do you think Gideon started that tent?”

“I dunno, he decided to use his cuteness to get some cash?”

“Not quite. For a few years he was just a bratty kid, but then he found a journal in his playground full of mystical objects, including a magic bow-low tie. It was that journal that made him think of telepathy. Even if he was fake, it was Journal 2 that inspired him.”

“Okay, okay,” Stan held his chin. “So with no me there’s no Ford in Gravity Falls which means no journals which means no Tent of Telepathy. Fine, but the twerp’s gotta be a better person without that spooky book making him think he’s all powerful.”

The woman in white laughed and pointed to the house. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? See for yourself.”

Stan walked up to the broken window and was mortified at the state of the house. Stains everywhere, chipped and torn furniture, cracked walls, torn carpet, and in the midst of it all was a ten-year-old lying on his stomach on the couch, banging his fists and kicking like a toddler as he screamed horribly. Stan winced, but then was completely thrown off to find Gideon’s hair not white and up Dolly Parton-style, but orange and cut short.

“I WANT IT, I WANT IT, I WANT IT!” Gideon screamed as if he was being murdered.

His poor mother was against the wall, holding her heart and breathing heavy; Stan noticed the signs of an anxiety attack.

Bud slowly approached his son and tried to calm him down. “Now, sugar pie, please…” But the human beaver was kicked in the jaw, leaving a bruise and making him bite his lip so hard he bled. Bud held his mouth as Gideon continued to scream.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU NEVER GIMME ANYTHANG I WANT! WHY YA HAVE TO BE SO STUPID?!”

“Yikes, how did not being possessed by a freaky journal make him worse?” Stan asked Honey as they walked away from the house. “I don’t get it.”

“Sure, Gideon wasn’t the best kid before the journal, but at least with the journal he had something to work towards, something to put all of his energy into, and he also had you.”

“M-Me?”

“Don’t you remember the first time you met him?”

“Yeah, he took my parking spot with that stupid van.”

“Actually, you met once before.” Honey chuckled as they walked back into the woods. “You were both at the grocery store when he was four. He was with his mom, bouncing in the buggy and demanding for candy. She gave in just to keep him quiet and tuned to pick some milk. You were across the aisle, picking orange juice, when Gideon dropped his chocolate bar while trying to open it. You noticed the candy and the boy making grabby hands at you and the candy, but you grinned, said ‘no’ firmly, picked up the chocolate…”

“... and ate it right in front of him!” Stan laughed. “I had forgotten… I didn’t know that was Gideon! I thought that was just some spoiled brat.”

“Well, it was. You were the first and only person who ever told that boy ‘no’, the only person who really challenged him and pushed him. Thanks to you, he channeled his anger and energy into trying to take you and the Shack down. But without you around to push him, he had no way to get his energy out, except his parents.”

Stan looked down at the dirt and they stopped walking for a second. “This… This doesn’t make any sense.”

“How so?”

“I’m just a screw-up!” Stan argued as he looked back up at the woman. “I’m the twin no one wanted! I’m just some loser of a conman! It doesn’t make sense that a guy like that could… it… there’s gotta be somebody to benefitted from me not existing! What about Lazy Susan? With no Mystery Shack that means no lazy eye, right?”

“Actually, Soos’ gang raided the diner and it ended badly when Susan stood up to them.” Honey winced. “She ended up not only losing her job, but her eye, too.”

Stan swore under his breath. “Fine… What about that McGucket dude? His life’s gotta be better than living at the dump with his mind all jacked up.”

The woman shrugged and led the way deeper into the woods. “Barely. C’mon, we’re going to Tennessee.”

Stan followed the mysterious tour guide back to the sailboat and this time properly braced himself for the sudden speed. Very suddenly they were racing along the sea, colors swirling by them, until they stopped very suddenly on a river. Stan’s jaw dropped to see a huge, beautiful mansion up on the hill by the river. The woman parked the sailboat by the dock and they started to walk up to the rich house, passing a weeping willow with a stone bench with a big crack in the middle.

“This is McGucket’s place?” Stan clarified.

“You got it, genius.” Honey gestured to the six horse stables, the lush garden, all of the nice cars and wagons, and at just how huge and nice and rich the mansion was. “Fiddleford still went to Backupsmore and met his wife, Emma May, and with no Ford to ask for help on a portal, Fiddleford became the inventor of not only person computers, or what’s commonly called laptops, he became the founder of the largest tech company in the country, Berri.”

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out one of those smartphones the kids had, except the back had a little strawberry with a bite in it. “They went on to invent the first cell phone, BerriWatch, and right now they’re testing a self-driving car. Fiddleford found himself with more money than he knew what to do with and after he built his family their dream home, which by the way is the richest house in Tennessee, he simply expanded his company and made historical international deals. He’s also made huge donations to small run-down towns, like the one he grew up in, to create jobs and try to help out their economies.”

“Cool, okay, see.” Stan said with a smile, impressed by this hillbilly’s success. “One person got a good deal from me not being around.”

Honey rocked her hand side to side and led the way around the mansion, walking alongside the clear open space, passing the weeping willow and bench to move around the hill. “Just cuz he was successful doesn’t mean he was better off. Don’t forget, Fiddleford was never the greatest at handling his stress well. He invented that Memory Gun because Ford accidentally inspired him to, saying scientists have a way of creating solutions to their problems. So with no way to forget his stress and anxiety, Fiddleford drank to forget how worried he was about losing his company if he made a bad deal or if his newest invention or work or if he was putting out a good public face.”

“No.” Stan shook his head. “That goody two-shoes? No way.”

“Hey, he grew up around moonshine, he just couldn’t get his hands on it when he was living at the dump.” The woman shrugged and they came upon a stone pathway and walked down it to a small flower garden that formed a circle. “Anyways, Fiddleford was never violent, thank goodness, but he was drunk more than he was sober. He should be happy, with a wife and son and booming business to boot, but he wasn’t. He fell into depression and drank until he ended up here.”

Stan looked ahead and felt the wind get knocked out of him. There was a flat tombstone in the middle of the circle of flowers. He knew what was on there, but he still slowly approached to read what the stone said. “Fiddleford H. McGucket. 1956-2011. The angels now sing a whisky lullaby.”

Stan backed away, backing up farther than the woman was, shaking his head and even punching his forehead as he tried to think. “This… This doesn’t make any sense! Their lives were supposed to get better without me, not worse!”

“Stanley…”

“The kids!” Stan gasped and looked up at Honey. “Where are the kids?!”

The woman looked sober and she gestured back to the sailboat to go to their next stop. “Back in California.”

Stan was anxious the whole trip, though it only took a minute to get where they were going, but soon they were on the side of the road in front of a middle school. Stan watched on the boat as the bell rang and kids started pouring out. He kept his eyes peeled for his kids and he grinned at the sight of two brown-haired twins.

Dipper wore a long-sleeved blue flannel over his orange t-shirt to go with his gray pants. He still had bags under his eyes and he still had that lucky star hat to hide his birthmark, slouching a little with his backpack, but he was still here, a brilliant thirteen-year-old. Stan was a bit worried to see him looking so down and upset, but both men soon smiled as a young girl skipped out of the school.

Mabel had her long hair up with a scrunchie today and kept back with a headband, still wearing her sweaters, today wearing leggings with her skirt, and she grinned at her twin and punched his shoulder before hugging him. “Hey bro bro! Wanna go to the arcade today? I hear they got some new prizes!”

“Sure, sounds fun.”

“There, you see.” Stan sighed with relief as he watched the kids walk down the sidewalk, passing the boat. “They’re fine, they’re happy. They still got each other.”

Just then, some big buy came around the corner and bumped elbows with Dipper, making Stan’s nephew stop, and the bully shoved him onto the concrete.

“Dipper!” Mabel cried out and looked ready to punch the bully, but a guy came up behind her and grabbed her around the arms, pinning her. Another guy joined the bully and they cracked their knuckles as they gazed down at their prey.

“If it isn’t the best punching bag in town.” The bully sneered. “Feel like fighting back today, Dipstick. It’s no fun having a sparring partner that doesn’t fight back.”

Dipper growled and made a flimsy attempt to stand and punch his opponent, but the bully grabbed his wrist and punched him in the gut and kicked him down, leaving poor Dipper to huddle on the sidewalk while the two bullies hammered on him and Mabel fought to be free and help but was powerless against her capture.

“HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HE-” And Mabel’s mouth was covered, but she still wiggled and screamed.

Stan couldn’t watch anymore. He had purposely waited to give the kids a chance to fight back, but sometimes you just need a little help. “I’M COMING!”

“Stanley!”

Stan jumped off the boat and ran to the kids to pull the bully off his niece and scoop her into his arms, but his arms went right through them. He frantically tried to shove the bullies off his nephew, but again his body went right through them, like he was a ghost.

The woman stood by his side and said calmly, “I told you, no one can see or hear or feel us.”

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing!” Stan yelled at her face.

“Why not? Everyone else has. No one had ever taught them how to fight back when the world fights them, except…”

“Me.” Stan finished for her with a sigh. He made himself watch as the bullies continued to beat Dipper up, finally stopping after the ring leader kicked him in the jaw, and Mabel was let go as they ran off to celebrate their victory.

Mabel crawled to her twin’s side and checked over his injuries as he carefully sat on his knees. “Dipper! Dipper, are you okay? What hurts? Show me what hurts.”

“Ow, ow, ow,” He whined as Mabel touched his swollen eyes and busted lips. Dipper spat out a tooth and held his chest. “I think… I think they cracked a rib.”

“Let’s go home.” Mabel carried his backpack for him and had him lean on her as they wimped onward. “Mom can look at it and take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t get it.” Stan said as he watched his kids walk away. “They’re good kids! Isn’t anyone gonna stand up for them?! What about their parents?! What about their friends?!”

“They don’t have any friends.” Honey said sadly as they watched the twins. “The only friends they had ever made were in Gravity Falls, which they had never visited cuz there was no family there. And Shermie taught your nephew to keep your head down to stay out of trouble, which he’s trying to teach his kids. Unfortunately, it isn’t working out for them, and what used to be bad nicknames and gum in their hair has escalated to fights and notes to kill themselves.”

Stan bit his lip. Not those kids. Not his kids. He wanted to believe things would get better for them, but if no one taught them that they were worth something, that they could stand up for themselves, he didn't have much hope and he didn’t dare ask what their future looked like. But something didn’t sit right…

“Shermie,” He muttered without looking at the woman, still looking ahead. “Y-You said he taught his kid to keep his head down.”

“I did.”

“Why would he do that?” Stan asked. “I mean, sure he’s always been a lame square, but that’s really bad advice, even for him. He taught me and… He taught Ford to stand up for himself. Crampelter was terrified for weeks when Shermie found out he had been breaking Ford’s fingers.”

“He and Ford didn’t see much of each other.” Honey answered quietly.

Something clicked in Stan’s head. While all of this was interesting or whatever, there was only one person that Stan truly believed was better off without him. His better half, the genius, the loved son, the author of the journals, the criminal of the multiverse. His brother. Stan turned to her and asked quietly, “Where’s Ford?”

For the first time, the woman looked scared. She looked away and said, “You don’t wanna know.”

“Yes I do!” Stan bellowed and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “Please! Where’s my brother?!” This gal had been scaringly quiet about the one person Stan cared the most about.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Stanley, let’s just get back on the boat…”

“Only if you take me to see my brother! Where. Is. Stanford?!” Stan demanded darkly, his eyes pleading the woman to make his request.

The woman sighed and Stan let her go.

They slowly got on the boat and it zipped to the docks of Glass Shard. Stan blinked a few times at being back to where he grew up for the first time in forty years. Dark clouds covered the sky. Not much had changed throughout the years, but why on Earth was Ford still here? They hopped off and planted their feet on the sand, and Honey led the way as she spoke.

“Stanford was still born with six fingers on each hand. Your mother tried to assure him that it only made him special, but Filbrick did a good job of making it clear that that wasn’t the case, and things only got worse when he went to school. You weren’t there to beat up bullies, you weren’t there to tell him that he was special, you weren’t there to help him dream of a future where they would sail away and he’d be free.”

“Yeah but Ford was always a little genius.” Stan interrupted as they left the sand for dirt, the beach slowly turning into a small patch of woods. “He’d win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees and then at least Pa was okay with acknowledging that they were related.”

“But Stanford didn’t win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees.” Honey corrected sadly. “Stanley, you were the only person in his childhood that made him think that he was actually worth something. You were the only one who made him shoot for the stars and believe that he was worth keeping around. Without you to give him confidence, Stanford never expressed his intelligence and therefore never allowed it to grow at all. He did okay in school, but he wasn’t the top student. He never participated in science fairs of sleeping bees or math competitions because he didn’t have enough confidence to put himself out there. Sure he was smart, but teachers weren't going bananas over him because no one, not even himself, knew his potential.”

It started to rain, but of course the two didn’t feel it or were affected by it. “So… he didn’t go to West Coast Tech?” Stan dared to ask as they walked deeper down the dirt path, oblivious to where they were as he was thinking this through.

“No.”

“But… I thought you said he did.”

“No, I said he never moved to Gravity Falls. He never felt home.”

“So… what happened to him? What did Ford end up doing with his life?”

Honey bit his lip and refused to meet Stan’s eye. They walked on and Stan finally realized where they were. He felt ready to throw up. He waited for his guide to speak.

“Much like Dipper and Mabel, things only got worse as he got older. He got to a point where Stanford was stealing Filbrick’s boos and he even started to hurt himself. It wasn’t enough. It was all too much for him. He… He…”

“No.” Stan’s voice cracked and he was terrified when the woman stopped and motioned to a tombstone that laid among the others in this graveyard. “No! You’re lying! He wouldn’t! He didn’t!” He yelled.

“I’m sorry, Stanley.”

Stan finally made himself read the rock. He fell to his knees at the words that shined through the rain. “Stanford Filbrick Pines. 1956-1970.”

“NO!” Stan screamed and punched the ground beneath him as he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. “NO! HE WOULDN’T! HE DIDN’T!”

“Ma found him dangling from the ceiling. She was never the same after losing her baby.” Honey croaked. “He was only fourteen.”

“NO!” Stan shook his head as he ignored how wet his cheeks and eyes were now. “NO! He… He… He never needed me. He never wanted me around.”

“Yes he did.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stanley, listen.” The woman said firmly behind him. “You said it yourself that family needs each other. I know it’s hard to believe that you’re actually worth something when there’s a dozen voices in your head telling you otherwise, but just like how you need them, your family needs you. Your brother needs you.”

Stan listed his fists up from the dirt, his eyes on the tombstone without seeing. “I… I just thought he’d be… they’d be better off I hadn’t been around.”

“No one knows for sure how they change things or how much they really impact others. But you do. And even if you forget all of this, you know your family loves you enough to tell you that they need you.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, but what’s keeping them from saying that outta pity?”

“You can’t let yourself think like that, Stanley, you just can’t.” Honey said firmly. “Your family loves you. Stanford loves you. He needs you, and if you don’t believe me, just take a look at what he’s like when you’re gone.”

“Wait what?”

Honey got on her knees beside him and showed him her golden watch. The face changed to a scene, like a tiny TV, and Stan started to find Ford back at the Stan O’ War II, kneeling beside his injured twin who laid more dead than alive on the couch. With tears streaming down his face Ford was wrapping a bandage around Stan’s head and feeling his heartbeat and checking that the bandages around his torso were well and secure.

“Stanley, Stanley please,” Ford begged as he took Stan’s hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t leave me. I need you, the kids need you. Please.”

“Whoa hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Stan said, but then his eyes grew wide and he looked up at Honey. “Am I?”

“I dunno.” She asked as she lowered her arm and smiled at him. “Do you wanna go?”

“Go where?”

Honey chuckled. “On.”

Stan blinked at her. “No. No, I don’t. If… If that knucklehead really wants me around, then I’ll stay.”

Honey blinked her eyes dry and stood up. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll get you home.”

Stan stood up and followed her back to the boat. “By the way, honey, why’d you do all this for me? What, wanted to earn your wings?”

“No, this was pure self-indulgent.”

“Wait wut?”

~~~~~~~~~~

His head hurt. His side ached a little, but his head really hurt. That didn’t matter. He had no idea why, but he had to see his brother.

Stan forced his eyes open and found his vision blurry thanks to his glasses being folded on the end table. He smiled when he saw that Ford had fallen asleep by his side, kneeling beside the couch, holding his hand, and resting his head face-first into his own folded arms. Outside it was dark, which could mean it was seven in the morning of seven at night, given the fact they were up in the Arctic.

The younger, injured twin, snorted at his brother, which made the aged scientist sit up too quickly for it to be wise, wide awake, with his hair in a gray floof and his red eyes wide and alert.

“Stanley! Thank Moses!” He cried out and stood up to better look over him. “How do you feel? Any pain? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Calm down, Sixer,” Stan chuckled weakly as he slowly tried to sit up, sensitive to the wound on his side. “My head hurts, but I’ll be fine with some painkillers, and you’re holding up two fingers like some dumb hippy.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Ford hugged him around his shoulders tightly as his whole body trembled. “I know you showed no signs of a concussion and your wound is not nearly as bad as it could have been, but i didn’t know for sure if you would pull through or what I would do without you and…”

“Geez, relax, it’s okay, Stanford.” Stan shushed as he hugged him and rubbed his back. “M’fine, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Ford said firmly and sat back, a hand still on his shoulder. “Don’t you ever think for a second that I don’t want you here with me, Stanley. I need you.”

“Yikes, where’s all this sappiness coming from, eh?”

Ford blinked at his twin and said slowly, “Y-You said you thought I’d be better off without you…”

Stan waved that away. “Ah, you say stupid stuff when you hit your brain too hard. I swear, Sixer, you’re stuck with me, as long as you’ll have me, anyways. Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t kill yourself out here.”

Ford chuckled tiredly and shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now do we have any stew left? I’m starving.”

#GF #fanfiction #gravity falls #gift #stan pines #ford pines #angst #nothing but angst #and a little fluff #maybe #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT HONEYE!!!#LOVE YOU!

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

Note

"you're in no condition to be walking around" + ThanZag

Mermaid AU!!!! Thought it was time to roll this one out, I’m just super feeling mournful Thanatos on a break from his hectic city job post nervous breakdown, out in an isolated cottage by the sea, falling in love with a mermaid Zagreus he’s been secret friends with since they were kids.

and some Angst

Please leave a comment on Ao3 if you like this!

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Three days wasn’t late.

Thanatos told himself that every morning and evening, when he would pull on the largest and thickest of the sweaters his mother had knitted for him, shove his bare feet into boots and take a tin mug of coffee out onto the little jetty to wait for Zagreus. He told himself that every hour as the waves rolled in and out without so much as a ripple or a flash of a scaled tail like fire in the water. He told himself every time he had to trudge back to his lopsided cottage on the fringe of the pebbled shoreline, cold and probably soaked to the bone, to start work or to sink into fitful dreams, still with that question weighing him down inside like a ballast stone.

But three days wasn’t late. He’d been gone for longer stretches than this. His people ranged far, travelled long distances for forage and food or on sheer curiosity. Hadn’t Zagreus shown him fossils he’d rescued from deep coves or necklaces ancient with tarnish he’d scavenged from shipwrecks older than both of them, hadn’t he been widening his friend’s eyes with stories of underwater volcanoes and tropical waters warm as blood and dodging ice floes in arctic waters, since the two of them were children? Three days was nothing. Three days wasn’t late.

So why weren’t the words any comfort?

Because every other time, he told you when he was going away, Than catalogued his reasons for anxiety miserably, sitting on the end of the jetty in a misty drizzle with his eyes fixed out to sea. Because even if he was going ranging, he’d swim back at twice the speed to come and see you. He sipped his now cold coffee and tasted rainwater. Because the storms have been bad recently. He bleakly noted that it was an hour past sunset, their usual meeting time, and he should probably be going inside. Because you have a really bad feeling you just can’t shake.

Thanatos pushed a hand through his silver hair, feeling the raindrops caught in it melt and run down the inside of his wrist. He was beyond exhausted, it was a fog in his mind, but something kept him pinned to the edge of the rickety little pier, swinging his legs like he used to when he was a child. Maybe if he acted like he did back then, Zagreus would just appear with that same, bright grin on his face, as unexpected and magical as the first time.

Eventually the ache in his joints grew impossible to ignore and the damp in the seat of his jeans reached an unbearable level of discomfort. Than swallowed his disappointment and upturned the dregs of his coffee into the sea, wincing as he hauled himself back onto his feet, carefully so he didn’t slip on the slick, half rotted wood and end up tumbling into the slate grey water. He sent one last, longing look out across the waves, straining for a flash of black hair or scales like flame. When there was none, he sighed and turned back to his cottage, a smudge of shadow through the hazy rainfall.

Four days wasn’t late.

The wind was starting to pick up, promising another storm close on the heels of the one that had just broken the day before. It’s low, threatening murmur was almost loud enough that he didn’t hear the wild, desperate cry of his name. Almost.

He whirled and saw it, out where the waves were starting to roll and surge, a good few yards out from the end of the jetty. In between the rising peaks of the water, only visible when they fell away, a pale, shaking form, waving desperately. And, visible even from here, a mouth tight with pain and a pair of mismatched eyes large with panic.

Thanatos barely paused to think. Only to remember the many lessons his mother had drilled into him and his siblings when they would visit in the summer and to realise that the heavy wool jumper and the clunky boots should be pulled off and left behind. Once that was done, he was running, slipping into a smooth dive as he launched himself off the end of the jetty.

As soon as he hit the water, all of his senses went dead for a moment, only to flood back with screaming alarms of panic and pain that threatened to pull him under. But at the last moment he managed to enter that strange, eerie headspace of total calm he could summon when things seemed most dire. He sunk himself into the rhythm of his strokes, the pull of his muscles, the swell of the water around him, the burn as his head broke the surface and he dragged in as much air as he could before plunging ahead.

Thanatos had always been the strongest swimmer of his brothers and a childhood spent trying to keep up with Zagreus had only sharpened those skills. The water was a bitter, sullen force around him, wanting to draw him everywhere but where he needed to go, angry at his intrusion. But Than managed to be stronger, closing the distance between himself and his friend as quickly as he could.

Zag’s mouth was open and faint, frantic words were coming out but Than didn’t waste time listening.

“Go limp!” he called over the crash of the waves around him, slipping his arm around Zag’s chest, tipping him back so he could drag him along.

He heard an unmistakable yelp of pain from his friend and felt a wetness on his side far warmer than seawater but Zag did as he’d asked and towing him back to the shoreline was surprisingly easy, now the shock of the cold was over, now that he could feel Zag’s terrified heartbeat against his arm. Now that Thanatos could feel how much his friend needed him, it was a simple task.

The last part was mostly an ungainly dragging and hauling act as Than laid Zag down as far out of the surf as he could stand to carry his weight. Against the stones and silt and sand, he could see how deathly pale his friend was, how sharply the blood stood out against his skin from the tear in his side. It was like the colours of his tail were running in the water, leeching up

“Zagreus…” he panted, teeth starting to chatter.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zag choked out, his voice a faint echo in his throat.

Than cursed, forcing his burning muscles to keep moving, sliding his arms under Zag and managing to lift him. He wasn’t as heavy as he might have been, built lithe and sleek for a life of swimming, and he wasn’t slimy the way a younger Thanatos assumed fish would feel. But neither was he warm, the way he was supposed to be, and he had the heaviness of someone truly exhausted.

“Just stay with me,” Than ground out, carrying him the last of the cold, windy way to the cottage, “You can be as late as you bloody well please if you just keep talking...do you have enough to change?”

Zag tensed in his arms, grimacing before going limp and shaking his head, “Sorry…”

“Don’t you dare,” Than didn’t even stop, shouldering the door to his home open and just carrying him straight up the stairs to the bathroom, “Just talk. Tell me how it happened.”

Zag swallowed hard and turned his face to Than’s shoulder, clearly trying to bear the pain from the jolt of the steps, “I...I wanted to visit but the storms...and then we heard word of hunters coming into our territory…”

“Hunters?” Than frowned, kicking down the door to the poky little bathroom, “You’ve not mentioned hunters?”

“Half fishermen, half pirates,” Zag’s grip on Than’s shoulders was like iron as he laid him down in the tub, voice tense and tight, “They want our scales. Jewellery and stuff. Or else put us on display in shows. It’s death or captivity if they catch you and we heard they were in our waters. That they already had some of my people.”

Than murmured soothingly as he tried to get him comfortable, wrenching the tight, temperamental old faucets into life so water could pour down onto him, keeping him going until he could summon the strength to shift.

“Let me guess,” he sighed, “You went on a rescue mission. By yourself.”

“Not by myself,” Zag muttered sullenly, as Than moved his arm so he could properly see the gash in his side, “Father’s guards were right behind me. I just got there first.”

Than nodded, unsurprised, studying the wound. It wasn’t clean, the edges were ragged and it was deep. He’d need to stitch it shut, he realised. He could, of course, anyone in his line of work knew basic medical things like that, he’d just need to steady his hands first.

“And did you get them back? Your people?”

“I did,” Zag’s face twisted into a triumphant kind of grimace, “Just got a harpoon in the side for my trouble.”

“A harpoon? Blood and darkness, Zagreus…”

“Sent me right over the side of their damned boat,” he hissed as some of Than’s cleaning came too close, “Storm was up by then, I lost sight of everyone else and...and…”

Than looked up, curious, “Zag?”

“And I ended up with you,” his friend’s voice was faint, his eyes more distant, “I guess the currents just took me where I wanted to go.”

Than’s hands stilled, everything seeming to pause for a moment apart from the rushing of the water from the taps and Zag’s laboured breathing. But the moment passed and he set it to one side, focusing on that calm, the stillness that allowed him to do what needed to be done.

“Well...you’re here now,” he murmured soothingly, “And you’re staying here for the foreseeable. You’re in no condition to be walking around.”

Zag gave a thin laugh, flapping his red gold fins weakly, “You’re telling me.”

“I was more thinking of your oversized new gill,” Than rolled his eyes, “I’ll stitch you up, bandage it and you can shift. Then you’re sleeping for a very, very long time.”

“Aye aye,” Zag murmured, head lolling back against the rim of the tub, “Thanks, Than...and I am sorry I was late. I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

Than exhaled softly, reaching over and brushing sodden hair back from his forehead. Already he was starting to warm, in from the cold and the wind. Warm and safe and sound.

“Not too long.”

#thanzag #mermaid au #injury mention #blood mention #please comment and reblog!

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angelinasway · 3 years ago

Text

Regaining Hope Chapter Seven

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Sexual Assault Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes: Thank you all for your amazing and wonderful reviews. I do need to address something though, when it comes to reviews, I honestly don't mind anyone critiquing me when comes to grammar, characterization, or even if its kind of a heavy subject and someone feels like they need to debate me on it. That is absolutely fine, for instance I knew I would get a few blocks and even someone asking about the religious views of this story. I do not mind that. I do however mind, if you think I'm a decent writer, but then proceed to belittle the content of my story. I'm going to try to say this as absolutely nicely as I can...If you don't like the content of this story, if the talk of soulmates, soulbounds, or claiming is not for you, if the romance of this story is not for you, kindly back out of this story now and please just don't leave a review. I will say that anyone who's been in the BTVS fandom long enough already knows what a Claim is pretty much a fanon canon, since its been around our fanfiction community since like 2002 at least. Wesley mentioned Angel and Buffy being soulmates in season one of ATS, so that is actually canon. I say this in the nicest way possible, because sometimes I think reviewers who don't write, do not realize how much a review about content can actually screw with our muse and inspiration and I believe there will be at least a handful of people that do write who will agree with me. That being said, this chapter took as long as it did for me to write because of a bad review, so I'm sorry for the long winded exposition everyone. I know this chapter is a bit choppy and if it wasn't for my beautiful Beta Hipkarma, I'm pretty sure it would have been illegible. This chapter deals with some pretty heavy subjects and I added a warning tag just in case. I do not expect anyone to feel the way Buffy does on this subject, and if you feel the need I will gladly talk to you through pm about it. Thank you guys so much again, and please review, unless you know its an above subject and you hate it. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Seven

The plane arrived right on time as Clark anxiously awaited Buffy’s arrival outside the terminal. He’d felt this way since he awoke this morning and he didn’t know why. It was almost like that feeling you get when you know you’ve forgotten something.

He’d dreamt of her last night and it was so vivid and real that when he opened his eyes, he expected her to be there. The feeling had washed over him after that, like a sudden cold draft in a stifling room. He’d also been as hard as nails and had to relieve himself twice in the shower. His dream Buffy whispering filthy words into his ear as he imagined pinning her to the shower wall and driving into her hard and fast. It only seemed to make the feeling worse though. There was a pounding, an almost driving force that told him he needed to see her and that coupled with the lust, he couldn’t seem to shake was a dangerous combination that he did not enjoy feeling at all.

It was so strange, yesterday he’d been fine, more than fine really. He’d walked into his house humming and smiling. His mom had noticed his exuberant mood in an instant and raised her eyebrows in surprise, a curious yet knowing quirk in her lips. She had immediately started bombarding him with questions about his evening and Clark had been unable to deny her even a single detail. Well, there were definitely a few things he left out, but he told her everything from meeting Buffy at the school to him having to sing at Lorne’s. This was a first for both of them, Clark making friends and being able to tell his mom all about it. She listened intently, a happy smile on her lips as if this was something she had always wanted for her son. The ability to just be treated normally by people, even if they knew what he was. The more he spoke about how great Buffy was the more his mom’s knowing smile grew. He told her he promised Buffy that he would pick her up at the airport, and his mom had agreed to let him use the truck as long as he promised to take her to work before he left. She had a full shift at the diner tomorrow, so he was pretty sure he could make it back in time to pick her up and take her home.

Later that night, after getting off the phone with Buffy so she could go patrol, Clark had spent the evening on the internet looking up several theories and ideas on the concept of soulmates. All in all, it was pretty simple stuff, a soulmate could be a romantic or platonic relationship with a mirroring of the souls. Where, both their values and ideals deemed them a perfect match. He had even gone to a few sites on the mystical aspects of soulmates that seemed to be pretty legit, and they believed that when it came to soulmates not only were the souls similar, but both souls usually challenge each other to perceive themselves and the world differently. In essence, your soulmate could help you transcend into a higher state of consciousness. All of that seemed to match very much with what he had been feeling since the moment he met her. None of that however, explained how he felt now.

Buffy had been right the other day when she said it wasn’t just the soulmates thing. He was almost positive the out-of-control lust and the uncontrollable desire to be near her had very little to do with the fact that they were soulmates and everything to do with the prophecy. Something wanted them to consummate their relationship, and he was pretty sure that something had a reason. He wondered if he was in danger of meeting the other woman and somehow changing his mind about her. He definitely couldn’t imagine ever doing that though, not when he felt what he felt, not when she had consumed his thoughts so thoroughly since the day they met.

He felt physically ill at the idea of ever having to fight Buffy as an enemy, Lorne’s words about killing her making him nauseous and dizzy. The demon said it most likely wouldn’t happen now, but God, what if it did? What if he wasn’t capable of fighting off this mystery enemy of the future. He shuddered at the thought, his anxiety level spiking in worry. He had to get himself under control.

As the passengers began to exit the terminal Clark looked on, his eyes searching for golden hair and green eyes. When he finally spotted her the tension that had been growing in his limbs immediately eased. It happened so fast he almost felt boneless by the sudden release. Her eyes met his and a similar look of relief washed over her face, but there was something else there. She was scared, which just made the tension begin to build again. Clark frowned in confusion, but didn’t deny her as she ran to him wrapping her arms around his waist tightly as she laid her head on his chest.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “There’s something wrong,” She whispered. “I shouldn’t be feeling this–”

“I know,” he whispered. “I feel it too.” Clark shuddered, so it wasn’t only him who was feeling it. “I think it’s time we learn more about this prophecy.”

He felt her nod. “I’ll call Wes once we get to the safe house.”

****<S>**<S>****

The drive there had been mostly quiet. The only real sound was Buffy’s smartphone giving directions to their destination. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching out and entwining their fingers however, and she smiled at him gratefully before closing her eyes and sighing. They finally arrived at what looked to be an unassuming house just outside of town that rested on a few acres of property. Buffy untangled their fingers and reached into her carryon bag that was between them and pulled out a large multicolored crystal.

“Here,” she said quietly. “Hold this.”

Clark, frowned but did as she asked. Watching her as she muttered the word, “Agnoscis.” The stone suddenly warming in his palm as he caught the house in front of him shimmer for a moment out of the corner of his eye.

“Latin?” He guessed.

Buffy nodded. “It means recognize. It’s so you can get through the wards.” She bit her lip, “We can also bring your mom here, in case you ever need to hide her you’ll have a place to take her that’s pretty impenetrable.”

Clark nodded gratefully, his eyes studying the sad expression on her face. He reached out and gently brushing the back of his knuckles down her cheek. Her whole body shivered at the contact, a small gasp escaping her lips.

“Are you…are you okay,” He asked.

She shook her head, “I think it’s affecting me more than you.”

Clark was quiet for a moment, and then he shook his head. “It’s not, I think I’m just a lot better at controlling my impulses.”

Buffy chuckled humorlessly, “Maybe, that’s something you can teach me sometime.” She met his eyes and Clark lost his breath at the want he saw shining there.

God, she was beautiful like that. Her eyes almost swirling with color and heat. His temperature immediately skyrocketed, his pants becoming tight. He wanted to ask her if there was anything he could do, but didn’t dare for fear of what her answer might be. She had already told him she wasn’t ready, and if he was being honest with himself, neither was he.

He swallowed, his heart beating in his chest. “Come on,” he whispered, opening his door and stepping out. “Let’s go make that phone call.”

He walked around her side of the truck as she fumbled with her seatbelt, opening the passenger door for her and holding out his hand. She took it gratefully as she slid out of the passenger’s side, hoisting her bag over her shoulder after her feet hit the pavement. Clark reached in the truck bed and grabbed the only other bag she’d brought with her. He wondered where her weapons bag was, but remembered she’d just went through an airport and realized she probably couldn’t bring them with her.

As if she was reading his mind, she said. “Willow was here last night; I had her ward the training equipment so that we can use it without destroying it.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they walked up the driveway. Her hand fumbling with her keys as they made their way to the door. “I also had her fill the fridge and bring my weapons bag over.”

He didn’t say anything as he watched her slide the key in the lock and open the door. He followed her through a spacious living room that was tastefully decorated, through another door and into a modern kitchen. She slid her bag off, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. She pulled out her phone next, scrolling through her contacts and hitting send before putting it on speaker. She set the phone on the island between them and walked to the fridge, leaning her back against it as she closed her eyes.

Clark wanted to go over and comfort her, but something in his gut told him that would be a very bad idea. She was putting distance between them for a reason and he completely respected that. Her sudden change however, worried him and he was beginning to think maybe she really was suffering more than him.

"Buffy?" A cultured British male voice answered after the first few rings.

"Yeah, it’s me." She said quietly.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, his tone worried.

"No, not really." She answered. "I think it’s time you told us about this prophecy."

"Buffy, I've already explained–"

“No,” She cut him off. “No Wes, you don’t get to do this. Not now. Something is wrong with me, I feel…” Her face went red, as she looked at Clark, “I feel like I’m on fire, I…” Her eyes moved to her phone and glared, a growl tearing from her throat in frustration. Her teeth clenched as she ground out. “I feel incredibly sexually frustrated, okay? Like a cat in fucking heat.” Her face went scarlet and she avoided looking directly at Clark. “Want to explain?”

There was a sudden choking sound on the other line, as a coughing fit proceeded it. “Good Lord, it’s happening already?”

The outrage in Buffy’s eyes, did something to Clark in that moment and he stepped forward his anger simmering under the surface. “What’s happening?” He demanded.

“Mr. Kent,” Wesley said in surprise, “I didn’t…I didn’t realize you were on the line as well.” Clark heard the British man sigh, “I’m sorry we were finally introduced this way, I had hoped to meet you in person. I’m sure you already know that I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and that I am head of the Watchers Council.” There was a pause, before he continued. “I do apologize for not telling you both sooner, but I had hoped we would have a few more days before the bond started to require a need to be fulfilled.”

“Bond…what?” Buffy’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I don’t really understand it myself,” Wesley admitted. “But it’s written that once the Immortal Slayer and, I believe the correct term is Star God meet, a…I think the term is soulbond will start to form and a compulsion to fulfill it will start to take hold. Now, both Willow and I think we’ve found a way to counteract the compulsion, but I didn’t expect it would start to take hold so quickly. I do apologize Buffy; I had planned to have Willow bring me there tomorrow so I could explain.”

“What’s a soulbond, exactly?” Clark asked, “And how is it any different than being soulmates?”

“I honestly don’t know, there are very few references to what it is exactly. I imagine that much like soulmates there must be a similarity or mirroring of souls if you will, but unlike soulmates there is a need…a compulsion for a confluence between the souls. As far as I can tell, once that happens it would act very similarly to a claim.”

Buffy gasped and looked at Clark, her eyes wide and disbelieving. Clark swallowed, “What’s a claim?”

“It’s a…a type of marriage between demons, vampires in particular.” Buffy shifted uncomfortably and looked down. “It’s barely ever used now because its unbreakable, not even magic can undo it. It’s ancient and powerful and requires total trust and consent between both parties.” She met his eyes then, an apology shining through but Clark didn’t feel like he needed one, in fact he just felt very confused.

“That doesn’t make any sense, not after what Lorne told me.” Clark said with a frown. “If this bond is as powerful as you say then…” It was his turn to look at Buffy apologetically, “Then even if I met this other person first, wouldn’t the bond take hold when I met Buffy regardless?”

“I don’t quite understand what you’re referring to.” Wesley said in confusion.

Clark looked up at Buffy and saw suspicion in her eyes. “Lorne didn’t tell you?”

“Lorne doesn’t give me the details of readings Mr. Kent; he treats all his clients very much like a therapist treats a patient.” Wesley said, adding. “The only thing he told me was that you were the one the prophecy spoke of and that you were on the right path in regards to your destiny. What exactly did he tell you?”

Clark shifted uncomfortably, feeling Buffy’s eyes on him but unable to meet hers. “He said I had two very different futures, that Buffy was my soulmate but I have another as well and in this other future this woman dies and something makes me go bad.” He finally got the courage and looked at Buffy, her eyes were wide and burning with hurt and maybe a bit of jealousy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, thinking he had ruined everything.

Buffy shook her head and swallowed, “Did he… did he say what would happen if you met her now?”

Clark nodded, "He said I'm a one-woman man, that it wouldn't matter."

She seemed to relax a bit at his words, her eyes softening and darting back to her phone as Wesley began speaking, "Then you are very correct Mr. Kent, if you met Buffy in this other future, it should have activated the soulbond whether you had feelings for this other woman or not. A soulmate is not always a love interest after all." He paused for a moment, "There are only two things that could have stopped it. One would be that you don't meet Buffy until this mystery foe had your mind or if you did meet her, she was already claimed."

Buffy gasped, and looked at Clark guiltily, “I almost asked him to claim me.”

A potent wave of jealousy and possession swept through him at her words. If she was referring to Angel, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to control himself much longer. Not when the very idea of her being tied like that with someone else made his blood boil.

"What?" Wesley said, shocked.

"Spike, Wes. Not Angel." She clarified. "It was...it was right after we found Alicia. I knew it could make us stronger and I... I thought it might give us an advantage against Angelus. I never had the courage to ask him though."

“And thank every deity in the universe for that!” Wesley said sharply, “I don’t think you quite understand the repercussions that could have had on not just Clark’s future but your own.” There was a long silence, the only sound was heavy breathing before a much calmer Wesley finally said, “That kind of bond Buffy…think about what you did to Angelus and multiply it by a million. I was there that day you came through the portal after Spike died. You were almost feral; your Slayer was in complete control and she wanted to kill Willow for making her immortal. There was a part of her that already thought of Spike as her mate, and she wanted blood from whoever had wronged her. If you had been claimed and Spike died…” They heard him take a shuddering breath, “You would have burnt the world and then marched into Hell without a second thought in search of him. There would have been no stopping you.”

Clark watched Buffy shiver at Wes’s words, her eyes getting lost and faraway. His possessiveness grew at her words, but a small part of him couldn’t help but be curious as to what happened between the two of them and why she so rarely spoke about him. The book had only said that the vampire had killed two Slayers, and had tried to kill Buffy on numerous occasions. He had been hampered by some form of neurotechnology by the US Government and began working with her reluctantly. Somewhere along the way he had fallen for Buffy and regained his soul, sacrificing himself for the world once, where he was resurrected by a mystical amulet he was wearing when he died. The author of the book believed he’d been brought back by mistake and the amulet was meant to be worn by Angel, but there was also some speculation that Spike may have been the actual bearer of the Shanshu prophecy. The author however, was highly skeptical about this because Spike didn’t do what he did out of heroics, even with a soul he relished in the violence of his nature. The author believed that becoming mortal would feel more like a punishment than a reward for the vampire. It spoke some about his time at Wolfram and Hart, about his part in the fight against Angelus, and how he died saving Buffy a second time.

“I don’t…I don’t remember any of that.” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “Even what I did to Angelus, I only remember parts of it. I felt like I was outside my body looking at someone who wasn’t actually me, except I could feel what I was doing.” She shivered, and it took every bit of self-control he had not to go to her, especially when her voice cracked. “When I came to, I-I was covered in blood and…God, Wes there was nothing left but a torso and head. I…” She choked. “I even took his face.”

When a single tear tracked itself down her cheek, Clark couldn’t take it anymore and he rounded the island and pulled her into his arms, hoping she was too upset to be affected by the embrace, but not really caring if she was, not when he could feel her trembling in his arms. He understood now why she’d been so adamant the other day about her being wrong in the way she killed Angelus and about Slayers not actually being creatures of light but warriors for the light. He could never picture her being capable of such carnage even after hearing it from her own mouth. Then again, he could never picture himself killing her either or anyone else for that matter, not on purpose at least.

They heard a muffled sniffle over the line, before a choked sounding Wesley finally said, “Oh, Buffy, I never…I never knew it was that bad. We found the warehouse and the blood, so I did realize…but…not to what extent, and then you just disappeared and Willow couldn’t ever get a read on you. It was like you were blocking her somehow. Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

Clark felt her shake her head, “I was ashamed.” She answered honestly. “Lorne’s the only one who knows everything, even the stuff I can’t remember.”

“Do you remember anything that happened before you captured Angelus?” Wesley asked cautiously. “I’ve always wondered how you did it, but was always too afraid to ask after the way we…the way we found you.”

Buffy sighed against Clark’s chest, her shivering increasing. “I think I let myself be caught,” she said quietly. “The only thing I really remember is being bound magically by Amy and then Warren tearing open my shirt.” Clark stiffened at her words, his whole body going rigid. She squeezed her eyes shut, her grip on him tightening. “Angelus threw him out of the way, and said everyone would have a turn, but he got to have me first.” Clark’s anger flared at her words, his fist tightening behind her back, he had to squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden heat he felt building. “I-I don’t know how, but somehow I was able to break through the magic that was binding me. Everything’s kind of a blur after that, but I think…” She frowned, her forehead crinkling in confusion. “I think none of the spells were working on me. I think…I think I killed everyone.”

Clark found himself sighing in relief at her words. God, just the image of someone trying to do that to her made him see red. Literally, in fact. He really hoped that something like that has never happened before, because he could already tell he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tearing whomever did it to shreds. As horrendous of a way she killed Angelus, he couldn’t judge her for how she did it, not after hearing that. God, if she hadn’t been able to break the magic… He felt himself shudder.

Wesley was quiet for a long time, “I’ve always known that Willow brought you back stronger, but being able to break a binding spell with sheer force of will is extraordinary Buffy. We should have started testing this advantage years ago.”

“I try not to think about that day, Wes.” She huffed. “I don’t think the magic going wonky even occurred to me until this moment.” She was quiet for a few moments, before she finally said, "So what happens if I bond with Clark and I lose him too?"

Wesley sighed, "Well, I'm hoping since it’s your souls that are bonding and not your Slayer, that it will make quite a difference."

"You're hoping? That’s really not a guarantee, Wes." She said in annoyance, stepping out of Clark's embrace and leaning on the island. "And what’s to stop my Slayer from trying to initiate a claim? What if this soulbond thing isn't good enough for her? Lorne already said she's been looking for her mate since I was called. He said that's why I was so drawn to both Spike and Angel." She shook her head, "Well, according to this prophecy he's my mate, right? Or the closest she'll ever get to one. So, what's to stop her from doing what she's been wanting to do for years? I mean I looked up claiming in high school, Wes. As soon as I read the word, I was fascinated."

Clark stepped around the table so he could look at her. She seemed worried and deep in thought before her eyes met his and they softened immediately, a small smile forming on her lips as she studied him.

Then they heard Wesley sigh, "I honestly don't know. We've still not even translated the whole thing and we've been working on it for over a year."

Clark watched Buffy frown in confusion. "Is there a reason you haven't gotten Dawn in on this?"

"I'll give you three guesses as to why." He said sarcastically.

Buffy snorted, saying mockingly, "Aww Wes, you're not afraid of my baby sister, are you?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and then a grumbled, "I would rather face all the demons in hell than deal with Dawn on a tirade about you."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Well tough, because I want her in on this."

"But Buffy–” He started to whine.

“No Wes,” she said cutting him off. “I love both you and Willow, you know that. But, if there’s anyone in this world who will have our best interests at heart and give it to us straight, it’s her. I want her in on this.”

“Fine,” He groaned.

Then a smile broke across her lips and an evil look of mischief Clark was slowly becoming familiar with sparked in her eyes. “Plus, she already knows I spent time with Clark the other day and she knows he’s something other.”

“How on Earth did she find out about that?” Wesley said in surprise.

Clark smirked as Buffy’s smile grew. “I may have pissed Faith off by waking her and Gunn up with a cold shower. She ratted us out.”

There was silence on the other line, but she swore she could hear him shaking his head. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” She said chuckling and then sighed. “I’m feeling a little better now, I mean as far as the compulsion stuff goes.”

“Hmm,” Wesley hummed. “Perhaps it gets worse when you’re apart. I knew that you would feel a need to be around each other, but perhaps being away from one another has an even greater affect than I imagined. How about you Mr. Kent, how do you feel?”

Clark blinked in surprise. Now that Buffy mentioned it, he was feeling less uncomfortable than he had all morning. “Better, actually. It’s still there, but not as potent.”

“Then perhaps the theory is a sound one,” Wesley said. “However, to be on the safe side I’ll have Willow drop off the pendants she’s making this evening. They should be able to subdue most of the compulsion until you both feel ready to move forward with the bond. I would also recommend spending as little time apart as possible. I believe that the pendants are powerful enough to ward off the worst of it, however if this bond is as powerful as I think it is you very well might override the magics if the compulsion becomes too powerful.” He sighed, “I suggest staying there with Buffy for the time being Mr. Kent.”

Clark shook his head “That not going to work Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I need to help out on the farm. While I was away my mom got behind on the payments and if we don’t bring in a decent crop this year my mom could lose it.” He looked at Buffy nervously. “You could stay with us though; we have a guest bedroom.”

Buffy nodded, “Yeah, yeah, that might be a good idea. I can help you with anything you need, and we can start your training in the afternoons.”

Wesley cleared his throat, getting both their attention. “I think you’re forgetting the contract, Buffy. He may very well not need to worry about that any longer.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.”

Clark watched her run out of the room as Wesley said, “Are you still there Mr. Kent?”

Clark looked at the phone, “Yes.”

“Good, I thought I’d go over the numbers for you and see if they’re satisfactory.” Wesley said. “I had thought of paying you as we would a hired mercenary or demon hunter, however since your role in the future will be pivotal to keeping this world intact, I decided you deserved what we would pay any Slayer, it’s only fair after all.”

“What aren’t you telling us about this prophecy?” Clark said, Wesley’s words telling him the man knew more than was saying.

He heard the man sigh, “I would prefer not to say at this moment. I already know how Buffy will feel about it, and I believe you both have enough on your plate with the bonding. I’ll tell you both, but she’s not ready to hear it yet.”

Clark frowned, “I don’t think you give her enough credit.”

“You may be correct,” Wesley conceded, “But I know she will not be happy about this, even if it’s a good thing. I, at the very least need to prepare myself for Dawn finding out, and she may very well tell Buffy even if I ask her not too. I do not believe either of you have long to wait.”

“Alright,” Clark said, “I’m going to hold you to that though.”

“Now,” Wesley said, just as Buffy walked back in the room. “How does two hundred-thousand a year sound?

Clark blinked in surprise, the blood rushing to his head. He couldn’t have possibly heard that right, could he? “I’m sorry did you…did you just say two hundred-thousand?”

“Clark are you okay?” Buffy asked, running to his side. “You look a little pale.”

He shook his head, “It’s…that’s too much.”

“No,” Buffy disagreed, shaking her head. “It really isn’t. Entering this world Clark… you’ll be putting not only your home but your mom at risk and no amount of money will ever make up for that.” She bit her lip and nodded, “Trust me on this, most demons aren’t stupid enough to mess with the good guy’s families, but the real big-bads, the uber-powerful demons, who’s only goal is destruction and world domination? Those demons won’t care, they’ll do everything in their power to try and hurt you, even if that means trying to break you.” She sighed, “It’s why I want your mom to have access to this place too. It will make me feel better knowing you can get her to safety if you needed to.”

Clark sighed, reaching out and sliding the small stack of paper out of her hand. “And what happens if I sign these and change my mind?”

Wesley spoke up, “You are not beholden to anything Mr. Kent, if you sign those and decide that helping the Watchers Council is not in your best interest, it would simply be like you quitting a job. You wouldn’t be paid anymore of course, but you would not be obligated to continue helping us either. However, with the bond beginning to form I’m not sure how you would be able to distance yourself from the Council or Buffy, but if you made that decision no one would stand in your way.”

Clark pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes quickly reading it through. It was pretty standard stuff, nothing in it that had some sort of hidden agenda. He flipped the page and read through the rest before getting to the signature line.

“Do you have a pen?” He asked, looking at Buffy.

She went to a small drawer and pulled it open, grabbing one from inside and handing it over. Clark took the pen signing his name on the dotted line. “Okay Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I signed it.”

“Very good.” Wesley said, “Now, I don’t suppose you’re up for giving him a tour of the underground facilities?”

“Of course.” Buffy said.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll call you before Willow leaves, in the meantime try and keep your wits about you.”

The line disconnected and Clark raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Underground facility?”

****<S>**<S>****

Buffy slid open the hidden panel in the wall of the master bedroom. She entered a number into the keypad and then looked up into a camera where it scanned her face, and slid her keycard into the slot.

The computer’s AI came online and a female voice said, "Good afternoon Miss Summers, what can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I need to give a new recruit security clearance."

"Name?" The computer asked, as Buffy removed her keycard and slid in the blank one Willow had left for them.

Buffy nodded at Clark and stepped away from the panel so he could stand in front of it.

"Clark Joseph Kent," he answered, stepping into the space Buffy had just vacated.

"Facial recognition." The computer said, and Buffy pointed up to the camera, indicating he needed to look into it.

Once that was done the computer said, "Four-digit pin."

Buffy looked at Clark and nodded, "Now choose four numbers you'll remember easily."

She watched as he thought about it a second before he put in his code. Once that was finished the computer said, "Thank you Mr. Kent, you now have full access to the Watcher Archives as well as all facilities. Ms. Summers would you like access into the rest of the building?"

"Yes," Buffy answered before the hidden wall shifted, sliding away and revealing the steel doors of an elevator that would take them down into the heart of the house. The doors slid open and Buffy removed the new keycard handing it to Clark as they stepped into the elevator, Buffy pressing the simple down-arrow button.

“We had these built in all the safehouses after what happened with Angelus.” Buffy said as way of explanation. “Or I should say, Wes and Willow did. I wasn’t really around for that.”

It didn’t take long for the elevator to reach its destination and the doors slid open. She could feel Clark’s eyes on her as she stepped out of the elevator and into the large steel control room. There were several monitors on the walls with keyboards on a stainless steel counter top that bolted into the walls along half the room.

“This is the control room.” Buffy said, “For safety reasons, if we’re ever in any code-red type situation, this room is always occupied in case someone manages to get past the outer wards. We can house up to thirty bodies here at a time and since most of us are a little something-other, we can at least hold off whoever’s broken in to give the rest of us a fighting chance to escape by sounding the alarm.”

She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t look at him right then. It was just occurring to her all that she admitted to Wesley and what she’d said in front of Clark. He was going to ask about Spike, she could almost feel it. Of all the things Wesley could have brought up, it had to be claiming. She felt Clark move closer, and wasn’t surprised when she felt him place his hand on her shoulder as she rambled on about where the exits were located.

“Buffy?” He whispered.

She sighed and looked down, “Yeah?”

“Why…why don’t you ever talk about him?” Clark asked.

Her shoulders slumped at his words, but she still couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look at him. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

“Well then, I think you should try to uncomplicate it for me, because this thing sounds pretty permanent between us and I need to know if I’m going to be living in another man’s shadow.” He said honestly.

She spun around, her eyes meeting his in surprise. “God, no. It’s not like that at all. We were…” She sighed. “Maybe we should go into another room that’s more comfortable. This is a long story.”

Clark nodded at her and she turned, leading him through the heavy metal door to their left and down a hallway the AI illuminating the rooms as it monitored their approach. Buffy led him into a large rec room, a massive tv mounted to one wall with a standard sized couch in front. There was a card table in a corner and a pool table in another. A few pinball machines lined one wall of the room and a dartboard hung near a foosball table. She led him over to the couch, gesturing for him to sit before she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She waited for him to sit down first, and sat at the other end biting her lip in thought, staring straight ahead into the black void of the blank tv screen, not sure exactly where to start. She figured the beginning was probably best, so she started there.

“When I met Spike,” she said slowly. “He was just about as evil as they come, or at least that’s what my sixteen-year-old-self thought. Though, I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Angelus yet, so I was a bit naive in that department. Anyway, his girlfriend-slash-sire had been weakened in Prague at some point and he came to Sunnydale to try and restore her and bag himself another Slayer.” She shrugged, “So, we pretty much started out as mortal enemies. We fought each other a lot that first half of the year, and he was a hell of a fighter. He almost got me on that first one, but incredibly enough my mom was the one who saved the day.” Buffy smiled in amusement. “Clocked him on the back of the head with an axe.”

Clark snorted in amusement. “Sounds like something my mom would do.”

Buffy smiled, “Yeah my mom could be pretty tough.” She shrugged, “Anyway, I ended up putting him in a wheelchair after dropping an organ on him during a spell that actually did end up restoring Drucilla. On my birthday I found out they were both still alive and Dru was reassembling an ancient demon called the Judge who couldn’t be killed by any man-made weapon. Me and Angel tried to stop it from happening, but we were both too late. That night I made the colossal decision of losing my virginity to Angel.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed, “And just like that his soul was gone. Maybe that’s why I clung on to the notion that we were somehow destined for so long. I mean, the breaking of Angel’s curse literally states that only a moment of perfect happiness could release the soul. I guess I thought that if our love was enough to drive his soul away, it must be special.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “Honestly, knowing Angel it had more to do with him somehow feeling redeemed in me or it very well could have been that he hadn’t dipped his wick in over a hundred years. Whatever the cause, so began several horrible months of mental torment from a demon wearing my lover’s face.”

“And Spike?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “Spike went through his own torment at the hands of Angelus and Drusilla. Spike really did love her, but her love compared to his was fleeting at best. He told me once how they would mock him for being wheelchair bound and Angelus would…well, he would fuck Dru right in front of Spike because he knew how much it hurt him. I think that’s when whatever destiny Spike had must have started. He came to me and made a truce in the hopes of getting Angelus away from Dru and also according to him, he actually liked the world and didn’t want to see it destroyed like they were planning.” She sighed again, “Anyway, that’s probably the first instance where I started to see Spike in a somewhat different light. Less of a danger and more of a nuisance if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Clark nodded. “I guess I could see that.”

“Okay, so skip ahead a few years, when I’m in my first year of college. I’ve seen Spike once in that time when he kidnapped Willow and Xander, trying to make Willow preform a love spell to get Dru back. Apparently, our little truce didn’t sit well with her and she dumped him.” Buffy shrugged, “We had one more real fight where we were actually trying to kill each other that year, and then a few months later the Initiative planted the chip in his head and then once again he came to us for asylum.” A small smile tugged at her lips, “We fought like cats and dogs that whole year. I think our bickering is partly what drove Giles to drinking so much. Then sometime during the next year when Dawn arrived and my mom got sick, he realized he was in love with me.” Buffy sighed. “It wasn’t a healthy love though, not even a little bit. He was obsessed with me. He had a weird shrine to me and he had, the super nerd Warren make a lifelike robot of me for reasons I’m sure you can guess.”

Clark grimaced before saying, “Is that the same Warren that–”

“The one and the same.” She interrupted. “I’ve dealt with some pretty gross demons before, but as far as Warren goes, he’s probably the worst human I’ve ever had to deal with.” Buffy sighed, “Anyway, as weird as Spike’s obsession with me was, he did some things that year that really surprised me. Things that normal vampires wouldn’t do, though I still to this day haven’t decided if Spike was the unique one or if Angelus was, because I know for a fact Spike isn’t the first vampire to keep a portion of his humanity after being turned.” She shook her head getting back on topic, “Anyway, he protected my sister’s secret when Glory tortured him for information and he promised to protect Dawn until the end of the world. When I came back the next year, I didn’t really acknowledge it at the time, but he was still there. Still looking out for my baby sister. It’s strange how you don’t see those things when they happen, but Spike loved Dawn like a little sister and he loved my mom too. For some reason he was drawn to us Summers women.” She sighed and looked at Clark. “I already told you when I came back, I went to a dark place.”

Clark nodded, his eyes studying her face. “You have.”

“I went to that dark place with Spike, I didn’t… when I came back, I was numb and I didn’t know it at the time, but my Slayer had gotten stronger. Part of me hated my friends, I was furious with them for bringing me back and expecting me to be happy about it.” She swallowed, “Spike became my confidant at first, he became my quiet solace. I could sit with him and just be… he didn’t…he didn’t expect me to just be okay like everyone else. I was the one who made the first move…we were under a spell at the time but that didn’t stop me from making a second move after it was broken. One night not long after our second make out session, after my Watcher decided I needed to learn to do things on my own and left, we got into an argument about the kiss and I hit him,” she frowned bitterly, rolling her eyes. “He retaliated and must have realized his chip didn’t fire. The next day, well he started a real fight with me. The first one we had since…well since our brawl before the chip.” Buffy could feel her cheeks heat up at the memory, “It was the first time I felt alive since my resurrection and one thing led to another and we…well we weren’t fighting anymore. At least not with fists. It was the first time I didn’t have to hold back and it was exhilarating.” She looked at her hands, “And the next day I told him how disgusting we were, and I was cruel and awful to him.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying that he didn’t give as good as he got, but I was always the one saying the cruel stuff first. I was awful to him Clark; I beat him once and left him for the sunrise. He was trying to help me…well, I thought I accidentally killed someone.” She pursed her lips, even the memory of Warren now days could send her into a rage. “I hadn’t, Warren once again was trying to fuck with my life, but both of us thought I did. He didn’t understand why I had to turn myself in, how much even thought of hurting someone innocent was killing me. I…I just snapped. I honestly don’t know how he managed to make it to safety on time.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Clark’s arms come around her. “He still had bruises a week later and vampires, they heal fast.” She sniffled. “Shortly after that my ex-Riley came to town and somewhat reminded me why being with a soulless vampire was a bad thing. I realized that what we were doing…we had to stop. I was using him and it wasn’t fair to either of us, so I broke things off.” Buffy shook her head, “It was hard, because I really did still want him, but I resisted. Some things happened, over the next month or two, my friends ended up finding out about us and one night, he showed up at my house. I was pretty banged up from a fight earlier that evening and he tried to…I’m not even sure he knew what he was doing…but he tried to rape me.” Buffy said quietly, she felt Clark’s arms stiffen around her, this was the judgment she’d been waiting for. “I kicked him off, and he was shocked at himself and then I said, ask me again how I could ever love you?”

She looked at Clark then, and she could see the anger swirling in his blue eyes. “That’s why Spike got his soul. He thought it was the only way he could be sure never to hurt me again. He wanted to be the man I deserved. He did it for selfish reasons of course, but the outcome of those reasons? It was worth it in the end, because he’s the reason we don’t still have a Hellmouth in Sunnydale California.”

Clark shook his head, “I don’t…how can you have feelings for someone after they…even if he didn’t, how could you have not wanted to kill him?”

Buffy shook her head. “Because love isn’t rational, because it can be beautiful or a nightmare, and unfortunately feelings can’t just be flipped on and off. I think if he hadn’t gotten his soul, I would have felt differently, and maybe I eventually would have stopped caring about him. You have to understand though…what he did, it’s never been done before. He fought against his nature and became something incredible for it. I think I would be kinda a hypocrite if I could forgive and still love Angel for what he did to me without a soul, but couldn’t forgive and still have feelings for Spike.”

“Your ability to forgive, Buffy…I think you might have me beat in that department.” Clark said.

She shook her head, “I don’t necessarily think that’s true. I don’t think I can ever truly forgive Willow for bringing me back, and you now know what I did to Angelus.” She sighed. “I really do think it depends on the transgression. Willow tore me out of Heaven, she made me immortal, denying me the peace and reward that all Slayers crave. Angelus went after people I love and he tormented and killed my sister Slayers, all of which were young girls, newly called. I know what Wes said, and part of its true, but Spike was just the catalyst, he was not necessarily the cause. It was my hate, my emotions guiding my Slayer, and it wasn’t the first time that part of me wanted to kill Willow nor was it only her that wanted to destroy Angelus for what he had done.”

“And the claim?” Clark asked.

Buffy sighed, “It was something that was swirling around my head for a while, and at first it was absolutely a hundred percent my Slayer. But by the time I started seriously considering it, that was definitely all me.”

Clark looked away, “You wanted to bind yourself to him for eternity.”

She was silent at his words; she knew what he was thinking and he was wrong. She remembered very clearly why she wanted to do it. “It…I really did want to win, Clark. I know you’re thinking I must have been head over heels in love, but… I loved Spike, I did and I still do, but not…It was the type of love you hold for your best friend, for the person who gets you more than anyone else. I’m not saying it wasn’t romantic in nature either, but it was a love that formed over time. There was no cupid moment. I knew we were compatible sexually; I knew he would never leave me, and I knew it would make us stronger. Claims, they don’t even require love to be fulfilled, just a mutual respect for one another and I knew we could make it work.”

Clark sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “Why didn’t you then?”

“Fear,” Buffy said simply. “Fear of the unknown, fear that he would say no, and fear that he would say yes.”

She watched Clark swallow. “And you want to do the same to me?”

Buffy blushed. “I-I don’t know. Yes, I think so…” She was silent for a moment. Did she want to claim Clark? Her Slayer seemed to think so, but was that the prophecy or an actual want. She certainly didn’t want to lead him on, so she said “But I think it’s something that could happen in the heat of the moment.” She could literally feel her face heating up even more. “Just, if…if I ever bite you when we…and say ‘Mine’, don’t answer unless you’re willing to do the same.”

“I’m assuming when you say bite, you mean breaking skin.” He said raising an eyebrow.

“I do.” She admitted. “That’s basically what a claim is, it’s a symbolic ritual of sharing one’s life force, blood, saliva, semen. The mixing of your essence with another to create two halves of a whole.”

A slow amused smile broke across his lips. “That actually sounds kind of beautiful, if not a little messy.”

Buffy snorted, her own amusement growing at his analogy. “Anything else you want to know, before we continue our tour?”

His eyes slowly gave her a once over, before he shook his head. “No, I think that was more than enough for today.” He looked down, “It’s hard for me to picture you like that, being cruel I mean. Not when…not when you’ve been so nice to me. I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand anything you told me about him and you, and…and if I’m being honest, I can’t help feeling…” He looked at her seriously, his mouth set in a firm line. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t come back from the dead again, because I can’t promise I will be very nice.”

She found herself giggling at the visual. Dear God, that would be funny, especially with how quiet and reserved Clark was. Spike would drive him up the wall. “Oh, trust me neither will he, even with the soul he had the ability to drive just about anyone mad with rage.”

“Well, then it’s probably a good thing he’s not around anymore. I don’t think I’d like to be responsible for killing someone you cared about.” Clark said seriously.

Buffy rolled her eyes; he might be from another planet but he was definitely a hundred percent male. “Yes, Clark, lucky for you, you only have one of my ex’s left to contend with and he’s married.” She pushed herself away from him, grabbing his hand as she did and pulling him to his feet as she stood. “Now, come on, I’ll show you the training room.”

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littlefreya · 5 years ago

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The Way to Hell - Part 9

MANY Thanks to @raspberrydreamclouds who designed this cover as a gift! ☝

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Lacey)

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Dark themes, smut, fluff and angst. Unprotected sex, hints of stalking, violence, swearing, sexual mentions, slight gore, choking, death.

A/N: Okay, this chapter is long, it was hard to write, you guys may never speak to me again after this. So I’ll just post it now, and turn off my phone and hide beneath the blanket with excessive anxiety. Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖

As always, comments and feedback are more than welcome 💖💕

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Lacey

~*~

Have you paid the ferryman?

~*~

The cool light of fluorescent doesn’t do the honeyed gold of her hair justice.

Doe eyes meet him, a striking green. Pure, like freshly-cut grass on a spring morning. The navy-coloured suit she wears counters the sunny shade of her slightly curly hair. She sports mid-length tassels, cut neatly just above her shoulders. She looks like she had it done this morning by the looks of it .

“Hartmann, Lacey.”

Sitting at his desk with a pen pressed to his lips, the CIA agent observes her while ignoring the small hand in front of him. A tall, fit man in his late 20’s, face clean-shaven, hair like pure chocolate, combed neatly to the side but for a large rogue curl that falls on his brow. He collects it between his fingers and attempts to tuck it back in place.

“I don’t do partners, sweetcheeks.” he retorts after a short glance and turns away from the young agent, returning to his computer to browse a file he was just reading before she interrupted him.

An amused sigh passes through her plump lips as she shakes her head with sheer disbelief. “Do you have it any more cliche than that?”

“I might, depending how long you are going to loom over there, princess.” August shoots back and slightly adjusts the tie around his shirt collar, not bothering to face the young woman again. It’s obvious what this is: a muzzler, or rather a babysitter in the form of a really good-looking girl.

He fights the temptation to take another gander at the way her hair frames the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“But since you’re already here, how about you fulfil your purpose in life and get me a cup of coffee? Double espresso, no sugar.”

August shoots her a look, observing her immediate reaction. Lacey’s green eyes widen, her mouth slightly opens. She rubs her knuckle between the soft pads of her fingers while thinking of what could be a suitable response to his disrespectful request.

I guess Erica didn’t bother prepping her.

Sloane, the heartless lioness. She leered at him with that sour look on her face since the day he stepped into the building. He swears the woman must have slices of lemons hidden in her panties. There is not even a drop of respect in those dark eyes whenever he sits in her office. Nor does she harbour any trust in his performance on the field.

It all just worsened thanks to Ukraine.

The explosion in the old Soviet power plant killed dozens of innocent lives at the cost of one. Though that man was responsible for the death of thousands, if not more.

If you want to tear down a building, you better use a fucking hammer.

That cunt should thank him and promote him.

“Nothing but daddy’s boy.” That’s what she sees in him. He might as well be another dead CIA agent like his father, then. Erased from memory, his great achievements discredited. At least he doesn’t have a family to throw to the dogs so they can rip them to shreds.

Oh Sloane, if only you knew half of the shit that goes beneath that stuck-up nose of yours.

Releasing another deep sigh, Lacey slumps to the seat in front of him, crossing her long legs together and leaning back in her chair while grabbing the folder on her desk. Her lips clamp together tightly, trying to hide the saltiness on her face. Long lashes curtain her eyes which pretend to read through the file. August rolls his eyes with annoyance, trying to ignore her existence and continue working his way through a case he’s been reading before she interrupted him.

Yet every now and then his storm-touched eyes peer at the naive-looking woman, observing her and trying to determine how long will she last.

~*~

Is this hell?

~*~

That dusting of freckles on her nose and the fresh shimmer in her eyes give out much softness, yet she is anything but weak. Lacey Hartmann is a shield-maiden of some sort. For 2 months she withstood August’s “boot camp,” meaning she appeared unaffected by his cold demeanour.

At times there is even a hint of a smile hiding beneath that peach shade lipstick when August challenges her with an obscene dark joke. A hint of amusement tints the green of her irises, but she never dares to admit it.

Too coy, almost chaste, yet iron-willed.

August finds her behaviour borderline masochistic as he continues to prize her with nothing but arctic affection. Even so, she always listens when he speaks, her eyes open with pure intent, a fertile green field in her glance.

Something spikes at the marrow of his bones, intrigue or so. Trivial thoughts find themselves latching into the tunnels of his complicated mind. His CIA brain begins to note her morning routine. A glacial stare registers the vanilla latte she drinks almost religiously every morning at 9, with two teaspoons of sugar. Lacey has a sweet tooth, it seems. She never misses dessert at the cantine and he once caught her bending the rules and sneaking candies back from their previous mission at eastern Europe.

He also noticed how when she is nervous, she twirls a finger in her hair with agitation and chews her plump lips.

Blue is another point of interest. The colour seems to be dominant in her attire and accessories for some cryptic reason, though. not obsessively. She wears black or grey but then ties a silk scarf the shade of the sky around her delicate throat. When she is having a bad hair day, it’s the red pencil suit that draws attention to her body instead. The combination is horrifying when she sits in front of him holding her favourite mug which is glittery cerulean.

He begins to wonder about her life outside of the headquarters. Her file rested in his apartment for weeks yet only recently he found himself bored enough to peek inside and read about her personal life. No husband is listed under her marital state, yet he wonders if a woman as attractive as Lacey has a man waiting for her at home. Someone kind, he imagines, and pitiful. She looks like a woman lacking a strong man in her life.

“Are you going to finish that?”

August’s brows furrow as she cuts into his adventurous trails of thought. His glassy eyes pierce at her as she sits in front of him at the cantine, sharing a lunch table. He hardly speaks during lunch anyway, and only listens to her musings with the usual sulk on his face.

Lacey appears slightly frightened when she sees his menacing expression, yet her fright melts into a soft blush and a coy grin, in an attempt to pacify him. He nudges the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in her direction.

“No, go ahead.” he watches as she digs her fork into it with excitement, her eyes shutting with near orgasmic pleasure as the chocolate melts on her tongue.

His mind continues to wander, offering him possible imaginary visions of her personal life while she mumbles something in the background about the cake being outrageous.

Her home address would be in that file too.

It’s nothing but idle curiosity, after all.

~*~

You don’t believe in hell.

~*~

It’s been over 6 months of enduring her by his side. August imagined she’d run off crying to Sloane 2 days after being forced into this partnership, but she keeps a vow of secrecy, even when he bends a guideline or two during missions or violates nearly every HR policy. At first, she would warn him about his behaviour, but now she just calls it “The Walker Way”.

It almost feels like he has a partner in crime.

They arrived in Sicily a night ago, their mission is to locate and capture a millionaire-turned-terrorist and bring him in for questioning. It’s a high profile target, which means the CIA spared no expense providing them with the finest hotel suites and fancy attire to attend a gallery opening. An informant suggested the suspect might be doing his bidding at the same mansion.

Lacey meets August at the hotel’s main parking lot, wearing a cornflower blue mermaid-cut gown. Threads of silver adorn the outlines of her cleavage and little pieces of sparkling glitter draw his attention to her bust. He doesn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes fixate on her breasts. Beaming at the pale pink fat of her bosom before his gaze finally wanders to meet her face, giving her his regular cocky stance.

Is she wearing a bra underneath?

“You look handsome,” Lacey compliments, swallowing a complaint about the obvious way he objectified her. “We look as if we’ve matched colours.” The royal blue three-piece suit brings out the ocean in his eyes and she allows herself to dwell in the calm water as she glances back, offering him a smile.

Stoic, he ignores her praises, studying her face quietly. The shade on her lips is not the usual one; it’s darker, making her look more vamping. He doesn’t like it, her natural appearance is sweet and supple, and this colour clashes with her complexion and the concept of her in his mind.

The unnerving silence between them greatly challenges her. The need to crack the autumn evening air with some sort of dialogue pans in her chest.

“Are you…” Lacey begins speaking when her eyes squint at the region of his mouth. “...growing a moustache?” Bold fingers reach up, ghosting over his upper lip where a few days’ stubble seems to grow longer than the rest on his jaw. August cocks his eyebrow as the tips of her fingers almost touch his mouth. She notices his disapproval and pulls her hand away apologetically.

“For the mission, I thought it might make me look older.”

An amused smile cracks on her face, her cheeks rounding up to perfect blushing circles. “The real Mrs. Walker would be mortified.”

August scoffs, rolling his eyes at the notion before turning away to watch the cars that pass by. His hand rests on his chest, straightening the vest underneath his suit and stretches the muscles of his back. A timid-blowing zephyr caresses his face; his Adam apple rises and drops dryly in his throat.

“Is there a…”

“Oh c’mon, Hartmann! You know the answer to the question, don’t act stupid and play small talk with me, it’s not your style.”

Lacey’s lips press shut together, her green eyes dropping to the floor. She knows the only Mrs. Walker is his mother, and Madeleine has been gone for a couple of years now. Everything is in his file, allowing her to learn about the “mundane life” August Walker leads, or at least the ones he allows her to see through her CIA spectacles.

It was an obligation to do the same with her. His old man once told him to learn who he’s dealing with before opening his “goddamn mouth.” That’s all there is to it, and his curiosity if he has to admit it.

Lacey Hartmann lives alone with her cat, Sir Podrick, on Hampshire St 457 on flat number 45. A magazine two-room apartment, picture-perfect, tidy to the point of OCD. She has an older sister but they rarely see each other. On her free weekends, she loves to watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.

He often wonders if her sweet tooth is compensating for something missing in her life. Yet there is never a man in her apartment.

Sometimes she dances in front of the window, especially after a hard day at the office. He can’t tell which music is playing in her headphones, but the way she moves her body makes him believe it’s something upbeat and cheerful.

The images of her bedroom window vanish as a slightly irritating thought peaks in his mind at her comment. Mrs. Walker. A hiss of violent air shoots from his nostrils.

Relationships were not something he cared to pursue. Life had other offerings.

Besides, the women he liked were too tender and he was too rough. So, his conquests never lasted more than a night.

Agitated, he pulls his sleeve to look at his Rolex, muttering something obscene under his breath which makes Lacey shift uncomfortably on her feet. The driver should have arrived by now. Every car that parks at the pebbled road bears disappointment, dropping off more honeymooners and rich, older married couples.

A soft smile breaks on Lacey’s painted lips while she stares at August who’s facing the driveway with his fists clenched at the sides of his body.

“Well, since we’re stuck here waiting for a ride, you better entertain me.” Lacey speaks with grace, not a hint of nervousness or fright in her voice. She learnt how to deal with August and his tantrums by now.

August remains silent, his sight never breaking from the driveway and the alley of palm trees that pave the path.

“Or I guess we can stare at the big full moon,” she says to herself, lifting her eyes to the clear sky.

August stares back at the golden-haired woman, her long lashes fluttering gently as she counts the stars in her mind. A naive glint sparks her eyes as she’s captivated by her own fascination. The pale blue of the moon reflects on her milky skin, making her look like a siren in her beautiful dress.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he says in his deep voice.

*~*

And even if it existed, hell wouldn’t have you.

*~*

The expo is held at a royal mansion of some sort. A large Sicilian palace that is owned by an ageing millionaire. Golden floral embellishments spread across the azure velvet walls, shimmering at the lights of the crystal chandeliers which dangle in the halls.

Various ancient trinkets are placed in glass cubes. Crudely-made bows and arrows that were carved from cheap wood by a half-brain neanderthal are offered for the price of 200,000,000 Euros.

Ridiculous.

Keen on finding their target, both August and Lacey decide to split up upon their arrival, planning their strategy ahead by protocol. August is the striking image of professionalism tonight, stretching his gaze around the large hallway. He has been this way for the last several missions, working by the book, making sure to perform as clean as possible, whatever that means in CIA terms.

He even managed to win a word of praise from Sloane, who still can’t stand the very sight of his face. But at least she ceased from eating his head at the conclusion of every mission.

And Lacey seems to appreciate it, too.

The brooding man spends the night pretending to be enthralled by the exhibition and its boring guests who continually attempt to strike pointless conversations with him. As part of his task, he only speaks with those who seem to be an asset and brushes others away by answering in fluent Italian, pretending to not understand a word in English while smiling at them politely.

Blending in, the young agent stands by one of the bars, leaning onto the marble counter and enjoying some type of strawberries-in-cream dessert which was offered to him by a tall, abnormally attractive waitress who’s been walking around with a silver tray.

Lacey would love this fruit-pudding thingy, he muses as his fingers brush through the mid-length stubble above his lip. His eyes carefully scan the room for any group of men in their late 30s for a clue or a sign.

The sound of a woman’s laughter chips away his attention like a siren’s call.

So that’s how she sounds like when she laughs.

Grabbing a glass of champagne, he steps forward on the black carpeted floor, following the cheerful voice as it rolls delightfully in his ears. Storm clouds gather in his eyes. The siren is behaving unprofessionally to the point of being offensive. A tall glass of half-empty Lambrusco hangs between her slender fingers while her head falls back; her hand rests on her chest, trying to contain her laughter.

She is the centre of attention to a group of famished men.

August frowns with disapproval. She’s supposed to act drunk, not get buzzed. Standing at the large pathway, he watches how she smiles widely, mouth gaping, small dimples peeking at the corner of her lips. The honey of her hair makes her stand out in a room of dark beauties, the shade of her dress an anchor for any travelling eyes.

He takes an irritated sip from his champagne, swallowing the sparkly liquid, trying to ignore the bells of laughter which begin to sound like an insult, meant to provoke him. His piercing eyes search for the target in the room, focusing on the task on hand and being the professional his father urged him to be.

Yet as if magnetized, his glare returns to her.

For a moment there he nearly forgets that she is a CIA agent. The men around her flirt nearly barbarically, their mouths salivating with predatory hunger. Is she too pure to understand their intentions? The vultures are waiting to tear her limb by limb. Possibly hoping she will be drunk enough to be dragged by one of them.

The storm inside him rages. Thoughts of her being tainted by one of these hideous men enter his mind and poison bubbles in his throat, drowning him in anger.

He puts his champagne flute on the tray of one of the hostesses who passes by. He fixes his tie over his neck and swallows hard. His strides are confident and charismatic as he marches into their circle abruptly, reaching an arm over to Lacey.

“Sweetheart, here you are. Come see this piece, you’re going to love it.” hee speaks with contained anger, his baritone loud and clear, roaring through his puffed chest and squared shoulders.

Lacey turns to smile at him as he latches his fingers around her forearm, rescuing her by pulling her away from the predators with as much elegance he can muster at his current aggravated mood.

“Are you fucking drunk, Hartmann? What’s wrong with you?! We have a dangerous man to catch.” He whispers angry and low in her ear, carrying her toward an open terrace where they can discuss and re-strategize the mission.

The cool breeze caresses their faces, tenderly running through their hair as they approach the open air. The young woman continues to giggle as August’s fingers tickle beneath her armpit while he takes her to stand next to the large renaissance modules that hide them from the guests of the event. He lets go of her forearm, looking down at her with a scowl.

“Relax, I was trying to make it look convincing with these decadent, empty idiots.” she attempts to pacify him, looking up into his eyes, her head reaching just beneath his square chin.

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“What is?”

“The way they sell these artefacts on such a high price when it was created by a primitive creature who ate his own fleas,” she mocks with a mischievous smile. “This is the end of human culture, this capitalistic point of view.”

A cold shiver crawls at August’s spine as he hears her speaking of his ideals. He had never seen her this way before.

So opinionated, so bold.

Has she been reading my mind?

They have never been this physically close, he can smell the lupines on her skin and the Lambrusco on her breath. Lacey’s amused grin begins to relax somewhat, her eyes now staring at something with stark fascination.

“You have a brown spot in one of your eyes.”

August brow furrows even deeper, dark lines forming between his thick eyebrows as the woman ogles him in a bizarre way. His blood thickens as the pleasant wind brushes at his face.

“Sectoral heterochromia, I was born with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers with an enchanted glare, batting her lashes and moving further to study the shape of his flaw. Her feet arch to the tip of her toes, reaching higher to his face. August remains still, watching as if within a haze when her lips crash onto his.

Chills spiral through his nerves, his eyes wide open as her soft lips press into his in a long, chaste kiss. There is a small hum in her voice, painted lashes look like black curved trails as her eyes shut with an enchantment. For a second he can feel her body press into his, her breasts grinding at his broad chest. She slowly detaches from him, opening her eyes and falling flat on her feet.

Alarm spills onto her face, her hand covering her mouth with guilt as panic surges. August stares back without a sign of emotion on his arctic face.

“I’m so sorry!” She calls out in utter embarrassment, moving away from him by a step.

His breath grows rigid, his mind a war. In an instant, he pulls her wrist away from her face and claims her into his grasp, kissing her earnestly, even violently. Lacey’s moans melt into his mouth, her body crashing into his, writhing as her lips gape, accepting his insidious tongue.

She tastes like sugar.

August slams her against the wall, growling as her hands roam down his body and messing his outfit. A fervent stir tingles at his groin and the way she squeezes the muscles of his behind and tries to shove her hands under his trousers does nothing to relax his racing heart. Depraved, his hand pushes between her legs, trying to cup her heat through the tight dress, yet it cages her legs too tightly.

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” August growls, breaking the passionate kiss to breath hot and heavy in her ear.

“Then take me back to the hotel.” she retorts breathlessly, grinding her pelvis into the growing hardness in his groin.

“We can’t, the mission.”

Lacey emits a frustrated huff, sounding as if she’s meaning to beg as her body constantly pushes into his in a snakelike dance. “Forget about him, he’s not here, we’ll do it the Walker way.”

There is nothing in this world strong enough to convince him otherwise as those big doe eyes peer at him with admiration and a sense of need he never received from any woman before. It wasn’t like the women who begged him to fuck them as he tormented and delayed their release.

For the first time in his life, he felt purely wanted.

~*~

The ride back to the hotel is the most dreadful experience he had to endure in his life. Both Lacey and he sit at each side of the car, avoiding eye contact whilst their organs throb with aching need. She keeps her fingers laced together while the driver listens to some old Italian love song and sings along the tunes on the radio. August attempts to avoid drowning into his thoughts but the idea of having her tonight makes the blood pool hot in his loins.

They hardly make it into her room. Exploiting every moment left in solitude to make out like horny teenagers. Whenever a hotel staff member or a guest passes by, they break away from one another in the most obvious manner.

As they finally arrive at the suite, August kicks the door shut with his foot and preys at her, his talons reaching for her face, his thumb wiping off whatever remains of her lipstick before kissing her again.

“I don’t like this, it isn’t you.” he states in between invigorated kisses while Lacey battles to take off his clothes, pushing the blazer off his shoulders and then working the buttons of his vest and shirt with lust guiding her fingers. She ignores his remark, answering with another breathless kiss instead while moving to fumble with his belt.

Their feet kick at one another as August leads them toward the king-size bed, fondling the curves of her body through the terrible prison that is her dress. His long legs nearly lose their balance as she successfully unzips his trousers and finds him fully erect and pulsating in her small hand.

Logic turns to steam at the manipulation of her hands. His gasps resonate through the length of his throat, giving in to the whispers of his heart. How long yearned for her, wanting to keep her in the birdcage of his vision.

Lacey, so bold yet so sweet.

With the swiftness of his hands, he turns her around, tugging at the zipper of her dress while dotting her collarbone with possessive nibbles. Her naked figure unveils to him as a flower opens to the sunlight of spring.

Left in nothing but her baby-blue lace underwear, she steps out of her dress and moves to face the large naked man, pacing back as he sneaks toward her like a direwolf. The look on her face is admirable. Drenched of fear and desire at once, feeding his natural dominance.

“August…” she whispers his name. Her lips quiver at the sight of his broad form, appreciating every sinew, every muscle. August reaches to hold his cock as the blood stirs into it with rage, wanting to be inside this angel, to taint her and mark every piece of skin.

“I don’t have a condom.” he warns, licking his lips as she slides her underwear down her long, creamy legs. Her mound is completely waxed, just the way he wants it. Pure.

“I’m clean and protected.”

Inviting him into her mysteries, Lacey offers him a devoted stare and reaches her delicate hand toward him. No clarity is left in his mind; desire clouds every rational thought, every self-preservation instinct. He ignores her hand and lunges at her like a predator.

They fall into a sea of silken sheets together, August covering her body with his, giving no care of how his weight crushes her. His hands hold her wrists pinned to the mattress as he pushes her smooth thighs apart with his knees.

Lacey’s moans are mesmerizing as he sinks himself into her wonders. Singing her pleasure at him like a true siren. An overwhelmed groan breaks from his own lips as the wetness of her flesh encloses around his cock, sucking him from within with an embrace of lust. Soft and delicate, she writhes against his crude, rugged body and he thrusts inside her with teetering grunts, taking her with sheer, primal dominance.

She feels different, like no other woman he ever had before. Completely submissive to his darkest desires. Her body opens to him, like a precious, heavenly nymph and he takes what he wants. Deeper and deeper, drowning into her womb, never wanting to stop, invigorated by the way her hands clutch at his body with the same desperation that is in his chest.

For three days, they never leave the suite. Lost in a carnal euphoria that makes both of them forget the existence of the outer world.

~*~

Oh, hell indeed exists, it’s on the earth you walked your entire life.

~*~

The delicious aroma of crispy, caramelized bacon and fluffy pancakes tickles his senses to wake up. Salty and sweet, the scent draws him to sit upon the bed that’s slightly too small for his wide frame. A drowsy smirk crawls onto his face. This scent is his second favourite thing to wake up to.

Locating his cobalt trunks on the floor, he hauls himself out of her bed, pulls them on and tries to tame the messy bundle of curls on his head while he walks to find her in the kitchen. The bacon sizzles on the pan as Lacey stands next to the stove in his buttoned-up shirt. She is flipping an impossible quantity of pancakes and frying strips of bacon in another pan.

Her rounded ass peeks at him with every shift her body makes.

August sneaks behind her with the skill of a CIA agent, looming closer and wrapping his arms around her torso, his chin resting on the top of her head, while his hungry eyes feast on the pancakes and amber bacon.

Lacey flinches in his grip, he can feel her heart jump for a moment before she relaxes into his embrace, lips melting into a wide smirk as August rocks her from side to side.

“Morning,” she hums delightfully. “Go sit, there is freshly brewed coffee waiting for you.”

August drops a kiss on the top of her head, a low growl of serenity climbing up his throat. “You’re a dream, princess.”

And you’re all mine.

With a wisp of unwillingness, he detaches from her and walks to the table, where Lacey’s favourite mug of coffee awaits him with steam rising from within. His eyes are a calm sea sparkling at the sunrise as he looks at her with admiration.

Everything about her tips him across the edges of sanity; the way she smiles at his horrible dark jokes, the way she listens to everything he says with devotion and appeal, the way she speaks about her ideals and sees him like no person ever did before.

Lacey turns her head and sneaks a small glance at him, giving a smile and a wink before returning to the stove.

It took 5 months to admit to himself that he likes this, that he enjoyed being here, with her and her stupid cat, or in every distant location in the world. It didn’t matter if they were in Afghanistan or Paris, as long as he got to listen to her breathing in her slumber. That night in Sicily wasn’t just mindless sex. It was a union of two souls. They spent the night talking and while he was reluctant to open up-as he still is-he was stunned to find out just how much this woman shared similar points of views.

Though she never says it specifically, Lacey wants to watch the world burn.

He hasn't even told her about his idea, not yet. It’s probably too soon anyway as he only started formulating his intention a couple of months ago. A part of him still fears how she may react if she finds out he’s been selling CIA secrets and dealing weapons right beneath Sloane’s nose.

“I hope you’re hungry,”

Lacey calls out as she places two large plates of pancakes and bacon on the table and walks quickly to get the maple syrup from the counter. Sir Podrick jumps on the table as she puts the syrup next to the plates. Aggravated, August shoos the cat away and reaches to grab the woman's forearm, forcing her into his lap possessively.

“You know I am, princess.” he murmurs as he kisses her shoulder and then her lips, before grabbing a piece of pancake and some bacon with his fork and nibbling it deliciously. Lacey remains on his lap, grabbing a stripe of bacon from his plate and chewing on it with a pleasant moan before directing her gaze to August.

“How long do you think we can keep this a secret?” she asks, slight concern appearing on her face. August swallows the remaining pancake in his mouth and sips some coffee to clear his throat. His fingers thread through the gold of her hair, combing the large waves repeatedly.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.”

His voice is nearly that of a child.

The agency’s protocol won’t allow partners to be in a relationship due to an incredible conflict of interest. “Sloane would lose her shit if she’d find out this entire time we’ve been doing this.” He chuckles dryly and shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth while still looking at Lacey. The first morning rays shine through the wide-open window, basking her face with a shimmering summer glow.

“We can run away,” she teases. “Buy a yacht, tell Erica to go fuck herself and sail the sea.”

August smirks, his hand descending to the small of her back as images of embarking to the great unknown with her fill his chest with euphoric bliss.

A daydream, perhaps in the future, after mankind is free.

“I think she’s beginning to warm up to me though.”

“Well, she did start calling you The Hammer after the last mission.” Lacey answers and grabs the mug from August’s side, stealing a mischievous sip. “If only they knew it has a different meaning to some of us.”

August crooks his eyebrow up at Lacey and wipes his moustache clean. His hands reach to tickle the sides of her belly, causing her to let go of the mug before he snatches it back. Her giggles make his heart feel at ease, something he’ll never dare to tell or show her.

Asserting his dominance by only giving as much.

“Why did you join the agency in the first place? You never told me.” she wraps her arms around his shoulders, the green of her eyes appearing yellow at the ray of sunlight that beams on her face.

His gaze falls upon the table, staring at the remnants of the pancakes while licking his teeth. Thoughts of his past begin to echo in the chasm of his mind.

The day his mom fell to her knees and let out a banshee-like howl of agony at the empty ceiling as two agents came into their house.

He was 13, and from that moment on, he was all alone in a cold, ravenous world.

“I wanted to die for the government, just like my father.” he spits out, thinking of how his life turned over one autumn morning. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t even comfort his mother as she tore off tufts of her hair.

August didn’t even cry, not since then.

The curious look on Lacey’s face fades into sadness, compassion welling on her now golden-green irises. “You never told me how he died.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together as anger begins to slightly boil his blood. “Like all heroes, forgotten. I don’t know how, it was during a mission in Moscow. Nothing in his files but a mention on an accident, no details other than that.”

“Is that why you have such small faith in the government?” Lacey asks innocently, referring to their pillow-talk. The ones they have while she presses her soft cheek to his chest and draws invisible circles onto his chest.

The lump in his throat dries as he remembers the weeks that followed after his father was gone. They were thrown to the dogs to be gnawed at. No compensation, no financial support, and no one to comfort young August.

His mother couldn’t even look at him anymore. Those blue soulful eyes, the cleft of his chin, and even the shape of his nose were inherited from his father.

The most pain August has ever endured was when someone he loved was unable to look at him anymore.

Madeleine was a loyal housewife from the midwest who never took a real job. Arthur provided for them. While he wasn’t the warmest father, he kept his family close, taking them with him on his trips, unless they were too dangerous.

By the time August was seven, he’s already been to all continents.

After his father’s death, both the money and his mother withered away. Having no experience in anything but waiting tables, Madeleine couldn't support her own child and perhaps she didn’t want to. The boy was a painful memory of what she lost.

The last he remembers of her, she dragged him with her to church and went on her knees as August sat on the bench. She prayed and cried out to God until her knees bled and her eyes rimmed red from the tears she wept.

But God never answered.

That week, social services arrived at their door. He never saw her since that day and needless to say, no one wanted a hostile 13-year-old boy.

August turns his face to stare at Lacey, examining her round, freckled face and her plump, pink lips. They make her look like a renaissance painting of an angel. At times, he’s afraid that his rage will tarnish her, swallow the light of her spirit. Yet he can never hold back, fucking her so roughly, she hurts for days. His instincts drive him to spill all his fury into her cavities. To offer all the spite and hurt that poisoned his soul, as if it will cleanse him.

And for a few seconds, he is sanctified. Coming inside her makes him feel complete in every sense of the word.

The soft purring of Lacey’s cat grounds him to reality. The chubby ginger cat rubs around his leg affectionately, his yellow diamond eyes staring at August.

“Let’s not talk about it, anymore,” he replies in a somewhat final tone.

Lacey nods at him, giving him a look full of understanding. Her fingers reach behind his ear, stroking the soft chocolate curls and tucking them back. “Okay, Aug. But we really need to talk about that!”

Her fingers move to point at his thick moustache, her eyes narrowing with disdain.

August strokes his moustache with his thumb and index finger and lets them slide down the stubble of his square chin. “You don’t like it?”

Lacey shakes her head with protest, trying her best to appear irritated. “No.”

Princess is so cute when she pretends to be angry.

August offers her a smug smirk in return, grabbing the last remaining piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it whole into his mouth. “Too bad, it stays.” he answers with his mouth full, grease smearing on the corners of his lips. “It makes me look dangerous and you love it.”

“No, you look like pornstar.”

“I’d fuck you like one.” he answers with a dark glint in his eyes. In a sudden movement, he places both hands on Lacey’s waist and stands up with her in his grip. The woman squeals with surprise as he flings her over his shoulder with little to no effort and stings her ass with a sharp slap.

“Do you want it here, sweetheart, or in the bedroom?” he asks and bites the fat of her behind. Lacey cries out in pain, her legs kicking the air.

He loves to hear her laugh, just as much as he loves to hear her scream.

*~*

If hell is on earth, then what does it make you?

*~*

Like a creature dwelling in the darkness, he sits in the bleak hours of the night, fingers stroking the keys as if he’s a composer, conducting his symphony of destruction. The flesh of his lips chafe at the lack of sleep and insufficient fluids, yet he gives no care.

This will be his legacy, his gift to the world, his gift to her.

The pale teal light of the screen flickers lightly on his weary corneas. It’s nothing but pixels, black on white, five blocks of paragraphs for now, but the raw power in words proceeds beyond any other weapon known to mankind. So pure, so cataclysmic.

Just like an atomic reaction.

She will see through his eyes soon. The potential, the greater good. All her words of breaking the system, about dreaming of a better world. A sweet, naive girl with a mind fed with agenda. It was as if they were threaded into one another’s life, destined to be.

The paving of a new world has already begun. They call themselves the apostles, a group of no more than 12 people, men and women of science and power. Their identities are unknown among one another. It matters very little, the seeds have been sown into the earth. Small acts of terror, biological and chemical incidents around selected locations around the globe, just enough to test the waters.

Greatness from small beginnings.

It will take time, yet he is patient, and his little angel of destruction will be by his side once the time is right. All mankind will be reunited in peace after the earth will shudder beneath their feet.

~*~

Does it make you a monster?

~*~

Something sharp prods his mind to wake up. A nightmare, whispering toxic words in the darkness. He hears a vague ruffle in the webbed darkness of the night and he blindly reaches his palm to stroke her and finds himself abandoned. There is a knot in his gut and a storm brewing in his mind. Carefully and silently, he reaches for the loaded gun in his nightstand and slips out of bed.

Pale blue and humming, a soft light invites him to follow to the office next to his bedroom. His heart drums heavily in his chest, his face falling as his vision becomes clear. Bright pink winks through the molten mixture of shadow and light. She hovers over his open computer, spreading files and paper plans over the surface of his desk, all the while holding her digital camera, violating his secrets.

Whatever is in his chest shrieks and bleeds with misery.

“Would be more efficient if you’d switch the light on.”

The woman jumps as she hears his voice and a heavy flood of bright light showers her crimes as August flicks the switch on. She straightens up, as stiff as a frozen tree. Unable to face him right away, her face remains hidden from him. August can see the spasm of her legs beneath her nightdress.

“What are you doing?” August asks, his voice low and menacing, eyes travelling from the Nikon camera that hangs from her hand to his secret scribbles as they lay on his desk, right next to his open manifest.

“Look at me.” he demands, stern and composed as he can.

Lacey turns slowly to peer at him, her lips aquiver, eyes shining with guilt. The only sound from her is the shudder of her breath that rushes through her heaving chest.

The hurt must have blinded his thoughts. He doesn’t remember aiming his gun at her head, it’s only when he sees the woman’s surrendering gesture does he register his actions.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gun and places it carefully on the floor. His hands splay in the air, disarmed, offering a truce as he stretches to stand straight.

“Was I…” he swallows the dryness in his throat and licks his lips.

It would take a real fool to be so blind to see what was in front of him the whole time.

“I was your mission?”

Lacey remains quiet, her eyes refusing to meet his. Tears glide down the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“Tell me the truth Lacey, please. I just want to understand.” The threat in his voice turns soft, becoming nearly a plea as he takes one step forward, watching the woman flinch and step back, her behind colliding with the desk.

The woman weeping in front of him is a trained CIA agent, yet the despair in her eyes shows no signs of panning struggle. The only way out of this room is through him, a man who is nearly twice her size and knows her every move.

“Erica suspected you’re the one who is leaking secrets, so she sent me…”

That’s why she inquired so much, wanted to hear his thoughts, to sleep at his home despite his reluctance. He agreed for the first time tonight, unaware of her insidious intentions.

Did you really think you deserve this?

August scoffs, his heart clenching painfully in his battered lungs.

He was wrong. There is something more painful than having someone you love never look back at you.

“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”

Lacey’s gaze drops to the floor in silence; her answer is nothing but a pathetic sniffle as she pinches her nose.

Bile rises in his throat as he sees shame on her face, so obvious, so obscene. Her purity was false.

There was nothing sweet or innocent about her, she was nothing but a whore.

“Answer me!!!” he rumbles, more beast than man.

Lacey jumps and sobs with panic, nodding her head at him with her confession. “Ye..Yes… any means possible.”

Running his palm through his face and groaning with frustration, the young CIA agent exhales hoarsely. He takes another small step towards her, gradually closing the distance between them, watching his shadow loom on her porcelain skin.

Lacey’s eyes widen with panic. Her ankles kick back the wooden legs of the desk, her hands scattering August’s belongings. White sheets of paper fly down to the floor, ink smudged by tears.

“Stay away,” she warns.

“Does she know? Did you tell her or anyone else at the agency?” he ignores her pathetic threats, taking another step closer. Her floral scent fills his nostrils, nearly triggering his instinct to claim her lips. His gaze softens with an ocean of mercy as she shakes in front of him so violently, breaking into tears of grief.

Delicate fingers cup her jaw, sliding across the slick moistness of her tears as he tilts her chin up. “Please, tell me the truth.”

Lacey lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes puffy and red, her plump lips swollen. She wipes her nose with the back of her palm. “I had nothing to report, until now.”

His grasp tightens around her chin, forcing her head back to look at the text flickering on the monitor. “All this talk about a better world, I thought this is what you wanted.”

She snaps her head back to glare at him, eyes narrowing with disgust and anxiety. “You thought I’d like this?! This is sick!”

August’s nostrils flare yet he gives a gentle nod of understanding and hushes her sudden surge of stress. His hand caresses her round, damp face. The thick pads of his thumbs wipe the salty tears away from her skin and his body presses into hers.

Even a tremoring mess, she is still so soft and warm.

“Did you ever love me?”

His lips are merely an inch from her temples as he whispers. His large hand slides down her cheek, stroking down her jaw and descending further below her chin.

Unable to muster another lie, she remains silent, aware of the fact that the sand in the hourglass has all but diminished, along with her chances of survival.

Words are unnecessary. The truth speaks loudly in her eyes, the poisonous infidelity was always there all along. Struck by her angelic beauty he was too blind to see, leeching onto false heaven, a childish fantasy of love that never existed.

Small spots of blood begin to form in her wide-open eyes as his long fingers lock around her thin neck, squeezing with intensifying force. Tighter, harder. His name remains caged in her throat as she fights for the air she thinks she deserves.

“No, you didn’t.” August whispers, his vision beginning to blur. “You never did.”

Strangled yips of pain wheeze through her mouth. Struggling frantically while August hardly even bats an eyelid, staring at her with no emotion on his face. Desperate arms reach out to both heaven and hell, her body squirms and her eyes plead for August to let go.

Begging for her life.

Something breaks inside her throat. Her last breath follows, a short gasp, frozen in her body for eternity as both her heart and her eyes become still.

August glances at her pale skin, her gaping lips stained violet, her bloodied eyes glassy, returning his broken reflection.

Sorrowful tears roll down the lines of his face as his heart pumps with pain black as tar. A loud gasp of agony rips from him, shuddering across his entire existence as the very base of his soul chars in his chest. Broken, he falls to his knees with Lacey cradled in his arms, his hand stroking her dull hair and her blue cheeks while husky cries of anguish come through his throat.

All emotions end. An empty abyss claims the spot where his soul once laid. The only thing left to him now is pure, undistilled hatred.

~*~

I am the one who reigns in hell.

~*~

Black cold liquid seeps into weary lungs. Skeletal hands caress his face unkindly, the thin bones, so hard and frozen as they travel down his grey cheeks. No grace is given to him, no redemption. This was nothing but a dream of a life.

As tar oozes from his throat, her voice continues to call for him.

His last memories are of Erica, sitting on her throne of lies, swallowing his accusations while peering at him through her dark eyes. Face filled with guilt, oh, she didn't have a clue. Everyone believed Lacey Hartmann was the double agent this entire time. Angelic eyes hiding dark secrets. He planted the evidence in her house, in her computer, sparing his manifest of course. Just enough to tarnish her name forever.

A painful wheeze splits his throat. Iron tinged his tongue.

The promotion was won right after the body was cremated. A fine medal given for having his life put at risk.

Glory and fame won over the woman you loved.

I never loved her. She was a lying whore, she betrayed me.

But you did love me, August.

Blood spills through his mouth as he coughs. His blue eyes shoot open, peering at a great hole in the ceiling and the dust that floats calmly in the chill air of night. The pain sears his shoulder, throbbing furiously to remind him there is still blood running through his veins. He grunts as he clutches at the gaping wound, trying to hold onto the blood that still remains in his wretched heart.

Run and hide, little Ingvild

I am no one but Lucifer himself.

I will have my vengeance.

__________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise or August Walker

#August Walker #Henry Cavill #The Way to Hell #August Walker Fanfiction #Mission Impossible Fallout #Henry cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x OFC #henry cavill x ofc #Mission Impossible Fanfiction

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karen-elaine · 3 years ago

Text

Hey guys!

So I’m currently on vacation! My family and I are doing a cross country trip! For reference, I live on the east coast and had never ventured away from the east coast. This has now obviously changed and among our many stops was LA. While there my dad and I decided that it was crucial we stopped by the iconic Amoeba Music located on Hollywood Boulevard.

I did my fair share of shopping around, got some cool stuff, and overall had an epic experience. So, I figured I’d talk about it on here!

THE STORE

Here’s the store itself just chilling on the corner living it’s best life. It’s not super grand or anything from the outside, you get most of that wow factor when you walk inside. Still super cool though and they had some super chill employees hanging out right outside the door to welcome people in and chat with the customers.

When you first walk in to the store this is what you’re greeted by! It’s this awesome, colorful, record mural with those nice LED lights in it. I didn’t take anymore pictures once inside, but it was huge! There were rows and rows of records, cassettes, CDs, band tees, and equipment for listening. It was crazy and there was so much stuff to look through! If it wasn’t for the limited time we had due to the parking meter, I could’ve spent forever in there just looking through everything.

ARCTIC MONKEYS - FAVOURITE WORST NIGHTMARE

First of the many records I got today is Favourite Worst Nightmare by the Arctic Monkeys! I got one Arctic Monkeys album a couple of months ago (Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not) and now I’m on a mission to get all of their albums. Needless to say, I was super excited to stumble across this one at Amoeba.

This record has a very epic song list! In total it contains 12 songs including:

Brianstorm

Teddy Picker

D Is For Dangerous

Balaclava

Fluorescent Adolescent

Only Ones Who Know

Do Me A Favour

If You Were There, Beware

The Bad Thing

Old Yellow Bricks

505

I believe this one just to be pressed on a black vinyl, but I won’t be opening it until I’m back home.

ARCTIC MONKEYS - A.M.

Yes I got myself another Arctic Monkeys album because why the heck not? In my defense though I never see these two at my local record shops, so that’s my excuse!

This album is a classic and I find a staple in many people’s collections. It features many of their big hits and is overall just an iconic record to own. With that being said, the song list is pretty awesome. A.M. features 12 tracks:

Do I Wanna Know?

R U Mine?

One for the Road

Arabella

I Want It All

No. 1 Party Anthem

Mad Sounds

Fireside

Why’d You Only Call Me When Your High?

Snap Out of It

Knee Socks

I Wanna Be Yours

Once again I do believe this to be on a plain black vinyl. Either way, my best friend is super excited that I got this one.

BIKINI KILL - REVOLUTION GIRL STYLE NOW!

Last time I came at all of you with a Bikini Kill record it was Pussy Whipped. This time around though I picked up Revolution Girl Style Now! which is pretty great! The “B” section of my collection is really starting to bulk up and I’m not mad about it!

As always the songs on this album are most excellent. This one has:

Candy

Daddy’s L’il Girl

Feels Blind

Suck My Left One

Carnival

This Is Not a Test

Double Dare Ya

Liar

Ocean Song

Just Once

Playground

Sticking with the common theme here, I’m assuming the vinyl is just a standard black pressing.

BIKINI KILL - YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH

Yes I got another Bikini Kill album! I swear this is the last one of multiple from one artist. It’s just Arctic Monkeys and Bikini Kill this time around.

Any who, this is another classic album of theirs with many great, well known songs from them. This includes:

White Boy

This is Not a Test

Don’t Need You

Jigsaw Youth

Resist Psychic Death

Rebel Girl

Outta Me

George Bush is a Pig

I Busted in Your Chevy Window

Get Out

Why

Fuck Twin Peaks

Girl Soldier

Not Right Now

Once again, I’m assuming that this is just a plain black vinyl. I don’t even think there is any colored pressings of Bikini Kill, but I could be wrong. Who knows?

FALL OUT BOY - TAKE THIS TO YOUR GRAVE

Here we have an artist I’ve been looking to add to my collection for a while now, Fall Out Boy! I can never seem to find their records in person, but today at Amoeba Music they had this one and Save Rock And Roll. That one was super expensive though with a lot of extra stuff. I was not looking to drop $40 on one album today, so I decided on this one instead!

The song list on this one is sweet. It features 12 songs all of which I’m pumped to listen to once I arrive home:

Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things to Do Today

Dead On Arrival

Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy

Saturday

Homesick At Space Camp

Sending Postcards From a Plane Crash

Chicago Is So Two Years Ago

The Pros and Cons of Breathing

Grenade Jumper

Calm Before the Storm

Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Such a great album and it’s also such a great pressing! This copy of Take This To Your Grave is pressed on the limited edition silver vinyl which is super sweet.

MELANIE MARTINEZ - CRY BABY

I wasn’t even planning on this one but when I saw at the store I couldn’t say no! This album was my favorite in 6th grade and I was such a hardcore Melanie fan then. This album and Melanie herself is so iconic and I knew I had to get it.

All of Melanie Martinez’s packaging is always stunning too! I know this one has a whole picture book in it with a page for each song that connects the whole album in to one story. Super cool stuff!

This record contains 13 sweet songs including:

Cry Baby

Dollhouse

Sippy Cup

Carousel

Alphabet Boy

Soap

Training Wheels

Pity Party

Tag, You’re It

Milk and Cookies

Pacify Her

Mrs. Potato Head

Mad Hatter

This is the standard black pressing, but as I said before, the packaging for this is great so it’s all good! I’m super excited to give this guy a listen when I get home! My favorite through middle school was Mad Hatter so that’s going to be so fun to hear on vinyl.

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE- DANGER DAYS: THE TRUE LIVES OF THE FABULOUS KILLJOYS

Final record purchase of the day is by none other than My Chemical Romance! I got their album Danger Days: The True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys and I’m super excited about it!

This record marks my second MCR vinyl in my collection, other than this one, I have The Black Parade which is another awesome album.

As always he have a very epic song list consisting of 15 tracks including:

Look Alive, Sunshine

Na Na Na

Bulletproof Heart

SING

Planetary (GO!)

The Only Hope for Me Is You

Jet‐Star and the Kobra Kid/Traffic Report

Party Poison

Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W

Summertime

DESTROYA

The Kids from Yesterday

Goodnite, Dr. Death

Vampire Money

As shown in the image, this is not a standard black pressing! I got the fancy picture disc which was the only available option and I’m definitely not mad about it. Super cool, and my very first picture disc. Can’t wait to spin this one!

T-SHIRT

While I was there I also had to pick up some Amoeba merch to take back home with me!

They had a really epic graphic tee section. Some of which were for various musical artists while others were for the store itself. They had so many too!

I ended up going for this simple, black, logo tee with this super cute pink logo in the center. I think it’s adorable and I’m so looking forward to styling it back home.

As I was chilling in line I spotted the pins display and took a quick look at that too. I ended up grabbing a little rainbow pin with the Amoeba Music logo in the center. Once I’m home I plan to put this on my denim jacket that I’m currently trying to fill with cool pins and patches. It’s definitely going to be a really cool addition to my jacket. Unfortunately though, no pictures because I reached the max number of pictures. Very sad.

#music #vinyl #vinylcollector #vinylcommunity #vinylrecords #record player #records #arctic monkeys #bikini kill #melanie martinez #fall out boy #my chemical romance #mcr #amoeba music

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c-atm · 4 years ago

Text

Possessive Protection

“This...This is wrong…”

Connie whispered that to herself as she stepped back, fear and confusion on her face. Holding her broken arm.

“This is so wrong..”

In front of her stood a familiar face, body, build, and damaged attire; a familiar visage all around.

A usually heart-skipping, cheek redding visage. One of charm and a dapper style. A visage that haunted her dreams in the most pleasant ways..

This was not the same, nowhere near it.

Despite the form, the differences were far too prominent. It was ghastly, it’s ‘Steveny’ shape flickering like a flame, ready to burn everything and it was violet.

So violet and viscous.

The purple imposter didn’t look at her at all, his..

It’s attention on the bull-like demon who was slowly getting up after being rammed through a pillar by the purple devil.

“That’s it, rise to your feet. Regenerative bastard”

The slasher grin on his 'Steveny' face and the blow horn pitch put her on edge, as the Minotaur snarled towards the devil, fear in its throat as the purple devil gilded forward. With a roar, the Minotaur charged forward it’s red eyes promising death, each step cracking the tiles underneath them.It stuck forward with a punch towards the devil, it’s fist as big as the devils skull.

On instinct, Connie was prepared to scream in concern.

Only for the sound of ripping flesh to steal that worry for his well-being and replace it with fear of his abilities, as the purple Steven tore the forearm of the minotaur from its body..Before knocking the minotaur across the skull and onto its face,in front of his feet

With said arm..

“Now, a lesson to share to those in hell “ The devil teased, before bringing the limb down the minotaur skull again, like a goddamn mallet. A sickening smash of flesh resounding in the concert hall. He lifted the limb high with a frown.

“Do not…"

and brought it down again…

"Ever.."

And again

"Touch what…"

and again

"Belongs to me!"

The violent, violet demon continued to crack the minotaur head with ruthless abandon, in a pure frenzy. Each strike harder than the last. Bone and smashed flesh scattered along the walls as he beat the long silenced monster. He didn't stop until he felt Connie grabbed his waist.

"Stop, Steven! Please!"

He looked back at her with a bit of a glare.

"Steven?" He tossed the limb aside carelessly, allowing it and the Minotaur body to fade away in a black smoke leaving a gem.

His cold, slithering voice caused her to step back, chilling her heart. So different from the pleasing tone of her beloved partner.

Facing him face to face, staring at his dead black eyes and dark purple pupils froze her spine and stole her breath.

"I guess that's not completely wrong." He chuckled. Looking at her holding her arm, he stalked towards her.

"You're hurt, boon."

"Boon?" Connie inquired trying to push down her fear as she stepped back. She soon found herself between a pillar and the violet demon. She shivered as he moved his face close to her neck breathing in her fright with a teasing chuckle.

"Who are you?"

He smirked at the steel in her voice. "Me?..I'm what 'he' hides from you, my boon."

She trembled as he lifted his hand to her chin and ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

'So cold like the arctic, It feels as if I'll freeze to death staying by him.'

She moved her face away from his grip, sneering at the doppleganger. "What do you mean, 'you are what he hides?' "

His eyes narrowed as he gripped her chin tightly. "Hey now, You should be appreciative to me, fledgling. I did save your ass…" He smirked as he looked her up and down, lingering at her hips a bit. "Cute as it is."

*WHAP!*

The sound of Connie slapping the demon reverberated against the hall.

"Disgusting Demon!" She roared, her eyes blazing in anger. "I don't know who you think you are to speak to me like that, but you are NOT MY STEVEN!"

He laughed cruelly but respectfully, licking the blood off his lip. "Ooh, I understand why he's so taken with you .That beautiful blazing spirit to match that body….You're definitely worthy to be my boon." Giving her a hungry grin, he kissed her deeply.

Connie screamed through the kiss before pushing the purple beast back with both arms.

"Bastard!" She swung a fist at the devil who dodged the blow. She attacked again with her left, recently healed, fist only to have him grab her hand and pull her close

Black eyes met violet, fiery rage met possessive obsession.

"Is that how you treat someone who healed you? That's fine, it makes me want you m-"

The purple demon voice started to strain as he backed up. Pain on his face as his hands gripped his head and the purple began to flicker and dim.

"HOW DARE YOU!?" The familiar voice of the Steven she knew, ranged out of the demon. "YOU DARE TO DISRESPECT HER!?"

"I protected and healed her in your stead HUMAN! HOW I take my reward from my boon, my property, is my business...Besides it's not like you don't feel the same way!."

Connie could only watch shocked, fear and embarrassment on her face as the purple demon fell to the floor on all fours, clawing at the marble scarring it like a jagged knife as he argued in agonizing pain with himself.

"SHUT UP!"

"It's true!!"

"Get out!!"

"You lust for her!"

"I SAID LEAVE, VIOLET!"

Connie covered her mouth as she watched Steven lift his head and thundered out as he clawed his face, ripping the purple flame off his visage and tossing it to the side.

"S-S-Steven?" Connie cautioned as she took a step forward, seeing him back to normal, breathing hard on all fours, quivering a bit.

"My..My lady."

That voice as tired and broken as it was shook her heart as it always did...Connie took a step forward only for Steven to raise his hand.

"Hold on, My lady." Steven grunted as he turned to the purple flames watching it form to a ghostly purple spectre of himself.

"Violet." His voice was full of hate as he stood in front of Connie protectively.

“Steven" Violet responded as his translucent and ghostly figure floated in place, a smirk on his face. "What do you think you're doing?" He pointed his finger tauntingly. “I know you don't think you're gonna keep me from My Boon in some misguided act of protecting her."

"There's nothing misguided about keeping My Lady safe...Especially from the likes of you." Steven stood in a low stance, his hands in front of his chest in a clawed stance.

"Don't you mean...'Likes of ME?" Violet grinned, his purple eyes staring straight into Steven's pink ones, before taking one glance at the witch among them. "We're one in the same, My boon."

"Stop talking to.."

"Are you serious?" Connie watched Steven's shoulder tensed ever so lightly. "Steven?"

"I'm his truest, darkest feelings made sentient and given form...You can call me Violet, My Boon."

"SHE ISN'T YOUR BOON!!"

"But she's your 'Lady'? Possessive, aren't we…"

Steven growled ready to strike, when a calming hand rested on his shoulder.

"Steven…"

Steven turned to look at Connie, a flash of shame in his eyes, before turning forward. He breathed deeply and relaxed his stance. "Come on Violet, enough playing." His glare stood as he held out his hand.

Violet kissed his teeth."'What do you mean? No games are being played."

"What's your objective here then, What are you trying to accomplish?"

"....You are useless..as a familiar" Violet growled " You fail at protecting our possession far too often., I refuse to trust you with My boon…:

Steven didn't say anything in response. His fist clenched in anger as his other words hit his heart.

"He protects me just fine, Monster." Connie spoke from behind her Steven, staring defiant at Violet as she stood beside her partner

"As long as I'm present, yes." Violet retorted " All those victories, all those rescues..They could have never been achieved without darker designs. Without me being present, Boon."

"I'm just as capable without you." Steven answered as he cracked his fingers.

"Allowing something to break our things shows capability?!"

"How about you stop talking as If I’m an object." Connie Intervened, the crest on her wrist glowing.

"You are!" Violet barked "You are my Boon, Meant to benefit me and enrich my life for my protection power and service.. That's the basis of our contract.!"

"Is that so." She smirked as she thought of what Violet just stated. "Then fulfill your part of the deal Violet and heed my command. RETURN TO STEVEN!"

Before Violet could fathom what was going on, he found himself being pulled towards his more benevolent half. He couldn't fight it for long at all.. Her command was absolute and felt the need to see it through right down to his core..The need to get her favor.

He hated it, the feeling of being controlled even by her, the lack of freedom annoyed him. At the same time, it made Violet that more obsessive over his boon. Unlike Steven, who wants an equal love with the witch, he would be happy with her completely submitting to him, to stay untainted by unworthy hands.

To remain his Boon and only touched by him.

"Remember,..I AM HIS THOUGHTS GIVEN FORM, MY BOON! EVERYTHING I SAID. EVERYTHING I DID. HE HAS THE SAME CAPACITY AS WELL!"

Violet gave a howling laugh as he was pulled towards Steven fading out of sight.

Steven grunted and shook his head, the feeling of rejoining with Violet in such away was a new experience, a worryingly one as well. His confrontations with Violet had never been in the waking world until now. He didn't have time to think it over as He felt two arms wrapped around him and a head on his chest.

" My. My lady-I-"

"You're warm.." She gripped the back of his ripped shirt and smothered her face in his mid. "Stars above, you're so warm….It's a lively warmth."

Steven could only hold her back as she began to quiver and his shirt began to dampen.

#witch connie #su au witch and demons #twisted love #Witchy #Dapper #witchanddemonau #demon steven #connverse #connie maheswaran #teen connie maheswaran #teen steven universe #older characters #demon hunter #DSDUKE #Meku95 Connverse Steven universe AU #violet #Full demon steven #Action #Black Writers

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

We All Still Die (part four)

i literally burned myself out of all my motivation after Fractal Scarring and i fucking hate it. but i wanted to post, so have the next scene from We All Still Die that was supposed to be longer but this was all i had in my drafts

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

Ladies in waiting and maids in waiting alike were lined up in a large council hall, their light green and pale yellow and washed out red and faded blue dresses whisking slightly in the breeze slipping through the half open windows. And, before them, in a glittering silver gown, stalked Henry’s new wife.

She walked up and down in front of them, seeming more like the head of the guard lecturing new soldiers than the queen of England. She was as cruel as the head of the guard, though, as she had just fired a poor lady in waiting just because she was adorned in a green dress. Now, the other girl clad in green was fidgeting anxiously, waiting for her life to be ruined.

That wasn’t Joan, thank God. She was so lucky she decided to not wear the former queen’s favorite color and rather went with a grey and yellow dress. She did, however, have her prayer book on her and a necklace with a false emerald pendant, but she hid them both. Jane’s cold grey eyes slid right past her. For now.

A foot nudged Joan’s heel. She glanced away from the queen to look to her left. She saw Abigail subtly up to one of the window sills and dared to follow her gaze.

A beautiful black bird was sitting on the window sill. Its back was a galaxy of amethyst purple and metallic blue and golden yellow, glinting like melted gemstones in the sunlight.

“It’s a starling,” Abigail whispered.

“It’s pretty.” Joan whispered back, momentarily forgetting that she probably shouldn’t be talking.

“Isn’t it?” A smile ghosted Abigail’s lips. “They’re all over my family’s farm. We had chicks in our-”

“Abigail.” Jane suddenly materialized in front of them like a sparkling silver iceberg in an Arctic Ocean.

“Your Majesty,” Abigail scrambled into a clumsy bow. Joan snapped her head forward and saw the starling fly off, as if it had foresaw the oncoming storm about to erupt inside of the hall. She wished she could sprout wings and fly away, too.

“I do hope you are taking this seriously.” Jane said. She turned her gaze to scrutinize Joan, and she struggled not to squirm.

“I am, Your Majesty.” Abigail said, bobbing her head frantically.

“Hm.” Jane tipped her head. Her eyes narrowed and her glossed lips curled upwards into a wicked smile. “Since you’re so fascinated in the birds at your family’s farm, why don’t you go visit them? Permanently.”

Abigail froze. In the three and a half years she’s known her, Joan has never seen so much terror on her face before, not even when she got the news of Anne’s execution.

“Wh-what are you...”

“You’re done here.” Jane said coldly. “You will not be working for me. I don’t need ladies who are more fascinated in birdwatching than working. Get your belongings and go.”

Abigail opened and closed her mouth several times like a cloth-swathed fish out of water. She stared, dumbfounded, at Jane, who looked two seconds away from striking her across the face before she finally stepped out of the line and headed to the door. She didn’t walk with her usual pomp or confidence, but rather defeat and grief. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, then left the hall. And Joan’s life forever.

“W-wait!” Joan cried seconds too late. “Don’t punish her! It’s my fault! I-I pointed out the bird to her!”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Jane said.

“Illiterate, from what I’ve heard,” Muttered a voice further down the line. Jane whipped her head in that direction, but strangely didn’t pursue the offender. She just set her jaw tightly and craned her head back to Joan.

“No.” She said firmly. “You will do.”

Joan felt dizzy. The queen had approved of her? But not Abigail? Sure, Abigail was silly and loud, but she was so much better at sewing and cleaning and just about everything than she was.

“I-I-”

Jane smiled crookedly at her internal dilemma. Then, so fast Joan and a few others actually jumped, she snapped her head to the left.

Whimpering.

Sniffling.

Shaking breaths.

Someone was crying.

Jane stalked down the line and Joan leaned forward slightly to see her stop before a girl her age. She recognized her as Miriam, one of the girls who had defended her from Mildred when she first became a maid in waiting.

“What is wrong with you?” Jane spat.

“I’m- I’m s-sorry,” Miriam gasped. “I’m s-sorry, I just-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Jane rubbed her forehead impatiently, making Miriam cry even more and frantically blubber out apologies. “Go.”

The girl standing next to Miriam backed away slightly. Jane looked at her.

“No, not you, Patricia. You’re doing fine.” She turned her uncaring gaze back to Miriam. “Yes, you. Box. Your stuff. Out the front door. Courtyard. Carriage. Goodbye.”

“Will you stop acting like a mosquito-buggerer, Jane?”

All heads turned in to direction of the voice, which Joan recognized as the one that had spoken out before. A woman with sleek brown hair and the sharpest, most piercing ice blue eyes Joan had ever seen before stepped forward.

Gasps and murmurs swelled through the line of ladies and maids.

“It’s really her,” Murmured the girl who has taken Abigail’s spot.

“I thought I had seen her, but I didn’t know for sure,” Said the one next to her.

“What is she doing back here?” Whispered a third. “How was she allowed back?”

“I think the real question is: how was she not killed?” Wondered a fourth softly.

Joan had only heard of the grouchy, majestic lady in stories. It started when she overhead the phrase, “Bless’ee Bessie Blount” and when she had asked her fellow maids in waiting what it meant during one of their classes, it spurred all sorts of rumors about her. They swore she was so powerful she could knock down a tower just by breathing on it. They said Henry still snuck out to be with her once every month. They warned that she would climb into bedrooms and rip out the ovaries and eat the wombs of bad little girls who had affairs and committed adultery and had sex before they were betrothed. They said the only reason that that didn’t happen to Anne was because she’s afraid of the dungeon tower and refused to go anywhere near it.

But the woman standing before them all didn’t look like the type to pull out organs and eat them at all, although she did give off a very tough, aggressive vibe. Waves upon waves of anger radiated off of her, hot and flickering and burning like roaring flames. She was covered in damp, rotten vileness and her gaze held years worth of resentment and bitterness, and yet Joan could see warmth and love and care hidden underneath all those layers of ice and thorns. And then, even further beyond that, was locked away trauma and deep-seeded agony.

“Elizabeth Blount.” Jane spat the name like it was a curse.

“Bessie,” The woman corrected. “It’s Bessie.”

She stepped out a little more, and Joan was slightly shocked to realize that she was wearing a dark purple cotton tunic and tan trousers instead of a dress. She wore no jewelry aside from a single diamond-shaped earring that was the color of firelight, had no makeup on, her wrists were strangely blemished in symmetrical scars, and she kept her long, luscious brown hair spilled out on her shoulders and back, with her messy bangs drifting into her mysterious blue eyes. And yet, she was still more beautiful than the queen was and maybe even more than Anne had been.

Jane flared her nostrils and glowered at this woman. Bessie was definitely older than her, but quite a bit shorter. Plus, Joan swore she though she saw muscles rippled across her arms.

“Leave this poor girl alone.” Bessie said. “She isn’t doing anything wrong.”

“I don’t need sniveling mules in my court.” Jane said, curling her nose in indignation.

“She’s mourning.” Bessie replied smoothly. “Whether you like it or not, some of these girls were greatly devastated by the death of Anne Boleyn. You can’t expect them to bounce back instantly.”

Jane couldn’t appear to come up with something good to reply with, so she just just growled out, “Girl. Leave.”

“Girl. Stay.” Bessie said to Miriam, who had taken one step forward to scramble out of the room. The girl was bug-eyed, looking from Jane to Bessie and then back to Jane.

Bessie was arguing with her, Joan realized dizzily. She’s arguing with Queen Jane Seymour. She’s saying no to her.

Who was this woman?

“I’ll have you thrown out on your arse right now,” Jane warned lowly.

“You can’t do that.” Bessie said coolly. “Henry wouldn’t let you.” A smirk twisted on her pale lips. “He loved me more than he would ever love you. And if you dispose of me, that will just get lower and lower until you end up just like—” She then stopped and glanced around her, seemingly noting how many of Anne’s ladies and/or maids were still around. “Me.”

Jane clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She was working herself up to a proper temper, it seemed.

“I don’t even know why allowed whores back in the castle,” She hissed.

Bessie didn’t seem phased, but Joan swore she saw a flicker of pain and guilt and terror flash for a split second in her eyes.

“If that were the case,” She said, “then you wouldn’t be queen right now. Because I’m sure getting knocked up by the king on the day his wife was beheaded, mere minutes after, even, would count as impure.”

Small gasps and murmurs and even giggles sounded from across the line. Jane’s face turned dark red with embarrassment and rage, but she doesn’t strike back. Bessie raised her nose and exhaled a victorious breath. She stepped back in line, but not without noticing Joan ogling her.

The smile Joan gets sent a flurry of butterflies flapping wildly in her stomach.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical famfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #joan on the keys #jane seymour #bessie on the bass #anne boleyn

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lady-stardust-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Forbidden | Jesse Mccee x F Reader

Commander Reyes daughter, known to the rest of the team as (Y/N) but to Jesse you the girl of his dream. You were always kind and nice to him even when your father told you not talk to him, you always were there to defend him Reyes wrath when he did something wrong, but most of all you were his greatest friend since leaving deadlock.

He would love nothing more to tell you how he felt, but he knew that Reyes would kil him if dared to try anything with his daughter, so he decided keep his feels to his self to avoid a painful death. But for now he was content with being friends, even if the best he’d come to being with you is in his dreams.

Jesse was currently alone in common room relaxing on the sofa, not having anything to do for the evening, so he decided to watch tv to occupy his time.

He was focused on the television that didn’t notice someone come up behind until he felt them wrap their arms around him and kiss his cheek. Jesse looked up to see it was you which caused him to blush, he hoped that you wouldn’t notice but you were to busy climbing over the sofa to sit next to him. He sighed in relief as he turned his head to look at you as you propped your legs on his lap.

“So whatcha you watching?” You asked playing with your hair which made Jesse internally groan, he loved it when you did that.

“Just some old western.” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You don’t mind if I join, do you?” You questioned, tilting your head.

“Of course.” You smiled as you begin to watch the movie. It was all nice sit there together but halfway through the film he felt you grab his hand and start to trace patterns in his hand. He couldn’t help but to stare at you which after awhile you noticed him looking at you.

He was expecting you to be confused or weirded out but instead you slowly smiled which was unlike any one he’d seen before from you.

“See something you like?” He was thrown off, even if the answer was yes, he couldn’t manage to say anything. You licked your lips and crawled over to him.

“I think you want to closer look, don’t you Jesse.” Before he could do anything you straddled his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck. He was freaking out inside but couldn’t do anything which to be realistic he wouldn’t have done anything even if he could, this was his dream after all. You soon started to lower your lips down to his, but at the last second he turned his head, causing you to miss him completely.

“What are you doing?!” He exclaimed. You traced your hand across his chest as you leaned in closer.

“What do you think.” Jesse dodged you once again as you tried to kiss him.

“(Y/N) we can’t do this.” He reasoned which made you glance at him with a look that made you even more desirable then what you already were.

“I know that you like me Jesse. You think that your hiding when you look at me but really I’ve known all about it. You don’t need to hide it anymore, cause I like you too.” He couldn’t help but to grin at what you said. The girl that he’s like since day one of knowing you liked him, this is all he ever wanted but then he thought about commander Reyes and what he would do to him.

“Your dad going to kill me if he finds out.” You just frowned and stroked his cheek.

“I understand that your scared of my dad, but we can just keep it a secret and even then do you really want give up this chance to be together? because I really do like you Jesse.” You said looking in to his eyes. He could hear the hope in your voice, he didn’t want to turn you down especially since he now knows how you felt, plus he knew he would kick his self in the future if he didn’t go for it.

All of a sudden he grabbed your face and kissed you. You squealed in surprise before relaxing and kissing back. It was amazing for the both of you as he tightly held onto you, passionately kissing you as you knocked off his hat and ran your hands through his soft locks.

The two of you pulled back to breate but you were far finished and started to kiss up his neck until you got to one area that seemed to be his sweet spot, you ran your tongue over it a couple of time before lightly biting at it which made Jesse tightly grip your thighs and moan. You went back to his lips again and begin to give him little kisses before going to make out again.

It was just beginning to get hot and heavy when the both of you heard the door open and was slow to do anything.

“What the hell do you think your doing with my daughter?!” Reyes shouted. Jesse’s face went white as you scrambled to get off of him but instead fell off of him which made instantly him jump up to help you until until he saw the commander glaring at him which made him quickly let go of you, causing you to fall again.

“Commander, it’s not what it looks like.” He tried to explain but Reyes just crossed his arms and tap his foot as if he was already knew he couldn’t.

“Oh really because it looks like you were trying to sex with my baby girl.” He said making you blush. You looked to Jesse and saw him go through a range of emotions as he tried to think of what to say.

“Well okay that true but-“ you hit him for saying that as it made you blush a deeper red. Your father’s glare intensified which made Jesse hide behind you even though he’s a foot or two taller then you.

“Well if that’s the case then I guess I’ll just have to send you to sent the arctic base, where you will experience intense training in the freezing climate until you die of frostbite or hypothermia, or of course I get to frustrated knowing you touched my baby girl and come up there to kill you myself.” Reyes said calmly which was highly disturbing since most times he would yell to the degree that everyone on base could hear him.

You begin to feel shaking from behind you as Jesse stood there in fear. You pinched the bridge of your nose questioning why your father always have to do this.

“Dad, please don’t ruin this for me.” You asked annoyed.

“I’m just trying to keep you safe.” He reasoned which you did not accepted.

“Then what was all those years of training for. To be the deadliest princess in the castle that never gets to live life because their fathers afraid she’ll break.” You questioned angrily. Your fathers face became guilt ridden as he opened his mouth to defend his self.

“(Y/N) that not what I-“ you cut your father off, not wanting to hear his excuse. You grabbed Jesse’s hand and pulled him next to you.

“I know that all you want to do is protect me but at some point you have to let me choose what I want, and all I want is to be with this boy right here.” He stood there looking at the two of you for what felt like hours, you could see that Jesse was nervous so you tightened your grip on his hand which seemed to calm his a bit. Finally after a while Reyes sighed and uncrossed his arms.

“If that’s what you really want I won’t stop you, I just want you to be happy, (Y/N).” You smiled and looked over Jesse to see that he was relieved to not be have to live in arctic anymore, but you’re finally happy that your father was giving you independence in your life.

“I’ll leave the two of you be.” He begin to walk away as you turned to Jesse to see him smiling. He placed his hands on your waist and went to kiss you until you heard Reyes again.

“But Jesse if hear more then kissing don’t be surprised if you wake up hung upside down in a interrogate test.” He said walking out leaving you with a terrified Jesse. You laughed and brought his attention back to you as you caressed his cheek.

“Then I guess we’ll just to go on a private mission, aren’t we?” You asked making him smile as you pecked him on his lips, which soon turned into what the two you had left off at before being disrupted.

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Requests are open.

#my writing #x reader imagines #overwatch self insert #overwatch stories #overwatch imagines #overwatch x reader #overwatch writings #overwatch #jesse mccree x reader #jesse mccee #gabriel reyes #gabriel reaper reyes #blackwatch

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magicallygrimmwiccan · 6 years ago

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You Are Called To The Trees

Summary: Three boys, demons or cursed, end up alone together in the woods. One of them needs to learn to face their past.

Notes: For my lovely friend @the-slinky-to-your-turtle! Happy birthday, Zoe!

It was an empty house, once upon a time. It was empty and cold, no scrap of joy or life in the old, broken-down, decaying oak walls. No creature dared to approach it, too intimidated by the sheer aura of rot and ruin that permeated the air around the house. No storm could destroy it. Fire would not burn it. Old age would not crumble it into nothingness. It was almost as if the universe itself wanted the house to stay standing.

It was an empty house, until the boy came. A boy with one hand of pure ice and the other of clawed metal. The boy who once had flowing locks of gold streaming from his scalp, now which were choppy and lifeless. A boy with eyes as frigid as an Arctic glacier, whose eyes held the pain and suffering of entire worlds in their turquoise depths. He did what he could to fix the house. He froze walls upright, he patched holes with snow, he carved new furniture from blocks of ice. The boy of ice was lonely, but he did his best to make the old, abandoned house in the middle of the forest into his home.

It was a lonely house, until the young man came. A young man with eyes of acrid gold, with sharpened teeth, and a predatory smirk. The young man who dressed for his own funeral at an age far too young to consider such tragedies. A young man who smiled to hide the pain and who bled to hide the other pain. He came and helped the ice boy with the house. He conjured food and cozy knickknacks, he shingled the roof so it would stay, he carved a new set of tables and chairs from fallen trees in the forest. The young man who walked with dreams was desperate, yet he did his best to make the old, lonely house in the middle of the forest a welcoming home for the both of them.

It was an unstable house, until the Caretaker came. A lost soul shrouded in navy blue and white, with a tall red hat to warn off predators. The lost soul with multicoloured eyes that glowed at the slightest disturbance and antlers that showed the true emotions lurking in the soul. A lost soul who hid the pain behind a facade of apathy, who poured all humanity into a lantern fed with trees of oil. The Caretaker came and helped the other two with the house. The walls became stabilized, held up by new, healthy trees with strong roots. The interior filled out with all the furniture one could need, made purely from trees and surprisingly comfortable. The kitchen was now stocked with fresh, healthy food. The Caretaker wreathed in plants was sad and empty, so he did his best to make the old, lonely, unstable house in the middle of the forest a perfect home for all three of them.

And so, the three of them worked. They lived and cohabitated and bickered and cried to each other. The desperate young man and the sad ice boy mellowed out and began to find small kernels of true happiness, which pleased the Caretaker. Life was getting better, for most of them, and that was all that mattered to the Caretaker.

“Wirt~! There you are!” Bill yelled. Wirt braced himself as the dream demon tackled him the second he stepped in the door, his arms loaded down with groceries. He had only been gone for two hours. Why Bill insisted upon greeting him as if he had been gone for a year or more eluded Wirt. Small stirrings of something bubbled in his chest, whispering Greg, but he did not allow the stirrings any more power before brutally squashing them down. It was better this way. Who needed emotions?

“Yes, here I am. Am I allowed to set down the groceries, or shall I allow them to spoil?” Wirt intoned, eyes swirling with glowing pastels. Bill just laughed and detached himself from Wirt, beaming that disturbing grin that was far too wide for his face (just like Greg, the voice whispered before he brutally shut it up again, just like Greg).

“Nah, you can set them down. I’m just happy to see you, Tree Boy!” Wirt nodded, not acknowledging this at all, and glided into the kitchen, beginning to put away groceries in their proper places while Bill chattered on and on about something trivial that had happened while Wirt was away. Wirt hummed and nodded at appropriate times to cultivate the illusion of participation and attention and walked back into the living room, only to be tackled by Finn.

“Wirt! You’re back! We’re having a movie night, we need to get ready for it, why are you still in your Caretaker clothing, come on, get moving-” Finn babbled, yanking Wirt back into his bedroom. Wirt merely sighed and allowed himself to be pulled along. He had learned long ago that it was easier to just humour Finn and Bill and go along with their crazed schemes stemming from the strange notion that the three of them were friends, family even, even though Wirt knew that this was extremely false. He kicked Finn out of his room and changed into the clothes that he had designated as his “Movie Night” attire. The soft dark red flannel pants, paired with an oversized navy blue sweater and tall black wool socks, only saw use when a movie night was called. Wirt would never admit, even on pain of death, but these clothes were extremely comfortable. He adjusted the binder under his sweater, took a steadying breath, tucked his lantern into its safe space after making sure it was fueled for at least the next day, and then exited the room, prepared to face a night of animated movies, junk food, and human contact.

“Wirt! Come, sit in the middle, we’ve got your favourite blanket!” Bill called, waving his arm ecstatically. Wirt padded over and sat down, bundling himself in the blanket. Bill had made it, during one of his craft phases. The black blanket with the white trees and white moon had been made first, and while most of the stitches were sloppy, they were firm and held. Wirt loved that blanket.

“What are we watching first?” Wirt inquired, voice flat. Finn beamed and held up a brightly-coloured DVD case, bouncing in his seat in excitement. Somehow, the cursed ice prince always managed to be cheerful, something Wirt did not understand but welcomed nonetheless.

“Up! It’s this really good movie I heard about from the nice librarian in town? Xe think that you’ll like it, Wirt!” Finn chirped. Wirt nodded and settled in, clutching the warm mug of jasmine tea between his long-fingered hands. Finn put the DVD in, and all three settled back to enjoy the film.

It only took ten minutes for Finn to be bawling his eyes out, and while Wirt was not feeling the same, he could understand why. Bill, for once, was not laughing, and was instead trying to comfort Finn. Wirt just kept watching the film, intrigued as to where they could go from there. Finn calmed down fairly quickly, and the trio once again settled in to enjoy the film. That is, until a certain Boy Scout was introduced.

At first, Wirt ignored the aching in his chest. He had been binding frequently lately; his ribcage was most likely just protesting his poor decisions. He would simply remove the article in between films, and everything would be fine. The ache, however, kept growing, reaching out from his chest into his stomach, his limbs, his jaw, his eyes, his brain. Bill glanced over, head tilted, and Wirt waved him off. He just needed to take a break from the binder for a few days, that was all. His eyes began to burn and the screen blurred and his hands began to shake and clutch so tightly at the mug that hairline fractures appeared on it, and Wirt finally began to admit to himself that something may, in fact, be horribly wrong.

“Hey, Wirt. Can you look at me?” a soft voice cut through his thoughts. Wirt blinked, his eyes still clouded, but managed to make out a yellow and black blur in front of him. The mug of tea was gently extracted from his hands, and he was pulled down into someone’s side as a hand began to run through his hair and another one grabbed his own hand.

“Okay, I think I know what’s going on, but I need you to listen, okay?” Wirt nodded. “You were muttering about Greg. Who is Greg?” Wirt’s throat closed up, and the blur sighed. “I know who Greg is, Wirt. I was asking for you. You’re repressing, and you need to let it all out.” Wirt shook his head, and the blur sighed again before picking Wirt up from the couch. “You’re going to take a nap, and we’ll talk about this later, okay Tree Boy?” Wirt tried to protest, to leave, to stop Bill (he knew what was coming and he didn’t want this-), but with a simple kiss on the forehead, Wirt was asleep, spiralling slowly downward into his dream world.

He landed in the forest, sunlight streaming through the branches and warming his skin. Wirt glanced around, brow furrowed in confusion. Why was he here?

“Hey Wirt!” a cheery voice chirped. Wirt’s blood chilled and he spun around to face a beaming six-year old with a teapot on his head and an intelligent frog in his arms. Greg. Images flashed through Wirt’s mind, of Greg wrapped in edelwood, of Greg almost drowning, of Greg almost dying over and over and it was all Wirt’s fault-

“I’m glad you found some friends to take care of you while I try to find you,” Greg continued. Wirt stopped breathing. What… what had Greg just said? “I’m not giving up on you, Wirt, but I’m glad you have someone to take care of you while I’m not there.”

“... what do you mean?” Wirt whispered. Greg was dead, wasn’t he? He… he had killed his younger brother, hadn’t he?

“I mean we’re getting close! I met these other really nice people— Mabel, she’s looking for her twin, and Bubba and Marshall, they’re looking for this person named Fionna— and we’re coming to find you! But I know I can’t be here, and I know you’re doing the Wirt Thing where you blame yourself and ignore your feelings. But you have people who will make sure you don’t do that!” Greg began to fade away at the edges, and his smile turned sad. “I love you, Wirt. I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait! Greg! Don’t go! I’m sorry!” Wirt yelped, lunging forward. He collided with the ground and let out a sob before-

“Wirt! Wake up!” Finn yelled. Wirt shot upright, gasping, crying, shaking, and was wrapped in a cold embrace. Finn whispered soothing words into his ear as Wirt cried, rocking him back and forth. “You’re fine, Wirt, it’s okay, it’ll all be okay.”

“Wirt, we’re here, okay? Just let it all out,” Bill’s voice soothed before Wirt was wrapped into another hug. And there, Wirt fell asleep again, in the arms of his friends— no, family. The three of them had a long road ahead of them, of course, but Bill and Finn promised, in that moment, that they would make sure Wirt was okay. No matter what.

#over the garden wall #gravity falls #adventure time #wirt angst #beast wirt #bipper #a very toned down bipper #ice finn #bad end friends #angst #all the fucking angst #trans wirt #trans finn #fluff #eventually

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knaveofmogadore · 6 years ago

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First Second Meetings

I don’t think I’m ever going to get over these nerds! It’s been YEARS since I’ve put out adive content I think! This is a rework actually of one of my older fics since lost to time, adapted to the current state of canon. This is my, what? Third first meetings fic for Adamus and Five? Frey needs to let them argue already so I can stop writing these

Five kidnaps Adamus in the middle of his third night back at civilization, and that sets off the beginning of a beautiful friendship, with a side of drama, war, and Einar.

Adam sat down on the bed with a relieved sigh. Nearly two years in the arctic, a sudden evacuation of Alaska, a surprise pick up from his friend John Smith, a non stop sting of diplomatic meetings and legal and not so legal fights, and a stress fueled sparring smackdown with Nine all added to two years of terrible sleep and seventy two hours of virtually no sleep at all. His exhaustion was evident in the heavy way he moved, the effort it took to hold his head up. It did not, however, dull the feeling of sitting on an actual bed, in an actual house, in a room that was actually sort of his. Adam fell backward with a soft laugh and sprawled. His head almost hung over the edge against the wall and his feet were planted on the floor. Uncomfortable though the position was and odd though it felt to be on a clean mattress with intact sheets, it was the safest he had felt in years. With a Mogadorian warship and a peacekeeper army near enough to wage war in the Academy’s backyard, that was a bit sad. Ironic even.

Adam sat up when he heard Malcolm Goode appear in the doorway. He smiled in that fatherly way he had. His face screamed stressed, but it seemed to fade in the face of Adam being even marginally happier than he was when he got here. Even at this level of exhaustion Adam can't help but smile back. This place was new, the HGA not something he would ever agree with, but he still felt a little bit at home. Safe. Cared about for the first time in a long time.

“Settling in ok?”

Adam nodded, “It still feels weird, but I promise I'm fine.”

Malcolm nodded back, satisfied, and rested his hand on the doorknob.

“Sam and Six are just down the hall, and I'll be asleep downstairs in my office, probably,” Malcolm looked at Adam in a way that he hopes conveyed that that was an invitation for fellow insomniacs, “so you're not alone here. Try to get some sleep, ok?”

“Yeah, I don't think that sleep is going to be an issue. I feel like I haven't slept in years.”

That didn't help the stress and exhaustion ease from Malcolm at all. He clears his throat and moves to shut the door behind him, before he stops and snaps his fingers.

“Right! I know it's going to be hard, but try and get up early tomorrow. Lexa is coming over to review the security over breakfast and she wants your input.”

Adam nods, “I'll try my best to get up before noon.”

Tomorrow was a rest day for negotiations, a chance for everyone to take a step back and think over legalities, and a chance for the garde at the academy to strategize about other threats. They also hoped it would be a good chance for the mogadorians to not only rest, but curb the tempers that were beginning to run short.

Malcolm smiled one last time and shut the door.

****

Adam shifted under the thin blanket in his sleep. He squeezes the pillow provided in his arms, opting to sleep without one. The mattress was not the most comfortable, which helped Adam get over how weird it felt to sleep on one after all this time. It helped that he was too tired to stay awake without great effort. Twenty minutes of shifting and then laying still and he was out like a light.

He was not usually a deep sleeper, a habit he could never afford growing up with his brother Ivan and his unstable father. He never had a chance to pick it up, either. Especially not since the war ended. Sleeping through being ambushed and even stabbed was a terrible idea.

Tonight Adam was beyond being roused by the soft opening of a window, the lack of footsteps, the even quieter breeze. What did wake him was the metal hand that covered the bottom half of his face. His eyes blinked open, and then he tried to scream and reach around to punch his attacker in the neck. His fingers crack against a solid metal jaw. He is fully roused then, awake enough to notice that he and his now kidnapper were floating out of the window even as he put up a fight.

After the second time Adam almost made his attacker drop him, he realized that it maybe was not the best idea to make someone let hi go while they were suspended several hundred feet above the ground. He quieted instead, and allowed the rogue garde, and they must be a rogue garde, John would never scare him like this and no one else would dare, to carry him by his armpits. It was as terrifying and death defying as the first time he rode a flying garde into the early morning, but Adam still found himself sort of enjoying the sensation. He was not going to die right away, or he would have been killed at any point so far. He allowed himself to enjoy, just for the moment, the feeling of wind in his hair, the sight of San Francisco and all of her lights below him. If he was with a garde he trusted, Adam would have smiled.

The peace didn’t last long. Just as Adam’s shoulders were starting to cramp like they would be stuck that way, a ship came into view. Not just any ship, a skimmer, and one that was in pretty poor shape at that. It hovered mid-air above the city, waiting to land. Wires trailed from the underbelly and flapped in the wind, the paint job needed a serious retouching, and the ship was more dented than would ever be allowed by an self respecting engineering officer.

Adam’s mind was already running through escape plans. It would be easy enough to pilot the thing once he could lock himself in the cockpit, he had been flying skimmers since he was a child. He had the blueprints for the ship already clear in his mind, exhausted though he was he could clearly map his way on and off even the rattiest looking model. He figures if push comes to shove he could blow half of the floor away with the smallest seismic wave. Maybe even by just stomping too hard.

The rogue approached the ship and opened the doors from the air. Adam had hoped that the ship would land, but at least this way he knows that they are probably alone, and the garde is holding him by one arm. The keypad sparks and the doors open. Adam waits, and the doors slide closed behind them. Just a few more seconds, the garde is close to, and then Adam’s feet touch the floor.

With an acrobatic twist that would make Six proud Adam shoves his hand against the garde’s chest and puts enough of his legacy into it that the wave sends the garde sailing into the opposite wall, where there were already considerable dents. Adam lands lightly on his feet and prepares for a fight, casting his eyes around for something, anything he can hit with.

In the meantime his attacker is back off his feet already. He clutches at his chest, and between his rage and the pins and needles feeling in his ribs he doesn’t notice that his hood has fallen down. Adam turns full bodied to the movement, his cockpit plan forgotten for the sake of not dying before he gets there, and then he freezes. His face pales, his expression stricken, his stance stiff and off kilter with the realization of how many garde, exactly, both have more than one legacy and can fly.

Five’s nostrils flare and he growls. For a brief moment before his metal skin takes over Adam can see black scars snaking across his cheek from his neck. He is beyond unhappy. There is murder in his eyes, barely restrained. Adam’s realization and one fact turned lie overshadows all of that.

“Five! You’re alive!”

Five charged Adam and lifted him by his shirt to slam him against the wall of the ship, then took him away just to slam him again. Adam grabbed into Five's hand. He tries his best to maintain eye contact as Five tries to crush him into the wall.

“Five,” Adam wheezes, “listen to me..”

“I'm done listening! I know you, Adamus, I know how you like to talk! I'm not gonna listen to it!”

Adam grasps Five's meaty metal wrist firmly, but not to pull at at. He just holds it. Five has murder in his eyes but Adam is unruffled, unflappable. He reminds Five of Einar and through some conditioned response this calms him enough to listen anyway. He does not ease up his grip, forcing Adam to talk softly and breathe shallowly.

“You..you're angry. You're hurt. You feel like you have been abandoned, I know how that feels..”

It was too soon for empathy, Five smacked Adam's back against the wall for a third time.

“Like hell you know how this feels! You isolated yourself and they still welcomed you back with open arms! You betrayed your entire race and you're. Still. Here!”

With every pause Five slammed Adam into the wall again. A dent is starting to form behind him, and black spots are swimming in his vision. Time for the tough truths approach, he decided.

“Do,” Adam wheezed in a breath, “do you think that you scare me? Do you think you're the first person to attack me in my own home? The first to try and kill me in the middle of the night? The first to pick me up and beat the shit out of me?”

Adam can feel Five's metal fist digging its fingernails into his skin through his nightshirt. He shook his hair out of his eyes to the best of his ability and looks down at Five's fist. He moves his hands up to cradle it and sends just a tickle of his legacy into the metal flesh. Small waves, barely as strong as the force of a splash dive into the pool. He knows the force has Five's hand ringing anyway with pins and needles, the metal of his skin amplifying the effects of Adam's legacy. Five's fingers loosen enough to give him more breath and his grip doesn't tighten again.

Adam sucks in a deep breath with a quiet gasp. He savours the feeling of being able to expand his chest and he swallows, trying to clear away the stickiness in his throat. His ribs ache with the strain but his head clears. The ringing in his ears subsides a fraction. His hair falls back into his eyes and he leaves it, better than Five not see his face. Empathy seemed to enrage him, so tears would also, Adam reasons.

“My entire life has been like this, from the day of my birth to this moment. Always afraid of screwing up, always under threat of consequences, never good enough, never strong enough, never coming from the right place.”

Adam's hands begin to shake around Five's hand and he allows them to for the first time in years.

“I was afraid, and then I was angry. I was angry that he could never see how hard I was trying, I was pissed that they just used me and tossed me back onto the trash pile once they were done, I was so, so angry that they thought they could hunt children like beasts and I never stopped being angry, Five. I'm still angry. It's what my legacy relies on.”

Five looks down, stops trying to meet Adam's eyes through his fringe to look at his shaking hands. The movement is the most anxiety he's seen come from any Mogadorian. Not anxiety. Not anger, either. Exhaustion. Distress. His eyes snap back up when Adam composes himself and continues talking.

“So I do get it. I have always gotten it. You're angry, you feel used and discarded and hated, you think that no one cares about you and that you're all alone in this world because there is one group if people in this whole wide universe that doesn't love you.”

Five's hand begins to shake and it puts Adam on edge, but there was no stopping now. He plows forward and pays it no heed. He makes a point of not looking up at Five's face in case he was wrong.

“That isn't how the universe works, Five. Just because the people you want to love you don't show you what you want, that does not mean you are not loved, cannot be loved. We make our own lives, our own destinies, our own families out of whatever and whoever we want.”

Adam looks up through his overgrown bangs and sighs tiredly at Five. His eyes are downcast, his shoulders slumped. Tears shine from the corners of his eyes and threaten to show over his cheeks. Adam taps his fingers against the metal of his skin to gain his attention. Tink, tink, tink. He looks up and searches Adam's expression for deceit.

“Put me down, Five.”

Five's fist tightens its grip instead. His flesh and bone and scarred fist.

“What if I wanted to kill you instead? That was a nice speech, but I still think you're dead wrong.”

Adam is untroubled, though his voice comes out tired.

“If you were ever going to kill me you would have done it when you took me. You don't play with your prey, we both know that. You were never going to kill me in the first place.”

Five slams Adam into the wall one last time for good measure. A petulant, last ditch effort to make Adam feel like he is wrong about Five. His own odd way of trying to enforce his own self deprecating thoughts, his own self hatred. Adam saw straight through it, even if Five did not. Maybe not yet, but he thinks that someday he will. He does not smile, no, but he suddenly looks less tired, more hopeful. Five no longer intimidates him, forget scaring him.

The change in Adam’s demeanor suddenly puts Five on edge. No one apart from Einar acted like they weren’t afraid of them, everyone hated Five, or was scared of him, but Adam seemed practically at ease in his presence. He hated that, he decided. Adam had no reason to feel anything for him but hatred. He hated that he acted like he could understand any of this. He hated that Adam could understand. Five betrayed his own people, the people Adam betrayed his people to help. There are few people who have more reasons to hate Five than he does.

Five growls and drops him.

“Stop that!”

Adam braces himself against the wall and holds his chest in both of his arms. His ribs throbbed and his back felt like Five crushed it into dust. A bruise was loudly and angrily forming over his sternum. He was a little too preoccupied in that moment to listen to anything Five said, too focused on standing up straight and not passing out from how suddenly tired he was. He looked up, not bothering to hide his confusion, when Five steadied him with hands on his shoulders. He coughed and looked to the side, revealing more scarring down the back of his neck. Adam shoved down deep an urge to trace them with his fingers.

“...Thank you.”

Five shrugged, “It’s nothing. Um.”

“Why did you take me in the first place? The only thing you could accomplish by removing me from the equation is war, and I doubt you’re helping someone experiment on garde.”

Five looked more flustered by the second. The longer Adam’s penetrating stare examined him the more he felt like he was being dissected. Adam’s eyes were a scalpel and prod, and Five was on the operating table. He was never someone anyone could successfully lie to. Five is taken back, for a moment, to when he had first met the other Loric garde. If Adam had been there he would have never gotten away with any of it. Five gives up on any secrecy right then and there. He also backs away from Adam a step, just in case.

“Einar is hoping to convert you to his cause. He figures that if anyone would back him up about the Earth’s governments not having the right to control the fate of the world and all of the garde in it, it would be you. He thinks you can get all of your people on his side.”

Adam’s sigh carries so much exhaustion that it makes Five want to lay down on the floor and sleep. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes in, then releases, a long breath. He starts to say something, then takes even more seconds to calm himself and rethink. He does that two more times before he knows he won’t have a complete breakdown where he stands.

“The kid’s heart is in the right place, I think,” he begins, speaking evenly, carefully, “but his techniques, his ideas, his schemes are unrefined. They are dangerous even, especially ones where he interferes in things he has no way of understanding. Einar may come from mogpro, but he has never met a Mog, he has no idea what he thinks he’s trying to accomplish here.”

“Adamus..”

Adam talked right over Five. He is using this moment as a sort of release for all of the frustration he has been forced to shove down from the past two years. Later, he will feel guilty about taking it out on Five. Right now his careful speech gives way to his mounting irritation and diplomacy flies out the window, shrieking and trailing feathers behind her.

“It was hard enough getting the mogadorians on earth to follow my lead in renouncing Setrakus Ra, and even then the ones being evacuated from Alaska are just a fraction of my people now. Getting Vontezza to even listen to me has been a headache! The children of my people are in more danger now than they were when Setrakus Ra was in power, the mogs are no closer to not succumbing to extinction, and now you are telling me some child wants to add his hairbrained schemes to the mix?”

“Adam…”

“Tell Einar that he can eat the general’s sword scrap by scrap if he wants a Mogadorian’s help in destabilizing the situation further, and that is my final word.”

Adam finally quieted and held his hand to his side to quell the fresh pain in his ribs from shouting. Five stood there, defeated and at a total loss. He figured out halfway through Adam’s speech that he was not the target, and now all he wanted to do was fix this. Tentatively he reached out and rested his hand on Adam’s shoulder. He looked down at Five through his fringe and was hit with a small pool of guilt in his stomach at the remorse in his expression. Adam has shot the messenger.

“Let me take you home, if,” Five winced, “since, since your answer is no.”

The flight back was in silence. Five carried him bridal style this time, with extra special care given to his ribs and back. Adam enjoyed the flight more this time, in spite of the ache. With his head clear of escape plans and fear of death it was easier to appreciate the lights of the city. The wind flipped his hair into a mess and pressed a chill into his skin. Without thinking he pressed closer to Five. Five without a word dropped his metal skin. Adam pretended not to notice the scar tissue he could feel through Five’s shirt.

In spite of the ache and the chill and the circumstances, it was pleasant. Quiet. Adam thinks, possibly, that he could grow to trust Five this time around. Five thinks, maybe, that he and Adam could become friends once all of this is over. With the HGA coming into view, it did not feel like a final parting. It wouldn’t be.

#lorien legacies #knave writes #fanfic #adamus sutekh #adive #legacies reborn #lorien legacies number five #number five #lorien #loric garde #garde #mogadorian #mogadore #ll fanfic #lorien legacies fanfic

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