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fabulouspotatosister · 5 years ago

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Sugar, Yes Please

Summary: You first meet the Doctor standing in your kitchen, opening jars of sugar.

A/N: This fic was inspired by this prompt by @drink-it-write-it on tumblr! Originally I was going to follow this prompt to the letter, and then it went in a different direction, but that is definitely still where I got the inspiration from. Enjoy the fic!

Word Count (bc man this got LONG): 6,991

Here’s a link to the AO3 version in case you vibe with that more

The café, for all intents and purposes, was your home.

With its old polished wood floors and pastel blue walls, it was probably someone’s aesthetic dream. You could look back fondly on the long hours you spent wiping down counters and delivering coffee to the college students that frequented the place. Every round table held a wealth of memories – if you looked between the cracks in the wood, you’d find conversations, sweet words exchanged over a pastry or bitter stares over glasses of cold iced tea, each time a microcosm of human interaction. Whole lives had been lived in the Heaven Café – people came and people went, each time leaving the place a little different.

After the original owner – a lady who wore predominantly pink frocks and frilly aprons and was very young at heart – moved out of the café after she got married, she gave you the keys to the second floor of the building.

They used to call her “Miss Baker”, and insisted the nickname be passed to you when you got put in charge.

The second floor was a nice apartment with a pretty balcony and big windows that let in a lot of sunlight and/or moonlight. It was strange for the first few nights, sleeping in a bed clearly made for two, but after a few weeks, it was second nature to fall into the cozy patchwork sheets after a long day.

The Heaven Café was your home. And wouldn’t you be mad if someone broke into your home?

The moon was high in the sky that night, and its light spilled into your bedroom, illuminating all the corners of the room and bathing everything in a silver light. There was nothing but the sound of passing cars and crickets. It looked like a good night to watch the stars and fall asleep looking out the window – until you heard a strange noise from outside the window.

You sat up. It was a wheezing, groaning noise, that faded in and out, growing to a crescendo until it finally disappeared. The building was an old one. You were no stranger to strange noises in the night, it came with the territory. But that was something you had never heard before. Pushing yourself off your bed, you leaned out the window to look at the street below.

It was still the same street, save for a police box that was placed further down. Weren’t those things really old? Did anyone still use those?

There was another noise from downstairs. Something metal, clattering to the ground, perhaps a pan or a tray. And then – panicked muttering. It sounded like it was from a young man, with a British accent… What was going on down there?

You tried to make sure that your brain didn’t go to the worst possible situation – that you were being robbed. Throwing on a jacket that you had draped over a chair and turning on the flashlight on your phone with trembling hands, you opened the creaky door out of your bedroom and headed down the stairs into the café’s kitchen. Why would anyone rob you? You didn’t earn much, just enough to pay utility bills and buy groceries; you didn’t even have any jewelry! And if you had anything of value it was probably just stuff that looked expensive, like a large apple sculpture that was just plastic.

The rooms downstairs, unlike the upstairs apartments, didn’t have big windows, just windows that were enough to keep the place cool and ventilated when it got a bit too hot inside. This had the unintended side effect of making the place dark as hell when it was nighttime.

The light from your phone’s flashlight was the only thing that pierced through the darkness, your phone’s case suddenly feeling very slippery as your hands started to sweat. It’s not a robber, you thought, trying to calm the panic that was rising up your throat. It’s probably just a rat, or something. But that didn’t explain the young man’s voice, unless rats could talk now. Which was stupid, since rats couldn’t talk…

You let your rambling thoughts keep you company as your bare feet stepped against wooden floorboards. At least it wasn’t frighteningly quiet anymore – you heard the sound of something being pushed against a counter, and then more muttering. After that was the sound of someone rummaging through utensils, the clink clank of metal against metal echoing against the quiet halls of the building.

The kitchen door was closed, but light spilled out of the gap between the door and the floor.

Turning off the flashlight on your phone, you turned the device over in your hands. Would it hurt someone if you hit them over the head with it? What were you even going to say? Who are you? What are you doing here? Don’t move? You weren’t intimidating. You were dressed in loose clothes and a jacket. The worst you could do was cry for help, which would only work if anyone was still awake at this hour.

Now that you were closer you could hear shuffling, and you could hear the voice that you had heard before a little clearer – saying something about sugar.

You took in a deep breath, releasing it through your nose. Holding your phone above your head like a makeshift weapon, you reached for the handle of the kitchen door, letting your fingers curl around the old metal.

Okay. Three… two… one -!

You flung the door open – but the sight before you was enough to shock the words out of you.

You were right about the clattering noise. There was indeed a tray that had fallen on the kitchen’s tiled floor, one of the muffin trays. The rest of the room was in disarray. Most of the cupboards had been opened and ransacked, bags of flour had been laid out on the floor and someone had broken into your sugar supply, the various jars of all the different sugars laid out on a counter. And in the middle of all that, behind the counter opening one of the sugar jars, was a young man in a tweed jacket with floppy hair and a bowtie.

You stood frozen in the doorway, phone still held aloft like you were going to bring it down over his head – the young man had frozen in his tracks, his finger held in the air as he was about to stick it in a jar of confectionary sugar.

Suddenly, the young man jumped back, slamming the lid back onto the jar. “Miss Baker! I thought you were closed!” he cried, backing up against the counter behind him.

So - he was the source of the muttering and talking. You still couldn’t wrap your head around how and why he was in your kitchen at an ungodly hour raiding your sugar. And why he called you “Miss Baker”.

“How did you get in?” was the only thing that came out of your mouth. “Did you break in?”

“I expertly maneuvered my way in,” the young man said proudly. His smile fell slightly after you raised an eyebrow at him – “I broke in.”

“I should be calling the police right now,” you muttered, and the young man nodded.

“You should be calling the police. Upstanding citizen, you are – but don’t, please.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I thought you were closed, and that I could pop in for a little visit without you getting mad, but I forgot that you tend to be awake at this hour.”

He forgot that you were usually awake late at night? You didn’t even know this man. “Why the sugar?” you asked, using your free hand to gesture at the jars of sugar while keeping your other hand on your phone in case he tried anything. Which he probably wouldn’t, to be honest, as he was quite tall and lanky and didn’t look built for combat.

The young man looked at the sugar, then back to you, clapping his hands together. “I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives – they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it. Like snails to salt, or so I’m told. I was testing these to see which ones would be the sweetest – you’ve told me this before, Miss Baker, but bakers on other planets right now would be very jealous of you, perfect defense against the Yamars.”

You couldn’t even form a good coherent thought. Yamars? Other planets? Was he talking about aliens? “You’ve told me this before”? Was this man crazy?

“I’m not –” You shook your head. “I’m not Miss Baker, you must have the wrong person.”

“No, no I’m sure I’ve got the right time,” the young man said, taking a look at his watch.

“Hang on – who are you?” you asked.

The man froze, his eyebrows raised in surprise before his face fell, disappointed.

“Oh no,” he said simply, sticking his hands in his pockets and suddenly looking very sheepish. “I’ve come a little too early, haven’t I? Tell me, do you know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?” you countered back, and the man chuckled, looking down at the floor.

“Yes, but also no. Not yet,” the man replied. He took the jar of confectionary sugar and screwed the lid on tight, then bundled it into his arms like you would a small child. “It’s complicated.”

It was definitely complicated. The young man stepped over the fallen muffin tray, grimacing at the room. He squeezed past you, still standing in the doorway, his shoes making small sounds against the floor. “I’m sorry about the mess– I really must be off, thank you for the sugar– “

“W-wait!” you cried, turning to face him, “You need to come back and explain– “

But the young man was already gone.

You shook your head, lowering your phone, suddenly very tired after all that. It had been a long night, and it was very late.

Maybe this is just all some strange dream, you thought as you switched off the lights in the kitchen. Shutting the door quietly, your thoughts still racing at a mile a minute, you pulled your jacket tighter against yourself as you began the journey back upstairs to your bed, where you could forget all about the weird events of the night. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and the kitchen will be clean. There was never a strange man there looking for sugar.

Nothing happened.

---

Something had happened.

You didn’t know why you woke up early the next day, before anyone else had arrived, to check the kitchen. Part of you wanted to be ignorant, to have one of your employees tell you that the kitchen was a mess and then tell you that it was probably rats because it should be rats – but there was another part of you that was curious, didn’t care if it killed you, and was okay with satisfaction not bringing you back.

The kitchen was still a mess. The bags of flour were still left on the floor, the jars of sugar were still arranged on the counter, cupboards and cabinets were still ajar, and the fallen muffin tray was still lying sadly on the floor.

You sighed, picking your way through the mess to pick up the tray – turning it over in your hands, it wasn’t damaged. That was good. God knows what the previous owner would do if you dented some of her equipment.

So last night hadn’t been a dream. The whole thing with the strange man asking for sugar had been unfortunately real, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your brain.

You were planning to call the police – but again, what would you tell them? A strange man broke into my establishment and took a jar of sugar. No, he didn’t harm me, he just confused me immensely. No, I can’t tell you where he went, because he disappeared. Go after him? Why would I do that? Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the door to the kitchen swinging open.

“This place is a mess.”

You turned around, muffin tray still in your hands, to see a young lady in an apron wringing her hands together – “Erica!”

“That’s my name,” Erica said, smoothing over the front of the Heaven Café’s uniform apron – hand-sewn by the previous owner for all her old employees. They were pink, frilly things. They were like hand-me-downs, and like most of the things in the building, were to be treated with the utmost care. “What did you do, boss? It looks crazy in here.”

“Long story,” you sighed, trying to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Erica simply hummed and made her way to the center of the room, hoisting up one of the bags of flour. Erica was a fairly new hire, but she was nice and attentive and kept the atmosphere cheery even during the rush hour. “It was a weird night.”

“I’ve had a few weird nights,” Erica said, pushing a bag of flour into a cabinet and slamming the door. Her hand hovered over the counter, then sugar jars, her palm just inches away from the sweet powder. “Ugh, what’s with all the sugar? One, two… five… one of the jars is missing.”

“That’s part of the weird night.” You opened the cabinet with all the trays and placed the muffin tray at the very top, balancing precariously on top of a mixing bowl. “Why are you interested in the sugar jars?”

“For you, boss. I don’t touch the stuff.”

You shook your head. “Well, some guy just came in and took one of the sugar jars, talking about aliens. I thought I was dreaming.”

Erica was quiet for a moment, before she asked, “What did he look like?”

“It was late, but uh…” You pressed your thumb against your temple, trying to dig the young man’s description out of your still very confused brain. “He was a tall guy? He had a British accent, he was wearing a tweed jacket with a bowtie, I mean who dresses like that these days?”

“…A tweed jacket?” Erica glanced towards the door of the kitchen.

“Exactly! It’s 2020, I don’t know why someone would be –“

“Boss.” Erica tapped your shoulder. She drew her mouth into a thin line, closing her hand into a fist and bringing it to her chest. “Your mystery guy might be here.”

“What?” You whipped around, slamming the doors to the tray cabinet shut – the metal things clattered against each other loudly and you winced. Erica shrugged, her face reflecting your confusion.

“I mean, you said no one dresses like him anymore, right? He’s sitting by the window, just reading the menu.” Erica turned to look at the door again. “I tried to approach him and he said he was looking for Miss Baker.”

“For the last time, I’m not Miss Baker.”

“You technically are.” Erica shrugged. “Do you know him?”

“Why would I know him? He broke into the building last night!” you said, raising your hands up in the air. Erica raised her eyebrows at you. “What? I’m not going to go talk to him.”

“He’s a customer. And he is your mystery man.” Erica was already making her way to the front of the café. She stopped, resting her hand on the doorway and grinning widely. “And he’s pretty cute, not gonna lie.”

You felt your face grow warm. “He’s not my ‘mystery man’, I don’t know what you’re – Erica! Erica! Get back here!”

You only heard Erica’s laugh echo down the hall. You sighed for maybe the fiftieth time that day, running your hand over your face – the day could not get any weirder.

You were about to be proven wrong.

Erica was right. Your “mystery man” (God, why were you calling him that it sounded so ridiculous) was indeed sitting by the window – his face was covered by the menu, the only thing you could clearly see being his long hair that flopped against his forehead. To someone else, he would have looked like he was reading, but there were a lot of customers like him. People that came in just to hide. And he was hiding.

From me? Why would he be hiding from me? If anything, I should be hiding from him, the weirdo…

The young man peeked over the menu, his eyes darting across the room before they finally landed on you. The corners of his eyes crinkled and even though the rest of his face was covered, you could tell he was smiling – what kind of man breaks into your home, steals sugar, disappears, and then smiles at you like nothing happened the next day?

The sight of a young man dressed in a tweed jacket and a bowtie sitting in a cute café was a lot to take in. Grabbing a spare notepad and tucking a pen behind your ear, you made your way towards the young man, plastering a smile onto your face – “Hi, welcome to Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

The young man set the menu down, and your breath caught in your throat. Erica was right again – at this point, you probably owed the girl money – your “mystery man” was actually quite cute. The young man lifted his wrist to glance at his watch before smiling nervously and setting the menu flat on the table.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said.

You customer-service smile dropped. “For last night.”

“Yes,” he replied, “although somewhat preemptively. It hasn’t happened yet. Or it will. I am sorry, though.”

“What do you mean, ‘it hasn’t happened yet?’” you spluttered, the pitch of your voice raising higher and higher and suddenly you were very glad there was no one else there in the café. “It did happen! You were there!”

“I was there!” the young man said cheerfully. “I will be there, and I know you’ll be very upset about it.”

“I am upset about it!”

The young man’s smile vanished. “Oh, you really are.”

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t hit you this notepad right now,” you hissed, your chest getting tighter and tighter, your anger and confusion mixing into one messy cocktail.

“I’m a customer, Miss Baker! You can’t harm me.” The young man leaned back in his chair. “Or maybe you can – humans, always so violent.”

Humans? “For the last time, I’m not ‘Miss Baker’.”

“Then I suppose this is when you tell me your real name.” The young man grinned, something mischievous hidden in his green eyes. “The question is, Miss Baker, who are you?”

“I asked you first.” You glanced at the clock above him – it was still early, but it was almost time for the morning rush, when all the stressed-out office workers and late university students poured in for their daily dose of coffee. You couldn’t sit here and talk to this man – no matter how many questions you had, you had a job to do. “You know what? Let me get you something, and then you can explain.”

“Right, then, I’ll have tea. A classic. Very lucrative Earth export, in about a few thousand years,” the young man said brightly. Then he frowned. “No, wine. That’ll make me look sophisticated – no, wine’s rubbish.”

Before you could interrupt that the café didn’t even serve wine, the young man suddenly looked up at you, sporting a youthful smile. “What about a banana milkshake?”

---

The young man’s name, you quickly learned, was the Doctor. This didn’t answer any of your questions, because after taking a few sips from his banana milkshake he had run out the door, nearly knocking over one of your employees, Emil, who was clocking in late.

“I’ll explain tomorrow!” he had yelled when you chased after him.

“You’d better!” you’d yelled back. You thought you heard him laugh before he disappeared behind a corner.

The Doctor didn’t come by the next day. Or the day after that.

You would never admit that the Doctor had been the only thing on your mind for an entire week. The young man had an air of mystery about him, like he knew more than he was telling you. He had the face of a child but the air of someone much older – and you had gleaned all of this just from a seven-minute conversation and a strange encounter in your kitchen. For a mystery, he was surprisingly easy to read.

But aside from that, the week was pretty normal. It was the same old writing names on paper cups and getting flour all over your good pants. After a few days, you’d written off meeting the Doctor as a fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime meeting with someone who was just incredibly unique.

Yes, it might have been a fluke, but there was a niggling sense of missing out on something – like there was a whole universe that you had just brushed against, and whole new world to explore, and you’d missed it. One thing about working in a place that’s full of life, you thought, staring out the large window in the front, where the Doctor had sat, is that you’re always just hearing about it but never living it.

“Miss Baker?”

You turned around, letting a sigh escape your pursed lips. The sound almost became a whistle. “Emil, I told you not to call me that.”

Emil – a tall, sweet man with a very big smile – actually smiled one of his famous smiles, but a bit sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck, no doubt getting flour in his hair. “Sorry, it’s a habit. You know I got hired before you did.”

“That means you’re old, Emil,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Erica’s gone again,” Emil replied, “that kid. What does she do when we’re not looking?”

You shrugged, turning back around to face the window, watching the setting sun. Erica had a reputation for being young and a bit of a hotshot among everyone working at the Heaven Café. You didn’t think too much of it. “I don’t know. She is just a kid.”

“So are you.” Emil stood next to you. “But I trusted Miss Baker when she turned the place over to you. She was a good boss.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “And I’m not?”

Emil laughed, rubbing a flour-stained hand over your head, like an annoying big brother. Thank god it was closing time. “I don’t have anything against you, boss.”

The front door swung open. You and Emil turned around to see that a tall, thin man had just walked in, his hands in the pockets of a well-fitted blue suit. The man looked, for lack of a better term, sharp – not “sharp” as in “smartly-dressed”, but he had edges.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out. The man turned around, one sharp eyebrow raised. He looked like you would get a paper cut if you touched him. “It’s late. We’re closing.”

The statement came more like a question, and the man raised his eyebrow higher, if it was even possible. “Sorry. Bit rude of me. I’m looking for something.”

Oh. British. What was up the shop and attracting strange but attractive British men?

“Sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Emil said. The man hummed in response, a pensive expression on his face.

“Wrong choice of words. I’m tracking something,” the man said, pulling a screwdriver from the inside of his suit jacket. Suddenly, the screwdriver began to hum and glow blue, and upon closer inspection was not a screwdriver at all. He swept the not-screwdriver over the room. “Have you two seen anything strange recently?”

Stranger than you? “No, sir,” Emil replied, his voice tight.

“I’ve just said it, I’m tracking something!” the man said. The not-screwdriver stopped humming and glowing and the man looked into the end of it, squinting. “Ooh, that’s weird. Weird readings. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything?”

“Sorry, what are you doing here?” Emil asked, stepping in front of you. The man frowned at him.

“I’ve been following strange patterns through time, and they’ve led me here.” The man said, raising his head to meet your eyes. His eyes were brown and deep and strangely familiar. “I’m supposed to meet you. Who are you?”

Before you could even say “I could ask you the same thing”, there was a loud crashing sound. And then a high-pitched scream. Emil turned to face you, his eyes wide.

“It sounded like it came from the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Emil, I’ll go,” you said, furrowing your brows. “You stay here.”

Emil laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder. It left a flour handprint on your shirt. “Are you worried about me? You’re still young. I’ll go check it out.”

Another crash rang out – it sounded like something glass crashing to the floor and shattering – and then another sound of pain, but more guttural. It didn’t even sound human. Your stomach twisted with dread, and you glanced at the mysterious man, who nodded at Emil.

“I’ll come with you,” the man said, and Emil shook his head, already walking away.

“Stay here, sir,” Emil called out, then made his way to the kitchen. The man shook his head, chuckling.

“Sorry. I don’t have the best track record for following instructions,” he began. He paused, casting his gaze onto you – which was surprisingly intense from a man that was just so thin. Once again, a sense of familiarity struck you – you knew this man, but how? “Right, you. Who are you?”

“You first,” you countered. The man grinned.

“I’m the Doctor,” he said, and your mouth fell open.

No, he wasn’t the Doctor. The Doctor was that cute floppy-haired young man in tweed you’d met a week ago. The man in front of you wasn’t the Doctor – he couldn’t be the Doctor, because – “I’ve met the Doctor,” you said, a little unsure, “and he doesn’t look like you.”

“That happens a lot,” he said absently, “I think I’ve got one of those faces.”

Distantly, you heard a yell, and another metallic clatter. Your whole body jerked in surprise – it sounded like Emil.

Before you could protest, the Doctor grabbed your hand and dragged you to the kitchen.

You tried to tear yourself away from the Doctor’s grip as he stopped just steps away from the kitchen door. The Doctor still held on tightly to your arm. The clattering and yelling continued, and now you were definitely sure it was Emil. “What are you doing? We have to go help him!”

The Doctor raised a finger to his lips, his eyes wide. “Shh! Listen.”

Among Emil’s grunts of pain and the loud sound of metal and glass crashing to the floor, there was another sound – one that was more animalistic, like the growl of a hungry beast. But it sounded strange, like there was another voice layered beneath it.

“Hungry…”

“Stay behind me,” the Doctor said lowly, and you nodded. Raising his not-screwdriver, he took slow, careful steps towards the open door. His free arm was outstretched over you.

When you finally reached the open door, you fought back a scream – surrounded by broken glass and fallen trays was Emil, his face twisted in pain as he pushed against a slimy, pulsing tentacle. Your gaze followed the writhing flesh to its owner, some kind of wriggling mass that reminded you too much of a tongue to feel comfortable with it. The wriggling mass growled, keeping Emil pinned to the floor. He whipped his head to the side and met your eyes, his whole body trembling.

“Help!” Emil cried. You sprung forward to Emil’s side and tried to grab at the tentacle’s skin – if you could even call it skin. You felt a shudder run down your spine as your own hands became covered in the slimy substance that coated it – what the hell is going on?!

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Doctor, waving his not-screwdriver at the mass of flesh. “What’s kept you hidden for so long? Perception filter? Must be a good one if it’s hidden something like you.”

You pushed against the tentacle keeping Emil pinned tightly to the floor, but it didn’t budge. “I can’t move it! Doctor, HELP!”

“What are you?” the Doctor asked, squinting at the end of his not-screwdriver.

“Ya…mar…” the mass growled lowly, and you paused. Now why did that sound…

“I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives –“

The Doctor joined you beside Emil, pointing his not-screwdriver at the tentacle. It didn’t do anything. “And what do you want?” the Doctor asked again, pressing his elbow into the tentacle and ruining his nice suit.

The mass made a low noise before speaking. “Hungry… Boss…”

You froze, your mouth falling open. Boss?

Whipping your head around to face the wriggling, slimy, mound of flesh, something caught your eye. Hanging off of it was a pink, frilly apron, now ruined and torn and slimy, hand-sewn for all of the employees at the Heaven Café… hand-me-downs…

“Erica?” you breathed out, and the mass moved, as if responding to the name.

“That’s Erica?!” Emil asked loudly.

“Boss…” it said, a young woman’s voice coming through underneath the growling, alien one. “Hungry…”

“You know her?” the Doctor asked. You shook your head dumbly.

“Employee,” was all you managed to say. “She’s an employee.”

“Whoah!” Emil gasped – he started squirming underneath the massive tentacle, as if trying to get away. A strange burning smell filled the room, and Emil started squirming harder. “What the – my clothes!”

The Doctor stared at his hands, then at his elbow – the spot that had been covered with the slime was being eaten away, revealing bare skin. “The slime’s corrosive! Wipe your hands on something!”

You quickly rubbed your palms on your own Heaven Café apron, watching as the slime you’d just wiped away ate through some of the cloth, leaving only an empty patch behind. Despite all the madness, you managed to sigh – the real Miss Baker was going to come for your head now for destroying her aprons. And for hiring a weird fleshy monster.

“What the fuck is up with weird things and ruining my kitchen?” you muttered.

“Oi, that’s quite rude,” you heard the Doctor say.

You looked up at the Doctor, who had his not-screwdriver out again. “Why hasn’t it eaten through our skin?”

“I don’t think it can. Unless – “

The Doctor was cut off by Emil screaming – the smell of something burning suddenly became the smell of burnt hair, and you assumed that if you didn’t work fast enough it would become the smell of burning flesh.

“What do we do?”

“It says it’s a Yamar, I’ve never met a Yamar!” the Doctor said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Nine-hundred years of time and space and I’ve never met a Yamar.”

“You haven’t? But you told me –“

The Doctor pocketed his not-screwdriver and pressed against the tentacle again, groaning in frustration. “I probably haven’t told you yet! Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, and all that – I don’t think I’ve met them yet!”

You blinked. The other Doctor had talked about time, and knowing the future – if he didn’t know now maybe the reason why he knew then was because…

“…they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it.”

“Like snails to salt…” you murmured. You stood up quickly, scrambling to get to a cabinet – “Sugar!”

“What?” Emil and the Doctor said in unison.

“I know what we need!” You flung open a cupboard to find your jars of different sugars, with one still missing. You took all the jars of sugar you could carry and bundled them into your arms. You opened one of the jars, taking in a fistful of sugar. “I’m the envy of bakers across the universe - Yamars don’t like sugar, so we should be able to-”

You threw the handful of sugar onto the tentacle holding Emil down and watched as it burned through its slimy coating. The mass made a shrieking noise, and retracted the tentacle, pulling it back into it’s large body.

“I’m alive,” Emil gasped, placing his hands on his chest, “I’m alive!”

“Right you are,” the Doctor said, helping Emil to his feet.

“No,” the mass gurgled, “Boss. Hungry.”

You stared up at the strange thing – you had to be dreaming. There was no way that this monster could be one of your employees. There was no way that there could even be a monster at all in your café. You had met Erica and she wasn’t like that. But there it was, standing and wriggling in the middle of your kitchen, and it had nearly eaten another one of your employees.

“Sorry, Erica,” you muttered, opening another jar of sugar, the largest one you had, “it’s been a weird night.”

You threw the jar at the wriggling mass; the sugar flew out and struck it, and the creature screamed, a terrible gurgling sound, as the sugar burned through its skin until there was nothing left but a steaming pile of slime on the nice tiled floors of your kitchen. You stared at the pile of slime, taking huge, heaving breaths like you’d just run a marathon.

A weird night. Definitely understatement of the year.

A big smile spread across your face – and despite all of the weird things that had just happened, and despite the fact that you were covered in cloth-and-flesh-eating slime, you laughed.

The Doctor ran up to you, clapping on the shoulders. “Brilliant, how did you know how to do that?”

You blinked. “You told me.”

The Doctor simply grinned. “I think it’s the other way around, Miss…”

A thought flashed through your head – it was impossible, but so many impossible things had just happened. And the Doctor was already such an impossible man - Screw it, right?

“Baker. Call me Miss Baker,” you finally said, grinning back at him. “Uh, do you want a banana milkshake?”

---

It took another week for you to convince yourself that what you were feeling wasn’t a severe case of FOMO.

The spiky-haired Doctor didn’t leave for a long time. He stayed with you until it was quite late and even after you’d sent Emil home to rest, helping you clean the glass and the slime and giving you tips on how to clean slime from surfaces. Eventually, just like the other Doctor, he left too, but he didn’t make any promises.

It still didn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing when he didn’t come back the next day.

You spent a lot of nights in bed thinking about that night. It still didn’t seem real at all. All the things that had happened made the café seem like a much more magical place – it was still your home, and there were still stories to be collected and told, but now there were things that were impossible written on the walls. You couldn’t help but smile everytime you walked into the kitchen – how were you going to tell new employees that the place had been covered in slime once?

The answer was that you didn’t. As much as you wanted to tell everyone you met, probably no one would believe you – no one but Emil, who didn’t show up the next day and simply left an apologetic, but somewhat incoherent, text message.

That left you to manage most of the café. It was a slow day, with only a few people coming in and out and ordering simple orders.

That left you to do one thing you were good at – thinking. You were good at thinking. And you thought a lot about that night, and how it could have gone differently. You could have asked the Doctor to stay, or you could have asked where he was going, or you could have asked if you could go with him. A chance at a real adventure had slipped by you again.

No, you thought, screwing your eyes shut. You were home. You were supposed to be content.

“Excuse me?”

You looked up. Standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, was a very pretty young lady – her brown hair fell over her shoulders, her big eyes shining under the lights of the café. She smiled brightly at you, and waved.

“Yes, hello,” you said after a while. “Sorry. Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

“Oh -” The young woman looked up for a moment, thinking, and then she looked behind her. Standing not too far away from her was an older man, with a head of curly, white hair, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Was that a hoodie under his coat? The man nodded at her, and the young woman turned back to you. “A coffee and a banana milkshake, please.”

“Dine in or take out?” you asked, and the woman grinned.

“Take out,” she said, “sorry. We’re a bit busy.”

“That’s no problem. Just give me a minute, miss…”

“Clara,” she supplied, leaning over the counter. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

You turned away from her to prepare the coffee, grabbing a small paper cup and walking carefully to the machine. “Thanks! What’s brought you here?”

“Recommendation from a friend,” Clara said. You could still hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve heard good things about the place.”

“Like?”

“Good sugar,” she said, and you nearly dropped the cup.

You set the coffee in front of her with shaking hands and promptly made your way to the blender, the cogs of your brain not working. You dared a glance at the man Clara had come with. The two of them were talking now, their voices drowned out by the roar of the blender. Then the man had to be…

You gave Clara the banana milkshake in the paper cup and she muttered a quick “thanks” before handing it to the man behind her.

You stared at the man. He was older now, definitely different, but there was the same familiarity in his eyes. The corners of the man’s mouth lifted in a small smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you, again,” Clara said hurriedly, placing a few bills on the counter, “We’ve got to go. Keep the change.”

“No problem, come back soon,” you murmured, still looking at the man. Clara nodded at him and he seemed to collect himself, raising a hand in farewell before rushing out of the door with Clara, disappearing into the street outside.

Yeah, you thought, still staring at the spot where the two of them had been. It was definitely FOMO.

Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, the sound of the door opening kept you from falling into a pit of overthinking. You wiped your hands over your new apron, ran a hand through your hair, and plastered on your best customer service smile.

“Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?” you said.

A blonde woman had walked in, dressed in a flowing lilac coat and suspenders, her smile wide and bright and awfully familiar. “I’ll have a banana milkshake,” she said, and you frowned.

What was up with people and ordering banana milkshakes today? You looked down, quickly noting the order. “Okay, ma’am. What’s your name?”

“Ma’am. I can never get used to that.” The woman smiled, adjusting a bundle of cloth in her arms. “The Doctor.”

Your head whipped up, meeting the woman’s eyes, and for all you knew the café could have disappeared – all you could see was her smiling at you, the same mischievous glint hidden behind new eyes. “Sorry I’m late, Miss Baker.”

“You already know my name,” you said. The Doctor shifted, removing the cloth from the bundle in her arms, and you gasped – it was your sugar jar, the one she had taken and promised to return, still in pristine condition with hardly any sugar removed. “And my sugar!”

The Doctor set the jar on the counter, resting her hand on it. “It’s served me well! Thank you.”

“You’re two weeks late,” you muttered, still frozen in place.

“No, I’m a few hundred years late,” the Doctor said, sticking her hands in her coat pockets. “I am sorry for that. I do lose track of time sometimes. But I did visit! You said to ‘come back soon’.”

“You were the old man.”

“Yep.”

“And the sharp man.”

“Yep, although I don’t why you call me that.”

“And the bowtie man.”

“I don’t regret the bowtie.” The Doctor pulled at her suspenders, still smiling widely. “Speaking of time…”

The Doctor stepped to the side, gesturing out the big window – there was an old blue police box parked there, standing underneath the shade of a big tree. It was the same box you’d seen, all those nights ago - “You’ve let me into your home so many times, I suppose it’s time I show you mine.”

“That box? You’re kidding.”

The Doctor shrugged, then tilted her head towards the box. “Do you want to see where I’ve been?”

And all those times you’d stayed behind, all the nights of thinking like you had missed out on something grand, something greater than you – all came flooding back. As the Doctor looked at you with wide, expectant eyes, you thought of adventure and finally living the lives you kept hearing about – and you nodded. You weren’t going to miss this chance.

The Doctor beamed, and took your hand. You clambered over the counter, ignoring all the stares from the customers – “Now?”

“When’s a better time than now?” she called back, dragging you out of the café and into another world.

And all this over a jar of sugar.

#jess writes #YEAH this uses a gif of elevn but all the doctors are there. dont worry about it.#i had a tough time picking out a gif #also this got WAY too long #it was supposed to be short and sweet but idk her apparently #doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #doctor who x you #eleventh doctor imagine #eleventh doctor x reader #tenth doctor imagine #tenth doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #thirteenth doctor x reader

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screpdoodle · 3 years ago

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Duality - Chapter One (The Diabolical Ways of the Deciduous Demon Outside my Window)

"KAOS!! Get down here! We're going to be late!!"

Early morning sunlight dappled through the smudged windowpane, the chirping of birds mingling with the songs of the warm autumn wind working its way through the cracks. All things given, it seemed like a perfect morning. That assumption, though, was a misplaced one. At least to the young boy in the bed. He opened one eye, took one look at his window, and pulled the blankets over his head with a groan. The light stung his eyes, making him crave for the sweet embrace of dreams once more. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, it would all just fade away-

Tap tap tap

He flinched, then peered out from beneath his covers, pulling them down just to the bridge of his nose. Tap tap tap. It was back. The warm autumn breeze brought with it that no good tree branch, the warm toned leaves swaying with every tap against the glass. The boy squinted, then laid back down, pulling the blankets tighter around his head. If he just ignored it, the tree wouldn't notice he was there. It would go away, realizing it was a futile attempt to gain his attention. Whatever the tree wanted, he wasn't curious enough to risk finding out.

Tap tap tap. Tick tick tick.

He covered his ears, he wasn't listening. He didn't have time to deal with the tree and the ticking. There wasn't enough time in the world to deal with both. And yet, here they both were. That itching at the back of his mind, and that incessant tapping against the glass.

Tap tick tick. Tap tick tick.

Every moment of silence he could have been relishing was filled with those Ancients awful noises. How long has passed? A minute? A moment? He couldn't tell. All he could focus on was that stupid tree.

Tick tap tick tap tick tap.

In one movement, the boy sat up, throwing his blankets to the ground as forcefully as he could muster, facing the source of his problems.

"For the Ancients' sake, would you shut the f-"

"Kaos!!" The boy screamed as the door was flung open, nearly causing him to fall from his loft, grabbing the pillow in self defense. "Ancients, what is taking you so long?! Mother took Mey to school already, and at this rate you're going to miss the bus! Get dressed and get downstairs!!"

The door was slammed shut just as quickly as it opened, leaving the boy alone in his room. A small room, with walls lined with papers, a soot stained carpet and a desk set beneath the window. The sun bathed everything in a warm light, leaving the still burning candle on its surface obsolete for the time being. Still in shock, clutching his pillow like a weapon, Kaos slowly gathered himself, then climbed down the ladder, still clutching the pillow in his off hand in case he needed to use it. Which he most likely wouldn't. But it never hurt to be prepared. With a huff, he eyed the tree branch one last time, its pesky attempts to grab his attention finally coming to an end. It sat there, perfectly still - aside from the dancing leaves that yearned to be carried away with the fall winds. Oh, how he wished he could join them. For good measure, Kaos threw his pillow at the window, making sure the tree knew who was boss, before venturing over to his closet. His closet was a box. Of course, he had a real closet, set into the wall across from his loft, but he had never bothered to store his clothes in there. No, that was for storing other things. The box did quite nicely for the minimal amount of outfits he owned. Most of which were piled under his loft, waiting to be washed. Kaos half the time forgot they were there, along with some of Mey's clothes that he had borrowed; and some of his brother's that he had… Liberated from languishing beneath his bed with old socks and unfinished homework from grades passed. It was a mystery how Dyskord had ever managed to graduate, Kaos thought as he fished through the unfolded clothes stored within his closet box. Finally, he settled on the same things he always wore, which were sitting to the side of the box. He stumbled back as he pulled on his black sweats, wriggled into his tunic, slipped on his canvas shoes and grabbed a miscellaneous hairbrush he was pretty sure didn't actually belong to him. Kaos pulled the comb through his hair as he scrambled down the stairs, mumbling to himself as he chucked it to the side (Mother or Dyskord would pick it up eventually), grabbed his long coat off its hook, then careened into the kitchen as he put it on. The coat was far too big for him, swallowing his wiry frame whole like some beast made of shadows. Kaos hoped he would someday grow into it, but he had owned it for years now and no such luck had befallen him. Kaos climbed up onto the kitchen counter, eyeing his prize. The cookie tin, his ceremonial breakfast whenever Mother was out of the house. He pulled the lid off, then peered inside - only a few left. Just as Kaos reached his little hand down into the metal tin, Dyskord walked through the back door, tracking mud onto the scuffed tile flooring.

"What do you think you're doing," he spoke, kicking his boots off, never once taking his eyes off Kaos.

"Oh, please. Like you'd tell Mother," Kaos rolled his eyes, sliding the cookie jar back into place, his bounty in hand.

"Maybe I will."

"Then maybe I'll have to tell her who really passed your final exams for you, brother."

The two locked death glares, the only noise being that of the leaky faucet and the occasion chirp of the birds outside. Kaos cracked a smile, Dyskord following.

"Just grab me one too, short stack. Then we've gotta go."

Kaos shoved the cookie into his mouth, then grabbed the tin once more. His face reflected back at him on the polished sides. Big eyes the color of copper, a piggish upturned nose, his cheeks puffed out like an chipsquirrel's, gathering food for the winter. Cookie crumbs mingled with the imperfections that littered his skin, freckles, blemishes, and his birthmarks - mirrored patches of darker skin that clustered around his eyes. They had gotten lighter with age, but they still bugged him sometimes. One little snaggletooth stuck out from the corner of his mouth - an issue that could have been fixed with braces. If he hasn't broken them nearly the day after he got them. He may not have been the 'peak of perfection', but Kaos didn't mind. It made him unique. It made him… special. Though, that paired with his lackluster height usually ended up with him being at the receiving end of a bullying entourage.

"You got everything you need, baby brother?"

Kaos nodded, then hopped down from the counter. "Yes, mother. I have everything."

Dyskord rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Backpack?"

"At the front door."

"Lunch?"

"Won't be there long enough to need one."

"Catalyst?"

"Harvested it last night."

"Well, aren't you prepared," Dyskord chuckled. "Specimen?"

"That’s your job, remember?" Kaos smirked. "I have it all thought out, Dyskord. Don't worry."

"Well then, what's your plan for when Mother finds out?"

"Who said she'll find out? The only way she would is if someone rats me out." Kaos took a bite from his second cookie, handing the extra to Dyskord as he pushed past into the main hall. The high ceilings and towering walls making him seem even smaller; like an ant in a dollhouse.

"If I'm this deep in, why would I rat you out and risk getting in trouble myself?"

Kaos shrugged, walking backwards so that he could watch Dyskord's movements. "I don't know, brother, but the only variable that could possibly go wrong is you. So as long as you play along, everything should be absolutely peachy~" He grinned, then shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth. It tasted a little old, probably a month or two, but a stale cookie was better than no cookie. And at least Kaos knew that batch hadn't been poisoned.

Dyskord chuckled dryly, placing the cookie in the little leather satchel that hung at his hip. Kaos knew he'd probably eat it later. Dyskord could never resist a cookie. "Alright, alright, tiny genius. I'll trust you on this. But don't blame me when this plan fails too."

"It won't. Trust me."

Kaos grabbed his backpack off its hook, unzipping it just to triple check its contents. It never hurt to be certain.

"Communicator?"

"Yep."

"You got your diary~?"

Kaos whipped around, glaring. "It's not a diary! It's my journal of doom!!"

Dyskord patted Kaos on the head, ruffling his umber hair, a condescending smile on his lips. "Sure it is, baby brother."

Kaos grumbled under his breath, turning back to his backpack. He shrugged Dyskord off, trying to focus. Sure enough it was all there. Homework, lunchbox, communicator, his 'journal' - everything important was there and accounted for. As Kaos struggled to zip up his backpack once more, his gaze drifted to the portrait that hung above the door. His family, painted in exquisite detail, framed by an intricate wooden frame. Dyskord, with his old ashy blonde hair (Kaos had suggested he dye it neon green since it was a similar level of horrible against his skin tone, but Dyskord had insisted on vibrant silver.) Mey sat on Mother's lap, creasing the dress she had spent all of the previous day ironing to get it absolutely pristine, because she wouldn't sit still. Mother bore her usual scoul, contrasted by Mey's wide grin. If their expressions weren't so different, Mey might have been mistaken for a younger Mother. Father stood to the side of her, behind Dyskord, wearing a similar expression to his wife. Kaos had been surprised he hadn't been absent for that too. Looking down to where he was immortalized in paint, Kaos stood the front - where the painter had instructed him to stand; wearing a matching suit and tie like the rest of his siblings - though he at least still had his scarf. Black and grey striped knit that was as long as he was tall, coiled around his neck and draped over his shoulder. Kaos never went anywhere without his scarf, and even though he heard Hel from Father afterwards, it was worth it. As Kaos slung his backpack over his shoulder, he trailed his hand to his neck, reaching to feel the soft warmth of his scarf. Instead, his hand only met skin.

"C'mon Kaos, we gotta get going. We don't want you being late for-"

"My scarf!!" Kaos shouted. "Where's my scarf!?"

"Kaos, it's not even that cold out. You don't need your- oooor you can go get it. That's fine too, I guess." Dyskord watched as Kaos chucked his overstuffed backpack to the side, the contents spilling across the floorboards as he raced upstairs to his room. He swore, Kaos would be the death of him one of these days, but at least his life was interesting with him around. Dyskord just wished he wasn't so, well, chaotic. But he supposed that came with the name.

Kaos threw the door to his room open, his breath catching in his throat. He had been wearing it when he fell asleep, where could it have gotten off to!? Had he taken it off when he got dressed? No, it wasn't by his closet box. Was it in his loft? No, no. Maybe it was in the blanket pile he had created that morning. Or maybe it was- Kaos froze, slowly turning towards the window, the familiar tap tap tapping of the tree branch against the grimy glass greeting him.

"You," he glowered at the tree branch, carefully approaching the window. "What did you do with it!?"

The tree branch just continued its endless rapping against the window pane, mocking him, oblivious to the enemy it had made. Kaos stormed forward, climbing up onto his desk, kicking the papers that covered it onto the ground.

"Give it back now!!" He pressed his face against the glass. "Or so help me, you will meet your untimely demise!!"

He was given no response. Not that Kaos expected one. The trees were always conniving, this one especially. They seemed innocent, but beneath that bark was a dastardly deciduous demon, lulling him into a false sense of security, laying in wait. But Kaos knew. Kaos knew the truth about these creatures. And he wouldn't let them get the upper hand. Never once taking his eyes from the branch, Kaos slid open his window slowly, then peered out. There it was, as he had assumed, his scarf. In the patchy grass, between the gnarled roots of the beast. He shot the tree one last glare, muttering to himself, then stepped out onto the small ledge right outside his window. At least that was a perk of being small, he could fit into spaces others couldn't. Kaos stood up, balancing himself against the wall, holding onto one of the few bricks that jutted out from the flush surface. He had done this many a time, but every time he felt butterflies congregating within his stomach, a few fluttering into his throat. The wind in his hair, the view of the forest beyond- painted in autumnal colors of deep purples and dry oranges, the grounds below in desperate need of tending. All of it flooding his senses, paired with the impending damage he would receive at one wrong move. It was all… magnificent. But admiring the view wasn't what he was here to do, no. Kaos shook his head, reaching out to grab the closest branch, hoisting himself into it. The tree may have been a conniving, callous creature, but at least it served a purpose. That being a way for Kaos to get to the ground without completely shattering all of his fragile little bones.

"Kaos, come on!!" He heard Dyskord call from inside. "I have other stuff I need to do today, if you don't hurry up you'll have to take the school ship!!"

Kaos rolled his eyes, carefully stepping down onto the next branch. Dyskord was so impatient. He'd get down, grab his scarf, and they'd be on their way before his older brother could utter another idiotic sentence. Kaos slid onto another branch, this one bending slightly under his weight. He shot the tree a glare, as if daring it to try something, before stepping onto the next one. This one, unluckily, wasn't so forgiving. Before Kaos knew what was happening, the branch had buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground - the branches he fell past slicing at his skin. At least the damp earth was there to soften his fall. Kaos propped himself up on his arms, spitting out a chunk of dirt as he silently cursed himself out for letting down his guard. At least he has his scarf. Kaos stood up, brushing the dirt from his clothes best he could before assessing the damage. A few cuts here and there, his coat would definitely need some stitches, but at least nothing was broken. Kaos scooped his scarf up, wrapped it loosely around his neck, then froze. He heard the sound of an engine revving up, the realization hitting him all too late.

"WAIT!!" Kaos shouted, making a mad dash for the front door. "Dyskord, I'M COMING!!"

As Kaos rounded the corner, three things crossed his mind. His backpack laying on the path that lead up to the door, the idiocracy of his older brother; and the boat that belonged to the very same, the one that was usually docked at the edge of the island, now whirring off into the horizon without him.

"YOU IDIOT!!" Kaos shouted, skidding to a stop. He swore he heard his brother laughing over the sound of the motor, which was quickly fading away. "I'M TELLING MOTHER!!"

Of course he wouldn't. Telling Mother had become an empty threat within the family, no longer holding any weight after countless empty promises of "Mother'll hear about this" and "I'm telling mom" (the latter usually used by Mey) had been thrown around for years. But it was the only comeback he could dream up in the moment. He had other problems than coming up with a witty response that Dyskord couldn't even hear. He'd get him back later. After he was done with his current plan. Then he'd have all the time in the world to get back at Dyskord for being a complete ignoramus and putting a petty act of defiance over the welfare of the plan. That's what Kaos got for letting him in on it, he supposed, kicking a loose pathing tile out of frustration. His kick barely dislodged it, but it was at least something. Kaos grabbed his bag up off of the ground, finally noticing the note taped to it. Have fun taking the school ship. Of course. Kaos crumpled the note up as he swung the backpack over his shoulder, muttering to himself all the while. He looked around, starting to head in the direction the school ship usually docked. It was quite a ways away, so the sooner he left, the better chances he had of catching it. Why it didn't dock closer to his home was beyond him, and despite the complaints he had lodged with the school board and his mother, no changes had been made. Rolling fields of splotchy, yellowing grass were laid out before Kaos, broken up by the occasional stone pathway. Cracking with age and broken up like a checkerboard. The wound through the dirt haphazardly, interrupted by the occasional tree (which Kaos did his best to keep his distance from) or the start of a rickety bridge that connected the nearby islands. On his usual walks, Kaos would have stopped on the bridges, kneeling down and seeing how far down he could reach into the abyss below, waiting for something to float by that he could possibly add to his collections. Today, he had no time for that. Today, he actually had somewhere to be. Kaos counted his steps, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to watch as his home got smaller and smaller. From here, it looked normal. Simple even. But the imposing aura it cast still lingered in the air. The tall spires piercing the wispy clouds themselves, high stone walls and arched windows covered in moss and ivy. An overbearing, ancient labyrinth of a castle Kaos called home. Sometimes Kaos was convinced the place was still standing because of the grime it was caked in, which was the excuse he gave himself whenever it came to cleaning. If he did a good job, he might not have a home to go back to. It was an excuse Mother was never fond of. Kaos remembered one year he had been put on ivy duty during their yearly cleaning. He had encountered a particularly dastardly tangle of vines on the west side, one that had kept him trapped for the majority of the day. Mother had found him deep asleep in their verdant web after the sun had set, and Kaos hadn't been allowed near that part of the castle for a good while afterwards. Kaos sighed, a smile creeping its way onto his face at the memory, his home now simply a silhouette against the backdrop of the endless sky. He looked ahead, finally making out his target. The old barge that served as the school ship. Badly, at that. It was only a few islands away, where the grass was more lush and the terrain less harsh. Kaos picked up his speed, going from a light jog to a sprint, barely feeling his feet touch the ground. He was gonna make it. He could still see students boarding, he still had time, he could still make it.

"WAIT! WAIT!!" He shouted, causing a few heads to turn, but only for a brief moment.

Kaos forced himself through the crowd, nearly doubling over as he struggled to catch his breath, one hand on the strap of his backpack and the other on his scarf, just making sure it was still there. He ignored the dirty looks he was getting as the line began moving again, following the students ahead of him up the ramp. Even from his low vantage point he could tell the state of the ship. Noisy and overcrowded, with just a sprinkle of staff trying desperately to keep order. The chatter of students loud enough to make the patchwork steel hull of the ship vibrate. Kaos found his mind wandering as he and the rest of the students were herded onto the ship like animals, personal space a thing of the past. Everyone around him was at least double Kaos' height, leaving him lost in a forest of legs and torsos shuffling him forward. It would have been humiliating if he wasn't used to it. Ever since he was little, (well, littler) he had been the runt of the litter. Mother had wanted to hold him back because of it, even though she admitted he was smart enough to be a grade ahead. But here he was, stuck in a sea of people all taller than him, even at a grade lower than he should have been. At least that meant he excelled compared to everyone else - when he actually applied himself, that is. It was so hard to apply himself when everything was so easy. Kaos wanted a challenge, he needed one, he-

BANG!

Kaos stumbled back, bumping into the person behind him. He clutched his hands over his ears, the world vibrating around him. He faintly heard the person behind him mutter something as they pushed past, pulling him back to reality. What in the Ancients' names was that?! Kaos looked around, stepping off of the ramp and onto the deck of the ship, feeling the engine start to whir to life. He frowned. It must've just been a misfire of the engine. The ship was old and broken, misfires were bound to happen. But even then, Kaos couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Kaos peered over the edge of the ship, watching as the island below them slowly began drifting away. The smell of engine fuel and strong perfume filling the air. Kaos gripped the rusting side rail, then looked back to the deck of the ship. The talking had only grown louder, everyone trying to be heard over the roar of the engine and of course one another. It was an idiotic sight, people huddled into groups. Elves and Ents playing a quick game of Skystones, a group of Mabu discussing the best way to prepare beetroots for their cooking class - even the Gillmen were chatting it away, all in their own little worlds. Everyone seemed to have a group. Everyone, but Kaos. It wasn't a bother to him, though, not at all. Why would it have been? He had himself, and that was all Kaos needed. Kaos began making his way through the crowds of kids, hands in his pockets and eyes trained on the floor. He slid his backpack off once he got to his usual corner, plopping himself down. He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, the chatter around him becoming nothing but white noise. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift off, running the plan through his head once more. It would be perfect. He just needed to make it through the day.

***

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dorevenge · 3 years ago

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where ignorance is bliss - chapter 3: a young fellow

SUMMARY: Obadiah is back from Washington and surprises Maria with a belated birthday trip abroad. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 2 [3] 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

November 16, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment

“Surprise, darling! Happy belated birthday.”

The door swings open, the jangle of keys alarming me, and I run to put his engagement ring back on, tossing the dirty apron back in the hamper. I greet him at the door, with a perfect smile, the image of everything he would want from me. I put the thick folder in the back of my mind, trying not to think about the bookshelf I shoved it behind.

Obie takes me into his arms. My face barely comes up to his collarbones. It was normally a sensation I craved after a long, stressful day, but when the person holding me is the source of my stress, the effect is not the same.

He takes a step back and takes my face into his weathered hands, his cold, tired eyes peering into mine. I try to keep eye contact and return the peaceful gaze. The pressure gets to me, so I reach up and pull his head towards mine.

We haven’t kissed in three months, and it’s almost like we’ve forgotten how. At least, I had forgotten how to enjoy it. His lips feel foreign between mine, like a stranger’s. Like someone I couldn’t trust.

When we break apart, his smile is as wide as his head. “I’ll take that as you missed me,” he says. “I got something for you.” He reaches down to the paper bags he had set at his feet when he arrived. He pulls out an envelope and two small, wrapped packages.

Obie leads me to the couch in the living room and sits me down, pushing the envelope in my hands first. He sits beside me, eager for me to open my gifts.

“Already? I didn’t even get to ask you how your flight was yet.” The envelope felt heavy with unknowing in my hands.

“My flight was uneventful. Please…” He gestures impatiently towards the gift in my lap.

I open the envelope gently. Inside, is a simple card, lilac with the words “Happy Birthday” written in a cursive script on the wrong. From within the card, two tickets fall into my lap.

“We’re going to Monaco?”

“Surprise again! I thought it would be a nice break from New York, get away before the holidays. And I feel terrible for leaving you alone for so long right after our engagement. From here on out, I will be an attentive partner to you.” His joy is so thickly spread across his face, it’s all I can do to smile in return and stare down at the tickets in my hands.

“Thank you, Obie, I-”

“You hate it.”

“No, love, I love it, and I love you,” I’m fumbling for my words, and I hope he doesn’t notice. “I’m just tired. It’s hard sleeping alone, and I’m still surprised that you’re here, let alone going taking a trip with you… Tomorrow?” I read the date on the tickets.

“Why wait? Then we can be back in time for Thanksgiving with your parents.” He kisses me on the forehead, content with my reaction, and stands. “I’m going to unpack my clothes from DC, then start repacking.”

November 20, 1959 – Monaco, France, The Hellfire Club

Obadiah was not a betting man, but he seemed at home at the Hellfire Club & Casino like a Protestant in church. He “enjoyed the company of the machines that controlled men’s fates,” but I imagine he enjoyed thinking he had more willpower than the men who squandered their paychecks and had to return home to their wives with their head between their tails, lying about the state of their finances.

It turns out he had business in Monaco, and surprising me with a late birthday trip seemed easier than leaving me for work again. I was left to my own devices again, but this time it was in a foreign country. I had studied abroad in France my junior year of college, so it wasn’t like I couldn’t talk to anyone here, but rather I have no desire to even leave the room.

Obie would meet me back at the hotel room at night, and we would often play a game of chess before bed. Playing chess with him was one of the best ways to pass the time. It keeps him quiet from rambling on about things I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about, details about materials and manufacturing and marketing. I did the accounting for Stane International, as that’s what I had studied in school, and as long as the numbers added up, I was content. And for every chess game I won, Obie paid me what we had bet, fueling my addiction to the finer things in life. I purchased more purses and linens and dresses and shoes than I would care to admit, but as long as the numbers added up – and as long as I hid the packages at Peggy’s – he didn’t complain.

The Hellfire Club is unusually classy for Obie’s taste; I’ve already started to resent his cheapness and penny-pinching, and we hadn’t even set a wedding date yet. I should have noticed that sooner. Here, gold decorates every pillar and billiard ball, marble fountains and silver pens, a gratuitous buffet and generous décor around every corner. Whoever the owner is has taste and luxury in excess. I am a girl with champagne taste engaged to a cheapskate.

Obadiah had spent the last four days in meetings from sunrise to sunset, and I am bored out of my mind. I have no interest in day-drinking, I’ve already read every book the front desk has to offer, and the pictures playing down the block don’t spark my curiosity. I feel like a tiger pacing its cage in a zoo, and I am ready to pounce.

Touching up my red lip and pinned curls, I leave the room and exit the elevator. I feel the turn of men’s heads like a gravitational pull, the clack of my heels leading the charge, and I’m embarrassed to admit how much I miss that attention. I know how this dress fits, I know how the color complements me; just because I’m an educated woman doesn’t mean I’m not a human one.

I have hours to kill before Obie will direct his attention to me again, so I stride right into the room full of betting games and tables. I pause in the doorway, taking in the sight – and cigar smoke – of men shuffling cards and chips like it means something, until I recognize one of the tables.

I had learned baccarat in my time in France, and despite never fully grasping the French language, I played their game very well. Like all of the casino’s games, the house has the edge, but my host family had taught me their tricks, and I could keep track of the location of every card once I saw it. This casino plays the punto banco style, which is where I excelled.

The first three hours, I did very well. I did so well that the waitstaff came to watch over my shoulder to assure I wasn’t cheating. I had almost doubled Obie’s entire investment portfolio, at least the one I had access to, using his information to start the hand but relying on my winnings to keep me afloat. But after three hours, I got – as I often do these days – bored. Keeping track of the calculations of the face value no longer keeps me entertained. So I start losing. Maximum bets net maximum losses.

I don’t know why I find so much joy in draining Obie’s savings, linked to the banking information from his hotel reservation. I don’t hate the man, but I don’t think I could ever love him. He has done nothing cruel to me, nothing unjust, or even unkind – but I don’t think he loves me either. I am comfortable and convenient; I straighten his ties and predict his chess moves and shake the hands of men he so desperately wants to impress. When you come from money, you learn to smell desperation a mile away, and Obadiah reeks of it. Every privileged man he meets can smell it, too, and until he can mask it, Stane International won’t become that international.

He’s just so boring. He fixates on the most minute details of his plans, his inventions take priority, and I think if I hurt him here, he would finally pay more attention to me than his baubles.

The chip pile, once mountainous, dwindles, replenishing when I transfer more funds, then drain once again. The staff look at me puzzled, wondering what happened to my blaze of glory, and I ask myself the same question as I feel myself go robotic and glassy-eyed. Twisting the probability on its head, I play the moves in the house’s favor, leaving nothing behind but a tray full of cigarette ash and empty champagne classes.

It dawns on me that this game of baccarat reflected Obie’s and my relationship. I feed his ego, his business deals, and checkbooks, and what did I have to show for it? A cheap steel ring, a prolonged engagement with no date in sight, and still living in my childhood bedroom with my parents in Southampton.

As I drain my last glass, several tall men in nice suits approach me, stern looks on their faces. I straighten in my seat.

“Ms. Carbonell?” one of them asks to confirm my identity in an American accent.

“Is there a problem?”

“You’ve attracted our attention with your gameplay. What are your intentions here at the Hellfire Club?”

I blink at the empty glass in my hand, just a hint of the red wine remaining on the bottom swirling at its base. “To win.”

“Looks like you’re not doing much of that now.”

“Winning got boring,” I shrug.

“Please come with us, Ms. Carbonell.”

“I’d rather stay here and keep losing.”

One of the men places a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll come with us now. The owner of the Roxxon Corporation would like to speak to you.” I’m suddenly on my feet.

#where ignorance is bliss #wiib reading #iron man #marvel #what if #canary writes a fanfiction

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sunflowers-heart · 5 years ago

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May 21st – Angel/Demon AU

Lyn’s Writing Event

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word count: 1,791

Warnings: None

Author’s note: None

The cathedral was empty, not a single soul wandering through its halls since at least thousand of years. It was a corpse, a memorial of what it have been once, the mere shadow of whispered prayers still lingering on the high pillars which did not have to support anything—the whole wooden roof gone long ago, rotting with the benches on the ground. The most bizarre thing about this place, however, was how quiet it was, as if with the first step inside the ruins all the sounds from the surrounding forest were disappearing behind the glass wall, trapping everyone who dared to come closer.

And it was cold, much colder than the frozen earth, covered with the thin layer of snow.

When you first approached the abandoned building, you thought that it must have been a sign. A very obvious, flashing red sign saying that you should never get inside, under no circumstances. The stink of death was present in every corner and it was exactly that, which led you to this place, walking around the woods until you have finally found the source of the disturbing energy. Perhaps human’s eyes could not spot it, but you saw the cathedral very clearly and you could imagine how did it look like when it was still a house of God.

Crossing the threshold, you let your gaze wander over the pillars covered in wild ivy, over an open roof where you could see the gray sky, over the mossy walls and empty windows. It was a sad picture, bringing back the feeling of melancholy and reminding of a passing time. Slowly, you approached the presbytery, carefully dodging the pieces of wood and rocks laying on the muddy ground and when you were finally by the steps, your attention was focused on something below your feet rather than in front of you.

The stone plate was broken to pieces, opening an entrance to the catacombs level below.

It was so dark here, you could not recognize any shapes not see the bottom, but it did not startle you, not when you could sense that the source was closer than ever before. Turning around, you quickly noticed that although the whole ruin was covered in wild plants, the hole in the ground remained untouched, not a single weed growing on the black earth.

And so, you jumped inside.

The catacombs reminded you of an old basement, wet and full of rats which were nowhere to be seen, as if there truly was only you and the endless corridors ahead. Taking a torch from your bag, you lightened the hall, mentally taking a note that this part of the building must have been never seen, considering the complete lack of any trash nor names written with colourful sprays on the walls.

Whatever lived here must have been frightening enough to keep any intruders away.

You did not know how long you were wandering through the corridors, sometimes realizing that you were walking around, the other times reaching a dead ends and turning back. Losing a track of time was your habit during the stay on Earth, still not getting used to the daily rhythm the humans considered as healthy, but the longer you were looking for, the more you were sure that the resident knew about your presence already. It could have been night outside when you finally spotted a path you did not take before and so, you went along, wondering what kind of creature you would eventually find in a place like this.

Whatever you were hoping for, the reality proved wrong in the same second you went from around the corner and saw the enormous cave—all filled with shining gold. The coins, jewelry and cutlery, the weapons and gems, all of this was reflecting a dim light of the burning fire in the torches placed by the walls. Even you, not being tempted by such a mundane goods, had to admit that the collection was impressive, bigger than anything you have ever seen in your whole life.

Your eyes automatically spotted a dark figure sitting upon the throne by the highest step of the stairs ahead of you, its gaze looming over your frame and waiting for your move. When you peeked down, to the small coin laying right next to the tip of your shoe, you could almost hear the low growl coming from the depths of its throat.

So, you thought, Greed, that is.

“What are you looking for?” The demon asked you and his baritone echoed in the cave, disappearing around the corners and remaining in your mind for a while longer than it should have.

From your perspective you could not clearly see its features but you knew that it was a man, broad and powerful, the King of his Treasure.

“I am looking for you,” you told him and in an answer received only a quiet mutter.

“What for?”

“I have realized that you have been there for quite a long time now. Your presence reached my senses far away, in the city, and if I can do it, then anybody else can find you, too. You and your treasure.”

The demon did not speak further, waiting for your explanation—or considering whether to take your words as a treat and kill you in an instant.

“I came here to offer you my help.”

He chuckled darkly and you heard the fabrics moving when he stood up from his throne, taking few steps to your direction so the light from the torches could touch his face; long hair and beard with silver strands proving that he was not some impulsive, young demon, but rather the one who could possibly watch the fall of Lucifer himself. His bright blue eyes, however, did not seem cruel nor furious, but rather surprisingly calm and utterly tired.

“What kind of help you can offer?” he asked and spread his arms, vaguely gesturing to the wealth all around him. “I have everything.”

You did not say out loud the first thought which came to your mind after hearing those words. Instead of considering him a blind fool, you felt the overwhelming pity.

“It is not the matter of what you have but what you need.”

He frowned. “Do not assume that you have a greater knowledge, angel. I have seen the worlds collide and being torn apart long before you were ever created. And what for?”

“I have not figured it out just yet.”

“Then perhaps there is no purpose. No aim in your existence, just another godly spark which will soon fade into the dark sky. No more remembered than me.”

Admitting the truth would mean that you had lost your arguments and gave upon his will, and it was the very last thing you wanted to happen. You came prepared, knowing that demons tended to manipulate your own fears in a way which would only make you suffer and doubt—doubt your worth, your own value and everything you called dear to your soul.

“Perhaps you are right,” you thought for a while. “Perhaps you are not. What if my purpose is exactly to be right here, standing in front of you now and giving you my hand?”

In a blink of an eye, he was right in front of you, dressed in majestic furs, the crown on his head and the unpleasant expression on his face. But the eyes—the eyes were still as bright.

And curious.

“That would be quite a waste of your existence, won’t you agree?”

“Perhaps you are right,” you repeated, a small smile appearing on your lips. “Perhaps you are not.”

The demon muttered something under his breath.

“What is your name?” you continued and watched the tough expression change, from the surprise to the disappointment.

Then, he turned his back on you and before you could react, he was sitting on his throne again, face hidden in the shadows. That must have been a wrong choice of words, since you have clearly startled or annoyed him and now you could only hope that he won’t want to get rid of you for disturbing his peace. Just when you were thinking of an excuse, maybe giving him your name or using another argument on why should he at least listen to you, his voice echoed in the cave once again, low and reminding you of an animalistic growl.

“Thorin.”

You nodded, speechless. It was a tiny step forward but it was still better than none. You smiled at him politely, although you could not see his reaction.

“Well then, it is nice to meet you, Thorin.” You bowed your head and introduced yourself, too. “Did you know that it is currently winter outside? There is snow all above us, white and cold, and so beautiful.”

“Are all of your kind so stubborn?” he interrupted. “Or is it just you, not taking a ‘no’ for an answer.”

“You have never said ‘no’, Thorin,” you stated. “And if you will, then I will leave you alone. But the question is, if you really want me to.”

There was a silence between you two, all the treasure long forgotten, since something else seemed to catch the demon’s attention.

“You do not see me as a monster.” His voice was now barely a whisper. “You are different than the others.”

As if someone poked you on the shoulder, you turned your head back and spotted the various bones grotesquely piling up by the wall, some of them still freshly white but mostly rusty, dry brown—all shattered to pieces with deadly claws and jaw, torn apart when there was still life around them. You recognized them as belonging to angels, humans and even one or two different demons, the ones who dared to try to steal from the King now damned for the whole eternity.

“I do not believe this is my place to decide on who is and who is not worthy of receiving help,” you answered, turning back to him. “I was not created to judge but to bring hope.”

“And do you truly believing there is still any hope for an old fool?”

“What I believe in has nothing to do with it. It is all the matter of whether you will accept my hand or not and only then I could do my best in bringing you back.”

The demon was quiet, lost in thoughts for so long that you started to think that it has been whole centuries since you came down there. When he eventually spoke, his voice was calm, the slight tremble of anticipation causing the goosebumps to appear on your skin.

“Tell me more about the snow outside.”

#lyn's writing event #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin #thorin x reader #the hobbit

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queenlorea · 5 years ago

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New Chapter on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17609459/chapters/55998868

Chapter 6 of my series: A Day I Met You (and Days After That)

Chapter Summary: The journey to King's Landing, from Dragonstone.

Despite the circumstances, Elia was glad to leave the damp, gloomy fortress of Dragonstone behind. She would never be a Targaryen, despite her marriage to Rhaegar, or the Valyrian blood in her veins from Daenerys, wife of Prince Maron Martell, who raised the Water Gardens in her honour.

She was pleasantly surprised, however, by their smooth-sailing journey back to King’s Landing. The ship rocked steadily on the open sea. In the day, when the sun beat down on them all, the waters shone a clear deep, sapphire blue, with bright, glimmering swirls of emerald green flashing from the depths of the ocean when the light struck the waters in just the right way. Elia had her son Aegon bundled in her arms; he was still drowsy, slowly coming awake from a nap, dark violet eyes wide as he quietly surveyed this vast, endless expanse of water: he had never seen the ocean before.

She took a deep breath, finding the sharp, salty sea-breeze refreshing. The sun and sea were a welcome change from the dark, cold, oppressive stone walls of Dragonstone that closed in around her like a tomb.

Rhaenys seemed to love the ocean almost as much as Elia herself did. Balerion -- having given in to Rhaenys and Ashara’s efforts to tie a bell around his neck -- prowled the ship’s deck fearlessly, as though he were a leopard cub, a prince of beasts in Dorne. “He’s looking for mice, Lady Ash!” Elia heard her daughter call out to Ashara Dayne, seated quietly with her back to a railing and looking somewhat green. “We won’t let them get you!”

Ashara Dayne was a fearless woman: in their youth she had followed Oberyn around as he turned over rocks and poked at holes in the desert sand, searching for snakes and scorpions and other creatures. Elia would have thought nothing could faze her, so their recent discovery that Ashara was terrified of rats and mice had been slightly amusing, even as she and Larra Blackmont did their best to reassure Ashara that the ship was clean and free of rodents.

That was another reason Elia was glad to be at sea. It gave her more time spent with her other ladies-in-waiting, other than Ashara, the youngest of her ladies. Larra Blackmont, and Elia’s own cousin, Laena Manwoody, (the similarity of their names was another source of amusement among her ladies) had been her strongest support during this difficult time, running the household for her when she had been stricken with child-bed fever, ensuring that the castle received their supplies and that the castle’s staff received their due incomes. They had all been children at the Water Gardens together, though Larra, the oldest, was the earliest to leave the pools, having been recalled to Blackmont to be raised as her mother’s heir. Laena was the middle-child, as Elia was -- their shared blood and this common ground made them especially close. They had not had the luxury of time or the freedom to spend hours in one another’s company at Dragonstone, which was perhaps another reason for Elia’s feelings of loneliness.

It was Larra Blackmont who sat at Elia’s side now, Laena Manwoody on the other end of the deck, watching the sunlight glimmering on the ocean waves, her head resting on Lady Ellyn’s shoulder -- a Beesbury of the Honeyholt, one of the few ladies from the Reach willing to serve as her lady-in-waiting. She wondered if the Hightowers -- as the overlords to House Beesbury-- had anything to do with that, despite her failed proposal to Baelor Hightower.

Larra was the first to speak. She nodded at Laena and Ellyn, her hazel-green eyes still bright with mischief, even if marks of age-- crow’s feet-- were showing around her eyes. “They’re not being very subtle, are they, Lady Elia?” she said, as Laena said something which made Ellyn laugh, and press a quick, soft, kiss to her cheek.

“They have nothing to hide here, Lady Larra,” Elia replied absently, shifting Aegon so he would not tug at her veil. “They’ve had to be discreet on Dragonstone, and gods know the Red Keep’s walls have ears. I would give them whatever time they have on this ship, before they have to hide their relationship again.”

Larra hummed, adjusting the drape of the black-and-gold shawl on her shoulders. Aegon, wide awake now, reached out to tug at the gold fringe on her shawl. Larra laughed aloud in surprise, brushing the ends of the shawl over Aegon’s palms, then quickly lifting it out of his grasp before Aegon’s fist could close around it. This seemed a fascinating new game to Aegon, and he giggled and waved his arms while trying to grab at the gold fringe of Larra’s shawl. Her son was only an infant, but at least he had not inherited his father’s dour, melancholy soul.

“Rhaenys and Aegon both seem to be taking to the sea remarkably well, Aegon especially. The rocking of the ship doesn’t seem to faze the little prince at all,” she laughed, as Aegon reached a tiny hand out and bopped her nose lightly, as Ashara had done to him many times before, at Dragonstone. “It’s his Rhoynish ancestry. He is the blood of Nymeria, the queen who launched ten thousand ships to save her people. Our people were sea-farers, once,” Elia murmured, pride stirring in her heart.

Larra Blackmont, fierce and proud as her own mother, met Elia’s eyes and smiled, patting her knee. “It’s good to hear you say that, Elia. You’ve been so quiet after your husband left... we were all worried for you.”

Elia felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, she blinked them away quickly. She had never been in love with Rhaegar, so why had the reminder of this latest betrayal hurt so much? She began to speak, haltingly at first, until the words tumbled out in a rush.

“I feel as though I am not worthy, somehow. That Rhaegar leaving this family is my shame and my failure as a wife... we had two children together, aren’t children supposed to bind two people together? I have done my duty as a wife, does he not have an obligation to this family?” Her eyes were stinging again: Elia blinked them away even harder. She would not let her tears fall on her son’s head, she would not let her unhappiness taint any of her children’s lives.

Larra reached for Aegon, and Elia let her take him. She turned her face towards the water, so it would appear as though she were merely admiring the view of the sunset across the sea, setting the waters afire, deep blue painted with streaks of pink and orange and gold, the colours of Dorne. “It’s not your fault, Elia.” Larra said quietly, holding Aegon carefully as they looked out over the water. She knew, somehow, that Elia had been holding her pent up anger and frustration inward for weeks, not daring to speak her thoughts aloud. “But it’s okay to cry. You are the strongest woman I know, after my own mother. We all need to cry, sometimes. Let it out, Elia. It’s alright.”

Elia cried quietly, letting go of the tears she had refused to shed for Rhaegar, and for herself, and for her children’s futures, her hands tight on the ship’s salt-stained wooden rails. When it was over she raised a hand, and touched her own cheek.

“Salt spray,” Larra said, giving her a handkerchief, embroidered with a pattern of vines and flowers. Elia took it gratefully, cleaning the tears from her face, but not blowing her nose with it. “Don’t worry, Elia, your eyes aren’t red. Are you feeling better?”

Elia nodded. “I am...I think I needed that.”

“Good,” Larra said, “because while Aegon is being a very well-behaved, darling princeling today, I think he still prefers to be held by his mother.” Aegon was already wriggling in Larra’s arms, though she held onto him carefully. “Momma’s boy, this little prince is. And I should go check on Ashara, the poor girl still looks a little ill. I’d thought the sea air would help, but she doesn’t seem to be feeling better yet...”

Elia inclined her head. “Thank you, Larra... for everything.”

Elia was alone now, with Aegon back in her arms. She started humming a lullaby, a song of the Seven, running a hand over the fine dusting of silver hair on her son’s head. The sun was setting now, sinking into the sea, the clouds in the sky fading from orange to pink to purple.

Aegon raised one chubby hand in the air. She half-expected him to bop her on the nose -- that was his show of affection to the people who cared for him.

So Elia was surprised when, instead, Aegon lay his hand on her cheek, over the tear tracks which Elia had taken care to wipe away earlier, and made a soft gurgling sound in his throat. She knew it was her own wishful thinking, but she could have sworn that he was trying to say “Mama” as Rhaenys did. Her heart felt suddenly lighter.

“I will protect you, and your sister, from your father’s folly, little one. Even when we’re back at court, when we must greet your grandfather and seek his protection... I must be strong. I will keep you both safe . I swear it. I swear it by the sun, and the stars, and the moon.”

Elia braced herself for living in the Red Keep again, under the shadow of the Iron Throne. For this night, though, she let herself feel the smooth, steady rocking of the ship on the ocean, as she held her own son in her arms. The first stars had emerged in the sky.

#elia martell #asoiaf #aegon targaryen son of rhaegar #rhaenys targaryen daughter of rhaegar #ashara dayne #larra blackmont #my fic

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valyrfia · 5 years ago

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More Opinions on the Stranger Things 3 Soundtrack that No One Asked for

Woven in with some theories that may or may not be true. Proceed with caution

Quick disclaimer: I prefer this soundtrack to season 2. It feels a lot more vibrant and a lot more mature (I guess reflecting on the kids growing up). Also bearing in mind that the tracklist isn’t necessarily in chronological order (it isn’t for season 1), so I’m not going to try and figure out any plot points with what tracks are next to each other.

Boys and Girls A remix of ‘Kids’, albeit a slightly more matured version, this is definitely what starts out the season and makes me smile. It’ll be great to see the party reunited again. I love the track title as well. At the end of the day, no matter how grown up they want to pretend to be, they all are still kids (or at least, at the beginning of the season).

I Like Presents Too Definitely a Mileven track, it’s sweet and perfectly encapsulates a childhood romance, nothing much else to say about it.

Starcourt We already know some SHIT goes down at the mall, this is probably the introductory shot to the mall, generic upbeat music.

I Need You to Trust Me From the trailer we know this is another Mileven track, it sounds slightly bittersweet, so I’m slightly worried.

You’re A Fighter Hopper 100% says this to El. It’s beautiful, and I’m sure I’ll be tearing up at this moment. There’s a new musical element we haven’t heard before in the background with the high bell-like synth. One of the highlights for me.

The Ceiling is Beautiful It sounds like the ceiling starts out beautiful but quickly goes downhill, this might be a parallel shot to the upside down or something similar.

The First I Love You The First Lie was my favourite track from season 2, so it makes me so happy hearing the continuation of that theme. This is definitely between Nancy and Jonathan and is going to be such a sweet scene. The soundtrack alone makes me smile, so I really can’t wait for the entire scene.

Rats Nope. I can’t do it. I have listened to this track a grand total of one time, I tried again for this post and really can’t do it. It’s way too creepy, especially with whatever that flesh-like sound is. Definitely the monster’s theme and I am scared.

Heather’s We know Heather is the missing lifeguard, so this makes me genuinely sad/terrified for whatever happened to her. I hate to say it, but she’s almost definitely dead.

Find the Source This will be finding the source of the infection, whatever it is. It’s not a particularly scary theme, so maybe its a planning session among the party, or the Hawkins lab officials freaking out.

What Did You Do to Him? In my mind, this plays during whatever goes down with whoever is infected at the hospital (people are saying this is ep 3/4-ish?). The real question is, what DID they do to him?

The Silver Cat Feeds This was one of the phrases from the promos. I have to admit, I have zero clues about where this storyline could go. It could have something to do with the Russians, or the government, but quite honestly, I have no idea.

William This either pertains to Billy or Will, because unfortunately both are called William. In my mind, it’s either Billy being possesed, or keeping with the theory that Will will develop powers this season, I can totally see this as Will’s powers finally coming to the fore, something about the middle and end sound too...uplifting, for lack of a better word, to be the Mindflayer, not to mention it isn’t the Mindflayer’s theme. I’m leaning more towards this track being about Will, but we’ll see.

Destroying the Castle This will definitely be about Will destroying Castle Byers, and I’m sure we will all cry ugly tears when it happens. For me, apart from Aftermath this is the most beautiful track of the entire OST. It’s nostalgic, but at the same time has the bitterness of a lost childhood. It’s very very good, and I’m going to cry. An interesting thing about this track however is the fast paced synth in the background behind the main long notes, usually the composers only use this technique if there’s a lot of action happening on screen (this ensure the soundtrack isn’t drowned out by the action). There is a theory going around that if Will does develop powers, he’ll destroy Castle Byers with said powers, and I can totally see this happening with this soundtrack.

In The Void We already know that El is going back to the void from the trailers, but it does make one wonder why she feels the need to go there. Maybe she’s checking up on the Mindflayer, who knows.

Tammy Who is Tammy? In my opinion she could be another number, like El and Kali. This’ll be interesting to watch.

Mirkwood SCARY. I don’t want to know what’s lurking in Mirkwood.

Portal Drill Ah Hawkins Lab back at it again with things they should really leave alone. I think this track is quite self-explanatory

The Door is Opening Undoubtedly the Portal Drill worked but this track seems a little lowkey for such a big moment. I reckon this is the scene from the trailer with Will and El talking about the Mindflayer.

Planck’s Constant *Ahem* So in physics Planck’s Constant is a number that relates the energy a photon can carry to its frequency. In simpler terms, it’s the smallest unit of measurement in the universe. This reminds me of ‘Theoretically’ from season 1, so we could be seeing the reappearence of Mr. Clarke, and this almost definitely has something to do with more worldbuilding surrounding the mechanics of the upside down/mindflayer.

Sauna Test This one is interesting, we already know that there’s an episode called ‘The Sauna Test’ so whatever it is, this is a major plot point. I’m intrigued with how it starts out sounding like your typical monster track but changes into something a little more triumphant, maybe it’s El or someone coming in to save the day, we’ll see.

The Trees Are Moving/On Their Tracks: The monster is chasing them and I’m not happy about it.

Not Chinese Food Someone said this sounds like someone discovering a dead body and I 100% agree, no more to be said.

Land Deeds When the tracklist came out, people thought this had to do with the Byers family moving, but I’m glad to report that this is almost definitely an action song. Probably relates to Nancy’s investigative journalism work, she finds something fishy in the land deeds, most likely relating to the Starcourt Mall.

Not Kids Anymore While I don’t think this plays during the already infamous Mike/Will exchange, I do think that this is Mike’s line to Will coming back to bite them in the ass. Whatever they’re facing this year seems to involve their families and endanger more people than ever before, the responsibility facing them is immense.

Scoops Troop Erica/Steve/Robin/Dustin carrying out whatever mission they have to carry out in the finale. Also ‘Scoops Troop’ is hilarious and I better see everyone referring to the four of them as that from now on.

We Don’t Understand Each Other Definitely some emotional angst. People have been saying this is a break-up song, but I’m not too sure.

Aftermath It sounds like a lullaby, and is definitely closing out the season. This could totally be a post-death soundtrack, but I also see it being the background of a montage a month later, or someone else suggested it plays in the background as there are slow-mo shots of Will and El being taken away by the government (which would make sense to me, the final shot would then be the party looking up at helicopters flying away from the Mall, carrying Will and El with them, it fits with the final synth note of the track). Whichever way this goes, I know I’m going to be sobbing ugly tears when this track plays.

Round-Up:

This has heightened my excitement for season 3 more than you can believe. All the tracks have more layers to them than in previous seasons and definitely fits with the progressing storyline and maturing kids. I am beyond hyped, and can’t wait for July 4th.

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ghostofviperwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Pentagon 2

Sequel to Pentagon requested by @empress-with-the-crown ess-with-the-crown.

Pairing: El Desperado/FC/Bushi/Pentagon Jr.

Category: Little bit of smut

Word Count: 2473

Warnings: Language, oral sex

There will be one more part to this because the boys aren’t quite done butting heads yet

Two months had gone by since the incident with Bushi and Desperado over your infatuation with Pentagon Jr. Your obsession hadn’t faded, but you had learned to hide it better. Things had been strained for a few weeks as both Bushi and Desperado were hurt by what they saw as your betrayal, but the three of you had settled back into your rhythm and things seemed to be on track. They finally had some time off and you all had decided to take a trip to Florida for a week’s vacation. It was much needed and many hours had been spent lying on the beach before returning to your massive hotel suite and making love on every available surface. You were walking with a constant delicious ache between your legs that was borderline to being painful.

Things had been going quite smoothly and then he showed up. All the pictures and videos in the world couldn’t have prepared you for how gorgeous he was in person. Desperado and Bushi were enjoying a beer, eyes on the baseball game on the outdoor screens at the beachside café you were having a late dinner at. You were immediately captivated as a rowdy group of men crowded into the outdoor patio area. They were quite obviously wrestlers, most of them still in their gear. You surmised a local show must have just concluded. That would have been the end of it if your eyes hadn’t landed on him. Your breath hitched as you saw Pentagon Jr. in full makeup taking up a chair at their table.

You stared transfixed for quite a while, absentmindedly drinking your cocktail as Despy and Bushi remained oblivious to your distraction. Until they weren’t. And that’s when everything went to hell.

“Babe!” Bushi said for the third time turning from the TV in aggravation to see why you were ignoring him. He expected to see you staring at those photos on your phone; the ones you thought you were so clever in hiding. Instead he saw you staring with blatant lust at someone on the patio. Following the line of your vision his fist clenched around his beer bottle as he saw Pentagon Jr. at the other end of your gaze. Elbowing Despy in the side he caught the other man’s attention and pointed out the source of your fascination.

“Apparently she didn’t learn her lesson.” Desperado said with a rueful shake of his head.

“Apparently not.” Bushi concurred with a slow nod. You remained oblivious until your boyfriends rose from the table and approached the wrestlers. You heart almost stopped as you watched Bushi greet one of the men with a hug. You hadn’t realized he knew any of them. You squirmed in your seat as introductions were made and Desperado and Bushi joined the table at the end next to Pentagon. You only semi-relaxed as they seemed to be immersed in conversation and not paying Pentagon any undue attention.

It was only after they had been talking for a while, leaving you to stew with your imagination on overdrive that Desperado called you over, planting you on his lap while introducing you to those at the table. You leaned back into his chest, head on his shoulder with his hand on your upper thigh. Of course you couldn’t help but notice that you were sitting right next to Pentagon; close enough that your knee was practically touching his thigh. You tried to focus on Desperado and Bushi, you really did; but you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering into naughty territory, or your eyes from staring at that thick thigh that was taunting you.

As the evening progressed, one by one the other wrestlers disbursed while Bushi and Pentagon became engrossed in a conversation about wrestling until only the four of you remained at the table. A feeling of dread began forming in your stomach and you found yourself praying desperately for Pentagon to excuse himself and leave. However he didn’t seem so inclined, conversing with your boys about their excursions in Mexico. The wait staff delivered another bucket of beers and then left your group to itself on the patio. Desperado’s hand crept higher up your thigh and you stiffened in his hold as he cupped your crotch, heat seeping through your pants. You glanced nervously at Pentagon hoping he wasn’t paying attention to Desperado’s actions, but of course he was.

You were caught off guard when Desperado suddenly pushed you off his lap, making you fall to your knees at Bushi’s feet. Humiliation burned through you as Pentagon watched with the action with a bemused expression. Bushi laid his hand on the top of your head tapping his fingers in a condescending manner as you kept your eyes firmly on the ground. You couldn’t believe they were doing this to you. In front of him no less. Scratch that, you could believe it. You knew exactly what they were doing. They were going to humiliate you as further punishment for your disrespect.

Bushi’s fingers threaded through your hair and your head was pulled back, forcing you to look right up at Pentagon as his expression shifted from bemused to disgust. He looked between Bushi and Desperado as he gained an understanding of the situation.

“She is the woman of you both?” Pentagon asked looking between the two men with curiosity.

“She is.” Desperado confirmed.

“Perhaps you’d like me to leave so you can get back to whatever this fucked up arrangement is.” Pentagon began to rise, stilling as Desperado raised a hand.

“We’d actually like you to stay. You are after all the reason we joined your table. We’re offering to share her with you.” Bushi said. Pentagon’s eyes widened, and he looked from Bushi to Desperado before looking down at you.

“I ain’t interested.” Pentagon said shaking his head immediately. Whatever these three cabrons were up to he was pretty sure he wanted nothing to do with it.

“What’s the matter Pentagon? You aren’t into fucking hot chicks?” Desperado challenged with a smirk.

Pentagon’s lip hitched up in a sneer and his fist clenched as he glared at Desperado.

“I fuck hot women all the time. I don’t need to play with one who already has two men at her side. What’s the matter puta, two dicks not enough for you?” Pentagon asked you.

“It’s simple. She belongs to us. Though she seems to have forgotten that.” Bushi stepped in seeing things about to fall off the rails. In order for their plan to work he needed Desperado to reign in his temper. “We want her to get you out of her system so we can move on with our lives.”

“And it’s necessary that you two be present for that to happen?” Pentagon asked.

“We aren’t just letting you take her by yourself.” Bushi said firmly. “She’s ours.”

“You’re telling us you’ve never shared a woman?” Desperado asked incredulously.

“I share whores. I don’t share my woman.” Pentagon said flatly.

“Well, our woman is a whore, so that’s a non-issue. And she’s not your woman so why do you care?” Bushi said bluntly making your face flame red as Pentagon’s attention focused on you.

“I suppose I don’t.” He asked, his blue eyes piercing as they stared down at you.

“We’re offering her to you on a silver platter. Something that doesn’t happen very often. But she can’t seem to get you off her mind so we’re driven to unconventional methods. Tell him what you want to do to him.” Bushi said giving you a shove on the shoulder. You looked up at him trying to shake your head in denial but unable to do so in his grasp. Knowing there was no way out of what he wanted you to do your shoulders slumped in defeat. You knew exactly what he wanted you to say. Desperado and Bushi had made you tell them in very explicit detail what you wanted Pentagon to do to you, and what you wanted to do to him. Repeatedly. They knew very well.

“I want to fuck you.” You said softly already knowing they weren’t going to let you get away with that simple explanation.

“Oh, come on babe. You can do better than that. Did you forget what you told us?” Desperado asked nudging you with his foot. ‘You remember when you had the leash on? You didn’t forget did ya? Remember how Bushi’s belt made your ass bleed while you choked on my cock?”

“I remember!” You shouted glaring up at him.

“Then look him in the fucking face and tell him.” Bushi snapped yanking on your hair again to force you to look at Pentagon’s face. Pentagon who looked entirely unamused by your entire exchange.

“I want you. I want to suck your cock and choke on it. I want you to fuck me hard and deep. I want your hand around my throat and you to pull my hair. I want to feel you deep inside my pussy. I want you to do anything you want to me.” You said quietly feeling the flush of embarrassment rising through you as you held Pentagon’s gaze.

“So you want what every other ring rat wants.” Pentagon said staring down at you with disgust evident on his face. “Same words I hear from every other slut wanting my dick.” He looked between Desperado and Bushi. “She’s a whore. Why would you make her your woman? Just fuck her and be done with it. Why would you keep her?”

Shame filled you at his sharp words, eyes closing as you couldn’t bear to look at his disdain any more.

“She has her uses.” Desperado said after a moment that dragged entirely too long for your liking. “But we’re getting off track here. We’re not asking you to make her your woman. Just this one time and you can go on your merry way.”

“We want her to get you out of her system. Obviously something has her hung up on you so we want you to fuck it out.” Bushi said.

“So what you want to watch?” Pentagon smirked. “Maybe teach you a thing or two on how to properly fuck her?”

“We fuck her just fine thank you.” Desperado retorted with a sneer.

“Obviously not since she’s drooling over my dick.” Pentagon chuckled. “Maybe I’ll just take her. Use her up and send her back to ya.”

“Maybe you can go to hell.” Desperado spat starting to rise to his feet, but stilling as Bushi raised his hand.

“Settle down Desperado.” Bushi said with smirk. “Remember what were trying to accomplish here.” He looked meaningfully at Desperado. Message received but still angry Desperado glared at Pentagon, arms folded crossly over his chest.

“Good move coño.” Pentagon said with a grin. This was fun. He was enjoying antagonizing these two men. Though Bushi wasn’t giving him much, Desperado’s reactions were enough to entertain him for now. He’d either end up fighting or fucking tonight. Both wins as far as he was concerned. He glanced down at you grin fading into a sneer. He didn’t have much use for whores. Sure they were fun on occasion, but if he wanted that he had plenty of rats hanging around the ring when he was done for the night. A woman who regularly gave herself to two men was a different animal. One who wasn’t satisfied with the two she had. Wanted to add him to her little stable. Fuck that. He bet if he shoved his fingers up her cunt right now she’d be dripping. She could put on all the airs she wanted. He could tell she was enjoying every second of this.

Pentagon took another long look at the woman being offered to him. She was beautiful, no question about that. He’d bet she would look real good choking on his dick. Pentagon mused silently trying to decide if he was in the mood for a fight or a fuck. Maybe he should take her for a test drive, see if she held his attention.

“Suck my dick.” Penta said bluntly, hands already loosening the belt on his wrestling tights as you watched with widened eyes that darted around the empty patio. Bushi gave you a shove in the back making you fall towards Pentagon who now had his cock in his fist, slowly pumping it as it hardened. You swallowed nervously as you saw just how thick and long he was, much thicker than you had imagined in your fantasies. With one last wary glance at your two lovers you reached out a hesitant hand, wrapping it around Pentagon’s cock above his own fist.

Releasing his dick Penta grabbed the back of your head and pushed you onto his cock, immediately making you gag as he invaded your mouth with no care for your comfort. You finally got to feel those thighs you had been fantasizing about as your hands struggled for purchase, fingers digging into his flesh as he ravaged your throat. Finally with a grunt he yanked you off and shoved you back, making you land on your ass at Bushi’s feet.

Penta stood with a sneer and tucked himself back in his pants.

“I’ve had better.” He said turning on his heel and leaving through the patio gate without a backwards glance.

“That’s certainly not how I expected that to turn out.” Bushi said as Pentagon disappeared into the darkness. Recovering your breath you sat down in Pentagon’s vacated seat. The door to the patio opened and the waiter appeared placing to checks down on the table and making his retreat as Desperado cursed loudly.

“Did that son of a bitch leave us with his tab?” Desperado said in disbelief while Bushi could do little but laugh. Pentagon had some balls on him. Bushi would give him that much.

#bushi fanfic #el desperado fanfic #pentagon jr fanfic #njpw fanfic #wrestling fanfic #mywriting #ghostofviperwrites

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tmnthpdisneyjurassicpark-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Meeting Raph

Warning: Swearing and Major Character Injury

Pounding heart, pounding feet, that's all Raphael could focus on in his blinding rage.

It wasn't a good day, to say the least.

It started when he woke up this morning to having Splinter chew him out for being out late with Casey the night previous. As furious as he was with his father, he had enough control to take it out on his old punching bag instead.

Bang!

Damn I ain't a kid anymore! I knew what I was doin'!

Bang!

Why does Masta Splinta gotta be up in ma shell?! Does he think I'm not good 'nuff or somethin'?

Bang!

I CAN HANDLE MASELF!

With every one of these intrusive thoughts whispering against Raph's ear, the angrier he got. It wasn't until a gentle hand landed on his shoulder that he realized he wasn't alone.

Swinging a fist out in retaliation, the figure darted back to avoid being pummeled.

When his vision cleared, Raph saw Leo was trying to get his attention.

"Easy Raph, it's just me." Leo called out softly.

Typically, Raph would snap back a remark to get Leo to leave him alone, that he didn't give a rat's ass what was happening, just to have Leo back off.

But something was different with Leo this time around. Something in his brother's eyes scared Raph, like the ocean he often saw in the leader's eyes turned into a hurricane of emotion.

Immediately Raph's anger stifled.

"Leo, what's goin' on? What's wrong?" Raph responded in his heavy accent.

"It-it's Casey, Raph. He's in the hospital." Leo spoke in a low voice, keeping eye contact with Raph.

Pure rage flared in Raphael once more.

"WHAT?!"

"April and Don found him surrounded by the foot, Karai leading the ambush. She knew Casey is close to us and was trying to get information out of him. Don was able to take the remaining foot down while April rushed him to the hospital in the Shellraiser. They-" Leo paused, biting his lip. He seemed to be struggling with giving Raph the harsh truth.

He blinked tears out of his eyes and Raph tensed. It took alot to make Leo cry, the leader often internalizing his own emotions for the sake of his brothers. For Leo to be this shaken, things couldn't be good.

Leo continued, placing a reassuring hand on his younger brother's shoulder, stealing himself enough to talk.

"They don't think he's going to make it."

Like taking a physical punch to the stomach, Raph doubled over. His legs were shaking, his heart racing in frustration, shock, heartbreak and fury.

His best friend got hurt, and he wasn't able to save him.

It's all ma fault! I shoulda walked 'im home! He said he was fine! I shoulda known!

Now he's gonna die and....and it's all...

ALL MA FAULT!

Raph felt the tears run down his cheeks. He was barely aware of turning and taking off through the sewers.

He heard his family calling his name, telling him to stop and chasing after him.

He didn't care.

All he could see was red.

He would kill the damn bitch for what she's done if it was the last thing he'd ever do.

"RAPHAEL WAIT! THEY'RE TRACKING US!" Don's voice boomed out.

Raph didn't stop. He didn't care. Let them try. I just meant he got to fulfill his promise even sooner.

"RAPH WAIT! THEY'LL HURT YOU!" Mikey cried out, right on Raph's heals. Enraged, Raph took a sharp right and Mikey was left skidding, trying to regain his footing and his balance.

Raph could see the manhole cover now, not even three feet infront of him.

"RAPH AS YOUR LEADER I ORDER FOR YOU TO STOP!" Leo's voice rang in the sewer, but all Raph could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

He broke through.

The manhole popped and fell to the side with an audible crash to the left. Before it could hit the ground, Raph had scaled the building and was jumping onto the next roof.

He was running. Running towards Foot Headquarters. To end them once in for all.

He was vaguely aware of how sinister it sounded and he knew he wasn't acting like himself.

He didn't care.

The sound of thunder boomed overhead.

Raph didn't stop.

Lighting crashed behind him. It only furthered his adrenaline.

"HELP! HELP ME!"

At the sound of a scream, Raph stopped in his tracks.

It was like the voice had snapped him back into focus, he needed to find the source of the voice before it was too late.

His pounding heart slowed and in the moment, only one thought became clear.

I can't let anyone else get hurt 'caz of meh. I failed Casey, I ain't gonna let anyone else get hurt.

Another scream and Raph was taking off towards the left, trying to see who was danger.

A few buildings down and he saw her.

Standing there, wet (h/c) hair a dirty and tangled mess, you stood there holding onto a gun and aiming it at the ninjas, a fallen officer bleeding out by your feet.

You were wearing a red sweater and a black skirt that was soaking in the rain. Your (e/c) eyes were wide with fear.

"Stay back!" You roared in a voice louder than Raph thought was human.

The black ninjas parted to reveal a lean female, dressed in silver armor, carrying a katana glistening with blood. She had dark, black almond eyes with fair skin, her smile as deadly as the blade in her hands.

Karai.

It took all of Raph's self control not to jump down there and kill the foot that instant. He knew he needed to plan the moment right, otherwise you might not make it out of there alive.

"Y/N, was it?" Karai drawled, making you shiver.

"If you want to kill me get on with it. You know I'm not going down without a fight!" You snapped, eyes blazing with a fire Raph didn't expect. It was the same fire he saw in his own reflection everyday.

Karai laughed.

"You idiot. If I wanted you dead, I would have already killed you." She hissed, taking a menacing step forward.

You stepped back, raising the gun.

"THEN WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" You roared, acting tough despite your shaking hands.

"Your help. Or rather, your fathers. I wonder what he would give up to see his pretty little girl come home safe." As the words left Karai's mouth, the ninja's made their move towards you.

Now.

Just as Raph jumped off the building, you pulled the trigger. The bullet buried itself in Karai's arm, who screamed in pain.

Raph took the opportunity to slash her with his sai. She saw the move coming and tried to block it, but not before a shallow cut was made against her throat.

Gasping in pain, she stumbled back as Raph pummelled the other ninja's that were trying to make their way towards you.

"Retreat!" Karai rasped out.

The ninja's picked up their leader off the ground and took off, but not without throwing a few shuriken your way.

"Look out!" Raph yelled as he ran towards you, using his body to shield you from the projectiles.

Wrapped up in his arms, you took a good look at your hero, the figure that was so fast that you hadn't the opportunity to see him before.

You heard him cry out.

The final shuriken had buried itself in his leg.

He fell to the ground with a heavy thump, the shuriken digging into his green flesh.

You didn't think twice.

Rushing to his side, you took off your sweater and ripped it, tying it around the wound to stop the bleeding. Now, in your black tank top, you reached into your bag and brought out your first aid kit, pulling out antiseptic wipes.

"This is going to hurt," You warn him.

He couldn't keep his eyes off you. You, a human, who just saw an officer die before your very eyes, was threatened to be held hostage and shot a goddamn gun was suddenly helping out a giant mutant ninja turtle without a second thought.

Raph felt his heart soar.

The application of the antiseptic has the terrapin hissing in pain. You winced at the sound but then proceeded to pull out medical needle and string.

As you threaded the needle, Raph found it in himself to ask you a single question.

"Why aren't ya afraid of me?" He called out in a hoarse whisper.

You cocked an eyebrow up, eyes never leaving from your task.

"I'm a nurse. I have seen much worse. But I must admit, this has has to be one of the strangest cases I had. Top five for sure."

Raph gave you a low laugh and you smiled to yourself. You considered it a personal win if you could make your patients laugh.

Your eyes finally met his and you gasped.

Golden irises burned into yours, with a passion so fierce it seemed to pull at your very soul.

You couldn't look away. Neither could he.

"My name's Y/N." You said, a little breathless.

Raph smiled.

"I'm Raphael."

@midnightrebel669

Note: Casey survived :)

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itslaeshorseeh · 5 years ago

Text

To Condorcet

They were all turning left, the cars oncoming While they in seats were listening to their tunes. The engine sound, amongst the turtles, humming, Was loudly in their ears, this day of June’s, Which all combined, were coming down to summing Up for a good one for the gnomic Runes, Which mark their hearts and mind with calendars, Of best and better of those gallant hours. Where the Columbian River flows and cuts, Gem Of the Mountains, Idaho’s Basalt Formations, their ambitious earth abuts; The light that had been strongly cast, a fault Would find for one thin ray, and then it puts Itself out; day’s revolving, too, must halt. Well-wearied travelers their speed did check, As might befit in darkest hours, one’s neck. Of all the things that haunt men with a passion, The blind discovery like of what was gemmed, Compares with that which later keeps its fashion— They sensed, that out of vastness, from there stemmed, The answer self-sufficient laying at Ashton For which they long, and flee from what condemned. They sought out sights and towns that they found rustic, On roadways leading to the russet dust, slick.

For now the cars could be seen in three miles In each direction, when their eyes were dry From lack of sleep where roads to one point files; And straight away the thoroughfare did ply One to reach the end; Auriga’s light brought smiles, Being behind, the light still did not die, But like they bore celestial wings, gave wind, So they could reach Snake River Plain, their Ind. With all these Rocky and Cascade Range Mountains, The din of suburb or the city stifles; What one could call a rat-race is all’s fountains, Give or take, gardens ripe with green and trifles; There is so much that paying eyes’ account wins, Especially what one sees changing by the eyefuls-- The patches grown, and the games over, women Who their expenses gained had as glum win.

They pared their hours with solid witticisms, Such as, that without water, by it new ones, In the form of shadows, water pipes find schisms And of the name take on just pipes; that show runs Not being trapped, to source the water’s prisms, And being caught, would percolate for due fun’s. To bathrooms, would these runs belong; digestion Is how it should end, any solid question.

But those who have the props fill up and clean, And ‘mong the qualities of bare things, it takes on A clean look when a thing of craft would lean, And glide there on as crafts on seas wake ‘pon, To show of Memory that they are Dean. Until the moment when rents come, the air makes gone A rosy hue, which all life girds, from sky To sea, and turmoil round with peace both dye. But beauty being one, a serum’s fast: Their food they found like Cream of Mushroom: Campbell’s; And flattened what had contents made to last. They found the curiosity that ambles, Which they saw as the countryside’s late past, And hoped the stray spark would not light up brambles, When off their touchstone they then ventured answer, That magic made Astolfo a good lancer. Beside the road they could imagine spears: Since strength was much in favor in a saddle Which gave a view and a good segue steers. Besides that was the rune’s puissance in battle, Which made with it, endured itself thro’ fears. These weapons thus inspire Perfection’s prattle, For which gleamed bronze-age gold, and now some truth: From Polydorus to Astolfo, myrtle’s ruth. Friendships that secret counsels lack are like, One’s instant bowl of noodles without heat, Or, chains that fall again off of one’s bike, Or, oranges that are not a seedless treat, Or, even worse, a starry student’s spike Who does not have the chops to be elite: The friends who keep each other at their word, Are like two wings of an ideal bird. At Vantage on, they talked of old loves, still hurt. They mentioned names that their hard memories tumbled, Such as Charissa who they knew a chill flirt, For whom the boys like bumble bees oft stumbled. This peaked when young, like time made Curtis Gilbert, Until suburban Exodus all humbled; Which they attempted now as in a race, To take the Void on as it took plan’s place. It happened when one least expected to, Which was the facet skies cut out for those, Large clearings that had lake reflections blue, And if one e’er came back the status quo’s, To Cherry Trees that gave Quad sections hue, The quad profuse with cherry blossom shows, If not these, then, a call for a visitor For leaving out the Grand Inquisitor.

Tsunamis pummeled Hamadōri’s Sendai When the Okhotsk plate slipped, in Fukushima— It was a cup of coffee grounds to blend dry. Pacific plates went under Iwo Jima— They went around what was the river bend high— And under the Vaughn Hubbard Bridge there gleamed a Nice spot where stopped Snake River’s affluent; Then, gone went particles with sediment. If wandering, one just needs to search life back, The point? Not the Republic, Plato’s love, I’ll save myself more wondering by a knack, It may have been the bee’s be-morse, where of The little dots they find their language’s track— Fourteen, for me has always been the grove Plus Ultra: things that God once put by stream All healed together, Raphael would dream.

What stopped our predecessors from their ruling, Must have been lack of speaking back to meter, I called upon the Fates, no-one am fooling, As from a mold, the die cast as repeater, Then always blessed by seven! ‘Tis a cruel thing, Thirteenth twin legions' lions! But O! how sweeter, ‘Tis that step over stream, that’s ne'er as neat, The Rubicon I crossed, with oaths to meet.

One stream doth separate the perfect, dusting Eternal gold, that sacred second seven! A chasm I would venture where it must sing, Aeolian harps that play, are here in heaven, How long will play our visions we are trusting? The scroll lights up and some power transferred—leaven, Since what makes these events occur is fourteen, Like Juno’s nurses, hiding what have more seen—

The thing most often missing in equation, May be the units, fourteen passed three-fifths, That's one percent of one percent's, but weighs in: Thirty-nine fiftieths by thousandths: myths That greenwood was, the coals to feet a basin. A hero sees the world by breadths and widths. Imagine, what we leave to actuaries, Being caught in their likelihoods, like faeries. Like those who heard foretold, the thirty sucklings, By backwards alpha and omega dubbed; As Saturn men gave sickles, and showed time luck brings, This New Age would have perfect crossbows flubbed, And all have wandered in the sea like ducklings, If not I with black bile spelled in, or rubbed— My luck began the same way it had ended, With just a spin-the-wheel, which just my friend did.

If Time was given Saturn’s name, and Light Named Janus, weep the Reaper, Flee the Source! More often not, Perfection will not fight With half as much this truth as its resource; But as Decay of the Omega’s quite A problem when, it seems the fire grows hoarse, More increase I am obligated muse, I’ll pay back Death two silver, Time its news. The Rower might as well be down the Charles’, At least from River Side, since that is far Away closed-off, a well that truth lets borrow this; The Rower’s coxswain is a self-same star, As all the seven; England lends to war, earls, ‘tis These apothegms like those not found to jar. The Rower a good coxswain was, for led It then the self-same spirit paths to tread. This Two-faced Janus served their Dionysus. They paths had crossed beneath the starry Cetus, By Touchet on the road, then Lowden’s crisis, Namely, the savages the French made weet fuss, A slaughterhouse, amid their guns’ devices; T’ was four days fighting, signed a treaty sheet was; These plains’ hills roll, pass by around French Corner, Grande Ronde had formed Blue Mountains which adorn her.

From the Snake River flowed Grande Ronde, to there, Where Mill Creek from the Willow Creek with Shaw creek, Formed many others, Summerville to share, And from these, Hacker Creek with Coon Creek, all meek In various forms: My Muse departs from air, And seems to use a logic that I seek; Frenchmen’s Springs Member flowed from Pendleton, And retched from earth, once ruined gentle din.

La Grande they passed, named by a Settler's mind, His name was Charles Dause; Like him, Payette, Fur-trappers were, and make towns sound refined, The front and end of their day's trail may fit, Around the tale of Baker City's find, The senator that found the mess, they hit. The boats were not enough to cross Potomac; He gave his life, for which the town's a throwback. They passed the ghost-town which had tuff from flows, The open spaces being found past hills, They went where tuff-stone quarries long repose. Volcanic rock which porous in Italian bills As tufo, which consolidated, froze, Its fineness prized, was reached by use of drills. At Weatherby, Express Ranch, between Lakes Paddock north, Lowell lower, housed some drakes. And here I take the course, themes to attend,— If stars hold what we call the storied fates, Then O’! My Muse her song her voice will bend, A lyric song that all depreciates, And still lives on, a token worn on end. To prove a point, I ‘liven rabbles’ prates; This next one they will say is a heart-breaker, The left hand Zeus holds thunder, the earth-quaker. If systems hold the processes for casts, The moral is not difficult to catch; Since fixtures in the skies eke out repasts, Still, man has in this age, no plan to hatch, But thinking opportunity still lasts For his best goals, and growing a new patch. I may say more and spin clichés retold, Where boldly gained are fortunes, hopes enfold. An octopus was secret nightmare, sealed— Sir Marinell had Ocean rear up gold, Whom shores of Cyclades had dropped a shield, Like Jove his dimmed escutcheon extolled, And by the prophecy no woman’s field Is, I was given it by all, and I foretold— There I had seen, in seven of their mix, One thing I called six hundred-sixty-six.

The rat-race and its fountains these were not; The valley pass beneath the town of Lost Blue Bucket held the tale of gold not sought, Then, Malheur from across He-Devil tossed. The hills as big as canyons here have got, Changed colors with the season, as with frost. The one regret some have when they are twenty, They finished college--Caldwell had their plenty. The foothills green, were dotted, Basin Big Sagebrush and Curleaf Mountain Mahogany, The foothills north of Boise, lit a sprig, Which they saw in the Sagebrush-covered lea. They raced their way through like the Topgear Stig, Inside their shared Landrover, had to be By Mountain Home when Rocky Bar was haunted, Then passing Cleft, the country curved as wanted.

The mountains being footing for a Hermes, Had snow untouched that nothing would remove, Until they showed his passing on their firm freeze, When snow-caps, bent, contained a watery groove. The foothills having snowmelt were one term, keys, And locked until the spring, which it made move. Once past a field of wheat, the path had taken Scene-hunting to where inclines needed break-in. The road’s Chalk Cut, they ham went through what’s Hammett, Glen’s Faery King Hight Hill-Bliss said, “Tuttle! A boon abounds abroad, big is its gamut. Reach for the Craters of the Moon by shuttle, Where there are dreams deferred there where they cram, bit By bit, the landscape with their dart-ends’ cuttle. The two accepted, filed ‘ere bad behavior, And Hagerman and Buhl passed by, depths wavier.

King Hill-Bliss’ remark they saw as artful: Since faeries feast on fresh-squeezed honey, famine Was felt by tiny peoples what by part, full Ravages so that they have less to cram in, Less honey milk on honey cakes’ dessert bowl, Which for a boon, these heroes sought the shaman, A shady friend who in his hut was suited Beyond Shoshone Falls, and not secluded. The Shaman lived in Murlaugh, on a strand. From Tuttle did the two then go to parley, The two had plans involving talks that spanned A windy plain of wild growth: groats from barley Owned by King Hill-Bliss, left by sprites of sand From Morpheus, were made to rot and gnarly. To fend off ergot, they learned fungicides Were not the answer, but to find fey guides. Scale insects they collected for their Faerie’s mana, Their sweet saps in glass jars secured, was filled, Once hands that grasped like hands to strip some fauna, Of course, a looser grip would bugs make chilled. Accretionary shapes smelled like banana, Plus like a mashed-up serving of it milled, When on the circular rim, sap fell clumped, All thanks to Sage advice, built up what’s dumped.

The honeydew filled up, like cotton white, And the scale insects seemed disturbed, and shaken; It may have been the sunlight’s cause, the light In ultraviolet spectrums that they bake-in, But Western Pines have shade, which anchored tight. From Tuttle then to Burley, pains to slaken, Just as the Murlaugh Seer said, wild food Was gathered off of trees where bugs had poo’d. The honeydew was to their tastes, a sweet. The faeries there restored what was of blight That made the rye fields like-smells secrete To cleanliness from honeydew-fed might, And, then, the sickly parts cast off the wheat Made fungi lesser seen, though once spread quite. Though question one might how the faeries, fed, Had this new problem from a source that spread? The fight had always raged, beneath our noses, When bees went home and hives retched up and built, ‘Twas with the stolen honey that one goes less For when the arbors closed their lives, ungilt. They had much better food, from nuts than roses, And being taught in magic, made pans tilt, Without them having ever left their verdure; But they were summoned by the sound of merger. The mason stamp was honey-bear-like contoured, And with a customary twist, and toss, Of which friends heard a clatter, it then sauntered Before it came down after rolling moss. So leaving food, they made like Limbert onward; It was enough, because as gloss, the sauce, To faeries seemed like stacks, and tribes as tall, And Burley was thus saved, and plumped were all. Cotterel was seen passed in distance: older And held up kettles, while Acequia held, Its tributaries, and with tears to shoulder Stood Minidoka, where its fountains swelled. Raft River taken, showed Snake River’s holder: American Falls Neeley guarded, belled By nearby Bannock ‘round the corner, bubbling Across of highway eighty six, guts doubling. A ship could have a crew with names the likes Of which the towns had: Chubbuck, Gibson, Blackfoot, And just because the way they saw it strikes Truer this way, the Indians in tracksuit, Wapello even here, past Gibson hikes Up to the shore of Firth, by Shelley’s jackboot. From Pocatello anabasis stretched, North, where in Ammon they passed plains far-fetched.

Aquila shines the Altair: Idaho Falls was where carriers shined like boyhood that Laomedeians raised to fame, did. Though Hebe was soon replaced, whose pants went splat, The Trojan Prince would goblets tend, that glow. The Mount Olympus destination that The golden eagle carried him to, twin- Peaked, seconds better, not like “lettuce-win”.

Now finally they came and found potatoes: In silos they like kernels reached the tops, And filled with earthy bodies at the Date’s close, Where they would be shipped off to all these stops, From Rexburg which a Morman’s name its fate owes. Fall River split off Henry's Fork, and drops At Ashton; land like Atargatis eastern. The two Three Tetons gave names which the beasts earn.

Three mountains, they were Ashur, Cadwalladr, And Maruduk, the Grand, South, and the Middle Tetons. The winged sun, battle leader sure, And Bull Calf. Instrumental to acquittal, The weapon Maruduk used in the war, Imhullu countered Tiamat’s sprayed spittle By wind of four, so arrows wind of seven Had decompressed, then Kingu caused skulls riven. Like Cetus are most sea-beasts. Take Poseidon, Who sent for sacrifice, Troyano’s fairest. Then Laomedon, Cetus quelling, tied on The cliff his daughter Hesion, when he darest, And kept his horses, not his word, when fight gone. For his last scion, Priam’s goods were rarest, Kept close in Polydorus’ hands thrusted, Until the greedy Thracians proved mistrusted. The Cliffs at Henry’s Lake not far from Ashton, Had springs by Naiads blessed, and trumpeter Swans there inhabited, the avian lashed in The arms of Leda, Queen of Sparta, her, For Zeus unlike Semele who he mashed-thin, Swan Valley tucked like Crete, a swan’s form pure, That not unlike Pleiades guided feeding, And so was Helen got by unplanned breeding. The rainbow trout caught there at mountain footsteps, Were pass-times even when the Milky Way Displayed its naval in the autumn, loot depths That only twenty feet hid by the bay, Which the Black Mountains showed in strokes by mute reps Of ripples at the borders’ interplay. The nation here went where, as if Great Plains Were like the edges of a world space drains. At Old Ranch Steakhouse were the patrons, Melson, Who was just shy of twenty, and his sage Father who was at graduation, belts in A suit and tie, asking why a steak would gauge Better cooked well-done, to the taste buds—melts in The mouth less if it is not kept off fire’s rage; The cooking not as important in the steak’s life, As blood and sauce that gleam around their lake’s knife. The diner’s wooden handrail mostly gleaming, Drew on new patrons under lanterns minds had, The waiters basked in screens, and kitchens steaming, The décor featured pioneers of kinds bad, The clattering in the kitchen that made more absent seeming, The hanging LED screens that new finds had, Of advertisements, opportunities, In flux, of mattress sales, or Moon trip’s fees. The polos on the waiters had full contrast: The intermittent light between shrubs, The age displayed, one a dimension fast, Where vehicles could make tremendous subs, Artificial intelligence unclassed. The question why we live, to have like Tubbs, The sight was clear, though far away, and hilly, And there were sales to make, by land made still free. For Papa had for just the traveler Three years before, bought him an old manual land Automobile, that from the grounds made gravel stir, With foot-wide tyres. With it had Melson planned For every place to host artistic blur, This owing to time which passes quickly, grand, As well as to traditional senses found, In taking stock poetically of ground. They paid the waiter, passed beneath the corn sheaves, Which covered door jambs, before they departed, From one another, so this had left the torn sleeves Of Modern Liberty of limbs full-hearted, The light it bore which being smoothly as morn leaves, Which made the niche bear out perfection charted; For youth was wasted if you never grew up, And Melson thought he must, for plans he drew up.

The Heritage High roof, a spacious car, Reliable though at the cost ‘tis said, That owners of this car date less by far; Was for cross-country travel, which time bred Exclusively for trips shown popular By travel agents that hid in the head, Of artists and survivalists, as one, Must suffer for their art: times pleasure shun. Art was a job collectivizing surveys, And like the minnow on a crocodile Had made the task of cleaning points, but verve pays To the fresh-forming bubble: where folks stayed a while, Not for too long, since the attractions serve days, Their share of their due fun, paid back each mile That had required their time, first sights ignored: Like when bald eagles knew from eyes that soared.

So Nature needs a spirit to take Notice. If things are seen apart, they take disguises, So are like newer revelation made to focus, So are the sites attracting crowds whose sizes, Are thinner like Odysseus’ fed Lotus- Who back home sent were, but new Trojan prizes, Were left a means of a recovery Pushed for when Melson sought discovery.

Since art is like an inspiration solid, Not being abstract, it refit its owner, Though more than complimentary, all Id, Especially these days the algorithms’ tones, sure, Make simple pages less like where a shawl slid, Less like where sunlight on floors were plants’ honer, Than an artistic muse, like landscape blogging Which was, in general, the calling for his hogging.

#pacific northwest #short poem #poems on tumblr #ottava rima #contemporarypoetrytradition

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67midnightwriter · 6 years ago

Text

Bleeding Out

A/N: This is my Demon!Dean fic for @darkspnimagines challenge!

WC: 2667

Demon!Dean, Reader, Sam, Cas

Summary: Demon!Dean is very curious, and he needs Y/N to help him study.

Warnings: THIS IS A DARK FIC. Graphic descriptions, torture, gore, blood, intestines, death of character

Thirsty.

The thought slammed Y/N into consciousness, harshly ripping her from the oblivion of sleep. Her tongue was heavy and dry in her mouth, her head throbbing in time with the beat of her heart. Through closed lids she could tell the room was lit, albeit dimly. She pictured a mid morning sun streaming through ratty motel curtains rather than her blissfully dark bedroom in the bunker; living underground did have its perks.

With a protesting groan she realized her thirst wasn’t going to allow her to fall back asleep, thus forcing her to face the consequences of last night’s whiskey induced decisions. She moved to run her hand down her face but was stopped short, the chime of metal against metal jolting her eyes open.

Y/N tried to keep her panic at bay as her brain struggled to take in her surroundings. Both of her hands were chained to the bed, as were her feet. She was still wearing the plaid dress from the night before, and she was draped with a thin blanket. She was in a cinderblock room with no windows, the dim light was coming from a single fluorescent tube on the ceiling. The room seemed like something out of a Saw movie, and the realization dawned on her that she was in an abandoned surgery suite, chained to an operation table.

“Good morning sunshine.” His voice drew her attention to the wall by the foot of the bed. She couldn’t see him well, but she would know that deep timbre anywhere.

“Dean?” Her voice was raspy, and it wavered from disbelief.

“The one and only.” He stepped into the light so she could see him more clearly, a grin spreading across his face that didn’t quite reach his cold green eyes.

“But you’re-“

“Dead? Nah. It didn’t stick.”

“Help me, Dean.” She shook her wrist, rattling the chains against the bed. “I need to get out of here.”

“Why would I do that? I’m the one that put you there.”

“What? Why? Come on Dean let me go.”

“I don’t think so Sweetheart. You see, I need your help. Do you remember what Sam did to me while he was soulless?”

“Are you talking about when he turned you into a vampire?”

“Exactly! See, I knew I wasn’t the only one who remembered. I need you to help me further his research.” Dean leaned in forward, his grin deepening. He reached out, using his thumb to lift Y/N’s lip. “Stage one seems to be a success.” He pressed against her gums, causing razor sharp fangs to push through her gums, dragging a pained scream from her throat. Panic turned the blood in her veins to ice as she struggled to wrap her mind around the fact that she was now one of the monsters they hunted. “Now the fun part begins.” Dean turned and walked toward the door.

“Dean, that wasn’t Sam. He was soulless.”

Dean stopped, one hand on the handle, and let out a laugh that sent chills down Y/N’s spine. When he turned to look at her again, his green eyes had been replaced with onyx.

“Can’t say demon’s have much of a soul either.”

With a flick of the lightswitch he left, leaving Y/N alone in the dark.

Thirsty

It was impossible to keep track of passing time in the darkness. In her panicked state Y/N couldn’t tell if seconds were passing, or hours. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to calm herself, and she noticed that she could hear the scratch of rats in the walls as if they were running back and forth next to her head. As she focused on each of her other senses, she noted that they they too were enhanced. She could smell the mildew in the ceiling, see the outlines of the cinder blocks on the wall to her left, some twenty feet away. If she focused long enough, she could count them.

Her brain wondered what things would taste like. She was so thirsty it was becoming hard to focus on anything else. She had seen blood many times, felt it wash over her skin, blood of an enemy, blood of a friend. She had felt it on her hands, hot and thick. She daydreamed about it now, wondering if it tasted as metallic as it smelled.

She swallowed hard and jumped as Dean bust back through the door. He had changed clothes, and now he carried an old duffle bag over his shoulder. He let the bag fall to the floor next to the bed, and he sat down a chair that was out of Y/N’s line of sight.

“So, how was the first night?” Dean rolled up his sleeves as he spoke, the Mark a stark contrast against his skin.

“Your sense of hospitality sucks.”

“This ain’t no Super 8 Sweetheart.” Dean leaned down and she could hear the metal inside the bag clinking. “Here we go.” Dean held up a scalpel, testing it on the edge of his thumb before turning his attention back to her.

“What are you going to do?”

“I told you yesterday, we’re going to have some fun.”

Dean took the scalpel and ran it down the length of Y/N’s shirt, effectively cutting the buttons off. He pushed it open, revealing the soft expanse of her abdomen. He admired her skin as he always had, drinking in the milky expanse before him the same way a painter regards a blank canvas. He could sense her trembling, and it helped to ease the burn from the Mark on his arm. He bent down and pulled out a notebook and a pen, placing them on the bedside table before regarding Y/N once more.

“Now, I’m going to need you to tell me if this hurts.”

Dean pressed the cool silver against the skin on her chest, drawing the blade down and leaving a bright red line in its wake. A single drop of blood spilled out, rolling down the right side of her chest. Dean watched, mezmorized, as the wound began to heal itself. His eyes glazing over with curiosity, he began to mark her with abandon, forgetting or not caring that she could still feel everything.

Her throat was raw from screaming and impossibly dry by the time Dean was finished. He kept cutting until her skin had been a patchwork of ivory and red, the lines left by running blood criss-crossing the deeper tracks of the scalpel. He watched as they healed in order of depth and age, each one slower than the last.

The last cut to heal was the deepest, and Y/N could feel it seeping down her abdomen, drop after drop of blood, as if her very soul was weeping. Dean reached out a tentative hand, gently touching the edges of the wound as if he was a surgeon preparing it for stitches. Dean stood up, leaning over until his face was inches from her wound. She could feel his hot breath against her skin, and she closed her eyes against the overwhelming mix of sensations. She jumped as his tongue flicked out, hot and wet as he licked blood off of the cut.

Y/N’s resolve broke, and tears slipped out of the corner of her eyes as she whimpered. She could feel the wound slowly stitching itself back together, her skin struggling to repair itself with no nourishment in her system. The thirst grew with every cut, until the word began to pulsate in her mind as she tried to collect herself while she listened to the scratch of Dean’s pen against his notebook.

The sharp ring of his cellphone made her jump, and when she opened her eyes she saw that Dean’s were black again, and he had a bit of blood smeared on his chin. Her blood. She looked down to see that the cut had finally healed, but her body littered with drying blood trails and fresh white scars. Dean hung up the phone and his eyes trailed down her form once more, grinning at the sight before him. He dug around in the bag once more, before placing a small glass vile on the bedside table, just out of her reach.

“Is that?” Y/N’s voice cracked as she tried to talk, and the sentenced died out before she could fully process what she had been trying to say.

“Blood? Yep, from the same vamp that was generous enough to give me the donation in order to turn you. I thought we would just keep it in here until I’m ready to turn you back. Now if you don’t mind, it seems as though I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Dean wait!” Dean paused by the door and turned towards Y/N, impatience blanketing his features. “How did you do it? How did you turn me?”

“I just put it in your whiskey.” He shrugged and slipped out the door.

Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty

The only thought that Y/N could focus on was the impending need to drink. Her throat felt hot and dry, making even breathing painful. Her lips were chapped to the point of cracking, and her tongue felt as though it didn’t fit inside her mouth. She had counted the bricks in the wall 98 times, slept for an immeasurable amount of time, and began to count the tiles in the ceiling above her when Dean walked in again. He had changed his outfit again, so Y/N knew at least one day had passed.

Dean worked hurriedly, pulling a syringe from his pocket and holding it up in the light, making sure the pre-measured amount was correct.

“Sorry, Sweetheart, no time for pleasantries today, I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry, and this is a very important test.” Before Y/N could comment, the needle sunk beneath the skin on her neck, and she fell into a sleep she couldn’t fight.

Thirsty

The first thing that broke through her groggy state was the sound. It was wet, it was dripping, it was squirming. Y/N struggled to open her eyes as she searched for the source of the sound. The effects of the sedative were quickly forgotten as she realized what she was looking at. There, to her left, were her intestines carefully hung on a rack where they squirmed of their own accord. She froze, her mind unable to process what was happening as she was hit by the smell. It was heavy and coppery, assaulting her nose and making her mouth water. She watched as blood dripped down into a bucket on the floor.

She felt weak. Her head was spinning and the edges of her vision were black, but she couldn’t look away. She tried to lift her hand to reach for them, to touch them, but the chains were too heavy. Her skin was pale, and her hands were trembling. She could feel her heart struggling to beat as her body worked in overdrive to heal her, despite the fact that she still hadn’t eaten since she’d been turned. She turned to look at Dean, who was watching over her with his midnight eyes, his pencil scratching furiously over the notebook in his hand. She tried to speak again, but the black on the edges of her vision took over before she had the chance.

THIRSTY

The squeak woke her. Y/N lay completely still as she tried to figure out the rat’s location in the room. She heard it’s tiny feet crawling on the metal bedside table. Instinct took over. She was patient while the rat neared her, until it made the mistake of crawling over her hand. She immediately began to squeeze. The rat screamed. She squeezed harder. She could feel its heart beating in the palm of her hand. She squeezed more. She could hear the blood as it traveled through the rat’s veins. She squeezed until she felt its bones snap in her hand. She heard it’s last breath leave its lungs as she held its warm body in her hand.

The fangs poking through her gums brought tears to her eyes. She snarled, snapping her fangs in its direction, but she couldn’t get to her kill. She attempted to roll it up her shoulder, but it slid off the side of her arm and fell with a thud to the floor.

Y/N cried, her mental resolve broken. She let go, letting the primal part of her brain take over. There was only one thought left.

THIRSTY

Sam pulled up outside the abandoned hospital. Crowley had let him know where to find Y/N, and that she was more than likely a vampire. A knot of fear grew in his stomach as he and Cas climbed the stairs, searching room after room. She had been gone nearly two weeks. What were the odds that she could still be cured? That she would even still be alive? Touching his machete, Sam wasn’t sure which scenario he preferred.

They finally found her on the fifth floor, tucked away in an operating room. She was alive, but barely. Her skin was ashen, her cheeks sunken in and her abdomen was covered in dried blood, white scars, and a gash that was hastily stitched together. She snapped at them when they wandered close, a growl leaving her throat as she bared her fangs at them. Her eyes were wild, unfocused. Sam noticed the glass vial behind her, filled with blood.

“Cas, get the other ingredients ready.” Sam moved around her so he could grab the bottle, praying to Chuck that it was filled with her maker’s blood.

“Sam, I don’t think that turning her back would be such a good idea…” Castiel studied Y/N, but he knew that even though she hadn’t eaten anything, that was also an issue.

“What other options do we have Cas? I’m not going to leave her here and pretend we never found her.” Castiel laid his hand gently on his friend’s arm.

“Sometimes you have to let go of the things you love. Maybe it’s her time Sam.

“No. We’re going to save her, or die trying.”

Castiel sighed, but helped Sam prepare the potion. It took both of them, but they finally managed to get it in her mouth.

Y/N began to dry heave. She gagged on nothing, her throat closing in on itself. Her skin shrank back, as two weeks of no food quickly caught up with her. She screamed in agony between choking on air, her eyes slowly sinking into her skull. The color drained out of Sam’s face as he watched her deteriorate, and it became unmistakably clear that she was suffering.

With a heavy heart Sam turned to Cas, his eyes pleading for Cas to make it stop. Castiel nodded, knowing that Sam had made the decision. Cas reached out, pressing his hand against a forehead that he had kissed many times, saying goodbye to one of the few people who had always stood with the Winchesters, whether they were right or not, and Cas could respect that. He made it quick, finally bringing Y/N the peace she wanted.

Dean walked up beside Cas, his head drowning in guilt as he watched the pyre burn. Tears stung his eyes as he replayed the memories, her screams haunted his days, her begging eyes haunted his nights. He did this to her. She was here, on this pyre, because of him, because of the Mark, because of his lack of soul. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Cas.” Dean reached out and grabbed the angel by the shoulder. “Please make me forget. I … I can’t …”

Cas searched Dean’s face, heartbroken over his friend’s pain. He might not have been able to help Sam save Y/N, but he could still help Dean. Wordlessly, he pressed two fingers against Dean’s forehead.

#demon dean #supernatural fanfiction #dark fic #angst #violence #gore #abuse #death

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fandom-trash-xl · 6 years ago

Text

One-Shot: Behind Glass

Timeline Placement: Age 774 (5 Years Prior to Tournament of Destroyers)

OCs:

Lord Shiver- Frost's father; Blue-gray King Cold-style Second Form

Realis- Frost's mother; Light gray True Form with cyan biogems

The absence of rushing rain against his skin felt uneasy, but Hit had learned to adapt to it. Most of his assassination missions were fairly close by on his home planet, Daitoshi, a massive metropolis where crime always lurked and rain always poured. However, there was the occasional assignment he had to take off-planet.

His latest task was a particularly large one. He had been assigned with assassinating an Arcosian crime lord, Shiver. This man surprisingly didn't make his business on the galaxy's crime capital planet, but stayed on his species's native planet of Arcos.

Hit was thankful for his stealth abilities because, on a planet inhabited by obscure species such as Arcosians, a man such as himself would stand out like a wolf in a sheep pen, especially with the tails. He could only rely on using his Time Skip to slip by for so long. This invisibility did not last as long as he had hoped.

However, he did manage to make his way to Shiver's estate. It seemed to be in a more secluded region of the planet, blockaded by trees and enamored in shadow. It seemed like a hostile environment- ideal for a target to make his home.

The room was near silent, the only sound being the occasional chatter amidst a few females of the race. He hoped to not draw any attention to himself. Not only would they possibly blow his cover, but he had the feeling they were the type of women that would pounce on him the first chance they got... considering the amount Shiver had.

Keeping his head down, he entered Shiver's meeting chambers. It was darker than the rest of the estate, but, through this darkness, he managed to make out a large throne, but no sign of the Arcosian who sat in it. It was unusual. This location seemed like the most plausible place for him to be, so he kept on his guard anyway.

After sometime of searching around, he suddenly heard echoing footsteps. They didn't seem all too loud and thundering for a man of Shiver's size, but he still sensed an imminent threat. He turned in different directions in a fighting stance. The women stopped their chatter to whisper amongst themselves. A shadow loomed on the wall. Indeed, a horned Arcosian with what appeared to be a cigarette in his mouth. No doubt that this was his target. Yet, he saw no physical being. He continued to be on his guard until a voice spoke.

"What are you doing here?"

He looked around for any source of the voice. There was no one there. Then, where did the voice come from-

"Down here, punk!"

Hit looked down to find a much smaller Arcosian. He only came up to slightly above his kneecaps. Despite his size, he had some maturity to his voice, so Hit figured he was thirteen at the oldest. He wore similar body armor to Shiver and had the same black cape, but his scales and biogems were brighter blues and his horns pointed in diagonals rather than Shiver's hook-shaped ones. The youth had a cigarette dangling from his mouth that gave off no smoke and looked more like a stick of school chalk on further inspection.

"Lord... Shiver?" Hit looked in confusion.

The Arcosian youth simply laughed. "Do I really look like my father that much? How ridiculous..."

"Then, you are...?"

He stepped off towards Shiver's throne and struggled to climb into it, eventually flopping down onto the seat. "Frost. Shiver's son. Hell do you want?"

"I'm here to-" Hit stopped. Frost would most likely report back to his father if he revealed the true reason. "Meet with your father."

"Nice try, bud. No seeing Father without an appointment, no appointments while Father is out." He adjusted the chalk-like stick in his mouth. "Besides, you don't look like any of his usual clientele. Who are you anyway, punk?"

"No one." Hit answered straightforwardly. His name would blow his cover for sure.

"Give me a break." Frost rolled his cherry red eyes. "Everyone's someone, bud, even edgy punks like you. I'm not some dumb kid that, when you cover your eyes with your hands, I'll think you've up and disappeared. Now, if you would be so kind," He flashed his wrist, a metallic needle unsheathing itself. "Please vacate the premises, before I make you into my new cape rack!"

The assassin's eyes widened at the weapon this seemingly innocent youth wielded. "T-that's a--"

"Keen eye of yours, punk. It is indeed a venomous wrist-bound stinger. Just got them put in last week. Would you like to have the first taste~?" Frost taunted devilishly.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it is against my moral code to harm an innocent."

The young Arcosian simply scoffed. "Heh. What a pus--"

"And, I was also wondering why your parents are okay with a child of your age wielding such a weapon?"

"Eh, it's less like being allowed and more like them not knowing. Not like an old punk like you would understand."

"Yet they let you have that cigar?"

"Oh, this thing? It's just some fake chalky candy..." He removed the candy cigarette, which had the other end bitten off. He gave a slight blow on it as if it were a real one, spreading chalky candy dust into the air. "I'd be skinned alive if I touched any of Father's stuff." As he continued to ramble, he turned back to Hit. "Wait a second... I see what you're trying to do. Stop wasting time, you sneaky punk, unless you don't want to see the sun again."

"Understood. I'll return at a later time then."

For the rest of the day, Hit stayed secluded in his ship. His client hadn't set a definite time limit for his assignment, so he had time to kill, but he hoped he could return home soon.

He learned earlier in the day that Shiver was a father to a son, so it was likely he wouldn't be out of the house the whole day. Hit twitched at the thought that one of the crime lord's whores was probably the young boy's mother. But, he set this thought aside and decided it would be best to go after Shiver now that it was evening.

Hit returned to the darkened estate in search of his target. As he neared the entrance, he noticed a head peeping out the window and stopped dead in his tracks.

The boy was still awake. If he was seen, he'd probably be ratted out.

After analyzing an angle of approach, a voice was heard in the house.

"Frost? You still awake?" The voice was feminine. Frost sighed in response, spit out his cigarette candy, and closed the window.

"Yes, mother... I'd better get to sleep so I'll be wide awake for my big day of nothing!" The sarcastic retort could be somewhat heard through the window.

"Oh, I know it's tough, my little icicle, but it's what your father thinks is best for you. If they see you out there, they're going to find out who your father is through process of elimination and you're going to get yourself into trouble. We don't want that, especially considering you'll be a brother soon."

"Oh, and how are they going to live? They're going to sit all day in the hellhole too?" A hard flicking sound was heard. "Ow!"

"Frost, listen to me here. One, cut the language. Two, you need to keep a positive attitude through this. Please, please understand. You need to-"

Hit suddenly shifted, which, surprisingly, attracted the female voice's attention. Did this woman have eagle eyes? "There's someone outside. Get down now, don't let them see you." The assassin lurched, retreating to the darkness to observe.

An Arcosian woman soon exited the building. She didn't look like any of Shiver's hookers- the man must have isolated her. She was light gray and hornless. The gems on her body were the colors of the sky. Small diamond-like jewels of this color were beneath her eyes. She wore a dark hooded gown and a gold and amethyst necklace on a pearl chain. As Hit had heard through the prior conversations, she was a mere few months pregnant, early enough that it was hardly noticeable.

"I know you're out here..." The female snarled, looking back and forth. "I'm not crazy."

Normally, Hit would keep his presence disclosed from everyone except his target. But, seeing this woman losing her mind over this... He stepped out into the open.

"I see... Nothing hides from women like you..."

The Arcosian woman stopped in her tracks. "I-I know know you are... Damn well... You're that legendary assassin I've heard about. Never-Miss Hit was it?"

"You'd be correct."

"I know why you're here... You're here to kill him... Kill my dear Shiver. Uproot our family..." She fumbled at something shiny and silver at her belt.

"Well..."

The woman finally retrieved the item from her belt and flicked open the blade. She now held a well-sharpened knife, pointed at the assassin. "You're not going to get to him... or my son either! I won't let you destroy the family I've worked hard to build... You aren't going anywhere, assassin, and I can assure you why Shiver chose me." Her tail lashed against the ground, before she quickly pounced forward. "KYAAA~!!!"

She made savage jabs at Hit, causing him to promptly dodge using his Time Skip, much to the woman’s fury. “Stop. Dodging. You. Bastard.” She grunted through swings. “Just let me hang you up by your entrails already!”

Damn, this woman is terrifyingly passionate, Hit thought to himself. Despite all of his physical training, the Arcosian was starting to wear him out. He needed to fight back somehow, as his constant Time Skips were starting to sap his energy. Continuing his dodging pattern, he not only fought with an raging reptilian, but his conscience as well.

It was against his moral code to harm an innocent, this woman was just being protective of her husband and son.

But another part of his mind told him that she had no innocence to her name and was a legal target...

That was when Hit winced and took a chance. His eyes were closed tight as he made his strike, hoping he could hold back enough... As time resumed, he breathed heavily and opened his eyes to see...

The woman, hunched over, her knife dropped, and her hand clutching her chest. “You... Bastard...” She wheezed. “Shiver... Won’t let you... Get...” As she finally collapsed, her hand moved from her chest, revealing the heart’s inward compression.

“N-no...” Hit stuttered as he realized. “I-I didn’t... intend to... Please don’t tell me anyone saw...”

A sudden bright red beam shot down from above. He looked up to find Frost standing on the edge by the now broken bedroom window. The youth growled. “How dare you, you cold-hearted murderous SNAKE!” A flurry of more crimson beams rained from the Arcosian’s fingertip. Hit used his Time Skip to dodge the barrage, which only caused Frost to leap down from the windowsill to chase after him. “I’ll turn your body into a footstool and paint it crimson with your blood!” He flicked at the shiny stinger in his wrist, sending the poison dart flying towards Hit, who once again Time Skipped out of harm. He hid against a shadow-covered wall, still in earshot to hear the boy screaming bloody murder.

“Hide if you will, you unforgiving piece of sh-t! My father will hear about this and there will be no escape for you then!”

On that note, Hit chose to make his escape.

“I’m sure you know that Lord Shiver fled from Arcos yesterday. Alive.” The Arcosian client’s tail flicked uneasily as he faced the assassin in the dimly lit office.

“I am well aware, sir. I understand you’re-”

“And you’re just going to let him get away? You of all people?” The lizard’s eyes narrowed.

Hit sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m afraid so... I'd like to remind you that I am still mortal. I’m running on limited business hours because I’m dealing with a lot of mental-”

“So, you’re going to let him run rampant through the galaxy? Just because the so-called tough assassin can’t deal with a little stress on his platter? I think this is just because you think you’re not strong enough-”

Hit rose from his seat. He slammed one hand on the table and grabbed the Arcosian client by his shirt collar. “You may want to remind yourself who you’re talking to.” The client gulped and started to sweat, fearing death, just as the assassin set him down. “I’m afraid my office hours are over. I don’t charge for an incomplete job, so I’ll cancel your transaction.” He crossed out a printed line on the document on his desk with a black ink pen. “Come back in... about a few weeks or so, if it still bothers you.”

He drew the blinds closed and headed towards the door to return to his city apartment on Daitoshi.

Hit kept his living establishment simple, despite his wealth from assassination tasks. As a result, he wasn’t disappointed over a loss of a client’s payment.

But, money was the least of his worries at the time. Ever since he had returned from his mission on Arcos, a thought had been buzzing in his mind. A haunting thought and a stinging feeling of guilt.

He was the reason an innocent woman, an innocent mother of soon to be two... was dead.

He didn’t want to kill her. He just wanted to prove to her that he was not to be taken lightly, but the expression of his power defaulted to a killing blow.

The thought of accidentally killing an innocent woman was enough to unnerve him, but the other repercussions made the situation more difficult to process. The young boy he met the morning of, Frost... he was now without a mother, he lost the prospect of hope in his distraught life that came with a younger sibling... Hit’s actions were probably the reason why Shiver left the planet, uprooting what remained of the family, leaving the boy to live with a scumbag father...

He sighed as he set his boots down by the door. As he approached his bedroom, he unpinned his coattails and removed his elbow and knee guards. He needed to clear his head.

Due to the constant rainstorms on Daitoshi, it was near impossible to tell the time of day from the sky. Watches and other similar technology were the only way to tell. Pushing back his shirt cuff, Hit checked the time on his digital watch. It was only now approaching twelve o’clock noon. Hit grumbled, as he detached the watch from his wrist and tossed it over to a bedside table. “It doesn’t matter...” He slumped onto his bed, still in his usual uniform, and tried to put his mind at ease.

Lord Shiver, crime boss of the planet Arcos, had set into space to expand his reach on the galaxy. After the death of his wife, Realis, and his son reporting a strange purple man in a trench coat behind it all, he felt that he would be hunted down more easily if he stayed in one location. So, he loaded up a shuttle, took Frost, and departed into the cosmos. The blue-gray Arcosian smiled at the sight of all the uncharted planets that speckled the galaxy, a much more divine view than what could ever be seen on Arcos... If only his son had bothered to admire the view on the bridge with him.

Frost had been cooped up in his quarters ever since they had taken off, only leaving its comforts for small meals, which he ate in silence. As a father, it concerned him. Sure, he didn’t spend as much time as he had wished to with his only son, but, since Realis was no longer around for the boy... He felt more of a responsibility for him.

Shiver activated the panel to his son’s quarters, causing the door to slide open. He found Frost on the bed, flopped over face down. He could hear faint and muffled mumbling, interrupted by the occasional *hic* from a catch in the boy’s throat. Dangling from his hand was his mother’s pearl-chained necklace: one of the few remnants of her left. Frost had been insistent on taking it with him.

“Um... Hey... Frost?” He tried to grab his son’s attention, only to receive an irritated tail flick in response. “Kiddo...?” The tail angrily flicked yet again, nearly lashing him like a whip. This time, it was accompanied by an unenthused growl. Despite his clear refusal to cooperate, Shiver still made an attempt. “My little icicle?” He attempted.

He finally got a response, muffled from the pillow. “Only Mother is allowed to call me that. Shut up and leave me alone!” Frost increased his grip on the necklace.

Shiver sighed. “Frost, get up, please.” He squeezed the younger Arcosian’s tail, causing him to jolt upward. He dropped his mother’s necklace and frantically retrieved it from the ground, clutching it harder. The damp and sticky remnants of tears were on his face.

“The hell do you want, Father?” Frost snarled.

“I-I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m. Fine.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Now, go away!”

“Frost, you’re not okay. I can tell. You’ve been isolated in here crying since we first boarded.”

“I wasn’t cry-” Frost was interrupted by a few fresh tears streaming down his face. He rubbed them away. “This proves nothing.”

Shiver simply laughed. “Sure... Even if it was, that’s still not going to change what I wanted to tell you that’ll probably put you in a better mood.”

“Hmm?”

“How would you feel about finally be unconfined, my boy?”

“What?!” Frost was astonished and nearly fell off the bed.

“Yes, you heard me right. No one knows me out here, so no one will know you. You can be your own person, mold yourself into your own person. You’re free to roam this galaxy, Frost.”

The Arcosian started to shed tears again, not out of grief this time, but out of happiness. “W-why would I pass this up?”

“Excellent.” Shiver smiled. “All according to my ideal vision...”

“Wait, what did you just say?”

The older Arcosian started to sweat a bit. “Umm, nothing, kid.”

5 Years Later, Age 779

Participating in a martial arts tournament brought on by the God of Destruction’s hissy fit with his brother wasn’t Hit’s ideal thought of how to spend the day, but he came to claim a prize. The angel, Vados, had promised him a hexahedron in exchange for the team’s success and such equipment was essential for more efficient work in the future.

In preparation, knowing that killing was a foul, the assassin had worked on his personal skillset. He focused on strength, and holding back enough to avoid further... incidents.

He stood gazing between the pillars of Champa’s foyer, where three other warriors were gathered along with him. One of them was a rather pudgy and rubbery yellow bear and another seemed to be of the Metal Man race. Only one was rather humanoid in physique. He wore a blue and gold uniform and had spiked black hair. He was stretching his legs, most likely as a last minute exercise. Hit still wondered about the scene. Didn’t Champa say there would be five warrior representatives?

“Hey... sir?” A voice asked Hit. He snapped back to reality. “Are you alright? You seemed to spacing out.” The assassin turned around to see the spiky-haired boy, who had finished his warmups.

“I’m fine, kid. It seems we’re waiting on our fifth-”

“Wait a second, would you happen to be the legendary assassin, Hit?” The boy inquired.

“Correct.”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. I’ve always looked up to people like you.”

Hit shuddered in surprise. Was this kid serious? “Um, it’s... nice to have fans?”

“Yeah, I’ve always been fond of vigilantes such as yourself. That’s kind of want inspired me to join the Sadalan Saiyan Defense Force. I’m a long time member.”

The assassin sighed in relief. That was why. “Anyways, have you heard anything on the status of the team’s fifth member?”

“I’m not all too sure myself. He should be here, he wouldn’t miss out on an event like this. In fact, he was the one who recommended me to Lord Champa to be invited to fight.”

“Perhaps something’s holding him up.”

As the Saiyan boy prepared to speak again, a feminine voice called out, alerting the God of Destruction. “Lord Champa, your fifth warrior is here!”

“Bring him in, Vados!”

“See?” Hit shrugged. “No reason to worry--” He cut himself off when he saw the member that the angel had led in.

He was a reptilian-like creature, most likely an Arcosian. He had a blue palette and had two diagonally pointing horns. He donned light gray bio-armor and seemed all too familiar to Hit.

“What took you so long?” Champa grumbled in a snarky tone.

The Arcosian bowed lightly. “Forgive my tardiness, Lord Champa.” There seemed a mature accent in his voice, but it still sounded youthful. “I’m usually more punctual. Press meetings ran a bit long.” As he stepped into the foyer with the other warriors, Hit continued to ponder the participant’s identity. The colors, the voice, the horns... He just couldn’t place the name.

That was until the Arcosian and the Saiyan boy began to converse. “I see Lord Champa took my advice and acquired an elite like you for this tournament team, Cabba.”

“And it’s a pleasure to see you again, too, Mister Frost!”

That last word that Cabba spoke echoed in Hit’s mind. Why was that name so familiar...? Suddenly, memories of five years prior came flashing back to him.

“Frost. Shiver’s son. Hell do you want?”

It was... that boy. The Arcosian boy, the one whose mother he had killed by mistake. He hoped that Frost didn’t notice him. He couldn’t bear to remind himself and he didn’t want to remove the ease in the atmosphere by being called out as a murderous snake in front of everyone. Hit averted his gaze, so as not to lock eyes.

As Cabba and Frost continued to speak with each other, the assassin couldn’t help but notice the Arcosian’s eyes peering over at him, promptly widening in surprise (and probably panic as well), then diverting his attention back to the Saiyan. He seemed uneasy and Hit understood why he would be.

This near-silence was interrupted by Champa calling out to the group of five warriors. “Okay, listen up, you five.” All of them stood in an orderly formation at the sound of the deity's voice. “You are all gathered here to fight in a one-on-one tournament against some losers from Universe 7.” Champa spoke of the twin universe as it were the plague. “So, as not to lose to my brother, you’ll need to put in your best effort.” He directed to his angel. "Show 'em, Vados."

"Yes, my lord." Vados projected a hologram of a large pile of gold coins, jewels, and other assorted treasures. "As a reward for winning the tournament, you will each be provided with a portion of the treasure Lord Champa has provided. The total value of--"

Hit stopped paying attention at this point. Finances were none of his concern, as he only needed the promised transport vessel. But, he also averted his attention to note Frost, who was gawking at the prize pile. He was muttering some numbers, mostly likely performing mental calculations. The assassin felt a brushing at his kneecap. He looked down to note the source. Frost's tail was swishing so fast that it was practically wagging.

He resumed his focus when Champa began to speak and the Arcosian's tail stopped moving aimlessly. Frost noticed Hit behind him and started to shift away.

"As you can see, I've collected more than enough incentive for you to give your all. If the five of you win this contest for me, you can take all you want." The God of Destruction turned back to the warriors with a glare. "Don't even ask what happens if you lose."

"We'd best be off to the arena." Vados advised. "It counts to be on time."

Despite the hexahedron's seemingly large size, it was rather compact, probably due to the two large team members. However, minus the massive competitors, it would be ideal for Hit to travel in alone.

As Hit analyzed the space around, Frost was shooting him hesitant glances. When the assassin's eyes met his, he turned his head away.

"I'm sorry, can I help you?"

The Arcosian shivered and turned towards the assassin. "Oh sorry, didn't see you there. You must be Hit, the legendary assassin." He held out his hand. "It's a... pleasure..." His voice wavered, probably due to nerves.

Hit took the hand anyway. “And you must be Frost?”

“Oh, you remembered-” He cut himself off. “I-I mean, uh, lucky guess...”

Hit was confused by Frost’s behavior. Sure it had been five years, but he seemed more mature and well-composed. Yet, he also appeared to be faking confidence.

“Us vigilantes have to stick together you know... And I know how hard it must be. Some of those targets of yours must mean a lot to some people...”

“Uhh, yeah...” Hit understood Frost’s subtle implications... and it made him feel unnerved.

“Well, it’s nice to have people like you sacrificing their time for such a cause.”

As Frost released, Hit couldn’t help but notice the subtle middle finger at his side.

But, the assassin chose to set it aside, as they were approaching the planet with no name.

#dragon ball super #one shot #lore #Frost #Hit #(Please note my previous post about my new shipping opinion regarding age gaps)

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nellynee · 6 years ago

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Three Caballeros headcanons

classic, very gay edition

The timeline for Saludos Amigos is unclear, but it’s canon that Donald is a recognizable celebrity at this time. That being said, I put this at Donald vacationing on his first bit of real leave from the navy. His celebrity status being very new and small in the states but much larger outside of it.

In terms of say, Ducktales, this puts his Navel career as a source of pride, Acting and performance as a passion he pursues, and the everyday jobs he tends to loose due to luck his actual income after the Navy.

Early timeline inspired by the small design changes in Jose between the two movies, making him a juvenile of his species at the time. Approximately their early twenties.

White feathered Panchito. Twin? Tan? Or brighter juvenile feathers?

Jose will protest all day that he isn’t actually a scam artist. He simply aids tourists in finding the most entertaining of distractions and they willingly gift him in compensation. Sometimes they’re passed out when it happens.

Jose and Donald actually met as a mix of the movie and the comic. Jose was planning on making Donald his next target, but after realizing it was the REAL Donald Duck, quickly changes his mind... or rather, goes out of his way to make sure Donald has good memories at least.

That being said, he’s never actually paid for a drink in his entire life, and certainly never plans to

Jose finds Donald enchanting. Jose, he loves Brazil, and Donald doesn’t treat his home like some exotic diversion. He immerses himself into every experience completely, and Jose finds Donald’s sense of cultural wonder flattering where it should be annoying.

Jose immediately starts to flirt with Donald and Donald just figures that’s the way the guy is??? He flirts with literally everything?

There is one night early in the trip they don’t talk about. Donald can become a sad drunk and Jose comforted him the only way he knew how. If Jose had known they would become actual friends, he would not have done it. Both are sure the other doesn’t remember.

Of the three, Panchito is the vocals, Jose the instrumentals, and Donald the dancer.

Jose is always ready to dance the Samba with Donald

ALWAYS

Jose ends up in Mexico when Donald heads back towards the states at the end of his vacation. His debts at the time mean it’s probably better to skip town for a while, and with Donald to pay for his meals why not?

Jose and Panchito meet like in the comics after Donald returns home (for those who don’t know, Jose attempts to seduce a woman Panchito is courting. A series of one upmanship happens, in which Jose uses empty boast and tricks to try and get rid of Panchito, and Panchito, knowing Jose is a dirty crook, attempts to rat him out. It culminates in a horse race, which Jose wins, only for the woman to have eloped at the end)

(edit: I’ve had questions about the comic I’m referring, and you can actually find said comic here. There are other interpretations as well. I’m under the impression that the famous silver hunt is a first meeting, though I’ve never actually found it in it’s entirety to make sure. I love the idea of that one, but I have my own reasons for this one.)

They HATE each other at first. Panchito, on his honor, can not allow this scoundrel to con hard working people out of their belongings and fallows Jose around the country exposing his lies. Jose can not live like this.

After several failed attempts to shake the rooster, Jose opts for his next best weapon, his charisma

He may not know the local scene like back home, but he can smell a good time from a mile away, all he has to do is figure out what Panchito wants.

Fortunately for him, Panchito is as much a party animal as Jose is.

(It opens up the doors, but what REALLY convinces Panchito is Jose’s sense of honor. For all that he will never work, Jose does not take anything not freely given to him, be it money, possessions, women, and on one very memorable occasion, even food. Panchito, he is a sharp bird, he watches, he sees. It is the small kindnesses that convinces him to give Jose a chance)

Jose doesn’t consider Panchito anything more than a slightly more convenient annoyance until a series of adventures through the desert left him living only because of Panchito’s actions. Only then does he realize Panchito is genuine. (and oh no, what a feeling that was)

It’s a wonder how much they really have in common and get along when both of them are trying.

Panchito prefers the wide open plains, and Jose, the bustling cities, but Panchito finds adventure wherever, and Jose learns to love it, if for no other reason than loosing track of time, keeping busy, and the rush

Panchito 100% does not believe that Jose knows THE Donald Duck.

Panchito is later 100% amazed that Jose knows THE Donald Duck

This is the Greatest day of Panchito’s life

(and the rest is history. Seriously. That whole week is one long blackout for all three of them)

That being said, the first time Donald and Jose dance the samba together (really, REALLY together. They are often dancing in the same space, spinning around each other, half formed moves to the tune for the joy of it. Once a day if Jose can get his way. But on that day the beat is quick and the drums made their blood boil) Panchito knew he was in trouble.

They spend several years traveling together. First on Donald’s dime. As money goes thin, they stay in spaces longer, living on what Panchito can work up on a few days or going out to help him with some bounty or other, hopping from stranger to stranger on the goodwill of Donald’s fame, earning money busking and gain quite the fallowing.

They never really establish a relationship, in the monogamous sense, but they do develop a commitment to each other. They all become so openly affectionate there is no question about it in any of them. They come to love each other openly and without reservation, but they will often fight over women as well. As time goes by it goes from a real source of feuding for them to a joke and a sense of competition.

There’s no reason for them to break up really. Donald starts to miss his family around the same time Panchito starts to feel the need for home and some roots for just a while. Jose has saved some money and is dreadfully homestick

That’s what he tells them at least. His good friends have triggered a very embarrassing urge for... domesticity (yes, I do mean he becomes hormonal. All the sunlight and good food will do that) He needs time time to himself.

This is about the time Donald gets the boys. They had never intended it to be permanent, but they had some good years, and they stay in touch.

Donald’s self esteem issues are harder to fight through the mail, but they sure do try.

(non timeline related headcanons)

Jose prefers expensive booze, cheap cigars, and free women, in any order

Of the three, Panchito holds his liquor best, and Donald the worst.

Panchito and Jose just... they love how much Donald loves their mother countries so much.

I’d put something here about how much Panchito and Jose respect Donald and think him just a wonderful person to look up to but that’s comic canon.

The first time Donald and Panchito see Jose in casual jeans and t-shirt they nearly have a heart attack

The “turning his umbrella into various musical instruments” thing is a parlor trick. He’s a parrot with a LOT of instruments in his vocal repertoire. He’s surprised no one has caught on by now.

When it comes to marriage, Donald is canonically terrified of domestic monogamy and find the idea emasculating. Jose is even less inclined, but less out of fear and more that he would prefer less to chain him down. He would be willing to marry a pretty girl for her money, but probably couldn’t be convinced to stay around. Panchito is most attracted to the idea of a stable home and a big family, but latter comes to understand he doesn’t necessarily need a wife and children with so many lovers and nephews.

Panchito and Jose are the COOLEST uncles.

Panchito loves children, is bombatious and rowdy, and has guns, The triplets love him.

Jose has no idea what to do with them. He defaults to his charismatic facade and comes off as cool but also he’s never allowed to watch them alone (”They are nearly grown boys Donal’ they must learn to smoke sometime!)

Daisy: “Oh Donald doesn’t dance, he’s to clumsy for that and frankly it’s like pulling teeth” Jose, ten feet away, dancing a quite passionate samba with Donald and trying to convince him to run away with him

Yes they do know other dances, but the samba, aaaah the samba, how Jose loves the Samba

Panchito will sing love songs for them to dance to as an inside joke

Everyone has all three speaking spanish as their go to middle language but from day one Jose has insisted on speaking predominately Portuguese and then translating for himself over the years in close quarters they all pick up so much listening to them in conversations must be a nightmare.

Everyone in the fandom splits the cooking but Panchito is a traveling cowboy who lives of what he hunts and buys and Jose’s house doesn’t even seem to have a kitchen and he parties every night and Donald is the canonical amazing cook. The triplets grow up on some interesting recipes.

Panchito is openly affectionate in a platonic sense, always hugging and touching the other two, but preferred a certain degree of affection to be between only lovers unless prompted otherwise. Jose will make out in the middle of a town square if you get him worked up enough and will let him. Donald will never initiate anything but he’s just... so happy when it happens.

In the sense of TTC movie, the second and third gift in reality are plane tickets. Its the first time they’re all together in years.

Aaaaaan it’s late so that’s all I got for now. Feel free to ask any more specifics, I got a million of them!

#The Three Caballeros #Donald Duck #José Carioca #Panchito #Three Gay Caballeros #Disney

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chambersmyers67-blog · 6 years ago

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The Bowflex Sporting activity residence fitness center does occupy a fair bit of room; the impact of it is larger than what many people anticipate. The only means for any of the Rangers to call one another would certainly be their independent wrist devices, which really did not count on the Megaship for power. The Bowflex Sporting activity house fitness center is a versatile maker that covers basically every muscle group of the body. Some fitness centers do not allow any person under 18, while some nationwide chains, such as 24-HOUR Health and fitness, allow minors ages 12 to 17 to join. Mention punch power and individuals have the tendency to recollect huge, protruding arms and triceps muscles. When you are looking for the mobility device lift van or you are intending to have van customized, it is suggested to you that you deal exclusively with a credible member of the National Flexibility devices dealerships association when you are have to purchase a mobility device handicap lift van. With the matches still in his hand, he struck up an additional fire, illuminating the opening, showing a collection of actions heading to a reduced degree. I looked up to see what can be the last time Jack checked out me with love in his eyes and afterwards counted on encounter my back to him as i raised my leading to disclose my bare back to him. Although the concept of power is not inborn but learned some individuals have it and also others do not. I additionally like his summary of the cost of power; lengthy hours, hard work, as well as loss of family members as well as individual time. He raised his hand as well as i tensed my body, wheezed as well as closed my eyes all set for the discomfort. Sports Direct stated its ₤ 5 deal was being tried at its brand-new purpose-built fitness centers as well as maybe turned out at the former LA Health and fitness websites in the future. The health club is 142,000 square feet as well as consists of equipment such as outside as well as interior swimming pools, 12 tennis courts, exercising weights, machines and 120 health and fitness classes in a week. It has 40 gyms in huge cities around the UK. Conversely, everyday membership prices just ₤ 5. The majority of regional recreation centre gyms could be used on a PAYG basis. These wheelchair lift vans are specially made to accommodate wheelchair bound person. Enhancing temperature levels incorporated with the damaging contaminants released by nuclear power plant contribute to unhealthy air high quality, activating asthma assaults and various other breathing harms. Pfeffer (Glad this is a created review I have no suggestion how you can state that name) is an academic that specialises on organisational behavior, as well as this book is basically his advice on the best ways to acquire, preserve, and also recognize power. The gamers handled to prise open the lift doors as well as were handed containers of water, coffee as well as sandwiches as temperature levels increased inside. Each time we placed ourselves right into package we shed our power since at this moment we shed the ability to recognize our limitless possibility. What interests me extra is how in each story human life is placed relative to law and political power. The oppositions could not doubt whether the Clean Air Act authorizes EPA to limit carbon dioxide pollution from nuclear power plant. The emphasis of his book is the result power carries those who do not have it. He breaks his analysis down into 3 measurements of power: the initial is straight negotiating and also engagement, the second is the exclusion of the helpless from that bargaining process and/or agenda-setting by the effective, and also the third is the internalization of the ideals, worths, and also choices of the dominant by the controlled. Rather counter-intuitively, the quicker removable quad lift has the same uphill ability as a fixed-grip quad. An old gym at the site closed in 2012 as well as the centre was demolished and reconstructed by the Royal District of Kensington and also Chelsea, who spent ₤ 29million. To me, this is really sad since as I claimed, it was hand made equipment by Joe Gold himself and also has a particular worth to it if nothing else than for historical factors. Then she entered 8th quality and also participated in track, swimming, then softball period came. After the Turbo Rangers lost their powers, he effectively led the team into room, where they discovered Andros as well as the Megaship. I have actually had numerous unforgettable miracles given that I discovered the Secret and now I'm expecting enjoying the things I've developed in the past, caring every little thing in my present, and lovi While the Secret is the legislation of attraction, the Power is the regulation of love. It deserves having a look at which Pokémon are in the health club you intend to attack prior to opting to enter into battle to make certain you have the appropriate sorts of Pokémon to prosper. L'entraînement par accélération sur les plates-formes Power Plate ® acquire une foule d'avantages notables put atteindre, voire dépasser, les objectifs de problem body. Lewis, pushing the ground, blood dripping down his face, reaching out for the last vital to his power. So while energy power plant fitness centers may not generate blinding light, their presence does leave a bit much more light at the end of the passage. Individuals who frequently flock to cosmetic surgery clinics to have a mid lift are those in their 40s or 50s. Stood under the largest shower she had ever before seen she delighted in the feel of the water as it moved down her, sighing with satisfaction as the power shower gently massaged her body. The no-frills health club group, which is managed by exclusive equity house CCMP Funding Advisors, had hoped to provide the business in London following the ₤ 250m float of its main budget rival, The Fitness center Team, last November. Push-ups and also pull-ups are the most standard upper-body motion to establish power endurance. This workout equipment is frequently gone along with by a display screen that tracks the heart price,. in addition to other details like the number of miles run or calories melted. Il est vrai que j' y consacre a peu prés 4 heures par semaine chez moi en musique et je peu vous dire que je ne price aucune séance tant je me sens bien après mon heure de power plate. There are various other basic functions of patio PL-P mobile wheelchair lift are as adheres to. The High court already determined that question also in American Electric Power v. Connecticut, in 2011. Both fitness centers have actually moved the inner city location of Sparkhill as well as cater for a mainly Muslim clientele. The Lumo Raise costs ₤ 80 in black, white as well as grey with black and silver magnets. If you stroll into the gym with reduced power or really feel as if you have flu-like symptoms, the very best point to do is to delay your workout for a couple days. There is an alternative available to you if your objective is to lift weights and also get a cardio benefit at the same time. People waste a lot of money on unneeded cardio equipment, multi gyms as well as overpriced specialist products that quite frankly aren't specifically helpful in an industrial gym, let alone a house training area. Going to imp source was as essential to a Roman as mosting likely to the gym was to a Greek.

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radioactivedelorean · 7 years ago

Text

A Ripple in Time

So I was going through my documents folder and I found a TON of things I’d written for various fandoms that I’d started and never finished. Here’s the first of the batch!

Ford knelt down beside the tree, studying the creature in front of him carefully. It appeared to be a tiny dragon, its wings resembling sequined fabric and its horns like small crystals. It was gorgeous. Sketching quickly, the man started scribbling down notes about the creature. It sat patiently in front of him, almost as if it knew what he was doing. It licked one of its paws and started cleaning its face, similar to the way a cat might clean itself. It was perhaps slightly bigger than a rat, approximately four or five inches long with a nine-inch wingspan. It was remarkable that even now, he was still finding all sorts of oddities in the forest. He’d definitely have to show Mabel this one.

A loud noise in the woods to his left caused Ford to nearly draw a large, black line straight across his drawing as he jumped. He heard three consecutive, low booms before the sound of screeching tyres and finally the sound of something large and metal colliding with a tree. Ford froze. It was the unmistakeable sound of a car crash. He leaped up and quickly tucked the journal into his pocket before running towards the source of the noise.

He stumbled to a halt at the sight in front of him. Just beside the main road, he found the car. It was a sleek, silver-grey colour with large ventilation systems on the back. The front of the car had collided with a large pine tree and had buckled and bent out of shape. A large plume of pale grey smoke billowed upwards. The sole occupant of the car staggered out and managed to walk over to the bushes, where they promptly fell to their knees and vomited.

Ford approached cautiously. “Hello?”

The driver staggered to their feet, wiping their mouth on the back of their hand. Getting closer, Ford saw that it was a young man, maybe seventeen or eighteen, wearing a black and white flannel shirt, denim jacket and jeans. He had a wild, disrupted mess of brown hair and a nasty gash on his forehead.

The teenager stumbled over. “Hey, what’s today’s date?”

Ford frowned at the bizarre question but put it down to a result of the head trauma. “Friday, July nineteenth.”

“R-right,” The kid seemed to swallow and his gaze flickered to the wrecked car. “Th-the year?”

“2013.” Ford frowned and stepped over. “Hey, do you need some help? That’s a nasty bash you’ve got on your head there.”

“W-we need to get the car out of sight.” The teenager stood in front of the car and tried to push it away from the tree.

“Hey, forget about that for now-” Ford moved to grab the boy’s shoulder.

The teenager pulled away. “No! Y-you don’t get it! We need to get this car out of sight now.”

“What’s so important about this car?!”

“It’s a time machine!” The kid blurted out. His eyes went as wide as saucers and he clamped his hands over his mouth.

Ford frowned. “A time machine? You’re kidding, right? You must be, your head-”

“It’s true!” The kid grabbed Ford’s arm and dragged him around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. He pointed at a mechanism inside the car, between the two seats. It was comprised of three small poles forming a ‘Y’ shape inside a metal box. The poles appeared to be glowing. “That thing makes time travel possible. I don’t know how it works, but it does.”

Ford ran a six-fingered hand through his hair, looking between the teenager’s head injury and the mechanics inside the car. He let out a breath. “Right, then. Let’s get this thing off the road and get you back to the house.”

The kid nodded and started pushing the car backwards, away from the tree. “I’m Marty, by the way. Marty McFly”

Ford grinned. “I’m Stanford Pines, but you can call me Ford.” He held out his hand for Marty to shake.

Marty took the man’s hand in his own and shook it. He frowned, casting Ford’s hand a puzzled look. “What’s up with the extra fingers?”

Ford quickly pulled his hand back, his cheeks tinted red. “Birth defect.”

“Oh,” Marty turned scarlet and coughed, pushing the car. “Sorry. I mean, they’re really cool, just… a bit unusual.”

“No, it’s fine.” Ford waved his concerns off. “You weren’t rude or offensive about it. I get people asking me that all the time.”

Marty released a breath. “Alright.”

Once the car was a significant distance away from the tree, the pair stopped. Ford looked at Marty. “If you sit in the driver’s seat and steer, I’ll push, okay?”

“Sure,” Marty nodded. He sat inside the car. “You sure you’ll be able to push this thing on your own? It’s a lot heavier with all of this gear on it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ford called back.

“Which way are we heading?”

“See that dirt track up ahead by the picket sign?” Ford asked. “The house is just through there.”

Marty looked up the road. Sure enough, there was a sign by an entrance to a small dirt road. “Yeah, I see it.”

With Ford pushing the car and Marty steering, the pair managed to successfully guide the car round to the back of the Shack, out of view to any of the customers. Once the car was out of sight, Ford straightened up and caught his breath.

Marty got out the car and looked up at the building in front of him. “This your house?”

“Well, technically, no,” Ford replied. “It belongs to my twin brother, Stanley.”

“Stanley and Stanford?” Marty snickered. “Sounds like your parents weren’t particularly creative with naming kids.”

Ford chuckled. “I guess not. Now, we’d better get you inside and tended to.”

At that moment, the back door of the Shack was flung open and Ford’s brother strode out. “Stanford! What the hell have you brought home this time?”

“A time traveller,” Ford responded simply. “Oh come on, Stan, it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve brought home. He’s hurt - I was going to take him inside and-”

“And nothing!” Stan snapped. “This isn’t a hotel, Ford. I can’t just let random strangers in whenever I want!”

“Stan,” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least let Marty here get cleared up first. He’s got a nasty head wound that needs tending to.”

Stan released a loud sigh, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine!”

“Thank you,” Ford rolled his eyes. He walked towards the front door, gesturing for Marty to follow him.

Marty followed the man inside. The house itself was constructed almost entirely out of wood. It was rickety, to say the least. He had to step carefully over a few loose and broken floorboards. He could hear laughter off to the side in another room. He followed Ford down the hall and into the bathroom at the end. Ford began to rummage around in the cupboard behind the mirror for medical supplies. Marty took a seat on the closed toilet lid.

Ford ran a washcloth under the warm water from the tap for a moment before moving to wipe the blood from Marty’s forehead. The teenager winced a little bit, the water stinging the gash on his forehead. Ford winced in sympathy. “Sorry,”

“It’s fine.” Marty sat still as Ford continued to clean his forehead. He chewed his lip. He’d wrecked the car, again. He had no idea when or where Doc was and heck if he knew how to fix the DeLorean without him. Maybe this Ford guy could help him out. He seemed like the nerdy-science type - maybe he could fix the car.

Ford finished clearing the blood away and taped a small square of gauze over the scrape. “There we go, hopefully that should heal within a couple of weeks. Now, you’ll feel dizzy for a little while, so drink plenty of water and take it easy.”

“Thanks, Ford,” Marty grinned. His face fell. “What about the car?”

“Well, we’ll have to analyze the damage and see what needs fixing,” Ford stated. He stood up straight.

Marty got to his feet. His head spun and he stumbled a little. He gripped the side of the sink with one hand. He felt like he’d just stepped off a rollercoaster. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to meet Ford’s concerned gaze. “I’m alright.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I promise. Just lightheaded.” Marty insisted. He let go of the sink and took a step forward. His head was still spinning, making his steps uneasy.

Ford kept an eye on the teen as they headed back outside to where the DeLorean was parked. Dipper was outside, his eyes wide and his mouth open. He was walking in circles around the car, examining it in stunned silence. He looked up as he caught sight of his uncle and sprinted over. “Grunkle Ford! What’s this car?! Who does it belong to?! What’s all this cool stuff on the back of it?!”

Ford rolled his eyes at his nephew’s enthusiasm and excitement. “It belongs to this young man here.” He gestured to the teenager beside him.

Marty held up a hand in a slight wave. “Hey, I’m Marty,”

Dipper was grinning from ear-to-ear. “This is your car?!”

Marty scratched the back of his neck, avoiding the kid’s gaze. “Well, not exactly. It’s my friend’s. He built it.”

“Why’s it got all this cool stuff on it?”

Marty cringed. “Uh, that? W-well, it’s … uh… the car’s a time machine.”

Dipper’s lower jaw almost fell off. “A time machine?!”

“Easy!” Marty held his hands up. “Not so loud!”

Dipper was practically shaking. “You gotta show me how it works! Did you know that I’m actually a time traveller too?! There was this bald guy with a tape measure who-”

“Alright, Dipper,” Ford put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. Marty has a concussion, so he’s rather dizzy at the moment. Just take it easy and don’t overwhelm the kid.”

“It’s okay,” Marty insisted. “I freaked out like that the first time I found out Doc was building a time machine.”

“You have to show me how it works!” Dipper insisted. He grabbed Marty’s wrist and pulled him over to the car. Marty couldn’t help but chuckle at the young boy’s enthusiasm. It reminded himself of the first time he met Doc - looking at all of Doc’s projects in awe.

“Dipper!” Ford exclaimed. “Calm down! You’re worst than your sister after her third cup of Mabel Juice!” At Marty’s confused and slightly concerned expression, Ford added, “It’s a sugary drink his sister makes frequently.”

Marty was about to reply with a sarcastic remark until Dipper pulled him over to the driver’s side of the DeLorean.

More to come shortly!

#gravity falls #back to the future #marty mcfly #delorean #time machine #ford pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #stan pines #dipper pines #yeaaaahh i'm a massive nerd

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