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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

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Old Times All Over (Part 1 of 2)

A very special thank you to @sequinsmile-x for the beta!

Exactly six months pass before he can’t stand it anymore.

Aaron takes a risk and goes to Emily while she's undercover in Paris.

Rating: M

Exactly six months pass before he can’t stand it anymore. The weight of her absence is unbearable; it follows him around as if lingering in hidden shadows and settling deep in his soul, an indelible stain that doesn’t fade as the days pass by. He bears the team’s grief, shoulders it and doesn’t let himself handle his own. It feels wrong to mourn her as if she were actually dead when in reality she lingers somewhere very different, another kind of hellish existence. He often finds himself wondering what she’d say about all of it. Emily would have scoffed at the ornate casket, rolled her eyes at the formality of the Catholic service the Ambassador insisted upon. He’d been the one to make the call on the flight back to DC. Elizabeth knew right away why he was calling, and the detached coldness in her tone was merely a coping mechanism, for the older woman’s grief seeped through the phone as he relayed the news. Aaron could scarcely reach her eyes as he offered condolences in person, the words heavy and thick on his tongue. Elizabeth’s questions were answered with the vague formalities that were constructed as part of a grand lie, held together with threads that ran the risk of being unraveled with the slightest misstep.

Read the rest below the cut or on Ao3

Emily’s life depended on the sanctity of those lies, as did his own.

No one can ever find out about this, JJ had whispered to Aaron and Clyde behind a firmly closed door in the depths of that hospital in Boston. It was eerily dark, their heads bent together in near silence as initial plans were laid. For her safety, and all of ours. It felt oddly conspiratorial to plan her disappearance as she laid just feet away, oblivious to it all and very much alive. But Doyle escaped into the night like a ghost, and that meant Emily had to go too whether they liked it or not. It didn’t matter that they hunted monsters like him every day. They knew the moment her heart started again, that she would pull through, that she’d never be free. He’ll never stop looking for her. Clyde’s voice was like rubbing salt in a wound that burned through his skin.The tension between them was thick, laden with the unspoken tension of a tentative truce and a keen awareness of the pain that coursed within each of them. He will go to the ends of the earth to find her.

Aaron disliked Clyde Easter from the moment he laid eyes on the man. Perhaps it was his closeness to Emily - she trusted him, more so than she did Aaron, as was being made abundantly clear. It still stung - that she’d gone to him in her moment of need without even once considering just maybe the team could have helped. Maybe it was the way Clyde knew her so intimately, almost as well as a lover would - a delicate balance of adoration and indignance, a fierce desire to protect the oaths they’d sworn years ago, loyalty and trust woven from years of brushes with peril only to do it all over again. But it was more than that; he knew from the moment Clyde sat before him in an interrogation room in Boston his loathing ran deep. Only later would Aaron realize they both paid a similar price for loving the same woman.

The idea to go to her comes to him once Dave has finally disappeared for the night and the bottle of scotch is empty once again. It’s a ritual they share now, unspoken yet expected, an attempt at burying the worst of their grief. It never quite hits the mark, because Dave doesn’t know the truth. His words are wise and well intended, but he speaks of loss in terms of death, and it’s one thing Aaron can’t think about for too long. But it’s some of the only company he has once the building quiets down, so whenever he shows up at the door, he doesn’t object. Most nights they leave together after a round. The echo of their shoes striking the marble floors is the only noise between them when they pass the framed photos of agents long gone on the walls, now with Emily among them. He wants to shake someone, tell them she doesn’t belong there. “Don’t look,” Dave tells him every time. “It won’t bring her back.”

He always looks.

Tonight Aaron lingers, the idea now an intrusive thought reverberating through his weary mind. It’s dangerous - violates every rule of her disappearance - and puts anyone who knows at risk. He shuffles the files on his desk only to do it once more, rearranges the pens in the cup and flips through a few reports that still require his signature. His phone rings; he doesn’t have to turn it over to know it’s Jessica asking where he is, that Jack is asking for him. He was supposed to have been home a few hours ago. Instead of answering that phone, he digs for a different one. This one has stayed hidden in his desk since the night they returned from Boston. Clyde had pushed it into his hand at the last possible moment before he boarded a flight, his face stony and solemn. “If you ever need to reach me, use this.” It might be the closest thing to a friendship they’ll ever have, a twisted kind of bond that comes along with a shared secret they very well might take to the grave.

“I was wondering when you would call,” comes the lilting British accent on the other end when the line connects. “I thought for sure it would be sooner.” Clyde’s voice is haunting; it takes Aaron right back to Boston when it was just the two of them in that interrogation room, piercing blue eyes up against his darker ones as the pieces fell into place. If you want to stop that man, you have to put a bullet between his eyes yourself. He barely recognizes his own voice; it strains when he explains exactly why he’s calling, once the doors of his office are firmly shut. Even then, it’s a near whisper.

“You do realize what you’re asking of me?” Clyde demands. He’s not exactly surprised by the request, though. After all, he and Aaron had a few things in common. “The risks of all of this?” He’s whispering, the hiss of his voice biting even from thousands of miles away, wherever the hell he might be. “I thought you did things by the book at the BAU.”

“Can you make it work or not?” Aaron’s terseness matches Clyde’s hostility, a thinly veiled shield for his grief that consumes him.

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a contemplative inhale as if he’s considering his answer, like he holds the power in his hands himself. “You should have more faith in me, Agent Hotchner.”

...

It’s all a little too easy to coordinate once the initial call is made, much to his surprise. For two weeks, things continue as normal, or as close to normal as possible, a period of limbo-like freefall. A case takes them to Portland, another to Providence. While the team is across the country, Clyde takes care of the multiple identities and aliases Aaron will use in Europe, along with a reservation at a nondescript hotel and God only knows what else. He’s barely back in Virginia for an hour when a text message on the burner phone reveals a series of coordinates, a meeting location.

“A direct flight to Charles de Gaulle might seem suspect,” Clyde whispers, nestled amongst the shadows along the Potomac River three nights before Aaron slated to leave. “There’s a flight from Regan to Heathrow, then to Paris. You’ll have a different identity for each, so best not to get confused.”

Aaron bristles at the snarkiness in his tone. “And my cover story?”

Clyde scoffs, as if disgusted by the question. “You’ll tell your team you’re being called to London to consult with Scotland Yard as a favor to a friend. I’ve already taken care of those details as well - a fake case report. Familiarize yourself with them so they don’t suspect anything.” He passes over the thick envelope, holding onto it for just a moment too long.

“How will I find her? Once I’m there?”

“Leave that up to me, Aaron. She’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” is all Aaron can say once he holds the weight of it in his hands. “I know you took a huge risk to do this.”

Clyde stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and shuffles his feet awkwardly. “I love her too, you know.” It’s certainly the most honest he’s ever been, something that looks like hurt flooding his features. But he stiffens a few seconds later with an authoritative clearing of his throat. “Bloody hell, Aaron, for all of our sakes, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

...

Aaron drops Jack off at Jessica’s. He relays the same details he told the team a few hours before with the same feigned degree of calm assurance and mock annoyance - just a few days away, work related. No one suspects a thing. In fact, the rest of them seem almost happy for him to go. “A change of scenery might be nice,” Dave says as they walk out of the BAU.

It’s risky, inherently a bad idea and yet, it isn’t enough to deter him. There’s an element of betrayal he feels for lying to the team, for they’re still reeling from their collective loss. They miss her just as much as he does; none of this is fair. He drowns it out with a pair of headphones and a stiff drink as the plane roars to life and lifts into the sky as the sun sets.

He wakes up hours later in London with a headache and an all too familiar ache in his chest.

…

It’s another few hours of travel before he actually lands in Paris. He’s completely focused, determined as he collects his luggage and leaves the airport. He destroys the first passport moments after the plane touches solid ground and tucks the next one in his jacket pocket for easy access, the others will stay safely in his travel bag. Aaron calls Clyde on a new burner phone, one of several included in the envelope of documents that was passed over in a shadowy spot by the Potomac. He answers on the first ring, doesn’t even bother with a greeting. Instead he rattles off an address Aaron commits to memory and adds, “she’ll be waiting for you,” before the line goes dead. The address, he soon finds, is a small cafe in the fifth Arrondissement, the Latin Quarter. At first it seems risky, to meet in public, but it’s probably safer than somehow having a record of her address.

The woman at the small table in the back of the cafe is inconspicuous, but he spots her immediately upon opening the door. She could be anyone; she fits right in. One slender leg crossed over the other, a chic knee-length boot peeking out under the table. A simple raincoat, hair cut just below her chin. It’s lighter than it was the last time he saw her but still a rich shade of brown.The only giveaway is the state of the nails on her right hand - not manicured, bit down and ragged. It’s her, exactly where Clyde said she would be. He doesn’t make a big show, just simply sits in the empty seat across from her, his heart pounding in his chest when he sees her face for the first time in months. Emily’s hand is unsteady as her fingers wrap around the espresso on the table. “I’ve been waiting.” It sounds formal; she makes no move to shake his hand or hug him, or display any bit of emotion, but her lips tremble and her eyes well up a little.

“I got a little lost along the way,” Aaron shrugs a little, keeping his tone light for any ears privy to their conversation. She smiles, probably picturing him lost on the maze-like streets of Paris, the streets that still don’t feel like home to her either. “I’m here now.” It carries more weight than it ever would; all he wants to do is touch her to prove to himself this isn’t just part of the fucking nightmare he’s lived since March, one he’ll wake from wrapped in sheets damp with sweat and a pounding heart. She’s very much real, very much alive in front of him, but what the Emily he sees isn’t the Emily he remembers. Paris might be beautiful but it hasn’t been kind to her. She’s thinner and paler, shades of exhaustion on her face. Over the years Aaron has seen her sleep deprived more times than he could count - the toll of back to back cases added up - but this is something else entirely. It’s the culmination of fear from constantly looking over her shoulder, the toll of the unknown. Would Doyle ever stop looking for her, or would the rest of her days be spent on the run, alone, days that blend into weeks into months and years? Would she ever come home, to the only family she’s really ever had?

Emily studies him too, undoubtedly shocked at what she sees. Time hasn’t been kind to him, either. He’s a shell of what he used to be. A subtle shadow on his face that’s new, he’s weary eyed and tense. She knows it’s not because of the better part of a day he’s spent traveling - it’s much more than that. It’s a haunting look, with the memory of how quickly things spiraled out of control. He’d been helpless to stop any of it; Emily knows the blame he places on himself. If their hurried goodbye in the hospital was any indicator of the torment of what he’s been through the last six months, then she knows it’s been hell for him. Just like it’s been for her. She pushes another espresso, this one untouched, in his direction. “How much time do you have?” English feels foreign on her tongue. It’s been weeks, months maybe, since she’s had a real conversation not in French. It’s an act. This is all an act, but one her life depends on. Every minute she spends walking the arrondissements is a risk. The fear curls around her spine a little too tightly. She glances around the coffee shop, eyes scanning through without spending too long on any one thing. It can’t look obvious, only effortless.

“Not nearly enough.” Aaron wonders how much she knows about this, just what Clyde told her about the logistics of his visit. “We have about forty eight hours.”

He doesn’t miss the longing, wistful look in her eyes when she nods, the slightest tip of her head. It’s not enough time, it never will be. But it’s all they have, all they might ever have. They speak in short sentences, vague and cryptic, as they sip the espresso. It’s stronger than he expected, she seems immune to its effects. She doesn’t call him Aaron, and he’s careful not to call her Emily. He doesn’t know her new name, either. Not even Clyde could give him that information - it was probably better that way. They make superficial conversation - the rain here and the heat there, the bakery on the corner with chocolate croissants and the headlines on the newspaper that sits on the table. He plays along as she explains, as if he fits into this world she’s had no other choice but to assimilate into. To anyone in the cafe, they could be old friends, lovers even, with years of history between them, a casual intimacy spun like a web. The ease of lulls in conversation, a subtle glance every so often, the comfort of the proximity of someone else.

And hidden somewhere in their conversation, behind a facade of lies, is something else. What no one knows, what they haven’t quite managed to forget themselves, is something happened between them once before.

...

It was spring, after the dust had settled from Foyet and the world started to turn again, albeit slowly. Only when things settled into a new kind of normal - the humble experience of single parenting, relying on Jessica like he never had before - did Aaron realize something had changed between them. Perhaps it was the unwavering way Emily stood by him even when he wouldn’t admit to needing it, or how she picked up his loose ends without making him feel like his life was unraveling before his eyes. It was the way she mourned Haley’s death, a steadfast presence at her funeral, and her attentiveness to Jack in the months after.

He’d been divorced for more than a year, separated for at least two. Aaron no longer mourned his marriage, but the loss of his son’s mother, the woman he’d shared more than half of his life with. But someone else started to preoccupy his mind - dark hair, a blinding grin, a wicked sense of humor. It was becoming harder to ignore; she was everywhere. So a few months later in the spring, when he found Emily, nursing a drink at the hotel bar that had clearly seen better days, after a particularly brutal case in Scranton, he knew exactly how the night would end. It would cross a line - railroad through any professional boundary they still maintained. But an unsub had walked free earlier that night, a child was dead, and while it wasn’t her fault, he watched any trace of composure vanish from her face when they got back to the hotel as she retreated into herself.

It shouldn’t have happened that way - definitely not how he imagined it would. But Emily was desperate in her need to forget, he was desperate to help her do so. It was frantic, the clash of her teeth against his an ironic reminder that this was the first time he ever kissed her. Aaron pressed her back against the wall, sucked a bruise into her neck, and buried himself inside of her with one smooth push. He swallowed her moans with his mouth, the snap of his hips brutal and sharp. She reveled in it, her need for him and this, legs hitched over his hips as she clenched around him.

“Wanted you for so long,” he growled as she came around him. Her fingers were like vices around his shoulders, clinging to him as he fucked her through it, unrelenting. “Thought about you, about this.”

“Me too,” Emily gasped, the simple admission triggering his own release until he came apart and took her with him one more time.

Aaron had to carry her to the bed in the middle of his hotel room. It was the most gentle he’d been all evening, gingerly placing her in the center of it, following her down and pulling her into his arms. She was bruised and sore, he wore the scratches of her nails on his back and shoulders. Emily curled into him like she’d been doing it forever, snuggling into his chest. “I still can’t feel my legs.”

“We should have done that a long time ago,” he mused into the darkness, dragging his fingertips down her spine, listening to her slow, even breaths. It’s an admission more than an observation, and the low laugh that comes from her is all the confirmation he needs to know she thinks the same thing.

It happened again hours later, in the middle of the night, this time softer, slow and unhurried. He made her come twice with his mouth, coaxing her through each one. Aaron took his time, marveling at her and whispering praises into her skin. She beamed under his touch, besotted under his gaze. He studied the sharpness of her ribs, the curve of her waist, the length of her legs. And then he held her hands in his own above her head, rocking into her, metronomic and even. He kissed her like a lover should, his lips still wet with her slick, her legs pressed tightly wrapped around his waist as she crested against him. He collapsed against her shortly after, grappling for her hands, leaving kisses along her collarbones - anything to be as close to her as he possibly could.

But it was over after that.

Timing once again failed them. Not because they didn’t have the chance, but because they were both afraid something would change, whatever friendship they built over time, and they wouldn’t be able to take it back. They never talked about it, never even acknowledged anything had happened in that hotel room in Scranton once it was over. It lingered between them, the awareness of it sometimes all-consuming if she got too close or they somehow ended up sitting beside one another on the jet. But things happened - JJ’s untimely departure, coupled with Seaver’s arrival, the grueling toll of case after case. It was buried, hidden behind the burden of their jobs and the baggage they carried, both too stubborn to admit what was right in front of them.

And then she slipped away, shortly after a case in Montana. Emily’s typical professionalism, her unmatched level of skill was marred by uncharacteristic lateness and a short fuse, as if something had settled into her mind that she couldn’t shake. She was secretive and jumpy, slowly withdrawing from them all before his own eyes. And he’d been too caught up in what they weren’t saying, what they were hiding from, to even ask what was wrong.

Aaron never saw it coming. Until it was too late.

…

The cafe suddenly feels suffocating, the four walls trapping them in. What started as an alluring scent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries now feels cloying, overwhelming. It’s just a little too loud as their conversation fades into silence. After all, there’s only so much small talk that can be made when he only has one question. Why? Across from him Emily shifts in her chair yet still wears her pleasant smile, still playing the act she’s perfected over the last several months. But she’s tearing at her fingernails, a sure sign that she’s nervous. He knows her tells by now, all of them. “What do we do now?” She asks, her voice barely audible. Whether it’s intentional or not he isn’t sure,

He leans in, takes her hand in his own. “Let’s get out of here.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #so not canon #hotch x prentiss #I love these two idiots so much #but I will make their lives angst and hell for a little bit #and slow clap for Clyde Easter #angsty but no one dies I promise

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

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tis the damn season

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

a/n: this is the end and i’ll need therapy because dear god i hate it when any of my projects end. thank you so much for supporting it and reading. hope you enjoy xx

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me but if it's all the same to you it's the same to me ...

There was a sea of people, suitcases rolling everywhere, people hugging their loved ones and there she was, straight out of the airplane holding her worn out, beat up suitcase with her name tag on it. It was a cold day, one of those that reminded her of being by the window with her mother doodling on the fogged glass as the snow laid on the green grass of her childhood home yet there was no snow, just cold. She knew to walk through the doors that led to the arrivals but she stood back, almost as if the cold froze her to her spot. Returning to her hometown meant looking at the road not taken before, the road she couldn’t have taken. Nevertheless, in the midst of chaos of people coming back home for the holidays, she ended up being almost dragged into the arrivals hall.

Immediately she spotted Wanda and Pietro dressed in thick winter coats and hats who were holding a sign with her name. She put on her best photographic smile, walking over to the twins who rushed over to hug her tightly, something she missed dearly when she was away.

- Finally! - the brown haired girl hugged her best friend tightly. - You can never leave me again for this long.

- It’s only for a few weeks, Wan.

- Let me savour it. - she loosened up the hug, handing Y/N’s bags to Pietro who just shrugged off and started walking to the car. - I have so much to tell you. Remember Elizabeth, the girl I copied off for Maths? Well, she got married but she had a baby like 5 months later which doesn’t adds up.

- Shotgun wedding. - Pietro added. - It was so tacky, absolutely awful. I fell asleep for at least five hours.

- Very good gift bags though. I took an extra one for you.

The three walked onto the cold town she thought she’d never have the change to return to. The moment she woke up from what she thought was certain death, her father and the chief of police were already telling her they had set up a witness protection program for her, all the way in Massachusetts. It was nice, she liked the weather, the warm fall colours during October but she didn’t felt at home. She had a new name, new story, in this one she didn’t even have her father not that in reality she ever did. She sat in the passenger seat of Wanda’s car, listening to all the news she seemed to have kept locked inside her mind for when she returned. Her mind as going haywire about what she wanted to know about, she wanted to know about Bucky.

She knew he couldn’t be happy if he had discovered it which she guessed by now he had. Several times her father had told her he’d employed several men to try and find her and had even told her to stay away until Christmas. Of course the only reason he wanted her around was so she could drive him from the bar after he drank his weight in beer but she couldn’t help but do it, she promised her mum she would take care of her dad no matter what happened. Yet, she still wanted to know about Bucky. She wanted to know if he hated her, if he had put a hit on her head. It kept her awake at night, every night, bugging her like a bad memory.

- Are you sure you wanna stay at your dad’s? You can stay with me and Vision.

- Of course she doesn’t want to stay with you. What kind of name is Vision anyway? - Pietro rolled his eyes.

- HIS PARENTS WERE HIPPIES. We’ve had this discussion. - Wanda playfully threw a empty water bottle at his brother. - Don’t you want to spend Christmas with someone who will actually be in the house during Christmas?

- I promised my mother, Wan.

- C’mon. If it’s because me and Vision will be there, there’s no problem. Remember Michael? He still wants to go out with you.

- I don’t want to go out with him.

- Yeah, Wanda. Y/N liked James Barnes. - Pietro muffled in a laugh, receiving a death glare from his sister. - What? It’s true.

- Y/N does not like someone who wants her dead. Don’t you remember when one of his friends was on campus and he had a gun?

- What? It’s just like Mr and Mrs Smith and for one, it’s something I’m interested in. Good for her.

- What about you, Pietro? Where’s your girlfriend? - Y/N smirked, crossing her arms as Wanda parked in front of Y/N’s childhood home.

- Which one?

- You’re a lost cause. - she opened the passenger’s door, going around to retrieve her suitcase.

- Call me if you’re alone during Christmas or Christmas Eve. Vision and I will come and set up a dinner with you.

- It won’t be necessary.

- Just call me, okay?

- Okay, Wan. I’ll see you tomorrow.

The red head smiled before driving away. Y/N stood on the cobblestones of her sidewalk waving goodbye before it was time to go meet her father. Her relationship with him was at best strained. When they didn’t find the shipment they wanted, he subconsciously blamed her along with constantly talking about how Edward could’ve died but he was luckily alive with a limp. She wished he had more than a limp but saying anything against his ward was absurd and completely forbidden. She was almost sure he’d spend more time at the hospital with him than her. Nevertheless, she was here and as she stepped into her porch, there were no Christmas lights, no garlands.

Flashbacks invaded her mind of sitting on the wooden stairs as her mother wrapped every surface she could in garland, wrapping the lights around the columns while her dad worked overtime. The two would then sit on the stairs with cups of hot cocoa, Y/N always preferring white chocolate hot cocoa with pink marshmallows and watched the lights go up for the first time. Every year she expected there to be lights after her mum was gone but they never showed. One year she tried to put them up but she soon came to realise the lights that held whatever sweet memories an object could hold were lost and gone. Everything was gone. She didn’t know why she expect it to be here.

Her keys jiggled as she opened the door to her childhood home. It was always messy, dusty, her mother’s yellow coat still hanging on the coat hanger the day she returned from the hospital. The house was a snapshot of that day, never changing, her father didn’t allow her. She knew why, she always knew why, she just refused to say it, she refused to say whom her father believed was the cause of her mother’s death. She refused to say it because she knew who it was and it wasn’t who her father thought it was.

- Dad? - she left her suitcase against the entry wall, walking further into her house and into the kitchen, liquor bottles on the floor near the chair were her father was sitting, still in his uniform, shirt tightened over his beer belly. - Hey dad, how are you?

- Y/N, darling, can you get some some of the liquor from the cabinet?

- Sure, dad. - she turned around, reaching into the cabinet, right at the end of it where she kept a bottle with water which tricked him all the time. - How’s the precinct?

- I think you know.

- You shouldn’t make catching him your target. Your target should be to protect innocent civilians.

- What would you know about it? You failed us.

- I’m sorry. - she looked down at her shoes. - You know ... I smell snow.

- You can’t smell snow, Y/N. There’s no such thing.

- C’mon... - she held his hands in hers. - We can make some hot cocoa, like mum used to do.

- Your mother would’ve been ashamed of you. - she shook his hands away from her, pointing his finger at her. - You caused another officer to get shot, you have no integrity. I shouldn’t have put you in the case.

- I didn’t. - she took a step back. - I told you I didn’t and you don’t believe me. Barnes didn’t try to shot me and Edward stepped in, you saw the report, the bullets don’t match up. He tried to shot at Barnes.

- He’s the most experienced shot I know, if he wanted to have gotten Barnes, he would’ve.

- He would’ve if I hadn’t stepped in front of it.

She turned around, tears watering her eyes and making her vision blurry as she walked further an further away. She kept walking, away from her house, away from her street until she was the furthest from it she could. The wind blasted her hair in different direction, freezing through her thin, useless jackets. She could smell it was going to snow, she could always smell it, the smell of freshly fallen and there she was, having forgotten her jacket. It was late into the night, no establishment was open and all she could wear were her boots against the slight frozen layer upon the cobblestones. She should feel hurt but she found herself in a numbness of state, the image of waking up in a hospital room all by herself much clear in her mind. She continued to walk until a purple light lit up her face.

She looked upwards, the title of the old establishment she used to work in blasted into purple light. Now, she was a rational being, a true believer of think before you act but she was cold and seemingly no longer held fear of her own death. Life is ephemeral and if she was meant to die, if fate was a thing then let it be. She went through the bodyguards entering the club that despite being almost Christmas Eve was filled with people.

Meanwhile James was leaning against one of his club’s walls, cigarette hanging from his lips. Filthy habit he knew, but he did it when he stressed. It soothed him, yet it seemed like all self destroying things soothed him. His eyes lingered against the empire he had built which now seemed so stupid. All material things and a few kills to remember him by when he died. He wondered if they would even remember or if when he breathe his last breathe, he’d be erased as quickly as he came to be. No one remembers what came in between and James did not create the business, he just perfected it. Nothing surprised this old dog anymore until tonight. He thought his brain was playing tricks on him as he saw her pass through the doors, hair covered in a knitted hat yet as quickly as he saw her enter, the quicker he saw her leave.

- Steve, follow her. - he immediately told the blonde who was happily chatting with his newly wedded bride. - Tell me where she stops. You better not lose her out sight or you won’t have any children.

Y/N was fast out, the moment she felt the warmth of the club. She no longer knew what she was doing, much too lost in whatever pain mixed with unresolved feelings she had. Nevertheless, she was out, and immediately calling Wanda. She was out on a date but offered to stay at her house and that was enough. She needed to sleep, consider what she was doing here and then return to Massachusetts. She could get used to being Elizabeth, the orphan girl who went to Harvard. She could be Betty, she could be someone on paper. She just didn’t know how to be Y/N anymore. She had to go back.

Wanda’s new place wasn’t thankfully too far and per usual she hide the key behind her petunia vase. Inside it looked exactly like what she believed her best friend’s dream home looked like but she deserved it. She deserved Vision, she deserved all this happiness and she wished she could stay behind and watch it.

She stripped out of her frosted clothes, walking into the bathroom to take a warm shower. “It’s no use dwelling on the past, sweetheart. It’s already gone.” her mother used to tell her and she guessed she was right, what use was it for her to wonder what if? There was no what if. She was a dead woman if he knew, but Y/N was already dead even if she didn’t. The last name ended with her, the genetic tree of her ancestors ended with her and she guessed it fit, destroyer of trees and blood.

She felt the warm water drip down her body and onto the porcelain floor of the shower, the foam making the air smell like wild daisies on a summer afternoon. It felt warm, it felt nice, thoughtless, to be only the essence of life without the obligation of thought. Just seeing, living, greatly dissolving into the fabric of nature. Stepping out of the shower, thought evaded. She was expecting to see him, to look at him one last time before she was gone. Yet again, what use was to look into someone who’d she betrayed? It was no use.

She involved herself in the white fluffy towel, walking into the kitchen to rummage through whatever Wanda and Vision had. Wanda was always a fun of tropical fruit so she knew she probably kept something yummy for her.

- You’ve always toyed with probability, petal. - she turned around once she head that voice, heart clenched yet beating faster at the same time. - It is very dangerous for you and for you friend. Easy lock, windows open.

- If you’re going to do it, please do it outside where we won’t stain my friend’s apartment.

- Oh petal ... - he took the gun from the holster which was always close to his legs. She had been shot before, she didn’t feel it, it didn’t hurt. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound but the only sound that came was his gun hitting the floor. She opened her sides, watching as he slide the gun over to her, it reaching her feet. - I thought we were done with you being afraid of me.

- James ...

- Bucky. - he corrected her, still standing on the opposite side of the room. She stood there motionless but he started walking up to her. - You think I want to kill you.

- The worse thing I have ever did was what I did to you. Besides, Wanda saw one of your friends on campus with a gun.

- We always carry guns, petal. The question is what have you done to me?

- I’ve betrayed you.

- Have you? Because I don’t remember my shipment being intercepted not that it would, I lied to you.

- You lied to me?

- I never doubted your ... your affections towards me but I did doubt your loyalty to your father. I was surprised.

- Were you?

- No, I lied. What I was surprised about what that you took a bullet meant for me. What the fuck were you thinking? You could’ve died.

- I don’t know.

- You ran away from me. I wanted ... I ...

- What did you want, Bucky? - she cocked her head to the side, examining him and whatever his thoughts were doing to him.

- I wanted you. I wanted to have been by your side when you took a bullet for me, I wanted you in my bed, not in my bar I hate watching other men ogle you. I wanted you to marry me and carry my child. I wanted to give you everything I have and some more, all of what I have and all of what I don’t have. I wanted you, the captain’s daughter. I adored you.

- You don’t know me.

- I know you. You’re a terrible liar, can’t lie to save your life. Your heart ... - he stepped closer and closer to her. - Is on your sleeve. You might not know who you are or you might forget it but when you do remember I control everything but you control me.

- Bucky ...

- I just wanted to see you’re alive and well. I’ll leave and promise you’ll never see me again if you want.

- You didn’t ask me what I wanted.

- What do you want, petal?

- I want you to kiss me.

- I know where that ends, petal. - he smirked, hand searching for hers. - Very tempting of you to do those things to me.

5 YEARS LATER

It was cold, the sort of cold Bucky had began to hate, the sort of cold he felt whenever she left early in the morning to go to work but it was the sort of cold which mixed with sweet memories. Nevertheless, there he was, at another meeting, hearing whatever bullshit excuses Rumlow had to give him. Steve had been the one to suggest taking his territory rather than just off him yet taking care of a damaged business with an even more damaged partner was doing his head in. He stood against the new furnished couches of the bar, drinking his scotch as he heard Rumlow ramble and ramble about how he had good ideas. He had ideas, just not good ones. An hour late he was leaving the godless establishment to return home. He walked home as he always did during winter, watching the newly put up Christmas lights in the streets. His apartment wasn’t too far, having sold his previous one once Y/N moved back to Massachuts to buy one near her and then selling it once she graduated to buy another one. It was close to the bar and she liked it that way, constantly begging him not to go during Christmas and stay with her but business was business. Entering his home, the electrical fireplace was on and his heavily pregnant wife was barefoot, walking side to side and jumping into her dress.

- Stop jumping, you’ll fall and hurt yourself. - Bucky smirked, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her body. - And we all know you can’t get up when you fall.

- So funny. - she playfully slapped him on the chest. - It’s almost as if this wasn’t your fault.

- How’s our little boy?

- How do you know it’s not a girl? - she smirked. - Nice try, Bucky but you’ll only know when the baby is born.

- You’re killing me here.

- Come on, we have to go to the twin’s baby shower.

- Explain to me again why did your friend decided to do a baby shower after the babies were born?

- So that she would tell us what size clothes they are. - she gave him a soft kiss, leaning against him. - You won’t be your usual grumpy, scary self. You’ll be good to the other dads.

- What will I tell the other dads when they ask me what I do?

- You’re a business man. - she straightened his suit’s lapel. - Isn’t that somewhat true?

- You’re lucky I adore you.

- Come on.

Bucky found it hard mixing both of their lifestyles, but he did it for her. God, he had done so much for her and he only wanted to do more for her. If someone had told him he’d beg the police captain to go to his wedding just to make Y/N happy, he would’ve laughed, yet Y/N deserved it. His father had pretty much set her aside once it came to light she was hanging out with him and he couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. He didn’t have many friends and those he had had completely relationships to the friends Y/N had, nevertheless he tried. He wanted to be the best husband and the best father he could possibly be. Bucky would lay sleepless every single night wondering how he’d do it. How would he go to profession day and tell kids about his job? He couldn’t or he’d traumatise them. Nevertheless, he worried. Y/N was going to be a great mum, the best mum even but him? He wasn’t so sure.

They reached Wanda’s place which was decorated with all sorts of baby blue decorations. 2 boys in one go. If Bucky suddenly had two kids, he would’ve had a heart attack. He barely knew he could be a good dad for one, imagine two.

- Oh my god, you’re huge. - Wanda said as she opened the door. - How come it’s not out yet?

- The baby’s stubborn like his father.

- More like his mother. - Wanda added. - Come see the twins.

There were two bassinets on the living room where Vision was frantically rocking them side to side, Pietro sat in the couch on his phone while most of the guests were still to arrive. Y/N looked over the bassinets, the two babies laying there wide awake which probably explained why Vision looked so overwhelmed.

- Why are they so big? - Y/N whispered to Bucky. - I can’t push something that big out of me.

- Well, think positive, at least you’re only pushing one out of you and not two.

- So that’s Billy and that’s Tommy. I think. - Wanda cocked her head to the side. - Well, Billy replies to his name and Tommy doesn’t.

- Can I hold one?

- Sure. Bucky, do you wanna hold one? - Wanda asked and before he could reply, the redhead had already put a baby in his arms. James hadn’t held a baby, he didn’t know how to hold a baby yet there it was, a baby. - Aw, look at that Billy or Tommy likes you.

- We’re still working on what colour we should dress one another so we know which one is which. - Vision added. - Pietro is still upset we didn’t name one Pietro.

- Y/N you will name your baby Pietro if it’s a boy.

- Absolutely not. - she said as she cooed the baby in her arms. - They’re so beautiful. Congratulations.

- Yeah ... - Bucky handed back the baby to Wanda. - Do you think I can use your balcony?

- Sure.

Y/N furrowed her browns, putting the baby back in his crib before excusing herself. She gave Bucky some time before following him and there he was, leaned against the wall, cigarette hanging from the middle of his lips as his wild blue eyes observed the night sky.

- It’s a filthy habit. - she walked into the balcony. - What’s stressing you?

- Nothing’s stressing me, petal.

- You always smoke when you’re stressed so let it out. What’s wrong? Is it Rumlow?

- Rumlow wishes he could stress me.

- Bucky.

- You’re pregnant, petal. Like ... really, really pregnant.

- We’ve established that. - she looked at her own bump. - You thought it was a food baby?

- I don’t know, looking at Wanda’s kids ... we will have a baby in less than a month and I am going to be a father and I will screw it up. I’m not ready.

- You’re stressed about being a dad? - she wrapped her arms around his neck, soft kind eyes looking at him. - Buck, everyone’s stressed with their first baby. You’re going to be a great dad.

- I should get a new job.

- Not this again.

- Yes. I need to get a new job so the baby ...

- Bucky, you don’t need a new job. - she interrupted him. - Your job won’t put the baby in danger because I won’t let it happen. I don’t know if you remember but I’m very good at deflecting bullets.

- Deflecting? - he laughed. - You’re very good at catching them.

- Either way, you’re going to be a great dad. Steve’s a great dad and he went parachuting without a parachute like an idiot. You take a parachute, at least.

- I see your point.

- James Barnes, in exactly five months you’re gonna be as good as a father as you could be. - she leaned against him, taking her opportunity to take the cigarette away from his mouth and tossing it out the balcony. Her eyes followed up to his face, intently on something. - What?

- I smell snow.

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell @sebbystanlover-vk @jevans2 @hollarious @itsallyscorner @tcc-gizmachine @saiyanprincessswanie @stuckysavedmylive @vicmc624 @sebstanfan123

#sebastian stan #bucky #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky imagine #sebastian stan imagine #bucky drabble #sebastian stan drabble #mob boss! sebastian stan #mob boss!bucky #mob bucky

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riosnecktattoo · 2 years

Note

Hey! What's a scene in one of your fics that was the most fun to write and do you have a favorite? Do you have an scene that was really difficult to write?

Hi! sorry i sat on this for a bit, was so fun to think about 😊

The first thing that came to mind for 'most fun' was this bit in Jawbreaker Chapter 3

She takes it from him but neither of them move, and his mind goes completely blank thinking about the logical next step in this situation before Elizabeth straightens her shoulders, shyly bats her eyes at him and says “Turn around.”

He’s never spun round so fast in his life. Faces the long window above his dresser as he tries to get a hold of himself.

Thinks he shoulda left the room, that that woulda been the right thing to do obviously, as a friend, but then he hears the soft thud of her sodden t-shirt being dropped to the floor and he knows he can’t move now.

Elizabeth is behind you in just her bra and jeans. Elizabeth is behind you half naked. Elizabeth is in your bedroom without a shirt on.

Blood rushes in his ears and he’s never thought of himself as an awkward or nervous person but he doesn’t know what to do right now. Starts fidgeting with shit on top of his dresser. Reaches for a book, picks it up, then puts it down again. Knocks over a bottle of water with the back of his hand and scrambles to set it right.

He decides keeping his hands at his sides is the best option.

I just remember the exact moment i knew i wanted Beth to change her top behind an unraveling Rio and being like AHAHAHA and it was really easy to write and it makes me smile to remember.

Favourite scene?! Gahhh so impossible and my mind keeps going to Jawbreaker but i don’t wanna be boring so i’ll say i really like this bit in Invitation to a Beheading Chapter 2

There’s death, there’s blood and he brought her here to kill her – but he’s never needed her so bad.

She glows. Still. Like this. She can’t help it. So alive. And he needs to feel it. Taste the light.

He drops the gun, throwin’ it behind him to the table blindly, bringing his right arm back up to reach out and grab at her throat hard. His whole hand circles around it, grippin’ her tight, watchin’ her gasp before he yanks her against him and kisses her.

Her hands cradle his jaw, painting warm blood on to him, dragging them down his neck to dig her nails in to his shoulders through his coat, crushing herself against his body - and he had forgotten how fuckin’ soft she is.

Not forgotten. Buried it. With everything else. Tried not to picture this. Failed most nights when he would get himself off thinkin’ about the sounds she used to make. How wet she got when he’d barely touched her. How warm and tight her cunt was. The way her jaw would drop, go rigid when she moaned. Somethin’ he thought about when he was alone and didn’t care how much it made him hate himself – shit, he dreamed about it. Even in that damn hospital bed. The drugs to ease his pain makin’ her feel like she was there. In the room.

Real enough to kiss. Real enough to kill. Pressin’ the button on his morphine drip again and again and again to stop her from fading.

But time had stolen some of her edges, the way she feels, the way she moves under his hands almost painful it’s so good.

He licks in to her mouth and she tastes like blood – the coppery tang bursting on his tongue. Can feel where it rubs off on him, sticky and thick and still warm, from her face to his.

Thinks maybe it should make him feel sick, but it doesn’t. Just like her. Spikes somethin’ hot and twisted in both of ‘em that they should probably let die.

But not right now.

i just think it’s really fucked up and hot and i luv that 😌

A scene that was really difficult to write would deffo be the entirety of Campanula! I’m soooo happy with how that fic came out but it definitely felt out of my comfort zone to write from Annie’s pov. But yes it was tricky but i loved doing something different

#asks #Welcome to my TAY talk #my fic #Jawbreaker #Invitation to a Beheading #brio fic #nbc good girls

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jihyuncompass · 4 years

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Hello! Can we have RFA+V react to an MC who really wants to cuddle them and reassure them? Thank you!

Hello! I hope you like these! I really liked this.

Zen

This man is the KING of physical affection.

Nothing, literally nothing makes him happier than when he’s touching you or you’re touching him.

So when things aren’t going so well for him and when he’s feeling overwhelmed just having you nearby helps him feel better.

But you want to do more to help him.

Zen was preparing for this big role, it was one of his biggest to date and he was so anxious about getting it right. He was rehearsing nonstop, pacing around your apartment whispering lines to himself, or singing bars of musical numbers.

Every little mistake would make him so frustrated he’d want to throw his script against the wall. This role was massively important so WHY couldn’t he do this right?

Watching him you could feel the tension just radiating off of him. You knew how much this role meant to him, after all, you were the one who set him up with it.

But seeing him agonize like this was torture.

At a point, you walked up to him and took the script from his hands and leading him to the couch.

Both sitting down you untied his long hair and ran your hands through the long strands.

“I just can’t get it,” Zen said.

“Hyun.” You whispered, “You’ll get it, I know you will.” You lightly scratched at his scalp, feeling the tension shed from his shoulders.

Sitting close you held onto each other, while you reassured him until you could make him smile. Asking if there was anything you could do to help.

Yoosung

Every part of being in a relationship is new to Yoosung. So even things like the smallest bits of affection can get him super excited.

The feeling of just having someone you love embrace you and hold you is just so nice!

Yoosung had just failed another exam. Now, this was something he had grown very accustomed to but this time he had actually studied really hard and did the very best he could.

And he still failed. At this point, he wasn’t sure what was wrong with him that even when he tried he still couldn’t do it. He used to be such a great student and now he just felt like a giant failure.

And even after trying not even LOLOL seemed to be cheering him up. So he just decided to give up and try and nap instead.

When you came home and saw how distraught he looked you immediately lied behind him and held his back against your front.

At first he didn’t want to tell you, he was afraid you’d be ashamed of him. But hearing you comfort him, encourage him. It made him feel a little better.

After he told you about his exam you just held him tighter.

“It’s just an exam, you’ll just try again on the next one. If you want I’ll help you study!”

You assured him that you weren’t disappointed in him, that you still loved him just as much, and maybe even admitted to some of your own exam failures.

While he doesn’t feel better right away, having you next to him made him feel a little better. At least he had you in his life.

Jaehee

Jaehee is usually very formal. She’s not someone who often asks for physical affection.

She does like physical affection though, she’s just not good at asking for it.

Physical comfort isn’t something Jaehee is familiar with, her family wasn’t physically affectionate. Even when her mother was alive.

Jaehee over time had learned how to manage her own fears and anxiety but she still struggled. Sometimes her anxiety would get so high that she would feel like she was going to completely shut down.

These moments used to happen a lot more when she worked at C&R. Evenings where she had piles of work to do and it felt impossible to tackle.

This was long after she had left C&R and opened the cafe. She truly loved being able to actually pursue something she was so passionate in but that didn’t stop stress from piling on.

And sometimes the stress of running the cafe would start to get to her. Leaving her overwhelmed.

One evening she was pouring over documents, new recopies, order forms, work applications, all spread out over the table. Organized in a method that made you stressed too.

You convinced her to take a break, handing her a cup of tea when she collapsed onto your living room couch.

Sitting there you put an arm around her shoulder. Her head resting in the crook of your neck. You traced circles on her shoulder.

“You should rest Jaehee, you worked all day at the cafe and now you should get some rest.”

“There’s still so much work to do MC”

“Then let me help you, I’m your partner. That’s what I’m here to do.”

Jumin

Jumin Han doesn’t get overwhelmed. Jumin Han is a self-assured man. He doesn’t need someone to reassure him.

That’s what he used to think. And then he met you and realized that sometimes he needs a little reassurance.

One thing Jumin never tried to do was let the gossip sites and the reporters get to him. It was so easy to let them take whatever story they want and run with it. So he knew he had to keep his head on straight.

But sometimes that was difficult, sometimes the gossip would hit close to home and he felt like he couldn’t ignore it.

You were the only person he felt comfortable breaking down in front of. It didn’t happen often but when it did it was like a volcano.

His father had just gone through another very public relationship and breakup. While it wasn’t unusual for him this time the reporters took to trying to involve Jumin, asking for a statement and his feelings.

Even after giving his statement, it felt like they weren’t going to leave him alone.

He had come home from work his shoulders tense and a headache blooming in the back of his head. The second he came in the door he started searching for you.

You had been sitting on the couch with Elizabeth the 3rd when you noticed him.

Just by looking at him, you could see how exhausted he looked. You opened your arms and welcomed him towards you.

You undid his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons on his dress shirt then pulled him into an embrace. There you quietly comforted him whispering gentle words to him.

He stayed there in your embrace for a while, your scent, and the feeling of your embrace grounding him. A soft and gentle reminder that you’re his safe place.

Seven/Saeyoung

While he tried not to let it get to him, sometimes memories of his past would get to him.

He used to try and suppress the bad memories but sometimes they felt relentless and overwhelming.

In the course of your relationship, you learned to tell when Saeyoung was having a rough time so you could try and comfort him.

You had to be careful though, sometimes when these things happened he would just fully shut down to the point where you couldn’t really help him.

It was a careful balance with him.

One day you could sense his anxiety, it was radiating off of him. He sat hunched over his computer screen trying to get work done, but you could see the bags under his eyes, and the way his breath kept hitching in his throat.

You waited until some of his work was finished and then slowly approached him. He heard you approaching but stayed focused on his computer screen.

Gently you pulled back his computer chair, he looked up at you. Completely frozen when you climbed to sit in his lap, your arms around his neck. tracing small circles onto his shoulder blades.

With a sigh, Saeyoung rested his arms around your hips, his forehead on your shoulder.

He didn’t say much but he listened to you as you reassured him, gently comforting him. With every word, he seemed to settle a bit more.

Even when he calmed down he kept you on his lap while he worked. Your weight soothing him like a warm weighted blanket.

V/Jihyun

Please comfort this man

Please reassure him when he’s struggling. It’s what he needs and deserves.

Jihyun was always an expert when it came to comfort you. However, he had a difficult time letting himself be comforted and cared for. He didn’t want to feel like a burden on you.

He would do everything he could to hide his anxiety from you, he didn’t want to ever worry you again.

You're better than that though, you can feel when he’s struggling like a 6th sense. He has all these little tells that give it away.

One evening you decided to ask him if he’s okay while you’re getting ready for bed. He’d been acting odd all day but you hadn’t built up the courage to ask him until now.

When you asked him he brushed it off saying he was fine. But that didn’t satisfy you.

You asked him again, this time, less like a question.

His face fell, the worry lines on his forehead returning and his eyes downcast. Sitting in bed you put your arms around the chest to hold him.

Your fingers carded through his hair, pushing it out of his face. You planted small kisses on his temple and cheekbone, whispering affirmations.

You said many of the affirmations that he had told you when you were upset. The things that always made you feel better during the worst days.

With time he started to talk a little about what was bothering him. All while you held him tight, making sure he knew you were there for him.

#request #mystic messenger #mysme #zen #yoosung #jaehee #jumin #707 #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #mysme zen #mysme yoosung #mysme jaehee #mysme jumin #v #jihyun kim #mysme jihyun kim #mysme 707 #mysme luciel choi

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and-justice-for-zoisite · 4 years

Text

𝔻𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕜 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 (𝙳𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚍 𝟾 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

Summary: After the discovery of the connection between humans and engineers through their DNA, the crew decides that it’d be best celebrated with a party. However, the reader has a low tolerance for alcohol, and ends up saying a little more than she intended to about the android on board.

Warning/s: Drunk reader, cursing

Original Request: I would like to have a request of David 8 x Reader! The crew members on Prometheus had decided to have a small party together, and everyone on the ship was having fun. Unfortunately, our reader is not really good at drinking. Being a bit tipsy, she starts to confess her feelings toward David as well as other lovely nonsense. Later on David send her to bed, and the day after, the reader suffers from a severe hangover. (p.s. Hope this can save you from self isolation, I love you!💕) You are one of the most lovely readers I have ever met, thank you so much for making this request it’s so adorable! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! @jenna-art

(Side Note: Millburn and Fifield are alive and with the crew for this)

~~~~

“We have come so far as simple people, and for that, I’d like to make a toast,” Elizabeth Shaw held up her glass of wine, while the crew that surrounded her held up a variety of different drinks, which had been served to them by the android on board, David, “To Prometheus.”

“To Prometheus!”

Everyone drank to the toast, at least half of their drinks before they all cheered and split off into different groups to enjoy the party. Why was there a party on a ship designed specifically for a scientific expedition? Because the occasion was of paramount importance. The crew of Prometheus had just come back from their first exploration with DNA from an engineer, that, when ran through texting, came back as a match to human DNA. This was a very big and significant step in history over all, even though they hadn’t found exactly what they were looking for yet. It was a proud moment for Dr Shaw and her partner, Charlie Holloway, and they saw that the occasion deserved a party. And with a lot of trying to convince Meredith Vickers, and back up from the rest of the eager crew, the Weyland Corporation representative finally agreed to allow them this bit of fun.

The crew was separated into a few different groups on their own free wills. The captain, Janek, created a group with himself, the other pilots and Vickers, A biologist on board, Dr Millburn, was trying desperately to make conversation with the uninterested Geologist Fifield and some of his associates, Dr Ford seemed to float around the groups politely, and The two Head scientists, Shaw and Holloway sat with the robotic engineer of the ship, (Y/n) (L/n).

(Y/n) was a sweet little lady. She was stationed on Prometheus for the primary purpose of maintaining the android, David. He was the first of his model, and needed to have maintenance done every now and then along with the monthly check up. She wasn’t put into Cryosleep for this fact alone, and had grown rather fond of the synthetic. Perhaps...too fond. Although she wouldn’t admit it herself, there was something in that lovely heart of hers for the artificial man.

In her hand was a crystal cup filled with a bourbon-cola mix, a drink that didn’t do her too well in terms of intoxication, but it was supposed to be a good night, so she’d allow herself to become tipsy if that was the way to have a good time. Shaw and Holloway had different drinks to her. They had both settled for a fruity red wine, probably because they wanted to drink with class, but the fact that they had chosen differently to (Y/n) didn’t bother her, and would never have bothered her even if the entire ship chose to ‘drink with class’, she simply did what made her happy.

While engaged in conversation about home with the two doctors, (Y/n) had managed to finish her drink, and from across the room did David spot her empty crystal cup as if he could sense when she required his presence. Ever since he had met the lady, he’d felt the urge, the need to follow her around like an obedient Labrador, coming to her every beck and call and over all ensuring she was always in a good mood. Her happiness had somehow become the synthetics priority, he wasn’t aware of how, but he knew that if she wasn’t happy then he wasn’t happy. Some sort of bond maybe, he wasn’t sure. But for now, his single motive was to give the lady a refill.

With a tray of various bottles of drink, David prodded on over like an obedient mutt, and found himself beside her, leaning in slightly so he could speak to her clearly.

“Another drink, Miss?” He asked politely, (Y/n) turning slightly with a small smile to face him. “Just another bourbon, love,” She replied, holding her cup out slightly so he’d have a better access to it. Carefully, the man placed the tray down onto the table that the three humans were sat at before screwing the top of the bourbon-cola bottle off and pouring the lady a drink. “Thank you, David,” she thanked in her sweet voice, that very same voice that made David’s insides twist and turn. “How are you enjoying tonight?” He asked as he screwed the lid back onto the bottle, then placing the bottle back onto the tray. “I’m enjoying tonight thoroughly. What about you, love?” (Y/n) asked, the man’s smile only growing as he got all giddy on the inside for the fact that his favorite person asked but a simple question. “I’m enjoying it as long as you are, Miss (Y/n),” He responded with a grin that made the lady’s tummy turn in a flustered way, “I shall return when you require another refill.”

With that, David walked off to serve the other members of the ship, (Y/n) watching him as he did so with a slight mist over her eyes. Holloway leaned over the table slightly, with a small arch in one of his brows, “Call me crazy, but...I think Pinocchio has a crush on you (L/n),” He pointed out with the smallest hint of confusion in his voice, (Y/n) shaking herself out of her small daze to face the man. “Don’t be silly Holloway, he’s a machine,” She had started the sentence with the intention to poke fun at what Holloway had said, laughing a little, but it quickly plunged to a sort of depressed tone as she began speaking again, “he can’t feel anything, he never will.” (Y/n) rested her cheek in one hand as she slumped over the table and sighed, seemingly staring at the wall behind Holloway and Shaw as the couple looked at each other confused and then looked at her. “You don’t...” Shaw began, hoping that the question wasn’t at all weird, “You don’t happen to have feelings for him, do you (Y/n)?” When Elizabeth asked the question, (Y/n)’s eyes shot open from half lid and met Shaw’s. “What?” She asked, as if she hadn’t heard the question. But she heard it alright, she heard it loud and clear. “I mean, I don’t mean to be intrusive, not at all! It’s just...” Shaw was at a loss of words to describe what her thoughts were, but (Y/n) knew what she was talking about. “Yeah, I know what you mean...” She sighed, looking over at the android as she took another sip of her drink, “I don’t know, he’s just...he’s so human that it’s hard not to feel anything towards him. Two years we spent alone together...he’s such a lovely man. A witty gentleman. It makes me wish they never put any skin on him so I wouldn’t have fallen victim to his looks either,” She leaned back in her chair with a loud sigh and covered her face with one hand, “I’m an absolute bloody mess.” Once again, Shaw and Holloway looked at each other and then looked back at (Y/n). While Charlie was at a complete loss for words, Elizabeth knew that she simply needed to comfort her female friend and take her mind off of her complicated love life. “Naw, cheer up, would ya? We’re gonna have a good night (Y/n), and we’re gonna do that by drinking it right away, alright?” When Shaw said that, (Y/n) uncovered her face and looked at the red-haired woman. Within a few seconds, her small frown turned up into a smile and she leaned forward once more. “Alright then.”

“A-and then what did ya do?”

“I punched that wanker square in the fuckin’ nose!”

The now piss-drunk Elizabeth and (Y/n) were curled up close next to each other on one of the sofa chairs, telling home stories and laughing like their was no tomorrow with one of their arms around the other lady and the other holding their drinks. They were causing the most noise in that moment, with their loud cheery laughter, not that anyone but David seemed to care. Everyone else was either half as drunk as them or equally as drunk but much calmer. Charlie and Millburn were passed out at separate tables, Vickers and Janek were getting a little bit close, and everyone else was simply relaxing. The reason that David was worried was that he knew that (Y/n) didn’t have a very high tolerance to alcohol from a story she’d told him about a party she’d gone to as a teenager where she threw up everywhere after having one too many drinks. While it was told about her as a teenager, she’d also said that her tolerance seemed to remain the same all the way through to adulthood. He didn’t want her to have to experience that sensation again, but he also didn’t want to force her out of the good time she was having. So, he’d try to convince her.

With calm intentions, David approached the two ladies, and when (Y/n) saw him, her eyes seemed to light up. “David! I missed you!” She chirped on slurred words before taking another long sip of her drink. This time she was holding a fireball cinnamon whiskey-apple cider mix, and if bourbon didn’t do her well then whiskey wasn’t going to be any better. “Miss (Y/n), I hope that’s your last drink,” David said, looking at the crystal cup she’d been holding for the whole night. “Hey, don’t police me on my drinks,” She began, hiccuping mid sentence, “I’m here to have a good time.” “Of course, Miss, but do you not remember that your alcohol tolerance isn’t as high as most?” He said, taking the drink gently out of her hand before replacing it with his hand as he knelt down in front of her, “I only wish for you to get to bed safely.” (Y/n)’s face contorted into that of anger, and David was sure that she was going to demand for her drink back. But boy was he wrong.

“Why are you so goddamn beautiful?!” She nearly yelled, pinching both his cheeks with her hands. The android was very much taken a back, and had no idea what to say. Elizabeth simply giggled like a mad-man while David searched (Y/n)’s eyes. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, not being sure if he understood what was being asked of him. “Why? Why are you so freaking beautiful?” She cupped both his cheeks and squished them together as she brought his face closer to hers, “Do you have any idea what you do to me just by existing David?? You drive me right up the wall! Crazy, Damn it! Crazy!”

David swore he felt his entire body shut down and restart. He didn’t know what to do or how to feel about the situation. Hearing Elizabeth begin to cackled louder would’ve made him blush if he were capable of, but instead, he simply took (Y/n)’s hands off of his face and held them in his own. She was very much drunk, and he knew he shouldn’t take advantage of the situation.

“I think it’s best you go to bed now, Miss.”

“No, c’mon just one more drink,” (Y/n) whined, pulling out of David’s grip and standing up, stumbling on over to the table that the tray of drinks was placed on. “Yeah, c’mon David, let the belle have one more,” Elizabeth agreed, her face flushed as red as (Y/n)’s as an indication that she was just as drunk. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss,” David said in a worried voice as he followed behind her. “Sure it is, I won’t even go too hard, just some tequila and I’ll go to bed,” she sighed, reaching the table and placing her cup onto it as she grabbed the bottle and began carelessly unscrewing the cap. “You’ll have exceeded your limit by doing that,” David tried convincing, standing behind her, “Please, Miss, I’d prefer that you went to bed now.” Once (Y/n) had poured her glass, she grabbed it and turned around, only to crash into David and spill the drink on both of their chests. David steadied her so she didn’t fall, and she seemed to have a look of sadness on her face. “Naw, see, look what you made me do,” She wined, attempting to turn around only to have the android grip her arms tightly to stop her, “You’re lucky I love you, or I would’ve taken you right the fuck out.” “I have a feeling that we could’ve avoided that mistake if you weren’t so intoxicated,” David sighed, the woman shaking one of her arms free as it wrapped around her body and grabbed the bottle behind her. “I’m only human, David. And a lot of the time, I wish you were too,” she said before escaping his grip and stumbling back on over to the couch before plopping back on and curling up close next to Elizabeth.

David only stood their for a moment, thinking about what she’d said. There was so many meanings that that sentence could’ve had, but he seemed to stick to only one of the meanings. She had feelings for him. He wasn’t entirely sure how to process that, heck, he wasn’t even sure if he’d interpreted it correctly. But then he began to think of his own behavior. Maybe...maybe there was an excuse for his sudden need to come to her every beck and call. Maybe he...

There was a sudden smashing sound from behind him, David spinning around quickly to see that (Y/n) had dropped the bottle on the ground. There was no liquid however, indicating that she’d finished the bottle before she dropped it. That was something to worry over, considering it was half-full when she took it.

“Oh dear...” David mumbled as he walked on over, just in time for (Y/n) to stand up and begin trying to pick up the many shards. She crouched down and placed her hands onto the ground to steady herself, which resulted in a large glass shard jabbing into her palm. (Y/n) lifted her hand to look at it, but took no note as she began picking the pieces up. David crouched down beside her and tried to make her drop the pieces by grabbing her wrists. “You’ve had enough for tonight, Miss, we’d best get you to bed,” He said, the girl dropping the glass shards and making an annoyed face. “No...n-no, I’m fine...” (Y/n) slurred with half lidded eyes as she tried picking up the glass shards once again. “Please, I’m only suggesting this for your safety,” He pressed on, only to have the woman shoulder shove him away weakly, dropping the glass she’d collected again. “I said I’m fi-”

Before she could finish her sentence, the many drinks that she had consumed that night came rushing up her throat and gushing out onto the floor in front of her. David had seen this coming, and only placed his hand on her back and patted it gently to encourage her to be sick until she felt better. The people who were a lot less intoxicated stared at her like she was a freak, which would’ve been more embarrassing to her if she had a clear mind. Her throw-up had lasted about 20 seconds before she stopped. As soon as she did, David knelt down on one knee and scooped her up into his arms bridal style, standing up once again. (Y/n) didn’t fight it, she only breathed heavily, allowing her head to rest on the android’s alcohol covered chest. David didn’t say anything as he stepped over the glass-vomit mix and began walking toward the lady’s sleeping quarters.

It wasn’t that big of a walk, so within maybe a minute or two, the android arrived at (Y/n)’s room. He managed to open the door, awkwardly but successfully, before walking in and gently placing the woman onto her bed. He wasn’t sure if he was to change her clothing or not. Her pants would be fine to sleep in, but her uniform jacket and under-shirt were covered in tequila and spotted with a bit of her throw-up. David didn’t want to violate her while she slept, but also didn’t want to let her sleep in an uncomfortably wet shirt. (Y/n) was still awake, but barely, so he’d ask her.

“Miss, do you mind if I change your shirt?” He asked in a soft voice, the lady’s eyes opening a little more at the sound of another’s voice. “Huh?” She replied in a barely audible voice. “Your shirt, Miss, it’s covered in alcohol. Would you like me to change it for you?” He asked once more. “...yes please,” she exhaled, the android nodding as he walked over to her closet and opened it. After a bit of rummaging, he managed to find a large white shirt, one that looked very much comfortable to sleep in. So, he took it and walked back over to the bed, placing it to the side before he leaned over and tended to (Y/n). First, he unbuttoned her work jacket, moving her arms through the arm holes and taking it off of her before chucking it in the laundry basket near the door. He then instructed her to sit up, to which she did with a decent amount of struggle. Grabbing the bottom of her white under shirt, David lifted the clothing item up and over her head, doing what he did with the jacket and chucking it into the laundry basket. Now, he was left with her torso undergarment, a basic white bra. It, too was soaked in tequila, but he wasn’t sure if she was alright with him removing it. That was when he got a decent idea.

In his same, soft voice, David instructed her to turn around, so she did, but with much struggle. Now, with her back facing him, he un-clipped her bra and threw it into the laundry basket. Then, he grabbed the large t-shirt, and asked for her to raise her arms. When she did, he slipped it over her head and adjusted it so that it was on properly. Now that she was dressed, he knelt with one knee on the bed while still standing up off of it and made her lay down properly on her bed. He then went to her feet and removed her boots and socks, placing them to the side of her bed. Once that was done, he approached her side once more, this time to help her to get under her covers. That took a few moments, but they managed. Soon enough she was comfortable, and when she was, David sat beside her on her bed and simply stared at her. Her eyes were shut now, which came to no surprise since she had certainly had a big night. But what she had said earlier came back to David’s mind, and he was once again puzzled.

“I’m only human, David. And a lot of the time, I wish you were too.”

Part of those words kind of hurt him, made him feel like he wasn’t enough for her. But maybe she was hurting too, maybe she thought that their connection was nothing more than a waste. In his opinion, it certainly wasn’t. He enjoyed every second that they got to spend together, and was always thinking of her when she wasn’t around. He just wished that she’d see that he’s much more than a machine, that he was capable of wanting something, of caring for someone. Of loving. After all, the thing he was designed to be closest to is human.

But David couldn’t let it get to him that night, he needed to let (Y/n) sleep. So, with a gentle kiss to the forehead, he got up and he left to go clean up her mess.

(Y/n) woke up with a loud groan and a splitting headache the next morning. The lady couldn’t help the ‘oh god’s she mumbled as she sat up under her sheets, taking in her surroundings. She was in her room, not that she remembered how she got their, but she assumed that she’d gotten a little too drunk and one of the crew members had to take her to her room. Her headache, however, was telling her that she’d gotten a lot more than a little too drunk though, but all she craved in that moment was water.

At the sound of her door opening, (Y/n) jumped, startled at the sudden movement. She was relieved when David was revealed from behind it, a cup of water and some panadol capsules in his hands. The synthetic walked up to the side of her bed and placed the cup of water on her bed-side table.

“How do you feel this morning, Miss?” He asked, (Y/n) rubbing her eyes as David handed her two panadol capsules. “Like shit. How drunk did I get? I don’t remember,” She sighed, taking the medicine before placing it in her mouth. “Very. You dropped an empty bottle of tequila and then threw up all over the broken glass,” He explained, handing her the water. She took a sip and swallowed the pills before placing it back down on the bed-side table. “God, I’m so sorry David,” She apologised, flopping back onto her back, “I’m such a fucking loser.” “I beg to differ. You said some sweet things while you were under influence,” David contradicted, (Y/n) turning her head slightly to look at him. “Yeah? Like what?” She asked, very doubtful of what he was trying to say. “Well, you asked me why I was so beautiful, in a very angered tone,” he recounted, the lady’s face flushing red as her eyes widened, “interesting terminology, but I was still certainly flattered. And then you bumped into me with a full drink and it splashed on both of use. You said I was lucky that you loved me, or you would’ve started a fight with me. Other than that, you were your usual sweet self.” (Y/n)’s face was a dark beet red, and she didn’t know what to say. David saw this and couldn’t help but smirk. “Why so quiet, Miss? You were much more talkative last night,” He teased, the woman huffing as she turned to face away from him. “Shut it, you,” she grumbled, “who programmed you to be such a smart-ass anyways?” “You’re the one who said you loved me,” he continued, sitting on the bed next to her. “I was drunk David,” she pointed out, the man fake pouting as he laid down next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his face into her neck to which she felt her heart skip about a million beats as she stiffened up. “So you don’t love me?” He asked, (Y/n)’s breath hitching in her throat at the feeling of his breath against her neck. “...I never said that,” she countered, David chuckling quietly as he nestled in closer to her. “You’re such a child,” He whispered, the lady huffing once more as she spun around in his arms and cuddled in closer to him. “Just shut up and cuddle me.” David chuckled once more before he closed his eyes and relaxed with her in his arms. “Yes ma’am.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I wish I could’ve gotten this out sooner, but my shoulder was unfortunately dislocated last week, which has made it harder for me to write properly. But I’m now out of my sling, so all should be well! Don’t forget to check out my Character list and go make more requests! Feed my boredom damn it.

#david 8 x reader #david 8 #david 8 prometheus #prometheus #alien #prometheus x reader #david 8 imagine #fluff #drunk reader

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years

Note

I’d def love an oc concept sheet for the subjects like yes please give me some good fucking food

Behold, the Core Curriculum!!! I thought I may as well start with the most important boys and girls! (Picrews Used Here: x x x x)

Subject: Mathematics

Name: Milo Brooks

Type: Possessive and Sadistic, and whiney about both.

~This guy. Fuck this guy.

~He probably started as your bully, or the average, every-day jerk you had to put up with. He’s not very tactful with his aggression, always cornering you or pushing you into walls, but never knowing what to say when he has you pinned. He wants to see you cry, and he wants to hear that cute little voice of yours pleading with him to stop. Milo doesn’t really think about it, beyond that.

~Milo skips feeding you, a lot. He wants you to think of being alive as a privilege, even if it’s a privilege you don’t care to have, on his worst days. You’ll have to beg for water, for a bed, for his attention when you begin to think you’ve been left in his basement to rot. He isn’t very nice about it, calling you needy, pathetic, but you weren’t the one crying into his chest last night.

~The type of asshole to go on and on about how much smarter he is than everyone else. He probably took Calculus. Fucking Nerd.

~You’d say he wanted to frustrate you, if you didn’t know better. There’ll always be a rule he ‘forgot’ to mention, something he wanted that you didn't give him. You’re the one who failed, the one who let him down, the one who isn’t good enough. He doesn’t take an opposing view very kindly, either.

~His punishments are as damaging mentally as they are physically. He’ll guilt you as he picks a leg to break or a patch of your skin to burn, telling you how this wouldn’t be happening if you behaved, how you should’ve done that earlier or asked for his help with something you didn’t know you were doing wrong. By the time he’s putting your newly fractured ankle into a splint, you might start to believe it, too.

Subject: Science

Name: Elizabeth Bennett

Type: Obsessive and Voyeuristic, but stolen pens will be the least of your worries.

~She’s very sweet! I mean, you might not like her, considering all the torture, but she really is very, very sweet!

~Mental Health is one of her many divisions, so you’ll only receive the up-most care. Your room is always spotless, always sunny and open, and there’s plenty of toys for you to play with! She makes sure you have the newest gaming systems, all the books your little heart could want, and something new is only a smile and a kiss away.

~She takes you outside, too, but only under strict supervision. Usually, she’ll be happy with holding your hand or being able to see you, but if her lovely, lovely lab rat wants to make a run for it, she won’t be opposed to getting you a new leash.

~Can’t cook. Like, at all. That being said, she would adore watching you make something for just the two of you. If you don’t want to, it’s fine! The kitchen is full of all sorts of sharp things she can use to encourage you.

~Elizabeth is the kind of girl who loves everything about you. You can’t throw anything away without asking her, just in case she treats it as a ‘keepsake’, and there will always be a camera on you. One of her favorite things to do is to take you into her ‘special room’, sit you in her lap and re-watch of her favorite moments with her favorite sweetheart! If you don’t seem happy, she’ll be very sad, so it’s better to put on a smile and act as excited as she is.

~Of course, she wants to know everything there is to know about you. She doesn’t like hurting you, but if keeping you under her scalpel as she takes you apart brings her closer to you, how is she supposed to resist? It's so... intimate, to her, how your blood stains her skin, how she'll know every part of you like the back of her hand, soon enough. Your screams are just so pretty, and she’ll take really good care of you, afterward. Just don’t blame your injuries on her. She tends to get… emotional rather quickly.

Subject: History

Name: Rin Hirota

Types: Possessive and Jealous, but mostly annoying.

~Look at that face. He probably only reads fiction if it’s based in World War Two. He is, at the risk of repeating myself, a nerd.

~He’s seems normal, and for the most part, he is normal. It’s just… Rin gets jealous, and he gets jealous easily. It’s who he is. You’ve known it since your first date, when he clung to your side a little tighter and spoke a little louder whenever your attention strayed, like he couldn’t stand to see you thinking about someone else. He’d never say such a thing out loud, but he isn’t all that subtle, either.

~Praise is going to be necessary, if you don’t want to deal with a temper tantrum. He wants you to comment on everything he does in that sweet, sugary tone, regardless of how honest you’re being. It’s addictive, how you treat him so highly. But, he’s willing to make everyone else seem awful, to achieve this. Sure, he’s not the best, but he’s not a monster, unlike them. Just look at how they’re eyeing you up, how disrespectful they are. Obviously, he’s the only person worth spending time with.

~Gaslighting is going to be extremely common, by the way. Whenever there’s an argument, or he says something you don’t like, he’ll let you yell and fuss for a few minutes before he walks away, only coming back hours later to go on about how wrong you were, and how he forgives you, even if he was the one being irrational. It’s not worth the energy it takes to correct him, he’s so persistant when it comes to his version of things, so just… grin and bear it. He isn’t very happy when you don’t.

~You caught him jerking off to a picture of your ankle, once. This is an example of when he begins gaslighting you.

~He won’t kidnap you, if you’re looking for a silver lining. He doesn't have to. You can't risk being with anyone else, you’ve heard such terrible things about them, but Rin never lets you believe the awful, awful rumors people spread about him. He never lets you go, even if there are rough spots, and you’re sure that’s more than all the people you used to talk to would do for you. Rin told you that himself

Subject: English

Name: Oliver Laurent

Type: Obsessive and Delusional, which is just another way of saying he’s clingy.

~He’s soft, he’s so soft. He’ll faint if you hold his hand too tightly, and that’ll never change.

~He doesn’t think of himself as a stalker, but he absolutely is. Oliver just thinks it so romantic to leave those hearts drawn on your hand for when you wake up, or cuddle up to you when you’re sleeping too restlessly for him to do so. He spends a lot of time with you when you’re asleep, come to think of it. You’re just so beautiful, in any state of consciousness.

~Love letters will be important, too. Oliver likes it when you read them, when he gets to watch as you experience so many different feelings, all focused on him, but as long as you touch the envelope, he’ll be happy. He’ll remember to make a spare, next time, just as loving and just as beautiful as the initial copy. To leave on your bed, in case you’re too embarrassed to read his confessions in public and tear it up, again.

~’Reading Time’ is required and it’s never pleasent. All his favorite books are Classics, and he reads them again and again and again, to the point where you’ll have Of Mice And Men memorized by your second month with him

~You can hurt him, if you want to. Punch him, bite him, call him a freak... he doesn't like it, but craves your attention like a drug. It doesn’t matter whether it’s positive or negative, painfully of blissful, he needs something, and he needs it often. He’ll be smiling as long as your skin is on his, even if your touch leaves such nasty marks.

~I don’t think he’s ever seen the sun. He just doesn’t see the appeal. The only time he ever really gets mad is when you ask to go outside, because he’s read The Collector and he knows what you must be planning. There’s nothing outside, you don’t have to go outside. If you aren’t happy with your room, then you must not be happy with him, which means you don’t love him and I don’t think he can take that, either.

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flutter2deceive · 3 years

Text

Inspired by @everybodyknows-everybodydies recent ER dream posts, I figured I'd share some of my ER dreams from the past year. I text myself whatever i remember after waking up from interesting dreams so that's the grammatically incorrect format they're in lol

buffy out on the streets moving vans with her strength, timothy olyphant is a vampire and he and his vamp buddies need romano to inject blood back into his circulatory system so he can go out in daylight again, they're taunting him like "come on didn't buffy train with you for a week to be a surgeon before giving up?", idk

The coolest stop motion video ever of this ER drawing turned into a storyline, mark leaves i guess jennifer and is running down the hallway to someone and i'm curious to see if it will be susan or elizabeth, it's elizabeth but then the pov switches to susan and she continues running down the hall to the trauma coming in and she high-fives abby and it's like the main point of contact for all the friendly characters when they do something cool is to high-five, watching this whole thing run thru and have the absolute biggest look of gleeful wonder on my face, i say some very nice words and hope they make it to whoever the author/vid marker are

In a steam engine room like that titanic ep of newsradio, there were also demons, so hell??, then there was a thing about carter being gay and in love with his best friend but then he called me lisa (which is my name) but i took that to mean that it was actually dave and it was a whole thing about maura tierney's fake ex-boyfriends?, and carter was out in my parents' front yard confessing his love but he accidentally stepped in the path of a chainsaw and the top of his toe got chopped off so then he was in a wheelchair

Kerry and elizabeth talking about sandy and mark and how they dread talking to henry and ella about them without breaking down, but it's also like they're still there, and then it's kerry and mark having the same convo but it's mark talking about his dad, they're in the hospital bathroom, a scene where sandy is temping in a library at the hospital and arizona robbins also working there and the implication is that they used to date, arizona comes up to sandy's table and notices that she seems to be doing wedding planning meanwhile kerry is sitting by herself at another table, arizona is judgy about what appears to be sandy chasing a girl who's in the closet and ashamed, sandy explains that kerry doesn't know and it's a surprise which is why she has the flashmob people standing 2 deep around kerry's table so she doesn't see the minister bringing the shrubbery in (this never happens in the dream but also what?? lol), then kerry has a successful hip replacement surgery that luka performed and mark is telling everyone about it, susan and abby were just starting to feel out a relationship and were making out in the bathroom

The er hospital but housed in an amalgam of my workplace and childhood church, i guess i'm like an orderly?, corday is pregnant and examining a patient and she's like ready-to-pop pregnant but she's still insistent that she's good to work until she's 8cm dilated and she's only 6 right now, we're all like dude go up to ob now, she's doing like yoga stretches on the floor to alleviate pain but still insists she's fine, meanwhile her patient is like ???, her water breaks and romano is gonna take her up to surgery, there's a space issue at the elevators and only he can fit, me and the other orderly say we'll take her up on the gurney in the other bank of elevators, we go flying down the hall and yelling for people to move cuz mrs corday's-- "sorry, dr. corday's"-- water broke, we get stopped by a security guard who won't let us through and then stopped again cuz there's construction in the warehouse, somehow romano manages to get lizzie but me and the other orderly are locked out, go to a bar downstairs to wait and nick kroll is there and he alerts everyone at the bar to the fact that he found several fan art/fic hits for "nick kroll/luka kovac" on the company's subreddit, he seems oddly intrigued, how weird of a pairing

In the future, there are no doctors because they're all burnt out from covid so healthcare in the future is just holograms of scenes from er but they're not the medical scenes they're the relationship drama stuff, alex kingston is named ceo of brain things due to her time on both er and doctor who, an interviewer asks what her favorite katy perry song is and romano answers for her, then maura tierney kicks everyone's ass at a banquet

The specifics elude me but somehow abby made it so that neela's memories of gallant's death are erased, and he's not exactly alive but also not dead, maybe she went back in time and changed something or had magic?, but neela is now texting with michael who is actually abby with his phone pretending to be him, abby is feeling really guilty for playing around with life and death and neela's feelings when she didn't have a gameplan, she ends up telling weaver she did something extremely morally questionable, now the two of them have to think thru how to handle the situation, neela is concerned now cuz michael texted that he'd talk with her at 23:00 but he hasn't called yet, then there's this really annoying intern that's pissing all the docs off, weaver starts to say something and ppl think she's gonna tell this woman off but she's like "this is an intern that's working here? She should be the hospital's lawyer", and then abby and susan smirk at each other and put on a tie? Idk but i think it's a different reality than the gallant-still-alive one

On a road trip or something and get back to abby's apartment, i may be susan but also possibly just me, we get the luggage from the car and while abby is trying to find her keys to unlock the door, we hear a noise from down the alley, the blonde woman that luka had been flirting with is near the luggage and is drunk or high, we wrestle with our conscience on whether to help her, she ends up asking to crash on the couch, abby and i get her inside and on the couch, we then end up sharing the bed and giggling

Caring for romano while he was in the hospital, mei lin from top chef is a med student and robert keeps insulting her, i think i might be corday, order a butterfinger and bottle of water from the hospital convenience store, go back to robert's room, he's muttering about the salad they brought him, i ask if he wants me to tell the nurse that he wants them to leave the salad for when he wakes from his nap, he squints up at me and smiles, says that his coping mechanism for stress is egg salad, idk

Living an ep of ER, i am susan, walking to my car alongside elizabeth, we're kinda tensely discussing when the kids will be at each of our houses for the holidays, i say let's just fuck it and join our celebrations, it's like a thing as if mark actually used to be married to susan and had a kid, don't know if it was supposed to be little suzie or rachel, elizabeth smiles unexpectedly and my heart kicks up, get in our cars and drive off, i am fumbling with a cigarette and the lighter from the car, drop them both as i'm driving down the hill out of the hospital parking lot, but now i am abby and have the season 9 hair, keep talking about this guy coworker i'm secretly seeing but it's actually susan and i'm trying to throw people off the scent, and there's something also about trixie and katya in this part of the dream but i don't remember specifically what, maybe guest star patients?

#er #dreams #i am a ridiculous human being #even in slumber lol

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dontasktheradiodemon · 3 years

Text

Alternate Picnic (4/19/2021)

Alastor a.k.a. Leal (@usedhearts) and Alastor a.k.a. Astor (hey there) have a picnic, how lovely.

And during the picnic, Leal reveals that Alastor a.k.a. Alastor in @ruddygore's universe appears to be rapidly going insane from grief and isolation—so, what do they want to do about it?

usedhearts

It was a lovely spread that Valera had set up. Leal couldn't help closing his eyes to take in the scents wafting off all of it. She'd really taken to these recipes-- he liked that.

Glancing up, he looked at his alternate as he took a bite of gumbo.

"So, about our self from Ruddy's Hell..."

dontasktheradiodemon

He liked it a hell of a lot less than his alternate did. These were *family recipes*, what business did somebody *outside* of the family have knowing them, much less an *entirely different species*—!

But the alternate presently here hadn't been the one to teach Valera, and he didn't know the culprit, and anyway what right did he have to tell his alternates what to do with the family recipes, it was *their* family too—

Anyway he'd already had his furious stomp-off and now he was just dealing with it. Angrily eating while pretending he wasn't angry.

"Hm?" It took him a moment to work out who his alternate meant. "Ah. Yes, right—that's what everyone's taken to calling the Sir Pentious who's fond of Ruddigore. Our self who interrupts overlord turf wars to discuss baby names for radio towers?" A huff.

usedhearts

"Yes, that's just the one. I went with Val to collect some gifts from Ruddy for Elizabeth, and he was there. It was....odd. He was just sitting there with tape over his mouth." He took another bite to keep his smile from twitching.

"Apparently, Ruddy had told him that he could stay and hang around as long as he stayed quiet. But I found it...undignified. Don't think I could do it. Sit there, not saying anything, for who knows how long? No thank you.

"But....well, my dear self, I'm concerned for him." His brow furrowed and he cracked open a crawfish, sucking the meat from the tail and head before breaking into the claws for what little was in there.

dontasktheradiodemon

"Reminds me I've got to finish my gifts," he muttered under his breath; but that wasn't really the question here, was it?

"Odd," he agreed, albeit not with quite as dire overtones as his alternate. "Dignity's optional in situations where it's not... how do I put it—narratively useful." Because Alastors were always constructing narratives around themselves, weren't they? "Some of our alternates find it more optional than others. I'm more surprised he was willing to keep quiet! But maybe he enjoyed the challenge, maybe he had his Mic and audience to speak for him, maybe he was entertained by whatever he was watching..."

Or maybe he craved Sir Pentious's company. Would Astor be willing to slap some tape over his mouth in exchange for permission to remain in that Sir Pentious's presence? No; Astor already found him nearly too condescending to stand, and he could hang out with Penny and Telly freely. But what about half a year ago? Possibly. Maybe this alternate was a kindred spirit.

And if that was the case, *this* alternate would probably be blind to it. All the same, he asked, "Do you think he was there unwillingly? Any signs he was drugged, hypnotized, restrained?"

usedhearts

"Oh, no, he was there willingly, I learned that later. I talked with him, first through a notepad, and then when he was leaving, we actually talked. No, that's not what concerned me."

Leal sighed, taking a roll to pick at, he huffed. How to word this? Should he dive straight to the point, or give some more context? Ah, to Hell with it.

"Alastor, his smile dropped."

dontasktheradiodemon

Astor paused with a bite of salad halfway to his mouth. His invisible audience rhubarbed around him; he shushed them—what a pack of gossips—and said, "I trust there's more to the story than 'it broke so he slapped some tape on as a quick repair job'?"

usedhearts

"It only fell for a moment, but both Val and I saw it. It was when Ruddy told him to leave." He was really tearing into that roll now, ripping it into little pieces as he ate it.

"I was, understandably, concerned when I saw that. And shocked. That's when I went off with him to talk for a bit, ostensibly to see him out. You remember Ruddy mentioned that the Cannibal Colony was gone? Well, Rosie is too, and Mimzy. He told me that, and apparently, he went on another rampage because of it-- which is understandable, certainly, I would feel much the same in his position-- but according to him, he doesn't remember what he did during it."

He took a breath and stuffed some more bread in his mouth to give himself a short break-- it was all rushing out and he didn't want to overwhelm Astor, after all.

dontasktheradiodemon

Astor's eyebrows twitched up. Rosie *and* Mimzy. He'd been bouncing back and forth between them to keep himself sane for far longer than he'd been alive.

"Rampage like that, I doubt I'd have a clear enough head to keep track of what I did either." But he'd withhold more commentary than that; he got the sense his alternate wasn't done yet.

usedhearts

He certainly wasn't done, and he took a breath.

"Yes, absolutely, I hardly recall what _exactly_ I did during my first one, it's no wonder he doesn't remember. But that's not all. Apparently, during his rampage he....hurt Vaggie, or he killed her, I'm uncertain. 'She's not around anymore' is what he said. Charlie is still going through with the Hotel despite that, but no one else at the Hotel will speak with our alternate."

Another breath.

"Ruddy is literally the only person who will speak to him, and who isn't terrified of him."

dontasktheradiodemon

And there went his chief distraction, too. Granted, it had turned out to be something of a poor distraction—but it was a distraction that had let him network with other distractions, that was something. "What about his underlings? Niffty, Husk, et al. I know they're hardly in a position to substitute for *friends,* but even socializing with the indentured help is better than socializing with no one."

usedhearts

"I didn't ask after the two of them, unfortunately, but I feel like when he said that everyone at the Hotel was scared of him and wouldn't speak with him, they were included in that."

Leal reached for some of the okra, piling it on his plate. Even a discussion like this wasn't going to dissuade him from good okra.

"Charlie will talk to him but, obviously, that's strained and I'm assuming that she'd only talk to him about Hotel things. He _is_ still helping, though? But....obviously, it's not going well. I told him I'd talk to some of our other selves, see if we could at least visit and talk with him."

dontasktheradiodemon

"Oh, are they with the *hotel* instead of with *him* now." Well, strange.

Why even help with the hotel at that point? Without even a *tenuous* connection to anyone in the hotel but Charlie, he might as well be watching it through a telescope, and he'd probably get just as much pleasure out of it. Something to fill the time, he supposed.

"He ought to be visiting other universes as well," Astor mused. "Not just *receiving* visits. I can teach him how to do it if he doesn't already know. Across four or five dimensions, we might be able to scrounge together one normal-sized social circle that isn't scared of him."

usedhearts

"Yes. I was figuring between you, me, and perhaps Alexa, we'd be able to make some sort of plan. But there's also the fact that, well, he could be a danger-- not just to random passerbys, but to the people trying to befriend him. It's safe enough for us, because we know mostly what he's capable of, as well as we can for any alternate. I just worry about him causing harm to other non-Alastors, and then that damaging him further."

He sighed and got a bowl of jambalaya this time. "I think we should use caution until we know better how stable his current state is."

dontasktheradiodemon

"We could unleash him in a dimension we don't care about? Ideally one where something took out our local alternate, so nobody important will get irritated if we make a mess."

The jambalaya was all Leal's. Astor didn't think he could touch his mother's recipe prepared by another person. "If it would help—my own Rosie and Mimzy have seen me when I've been an absolute mess, I doubt either of them would object if I asked them to indulge another me's grief. But I suppose we'll have to make sure he's stable enough not to do something stupid at the sight of them first, won't we?"

usedhearts

"That's an idea. Somewhere where we can see what he does, but don't care about anyone there he might hurt, if he is _that_ unstable." His static hummed as he thought, his spoon hanging out of his mouth.

"Oh, yes, that's an idea I had too-- taking him to see one of our Rosies or Mimzys to help him cope, but yes, it would be good to gauge how he could react first. I certainly don't want him having a bad reaction and hurting _mine_, I would feel awful.

"And branching from that, it would probably be best, I feel, to _not_ show him how to transport himself to other Hells _yet_. Just in case. Once we're more sure about his state, though, I would be fine with that too."

dontasktheradiodemon

Astor grimaced slightly. "I *suppose.* He ought to have open communications, though, we can do *that* much for him. If he figures out his own way out from there, it's on him, but he can't be left dependent upon *us* always calling him first to get somebody else to talk to."

usedhearts

"Of course, of course. I just don't want a possibly unstable version of us causing chaos in _our_ universes. That would be, frankly, disastrous. And _we'd_ be blamed." He chuckled, humorlessly.

"I don't know about you, but I definitely don't want another massacre hanging over my head."

dontasktheradiodemon

He laughed harshly. "Have regrets?"

usedhearts

He snorted, rolling his eyes. He grabbed more crawfish, cracking them open with hard snaps. Shellfish was always good for getting out traces of aggression.

"Of course. Don't you?" He arched a brow as he sucked the meat from a tail.

dontasktheradiodemon

"I get the impression that more of our others than not have no regrets about it at all. They got what they wanted and don't mind the side-effects enough to wish they'd done it differently." A shrug. "Bully for them, I suppose."

But he was grabbing some crawfish, too. Purge some of that destructive instinct.

usedhearts

"Bully for them." No, he didn't sound bitter whatever would give anyone that idea. He tossed the empty shells into the provided trash bucket as he continued to eat.

"I don't get that-- not regretting it, that is. I don't regret plenty, but that....that I do. Are they just...content with people running screaming from them? Do they not care that we can't show our faces without someone pissing themselves?" Snap. Shellfish was definitely a good choice tonight. He sucked down some more crawfish meat.

dontasktheradiodemon

"They miss the fame but prefer the infamy," he said morosely. "The times when they want somebody to stick around and chit-chat are outnumbered by the times they want everybody to flee in terror." He was reducing this shell to crumbs, and he hadn't even touched the peeled meat yet. "Many times, they're also the sort that call themselves overlords. They crave that power."

usedhearts

Leal can't help his smile turning into a sneer, lip curled up at the thought. "Other people call me 'Overlord' or say that I'm the 'Overlord of Radio' like V*x is the Overlord of Television, and it always irks me."

He sighed, snapping another crawfish in half. "When I was fresh off the drop, I liked it. There's a certain luster to having everyone that scared of you. Being invited to all the parties, given whatever you want, etcetera. But after nearly 90 years of it? It's....boring. I was lucky enough to gain a few friends, I suppose. Rosie, Mimzy, Madame...but I'm tired of it. If I could go back and stop myself, I probably would."

He perked up a moment then, eyes widening. "Oh! Though, that reminds me: you should go see the Burlesque at Madame's Cabaret soon-- I hear one of her headliners has got some new numbers lined up!"

dontasktheradiodemon

"The problem with overlord parties is that *overlords* go to them. Watching them politic at each other is all good fun, but *socializing* with them...?" He sighed, looking wearier than he usually let anyone see. "They're so tedious." He nodded in tired agreement; yes, he'd have stopped himself too. Stopped himself or done it all differently.

But he perked up as well at the promise of entertainment. "Oh, *really?* A talent worth seeing, I take it, if you're recommending them?"

usedhearts

"Oh yes! She's been on stage for fifty years now, and she's very good. Always puts on a stunning performance, fills the house-- you'll have to use my booth on the night she performs, otherwise there won't be a seat in the place!" He chuckled.

"She mixes modern things with classics, and gets risque, but not to the level of some of the other performers. And she uses magic for some effects, it's quite something, I'm sure you'll have a gas."

dontasktheradiodemon

"Well, well, she sounds like a delight! All right, take me when you go, I'd love to see. I've been meaning to make time to visit Madame's Cabaret anyway."

usedhearts

"Oh, I'll have to meet you there-- but I'll be sure to let you know when she's next scheduled! I keep up to date on when she's performing." He nodded and chuckled.

"We got off track, didn't we?" He shook his head a bit, smile turning rueful. "Back to our alt, I think if I introduce him to you, and we both talk with him some more, we can suss out if he's well enough to visit other universes. Start with unaffiliated ones, then build up to ones like ours. How's that sound?"

dontasktheradiodemon

Meet him there? What had Leal got scheduled that would keep him from making the start of the show on every night they could have gone together? And Astor hadn't even heard about it yet? Well, he supposed he was hardly the closest person in Leal's social circle these days.

But before he could figure out a way to pry for details without admitting he didn't already know about Leal's current commitments, they shifted back to the original topic. "Right, yes." He sighed. The alternate. "It sounds reasonable. Although even if his mask *is* cracked enough to show a frown, if there's something he really wants to keep hidden I wouldn't put it past him to keep just enough on to fool even his alternates. So. Stay wary, I suppose."

usedhearts

"Of course, of course. I mean, there's plenty we keep from ourselves-- you, me, Alexa, Engi, Rhedd.... I certainly wouldn't put it past our other alt to keep things to himself. But as long as he doesn't seem ready to crack open like an Egg Boi under a strong heel, we can offer him more that just Ruddy to deal with."

He nodded, to himself and to _himself_, as he went back for seconds on the jambalaya. Val had really outdone themself with that.

dontasktheradiodemon

Astor nodded in agreement. "And who knows. If he's lucky, maybe someday he'll make friends with people other than himself," he said wryly.

"In the meantime, if he's only got one person to talk to, I suppose he could do a lot worse than Sir Pentious. Consistently unintimidated by us *and* flying a ship full of toys." He's just kept peeling this same crawfish until it's a handful of meat surrounded by the dust that was once its shell. Maybe he ought to finally eat it. "... Although the duct tape isn't promising."

usedhearts

"Ruddy does seem to have a lot of interesting things there on his ship, not to mention-- have you seen those Fabrege Egg Bois? Those are something." His static hummed as he took a few bites.

"You know, Ruddy thinks me the 'weird' Alastor, because when we first met I gave him some of these." He lifted a crawfish and wiggled it around. "And then went diving for oysters for him and Val. Though, to be fair, I did turn into a fish before I dived." He laughed.

dontasktheradiodemon

"I have seen them! Quite spectacular, aren't they? They look like they ought to be locked up somewhere in Buckingham Palace."

He glanced Leal up and down. "The look does stand out," he said dryly. "Is he *aware* what a delicacy edible shellfish is in Hell, though? He should have been honored." A jack of many trades, but apparently cooking wasn't one.

"I'm fairly certain I'm just one step above a non-entity to him." Which was better than being dismissed as the weird one, he supposed.

usedhearts

"They do! I always feel the urge to smash my foot through Egg Bois, but I restrained myself with those ones." He chuckled again.

"He was visiting here, though, on Okkylk! Should he really be surprised that I can blend in with the local populace?" Another chuckle. "And what makes you say that? Weren't you helping him with something? Thought I saw that on the dash."

dontasktheradiodemon

"I was, yes—and I think he might forget that I was involved entirely if I don't remind him once a week or so. When I followed up with him on Okkylk he hardly deigned to *look* at me." A scoff, and a wan smile. "Well, if he throws any parties I want to go to, I'll just have to write myself an invitation rather than wait to get one in the mail."

usedhearts

"Hm! Wonder why. Madame seems very interested in him, did you see her at the barbecue? It's no wonder, though, she has a hard time finding gentlemen her size, and especially one from her same time period." He shrugged a bit.

His brows shot up as another thought struck him. "And what's the deal with that other alt of ours that's popped up recently? The one that's become King? You talked with him, haven't you? I saw the 'King of Hell' bit in his bio and decided to not interact."

dontasktheradiodemon

"I didn't notice. I mean—obviously I noticed HER, but I didn't catch them interacting."

Oh, the king. *There's* a potential can of worms. "You probably decided not to interact for the same reason I *did*. Sounds dangerous, doesn't it? If the alternates who call themselves overlords are a big enough bunch of power-hungry joyless nuts..." He shook his head. "I don't know a lot yet. But I've gotten an invitation to his palace in exchange for a bit of light musical entertainment, date pending. I'll see what I can see then."

usedhearts

"I'd be very interested to see what you find out-- If you're willing to share it, of course. I just don't want to try myself." Another chuckle.

"I have been reading his posts, though, and he seems...bored. Like all of us, I suppose. But his Hell also seems different. It would have to be, since he's been ruling for 70 years."

His eyes narrowed as he remembered something else. "And there's the fact that I think he was in _my_ Hell, when Valera and I burned the boba shop again. But we didn't see anything, and more importantly, I didn't _sense_ anything. That's troubling."

dontasktheradiodemon

"Oh, of course! I go to retrieve information for *all* of us. After all, if he decides he's bored enough to declare multiversal war, it's going to take more than one of us to keep him contained." He was already preparing for worst-case scenarios.

Astor tilted his head thoughtfully. "*Huh. That's... an interesting trick." *Troubling* was right.

usedhearts

"That it will. And I know who's side I'm on." He winked at Astor.

"Huh is right. I don't like the thought of him watching us, or being in our Hells without us knowing. It's disconcerting. And who's to say that's the only places he's been? He could've been _here_ for all we know!" He gestured around them, at Okkylk in general.

dontasktheradiodemon

"Well, if he's here, he could be neighborly, sit down, and have some dinner with us," Astor muttered. "That's one of my biggest worries—what powers *does* he have now, in his position? The options are limitless."

usedhearts

"They are. And limitless power plus boredom are a historically bad combination." Leal sighed, grabbing a roll and a fresh bowl of gumbo.

"Be careful when you go over to see him that he doesn't decide you're simply too much fun and try to keep you."

dontasktheradiodemon

"Oh, believe you me, that's my top worry. But *somebody* has to take that risk, and we're collectively not a very self-sacrificial person, so I'm not going to sit around and wait for somebody else to take it."

usedhearts

"You hit the nail on the head with that." Leal chuckled and shook his head.

"Collectively, we're a pretty selfish lot, good move. I know _I_ definitely wasn't going to volunteer for temporary court jester detail."

dontasktheradiodemon

"And you benefit from my uncharacteristic burst of selflessness for free! You're welcome, and count yourself lucky my morbid curiosity is *just* high enough to tip the balance."

usedhearts

"Yes, thank you! I'm glad it is, or we'd all be waiting around until one of us decided their curiosity just couldn't be held back anymore! Which, frankly, probably wouldn't be long, considering it's us, but still."

Leal sat back, his hands folded in front of him. He was full, at least for now.

"Was there anything else important we needed to discuss or is it about that time I send you off with a whole platter of crawdads?"

dontasktheradiodemon

How about that time very recently when Astor ruined a hunting trip and then they argued about who hadn't communicated well enough and then didn't talk about it again. "Mmmno! Nothing important that I can think of!"

usedhearts

Oh, that? Leal had already forgotten about that-- well, for now. It would swing back around eventually. Until then, though...

"Well, alright! Had a delicious dinner and a nice chat, we've got a game plan for our alt. I'd say that was productive!" He laughed, and started pushing crawfish into a take out container he just magicked up. That's why it was big enough to take a whole platter of the things.

"What else did you want for leftovers, my dear me?"

dontasktheradiodemon

Clever, but has Leal ever considered the benefits of normal-sized containers that somehow hold vastly more food than they look like they should?

"Oh, the crawfish will be just fine, thank you!" After he'd recognized what he was tasting, he hadn't been able to touch most of the rest, anyway.

usedhearts

Oh yes, he has, but the thought of a comically large 'chinese' food container full of crawfish just tickled him!

He stood and offered the container to Astor.

"Happy trails, then, my dear me! I look forward to our next meeting!"

dontasktheradiodemon

“And I as well!” He accepted the container and bowed theatrically to his other.

One last quick trip indoors to thank their host (and to pester his best friend (again)), and he’d be on his way.

#usedhearts #chat log

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exauhstedsunflower · 4 years

Text

Screams Of The Quiet

Tw:death (childbed fever guys), reference to the Thomas and Elizabeth thing, reference to beheading

Catherine Parr went out of the world screaming.

She screamed in pain, agony. She screamed as she fought through pushing her child into the world. She screamed in defiance to the universe as she felt herself slipping away. She made the world hear her, ‘I am not leaving my child! Not with him, not in this world.’. Her screams haunted the people in the room for the rest of their lives, one of the loudest, most haunting noises ever heard.

‘I am not done yet. There is so much left for me here.’ The screams of a queen, of one of the strongest women you could know. In endless pain, all she could think about was her Mary and how much left she has to do. Screw Thomas, screw her title as dowager queen of England and Ireland. Screw life, for being so unfair. She needs to make amends with the Tudor children. She needs to help shape the new era of their country; someone has to, someone that actually cares about those kids.

She needs to raise her daughter.

Catherine has so many ideas for her daughter, so many things she wants to teach her. She needs to protect her, now knowing what an awful man her father really is. She can’t leave her here with him. She thinks of her mother, Maud Green, who raised her as a single woman and taught many children. The woman who taught the great Catherine Parr to survive. She learned so much from her mother. So much she wants to pass on to Mae, and yet she feels herself barely holding on, getting louder with each scream in a desperate attempt at staying alive though pure force of will.

She’s gotten so much quieter the older she gets, it's a shock to hear her like this as she goes. Growing up she was loud, if the world wanted to drown her out she’d scream over the masses to be heard. She kept that up well into her adult years. Then she got kidnapped for being too outspoken in her beliefs, along with her stepchildren. She was more careful after that. And then, with Henry, she worked so hard to keep him happy with her. But her outspoken and argumentative nature got the best of her again. She was almost killed, and kept her opinions close to her heart after that.

Marrying Thomas had been like being set free, until it wasn’t. She was fooled into it, fooled into thinking he was a good and loving man. He got angry with her too. Never threatening to kill her, but angry enough to scare her. Angry enough to scare Elizabeth too, he hurt that girl. Catherine will never forgive herself for being too afraid to do something, to say something. When did she become too afraid to speak? Perhaps that's why she loves writing so much, the ability to not speak and upset someone close enough to hurt her. A cowards hobby, but protection from her husband nonetheless.

She’s been quieter, still outspoken, but more careful. And now, with the ferocity she’s been suppressing, she screams and yells every thought that comes to her mind. ‘I am not done. There is so much left. I hate you.’ That last one is directed at Thomas, who looks all too shocked to hear it as he holds her hand. She’s squeezing it too hard for him to let go though, from pain or fear or out of anger neither will ever know. ‘I need to see my baby. I need to see her.’ This is his fault. He’d gotten her pregnant, after trying for one in four different marriages this is the man that gave her a baby. She has no ill will against the child, no, never that. But she’s dying and it’s not Mae’s fault, it’s Thomas’s.

With one last scream, the loudest yet, she gives birth to a baby girl. They attempt to give her to Thomas and she growls that they’d better not. They hand her the baby instead. Her baby. She died for this, or is dying, she knows, she wants to hold her.

Mae is a beautiful mess. She’s fairly heavy for a newborn, and looks a lot like Catherine herself. Like Catherine, she’s also covered in her mother's blood, and she’s screaming too. The similarity is jarring, because one has just been given life, and the other is about to pass away.

She feels herself slipping away, as her eyes close she hears Mae and Thomas crying for her. The last thing she feels is someone taking her baby from her hold. The last thing she thinks and says is ‘I love you.’ She cannot tell if it was meant for just her daughter or for them both. No time to dwell on it as she drifts away, though. Finally, finally silent.

When Catherine wakes up, she’s alone. Taking a moment to get her bearings, she realizes a few things. One, there is no more agonizing pain. Two, this room looks to be a bedroom, but she doesn’t recognize quite the items scattered around it. And three, there’s no sounds of a child anywhere near her.

She must be in heaven. She certainly died, and this place is strange enough to make her look around in wonder. She stands to walk to the door, maybe she can find an angel to explain. Maybe she can watch over Mae and the other children from here. As she walks towards the door though, a blinding pain shoots through her head.

Ah, so the pain is not over then.

When she emerges from the sensation she notices she’s fallen onto the floor. And that she has some new knowledge of where she is. She is in the future, not in heaven. She’s been reincarnated, and the world has vastly changed. There are still some missing bits, she hopes she has the opportunity to learn them herself if knowledge is given through painful means in this century. She sits up from her spot on the floor with a quiet grunt. The pain has completely subsided now, hopefully it stays gone.

Her door opens and she fights the urge to scream in fright. She looks at the person who walked in. Truthfully they look a bit frantic themselves, so Catherine doubts that they’ll be of any real help.

“You must be Cathy Parr then! We’ve been waiting for days!”

Catherine just looks at this woman. She can’t bring herself to speak. She’s always known just what to say in dangerous situations, but then she’d known who she was dealing with. Speaking up now when she has no idea who’s listening is risky. She doesn't trust herself to say the right thing. She doesn’t trust the woman who seems to know who she is.

The silence seems to be off putting to her visitor, who attempts to fill it.

“Right, so I know this is probably kind of scary. You’ve been reincarnated, new body and everything-“

New body? She immediately looks down to her hands, noticing that they are completely different now. How is it that she has the same consciousness and not the same body? Who’s body is this? Where did it come from?

“-My name is Katherine Howard, the others call me Kitty because there’s too many Catherine’s. You make the third, we’ve been calling you Cathy. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Catherine eyes her warily, still sitting on the floor. Katherine Howard. She knew her. She glances down at ‘Kitty’s’ neck, noting the scarf. She wonders what’s under there.

Noticing that the girl is looking at her clearly wanting an answer, Catherine nods. She has more pressing matters to worry over than a nickname. Why she’s alive being one of them. Why Katherine Howard, who she saw beheaded with her own eye, is alive being another.

“Good! I was the last one to wake up. It seems to have gone in order of marriage. You’re the last one, and your room is right next to mine. The others don’t know you’re here yet, I heard you fall and wanted to check first.”

It seems to have gone in order of marriage. She mulls over the word in her mind. This means that the ‘others’ mentioned must be all of Henry’s wives, given Katherine Howard was right before her.

“Would you like to meet the others?”

She wonders what would happen if she said no. Would Kitty be prepared for that answer? Would she just leave her here or would she try to convince her otherwise? She’s tempted to say no just to see what would happen, she might have if she didn’t think her guilt over messing with the girl would be overwhelming. She nods in response.

“Okay, do you need help getting up?”

Oh, right. She’s still on the floor. With a shake of her head she stands, gesturing to her now upright body with a small smile. Kitty laughs a bit at the gesture and tilts her head in the direction of the hall behind her.

“Let's go then!” She seems cheerful. Not at all like someone who had her head chopped off.

As they make their way down the hall Catherine trails a bit behind, observing every little thing. She gets a glimpse into the room next to hers, which she knows is Kitty’s. A lot of pink. She’d hazard a guess and say Kitty’s favorite color is pink. The hall walls are kind of plain, a nice light grey throughout. There are seven doors, all the same brown color except for one, which is a lighter brown than the others. She taps Kitty on the shoulder and gestures to the door, looking at it questioningly.

“Oh, that’s the bathroom.” Kitty goes and opens the door, showing her the strange room. As soon as Catherine lays eyes on the strange objects inside, she feels a white-hot pain. Kitty catches her on the way down, and when she finally comes back to her mind, she knows what that room is for. She groans in frustration from the fact that this pain seems to come with knowledge.

“Yeah, that happens whenever we find something new. It’s honestly kind of annoying. I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so it happens from time to time.”

That sounds like a promise that this pain will pop up again, and though it comes with information, it is not welcome. They go down a flight of stairs, and into a room her mind calls the living room. Odd, though fitting. There are several sofas and chairs in the room. It seems to be an area for comfort. There is a fireplace and several tables, and a few lamps, which are fascinating.

“Holy shit!”

Oh, and people. This room is filled with people, too.

“Anne, mind your tongue, will you?” Another woman scolds from her chair.

‘Anne’ opens her mouth to retort, but Kitty intervenes.

“Now is not the time! Everyone, this is Cathy. Cathy, everyone.”

They all stare at her expectantly, although she’s not sure what they could possibly be expecting from her. Looking around the room, all she can manage is a wave.

“She doesn’t talk much. But that’s okay, I think I explained things pretty well.”

Yes, and also no. The only reason Catherine has any idea what’s happening is from her newfound pain-knowledge and picking up on things Kitty has said and inferring what they mean. But she looks quite excited to have been the one to greet her, so Catherine nods at her with a warm smile, getting the girl to beam.

“Alright, I’m Anne von Cleve, you knew me before. I go by Anna now since there is another Anne. Makes things easier.”

Anna, right. Catherine did know her. They were certainly not friends, but it’s nice to see a familiar face. They’ll deal with any past tensions later.

“I’m the other Anne. Anne Boleyn.” The woman who said ‘holy shit’ when Catherine arrived jumps into the conversation not even a moment later. She knows Anne Boleyn, knew her child. She’s unable to fully look Anne in the eye.

“I’m Jane Seymour, are you feeling alright?”

Jane died the same way Catherine did. She knows the pain that her death brought. And she brought about Edward, the sweetest little boy she’d ever met. Though she’s unsure why Jane might be enquiring into her wellbeing while hardly even knowing her, so she just nods again.

“Good, coming back from the dead is a bit jarring.”

She nods rapidly at that. It is jarring. One moment she was dying a slow and agonizing death, then she died. And then the next she wakes up, just, not dead anymore. The shock of dying hasn’t worn off yet. When it does Catherine hopes to God she’s alone to deal with it.

“Catherine of Aragon.” The woman in the armchair introduces herself.

Catherine of Aragon. She’s Catherine’s godmother, her namesake.

“You may call me Catalina. I’m glad you made it to us okay.” The kindness and surety in the words makes everything she’s heard of the woman ring true. Catherine of Aragon, the true queen. Catherine had tried to emulate her in her reign.

“Are you hungry?” Kitty asks. And Catherine realizes that yes, she is quite hungry. Her stomach makes a noise in place of her mouth, causing everyone to laugh.

“It’s nearly dinner anyway. Reincarnation makes a person hungry.” Anna says that last bit as a joke. But it seems to be true, she wasn’t very hungry when she died. Though maybe she was in too much pain to notice. Or maybe this body hasn’t eaten? Who’s body even is this?

Before she can allow herself into an existential spiral, Jane beckons her into another room. The kitchen, her brain supplies. It looks nothing like a kitchen she would see in her last life. She very carefully examines the various items in the room, wary of any influx of painful knowledge. It comes when she looks at the stove. Falling in front of everyone is a bit embarrassing, but they all seem to get it. Anna catches her this time, and leads her to a chair to rest. Once the pain subsides, she knows what all the appliances in the room do.

Interesting.

“Those are annoying, I’m surprised you didn’t scream. Anna always screams.” Anne says once Catherine’s eyes have cleared of pain and confusion.

Anna defends herself, “Not everyone had a super painful death, Anne. I was just really tired when I died.”

Anne rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, and then directs a question towards Catherine, one that is not yes or no answerable. Also, quite insensitive in topic.

“Okay, okay! Well, how did you die, Cathy?”

Anne talks a lot, it makes sense this was her main offense against Henry. Though Catherine shouldn’t judge, she talked a lot too.

Anna speaks up for her, telling them childbirth. Then she tells Anne to be more sensitive, not everyone talks about their deaths freely. Jane looks very sympathetic. She would be, she’d died in a similar fashion.

The conversation continues around her and eventually she is handed a plate of food. She should thank Catalina for it, it’d be incredibly rude not to. It’s already bad enough she hasn’t said a word yet. As they sit, Catherine Parr opens her mouth for the first time in this life to speak.

And nothing comes out.

The others don’t seem to judge her, though. There’s a ball of anxiety in her chest and the feeling reverberates through her whole body. That’s never happened before, and she silently makes a decision that she’s going to have to work on speaking.

Catalina smiles at her warmly, like she knows what Catherine was trying to say. Then they all continue their conversation, making sure to include her as much as possible while she tries and fails to convince herself to speak up.

This is strange. Just a moment ago (Years ago? When are they, exactly?) she’d been screaming. Now she can’t seem to make a noise. This life will be spent in silence, so it seems.

#Six #Six the musical #Six ff #Six the musical Fanfiction #Catherine Parr #catherine of aragon #Katherine Howard #anne boleyn #Jane Seymour #Anne of Cleves

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graveyarddirtseries · 3 years

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Graveyard Dirt & Salt

Chapter 7: Mena

Sitting up now, he pinned her with a look, that look he had when he was being a proper marine. It was commanding, cold and just firm enough to make her feel like a little girl caught in a lie. When his blue-grey eyes narrowed and chilled, they became weapons used to spear a person still, used to rend them open and bare to his scrutiny.

Another day came and it was one more Sister Mary Patrick wouldn't get to see.

Time always seemed so passively cruel to her. How despite anything which happened, it just ticked, ticked, ticked away.

Young Grace Harper had noticed this after her father died, when Christmas came and went and came again, she grew older and he would forever remain the same age.

Kneeling by his headstone in the Laurel Grove Cemetery, she would bring her father sunflowers plucked from her mother's garden, and tears that never seemed like they would ever stop.

This year Mena would become older than her father had ever gotten to be. And the thought unsettled her. She had claimed, during her wilder years in Atlanta, that she would be dead by the age he had been when he died.

But here she was, kneeling beside Sister Mary Patrick's resting place, hastily dug into the cemetery behind their church.

She didn't have any flowers to bring, her beloved rose bushes weren't in bloom yet and it was too late for the lilacs and wisteria.

But she brought something, because you had to offer something to the dead as a remembrance.

It was a small cloth doll, something she had made one day out of scraps of linen and fabric, wanting to give it to the nuns who went to sell their honey and goods at the farmer's market to give to some small child.

It never got to make that journey into town.

So it was placed at the base of the rough wooden cross that marked Sister Mary Patrick's grave. She would be in a better place.

Mena wouldn't lose another nun, she wouldn't let her girls live through this all over again. Mary Patrick would want them to rise from the ashes, she would say it was a lesson, hard taught, but hopefully learned, sent by God himself.

“Who the fuck let you and that ass clown decide anything about my sister without me?!”

The stillness of her morning was broken by the loud teenage boy, shouting at who she could only imagine was the poor Lieutenant somewhere in the morning mists of her convent grounds.

Pushing to her feet, she sought out the sound, wanting to silence the language and hopefully help the Lieutenant placate the boy.

“You know what I don't need you fucking idiots dealing with my shit!”

The marine's low tone was beginning to be heard as Mena rounded the corner of the cloister, finding both arguers standing beside the water pump for their well.

“I can deal with this myself!”

“Son, you couldn't even defend yourself or keep my back safe at that cabin. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with not being good with guns or fighting, but in this instance, your sister's survival would be best placed in the hands of Benny or myself.”

Mena approached the two, coming to a stop just behind the Lieutenant.

“I don't even need any of you!” Grayson stated.

“Why are you being such a stubborn little cabri?” The Lieutenant asked softly. “We want you here with us, we want to help you. But time is important and you're not ready for fighting or recon. You come with me, I get you trained up.”

“I'm not weak!” Grayson argued, like a child who knew he was, but hoped just words would convince the adults he was an old veteran, ragged and rough from war.

Reaching out, Mena placed her hand very, very lightly on the boy's shoulder, he jumped, but didn't leap away, just a twitch.

“I appreciate this is a conversation we must have, gentlemen, but there are nuns sleeping just over there and you are using some very potent language.”

“Sorry, Missy,” the Lieutenant said.

“Sorry,” Grayson murmured, embarrassed.

“Grayson,” she said. “I don't know Mr. Malone very well, but I do know is that he loves Annie and he will never leave her behind. He's going to find your sister and he'll bring her home to you.”

“Did you see his shoes?” Grayson demanded. “They were more expensive than my sister's first car.”

“Junker?” The Lieutenant teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Grayson shook his head. “No, she worked really hard to buy it new. I mean, it was basic as shit, but...”

Mena smiled. “You know,” she said. “I would kind of love to hear about her some more. If you don't mind telling me about Haley?” “You're just trying to distract me,” Grayson replied sullenly.

“I'm a nun, Grayson, I don't have the capabilities of trickery and lies,” she lied. “You get ten extra lashings in hell for each lie you tell.”

The Lieutenant beamed broadly, sitting down at the pump to flop his bag on the ground, digging through it. “You'll have to tell us all about Haley tonight around the fire,” he said. “Right now, we have to get hunting while the hunting is good.”

Mena gave Grayson's forearm a warm squeeze. “Be careful out there, you two? I want both of you back in good health.”

“What kind of mischief are you up to right now?” The Lieutenant called out after her.

“Well, there's a little girl who will be waking up to find she's been left behind and I want to be there for her.”

“You're a sweet girl, Missy.”

“Woman,” she stated, turning around to face him. “I'm a woman, Lieutenant. Girls are the things made of sugar and spice and everything nice.”

“And what are you made of then?” He teased.

“Oatmeal and granola and nothing interesting,” she returned. “See you two soon.”

Inside the convent, she passed a few nuns who were just entering the dining room after their morning prayers in their rooms, heading into the one she had given to Annie.

The child was in the middle of pulling on her little shoes, the pretty purple ones with velcro.

“Good morning,” she greeted the girl brightly. “Did you sleep well, honey?”

The child nodded, eyes darting past her to the empty hall beyond. Benny was usually the first person she saw in the morning, and Mena knew it wouldn't take her long to figure things out.

“I have to collect the eggs from the hen house for breakfast,” Mena went on smoothly. “Would you like to help me?”

Already putting two and two together, Annie sort of bowed her head for a moment, before furrowing her brow and nodding firmly.

“Come on,” Mena said, holding her hand out to the girl. “Let's go outside, it's beautiful this morning.”

Mena waited until they were in the morning sunshine, before she stopped Annie just under her peach tree.

“Sweetie, Mr. Malone had to leave us last night, but-” she added quickly as Annie begin to panic. “He promised me he'd be back and I told him that it was a great sin to lie to a nun.”

Annie absorbed this information for all of a second, before she bolted away from Mena, heading for the gate.

Halfway there, she was scooped up by the Lieutenant who had been loitering about the front of the church with a couple of the younger nuns, the marine holding the squirming girl gently, but firmly as she kicked and sobbed.

“Hey now, boo,” he cooed to her. “What's the ruckus?”

Annie didn't say anything, just reached her hands longingly towards the gate.

“Hey now,” he went on, setting the child down and squatting before her to rub away her tears. “Benny'll be back, he had to go out to find your mama, but he told me that he would be expecting you to be here when he came back and if you head out them gates, then I guess he won't be able to find you.”

Annie calmed somewhat, still sobbing pathetically before him.

“Now, you go ahead and cry, honeybee,” the Cajun cooed soothingly.

Mena knelt behind Annie, so both adults sort of encompassed the child.

“You wanna a hug from me or Mena?”

Annie turned to Mena and buried herself against Mena's chest.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Mena whispered over Annie's head.

The marine beamed. “You don't keep me around for my pretty face.”

All day Mena kept Annie close to her, wanting to distract the child.

But often her eyes would turn to the gates, or to a door, or anywhere Benny could pop up from.

“Maybe with no one left alive we can finally pick our own habit styles.”

They were outside, doing the washing the old fashioned way, hot water boiled over the fire, a kettle big enough to do a small load of laundry and some soap, the garments were spun around and around in the kettle with a baseball bat from their sport closet from when they took their annual summer picnic camping trip.

“That way we don't have to do so much washing,” Sister Mary Claire finished.

Mena felt several pairs of eyes on her and cleared her throat politely. “I think if any of you want to wear more practical items we can accommodate that.”

“Our habit has always been a proud symbol of our order,” Sister Thomas Aquinas argued. Mena knew she would be the last one to hold out to the old ways, she was set firmly in her beliefs.

“If you want to remain in the habit you can, but it might prove practical to change, something modest though, please. Let's not go too far into the realm of short shorts and halter tops.”

“There goes my summer look,” Sister Dymphna retorted, cackling along with a few of the younger nuns.

“I can't wait to get some floral patterns back into my life,” Sister Felicity Perpetua murmured.

“I think Sister Mary Patrick would have loved to have dressed plainly,” Sister Mary Agnes said.

Mena nodded. “She'd love for us to flourish in the wake of her passing.”

“Do you think we will?” Mary Monica asked.

“If we manage to learn some self defence from the Lieutenant, then I think we have a very good chance. But there will be change and some sacrifice.” Mena said.

“Will we really have to shoot people?” Mary Claire asked.

“They aren't people anymore,” Mary Elizabeth said. “They're dead, aren't they?”

Everyone looked at Mena, who continued wringing out the undergarment she had in hand.

She slowly and carefully pinned it to the line that ran from the side of the cloister to a pole about five feet away. There was a desire in her to avoid the question, but she knew she would have to answer it as best she could.

“We don't know,” she said finally to everyone's shock. When several nuns begin speaking at once, Mena held up her hands to silence them. “The Lieutenant isn't certain they are dead or just diseased, but!” She added as more questions came at her. “We can be assured, they are beyond our mortal help, so regardless. They are violent and they would most certainly kill you as witnessed by poor Mary Patrick. So don't hesitate to kill them, if you need to.”

“Will we be punished by God?” Mary Monica asked. “Is it a sin?”

“I can't answer that,” Mena said. “But I think, in my heart at least, we can safely say God did not put us on earth to allow ourselves to be picked off by these abominations. I think He would want us to fight and survive. That's our trial.”

“What about other things?” Felicity Perpetua asked.

“Such as?”

“The men?”

Most of the nuns began an uproar.

“I mean!” The young nun amended quickly. “Are we free to talk to them?”

“I never told you to not speak with them, just to be wary,” Mena said.

“But they're very secular in their speech,” Mary Monica pointed out.

“Just because they are, doesn't mean you will be.”

“And where does the line get drawn then?” Thomas Aquinas demanded.

“Wherever it needs to be to divide our world from theirs without isolating ourselves from them,” Mena returned coolly. Thomas Aquinas was...argumentative with her at the best of times and the worst.

“Think of this place as more than a convent now,” she went on. “It's a mission, and our mission is to offer shelter and protection for those who seek it here behind these walls. In return the Lieutenant and maybe others can help protect our way of life and our home.”

“Is...is God still with us?”

The voice was so soft, so shyly spoken that Mena took a moment to register it. None of her nuns had such a soft way about them, well...the novitiate did.

Mary Elizabeth sat, head bowed, her work laying damp in her lap.

An expected roar of assurances from the other nuns never came and Mena found herself looking at eight pairs of eyes all solemnly gazing at her.

Even Sister Gertrude, sitting in her chair, with her pretty sunhat on with one of her cats in her lap, managed enough clarity of mind to gaze over at her expectantly.

They didn't want reassurances, they wanted an answer that Mena never had. God was always just faith. You had faith that he was there, that he guided you, that he heard your prayers, but...this was too much for her to even know.

She had even wondered this herself recently, had been wondering about this since she saw the dead walking the earth.

Had He abandoned them after rapture happened? Had He never existed?

She could lie and say yes, she could lie and say no, but the only truth she could tell them was a sturdy, “I don't know.”

The nuns seemed to absorb this like a bumper car hitting a brick wall, it rocked them and they gave a single shudder that ran through the entire group, before they just sort of accepted it and went back to work.

Except Mary Elizabeth, who sort of hunched in on herself more and began to softly sob.

Setting down her own work, Mena moved towards the young woman and knelt smoothly down beside her, an arm going around the younger woman.

“Listen,” she said loud enough to address the other nuns as well. “I can't speak for your faith, if you think that God is still with us, then He is, but I just...I can't honestly answer you, Mary Elizabeth. Shy,” she amended, using the woman's real name, hoping to snap her out of her mood.

It seemed to work as the young woman looked up at her quickly at the sound of her own name used.

Hugging her closer, Mena went on, “but I do know that all of you have me and the Lieutenant now and Grayson and even Mr. Malone, though he may not stay. And if we have each other, then whether God is watching over those we lost in the rapture or wherever He may be, we have each other and that will make us stronger if we remain together.”

Mary Claire set her work aside and flopped down beside them. “I need a hug too, Mother Mena.”

“Me too,” Felicity Perpetua added, joining them hastily.

Before she knew it the other nuns were all clustered together, two of them going over to hold Sister Gertrude in her chair, an entire flock of white habits spread out on the grass, hugging and embracing each other, some of them sobbing a little, their pent up fear and anxiety freely flowing.

This was what Mena loved about her lot in life. It wasn't the church, it wasn't prayer or lighting candles or the relic of Saint Cecilia they kept in the reliquary.

It was that these were her girls, her nuns. They were the only family she had now and she had to protect them, they couldn't withstand another loss.

A shadow was cast over them all and Mena opened her eyes to a sight that had her heart skipping several beats. In the time it took to register the blood and the gore, she also registered the fact that it was plastered to the Lieutenant who was holding a deer carcass wrapped in a blue tarp in his arms bridal style, standing over them.

He was the epitome of filth. Standing out against the fluttering white of their drying habits beside him, covered in sweat and blood and dirt and other things Mena knew were best left to mystery.

“Oh, Lieutenant,” she scolded him, as her nuns returned to their work at the intrusion. “You scared ten years off my life.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I was about to ask if everything was okay?”

She nodded.

He turned to walk off, when she called out, “Lieutenant?”

Turning back to face her, the Cajun grinned a little nervously. “Yeah?”

“When was the last time you bathed, honey?” She asked.

“Oh,” his head dipped to the ground at his feet, peering over the deer in the tarp in his arms. “Uh...well...I walk myself through creeks here and there.”

Mena looked at the poor man, he tried hard, from what she could see, to be neat and orderly, but he was absolutely bordering on noxious. “We're doing laundry today, it's our day to do it, would you be so kind as to hand over your shirt and pants?”

“Well,” he began almost shyly. “It's...I'm not about to make you wash my skivvies,” he attempted a charming grin at her.

“Lieutenant, please? We're women, you think we don't have dirty clothes from time to time? Mary Agnes, could you maybe set aside some hot water for the bath for the Lieutenant?”

“Oh! No!” The marine protested. “Really! Ladies, I'm...I know I'm a dirty Cajun boy, you don't need to...”

“Don't be embarrassed, Lieutenant,” Mena insisted. “We'd prefer if you took a quick bath, actually.”

“Oh,” his face fell and for a moment Mena wished she hadn't wounded him as she did, but then he grinned crookedly. Dropping the deer, dropping his pack, the man shucked his shirt first and handed it over to her. “Start with that, I suppose.”

Tossing his shirt directly into the kettle, Mena nodded.

“I'm sorry if I'm a little ripe for you ladies,” the marine apologized. Again he sort of dipped his head shyly. “Guess you can't take the trash out of the trailer trash, yeah?”

Realizing how awful she must have made the poor man feel, Mena quickly stood up to follow him as he headed for the stump they were using as a butcher's block.

“Lieutenant,” she said, falling in stride beside him. “I didn't mean to embarrass you back there.”

He shook his head. “I'm a dirty boy,” he admitted. “It's the end of the world. I just...well, I hope I didn't offend you ladies none. I've been trying to keep neat, but...every day it's either the uggies coating you in something or hunting.”

She nodded. “Well, all the same, I shouldn't have brought it up so publicly. I suppose I'm just...disordered today.”

Stopping, he turned to her. “You alright?”

“I think so, just...accepting a few things, I guess. When you're done with the deer, I'll help you find some hot water and privacy for a wash. If you'd like.”

“If you'd like,” he repeated.

Staring up at the man's pretty blue-grey eyes, Mena couldn't decide if she wanted to weep or embrace the poor man, he put up such a front, but there were moments of real vulnerability in his eyes that tugged at her heart a little more than they should. He was like a child buried inside the body of a grown man. A grown man that, as he stood towering over her holding the deer carcass, she could so very clearly see his breathtaking power and strength.

“What happened here?” She asked, hoping to change the subject, to smooth over her faux pas in embarrassing him in company. Pressing her finger lightly to a deep, wide, jagged scar that tore down his side.

“Time and tides,” he replied casually. “Wanna learn how to gut and clean this doe?”

Glancing to the other nuns where Mena was supposed to be helping, she considered his invitation for a moment, before saying, “I shouldn't leave my chores to be someone else's burden.”

He nodded.

As she turned to leave him, he said, “you know...” he began. “I appreciate you washing my shirt and taking care of me. I don't need you to do it, understand, but I'm grateful all the same.”

“Lieutenant, our amenities are yours now if you need them. We can't just turn on our bathtub anymore because without power our pumps won't run, but we can heat you up some water for a good soak.”

“Holes in a bucket,” he pointed out.

“What's that?”

“Makeshift shower, holes in a bucket. It's faster and saves time.”

She smiled. “Oh. We might have to hook something up for it.”

He nodded. “Or we could figure out a way to get power back to the convent...I don't know much about electrical engineering, but...solar or wind maybe? I'll give it a think.”

Mena brushed her hand over his shoulder warmly. “Well, for now don't worry yourself too much about our power. We're just grateful you're bringing us home meat.”

He beamed. “It's what I'm good at.”

“Tell Grayson to bring us his clothing too, if he can, we'll wash those as well.” Mena added as the marine turned to join the young man at the stump.

“Sure sure.”

Rejoining the nuns at the fire, Mena eased down to her work wringing out the clean clothing.

It was an entire blissful minute before Dymphna asked, “so is looking okay with this new order, Mother Mena? Because I'm looking and that marine is beautiful.”

“The apple was fine on the tree, Dymphna,” Mary Agnes warned playfully.

The nuns laughed softly, but Mena was quiet, head bent to her work.

“It was a joke,” Dymphna apologized.

“No,” Mena began, “it was fine, just...we should do our best to try to make him feel welcome here. I'm afraid we've begun our relationship with the Lieutenant a little unsteadily. He's given us much more than we have shown him and I think we should remember that. And I'm not innocent of these charges either. I didn't even want him here. That was my biggest mistake, could have cost us more than just...what we've lost.”

“Here's your shirt, Lieutenant,” she said, placing the cleaner, dry shirt down beside the metal wash tub she had been filling half full of deliciously hot water, bringing some cool water in to lower the boiling temperature a little for the man to ease himself down into it.

Coated in blood now from the deer, the marine eyed the tub warily. “Not sure I can fit myself in this little thimble,” he remarked, nudging it with a boot.

Mena smiled and turned to set the jug she had been using to bring cool water in for the bath beside the door. “Well, you can try all you want. Stick your feet in it at least, heat them up nice and warm, then start at the bottom and work upwards.”

Behind her she heard two thuds and a zip and turned before it registered, nearly catching the Lieutenant in mid disrobe.

“Oh!” She covered her eyes.

“You had your back turned,” he replied sheepishly. “Thought you were leaving.” Still it sounded like he wasn't shamed into redressing as she then heard the clothing fall and the soft splashes of him stepping into the tub.

“Do you...need anything else?” She asked.

“Well, just hold on now, because if my ass gets stuck in this tub, we're going to need some Crisco and a whole lot of leverage,” he teased, causing Mena to giggle, it was half nervous, half amused. She wouldn't ever admit it, but she might have loosened her hand shield a little. Just a little! In case he fell.

“Alright, I'm in, got myself covered, your chastity is safe.” He remarked. “For now.”

Dropping her hands, she looked at him, crammed into the tub like a sardine in a can, towel draped across the important bits, legs spidered up and out, feet planted on the floor. From the amount of water displaced on the floor, she imagined there wasn't a whole bunch left in the tub with the giant man.

“Well, looks relaxing,” she lied.

“Hm.”

“Let me get you some fresh hot water to replace what you've lost,” she said, moving towards him with another towel in hand. “And here, if you put this behind you, just...in here,” she leaned him forward and tucked the thick towel between his lower back and the hard metal rim of the tub.

His body was hot and slick from the water, and as much as she didn't want to insult him again, she knew from the grime that came off on her, that she would need to change her habit to a clean one again.

“How long have you gone without a proper bath?” She asked him.

“A long time,” he admitted. “Maybe since this all began. I couldn't find a good place, the water's dangerous if it's over your head, it can be over the heads of the sinkers.”

“Sinkers?”

“Yeah, the dead will get into water over their heads and sink down, they don't live as long down there as the land ones, but they like to haunt the depths and grab ya when you're not expecting it. Stay out of the deep waters, yeah?”

“I will,” she replied, horrified.

When Mena returned to the bathroom - that ineffectual place that mostly they just used for bathing in privacy in and dumping the water down the shower drain into their lagoon far beyond the wall, she found the Lieutenant slumped over sideways in the small tub, his arm draped dramatically on the floor.

“Are you alright?” She asked, carefully adding more water to his bath, mindful of his flesh and the speed which she introduced the warmer water.

“Marat,” he replied with a grin. “You ever see that painting?”

“You're playing in the bath now?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Just waiting for you to come back and warm me up, this floor is frigid.”

“Then get your arm off it,” she returned, gently nudging it with the toe of her shoe.

His hand grasped at the toe of her shoe and he lifted it a little.

“Stop it! I have hot water in my hands,” she scolded, laughing despite the situation as he released her and continued to fidget in the water. “You're very fidgety for a marine. ADHD?”

“No thanks, I already have some,” he teased, easing back against the fluffy, now soaked towel she had rested behind him. “I don't know. Maybe...something undiagnosed. Made school hard, you know?”

“Um-hm.” She set the bucket down, there was still some hot water left in it, but she didn't want to scald the poor man in the tub, so she left the rest to cool a little. “Are you at least getting clean while you fidget?”

“I think so...” he remarked, eyeing his arms and legs. “But my feet are freezing out there on the floor.”

Mena moved to his feet and dipping a clean cloth into the warm water of his tub, she helped him clean and warm his feet.

“Service comes with this?”

She smiled. “Missions clean the feet of the poor, why can't I clean the feet of the mighty too?”

He dropped his head back and grinned. “Well, don't serve me because you have to. I'm not above scrubbing my own damned hooves.”

Mena laughed. “I like you, Lieutenant. You're a calming presence.”

“Even with all my fidgeting?” He asked.

“Yes.”

He beamed wider. It was a very boyish, almost sheepish grin he had, something that could bend a person's will if he turned it on just hard enough to charm, but he held it back with modesty and that sort of shy way he only allowed one side to lift up higher than the other. Taking hold of the bucket of now properly cooled water, Mena tucked his feet inside it and allowed them to soak in the warmth.

“Why are you taking good care of me?” He asked. “Not that I'm ungrateful, but...seems a little much.”

“I was hoping to work up to a proper thank you to you for all you've done so far for us.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked.

“Hmm.”

The duality of the man was both sweet and gentle and hard and firm, in more ways than just his mental state.

“Come here,” he commanded her with a casual crook of his finger and despite her slight fear, Mena found herself obeying him, shuffling on her knees towards the top of him, eyes unable to look away from his.

With her maybe a hand's width away from his face, he studied her hard and long, before rasping, “you up to something?”

“No.” She swore.

“If you're working towards something, just tell me,” he assured her. “I take honesty better than manipulation.”

“I just wanted to show my appreciation for you,” she whispered, not at all shaking a little because of the intensity of his eyes and the rasp of his baritone.

It had been a long, long, very long time since she had been this close to a naked man and maybe she made a mistake wanting to wash his feet, maybe she had made a bunch of mistakes. And maybe a few of them had been on purpose, because she was still a flesh and blood woman and he was a very, very charming man.

“Don't be scared,” he replied suddenly, hand wet and warm from the bath on her shoulder now, pushing her back a little gently. “I was just worried you might be trying to get me to do something wild like kill the boy child or something. And then I was worried you were trying to seduce me or something, because there's no better way to prey on a person than to prey on their loneliness.”

She shook her head. “No, I was just...trying to be kind. Is that how you interrogate everyone in your life?”

“Just marines,” he returned. “Honestly. Don't worry, I would never hurt you. Just...tell me things, yeah? Be open. I'm more forgiving than God.”

“Blasphemy,” she pointed out, moving back to his feet.

“I think we need more honesty between the two of us if we plan on existing here for a while together,” he added.

“I agree.” She looked up at him. “Are you really that lonely? Don't they train marines to isolate and survive on their own.”

“Well sure, but...you can train a man to live in isolation, doesn't mean it's good for his head.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Truthfully, when I first got here, all I desperately wanted to do was talk to someone who didn't grunt or groan. Well...at first, anyways.” He added with a roguish grin.

She smiled sadly. “I'm sorry. I sent you away. All you wanted was to talk.”

“No, you did the right thing. People aren't the same anymore, you can't just throw open your doors to them. Seems it's survival of the fittest out there now, the uggies are just mosquitoes at the BBQ.”

“Well, you have us now. And we wanted to invite you and Grayson to eat with us tonight, in the dining hall.”

“Really?” He asked, eyebrows raising.

“Um-hm.”

“Ladies say 'yes', Missy,” he teased, repeating something she had often said to Annie in front of him.

Without thinking, she smacked his knee with the back of her hand and clucked her tongue at him.

He laughed. “You can't hit me after you bathed my feet! I don't think Jesus would approve!”

Mena laughed with him, though a little more moderately. “Behave yourself then.” She warned. “And tomorrow when you go out, try to find some clothes that might fit you, so next time we do laundry you have a change you can slip in to.”

“That's like asking me to find a Babe Ruth rookie card, Missy. I'm a big fella and the Georgian backwoods has some little, tiny men.”

#graveyard dirt & salt #chapter 7 #novel #support an author

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.81

Lance was silently fuming in his grave. He’d lost his temper with his friends, and now he’d exiled himself to the backyard to avoid them. He didn’t want to be mad at them, but when they pulled stupid shit and made jokes over becoming a vampire, he couldn’t cope. Coming home to a home that kind of no longer felt like his was bad enough. He’d hoped that what Matt wanted to show him was him kicking Pidge’s arse at some video game and Matt was simply making fun of him. Not this. Not some half baked idea of investigating Lotor. Rieva had been so scared they’d been forced to return to Platt, and now she was happily conspiring with Pidge and Hunk, like that fear didn’t matter. There was a reason hunters existed. They took care of things like this. Not two werewolves and two humans who’d only just found out that things really do to bump in the night. He wanted his life back. He wanted things to go back to hunting dumb ghosts and the occasional yucky feeling of death when they did. Why couldn’t they understand how he felt? He shouldn’t have lost his stupid temper, but being a vampire wasn’t something to joke about.

Being the light of his undead life, Hunk was the one who came to talk to him. Shovelling off Lance’s death dirt, Lance faked death until Hunk made it impossible to ignore him

“Lance... I don’t know if you can hear me... but... Can we talk, buddy? I’m not used to this... You look dead in there and I don’t like how it feels seeing you dead”

That was the nicest thing Hunk had said in ages. That he didn’t like seeing Lance laying in his shallow grave

“I’m not changing my mind”

Hunk sighed, Lance hearing the way his clothes rustled as his friend sat heavily, just short of where he’d dug Lance up

“I don’t like this either... but Pidge wanted to help... and she needs someone there to keep her grounded”

Hunk was good at that. Provided Pidge was still listening and not swept away in an investigation

“She needs to leave it alone before she ends up dead”

“But you’re dead... and you’re okay?”

He wasn’t okay. He’d just gotten very good at existing

“I’m not going to watch her go through what I went through”

“What... I mean, you totally don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I guess... maybe I don’t see the problem with you being a vampire”

Hunk wouldn’t. He saw the absolute best in everyone. Even when they didn’t see it in themselves, he kind of... brought it out of you. Lance couldn’t tell him. He didn’t want Hunk to pity him. He’d barely been able to tell Matt without Keith’s support

“I... I can’t tell you. I can tell she should fear being a vampire. If Pidge was turned, she’d never be the person we know again. That’s if she kept her mind”

“But you... kept yours? You’re not secretly a serial killer are you?”

Lance could almost see Hunk worrying his pointer fingers together

“No. I was turned young. Too young... My mind and body were more flexible. When we get older we get set in our ways. Our sense of self evolves as we grow. That’s the secret to keeping your sanity. It’s holding onto every little bit of humanity you can find”

“That had to be rough... I...”

Hunk was so pure he wasn’t seeing the truth

“You don’t know what to say. You’re cautious. I can hear the way your heart beats increased. I did everything I could to keep you out of this. But that all went up in flames in an instant. Yeah. I knew Matt was a werewolf before he came back. I prayed Pidge wouldn’t find out... and look what that got us. A whole lot of awkwardness and mistrust. You guys can talk and laugh about it because you’ve never seen a vampire properly. You’ve never seen humans paraded around as fresh meals on a lead. You’ve never felt hunger that robs you of your sanity. Pidge only saw a sliver and you were there to witness what that did to her. This isn’t a game and we can’t just drink slushies to feel better after a bad hunt. A bad hunt means you’re dead. Throat torn out for the fun of it... if you’re lucky. If you’re unlucky... it’s not a quick death”

If you’re unlucky you turn out like Adam, but that wasn’t Lance’s secret to share.

Hunk fell silent. Lance’s hearing not good enough to hear the metaphorical cogs kicking over. It was a long moment before Hunk replied

“You’re right. We don’t understand. It scared me when Matt suddenly showed us his wolf. I don’t know how to cope with any of this. I can’t even tell Shay and she totally thinks I’m flaky”

That wasn’t fair. Hunk was only flaky in the sense he was like a warm croissant

“I know. Since I met you guys... I... I was scared. I’ve never had friends as close as family before. I’ve never loved having people around like I love you and Pidge. I’ve spent my adult life trying to atone for what I am. Realistically I should have died when I was a kid. I never enjoyed lying. My ego never thought I was better than you. If anything I envied you both. You both grow old. You grow old and fall in love. You make families and you know love. When you don’t age you get to watch everyone you love grow older and die before you. I love you guys warm and breathing...”

“I don’t think Pidge is going to give up. Her... um... dad... he like knows about this kind of thing. And her mum... she’s pretty mad at both of them”

That made sense. Kind of... He’d thought Colleen and Sam had some sense that he wasn’t human. Though how they knew hunters wasn’t as clear. Platt was a big place. Most vampires and werewolves knew how to keep their heads down when they really needed to

“I love her. I love her and I don’t know if I can support this. I can barely support Keith and he’s been a hunter for years now. I don’t... I spent a long time not being part of that world for a reason. Nothing good ever comes out of it”

“Keith did...”

Touché. Keith and Shiro... they were a different kind of hunter. Eyes opened by personal tragedy that should have left them blood thirsty

“Keith... with him... it’s different. He feels like... he feels like he’s been our friend for years. He was really hurt over what happened. He’s not the best with social cues and friends. He’s been through so much and I was so happy that you guys wanted to be friends with him”

“He’s... nicer then when we met him”

“That’s because he was convinced I was a blood sucking monster that fed on you as you slept”

“That doesn’t make me feel good”

“Relax. I swear I never ever fed on either of you. I had blood bags, and I never wanted to. I wanted to be human”

“Is there a way to cure vampire-ism? Is it “ism?”. Do you guys have like a preferred term?”

“I’m fine with whatever. But no. There’s no cure. I’m as dead as I can be without being in a hole in a ground”

“Dude, you are literally in a hole in the ground”

Touché again. He was kind of cold buried up to his shoulders... His poor death soil hadn’t been taken care of at all. Stupid dandelions had invaded... He’d always kept the garden so meticulous

“I know... Hunk, I don’t know what to do”

“I don’t know what to do either, bud. What would Keith say?”

“I don’t think he’s talking to me. I told him I was coming back here today and he didn’t reply”

“Oh, man... I’m sorry... I didn’t know you two were...”

Two were what? Fighting? Lance thought they’d made up...

“I don’t think we’re fighting... he just normally answers or he’s working... or sleeping. Shiro did get slightly drunk last night”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Curtis finally took him on a proper date”

“Like in public?”

“No. They went to this underground vampire fighting ring that serves great wings. Yes, in public. Just because Curtis is slightly cursed doesn’t really mean anything”

Lance could hear Hunk scratching the back of his head

“Dude. Relax. I’m joking. Curtis’s curse doesn’t mean he can’t go out and enjoy himself with Shiro. He styled his hair to hide his horn”

“So like curses and magic are real? That’s a real thing?”

“Yeah. I only found out about it not that long ago. Curtis used to be a hunter. I suppose he still kind of is, but he works for Coran now”

“Like you work for Coran?”

Hunk was curious, yet kind of freaked. Lance could hear it in his voice. He’d come out here for peace, but instead found himself having a much needed talk with Hunk

“I don’t work for Coran. Coran takes care of like all the supernaturals and hunters in Platt. I’ve known him since I was turned. He helped me and my family out a lot with adjusting to me being the undead”

“So if anything goes wrong...?”

“I go to Coran. He’d welcome you guys too. He’s heard all about both of you”

“I don’t know how that makes me feel”

“Nothing bad. Just... you guys really mean a lot to me. You’re not the first humans I’ve been friendly with, but you’re the most important people in my life to date. And Keith. I didn’t even tell him I was coming back today. I messaged him... but he didn’t reply...”

Silence fell between them again. Lance content to let Hunk take his time, which he did, before finally starting to talk again

“Lance. Is there a reason you left Platt? If you were happy there... you could have stayed to be with Keith if you’d wanted”

“I was in Platt because Rieva was concerned for our safety with Lotor around. Lotor comes from a really bad family. Like worse than every vampire movie you’ve seen put together. His mother’s worse than Elizabeth Bathory. Hell, she probably got her twisted ways from her...”

“Or from pop culture”

Lance shook his head, sending dirt across his face. That was the trouble with burying himself. Maybe it was time to invest in a nice body bag, or a proper coffin to keep the dirt out

“She’s been alive longer than pop culture has existed. If Lotor suddenly proclaimed she was Elizabeth, I don’t think I’d actually be surprised”

“Is she really that bad?”

“Rieva didn’t tell you? The woman’s got a screw loose up there. More like she’s walked into a hardware store, pulled every packet of screws off the shelf, opened them all, then thrown them everywhere as she then bosses the staff into cleaning up the mess she’s left”

“That doesn’t sound good”

It sounded like a total chaotic shit show. Kind of like how the Blades conveniently marched to the beat of their own drum

“Not particularly. Bud, I know you always see the good in people, but you need to see Honerva isn’t a person. Those invisible lines the of law that keeps us in line doesn’t apply when you’re that powerful. Going after Lotor could bring that madness down on all of you. Not just us, but everyone you love. I’m so happy you and Shay finally started dating, and I’m not telling you to choose but if you ever feel you have to, then please choose her. You two are so perfect for each other. I want to see you grow old together... I want you both to be happy”

Hunk sighed heavily

“I... don’t know if I can ignore what’s happening... I don’t want... I don’t want to see people hurt because I wasn’t brave enough to do something”

Because Hunk loved his friends as fiercely as Lance loved them

“Then... then I don’t know. But don’t chase anything. I can let Keith know, or Coran, but I can’t lose you, even if it makes you hate me. The world is a better place for having you and Pidge in it... always remember that. I’m going to take a nap out here”

Moving seemed like effort. Inside smelt like werewolf. The gremlin was cranky. Here seemed as good as any spot to wallow

“You’re going to take a nap?”

Hunk sounded surprised. Then again, he wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground. Lance wasn’t used to Lance napping in the ground, but the soil felt kind of reassuring

“It’s fine. I spent three months making this soil. It’s actually good for me. Helps promote healing all that... I’ll be okay”

“I don’t like leaving you in there alone”

Lance snorted, mentally imagining Hunk trying to climb in beside him

“I’ll be okay. Just don’t let Matt pee on me. I think I need some me space”

“Should... should I cover you back up?”

“If you want to. I’m pretty cozy in here”

“But... don’t you need to breathe?”

“Eventually. I breathe. But I can also hold my breath a ridiculous amount of time”

“Dude... that’s so weird”

“Welcome to having a friend who’s a vampire. Seriously though. I really love you guys. I want to be here with you... I... Thanks for coming to check on me. I know this isn’t easy for you”

“Well... like... you know... we’re like best friends... right?”

“Best friends forever, buddy”

** I can’t help it. I love our boy interacting with his besties and being friends again**

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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marshmallowprotection · 4 years

Text

When bora moves into the penthouse.

Bora was on the bed, waiting in anticipation for seven to come and pick her up, she appreciated being able to take a long hot bath and she even got to wash her clothes, or well tried to. It’s really hard when you don’t exactly know what to do, but bora tried her best. Also her hair was a mess, she didn’t have a brush, or anything to manage it, so she had no other choice then to put it in a messy bun. She check the time again, 8:59, seven said he’d come at 9, but bora is secretly hoping that he won’t show up. Suddenly there is a knock at the door, two long knocks, and two short knocks. Exactly what seven said he’d do.

“ bora, it’s me seven, we talked earlier this morning. Can you open the door?” He said in a very soft, calming voice, not wanting to startle the young girl. He sees the door knob turn and puts on the biggest smile he can muster, but seeing her in person, makes his smile faulted. It physically hurts to see this small child, with tape holding together an old hoodie, and she doesn’t even look in his eyes. “ hey, need me to carry your stuff? “ seven asks reaching a hand out, only for bora’s grip to tighten around her bag.

“ no thank you, mr. Seven.” She says in such a small voice, she didn’t want to risk making him upset. He seemed friendly enough but bora doesn’t want to risk it. It’s something Saeyoung understands all too well.

“ you don’t need to call me mr. Just call me seven, or 707, or luciel, no I got one even better. God 707!” Saeyoung says energetically, hoping that it’s make bora laugh, or even giggle a bit. Bora does crack a smile, it’s not much but it’s something.

“ okay, seven,” bora says as she is lead out of the building and into the parking lot. “ umm seven, I really do appreciate you driving me and all but I could just walk there ,”2

Cracking a smile Saeyoung opens the passenger door of his car, letting bora slide in, buckling himself up in the car he says to bora,”see bora, this isn’t only to help you get there safely, I want to see my Elly too,” yes it’s a perk to see Elizabeth but Saeyoung just wants to help bora, even if he has to lie about his reasons.

“ Your Elly?” Bora asks, trying to Rember if jumin has a kid or something like that, she doesn’t remember anyone named Elly.

“ Yes my beautiful Elly, jumin’s cat. I love her so much, but meanie jumin doesn’t let me see her.” He says, happy that bora is talking a bit. He decides to make a pit stop,” bora, do you want something from Starbucks or do you want boba? Or do you want ice cream?”

Bora looking down at her shoes, “ I’m fine, but thank you,” she doesn’t want to risk spilling anything in this car, it looks really expensive. But it’s too late, seven is already pulled into a drive through.

“ what do you want bora?” Saeyoung asks, wanting to get something into bora’s stomach, he knows that she skipped breakfast.

“ it’s really okay, I’m not hungry,” bora says, not wanting seven to go through anymore trouble.

“ I’ll have one hot chocolate, one slice of banana bread, and one black coffee please,” Saeyoung says, to the drive through lady, leaving bora shocked. Seven hands her a hot chocolate and the banana bread,” I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I had this gift card that was about to expire and I needed to use it up, so you getting some food and a drink actually helped me out. “

Seeing bora take a small nibble of the banana bread and instantly have a faint smile on her face, made Saeyoung extremely happy. She looks like she’s enjoying the food and hot coco.

The banana bread reminded bora of her brother, he’d always bake banana bread for her birthday. Bora couldn’t help but smile a bit, but once she noticed seven looking she wiped that look off of her face,” thank you for the food,” she says, not wanting to be rude.

“ anytime kiddo, I want you to feel as comfortable as you can with me before I introduce you to jumin. He may seem cold and unfeeling, but he will help you in anyway he can. He is just hard to crack his cold exterior, but he looks out for the rfa members, and he’ll be good to you. You have my word, even though it probably doesn’t mean much,” Saeyoung tells bora as they sit in the parking lot, trying to calm her nerves.

All he gets is a small nod and a timid okay. It’s 10 am when Saeyoung begins to drive to jumin’s penthouse, but before he starts the car he texts jumin that bora’s skittish.

Pulling up to the building she can tell the jumin is rich rich, there are even security guards in the lobby. She is getting her fair share of odd stares, but seven is there right next to her glaring at the judgmental people.

“ Luciel, over here,” a feline voice says as a short brown haired woman, with glasses walks over to bora and Saeyoung, “ hello, I’m Jaehee Kang, you’re bora, a I correct?” She says with a small smile, trying her best to be warm towards the small child.

“ yes, it’s nice to meet you,” bora says politely, but not meeting jaehees gaze. But maybe that’s for the best, jaehees eyes are filled with pity and sadness, this child look like she’s been through hell, and barely made it back alive.

“ here, let me take that for you, where is the rest of you stuff?” Jaehee says reaching out for bora’s bag, but bora’s grip tightens, Saeyoung gives Jaehee a look that says,’ don’t’ luckily she got the hint and retracted her arm.

“ this is all of my stuff, and thanks but I can handle it,” bora says, not wanting anyone to touch her bag, the only things she owns are in there, including the only picture of her brother that she has. It’s in an old picture frame that’s waterproof. She would do anything to keep that one picture.

“ how about we head up to the penthouse! I want to see my lovely Elly!” Saeyoung says, trying to lighten the mood by ushering bora into the elevator, with Jaehee following right behind. With bora standing between Jaehee and seven, it’s abundantly clear how tiny she actually is. Even compared to Jaehee, she’s petite. The elevator door opens and Jaehee leads the two of them into the giant penthouse. Immediately seven yells,” ELLY! Daddy missed you!” And seven begins to run towards the white cat, until a tall black haired man grabs him by the hoodie and yanks him away from the cute feline.

“ Luciel, her name is Elizabeth the third, and she’s not yours. Behave yourself.” Jumin says, turning towards Jaehee and bora, it’s shocking how tiny she is, she looks so uncomfortable, like she’s rather be anywhere but here. Jumin looks her over, that hoodie has to be the one in the worst condition, there is no way that her other clothes are as rundown as that one, and those shoes look like they are men’s, clearly not her size.

Saeyoung whispers in jumin’s ear,” don’t look so judgemental, you’ll scare her off.” Jumin begins to wonder how would rika handle this situation, she’d probably greet bora with a warm smile and assure her that everything will be alright, that she’s safe, ‘rika would handle this so much better.’ Jumin thought to himself.

“ hello bora, I’m jumin. For the time being you’ll be living with me. You’ll be taken care of here,”

Bora shrunk back at his intensity, seven offered her a small smile, trying to say,’ Remember what I told you about him,’ bora has a gut feeling that he is a goos guy, but seven’s words kept playing in the back of her head, give it time, he may act cold but he is really a good guy.

“ shall we get you unpacked? Follow me,” jumin says waking out of the room, bora looks at seven and seven begins to walk behind jumin, and bora takes that as her cue to follow. They walk into a large room, with dark blue walls, dressers, a closet and an en-suite bathroom, but what caught bora’s attention was the large bed in the middle of the room, it looks so comfortable, she just wants to lie down on it.

“ bora, bora? Are you listening?” Jumin asked, trying to explain how everything works and that if she needs something to let him know.

“ sport, yeah I was,” bora timidly says, not wanting to seem rude.

“ where is all your stuff?” Jumin asks only seeing a backpack with bora.

“ this is it,” she says as seven shoots jumin a look telling him to not be too blunt.

“ there is barely anything, oh well we can alway get you new supplies, and clothes-“

“ no. It’s really okay sir, I appreciate being allowed to sleep here, you don’t need to go that far, I don’t even need to sleep here, I’m fine with going back to the apartment, or if you don’t want anyone in that apartment I can go back to where I used to live,” bora rambles in and on, nervously.

“ don’t be ridiculous bora, you’re what, 11? 12? We can’t let a child wander the streets. “

“ um I’m 15 and 1/2” Jaehee and jumin both were shocked by that, by her stature she look like she is much younger.

“Oh I apologize, I assumed you were much younger,”

“ it’s alright. But I really don’t want to impose,”

“ you won’t.” Jumin says. They spend about one hour before jumin and Jaehee leave to work, and Saeyoung decides to stay with bora, and he keeps trying to cuddle with Elizabeth. But after seven calmed down and decided to take a nap on the couch, Elizabeth decided to come over near bora, checking her out. Elizabeth quickly took a likening to bora, quickly cuddling up to her and falling asleep in her lap.

Jumin comes back to the penthouse to see bora and Elizabeth cuddled up to one another, asleep with a blanket over them( courtesy of Saeyoung) and seeing his angel of a cat asleep purring while cuddled up against this child, he knows that this child is one that will leave a lasting impression.

@stella-290 holy shit this was longer than I realized, oh well. - submission

I LOVE THIS.

Jumin grabbing Seven by the hoodie made me wheeze so dang hard. He just goes “Yoink. Not today, Luciel, that’s not happening.” Which is why very much a thing that we’d know he’d do. He can say it’s for Elly and play around to make Bora feel more comfortable, but Jumin knows that he’s also just trying to help so they play a little banter. It’s no different than how he and Zen interact, after all, which I appreciate.

Pity.

Bora hates pity, but she knows why they do it. She also knew they would assume that she was much younger, but hey, can’t do a lot about that. She tries to cool down and get used to this but it’s not easy. Elizabeth is really nice to her so it’s not so lonely here.

#fanfiction #stella-290 #mod kait #runaway mc #bora kim oc #ask #that's a lot of fan content i did not expect #honestly good job i really enjoyed reading this #submission

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imaginepirates · 4 years

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Leaving

For @paljonkaikenlaista, who wanted a Lizzie x reader where the reader is bad at talking about/expressing their feelings. I felt like we all needed a little post AWE Lizzie and calm environments in trying times, so enjoy!

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @viper-official

~3100 words

~~~~~~~

The air smelt of salt. Waves lapped at the shore, creating a soothing sound. You walked barefoot over the sand, picking up shells as you went. You’d put them back in the house to decorate the windowsills and counters. You lived in a little house next to the ocean, long, waving grasses being the only things that separated you from the beach. It was a peaceful place to live, away from the hustle and bustle of large amounts of people. The only other person in the vicinity was Elizabeth, and she lived alone.

She lived in a house much like yours, with white walls and trim painted seafoam green. The previous owner had been an elderly fisherman, and, wanting to spend his last months with family, he moved to the city. He’d left his boat behind, and you saw Elizabeth take it out sometimes. She never returned with fish, but you didn’t think that was the point of her exploits.

You often helped her with things like baking and caring for her garden, which she loved dearly, though you didn’t think she’d ever worked with plants before. She was a fun woman, and she was always up to something new. The two of you would sit and talk over tea and whatever one of you had made to eat. She avoided most personal questions, like where she’d moved from, but you didn’t mind too much. She was nice, and her life was her business, so you didn’t mind her keeping it that way.

You walked back up to your house. Elizabeth was outside, as she was most days, and she waved to you. She sat in a chair on her front porch. Embroidering, you guessed.

“I have a lemon bread in the oven!” She called. “I can’t eat it all myself.”

“I’ll be right over,” you told her. In truth, you enjoyed her company. The fisherman had kept to himself for the most part, and it was nice to have a companion after so many months in solitude.

You washed your feet in the bath, scraping the sand from under your toenails. Slipping on some shoes, you went back out. Her door was open, and you slipped in. The smell of lemon permeated the air. Elizabeth had a weak spot for sweets, and she was constantly baking them.

“I see you took a walk this morning,” she said. She brought out two plates, setting a piece of bread on each. “Tea?”

“Yes, please.” She handed you the plates, and you put them on the table. “It’s nice outside. The air is fresher in the mornings. What were you embroidering?”

“Birds.” She set the tea on the table, then disappeared into the next room. She came back with her embroidery hoop, white fabric hanging taught inside it. The bird in question was small, and only half finished, but you could tell by the round brown body and small beak that it was it a sparrow.

“I didn’t know you liked birds.”

“I have a certain fondness for sparrows.”

The way she said it made it seem like there was a hidden meaning, but you didn’t press.

“You said the day was nice. Would you fancy a ride in the fishing boat?” She asked. She hadn’t invited you to go with her before, and you accepted. “It’ll be lovely. I find turtles sometimes.”

The aqua waters surrounding the island you lived on were full of marine life. Turtles, dolphins, and whales lived nearby, not to mention a thousand different species of fish. Tide pools on the rocks housed fish the size of a fingernail, and hermit crabs crawled across the beaches.

A small dock led out to the fishing boat. It had a single mast and tattered sail, and its light blue paint flaked off in places. Though old, it was sturdy. Elsewise, the fisherman wouldn’t have used it every day. Elizabeth expertly unfurled the sail, untied the ship from the dock, and pushed off. Ropes lay on the deck, and she deftly avoided them as she waltzed up to the helm.

The wind ruffled your hair, and you watched the waves dance beneath you as you sailed. The boat was slow, but the water was no less beautiful for it. It was clear enough that you could see beneath the surface. Schools of colorful fish darted in and out of your vision. It had been a long time since you’d last been on a boat, and you found yourself enjoying the ride.

Again, you stared up at Elizabeth. Her golden hair hung loosely over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Freckles dotted her face. Her hands were steady, resting on the ship’s wheel, steering with confidence. You wondered where she learned to man a ship. The ease with which she managed sails and lines told you she wasn’t new to it.

“Can you fish?” You asked.

“No. I never learned. Can you?”

“No.” A woman who can sail but who can’t fish. There weren’t many of those.

You speculated about her sometimes. She’d moved out to the coast, a lovely young lady with so much life in her. She seemed to like your company, and you sometimes found her starting letters that she never finished or sent out. Bright, and exuberant, and full of energy, she didn’t belong alone on the seashore. You could only think that some scandal or horrible event had put her with you. But she didn’t seem sad, just wistful, sometimes. You often caught her staring out to sea. What did the ocean hold for her, that she was always chasing it?

There was little to talk about. You almost always knew what the other was up to, and neither of you could plan to do anything exciting, seeings as you were the only two people living in your area. There was a little town that you stopped in to buy food, but there was nothing to do there, either. For the moment, you just enjoyed her company.

In fact, you enjoyed her company in general. You hadn’t had another person your age around you for a long time. Elizabeth was the energy you needed, the companion you hadn’t known in too long.

That wasn’t all. She was beautiful; her hair constantly caught the light when it filtered through the window, her smile brightened every room, her laugh was a new form of music, and the map of freckles across her body begged to be traced. Your fingers itched to memorize them. Her body was a landscape of valleys and ridges, her eyes two deep pools of molten amber. You loved her. You had for days, for weeks, but you could never say when it started. Maybe it was the first time you had tea, or the first time you worked in the garden with her, or when you first saw her. But somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for her.

You sailed back to shore, the afternoon light slowly fading into evening. The horizon blushed pink, a soft orange light quickly following it.

“Join me for dinner?” Elizabeth asked. “I know you’ll like it. I’ve been meaning to ask you over for ages. We haven’t had a dinner together yet, and I thought it might be a nice change from tea. Not that tea isn’t nice. I just know you better now, is all.”

“It sounds lovely. I’ll bring something over from the garden.” Your garden was home to all sorts of trees and bushes that produced fruit. Mangos, guava, and papaya all grew around.

You walked to her house only after a bath and a change of clothes. Despite living in such a secluded place, you still had the habit of maintaining the customs of proper society. At the door to her house, you noticed a slip of paper tucked close to the door. Curiously, you pulled it out, finding that it was an envelope. One side had a single name, ‘Jack’. The other had a drawing of a sparrow.

Your chest tightened. ‘I have a certain fondness for sparrows.’ That was what she meant. There’s a man. You could physically feel the disappointment coursing through your body. She hadn’t told you- but why would she? It was none of your business. There’s always a man.

You stepped inside, feeling like something was caught in your throat. The letter you left outside, deciding to tell her after the night was over. Surely she’d be thinking about it all night if you gave it to her now.

Your appetite gone, you made your way to the small dining room. Delicious smells wafted around the room, but they only made your stomach turn. Elizabeth, though, was smiling as always, and you did your best to be happy, for her sake.

The food was, in fact, delicious. You made conversation over the dishes, talking about your next projects. Yours was to build another gardening plot where you hoped to plant vegetables for cooking. Hers was to paint rocks as decoration. She felt her home was bereft of art, and that the white walls made for too little color variance.

“I want to make them bright, but I don’t have any bright paint. Do you think there would be any in town?” She asked, her fork halfway to her mouth.

“It’s worth a check,” you said. You weren’t thinking much of anything, if truth be told.

The subject abruptly changed. “How long have you lived here?”

You were surprised by the question. Even though the question was a perfectly normal one, Elizabeth rarely asked about your personal life, nor you about hers. “Years,” you answered.

Elizabeth sighed. “Is there anything you would leave for?”

That was a strange question. “Maybe. I don’t know what it would be, but maybe.”

She sighed again, blowing an errant hair out of her face. “It’s lovely here, and I enjoy living next to you, but is it bad of me to want to leave?”

The air left your lungs. It felt like a blow to the chest, even though it was only a few words. A few breaths of air. “Is there somewhere you’d rather be?”

“Yes? Not permanently, no, but I long to be elsewhere sometimes. Do you ever wish that you could relive certain moments, certain feelings? I want to recreate those things for myself, the things that made me happy and alive, but I can’t do that here. I want to be able to come and go as I see fit, to find adventure out in the world and then come back home.” She sighed again, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m enchanted with living here, but I’m enchanted with other things, too.”

“What things?” You knew you shouldn’t ask, that you should be content with her explanation, but you wanted to know more about her, about what she wanted and craved. You needed to know what she desired, and if it could ever be you.

“I want adventure. I want… well, there are a great many things I want, but I want my life to go back to the way it was before.”

“Will you leave, then?”

“With the right prompting, yes. I just have to wait until it happens.”

You left the dinner feeling more confused and hopeless than you had when you’d come in, wishing that Elizabeth would just tell you about herself instead of hinting at things that you couldn’t grasp.

As you stepped outside, you remembered the letter. You picked it up, turning it over in your hands, and called to Elizabeth to show it to her. She walked to the front door, and her eyes immediately glued themselves to the letter. She gasped, plucking it out of your hands and staring at the picture of the sparrow.

“I found it out here just now. It must’ve been left during dinner,” you lied. It took all of your strength not to wilt at the look of excitement in your eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, disappearing back inside.

The door in front of you closed quickly, and you were left alone in the darkness. You trudged home, sank into bed, and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. How were you supposed to tell Elizabeth that you wanted her to stay, that her leaving would devastate you? How could you convey how sad you’d be without her? Even if someone else took her place in that house, you would only ever think of it as hers, and you’d be alone again, no matter how many people lived next door.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell her all the negative emotions bottled up inside. Even if you tried, the words would get stuck in your throat, and you wouldn’t be able to get all your emotions out. She would never know, and you would live with that forever.

She won’t even know that I love her. It hurt to think it, but you were bad at expressing your feelings, and you knew they would continue to go unsaid. You could drown in your feelings without anyone ever knowing. It frustrated you to no end, but even when you tried, your words never matched your emotions. Elizabeth would leave, never knowing what she meant to you.

The worst was her reason. To go back to how life was before. The letter was from a man. There was only one explanation, and it destroyed you to think of it. Of course she had a lover before; she was walking brilliance, a sun trapped inside a human being.

When you finally fell asleep, it was to the lull of the waves. At least asleep you could hide from your sorrow. Once you woke, you’d be plunged back into the bitter reality, but nothing could touch you in sleep.

The sun crept through the window timidly, its rays barely visible through a cloud of morning mist. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, preparing for the day. You kept your mind busy by thinking of the things you needed to do. You needed to spread dirt for the vegetable garden. For that, you would need to dig a pile of dirt from somewhere nearby. For that, you would need a shovel. You kept going with this line of reasoning, thinking of where the shovel was, and that you’d probably want gloves. Then you set off, repeating everything to yourself, tucking everything else to the back of your mind.

The tactic shattered the moment you saw Elizabeth on her front porch, completing her embroidery. The same bird that was on the envelope sat on her lap, made from a thousand tiny stitches. She waved, beckoning you over. Even though you felt like it might break you, you went to her.

Just inside the door of her house were bags, bags which you assumed to be full of clothes and necessities. “Are you leaving, then?” You asked. There was something in your mouth, you were certain of it, sitting there and making your mouth almost too dry to talk.

“Yes. The letter was from an old friend. It looks like I’ll be able to relive some of those times after all.”

The happiness on her face hurt you all the more. The reality set in. She really was leaving, leaving you behind. It wasn’t fair of you to think that way; she had no reason not to leave. If it was what made her happy, she had every right to do it. You just wished you were part of her happiness.

“I won’t be leaving forever. I’ll come back and paint my rocks at some point.” She smiled as she spoke, sending a fresh jolt of pain through you. How long would it be before you saw that smile again? “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. But when I do, you’ll be the first person to know.”

You smiled sadly at the joke. “Why come back if you want to leave so much? Why not just go where you want to?”

“I have so much here. A home, a garden, a fishing boat, a peaceful place to live, a….” She trailed off there, leaving you to wonder what she might have said. “I like it here. I just need something different sometimes, is all.”

“I wish you would stay,” you whispered.

“If it’s company you need, I can find someone to live here for a while, if you like.”

“No, I….” You stared at her hopelessly. What were you supposed to say?

Understanding seemed to flash through her eyes. “I’ll meet you inside for tea in a little while. How does that sound?”

“Nice, thank you.”

You returned home, shuffling about purposelessly. You went to your bedroom, alternating between sitting on the bed and pacing around the room. She still wanted to talk to you, but what would you say? You’d probably scared her, even just with your hint of love. You couldn’t properly communicate how you felt.

At some point, you knocked a book off a shelf. You stared at its cover blankly before registering the name. The Modern Pyrate. Symbols were dotted across the front, and you found yourself staring down at a little sparrow etched into the leather. Of course!

You walked back to Elizabeth’s house with a little more hope in your chest. She sat in the kitchen, worriedly working at a piece of lemon bread, tearing it apart with a fork. She perked up when you walked in, talking right away.

“I don’t want you to think that I want to leave you. You’re one of the best things about this place. I adore you.” Her words came out all in a rush.

You smiled softly. “I understand. You just wanted to find the adventure you used to have. I don’t know how I didn’t realize it before- you’re a pirate. Or you were, and you want to be again.” Elizabeth looked stunned, but you went on. “I’ll still be here when you come back.”

“Thank you. For understanding. I was afraid I gave you the wrong impression.”

“You said you wanted your life to go back to how it was before. I was afraid you didn’t have room for anything new.”

“Of course I do. I just wanted to be a pirate again. I wanted to have that same adventure in my life. But you’re an adventure, too, and I want to explore every bit of you, if you’ll let me.”

Stunned, you stood still as she rose from her seat and stepped towards you. You were so close, your noses were almost touching. Slowly, she cupped your cheek with a hand, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“No matter how many times I leave,” she assured you, “I’ll come back.”

#potc #pirates of the caribbean #pirates #pirate #elizabeth swann #elizabeth #elizabeth x reader #request #requests #drabble #drabbles #writing #x reader

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