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littlemisspascal · 3 years ago

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The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 3

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,320

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: I don’t know much about starship mechanics so probably nothing in this is accurate but it’s fanfiction people so cut me some slack please, reader gets a nickname 🥳, plot plot plot, discussion of loss of loved ones, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, this is a slow burn but it’s also ridiculously self-indulgent so I’m including as many cute getting-to-know-you scenes as I can, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: Thank you anyone and everyone who has read even a sentence of this story! Special thanks and love to @dindja for creating this stunning, fantastic, amazing piece of fanart for me 💖💖💖 I still can’t believe how perfect it is. I mean, I’m such a sucker for pinky promises it’s not even funny and this is just beautiful 😍😍😍

Part 2

Cross-posted on AO3

For as grand and wide-reaching as the Galactic Empire has become in its ten years of existence, it had relatively small beginnings. A group of radical Force-wielders banded together under the leadership of an old, beady-eyed man named Sheev Palpatine who believed it was his divine destiny to seize control of the entire galaxy, rewriting the ancient laws to match his own beliefs. His cult, the Sith Order, gained attention by attacking Jedi temples, capital cities, places with large populations until every corner of the galaxy had heard of them. Most regarded them with fear, but over time they began garnering a startling amount of followers who were discontent with the status quo and willingly drafted themselves as soldiers in Palpatine’s fight for control.

At first everyone in your village thought Palpatine and his cult of followers weren’t worth worrying about—after all, Shili was a peaceful planet that never drew much attention to itself. But within the first year of its inception, the Sith Order captured Ryloth and the similar peaceful characteristics between the Twi’lek planet and Shili were too glaring to overlook. A seed of anxiety took root in every Togruta’s mind after that, and continued to grow with every planet seized as the years progressed.

The Decimation of Alderaan didn’t start as a tragedy, believe it or not. The Mandalorians, Jedi, and Alderaanians combined their numbers in an all-out fight against the Sith Order. It was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the galaxy, thousands of souls willing to die to defeat Palpatine’s followers. For the first three days of warfare, the fight seemed to be in favor of the allies with many noteworthy Sith members reportedly killed in the fray, such as Palpatine’s second-in-command Dooku and lethal Zabrak assassin Maul. You remember there was a sense of hope felt within your village as everyone listened to the news reports blaring across the Holonet. A belief that things were finally, finally going to return to normal after so much chaos.

But on the fourth day, the Sith Order brought their own ally onto the battlefield.

At the time there wasn’t a name for the droids that slaughtered every opponent they faced. They were described as indestructible, unharmed by blasters and the intense heat of Mandalorian flamethrowers. Not even lightsabers could damage them. The allies didn’t stand a chance, brutally murdered one by one, their dying screams echoing across the Holonet, forever haunting listeners far and wide.

The Dark Troopers were unleashed upon Mandalore afterwards and out of the ashes rose the Galactic Empire, except, in a twist nobody—not even the Sith Order—saw coming: Palpatine died before taking on the title of emperor, passing away in his sleep. A mediocre ending for the monster who permanently altered the foundations of the universe. One of his loyal followers from the cult’s early beginnings took control in his place, a vile man with a penchant for spilling blood and a deceptively bland name: Gideon.

Only seven years-old then, you didn’t understand the unbalance in the Force your aunt kept referencing. You didn’t understand the meaning of the word genocide either. But you did understand the galaxy would never be the same ever again, and the lesson was only further established as truth when the Imperials seized your village.

There is no normalcy to return to anymore.

And as long as Emperor Gideon remains in control, there is no future to hope for either.

Silence reigns in the aftermath of Maar’s explanation as the long list of tragedies hangs heavy over the four occupants. There is tension in the air as you await the Mandalorian’s response to the extinction of his people, whether that be an outburst of anger or tears, and each passing minute only intensifies the nervous energy thrumming through your veins. Your leg starts to bounce restlessly, a bad habit you have had since childhood.

The Mandalorian stands eerily motionless. Your eyes keep flicking from your lap to his visor though you know it is rude to stare. His helmet hides his expression, but you don’t need to see it to know he is floundering right now, mind scrambling to piece together all the details thrown at him. From personal experience, you know the loss of a loved one hits like a tidal wave, hitting you over and over again until you must decide if you are going to stand up or surrender to drowning. Grieving the loss of your parents is the hardest experience of your lifetime to date.

But this...this is vastly different. The Mandalorian didn’t just lose his loved ones. He has lost his friends, neighbors, comrades, acquaintances, everyone all at once. This loss isn’t a tidal wave. It is a kriffing avalanche, burying him ten feet under in total darkness, and there is no one he can count on to save him.

Finally, after the longest five minutes of your life, he shifts, resting his hands upon his belt with an unexpected air of seriousness. “I need to go.”

You frown, head tilting. That is his reaction?

“Go?” Ahsoka echoes, sounding as incredulous as you feel. “Go where?”

“To look for survivors,” he answers, blunt and harsh, the words forced through clenched teeth.

Ahsoka is struck silent, and you feel your heart break on his behalf. Your mother’s stories about the Mandalorians had always included, one way or another, their lifelong bonds with each other. You had felt those ties when you had connected with the Mandalorian, believed for a moment as strongly as he did that his fellow warriors would come search for him, that his absence would be noticed and missed amongst them. And here he is now, still desperately clutching to them, unable—or, perhaps unwilling is more apt—to believe a stranger telling him those bonds have been cruelly severed.

“What you need is to rest,” Maar says, gentle yet firm, letting her authority as the eldest in the room seep into her tone.

He shakes his head, not backing down. “I’ve been asleep for ten years. I don’t need any more rest.”

“Your ship, it, uh,” your shoulders hike up defensively when his visor snaps in your direction, pinning you with its blank stare. Clearing your throat, you continue with a slight grimace, “It’s going to need some repairs before it can take off. I can help you fix it.”

Ahsoka looks over at you in surprise, and then in worry. You don’t blame her, especially since the offer had slipped out without you consciously meaning it to. Once again, the Force is calling the shots and you are just along for the ride, a passenger in your own body.

He considers you for a long moment, then asks, “What do you know about the mechanics of a gunship?”

If anyone else had asked you that same exact question, you would have bristled at their condescension and retracted your offer in the next breath. But with the Mandalorian, there isn’t even the slightest hint of patronizing courtesy. It is a serious question prompted from genuine curiosity.

You sit up straighter, smiling at him now. “Enough to confidently say I’m your best shot at getting off the ground.”

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Ahsoka asks you, braced against the wall with one eye on you and one on the Mandalorian across the garage, patiently waiting for you to finish assembling your tool kit.

“Huh?” You reply distractedly, trying to decide if you should bring your carbon chisel or not.

“You don’t have one, do you?”

Not. There are bigger concerns than a bit of carbon scoring. You move to grab your favorite screwdriver with a tapered socket, only for Ahsoka to snatch it away, holding the tool hostage.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about what you’re doing?” Ahsoka asks slowly, staring you directly in the eyes. “Once you fix his ship, he’s gone. And he’s taking our best chance at escaping Shili with him.”

A quick glance over your shoulder shows the Mandalorian studying the scattered BB unit parts on your workbench. You are missing a few vital components needed in order to bring the little droid back to life after a stormtrooper shot a plasma bolt through it for accidentally bumping into his leg, and haven’t had any luck convincing the village traders to track them down for you when they went to the capital.

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” you manage at last, turning back to your sister. “Otherwise we’re no better than the Imps.”

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, you shrug a shoulder, adding, “Besides, I think I’m supposed to fix it for him. The Force seems pretty insistent about it.”

She makes a face at that. “I liked you better when you ignored your Force instincts. You didn’t make me worry as much.”

A laugh escapes you, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet space, and your cheeks immediately start burning. Ahsoka’s lip twitches like she wants to smile, but instead she schools her features into a blank expression when the Mandalorian’s head turns at the sound. Only once he diverts his attention elsewhere again does her stare lose some of its intensity, looking less like she wants to dissect him beneath a microscope. You can practically see her protective-older-sister-instincts buzzing, reacting to the warrior’s presence.

As much as he is a chance at providing an escape, he is also first and foremost a complete and total stranger. Even worse, he is a complete and total stranger who knows how to handle weapons.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You squeeze her arm reassuringly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. You’ll be so busy smoothing the Elders’ ruffled feathers you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ahsoka finally relinquishes the tool, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.”

Walking side by side with the Mandalorian in silence isn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely isn’t comfortable either. He is close enough your arm keeps accidentally grazing against his, the cold brush of metal against your skin startling you each time. You would have considered his nearness strange if you hadn’t heard Ahsoka threaten to castrate him if you wound up hurt before she sent him flying at the juni tree branch outside your window with an unnecessarily strong push of Force.

To his credit, the warrior handled her rough treatment with the same ease he has handled everything else thrown at him. You are beginning to think Mandalorians don’t just wear beskar—they are made of it too. Other than the few glimpses of frustration earlier in Maar’s office, he keeps his cards close to his chest, impossible to read.

He watches everything though, reacting to the slightest of movements and sounds. Constantly alert. You are certain he is watching you right now, despite the fact his helmet is facing forward, your nerves prickling in response to the sensation of eyes upon you.

To your surprise, he is the one to break the silence first. “You sneak out often.”

It is a statement, not a question.

You suppose the dots are easy enough to connect to reach that conclusion. Still, the certainty in his voice has your heart skipping a nervous beat. He hasn’t even known you a day and yet he is privy to secrets no one outside your community is aware of. “Yeah,” you nod your head after a brief lapse of silence, “Ahsoka can’t train in the village. Not with the stormtroopers around.”

“Has your village tried to run them out? Fight back?”

It is only because you know he is just trying to understand your village’s predicament with the little bits of information he has that you don’t snap at him for being so insensitive. He has no idea what these past five years have been like for you all. No idea the amount of losses and sacrifices the community has suffered.

Your grip on your tool kit tightens. “I was twelve when they came. The community is mostly traders and hunters, not trained fighters. The few weapons we had were nothing compared to their blaster rifles, but some of the adults tried to defend the village, including our parents. They...” You swallow, or try to, at least, your throat suddenly dry as sand. “Our aunt looked after us until last year we woke up one morning to find a note she’d left to join the rebellion. We haven’t had any contact with her since.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand brushes against your knuckles. This time you think it might have been on purpose.

“I lost my parents as a child, too. There was a riot and they died protecting me,” he offers his own private details with the same reluctance as one volunteering to have their teeth pulled out. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me as one of their own.”

You say nothing about the way his breath slightly hitches when he says Mandalorians, appreciating his openness as it puts you both on somewhat equal footing with each other.

“I owe it to them to look for survivors,” he tells you, and your montrals detect the quietest hint of a plea in his voice.

“I understand,” you answer, keeping your tone light to preserve the fragility of this moment. This kind of situation doesn’t happen often—two strangers on the same wavelength, exposing their vulnerable underbellies, desperate to be heard and yet skittish at the same time—and it is oddly therapeutic.

A decision is made right then and there in the span of a heartbeat. And even more significantly, it is 100% your own choice without any intervention or manipulation from the Force.

You stop walking, causing the Mandalorian to halt as well. He scans the area for a threat, then visibly jerks when he turns back to find you have your hand held out towards him, pinky raised high, reacting as if you are pointing a weapon at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, blunt and almost suspicious sounding. Are you just imagining it or can you actually hear him frowning? “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever made a pinky promise with someone before?”

“...A what?”

You snort, ducking your head to hide your smile, and then reach for his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest your touch.

“A pinky promise,” you repeat as you make his hand form a fist, curling his fingers towards his palm, and then adjust his pinky so you can wrap yours around it. He watches the whole process wordlessly. “It’s a sacred vow shared between two people. The Elders say once it’s sworn, the promise can never be broken.”

He cocks his head, skeptical. “Never?”

“Never,” you reaffirm with a nod. Licking your lips, you look at his visor, right where you instinctively know his eyes are staring back. “I promise I’m going to help you. No matter the odds.”

And something leaks into your voice then, something resolute and binding and otherworldly. A tremor shoots down your spine, too quick for you to make sense of it.

Your sister’s words echo in the back of your mind, ‘You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.’

You try to pull away, self-doubt gnawing a hole in your stomach, only for the Mandalorian to wrap his pinky tighter around yours, holding you still. A gasp escapes your lips, muffled by the bleeding sincerity in his voice as he swears:

“I promise I will be there when you need me. No matter the odds.”

And although your sister could undoubtedly provide you with a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t, you believe his promise to be true.

The Mandalorian heaves a heavy sigh at the sight of his crashed ship.

“I can’t do much about the landing gear,” you inform him, believing honesty to be the best policy for cases like this. “And I brought some foam-jet for the cockpit viewport, but it’s not a permanent fix. You’re going to have to find someone offworld to replace them.”

“Right,” he agrees absently without turning his eyes away. It occurs to you then that this ship is the closest thing to a home he has now. One of the few precious relics from his past he can still physically cling to.

“Does your ship have a name?” you ask.

He looks at you, as if coming back to self-awareness, and answers, “Razor Crest.”

A good name, you think. Strong. A bit mysterious. Just like its owner.

You nod decisively. “I like it.”

His modulator crackles faintly, a quiet noise produced from a sudden exhale of air. You blink at the unexpected sound, surprised to realize you recognize it. A laugh. The Mandalorian just laughed at something you said. What is next in store for you? Are akul going to sprout wings and start flying?

He steps around you, heading for the side entry door still open from yesterday with its ramp laying on the ground, pebbles shifting noisily beneath his boots with each step. You don’t realize you are staring, oddly entranced by the swish of his cape and his purposeful strides, until he calls out your name to ask if you are coming.

You nearly drop your tool kit in your haste to follow after him into the Crest’s interior, ignoring the flaring heat radiating from your cheeks.

For the next few hours, you and the Mandalorian work in companionable silence, engrossed in rerouting wires and welding damaged components with your trusty hand torch. The gunship is older than you initially assumed, perhaps even as old as yourself, and you idly wonder if the Mandalorian found it in a scrapyard somewhere or maybe inherited it from another Mandalorian. You notice the way he handles each piece with an experienced and respectful touch; the same kind of care someone reserves for their most cherished possessions. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves the Crest just by watching him.

Once you have finished sealing the numerous cracks dissecting the cockpit’s viewport like a spiderweb with foam, you approach the Mandalorian to see his progress on returning power to the dashboard. He is on his back beneath the steering controls, rearranging a mess of wires, and barely acknowledges your presence when you squeeze yourself into the tight space next to him.

“The red wire goes before the white one,” you point out, noticing the mistake immediately. “Fire hazard.”

He pauses, looks at where you have gestured, and corrects his error without criticizing your intervention. You bite back a smile, pleased to be heard. Within your community, even though you have proven your skills time and time again, some of the villagers, usually men, don’t always adhere to your advice, thinking you are too young and too female to know about technology, until they inevitably make their problems worse for themselves and come back to you with their metaphorical tail between their legs.

You help him reattach the cover plating once he has finished, screwing the bolts back into their corners, and then watch, fingers crossed, as he attempts the ignition sequence, flipping a series of switches.

None of them light up with even the faintest flicker of life.

“Dank farrik,” he growls under his breath, slamming a fist upon the console.

You take a tiny step forward, hesitant to direct his frustration your way. “Can I try?”

He tilts his head, probably thinking he knows this ship better than anyone and if it doesn’t work for him then you aren’t going to have any luck either.

Eventually he steps back with a shrug, uttering a simple, “Sure.”

Although you can’t remember the last time you were on a ship, it doesn’t take long to refamiliarize yourself with the various controls and screens once you take a seat in the pilot chair. When your hobby for fixing broken machines changed into a passion you wanted to pursue as a future career, you started memorizing any reading material you could find on the Holonet, including the flight manuals for different classes of starships. You flip through the stored information in your mind about gunships as you press a few buttons on the panel overhead, trying out different sequences for a response.

When your third attempt fails, you bite your lip, racking your brain for a solution. You think about Huno’s kitchen droid and how you had been on the verge of ripping off one of your head-tails trying to repair it after one of its fuses blew, causing it to malfunction. Your tools and knowledge hadn’t been able to fix it in the end. It had required a special remedy to bring it back to life.

You lay your palms flat on the console, just as you had held onto the droid’s square torso. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian fidget, as if he wants to come closer but is hesitant to crowd you. You ignore him, pressing your fingertips harder against the metal, visualizing in your mind the unseen gears, cables, and components stiff and powerless. You imagine the parts working properly, a current of electricity running through each wire, life ultimately returning to the entire ship, and whisper under your breath a request to the Force.

“Please work, please work, please work…”

An invisible pulse of energy burns down the length of your arms and discharges through your fingertips, strong enough you jerk backwards against the seat. Every button and screen on the dashboard lights up all at once, beeping with alarm at being so rudely resurrected.

You sit there helplessly, stunned and breathless, hands twitching in your lap. The kitchen droid hadn’t required even half as much energy to restart, barely a pinch. Now your body feels like you have been thrown against the electric fence a dozen times. Wordlessly, the Mandalorian comes to your side to help, punching buttons and turning knobs until the alarms quit blaring. A distant part of your brain thinks the Razor Crest as a whole seems strangely soothed by his presence, not quite as cold and dark, but it is hard to follow that train of thought due to the distracting pain throbbing along your temples.

“That’s quite a spark you’ve got,” he says, not unkindly or accusingly, just a statement of the obvious. He looks down at you, not outright asking for an explanation, but giving you the opportunity to open up if you wanted to.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply, forcing a cheerful smile, praying it doesn’t resemble a grimace. “Sparks Tano at your service.”

He chuckles again, oblivious to how your heart stutters at its raspiness. “Thank you, Sparks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we’re not done yet.” You rub at your temples under the guise of adjusting your headband. “I need to take a closer look at the engines before we attempt flying out of here. I—”

“I’ll do it,” he cuts in, already heading for the ladder. “You stay here, see if you can update the navicomputer settings.”

You know he knows that updating the navicomputer is child’s play for you. Clearly you aren’t as great at concealing your pain as you thought you were and this is his way of giving you a break. A small part of you is irritated at being treated like a porcelain doll, but you push those negative feelings aside as quickly as they develop. Your aunt always used to remind you and Ahsoka it was okay to accept help when it was offered, that needing support didn’t in any way make you weak.

“Hey, wait a second,” you call out as you spin around in your seat, freezing him right before he disappears from view into the hull. He holds onto the ladder, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Back at Maar’s place you didn’t introduce yourself and it’s weird just calling you Mandalorian in my head,” you say, awkwardly drumming your fingers on top of the armrests. He doesn’t answer, eliciting a sigh from your mouth after a drawn-out beat of silence. “What’s your name? You do have one, right?”

“I do, but I can’t tell you it,” he admits at last. “By Mandalorian Creed, only other Mandalorians or my riduur—my spouse,” he corrects, seeing your confusion, “are allowed to know my name and see my face. This is the Way.”

He doesn’t linger to hear your response, dropping down into the hull with a resounding thud. You slowly turn back around, staring absently out the glass. Every culture is unique, including your own, but you think there is something especially interesting about the Mandalorians’. It sounds like a lonely existence, only able to show your face while in select company. What would have happened if he had been unconscious and you had slipped the helmet off his head? What consequence would he have faced?

And if there truly aren’t any Mandalorians left besides him, his spouse will be the only one to ever know him completely. It almost sounds like a love story, if not a little bit heart-wrenching.

Two high-pitched dings from the console jerk you out of your thoughts with a wince. You look for the source, finding the radar lit up and actively scanning the area, and bristle when you see a pair of red dots moving across the screen.

Not even a minute later you are sprinting out of the cave, ignoring the Mandalorian’s alarmed shout from the roof of the Razor Crest. They’re early, you think with panic, looking towards the sky where two starships with Imperial logos are heading straight for your village. Why have they come back so soon?

You push your legs to run faster, your surroundings a blur beyond the trail in front of you, but the effort is meaningless. You won’t make it back home before they land.

And when your absence is noted, bloodshed is not a possibility.

It is a guarantee.

Series taglist: @pedro4ever @cannedsoupsucks

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Permanent taglist: @promiscuoussatan @vintagesaph @over300books @chibi-yuki @theocatkov @oh-no-a-whovian @absurdthirst @freeshavocadoooo @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @lin-djarin @happiestsparkleofall @randomness501 @gallowsjoker @coaaster @captain-jebi @leilei-draws @disgruntledspacedad @melobee @stilllivindue2spite @pointy-sharp @artsymaddie @waywardmando @asta-lily @thisshipwillsail316 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @grogusmum @sherala007 @mejswho @uncle-kenobi @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @tacticalsparkles @mandocrasis @littlebopper96 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @kiss-evans @writeforfandoms @pbeatriz @anaaaispunk

#my fic #my writing #Mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #togruta reader #ahsoka tano #the last mandalorian #pedrostories #art

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Reunited Yesterday (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets which has not been released in English servers!🍒

Timeline: Chapter 2 -> R&S -> Stray Date

[Note: I won’t be doing R&S translations for the other guys 😅 I translated this for a future analysis]

[Chapter 1]

On a sunny afternoon, the wind chime at Lynn Kitchen’s door sounds, and two young men walk in.

Eli: How does it feel to be back here again?

The man who is questioned sits at the window, his young and handsome face carrying with it a sharp vigour, staring out the window.

Gavin: Nothing much has changed.

The high school opposite, the wide street, the flourishing trees outside the school entrance - nothing has changed.

However, the worn tables and chairs, the new menu, the new banner pasted outside the school gate - all of them displaying traces that time has flowed past.

Eli: Want to take a look at the high school opposite?

Gavin finally retracts his gaze, shaking his head.

Gavin: No need.

As though he doesn’t want to continue with the topic, he tosses and catches the keys in his hand, creating a silver arc.

Eli notices and changes the topic.

Eli: You’ve been back in Loveland City for a few days. How does it feel?

Gavin: Not bad.

Eli: You haven’t had a break since you returned, busying yourself with a few cases. In STF, you’ve already become known as a legendary figure.

Gavin: Is it really that exaggerated?

Gavin raises his eyebrows, but his tone is light.

Eli smiles brightly, patting Gavin on the shoulder.

Eli: Come, today is specially meant to welcome you back. Let’s not talk about other things. On the basis of our friendship, you’ve got to help me when I get a difficult case next time.

Gavin: When did STF start talking about friendship?

Gavin refutes Eli’s words mercilessly, his gaze falling on wall of post-its.

The post-its have changed every year. The old ones have been thrown away, replaced with new ones.

[Chapter 2]

While they talk, the boss carries noodles over. Eli looks at the bowl of beef noodles in front of Gavin and its thick layer of spicy oil, revealing a dumbfounded expression.

Eli: You can really take your spice...

Gavin: When are you going to change your habit of making a fuss out of everything?

Gavin’s eyes sweep over Eli wordlessly, and the latter pouts angrily.

It seems that his atypical ability to handle spicy food serves as a reminder to the boss. He lets out an exclamation and recognises Gavin.

Boss: You used to be a student from the high school opposite, right? It’s been around five years since I’ve seen you... you used to love eating the beef noodles here, do you remember?

Eli isn’t sure if it’s his misperception, but Gavin’s expression is dyed with a faint tenderness.

Gavin: I remember. Whenever I came here to eat back then, the sesame oil added to the chilli was always a bit much.

The boss laughs.

Boss: You brat.

At this moment, there is no one else in the store other than Gavin and Eli. Meeting a former diner, the boss cheerfully chats with Gavin.

Boss: Then, do you remember that lady who often came here with you back then? She still visits, and also likes to have her beef noodles with extra chilli. Come to think of it, she’s now a successful producer, and seems very amazing!

The boss speaks elatedly. Gavin’s gaze shifts faintly, and he opens his mouth after a moment.

Gavin: Does she come here often?

After some thought, the boss responds.

Boss: Not very, but she’ll make a trip here every once in a while. When there’s no one in the shop, she’d sit at, yeah, the seat you’re at now.

Gavin picks up his chopsticks and takes a bite. He furrows his brows. Eli hears him say a sentence in a whisper:

Gavin: I remember she couldn’t really handle spicy food back then.

The boss doesn’t notice Gavin’s strange behaviour, and is still immersed in his emotions.

Boss: This shop has been open for so many years, but students who have graduated and return to eat this bowl of noodles... apart from that lady, there’s only you.

The wind chime at the door suddenly sounds gently, cutting off the boss’ words.

[Chapter 3]

I push the door of the noodle store, and realise in shock that Gavin is here too. My footsteps pause at the entrance.

A subtle wind drifts in from outside the door, stirring up the floating dust in the air.

Gavin is sitting there, the afternoon, genial sun shining on half of his face, dyeing his eyebrows with a slight warmth.

Before I can back away, the boss is already welcoming me cheerfully.

Boss: Miss MC, you’ve come at the right time! We were just talking about you.

The boss looks in Gavin’s direction and continues speaking.

Boss: I wonder what special day it is for the two of you to be here.

I’m frozen in place. Gavin looks straight towards me. What falls on my face is slight heat.

Distant memories surface, and I recall the rebellious teenager I’ve hid in the bottom of my heart.

The teenager who would quietly listen to me play the piano in the music room.

The teenager who reached out to me, his shirt flying up with the breeze.

Gavin’s eyes sweep over me. He arches his brows and smiles faintly.

Gavin: What? Pretending not to recognise me?

His voice is casual. His arm rests on the chair next to him, reducing his frightening edge.

I take a deep breath and finally decide to walk forward, taking the empty seat in front of Gavin.

Boss: What would you like to eat? The usual?

I’m about to nod but immediately change my mind after seeing the beef noodles in front of Gavin.

MC: I want pork noodles.

The boss responds with a sound of agreement. As though sensing the delicate aura between Gavin and I, he hurriedly disappears into the back kitchen.

Eli also finds an excuse to flee, but I shoot him a threatening glare.

Gavin lets out a soft laugh.

Gavin: Are you that afraid to be alone with me?

Looking at his slightly teasing smile, I suddenly relax for some reason.

Gavin pours a cup of tea and places it in front of me.

Gavin: Are you very surprised to see me back in Loveland City?

His tone is light, as though he’s having a casual chat with me.

MC: I was a little shocked at first, but not anymore.

I give Gavin a faint smile, then lift the tea cup in my hand, raising it towards him.

MC: Earlier in STF, I didn’t formally say hello. I’ll use tea to celebrate with you now. To celebrate your promotion as the captain of STF after five years.

Gavin looks at me quietly. He suddenly releases a soft laugh, raising his tea cup to mine.

The crisp sound rings in the shop.

Gavin: Congratulations to you as well. For becoming a successful producer.

MC: ...thank you.

Finally, the boss interrupts this conversation by coming over with noodles.

Boss: Do you need some chilli on the side?

Before I can answer, I hear Gavin speak.

Gavin: She doesn’t need it.

I’m mildly stunned. A little angry, I reach out to take the bottle of chilli on the table.

Gavin grabs the bottle of chilli before my fingers even touch it. My outstretched hand hangs awkwardly in mid-air.

The surrounding air seems to still in that moment.

[Chapter 4]

Eli: Ah... weren’t we talking about Gavin’s promotion just now? Why don’t we raise our tea cups to wish Captain Gavin all the best?

Gavin: Eating noodles isn’t enough to plug your mouth?

MC: It’s not your time to talk.

Gavin and I speak at the same time. When I lift my head once again, I’m caught off guard by his slightly deep gaze.

I recall the many times we’ve spoken in unison, saying similar things.

Gavin finally lets go of the bottle of chilli, and instead holds onto my wrist.

Gavin: Don’t force yourself if you can’t handle the spiciness.

I can’t struggle away from the warmth and pressure emanating from my wrist. I stare at him with mild anger.

MC: When did STF have such a wide jurisdiction?

Hearing this, Gavin doesn’t get angry. His eyes are even dyed with a small bright smile.

Crash.

There is a sudden sound. The vinegar bottle is broken into several pieces, filling the air with a strong, sour scent.

The boss gives us an awkward smile. Eli, who has been sitting on pins and needles, instantly stands up.

Eli: Boss, don’t move. I’ll buy another one for you!

Before Eli finishes speaking, he has already disappeared out the door.

Only Gavin and I are in the entire shop.

Certain that I have given up on the bottle of chilli, Gavin releases my wrist.

He leans back against the chair and gives me a reminder.

Gavin: If you don’t eat soon, your noodles will get cold.

As of now, finishing a bowl of noodles while being watched by Gavin is a very difficult thing to do. I can’t help but speak up.

MC: I think given our positions, it isn’t appropriate to eat at the same table. Don’t you think so?

Gavin lifts his hand and casually taps the side of the bowl in front of him.

He arches his brows and looks at me, the temperature of sunlight in his pupils.

Gavin: As someone who always orders my favourite noodles, your words aren’t persuasive.

Embarrassment floods my heart, knowing that the boss must have told Gavin about this.

MC: I didn’t think the busy captain of STF would care about such small matters.

I return Gavin’s stare, my tone refusing to show any signs of weakness.

As the sunlit dust floats between us, Gavin suddenly stands up and walks to me.

He places one hand on the back of my chair and the other hand on the table. He leans over and stares at me.

Gavin: Since the moment I returned, you’ve already been included in STF’s investigation list. If there’s anything related to you, I will investigate it one by one.

The oppressive aura in front of me suddenly disappears. By the time I return to my senses, Gavin has already left the noodle shop.

Only a cool breeze lingers by my ear, bringing with it a phrase which carries a smile.

Gavin: Next time, just say it if you’re scared. No matter how large your eyes are, it doesn’t increase your vigour.

I stand up angrily, preparing to foot the bill for the noodles, only to the told by the boss that Gavin has already paid for it.

When I push the door open, the ginkgo leaves outside the window are blown by the wind, descending into a floor of gold.

The teenager in my memory has already shed off his youth, but his insuppressible edge has never changed.

Like the wind, like a lone wolf.

MC: Gavin, welcome back.

🌸 Moments 🌸 (will be analysed in another post)

Gavin’s Post: Revisiting the old haunt.

MC: I haven’t been there in a long time either.

Gavin: There’s no special need to go.

Gavin’s Post: Revisiting the old haunt.

MC: Is Officer Gavin on a mission?

Gavin: Just passing by.

Gavin’s Post: Revisiting the old haunt.

MC: A lot of places have changed after the cityscape planning.

Gavin: I can still find shadows of the past.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin

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themilky-way · 4 years ago

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as the hours pass {loki odinson}

gif credit: littlemisssyreid

pairing: loki odinson x fem!reader (might be considered gender neutral, though)

summary: he afraid of what he feels, so he does the only the thing he knows how to do: lie. based on this ask.

warnings: super shitty angst lol cuz it was 9 pm and my brain cells were FRIED. i think that’s it?? fluff at the end tho so we good

author’s note: this took me a whole mf week to write which isn’t that bad but i have no time now and it’s kinda scary. yolo tho lol

----------

when tony had initially proposed a weekly movie night for the entire team, not a single person would’ve imagined anything like this. a large projector had taken the place of the regular flatscreen television, consequently lining up in all the four corners of the penthouse windows. couches and reclining chairs compiled in a large circle instead of being adequately spread out amongst the common room, and they’d all been filled by at least one avenger. to those wishing to participate, jobs and duties had been assigned the week prior, the list ranging from making popcorn to dimming the lights. it was organized-sophisticated, in a way-how it had all been brought about, and to say the majority of the residents living in tony’s multi billionaire penthouse were surprised was quite the understatement.

over the course of a few weeks, everything began falling into place. reminders didn’t need to be set anymore, and the designated tasks weren’t viewed as chores. natasha made sure to pop three full bags of delicious kernels- ensuring thor’s bowl had just enough butter to lick his fingers clean when he finished-while steve arranged a variety of pillows and blankets around the seating space. soon enough, fading shades of purple would ignite the obscurity of the living room-all due to the led lights binded to the borders of its ceiling-and either a horror or comedy film would commence.

in such a manner, your spot could always be found on the same peculiar couch, next to the same peculiar individual. god, at that. to literally go to hell and back, to get placed in a home that wasn’t his home with people who wanted his head wasn’t particularly an easy life to lead. he wasn’t a man of sentiment, either, nor one who engaged in communal activities, so you took your part as a good samaritan and kept him company. the seat next to loki had been unreserved, with not even thor to take its place, and you shuffled away from a very frightened wanda to settle beside him. he'd been neutral, annoyed perhaps. if a stranger came to sit next to you out of the blue, wouldn’t you be, too?

“mind if i sit here?” a mild pause signaled a response, and the shrug of his shoulders gave it away. “i’m not really enjoying the movie, and the space looked kinda cozy,” you added.

after you had thoroughly felt the soft cushion of the seat and all its comfort, it was rather difficult to stray away from it. every friday evening, the striped bedding of the couch awaited your presence, and a pillow of an identical design lay by the armrest. loki always got there first, a bowl of ice containing two ice cream bars in his grasp, and if the belief that he had ever been remotely inconsiderate damaged your reasoning, the chocolate chip cookie he gifted you at the start of every night proved you wrong.

if loki truly had to be honest with himself-his father, if he was peering down from above-the companionship you bestowed upon him didn’t upset him as he presumed it would. he half-expected his cold and antisocial nature to speak for itself, to grab hold of the kindness of your heart, crush it, and scatter its pieces so your blind hands would have to search aimlessly for them. for him, the opportunity would’ve been so effortless, so relieving in its own wicked sense, but you had already known that from the minute the tips of your sock-clad toes had walked right up to his. your words had been honey to him, simple yet profoundly eloquent that had dripped away every vowel on his tongue. the warmth that encircled you caromed over to him, and then his icy fingers became regular fingers, and his wintry complexion no longer overpowered the person he strived to be.

the thought alone of developing a kinship alarmed the presumably mischievous man, and when time, the most rewarding elements of his beloved universe, presented him with such a miraculous creature, he went into a comatose. the object of his interest was no longer an object, it was a person, an individual that appeared to envelop his nonexistent grace as if they depended on it. so his beautiful, virulent mind, as plentiful of wisdom as it was, conceived what it regarded to be the only correct answer.

the seconds of long anticipated hours grew legs, and urged fragments of minutes to run off. solitude embraced the area loki used to adore being in, and his absence planted a seed of confusion within the person always seated beside him. the following nights were mindless for you, even when wanda had selected your favorite films to view, your headspace drifting off to the god who wasn’t watching it with you. interactions between your team lessened. refusing a handful of thor’s popcorn became a habit, and although he questioned you about it, he never brought it up again. then, a month flew by before you could cognitively process it. loki’s eyes hardly ever witnessed daylight now, or you for that matter. more often than not, his ear perked up at the soft squeaks of sneakers before their shadow halted in front of his door. the air in his lungs would almost escape from him entirely, lips pursed so tightly he felt them turn white, before mere seconds later distorted voices trailed your feet away from the barrier that separated him from you. foolish, he’d been foolish to deceive you so childishly. what could he possibly tell you now, that wouldn’t lead you to scurry away from him?

tonight, the best remedy to get some rest was to fix some tea. a good read seemed suitable enough, too, so a copy of The Scarlet Letter decorated your pillow. you trusted your weary legs to navigate you to the kitchen while your brain busied in forming unrealistic scenarios, as silly as it sounds, and you were doing fine and dandy until a conversation reeled you back in. an all too familiar voice-one you hadn’t heard in so long-was speaking, ranting, about things that bothered him? yeah, that was it.

it was wrong to what you did at that moment, your dear mother had taught you better than this, but the never ending words spewing from loki’s mouth had glued the soles of your feet to the chilling tiles.

a heartbeat shriveled to nothing, a weighty ache engulfing it in all its mighty glory, and everything you ever came to know became deception. “...ridiculous! i’ll tell you one thing, brother, and that is that they’re absurd for thinking i’m better.”

a booming retort-thor’s-defended you. “you’re ridiculous. they’re good to you and you’re going to throw it away because you’re afraid?” he neatly placed his mug on the counter before his firm hand landed on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. “if you keep pushing people away, you’ll outlive centuries-worth of joy.” loki flicked it away. “do they truly matter to you? enough for you to stop hurting them?”

the wall pressing into your shoulder obscured the visual of loki nodding his head. the tea you craved for now sounded disgusting, and no matter how hard you blinked your eyes, a puddle threatened to hover over them. you began toying with the sleeves of your sweater, hating the emerald shade you chose for it, and your head drooped down to focus on its marbled designs. odd shapes helped center your emotions, too much that you missed a figure passing by the entry.

did you jump? yes. did loki jump? also yes.

“what-why are you-why are you standing there?” his voice was shaky, concerned. he looked at your figure over once, his nervous glare lingering a little too closely at the pigment of your shirt, before he focused on you. it was hard for him to miss your anguish. the question his brother had previously asked him looped in his head, and by odin yes-yes, you mattered to him.

“did you hear what i said?” he gulped. “all of it?”

your pupils were fully dilated, mouth inconceivably dry, so you muttered a tiny “yeah.”

“it’s alright, though. i’m not-i’m not mad, or sad, or whatever. i get it.” with enough strength, you pushed your body away from where you’d been cornered and started your leave. a tightening on your wrist stopped you.

“please don’t go.” loki never begged, and he always trusted his ego to prevent him from doing it, but he’d inflicted grief on his most treasured midgardian, and he’d have to remedy that. “please.”

“loki, hey it’s alright. i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need.” he held you tighter before pulling your palm up to meet his chest. “what are you-look, i’m sorry-”

“you’re sorry?” he cut you off. “i’m sorry, don’t you see what you do to me?” the pad of one of his own hands moved to cover the back of yours to push it further onto his covered heart. it was beating faster than godly possible. if he were anyone else, maybe he was nearing a heart attack. “i do believe you’re the first one to do that.”

you ceased touching him before beginning to speak, but he knew your apologies, your questions, before they even escaped your lips. he fumbled on his words for some time, thorough confessions of his feelings never came as easily as he hoped, but he managed to get the point across. his obsidian, curly locks drizzling over his tiresome face distracted you, and his enticing features, his slurred attempts to achieve your forgiveness forced a tiny grin onto your mouth.

“it’s okay, honey,” you extended a hand outward in greeting. “let’s just start over, yeah?”

he choked on a breath at the name, and then two clammy hands melded into one, and everything was alright for once. “i’m loki, and the pleasure’s all mine, darling.”

#loki x reader #loki angst #loki fluff #loki odinson x reader #loki fanfiction #loki odinson fanfiction #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fanfiction #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #my writing!

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snarkwrites · 4 years ago

Text

03 pt 2 | m i n e ; tim speedle csi miami

Notes:

This.. Took a lot of time because for a long time, absolutely nothing I tried was clicking. But it finally came to me after a discussion of sorts with bae @twistnet and I sat down and reworked everything I’d originally written and now, finally, here we are. The continuation of the last part’s cliffhanger. And.. Things get kind of hot. A little intense. And maybe a little creepy...

Pairing:

Tim Speedle x OFC, Sylvie

Warnings:

Stalker warning. Huuuge stalker warning. Mentions of violence / swearing and other adult themes to come. Anything else I need to warn about will be listed here as needed.

If you can handle the stuff that happened on this show in the past, you should be alright reading this.

Other Parts

[ one - two - two pt two - three pt one - soundtrack ]

Other Stuff

[ faq - tag squad ]

Tag Squad

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@twistnet

THREE PT. TWO.

“You’re startin to burn, doll.” Tim’s voice drew me out of a light cat nap. I rolled over onto my stomach, gazing at him through a curtain of damp blonde. Pushing my hair out of my eyes. “It’ll tan tomorrow.” I teased, nodding to the way he seemed to skip any burning phase and go straight to golden god status as I remarked, “Not all of us can lay around in the sun and turn into a bronze god, sir.”

“I also have on sunscreen, doll.” Tim pointed out. Motioning for me to sit up and turn around. A calm and firm look in his eyes that prompted me to do as he asked before I even realized I was doing it. He’d always had that way about him though. A fact I pouted about and teased him over as I settled between his legs, my back facing him so he could rub me down with sunscreen.

His hands worked over my hot skin clumsily. Before I could stop myself, just the feeling of his hands on me had me squirming more than just a little. Hissing quietly as he accidentally spilled some of the lotion onto my back and swore under his breath about it. “Sorry, doll.” he apologized, the warmth of his breath caressing the shell of my ear as he leaned in to mumble the words against it. I barely managed fighting back a whimper that I knew beyond a doubt might just make things awkward. Awkwardness was the absolute last thing I wanted.

What I wanted was for everything to go back to the way it was before. But realistically, I knew that couldn’t happen. That even if we got close, it wouldn’t be the exact same because we were different people by now.

I shivered at the gentleness of his touch as his hands worked over my back. Clumsy. The roughness of his hands against the softness of my skin had me barely fighting a whimper.

I wiggled around slightly and when I did, Tim chuckled quietly. Leaning into me from behind. Mumbling next to my ear with a hushed laugh, “I’m all done back here.” as his mouth once again brushed right against the shell of my ear. He was resting his chin on my shoulder, looking at my cell phone because I was trying to take a picture of us just for the random hell of it. His mouth brushed against my shoulder and I dropped the phone, not bothering to restrain the whimper that came as a result of the way the soft drag of his mouth against my shoulder felt.

I shivered once again, making him laugh. Lock eyes with me in the viewfinder of my phone’s camera. His tongue darted out and across the outline of his lips and I swallowed hard. Tried to tell myself that I was taking things out of context. That Tim wasn’t flirting with me right now.

I couldn’t drag my eyes out of the depths of his. The warmth there.

And I missed him. Suddenly, it didn’t matter how many times I told myself things needed to happen slowly. I missed him and I was tired. So tired. I didn’t want to fight whatever was happening between us now.

As much as I knew I should’ve been trying harder to stop it, trying harder not to fall back into old habits. Were our old habits really so bad, I found myself wondering.

I couldn’t fight it anymore.

I turned around to face him. My legs settling over his thighs as I sat between. Leaning in close. Closer and closer until I could feel my heart about to beat right out of my chest. I grabbed hold of his chin, pulling his mouth against mine before I even had the sense to stop myself. Tim didn’t seem to be up for stopping me either, because his tongue slipped past my lips, tangling with mine. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling me into the kiss even deeper. I scooted closer to him, wrapping my legs around his hips as the kiss continued to go on, everything and everyone around us seeming to fall away.

Until a throat cleared from behind us.

Tim eyed the person who’d done it, a brow raised. Deadpan.

“Is there somethin you want?”

I turned, shielding my eyes from the sun. Gazing up. The color draining from my face as soon as I realized exactly who was standing there watching us.

The man I’d had a run in at the gas station with. The one I’d thought was following me that day. I gulped. Took a deep breath. Doing my best to pretend as if I’d never seen him before.

“Hey, I’ve seen you before.”

“I have never seen you before in my life.” I answered as calmly as I could. Leaning against Tim a little as I felt him starting to tense up.

For a second, I saw something darken in the man’s bright blue eyes. Anger. His fist clenched, but he quickly shoved it into the pocket of green palm print board shorts.

“You’re that model, right?”

I sighed. Taking a deep breath as I nodded. Informing him with the best non-confrontational smile I could manage, “Not for much longer.”

“Think I could get a picture with you? The guys back home would shit a thousand bricks…” he chuckled. Tim cleared his throat. Gazing up at the guy.

I noticed that the guy seemed to stand taller. Seemed to take on that same distant look that he’d had when I locked eyes with him at the pumps of that gas station two weeks before.

Tim spoke up. “You do realize that she’s here on vacation, right? And that we were kind of in the middle of something?”

“Sorry, my bad man.” the guy flashed a grin that somehow seemed menacing. Chilling. Almost as if the light was on upstairs but nobody was home. I bit my lip and sighed. About to call out to the guy to tell him I’d take his selfie. Trying to tell myself that maybe in this case, it was paranoia. Maybe the guy had just seen me then, hadn’t been following me. And we happened to bump into each other again, today.

Tim was turning me back around to face him. His hands at either side of my face as he asked quietly, “Everything okay, baby girl?”

“Yeah.”

“You acted like you’d seen a ghost when you looked up at him. Are you sure you don’t know the guy?”

I know I should’ve told the truth when he asked, full stop.. But when I opened my mouth, the answer No came out. Tim eyed me. “You wanna try that again, princess?”

I swallowed hard. Told him about the run in at the gas station. Quick to add that it had to have all been a coincidence. Tim mulled it over, nodding after a few seconds. “If you see him again though, let me know. I mean it, doll. With everything that’s going on right now, you can’t be too careful.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” I sighed, leaning against him. My arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around me, tilting my chin to make me look at him. Licking his lips as he leaned into me a little and muttered with a teasing smirk, “Where were we, huh?” as his mouth crashed against mine all over again, his tongue parting my lips.

XXX

“She’s mine. Mine!” he fumed as he paced his seedy hotel room. The couple in the next room were fuck fighting again and it wasn’t helping him at all. He pounded on the walls and then sank down onto the bed. Gazing up at the pictures of her he had taped up all over the wall above the bed.

Raising to sit as he ghosted his finger over the newest one he’d added. Taken the night before. When she’d been asleep in her new beach house.

“Soon. I’m gonna get you away from all of this soon, sweetheart.”

His cell phone rang and as soon as he saw who was calling, he chuckled. Deliberately turning off the device so that any attempt the caller made to contact him would go straight to his voice mailbox.

“Let’s see how you like that shit, brother. I’m gonna show you. I’m going to make you regret the day you were born, man. Burn me, I’ll burn you first.” he muttered to himself as he stood, peering out the keyhole.

Watching for his pizza delivery.

Because for the time being, pizza and shitty porn were all he had while he bided his time. Waiting on all the chips to fall in line.

His eyes settled on the blown up poster of Sylvie in her yellow swimsuit. He bit his lip, taking a deep breath. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, sweetheart. Then I’ll finally be able to have you all to myself. I’ll finally be able to save you from my brother. From everyone who’s a threat to you and wants to keep us apart...”

#tim speedle fanfiction #tim speedle fanfic #tim speedle imagine #tim speedle fic #tim speedle imagines #my writing ; tim speedle #my fics ; tim speedle #my fanfiction ; tim speedle #stalker tw #violence and other adult themes tw

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geeky-introvert · 5 years ago

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I Wish I Could Quit You . Modern Hvitserk X Divorced OC

Summary: Erica left her husband, Hvitserk, while pregnant after having enough of putting up with his cheating habits. A couple of years pass and they have shared custody over their son. He is with her parents for the weekend and decides to go out with a friend, but of course her past had to follow ….One-shot.

Authors note: This was part from a short request I did a long time ago but can’t find it, don’t know if it’s been removed or just lost for good. Anyway I had the draft saved and turned it into something bigger. This might turn into a two part story but I’ll see what people think of this first. Enjoy!

Word count: 2694

Warning: Angst, drinking, cheating and smut.

Tag list: @lisinfleur @mdlady @didiintheblog @alicedopey @rekdreams247 @mblaqgi @oddsnendsfanfics @aphnxrising @happydaysandersen @therealcalicali @naaladareia @inforapound @captstefanbrandt @waiting4inspiration @tabalugax @p8tn0lish @igetcarriedawaywithyou @laketaj24 @darlingp @tephi101 @youbloodymadgenius @lordsexmachine @wonderlandofsu @alwaysbenhardysgirl @sparklemichele @hecohansen31 @readsalot73

If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list let me know please.

It was a family dinner that Aslaug had been planning for months. Erica sat and waited at the table for her husband to arrive. She had caught a taxi here since he sent her a text saying he was held up at work and that he’ll meet her there. Hours later and he was still late. Then finally, he arrived, looking rushed and out of breath as he finally joined her at the table.

“Why are you so late?” She was annoyed and disappointed. It was supposed to be a nice evening dinner with his family and he showed up late.

“I’m sorry babe, work is crazy. I promise to make it up to you later.” He smiled before kissing her and acted as if everything was fine. No, it wasn’t fine, not for a long while now.

At that moment nothing mattered anymore. Erica licked up her lips to taste the cherry gloss given from him and got a good sniff from his fruity perfume. He was with her again, Margrethe. Looking at Ubbe she saw the space next to him was empty as well and it was no surprise to her that Margrethe turned up just five minutes later acting innocent and kissed her husband before sitting down beside him.

It wasn’t the first time and she forgave him before but tonight was the last time. She couldn’t continue doing it anymore, pretending to be happy when deep down she was breaking. Erica loved Hvitserk, but he tossed her around like a used rag and not giving two shits about her feelings anymore. All the promises he made he has broken.

As the evening went on she sat silently in her chair and poked at her food. A few people had noticed her mood but didn’t question, not wanting to poke to bear. Hvitserk had tried holding her hand under the table but she moved it out of his grasp. She simply didn’t want to be here anymore, she had enough of his bull shit.

“Erica, what’s wrong with you tonight?” Hvitserk had the nerve to ask, loud enough for others to hear and gaining their attention. He wanted to make a scene, so be it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” She won’t let him walk all over her anymore.

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me, how was work? Or should I say Margrethe’s cunt?” Nothing could be done to take it back, it was out and everyone heard her.

Hvitserk said nothing at first. No one dared to say anything. All Aslaug wanted was a nice evening with the family and now she was going to ruin that, but she needed to do this in front of everyone, so they knew how much of a shitty husband he was. Ubbe was aware of what was going on but never said or did anything to stop it was his doing as well. Margrethe shifted in her seat feeling uncomfortable, and so she should.

“I-I….Erica-”

“Don’t bother explaining yourself.” She felt my eyes sting with tears and looked up to see everyone staring at her. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined this dinner, haven’t I? Well, how about some good news?” She raised her glass of water in a mocking way and put on a fake smile for them. “I’m pregnant.”

Erica then threw her drink into Hvitserk’s face and stormed out the home without even a goodbye to anyone or giving Hvitserk a chance to react to the sudden news. She hailed a cab and took it back to their shared place where she packed up as much of her things and called her mother to ask if she could stay at her place for a bit. She took the ring off and left it on the counter before heading out of the life she thought would be a dream come true. She was wrong. All she had was yourself and the child growing in her.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Of course it didn’t take long for Hvitserk to track her down but she was done, growing tired of his cheating and lying behavior. She filed for divorce not long after and he knew there was nothing he could do to talk her out of it, but he still wanted shared custody of your child.

She couldn’t prevent that and so agreed.

Nine months later and she gave birth to a healthy boy, naming him Olaf. Her mother was in the room with her, and Hvitserk, because he was the father. Least he wanted to be there as a father, too bad not as a husband.

Erica managed to save enough to get her own place, despite the Lothbrok’s trying to give her money through checks she tore them up, not wanting their money. She had nothing against them but wanted to be independent for her son. Hvitserk did the right thing and gave child support, and that was all she would accept.

It’s been four years now since she divorced Hvitserk. Living as a single mother had honestly been a weight off her shoulder, not having to worry about a husband brought some relief even though she still had to deal with Hvitserk, but she always will since he was the father of their son.

He remarried. A woman named Thora who seemed good for him. She wasn’t happy for him though, she didn’t care what went on in his life or what he did. If he was happy that was all that mattered. Least she was nice to their son though.

As much as she loved being a mother she also missed the freedom. Her parents noticed and offered to take care of Olaf so she could have a night to just do that. A little bird must’ve whispered to her best friend because she was eager to take her out clubbing. Not what she had on mind, she was never to party type, but it was just once and decided to go along.

Her best friend, Elizabeth, or Lizzie as she liked best, had been amazing support for her over the years with her son. They’ve known each other since high school, so they were close.

After leaving Olaf with her parents they then went out hitting the club together. It was loud and crowded but she had a drink and a shot to relax her.

“You know what?” Lizzie shouted over the music. “We need to find you a man!”

“I don’t need a man in my life!” Erica smiled, shaking her head.

“Oh? So a woman?” This caused her to laugh.

“I don’t need anyone, I’m happy being single.”

Coming outside onto the balcony for some fresh air they talked for a little longer, just catching up, when Lizzie looked over her shoulder and cursed. “For fuck sake.”

Erica narrowed her brows before turning around herself. It was Hvitserk.

“Hey Erica.” He was already so close, no doubt already noticing her before.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Lizzie was very protective of her friend as she stood by her side, hand over hip as she glared at the man who broke her friend’s heart.

“I’m with my brothers.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I’m not allowed here.”

“Well, go back to your brothers.” Lizzie then linked her arm around Erica’s to lead her away but he simply stopped them. Erica didn’t know what to say to him, all she wanted was a fun night, and now he was there, the last person she wanted to see.

“Where’s Olaf?” The tone in his voice made her glare a little.

“Oh, he’s at the strip club across the street. The ladies there will take very good care of him.” Erica found her voice making Lizzie snicker behind her drink. Seeing that Hvitserk was being serious she rolled her eyes then. “He’s staying with my parents tonight. Did you think I was going to leave him home by himself?”

“I didn’t mean that, I’m just curious.”

“I’m sure.” Erica wanted to leave him now.

“Alright, great chat!” Lizzie jumped in again. “Perhaps you should join your brothers again, or perhaps do what you do best and bury your cock in Margrethe, or your new wife, Tora? Whatever her name is, just leave Erica alone.”

She then pulled her away, leaving Hvitserk standing there as they went back in.

“I need a fucking drink.” Erica just wanted to have fun, to let herself go and enjoy the night.

That’s exactly what she did, they both did and ended up pretty drunk together.

Erica felt warm and bubbly as she danced in the middle of the gathered crowds, swaying her hips with the beat of the music and just simply enjoying herself. Lizzie was with her being distracted by a guy who approached her and slowly disappeared in the crowds. Erica didn’t realise this until it was too late and she found herself alone.

She wasn’t surprised, her friend was a party animal and loved sex, but she was a little pissed she would ditch her like that. It was then she decided that she had enough of the club. As fun as it was, she was ready for bed.

However she suddenly felt an arm around her waist and tried to move out from whoever had her. It was a man but she didn’t even know him. She tried pushing him away but he wouldn’t have it and only held her tighter.

But then the grip was gone and out in a blur was Hvitserk as he punched the man, pushing him onto the floor before turning to her and helping her up, taking her out the club.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Right then the shots were settled in her head and everything was a buzz. It had been a while since she’s gone out drinking, she was never a heavy drinker anyway.

Hvitserk hailed a cab and took her home where he helped her inside and into her bedroom.

“I saw Lizzie leave the club with another man.” He suddenly spat. “Some fucking friend she is.”

Erica was pretty drunk but now she was just so tired and felt like sleeping. His words just went in one ear and out the other, there was no care about her friend.

Laying on the bed Hvitserk helped take her shoes off and even brought her some water and snacks on her beside. He needed to make sure she was alright. Seeing her tonight brought old memories back. Yes, he saw her all the time, but it was different this time.

“Do you need anything else?” He asked, caressing his hand over her head.

“No…no.” She sighed. “You didn’t need to bring me home.”

“Yes, I did. I wasn’t just going to leave you like that.” He was so protective.

Sitting up in the bed now she stared into his eyes, searching through them.

“Thank you. I guess I would’ve been in trouble if you didn’t help me.”

“That guy was a dick, got what he deserved.”

Erica didn’t know what she was thinking anymore, but suddenly she leaned forward and kissed him. It was quick before he moved away, looking like he was struggling.

“Erica, you’re drunk…”

“I don’t care.” She kissed him again and this time he fell apart against the heated kiss. Yes, they both knew this shouldn’t happen and yet it was. Erica knew she was drunk but she was also aware of what she was doing. She just needed one night to not care, just once.

She won’t admit it but she missed him, so much. Divorcing him was not an easy choice but it had to happen, she was tired of getting hurt over again by him. Now, she needed to feel him again, she ached for him for too long.

Hvitserk missed her too, he still loved her. When he met Thora he thought he could start over and love another. Yes, he loved Thora, but there will always be a part of him that will love Erica, always, no matter what.

They helped each other remove their clothes while sharing the passionate kiss, touching their naked bodies and laying on the bed together as she reached down to stroke his already throbbing cock. It never took much for him, she remembered this.

He kissed against her neck, trailing over her breasts and lower between her legs where his warm tongue invaded her dripping core making her hips arch up.

Only he could ever make her feel like this. Since divorcing him there hasn’t been anyone else having no interest. Perhaps tonight she could’ve with another, but with Hvitserk wasn’t something she imagined how the evening would turn out.

These thoughts didn’t linger though and just fell in the moment with him, moaning in delight as her fingers tugged at his grown out hair.

Hvitserk lapped eagerly at her sweet nectar, moaning against her. It had been so long and he missed her sweet taste as he eagerly took in as much as he could from her.

After a time he crawled back over her naked body, kissing her before filling her aching depths with his throbbing cock. She moaned lowly, her legs wrapping around his hips as he set a firm pace, not holding back while rocking her body against the bed.

His grunts of pleasure sounded against her neck as her own against his. It had been too long since she’s had a cock in her, she forgot what it felt like and now she wanted more of it.

“Hvitserk.” His name moaned from her lips, his pace becoming more firmer as his hips slapped against her own over again. “Shit, fuck!”

“Fuck! Too soon!” He held back but she just wanted this and quickly let herself go, clenching tightly around his throbbing cock and bringing him over the edge as well.

It was pretty fast but she didn’t care as she was still very satisfied with his seed filling her. Suddenly she blacked out, falling asleep with him on top of her sweaty body.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The next morning Erica woke up rather early feeling a little hung over. Right away she knew what happened and wished she didn’t dig up something buried, but it was too late now.

Leaving him to sleep she showered and made herself some coffee with some pain killers, not the best mixture but it’s what she wanted. Sitting at the table she drank her coffee as she thought over everything that happened. Looking at her phone she saw Lizzie hadn’t tried to ring her yet. She’ll be having a word with her afterwards.

Then Hvitserk appeared, dressed again and looked over at her at the table.

“Morning.” He said very casually. This was a little awkward.

“Morning.” She said back softly. “I would offer you coffee but….”

“Yeah, I get it.” He didn’t need her to explain. What happened last night was both right and wrong. Despite their feelings, they were divorced and he was married.

She walked him to the door then and he stood out the front before turning to her, looking like he wanted to say so much, just like she wanted to. But that will only dig up more problems.

“Erica….” He licked his lips softly, thinking over his words for a moment. “I’m sorry, for everything. I fucked up our marriage and I’ll carry that regret to my grave. But you’ve given me a beautiful son. I just…I wish….”

“I know.” She whispered as her eyes teared up a little. “It can’t happen again, you’re married now. Thora doesn’t deserve that.”

Nodding he understood and leaned forward quickly to kiss her forehead before hurrying off in the taxi that waited for him. Closing the door she pressed her back against it and slid down to the floor, letting out a soft whimper as her emotions rolled out from her.

As much as she wanted to forget it, she already missed his touch, his smell, his voice, everything about him. Old feelings were back and she wanted to bury it all over again.

What a fucked up position she was in.

#vikings #hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk x oc #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk x margrethe #ubbe x margrethe #modern #divorced #angst #smut #drinking #cheating #fandom #fanfiction

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justphilia · 4 years ago

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Aubade is a great fic; too bad it’s possibly dead.

Been a while since I did a long long babble on a fic I like, and lately, I’ve been rereading a few fics to fuel my entertainment. I low key notice how rare it is to find a multi-chaptered fic for Ritshou that doesn’t have Terumob as main, which is really funky honestly.

I talked about Aubade once, in my list of incomplete fanfics I missed back in like February. But it’s so good, I’m gonna make a long post about it lmao.

Even though this fic has literally taken the number one ranking in my favorites list, it only took today for me to bookmark it in my ao3 (mostly because I’ve been waiting it for it to be completed before doing so.)

And generally, anything that I bookmark on ao3 is something I’ve cried about at least once, whether it’s because of the story or because I love the story too much. So anyways,

Aubade by Ravenesta is a M rated Ritshou fic centered around Ritsu, who moves in with Shou after Shou declared he was going to stay in Japan for good.

They buy an apartment together near Ritsu’s university and go on a shopping spree in IKEA for furniture and such, which is as chaotic as it doesn’t sound. The tension between them is real and it’s there, so much so you just want them to get together already sometimes.

I’ve read this fic for a total of 4 times, and I will keep rereading it until the day I die. If you asked me what would come to mind if I thought about Ritshou, it would be the fic’s summary;

My dove, my doe, I love you so I cannot, will not, let you go

Ritsu and Shou have been orbiting around each other ever since they were thirteen years old. Really, something like this was inevitable.

It’s so simple and sweet, and somehow, without fail, every time this summary (specifically the poem) comes to mind, I would get teary eyed. Even now I’m getting :’( over the poem, just because it literally speaks Ritshou to me.

The fic starts off with Ritsu heading back home by train to Seasoning City during his summer break from college in Grain City. It’s written in a way where it’s very easy for you to visualize the scenario of Ritsu waiting for the train to come while holding a cup of cheap coffee.

It’s realistically detailed too, going as far as to include little quirks about Ritsu and the people around him (stranger or not).

Both Shou and Shigeo gets introduced during a phone texting scene, where you can easily tell their personality was conveyed right through the way they message Ritsu. Shigeo adds little face emoticons with caring and sweet messages, and Shou shortens his words to ‘u’ and ‘ur’ with chaotic spacings between words and many exclamation marks.

Even Ritsu has his own way of messaging, always adding punctuation to his sentences.

Later on, after Ritsu arrives in Seasoning City, he’s picked up by Shigeo and Teru, who are already a couple in this fic, and you can tell how much Ritsu misses his home.

Teru is such a beautiful mess in this fic, everything about him is dramatic and overtop, going from his haircut to his little diet habits, and he’s still playful with Ritsu. The ‘Little Brother’ nickname will never go away.

(Also, at some point, Ritsu makes a face immaturely after seeing Shigeo drop a kiss on Teru’s head and I think that was pretty funny)

(Also also, they all call Reigen ‘Dad’. Which is hecking adorable, but it did confuse me at some point because Ritsu named Reigen’s contact as Dad and I legitimately thought that was Ritsu’s actual dad until later.)

Fast forward after Ritsu gets a haircut from Teru in Spirits and Such. Pretty funny considering how Reigen did the same thing to Serizawa in Season 2, but I’m mildly sure Serizawa doesn’t exist in this fic so it was probably a coincidence.

So they’re going shopping and Ritsu gets another text from Shou, because Shou isn’t in town, or at least, that was what we were led to believe, until he does pop up.

And it wouldn’t be Shou if his appearance isn’t random, so of course his first line is to comment on Kiwis looking like balls.

Ritsu, being Ritsu, responds by calling Shou an asshole and proceeds to be conflicted between wanting to punch Teru, because he knew all along, or wanting to hug Shou, because Ritsu misses him so much. He goes for the latter.

Cue Shou and Ritsu hanging out because Shigeo and Teru had to go save Reigen from a spirit job, and their interaction is just so Ritshou it makes you feel fuzzy inside y’know? Because it’s just...friends being friends.

Ok so fast forward again, and they’re sitting around in Ritsu’s room and here’s where the plot begins:

Shou, sleepily, declares he wants them to live together, before suddenly falling asleep.

And Ritsu panics because he can’t tell if he’s serious or just sleep drunk. So he consults Teru to confirm this, who answers that, yes, Shou was being serious, and this just makes Ritsu panic even more because wow he did not expect that and mostly because he can’t afford an apartment.

Shou, being the rich boy he is, offers to settle the payment, because of course he would.

Ritsu weighs his options in his head and convinces himself that he’ll do it. So that’s what they do. They make a little list, which is funny and adorable, and start scouting for apartments online.

Fast forward yet again and Ritsu’s plan was to first gather his shit from his dorm room, crash there for a bit, before fully moving into the new apartment.

Reigen, Teru, and Shigeo are seeing the two off at the train station, and Reigen being Reigen, he’s all double checking that Ritsu has all his shit and it’s just such a dad moment.

Most of their luggage is Shou’s because Ritsu packs light and most of his things are at the dorm, and I brought this up because of this scene:

“It’s my oldest friend!” Shou had argued, trying to wrestle it from Ritsu’s hands. “Six years I have known you, Suzuki, and never once has there been a working bulb in this lamp.”

We get a few more cute scenes of Shou running around and being playful before being tired out and falling asleep on the train, and there’s this tender moment where Shou’s snuggling on Ritsu’s jacket, which the latter had taken off early, and he makes a comment saying how it smells like Ritsu which just baffles the only. It’s...nice, makes me fluffy.

Anyways they reach Ritsu’s dorm to crash and pack, and they have this scene where Shou gets a little emotional about how organized Ritsu is, and he genuinely couldn’t believe how Ritsu is making this work.

So! Chapter 6, alright! And it’s the apartment viewing chapter, because of course they need to view apartments before moving in (which is as fun as it sounds).

They view 3 apartments, with the third try being the charm;

Apartment 1 fucking sucks! And Ritsu only chose this because he wanted to get a feel of how apartment viewing works, and you gotta hand it to him for thinking ahead. So no matter what, he knows he won’t be buying this apartment.

Apartment 2 was actually pretty decent, the landlord, however, was not. Throughout this scene, she is constantly trying to get into Ritsu’s space, and you don’t exactly know what’s up until the very end where she gets really close. Shou saves Ritsu in the end by dragging him away and making it known that, “THIS IS MY MAN DO NOT TOUCH.” And makes an enemy out of her, so big whoops.

Apartment 3 is kinda awkward but workable, with their landlord being the sweetest man to walk this earth. His kids were born on the viewing day, which made him a little late, though Ritsu finds in understandable. After the viewing, Ritsu asks if they can crash at the apartment even though they haven’t actually gotten it yet, and the man’s like, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna live here anyways so might as well crash here now!” Protect this man.

Next scene we have Ritsu finally moving out of his dorm and into the apartment with Shou and after getting a few groceries, they finally decide they should head to IKEA for furniture. It’s a pretty funny scene because everyone knows IKEA is an equivalent to a bloody maze, so you get to watch them play around in the display rooms and climbing into beds and getting lost.

And it’s funnier because this is the Shou’s first time stepping foot into an IKEA, and Ritsu makes fun of him for it briefly. Shou gets back at him later on when they’re playing around in a bathroom display room.

he doesn’t quite notice where Shou’s wandered off to until he turns around from a bathroom sink and spots him in a shower stall, calling him over with a wave of his hand. Ritsu steps inside, ducking his head under the bar for the shower curtain

He almost startles when Shou reaches over and pulls the shower curtain closed with a flourish, leaving them enclosed in the shower stall, somehow still mysteriously lit by no lamp that Ritsu can see. He shoots Shou a questioning look, only to snort when Shou leans back against the shower wall, a hand over his heart and eyelashes fluttering.

“Why, Mister Kageyama,” he says, all false coquettishness, “Cornering a young girl like me alone in a place like this? How scandalous.”

He considers giving Shou the reaction he wants, a laugh and a shove on the shoulder and possibly a comment about exactly how classy making out in an IKEA shower stall is, but the reaction he’d gotten earlier was too good to resist playing along with the joke.

He shamelessly uses his height advantage when he steps into Shou’s space, one leg between Shou’s and a hand propped casually on the wall beside his head. He leans down so that their noses are almost touching, and says low, “Well with you standing here all gorgeous like this, how could I resist?”

It’s pathetic joke flirting, some cheesy disaster line out of every old black and white movie he’s ever watched with his mother, so he doesn’t quite expect it when Shou seems to freeze, eyes wide and locked onto Ritsu’s. It’s only for a few seconds, a barely noticeable pause before Shou’s howling with laughter as he pushes past him out of the shower, but Ritsu gets caught on it, on the hitch he thought he’d heard in Shou’s breath, on the way he feels oddly wired, like his skin is buzzing from the proximity, and what the fuck had just happened?

This scene, ladies and gentlemen, had me sold on the fic. Starting with how Shou had playfully dragged Ritsu into the display shower in an attempt to tease Ritsu, only to be surprised that Ritsu had played along because, according to Ritsu, the raven would usually just laugh and dismiss the joke as a joke.

You can literally see that’s where the subtle feelings come out, where their friendship suddenly moves a bit faster into something more. It’s a slowburn for a reason, because their relationship happens really slow, so it’s moments like these that makes you really warm inside.

We come to a near end to the fic from here, which includes a scene where Shou cooks and Ritsu has a wet dream that’s pretty brief tbh and nothing too explicit don’t worry. Then there’s some scenes where Ritsu’s doing school things and Shou’s being Shou in the kitchen and everywhere.

It slows to a stop after the iconic Shou and Ritsu flies scene, because we’re all suckers for Ritsu trusting Shou that he won’t drop him when they fly.

SO! You can pretty much get the idea of how the fic will end/go from there since the major arc scene has been settled (moving in together). And frankly, if Ravenesta was to stop the fic on chapter 9, I don’t think we’ll lose too much since the only thing we didn’t get is a conclusion to the slowburn.

If you’ve read up to here, thanks for indulging me I suppose. I mostly write little reviews for my own sake since I really talk too much and it’s very hard to collect my thoughts at times.

Is this a fic I would recommend? Most definitely yes, it’s lovely, it’s well written, it’s captivating. It is the embodiment of Ritshou’s romance, and I really wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #kageyama ritsu #suzuki shou #ritshou #shouritsu #fanfic babbles

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supersoldiersruined-me · 5 years ago

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I Could Never

A/N: This is so late, my brain hasn’t been my best friend lately. But, surprisingly, as I’d mentioned, school seems to have kickstarted my creativity. So here I am with a belated birthday gift for my space girlfriend @stanclub! I’ve already told you and keep saying it but I’m so happy to have you in my life! (at least I’m posting this while we’re still in Leo season! lol) 💕 Warning: um...cursing? no smut in that one. bit of angst. rpf Word count: 1.9k

Main Masterlist | Drabbles Masterlist

You had come home once to a fully decorated house, speechless before the immensity of work that was put into it. You hadn’t been able to spend Christmas at home, and Chris wanted to make sure you’d get a taste of it. After swearing that the band-aids on his fingers didn’t cover his struggle with the Christmas tree needles, you had settled down with hot cocoa in front of the fire and played board games until the wee hours of the morning.

On your birthday the year prior, a twelve person table was filled with family and friends who sat around a hearty brunch; his mom - who had grown to love you like her own daughter - joked about the pots of failed hollandaise sauce her son had expertly burned. His final result was amazing though.

Needless to say that Chris had settled a high level of expectation for surprises; that you soon found out was taken for granted. Flowers, amongst other things, were usually delivered to your house on special occasions, no exception. But only fresh-cut grass is being blown onto the rain stained pavement as you stare at an empty porch, and the sudden chill has you rushing back inside after one last quick glance around.

With your head well rested on the cold ceramic of your stand-alone shower, you let the warm water travel down your body, flushing away the sting of disappointment. Disappointment that, you’ve convinced yourself, holds a lot more meaning than simply being left giftless on your birthday. Salty tears are washed away; gut shivers have seized their attack on your poor nerves. Once the handle of the shower deprives you of warmer water, you settle to give him the rest of the day, while absentmindedly patting yourself dry and heading out to the patio for some fresh air.

The faint buzz of your phone on the wooden chair startles you out of a daydream.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid! How’s it going?” A familiar voice echoes through the speaker with a spark of joy.

“Seen better. How about you, Mackie?” You know he can tell exactly how bad you feel, but he’s learned not to bother people with too many questions. Mostly you.

“T’sall good,” he adds, still bashful. “Hey, do you think you can do me a solid?”

A small sigh escapes your lips. It’s faint enough so he doesn’t feel guilty for asking, but quite effective to relieve a bit of tension in your heart.

“Sure. Seems like I have the day to myself anyway...” You know he can deal with your sarcasm - being a fluent speaker himself.

An hour later and a bottle of milk down, you’re sitting on the couch with his youngest in arm, watching that one scene in Moana on repeat. The floor has become the most hazardous place to walk, but the smell of fresh cookies, and the sweet snoring of the toddler seem to have cheered you up after the frustrating morning. The location of his house on a hill makes for the most beautiful sunset view. The rays bounce on the pool outside and heat up the room wonderfully. Soon the moon would take its place and begin another day, and the thought of having spent it alone brings back a small headache.

You’re setting the baby in his bed when a knock at the door startles you. You tiptoe through the dark house out of habit, which comes in handy for the situation. Not bothered to look out the small window by the door, you spring it open in one swift movement, and your knees practically give in when your eyes meet his baby blues. Before you can put a word in, a series of giggles comes from somewhere on his left; not only indicating that he has company, but that this company is female and apparently trying too hard to impress him. He’s wearing a black shirt, neatly tucked into some clean jeans; just the way you had recently suggested he tried. Hair slicked back and glimmer in his eyes. Dreamy, as usual. Clearly he wasn’t here to help babysit Mackie’s kids.

Another minute goes on before their laughter dims down and Chris seems to acknowledge your existence.

“Um, listen,” he begins through choked laughs. “I’m gonna need you to put this on.”

You look down at the black strip of fabric in his hand.

“Why should I?” The young girl hisses at your answer and bro-punches him on the arm.

“You said she was feisty. But man, she got you there.” You assume that your eyes dart through her soul because her sparkly smile immediately disappears. She glances quickly at Chris, and waves her hands in front of her before proceeding. “Oh, god. Look, I’m...” Her eyes shut close as she realises what you might have been insinuating. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m just here to take your place. I’m Anthony’s usual babysitter. Chris called me because he wants to ta-”

Her story is punctuated with Chris’ hand on her mouth. His brows rise up as a warning, and the poor girl snakes around you and into the house, taking the hint.

“I don’t know what you want, Chris but I’ve had a long day and I just-”

“Hold on, hold on!” His hand circles your wrist when you try to walk past him. “Y/N, okay look. I don’t want to break the surprise but please, put the blindfolds on and come with me.”

A small laugh comes out in a sigh, and your head shamefully drops down. So there is a surprise.

His finger carefully tips your chin up so he can look at you again.

“You thought I had forgotten?” His accusation is nothing but a friendly remark. Shivers run up your spine at the grin he offers next. “I could never,” he whispers a bit too close to your cheek. The last cloud dissipates and the stars begin to shine brighter. All of a sudden the air is a lot easier to breathe, although your heart seems to run faster.

His hands stretch the fabric in front of you, and you comply to the invitation. With your back towards him so he can secure it properly over your eyes, careful not to tangle your hair into it, you feel like a little kid waiting to unwrap their presents - albeit you’re the one being wrapped up. You curse yourself for doubting him. The ‘I could never’ replays in your mind, oddly pulling new sensations out of you - added to the fact that his breath tickles your neck with his proximity.

The ride is quite short and only makes his intentions much more mysterious. The only option to be ticked off the hypothetical list is him taking you out downtown, which would have taken twice the time. And you’re relieved to have a more casual night, considering the not-so-glamorous sundress covering your body. One thing Chris hadn’t thought of was to keep you from hearing your surroundings. As you stepped out of the car, the splashing of water gave up the first clue.

“Chris, if you want to throw me down the river this wasn’t-”

“Oh, just shhh.”

You walk down a small path, small branches snap under your feet, a faint cackling waits in the distance. The humming of the city seems to fade with each stomp, allowing you to relax for the first time today. Once you’re a few more minutes away, the grip on your shoulders tightens, bringing you to a stop. You hear him take a deep breath.

“Alright,” he adds in a soft tone. He steps behind you, and after a little warning takes the blindfold off.

It takes a few blinks before your mind catches onto the scene before you.

An off-white drape dangles from a few trees, looping around poles and creating an inviting tent - the ones so popular in fancy home renovation magazines. A picnic cloth sits underneath it, and everything is beautifully lit with a generous amount of fairy lights, tiki lamps and a slow burning campfire along the water line. The sight is mesmerizing, something out of a children’s book, and it has you wanting to shout “I do believe in fairies!”

The moonlight dances on the lake and glistens back into your watery eyes. With your hands over your mouth you turn around to him. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth and his look is to die for. He’s soft and proud and his eyes are full of something new. Something you can’t quite figure out yet.

“This is just…” Your eyes dart back to the secluded area. Something he bothered his siblings with, you’re sure of, until they agreed to lend a hand after their mom insisted Chris’ intentions were founded. But you know he came up with the idea himself. Had it not been for his money, you think, this would’ve been a home-made fort in his living room, and you wouldn’t have complained - although the extra attention does make you feel warm and loved.

Loved. There’s the feeling.

In a rush, you tiptoe towards him, anchoring your arms around his neck and in a heap of passion, your lips come to his. Surprise suddenly takes him victim, until he responds and starts moving his lips, then tongue, against yours. You part with a huff, looking for your breath - which seems to be the theme for the night. His mouth rests on your forehead as he keeps your bodies connected. Hands roam the other in search for meaning. Answers. It’s with drips on your cheeks and a childish giggle that you dip your head back.

“Was about time,” he teases. You puffs in fake annoyance before stealing a couple more pecks.

“I didn’t see you make the first move...”

“I threw you all sorts of hints! Why did it have to be me?” You laugh at his remark.

“Alright, touché. But still. Thought you were old-school about this kind of stuff,” you clarify.

“I’m old-school as in I like to make sure that she’s the one, you know. All those years I planned things and bought some random stuff and you never asked for more. I could shit in a cup and you’d be hap-”

“Christopher! Fucking mood killer!” You pat him on the chest with your comical accusation, earning a deep laugh - minus the boob grab because he wasn’t about to take his hands from you.

“You get what I mean. You never made a big deal out of this,” he adds as he waves behind you. “You never made a big deal out of me. You let me buy things without always making me feel guilty for having this luxury. And then when I want to watch football with beer, wings and ribs stuck in my teeth you join in with a huge smile of excitement. I love the contrast...”

He closes his eyes for a second, trailing the last words in a shy whisper. Your hand comes to his cheek and your heart melts when he leans into it, water now overflowing under his long lashes.

“And I think I love you,” you say. His sparkly baby blues shot open, volleying between yours and analysing your expression. Looking for a hint of doubt, maybe. But then again, wasn’t this what he had always hoped for?

“I think I fucking love you too,” he answers. He kisses you, as if to seal a deal.

Best birthday ever.

#brb crying #my writing #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #rpf #birthday writing #friend tag #amanda tag #space girlfriend #I love you boo #I hope this isn't too bad #*hides behind hands*

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sheliesshattered · 5 years ago

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Fic meme

I was tagged by @primarybufferpanel -- thank you darling, this was a ton of fun to do!

This got a bit long, so I’ll put the people I’m tagging here at the top: @claraaoswald, @ambitious-witch, @someillplanetreigns, and @junoinferno, if you feel like playing!

My AO3, my old non-updating fanfiction.net

Fandoms I’ve made fanworks for: Oh lord. I’m only going to count fanfiction that has actually been posted, but if I tried to count up every fandom that I’d started writing for and left unfinished fragments languishing on various harddrives and googledocs over the years, it’d be at least double this list. I have two pseuds on AO3, with the fics roughly organized by fandoms that I post about on this Tumblr account (sheliesshattered) and fandoms that pre-date my time on Tumblr that I don’t post about very much (glasscannon). Putting all the fandoms together in one alphabetized list:

Black Sails - 5 Doctor Who - 8 Firefly/Serenity - 1 Game of Thrones - 1 The Hobbit - 1 The Hunger Games - 1 Iron Man - 2 Law & Order: Criminal Intent - 1 Mad Max - 2 Once Upon A Time - 1 Poldark - 3 Star Wars - 3 Twilight - 7 The West Wing - 1

Number of fics: 38, including a big unfinished epic that I never moved over from ff.n, and don’t plan to unless I finish it someday.

Fics I spent more time on: I’m not even quite sure how to measure this. I’m a slow writer, and a single story can easily hold my attention for years at a time, or be something I return to when there isn’t a newer fandom temporarily consuming me. I don’t tend to keep track of how many hours I put into a fanfic, though. The unfinished epic I mentioned is probably near the top of that list, and was a huge part of my life from 2009 to 2013. Other contenders would be the All Hands series (written with PBP!), and Truth Universally Acknowledged, particularly if you include all the massive world-building that went into that one.

But really probably the one I’ve poured the most hours into, between research and writing, is a Doctor Who epic that hasn’t yet seen the light of day, called Home The Long Way ‘Round. Because I have such a habit of starting long stories and then not finishing them, I’m making myself get that one completely done before I post any of it to AO3, so I don’t have anything to show for it yet, but I’ve put a ton of time into it over the last five years or so. Hopefully someday I’ll actually get to share it. :)

Fics I spent less time on: Like I said, I’m a very slow writer, so any time I can turn out a story in a matter of days I’m just absolutely shocked. I wrote The Message over the course of about 24 hours, which is probably the fastest I’ve ever finished anything in my life ever, lol.

Longest fic: The All Hands series is sitting at 126,800 words, and PBP and I have more finished for it that we’re hoping to post soon-ish. The unfinished epic made it to almost 119,000 words before I ran out of steam. Truth Universally Acknowledged racked up about 54,000 words before my co-writer and I took a break from it, and probably triple that in world-building bibles and timelines, etc. On the works-in-progress side of things, Home The Long Way ‘Round is sitting at about 40,000 words currently and only about a third of the way done, and the For As Long As We Get series is at 21,000 words between what I’ve posted and what I’m still working on, and will definitely continue to grow.

Shortest story: 10 Seconds, at 208 words. Also one of the very first fanfics I ever finished and posted online.

Most hits: Truth Universally Acknowledged, by like a factor of 20 vs anything else I have on AO3. It’s the only time I’ve written for the main pairing in an active fandom (tho my purview in the co-writing was more on the secondary pairing), and that translated to a stupidly large number of hits. Fanfiction.net doesn’t count hits the same way, but the unfinished epic is sitting at about 3500 favs.

Most kudos: Setting The Stuns’ls, the first in the All Hands series -- which is SHOCKING considering that’s a tiny rowboat of a fandom, for a non-canon background pairing that has literally about 30 seconds of shared screentime, and the two romantic leads don’t so much as kiss over the course of 94,000 words (longing looks, significant hand-touches, mutual pining, definitely, but kissing, not so much).

Most bookmarks: Truth Universally Acknowledged, by a long shot.

Fic you want to rewrite or expand: I don’t tend to edit a story once it’s been posted, beyond correcting a typo or adding a missed word. Once it’s published, it’s finished and I don’t change it significantly. I do have quite a few (so, so many) unfinished stories that I would love to finish up at some point.

Total words combined: Counting only published fics, including the unfinished epic (and a companion piece for it) that lives only on ff.n, I’m currently at 376,542 words total.

Fav fic you wrote: How can you make me choose between my children like this, honestly?? Siiiigh. I’m with PBP, whatever I’m working on currently is usually my favorite. I’m having a ton of fun with For As Long As We Get, and can’t wait to publish the next part of that, hopefully sometime this month. I’m incredibly proud of All Hands, and that occupied such a specific time in my life that I’ll always think of it fondly. I’m exceptionally happy with the character voices and use of language in both Breathe Again and Upon This Rock Will I Break Myself, Until It Shows Me Your Beloved Face, and tend to feel like they don’t get enough love vs how much I love them. But my one true favorite is and will always be Home The Long Way ‘Round, and hopefully I’ll actually be able to finish it and post it someday.

Share a bit of your WIP or idea if you have anything planned: Again, how can I possibly choose just one?? Even just within the Doctor Who fandom, I currently have more than half a dozen stories actively in progress. But since I’ve talked it up so much without being able to link to it at all, and just declared it my all-time fav, I’m going to break one of my own rules and post the whole first chapter (eek!) of Home The Long Way ‘Round behind a read more:

Chapter 1: Orange Dreams

The sound of the wind is whispering in your head Can you feel it coming back? Through the warmth, through the cold, keep running ‘til we’re there. We're coming home now, we’re coming home now. —Home, Dotan

The winds shrieked and howled around her. Clara had never been in a tornado, but she imagined it would feel like this to stand in the eye of one. She could see gusts lifting the tops off the sand dunes in shimmering ribbons, gold against the orange sky. The waves of airborne sand dissipated a few feet from her, leaving only a jagged grittiness in the air.

A woman with long blonde hair was yelling at her, her words ripped away by the wind.

“Tell me again!” Clara called back to her. “Tell me how to find home!”

“It’s just physics!” the other woman shouted, taking a step closer; they were nearly the same height. “No information can ever be lost! Start from zero, and run the math! We’ll be waiting on the other end of that equation!”

There was something Clara desperately wanted to tell this woman who looked at her with kindness behind the steel of her eyes, but in that moment, the words wouldn’t come.

“Look!” someone yelled behind Clara, and though she didn’t want to take her eyes off her, she instinctively looked up, following the line of the other person’s arm up into the gathering storm-whipped dusk. There, silhouetted against the last of the light, was the unmistakable blue boxy shape of the Doctor’s TARDIS, spinning quickly as it flew away—

Clara jerked awake, her heart hammering against her ribs, already sitting up and pulling off her sleep mask before she realised what had woken her was the sound of the TARDIS materialising in the sitting room of her flat. She took a moment to catch her breath, trying to hold onto the details of the dream. In the other room, the TARDIS’s familiar wheezing and groaning came to a stop with a soft thud, followed by the squeak of the door.

“Doctor?” Clara called, not bothering to hide the sleep nor the annoyance in her voice.

He poked his head around her bedroom doorframe, grey hair awry and his most innocent expression plastered on — which meant he knew he was waking her and felt at least marginally bad about it. “Hello, Clara. It’s Wednesday,” he said pleasantly, by way of explanation.

“Is it?” she asked, deadpan.

“Technically.”

“You do know that I have to work today, don’t you?”

“Not for another six hours. So come on, up-and-at-‘em, plenty of time to go out and save the universe and still be back in time for your morning coffee. I’ve an adventure that simply won’t keep, so come on!”

His excitement was infectious, as he must have known it would be, but Clara clung to her annoyance a little longer, mostly for show. “You have a time machine: everything can keep,” she replied, but waved him off before he could launch into a lecture on all the ways that statement was false, at least from a temporal physics standpoint. He lectured anyway, hovering outside her bedroom door as she dressed, though Clara expected it was mostly to keep himself from pacing in anticipation. She followed more than half of it, and worried a bit over how often she let him babble on about the minutiae of time travel these days.

By the time the universe had been set to rights — or at least one small blue world, home to a race of sentient seahorses, that had been facing imminent extinction in the form of a rogue exoplanet — she had nearly forgotten her unsettling, vivid dream.

Given the recent events on Skaro, Clara was unsurprised when bits of her experiences there began to filter into her dreams. Truthfully, she had expected to dream of it more often than she did, but in the weeks that followed, more nights than not her sleeping mind instead conjured up the strange orange landscape. She revisited that screaming sandstorm so often it became almost comforting, and before long, other dreams joined it.

Clara was leaned against a railing on a high balcony, overlooking a large city coming alight as dusk crept on, a rusty sunset that stretched the width of the horizon bathing the world in amber. The woman with the serious eyes and long, straight blonde hair stood beside her, in the middle of a conversation, as happened so frequently in dreams.

“Alright, but what about the last stage?” Clara asked, elbows resting next to hers on the railing. “That bit depends on us actively doing something, and you know we can’t rely on my knowledge. I can’t take any of the engineering or navigation with me, so it’ll be down to him.”

“And he loves a good puzzle,” the other woman said confidently, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a twitch of her head. “He’ll want to find us. He’ll figure it out.”

“Before I die of old age? Are you sure? My mother was one of his professors at the Academy, I’ve seen his test scores. I think we need a fail-safe.”

“He did graduate,” she pointed out reasonably.

“He passed his exams with a fifty-one percent on his second attempt! No, we can’t assume he’ll have all the baseline information to even consider such a solution, much less actually accomplish the maths. We have to find some way to hide it with me,” Clara said. “Or in his TARDIS.”

The woman was silent for a long moment, her mouth set in a thoughtful line. On the distant horizon, the sun had finished its slow descent, but below them the city was coming to life, the light not so much fading as changing sources, becoming ever so slightly more golden.

“By that point in the timeline,” the blonde woman said, speaking slowly, still thinking it through, “you’ll have been exposed to his timestream and to the crack in the universe, so some of your memories will probably start leaking through. If we structure the extraction the right way, we might be able to embed a particular thought or moment into your consciousness before you go into the Schism.”

“What’d you have in mind?” Clara asked, turning her head to look at her.

“This conversation?” she suggested, laughing, her broad smile transforming her face. “No, a phrase would be cleaner, I think.”

“‘Run the math, you idiot boy’?” Clara suggested, also giggling.

“Oh yes, that’d go over well! No, if you want him to do something, call him clever. Works every time!” she laughed, leaning her shoulder into Clara’s.

“The horrid thing is that I know the temporal physics for this is part of my mother’s coursework,” Clara groaned. “If he hadn’t slept through so many of her classes, this would be a non-issue!”

“Ah, but a Doctor who was always responsible? What a boring universe that would be!”

Above them, the stars were beginning to come out, though the glare of the city obscured them. Through the haze of the dream, Clara couldn’t find any constellations she recognised. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I was the one who helped him steal that box in the first place.”

“And if he could take half a moment to remember that,” the blonde woman said seriously, “he might realise the role of his TARDIS in all of this, and start to think of the solution that way.”

“‘Run the math, you—”

“Clever.”

“—boy, and remember when you met me’?”

The other woman nodded, considering. “That could do it. Your chronodeterminate conjugation won’t work until you come into contact with at least a little regeneration energy. Assuming you choose regeneration on Trenzalore, it might start kicking in then, in plenty of time for the last stage.”

“Run the math, you clever boy, and remember when you met me,” Clara whispered up to the distant stars, cradling her chin on her arms against the railing.

The woman mimicked her position, the golden light of the city and the silver light of the stars catching in her long pale hair. “It’s just physics,” she murmured back. “Start from zero and run the math. I’ll be waiting at the other end of that equation. We’ll all be waiting.”

As unsettling as they were, at least the orange-tinged dreams were better than nightmares of Daleks, of being locked in the Dalek casing, unable to convince the Doctor that it was her, it was her, she wasn’t a Dalek, she wasn’t a Dalek! Dreams of the Doctor peering at her down an eyestock, this face or the last, or any of the others buried deep in her subconscious, hearing her but not knowing her, seeing her but not saving her.

Clara grasped for that orange sky, let it carry her away in bronze sandstorms, golden cities slowly coming to life, and starlight caught in tawny hair.

Monday morning third period found her Year 10 students taking an essay exam while Clara doodled on a scrap piece of paper, trying to pull images and phrases out of the orange haze that had taken up residence in her slumbering hours since Skaro. There were bits that tugged at her memory, like a song she couldn’t quite place but whose tune was intensely familiar.

She’d written Run the math, you clever boy, and remember when you met me across the top of the page, and her eyes strayed to it every few seconds. The phrase had stayed with her after she woke, and had been on the tip of her tongue ever since, as though it was a message she was meant to deliver. Below it she’d rewritten the phrase, but crossed out six words: Run the math, you clever boy, and remember when you met me.

It was too close for comfort to the phrase that had, in retrospect, changed her life, sent her on her current course. The Maitlands’ mnemonic for their wifi password, which she’d said out loud during that first phone conversation with the Doctor, had caught his attention somehow, and it wasn’t until she jumped into his timestream that she understood. It was the last thing she’d said to him before sacrificing herself to save him. Every fragment of her scattered through his timestream had said it to him at some point as well, the words reverberating endlessly up and down his timeline.

Why her dreams would dredge it up now, and in such a strange context, Clara had no idea. They didn’t feel like random images, but more like memory-dreams, like the bits of echo lives that filtered through to her sleeping mind from time to time. It had to mean something.

Half way down the scrap paper she’d written: It’s just physics. Start from zero and run the math. Below this was the very helpful ??? and Clara idly traced over the question marks again. Physics was still a foreign language to her, despite how much the Doctor prattled on about it at times. She could bring this to him, she mused, but what was it, really? Her subconscious doing backflips in the wake of Skaro, that was all. No grand mystery to solve, no universe-altering secret code, just her. She wouldn’t bother the Doctor with this quite yet.

Besides, she was certain she could tease this apart on her own, follow the clues to their logical conclusion without his assistance. The dreams were insistent, and felt familiar, but Clara was sure she’d never dreamed of the blonde woman and the orange sky prior to Skaro. That was the next clue, then, and she jotted it down on her scrap paper. Something had changed after Skaro, something that caused her subconscious mind to dredge up these particular buried memories.

She needed more information. Dreams about her echo lives were always stronger when she was aboard the TARDIS travelling in the Vortex, sharper and easier to remember. Maybe these orange dreams would be, too. And maybe the TARDIS itself would have some answers for her.

Of course, she didn’t sleep aboard the TARDIS very often, with her insistence on returning home for a week of Real Life in between their Wednesday trips. But the Doctor was never adverse to her sticking around longer than she’d planned, and in the end it didn’t take much to convince him:

“I’ve a staff meeting at work that I’m dreading,” Clara told him on that next Wednesday, when they returned to the TARDIS after their latest outing. “So what do you say I have a little kip and then we squeeze in another adventure before you take me back to face my workday?”

She thought for a moment that the Doctor might question the change in their routine, but he seemed thrilled about the idea. When he announced that he had some tinkering with the engines he’d been putting off that should keep him occupied while she slept, Clara made an excuse to linger in the console room — “just going to finish reading this chapter, then off to bed” — until after he’d gone. Once he’d disappeared down the corridor and around a corner, she quietly set aside her book, then slipped out of her armchair and down the stairs towards the console. The rotors hummed overhead, and somehow Clara knew the TARDIS was aware of her, and was curious to see what she would do.

Carefully clearing her thoughts, she made her way over to the telepathic circuits, pushed up her sleeves, and slid her hands into the strange interface. Focus was the key, she knew, and she was nothing if not focused. She closed her eyes and held two very specific thoughts in her mind: the sand-whipped orange sky in her dreams, and the clear question, Where, please?

She hoped the please would help.

It was a long quiet moment with the circuits warmly cradling Clara’s fingers, and then something on the console beeped. Her eyes flew open and she carefully extracted her hands from the telepathic interface before pulling the monitor down to eye level.

Gallifrey the screen read in English, below an image of a startlingly red-orange planet. Immediately prior to the Time Lock.

Clara felt her heart thud painfully against her ribs as she read the brief text again. She’d been dreaming of Gallifrey? She knew she’d had an echo life on Gallifrey, but she remembered that interaction with the Doctor, and it happened indoors. She had never before dreamt of the Gallifreyan sky. Had it been buried somewhere in her subconscious with the rest of her memories of that life? Why surface now?

More confused than ever, she clicked the screen back to the desktop, unreadable Circular Gallifreyan floating idly across the display. Perhaps she should bring this up with the Doctor — it was his home world, after all. But the whole point of this had been to dream while they were in the Vortex, and if she didn’t get a move on, he’d be ready for their next adventure before she’d even managed to fall asleep. She could talk with him about it later.

And if things worked tonight as she hoped they would, maybe she would even have a bit more information to bring to him when she did.

“Fire suppressant in Pod Four!”

The frantic call was quickly overwhelmed by the sound of the requested suppressant dispensing from the ceiling. When it ended, the speaker, dressed in the dark red uniform of a technician, brushed soot and foam off his shirt.

“It hates me, that one,” he said, nodding at the unassuming gray cylinder in the open pod in front of him. It was devoid of features, even its doors invisible now in the wake of the fire, two meters tall and one meter in diameter, just like all the other patients in the workshop. But somehow it did seem to be glowering at him.

“And it always will, stop wasting your time,” his coworker said flippantly. He was perched in front of a console on the other side of the room, deep in his own repairs. “Just get the Impossible Girl to do it, she’ll have it eating out of her hand by lunchtime.”

Their conversation occurred in the time it took Clara to enter the large oblong workshop and make her way to the far end where the two were working. “I heard that,” she said seriously, earning a guilty-looking jump from the man who had spoken most recently. She continued over to Pod Four and leaned against the outer casing, arms folded over her uniformed chest, one booted ankle crossed over the other. “What did you do now?” she demanded of the first technician.

He looked at her with wide eyes, more out of genuine fear than mock innocence, in her estimation. “I just told it—”

“You what?” she snapped, in a tone she usually reserved for misbehaving students.

He wilted a little but started again “…I told it to—”

“Told it?”

“…to give me access to the logs,” he mumbled, dropping her gaze.

“Told it to give you access to the logs?” she asked, voice harsh. “Well first off, Number Four here prefers male pronouns, respecting that might put you on better footing. And secondly, as with all TARDISes, you’ll get a lot further if you ask rather than tell.”

Behind her, the other tech scoffed. “They’re machines, we shouldn’t have to baby them like that. An access request is an access request.”

Clara turned her head to pin him with an icy glare. “Some days I cannot believe I let you work here,” she told him bluntly. “They aren’t just machines, as you very well know. Yes, there’s hardware we need to be able to work with, but that’s nothing more than a radio, at some level — only instead of radio waves, we’re using oswin waves to talk to pan-dimensional beings so large, they can’t have a physical form in this dimension. Who, with a little extra energy, can take us and an infinite amount of folded space to nearly any point in spacetime. Just think about the massive intelligences that speak to us through each of those machines!

“But more to the point,” she said, turning back to the tech still covered in soot, “you have to understand their viewpoint of the universe, and their understanding of time. A Time Lord telling a TARDIS what to do is akin to creating a fixed point in spacetime. It’s in their nature to want to avoid fixed points. Ask instead, let him find his own way ‘round to it.”

Before the beleaguered technician could reply, there came a polite knocking from the far end of the room, and Clara turned to see a soldier standing in the doorway of the workshop, looking a little out of his depth. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have a message for—” he paused to glance down at the datapad in his hand, “for the Oswin. From the Lady President. Top priority.”

Clara was moving towards him before he’d finished speaking, curious and concerned, her attention focused on the message in his hands. But the dream faded out before she reached him, her mind moving on to something more abstract, more difficult to hold on to.

When she woke in her bed aboard the TARDIS, she stared at the ceiling with fond frustration. “If that was your attempt at help,” she whispered to the ship, “then I do not understand the message.”

It still wasn’t enough to bring to the Doctor, she decided later that day, watching him spin around the console room in the afterglow of a successful adventure, people saved, the universe bettered. So she was dreaming of Gallifrey, what of it? Many of the details in that last dream matched up with what she remembered of her interaction with the Doctor in that life. And while he occasionally enjoyed comparing memories of all the times her echoes had met him, she’d found he wasn’t especially keen on discussing the one in which she’d helped him steal the TARDIS and leave Gallifrey. Susan continued to be a point of pain for the Doctor, all these centuries later, and Clara understood him well enough to know better than to pick at that particular scab.

Still. That phrase was on a loop in her head: run the math, you clever boy, and remember when you met me. The emphasis on their meeting hadn’t been part of the original phrase, and now she was dreaming of the life in which they’d met face to face for the first time, from the Doctor’s perspective. Clearly they would have to discuss it at some point.

Eventually, but not yet.

#long post #about me #my writing #like seriously all of it #fanfiction #fandom life #AO3 #Home The Long Way 'Round #For As Long As We Get #All Hands #Truth Universally Acknowledged #et al #if you read that chapter let me know what you think!#❤️

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salted-barbed-wire · 5 years ago

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The Devil May Care

Chapter Ten

Summary: “Speakin’ of the Devil, he is driving me wild with that wicked grin and the fire in his eyes...” Word Count: 1171

Prelude Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine

Magic is way too complex for me apparently. After my shower, I hurried out the door, pop-tart and thermos of coffee in hand, and headed to work. My thoughts were like a tornado, whirling around in my skull trying to make sense of everything that was going on.

Balor made everything sound too easy, despite his mentioning of the difficult incantations. Who knew a few years ago I would be in the middle of a war between an all-powerful demon of destruction and the Devil. Not only that, I was going to be learning spells and witchcraft.

“Can’t get any weirder than that.” I sighed before taking a sip of coffee.

I turned the corner and nearly ran into Aleister who was standing with his hands folded behind his back. “Shit!” I hissed, coffee spilling onto my hand.

“It can get weirder, snojepe,” he mocked me.

“You know, I’m really starting to feel a certain jealousy towards those that haven’t met you.” I glared before shoving passed him.

“Someone is grouchy.” He chuckled before following behind me. “Feeling a little under the weather from all that wine?”

I rolled my eyes, “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Funny,” he mused. “Felix told me you were very deep in sleep last night.”

My heart dropped only for a second. “What’s funny is you using my cat to check up on my sleeping habits.”

“He reports to me if anything strange goes on in your room while you slumber. Extra protection,” Aleister said curtly.

Spying or protecting?

“Come again?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “Why are you here? I told you I’d let you know if Balor called me.”

“You’ve been ignoring my texts.”

My brows knitted together, “I have not.” Aleister snapped his fingers and my phone appeared in his hand. “Hey!” I gaped, looking in my purse to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

He turned the phone to face me, “Six new unread messages. And you’ve put me under ‘King of Heck’? Jaqueline, ‘heck’?”

I snatched my phone out of his hands, “I knew you’d hate it so that’s why I did it.”

An amused smirk plastered itself to his mouth. “Jaqueline, you are absolutely the most peculiar creature.” He stepped closer to me, “I may have the ability to read your mind, but you are always unpredictable. Full of surprises.”

I felt small in comparison to him. “Is that good?”

“It’s absolutely delicious my little dropje.”

“You’ll have to tell me what some of those words you use mean some time.” I swallowed.

His gaze poured into mine. We stood there, locked in each other’s sites for a moment before I turned to see the used book store I worked at looming over us.

“When did we get here?” I asked confused.

Aleister winked at me, “Can’t let you get fired from your human job. I wanted to make sure you got here on time. Have a good day at work and read my texts. The Devil does not like to be ignored.” He turned on his heels and began to stroll away.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll text you later.”

“Oh, and Jackie?”

I turned to see him standing much closer to me than I could’ve anticipated. I froze in my spot as he leaned down to my ear, “If you’re not careful, I’ll give you a reason to roll your eyes back.”

My breath caught from the low growl in the words. I could feel my body responding to him in ways it should’t.

“Have a good day, snojepe.”

King of Heck: Good morning, beautiful. King of Heck: We need to discuss Balor and our Halloween plans. Tomorrow King of Heck: Timing is crucial. King of Heck: I trust you’re not ignoring me. King of Heck: I trust you’re not ignoring me. King of Heck: I have no problem with hunting you down.

I sighed reading through the messages. He really doesn’t like to be ignored. Why can’t he just call me via physic link like he always does?

I have to be close by to do so.

I jumped, looking around for him. You said you were near-by. But I sure don’t see you.

You won’t unless I say. I left you a substantial breakfast by the register.

Too bad I already filled up on that pop-tart.

I could nearly hear the frustrated groan he probably made. I will be gone from this plane for the day and possibly tomorrow. Texts will be the only way we can reach each other.

Busy day in Hell?

No rest for the wicked. Please, answer me when I text, Jackie. I usually fire employees that avoid my messages. Believe me, that’s not something you’d enjoy. It involves torture.

I might. I smiled to myself a little. Have a good time in heck.

When I get back, I’ll be giving YOU heck.

All joking aside, the oatmeal Aleister had left me with made for a delish lunch. My boss even walked by at one point, asking if I needed help eating it.

J: Oatmeal is good for lunch, too right? I think it’s given me all the strength I need to take on some demons. King of Heck: …

I smiled at my phone before putting it away in my purse. Probably shouldn’t be flirting with him, but he makes it too easy.

My boss nodded to me as I made my way to go clock back in from break, when my phone began buzzing under my arm. I pulled it out to see Finn’s name flashing on my screen.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Don’t sound so surprised, princess.” He chuckled on the other end. “You knew this phone call was coming. Let’s arrange this second date to appease your boss.”

I sighed, “Can we talk later? I’m at work, getting ready to clock back in.”

“Oh, I know. I also know that you let your Devil walk you to work this morning. How cute.”

“You sound jealous, Balor.”

“I am. Shouldn’t the man you’re dating be the one walking to work?”

“You probably should be, but I didn’t run into you this morning.” I grumbled. “About this second date…”

“Eager, are we?” He laughed when he heard me give an exasperated groan. “I’ve got a great place to take you, nothing super fancy, but I thought we could have some fun.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Was that sarcasm princess?”

“Nothing gets past you does it?”

I heard a low rumbling of soft laughter on the other end. “Your smart mouth on makes me want to do dirty things to it and you. You’re slowly making your way up my to-do list.” I could feel heat rising from my neck and spreading to my cheeks. “Have a good day at work, princess. I’ll be watching.”

I mashed the end call button harder than I expected and leaned against the wall in front of the clock in screen. My heart was doing flips in my chest. The way they talk is really cruel for someone who hasn’t gotten laid in three years…

~~~

Chapter Eleven ->

Tag List: @fangirls-gotta-fangirl @xladyxfatex @xbreezymeadowsx @rndm-fngrl-blg @nicolewoo @itsicantbelievethis666

A/N: So, my husband finally asked me what I’ve been working on for the past few weeks at home. I gave him the synopsis of the story, explained the difference between true Irish and Dutch lore, and my own version of it in this story. I told him how I wanted the plot to come out without giving away who the OC is going to end up with. He said “well, when here and Balor are finally together...” I stopped him and said, “Oh, you’ve already decided who the OC is going to be with?” And he shrugged and said “Balor seems like the logical option.” I asked him why he thought that and my husband responded, “Aleister is scary in real life.” I’ve been laughing about it for a day or two now. So, I want to know who you guys think Jackie should end up with. The Devil or the Demon? Also, I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone so far for the support you’ve been giving me. Even if it’s just liking the chapters as they’re posted, I feel like I can do this again and get back into writing. Thank you. Now, hold on to your hats ladies and germs; the next week is going to be a bumpy ride for this unholy love triangle. The final chapter will be posted on Halloween night! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

#aleister black #aleister black x reader #finn balor #finn balor x reader #the devil may care fic

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cherries-n-rocknroll · 6 years ago

Text

BUCKET LIST (Roger x Reader) Chapter 1

Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Click here for the BUCKET LIST masterlist // Click here for my full masterlist

Summary: You and Roger meet at the record shop that you work at. And after some chatting about music you quickly become good friends. He finally manages to take you to one of his Queens gigs but things don’t really go as you anticipated.

Pairing: Roger x Reader

Warnings: Probably some swearing, some angst at the end, fainting.

Word count: 2k

A/N: This is my first fanfic series EVER so I’m still learning. I’m honestly really enjoying the writing. Never thought that would happen. I don’t know if the beginning is very good, but I hope my writing gets better as the story progresses. IF YOU HAVE FEEDBACK, PLEASE TELL ME SO I CAN IMPROVE. The timeline isn’t super accurate or anything, but this is fiction, so yeah. English isn’t my first language so I apologize for any dumb grammar mistakes. And I want to thank @hiyadarlingirl for correcting some of them.

Have fun reading!

——————–

Chapter 1 ‘The list’

“You can’t just sit at home all day! Come on Y/N live a little” Roger said chuckling while softly pushing an elbow into your side. “You know what, you are going to make a list of things you have never done before and we are gonna do them together.”

“Really? A list?! I’ve got better things to do.” You replied.

“Like what exactly?”

A few months ago this guy kept showing up at the record shop you were working at. And one time you decided to have a chat with him. One thing led to another and you and Roger quickly ended up hanging out almost every weekend, talking about music and watching movies. If Roger didn’t have a gig with his band. In the few months you had been friends with Roger you didn’t know what had hit you. He was a lot. He always pushed you to do things that were far out of your comfort zone. You hated it and loved it at the same time.

“I’m just not as wild as you Roger! That you like to go out every Saturday night doesn’t mean that other people like doing that too.” You hissed.

“But we can change that.” He said with a smirk on his face.

He suddenly stood up from the couch that you were lounging on. “Okay. Do you have paper and a pen?” He said standing in front of you with his hands on his hips.

“No, we’re not doing this!” You raised your voice.

“Then I’ll find it myself,” He said with an arrogant grin on his face.

“Fine! But you have to promise me that you won’t think I’m weird.”

“I already think you’re weird. That’s why I like you.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I still hang out with you.” You sighed slightly annoyed.

“Because I’m irresistible,” Roger said. A cocky smile yet again appearing on his face.

“Okay, fine Mr amazing I’ll grab it.”

You opened a drawer of your hardwood cabinet. You once found it at a second-hand shop and you couldn’t resist buying it. It was very beautiful but very heavy and you still wondered how you had managed to get it to your apartment.

The drawer made a soft creaking sound as you opened it. You searched through some papers and took out a little notepad and a pen that laid on your desk.

Roger snatched the pen and paper out of your hand and positioned himself onto your leather couch. He wrote something down in big letters. You followed the movement of his hand and it read.

Bucket list

“Go ahead love, I’m waiting,” Roger said while tapping the pen on his leg.

“Uhm…” You muttered, trying to think of something that wasn’t too embarrassing.

“I can think of some things,” Roger said, and he started writing.

Bucket list:

Go an actual party at a club

As soon as you read the first line you felt your cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. You were 23 for god sake and you had never been to an actual party at a club. Well, you sometimes stopped by one to pick up a friend, but you never participated in the whole going out thing.

Roger had a habit of calling you in the middle of the night when he was at a party or club, or after late night gigs. He would always call you to tell you how awesome it was. That the audience was so enthusiastic, and he would tell you about weird things that had happened that night. He always sounded so excited and even though you were hardly following anything he was saying, it was worth being woken up for. You would always ask him if he was okay and if he could get home safe. He would constantly tell you that he was fine, but if you heard that he was drunk you would always come to pick him up because you didn’t want him to accidentally hurt himself. You usually took him to your apartment and put him down on the couch with a blanket. You sometimes stopped to look at him. A little bit of light slipping through the curtains, illuminating his smooth features. He looked so peaceful in those moments.

“You know Y/N I still don’t understand why you never go to party’s at clubs.”

“I just don’t like the loud music, it smells like alcohol and it’s warm and sweaty.” You replied while you made a disgusted face.

“It’s not that bad. You should come with me for once. I’ll introduce you to my bandmates, it’ll be fun.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Later that week

“Emily! could you come here for a second” You yelled to your housemate and best friend. “What do you think Em?”

“O honey, you’re not going to your grandma.” She said while standing in the doorway. “I’ll find you something else.” Emily walked to your closet and started looking through it. She grabbed a dress that had been laying in the back of your closet for ages. “Here, put this on.” She tossed you the dress.

It was a red dress and the print and fabric choice reminded you of those Asian dresses. You thought it was very beautiful but you were never confident enough to wear it because it was very short and tight and the color screamed for attention. Which wasn’t exactly your favorite thing in the world.

You stood in front of your mirror with Emily beside you.

“Are you sure it’s not too much?”

“Noo, it’s cute! Besides you’re going to a club after all.”

You grabbed a pair of platform heels to go with your outfit and added some necklaces and a pair of earrings. You glanced into the mirror one last time and actually thought you looked rather hot.

It was dark outside and you waited for Roger to come and pick you up. Even though it was summer you were shivering a little and you were happy when you heard the sound of Rogers car.

“Good evening Mrs. Y/L/N. You look out of the ordinary”

“Yeah, I was feeling bold.”

“Well, You look stunning,” Rogers comment caused your cheeks to blush a little. He could be mean and harsh sometimes, but he truly had his sweet side too. And it made your heart melt a little.

You got into the car and Roger put on some music. As soon as a nice song came on you and Roger started singing very loud. It was something you two always did. It helped a little with the cold. But Roger noticed that you were still shivering a little and offered you his leather jacket.

“No thank you, I’m fine Rog really!”

“C’mon Y/N you’re shaking,” Roger replied with a hint of concern in his voice.

Roger pulled up to stop at the side of the road and handed you his jacket. “Here, put this on.”

You followed his command, not wanting to start an argument over this.

You entered the club and a wave of warmth hugged your body. You relaxed at the feeling of it. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

The dance floor was filled with people. Their body’s seemingly merging into each other. You let your mind drift off a little as you swayed your body to the beat of the music.

You suddenly were pulled out of you daze when you felt a hand on your shoulder and quickly turned around to face this person. It was Roger. Of course it was Roger. “Enjoying this after all?” He said “You wanna come backstage? I’ll introduce you to my mates.”

“Sounds fun.” You cheered, raising your voice to make yourself heard above the loud music.

Roger grabbed your hand to pull you through the crowded space and led you backstage. He opened a door and pushed you inside. “Hey Y/N I’m gonna set up my drum kit. I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

“But you said tha-…” you blurted out, but he was already gone.

A little bit flustered you turned to see a man sitting in front of one of the mirrors. He seemed extremely focused on doing his eyeliner but as soon as he heard your footsteps he turned around. “Hi, darling! You must be Y/N.”

You stepped towards him to shake his hand. “Yess, and you must be Freddie then”

“At last we meet.” He flashed you a kind smile “Roger told us all about you dear. He couldn’t shut up about you for the past months.”

You felt your cheeks blush. “Ooh, yeah, um..” you stuttered. You didn’t know what to say.

“He adores you, and how you make art like your life depends on it. By the way, I love your dress!”

You were pretty sure your face was as red as your dress now.

“Hey! Y/N right?” A man with brown poodle hair stood in the doorway. He walked towards you to shake your hand “I’m Brian. Freddie, what did you do to her? She’s all red.” He exclaimed in a high pitched voice. “Come sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”

“Roger told us all about you. I see he finally convinced you to come to one of our gigs?” Brian said. You were sitting on the couch and Freddie and Brian were sitting on the two chairs right in front of you.

“Yes, he did.” You took a big sip from your drink, you felt the alcohol burn in your throat and you hoped that it would calm you down a little. This was all very new and exciting.

Roger slammed the door open. “Guys we can start!” He said in an excited voice. “Ah, I see you’ve met the boys.”

“Yeah well, you pushed me inside so… I didn’t really have a choice did I?”

“No offense.” You glanced at Brian and Freddie.

Roger stood next to the couch with his hands on his hips.

“Where’s Deaky?” He asked.

“I’m here” You heard a soft voice coming from the corner of the room.

“Have you been sitting there the whole time John?” Brian said.

“Maybe,” John replied. “I.. I was reading something. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you guys?” He stuttered.

“You don’t have to apologize, John, it’s fine. We were just a little worried you had left or something” Brian said.

John stood up from his little corner and walked towards the couch that you were sitting on. “Hi, I’m John. But I guess you already know that now.” He gave you a firm handshake, something you hadn’t expected of him. “God, you must think I’m a total weirdo now.” He said softly.

Roger clapped in his hands, “Let’s get going, the show starts in two minutes. People are already yelling out there.”

“Then we should hurry I suppose”, Brian said with a huff while he got out of the chair he was sitting in. And before you knew it they had run off including Roger.

You opened the door that led to the main area of the bar and you tried to wiggle yourself through the crowd, in an attempt to see Roger and his bandmates. You came to stand beside a beautiful lady. She had short blonde hair and a fringe.

“They’re so great aren’t they?” She had a soft and friendly voice although she had to raise her voice to be heard above the noise of the crowd.

“Yeah, well I actually haven’t heard them yet.”

“That’s a shame. What brought you here then?”

“I’m a friend of Roger.”

“Aah, a friend. Yeah, I think he might have told me about you. It’s Y/N, right?” You nodded.

"I’m Mary by the way.”

Suddenly the crowd started cheering as Freddie played a few notes on the piano.

“Now then.” Freddie began. Some guy yelled something but you didn’t hear what he said. “Well, you guessed it right. Right now we would like to do something new for you actually, it’s about four pieces that we put together. Sort of a medley. Three of them are on our new album Sheer Heart Attack.”

The crowd cheered at Freddie’s words.

“Thank you. Which is now racing off the charts thanks to you.”

The crowd started cheering again, but they fell silent when Freddie played a few notes on the piano.

“so 1.. 2.. 3.. 4..”

youtube

You listened in awe, they truly were amazing. And you almost lost it at Rogers high notes. They were absolutely orgasmic, and you had never heard anything like it. To say you were blown away was an understatement.

You heard one marvelous song after another and you were very excited. You began walking to the bar as you started to feel a bit dizzy, and the warmth of the crowd was definitely not helping with it.

“Hey. Hey, where are you going?” Mary shouted as to make herself heard, while softly grabbing your arm.

“I’m feeling a bit dizzy, I’m gonna sit down for a bit.”

“Do you need me to go with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine on my own thank you.”

You pushed yourself through the crowd and everyone seemed to look at you. You quickened your pace to get to the bar faster but it seemed impossible.

You started to see stars at this point and you regretted not accepting Mary’s help. You felt your body tingle and the sounds around you got muffled. Before you could grab someone your ears started ringing, your body started feeling fuzzy and your vision went completely blank.

A/N: Well that ended a little angsty. Tips and feedback in any form are highly appreciated. I plan on making this a little series. Have a lovely day and don’t forget to leave a comment, reblog, and/or like if you enjoyed it. It helps a lot.

Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Click here for the BUCKET LIST masterlist // Click here for my full masterlist

——————–

People who hopefully don’t mind if I tag them taglist: @hiyadarlingirl @six-bloodyminutes @godknowsimtaylored @misshystericalqueen @mazzelloplots @queenbbarnes

#roger taylor imagine #queen imagines #brian may #freddie mercury #roger x reader #ben hardy as roger taylor #bohemian rhapsody movie #roger taylor #young roger taylor #john deacon #deaky #bohemian rhapsody imagines #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #sterre makes stuff #sterre writes #⭐️

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eris0330 · 7 years ago

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Hiraeth - Seven

☽Pairing☾ ; BTS | Reader

☽Genre☾ ; Angst | Fluff

☽Word Count☾ ; 2k

☽Summary☾ Returning back to Korea after years of being under the ground, to see your parents. You wished it was all it took, to feel complete again. The aftermath of confusion, betrayal and sorrow was the reason to never come back into the boys presents. But it wasn’t until, seeing one them enter the same cafe, at the right time.

☽M. List☾ ; 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 // 11 // 12 // 13 // 14 // 15 // 16 // 17 // 18 // 19 // 20 // 21 // 22 [ongoing]

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It was like being paralyzed, set on pause where only you and the man you have been missing, the moment you stepped inside the car. His face coming close with the cap in his hand, watching his features glow in the street lights. A bright and clear smile, with the tiniest tear in his eyes, making you cry all over again.

"Channie..." You whispered, as his arms wrapped around you tightly. The sound of his bag and jacket hitting the ground, while the leaves contributed scratching defeats. You could barely recognise his posture, and his growth has been overwhelming. He looked bigger with the oversize shirt that he loved to wear when working, or even a night off in the dorm. Changkyun has changed so much over time, that the width of his muscular body could almost crush you in his hug.

"I knew you wouldn't leave me like this..." He muttered against your cold neck, as the tears thrilled down on your shirt. The scent of him were enough to clutch onto him, hold him tighter than never before. Changkyun could barely stand still, and the way his body were shaking of either the cold or the shock you have given him. It made you wonder, if it was like this with the others, or worse. Taking his face into your hands, you examined thoroughly, memorising the features of his face.

"How's my little partner in crime?" You questioned lightly, making him giggle the laughter that shook your heart. His hands taking placement on top of yours, and the warmth transferred to the rest of your body. His blood shot eyes, and the red streaks running down his cheeks were enough to make your feelings ravish.

"I missed you so much..." He replied, drying away the tears to sniff in the cold air. Mirroring him, you both gave each other another hug. His muscles poking against your tinier body, were making you feel safe. "I missed you too, Chan..." You muttered a reply. Standing together for a few minutes, taking in the reality of finally, being together. Connected like best friends with a string, you never knew it would be this powerful. It was hard to let go, enjoying the night sky outside the building you met for the first time years ago.

"I'm actually on the way home, but would you mind grabbing hot chocolate with me?" Changkyun suggested, while it only took a second to respond with a wild nod. It has been so long, that there was no way you could deny his offer. Your hand taken in his, holding it tightly. Walking along the empty street, you were thankful there was no one around to notice. But your eyes, always captured the way he continued to hold your hand so tightly. It was red, and sometimes it hurt, but it didn't matter. He was holding that way unknowingly, making sure you weren't leaving him again.

----------

"You still do that?" A piece of tissue paper dried away the whipped cream beard, that you always had a habit to do. Either on purpose to annoy the boys, or plainly a mistake. You smiled, finding his behaviour being its usual. There was something odd about the way he stared at you, but could you blame him? There were so many questions unanswered, and you both knew the highlight. Why did you do it.

"I see you got yourself a souvenir?" He questioned with a pained smile, pointing lightly against the scar on your cheekbone. You couldn't help but embrace it yourself, feeling the deep cave underneath your fingertips. Did you feel offended by it? Not really. But it was a bridge to another question, that you were frightened to answer on.

"What happened... and don't give me the crap that everyone does... I want to know what you think" He questioned with the shiver in his vocals, as if he were strangled along the lines. He hated to show that type of side, knowing that he would break down any second. That's how it was, every god damn night. With Wonho by his side, establishing a promising friendship, with the burden of you gone. It was just too much, for him to handle. He deeply hated Wonho for a year, but most of all, himself. He wasn't in the same group as you, and that restrained him from getting any information on your whereabouts. The only ‘angel’ that had his side, were Yoongi. It was sugar coated, but by then, he would take everything that he possibly could get his hands on.

"I hesitated-" you blurted out, trying to remember the flashbacks of broken glass and silence. It happened so fast, that it looked scripted. But, there was a voice inside your head. Not only one, but many. Battling to win over your body, with the same wishful thinking of freedom. Looking into Changkyun's eyes, you saw the relief in his face. It's what he needed to hear, that you hesitated. Whether it was for him, or others, you did it. "-I wanted to just feel... freedom. I drove the car with this idea of driving without stopping, and do whatever it took to end it." It formed a headache, of the foolish act you have caused. It was like he knew, putting his hand on top of yours. The thumb stroking for comfort, knowing you aren't alone anymore. You were never alone.

"-I'm happy you didn't fulfill it... Just without you here physically was tough enough. But the idea of never getting the chance to see you again, is unimaginable of the pain." He whispered with a heartfelt smile, making your stomach turns. It was the kind of warmth you had been missing, and knowing he didn't hate you, gave you enough courage to continue your plan.

"I turned the car before I could reach the end, but it was too late... I thought it was over, and I wished for it to reverse for a second." You explained, taking in a deep breath and the scent of chocolate making you dizzy. "-The car hit the passenger side first, and then roof, lastly... me." You finished, with the sting in your eyes being a burden.

"You survived." He commented with a smile, astonished of his reaction. After the mess you have made, he was still able to pull a smile like that. Even after the explanation, he could only think about your heart still beating. "You only left with some injuries... but you're alive. That's all I could ask for" He added, making the tears that pooled in your eyes run. The feel of happiness washing over you, were taking control of your body to hug him. His heart beating loud and harsh, not being able to let go.

"You're the best Changkyun" You whispered into his neck, sending chills down his body. The pressure of your arms squeezing the life out of him, but frankly, he didn't care. You were here, in his embrace and that's all he could ever wish for. "I know, I never forgot" He replied with a smile, as the last text you have sent him, was still lounging in his phone.

--------

Hoseok wandered around in your bedroom with the mess happening in the living room, waiting for the other members to pick up Wonho. For the first time in months, he saw the fear in front of his eyes. And yet, he didn't do anything about it. The confrontation of that were to stop a fight from hurting his friends, were already a battle itself. He found comfort in your presence, not being scared to tell someone off, if they were being rude. Unlike him, he didn't like to speak up and rather have it bottled up inside. That's what he usually did, but when you were around, you taught him to do something else. Talk to you was a priority, and it still is. His problems were almost solved whenever you were there, as if looking at you were enough. He couldn't deny, that he missed you. Your room being partly cleaned, and the regret of never doing it with you by his side. How long did he spend looking at the closed door, being frightened by what were behind it, even though he already knew. He didn't want to see the reality, that you were not there. That he just imagined, you were sleeping, for a long time. The ruckus in the room next door, were banging in his ears and causing headaches to erupt. He wanted to tell him to be quiet, to leave, to never come back with the same atmosphere. The only thing he could do, was to find peace.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, as the natural scent of yourself tickled his nostrils and put a smile on his face. The way you loved to sleep with a lot of plushies and pillows, just to feel safe and comforted. Even though, you sometimes were daring enough to sleep in their bed. That's what Hoseok loved, whenever you came to him and found the loving warmth under his blanket. The boys becoming louder, with a drunk Wonho on the side, Hoseok wanted to just close off from everything. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he scanned the amount of notifications that he needed to go through, but there was something else on his mind. He knew, what to do when everything came to its limit. It was just one call, and the beeping continued. His heart breaking and pounding awfully slow, to finally hear;

"Hey, you called me on a bad time, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you as fast as I can. Bye~" Your voice, just like he has memorised. Sweet and clear. The amount of times he has called your phone, knowing that you would never pick up, was ridiculous. But it was the only thing he could hold onto, knowing it was a way to hear your voice. Speaking so clearly, and letting him forward with a reply. He could only close his eyes, letting the voicemail do its job.

"Hey, it's me, your favourite sunshine.... your only sunshine... Wonho's here, and it's a mess already... Can you believe it? I just want to sleep, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do anymore-" He chuckled, lying upon your bed to look at the ceiling. Noticing the single group photo, nailed to the top to look down. It took him by surprise, to see that it was placed right above the pillow. Were you looking at them before going to sleep? When you woke up? There was something inside of him, that broke apart to not know it sooner. You loved them, and it was more than he could imagine.

"-… I miss you Y/N... I really do... When will you come home? Will you ever come back to us...?" He muttered, as the tears fell from the corner of his eyes. Your sheets stained with salted water and his feelings trapped in the bottom of his heart, trying to collect himself. He needed to be strong, for you.

"… When you come back... I'll have to cancel your phone subscription, don't you think?" He chuckled yet again, trying to pull a smile. Turning the phone call off, was heart breaking. But he needed to, otherwise he would use the rest of his days, waiting for a sound to return. His arms crossing to cover his face, to not let anyone see the mess that he had become. The way, he couldn't let go of things that he dearly cared for. But, behind the creaked door, Taehyung is sitting against the cold wall. Listening to the sounds of cries, that came from the room, to only submerge into the devastation. Taehyung always knew Hoseok called you, but he never had the guts to take the joy away from him, when he also used it to find comfort. Two men, almost like boys, sitting between a brick wall to feel the exact same. The hiccups and hidden tears in one's sleeve, were too much for them to handle. To confront the reality, and hanging onto the hope they could possibly find.

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stardewxcrossing · 7 years ago

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Moved On - pt 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Word Count: 1,531

It has been almost two hours since he’s left the airport. Bill and Stan had offered to keep him company, but Richie had refused. He really just needed to be alone. He thought about going home, and but that would’ve been too much for him. Because the truth is, even though Eddie hasn’t stepped foot into the apartment in over a year, his presence still lingered. Sometimes Richie would come home, and the scent of the other man’s cologne was in the air, like he had just walked across the room. Sometimes, Richie would wake up in the morning to the faint sounds of pots and pans clanking in the kitchen, only to see an empty room when he stepped outside. Sometimes, he swore he heard the shower running, and if he listened hard enough, he could almost hear Eddie humming one of his tunes.

Richie was now laying down on a park bench, staring up at the sky, the moon barely visible through the clouds. This park was his place to go to when he wanted to escape the rest of the world. Back when he and Eddie were together, he would go here when they got into their fights, and Eddie needed to be alone. It was where he went to clear his head, and the only place that didn’t have a strong lingering memory of Eddie. It was almost 10:00pm now, so the park was pretty much empty, except for a few homeless people scattered around. It cold tonight, and he cursed himself for forgetting to bring his pack of cigarettes with him. With the excitement of running to the airport and confessing to his lover, Richie had only remembered to grab his jacket and keys. He thought back to everything that had happened to him in the past hour, and he felt like an idiot. He should’ve listened to his gut feeling and stayed away from Eddie. How could he be so stupid to think that the romantic gesture was going to change Eddie’s mind? He thought back to the moments when they first broke up. Richie had never felt pain as badly as when Eddie dumped him, not even when Henry Bowers almost killed him.

The first few months had been the hardest for him. Eddie had simply said that the relationship was becoming too much for him to handle. He had a job offer in London, ad he was going to take it. His flight was in a week. Richie remembered how hard he had cried, apologizing over and over again. He remembered telling Eddie he wanted to go with him. He remembered pleading with him that he would change, that he’d fix his habits for him. But Eddie had been resolute. He had said he needed to get away from everything, to get away from Richie. That was what hurt him the most. Because for as long as he could remember, Eddie had been the only one to stick by Richie’s side. Eddie was the one that comforted him through the hard nights when he felt like he wasn’t worth anything. Eddie was the one that patched up his wounds when he got into fights. Eddie was the one beside him, stroking his back, when he was bent over a toilet from too much alcohol. Eddie was the one he woke up to the next day when his head was pounding. And Eddie was the one Richie always ran to when life was too much for him to handle. He had been so fucked up that the one person with the most patience in his life couldn’t bare to be with him.

The only way for Richie to cope with the lost of Eddie was to be drunk, or high, or both. For the first two months of the break up, he was probably sober for a combined total of seven days. He knew it was hard for his friends to see him the way he was. It was probably the hardest for Stan, because Stan had been by his side during those times, and he was thankful. Because without Stan, Richie doesn’t think he could’ve made it through this past year. It was Stan who Richie called at 3:00am, intoxicated and crying about how much he missed Eddie. It was Stan who picked him up from bars at the early hours of the morning when he was so far gone, he could barely recognized his best friend. It was Stan who took him home, and put him to bed, and comforted him until he fell asleep. Stan the Man may have an icy cold exterior, but deep down, there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for his friends.

Richie pulled his phone out to check. He had put it on silent after receiving a few calls from Bev and choosing to ignore them. He figured it was time to at least let his friends know he was okay. He had gotten a dozen texts and missed calls from his friends, but there was one notification that caught his attention. One new voicemail from Eddie Spaghetti, sent over forty five minutes ago. He pressed play and put the phone to his ear.

"R-Richie..." Eddie's voice was shaking. “Rich, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything. F-for leaving you last year. For walking away earlier, without saying anything. I-,” he paused, trying to calm his breathing, “Please understand. I have a life in London that I can’t just drop.” You dropped everything you had in New York to go to London, Richie thought bitterly. “I’m doing what I’ve always dreamed of, Rich,” his voice was breaking. Richie felt his own tears fall down his face and closed his eyes, clutching onto the phone. “I just wish it was easier for us, you know? Like how it was in the beginning. I mean, it wasn’t easy in Derry, but we had each other, and it was enough,” he could hear the soft crying on the other end. “Y-You have no idea what this weekend meant to me. To see you, and to be with you. Us together, with all our friends, like old times. It was-,” Eddie sniffled, “It was perfect.” There was a pause, and Richie thought the voicemail had ended, but Eddie spoke again. “You were my first love. My only love. I’ve never felt about anyone what I felt with you. You were my first kiss, my first… everything. I have so much that I want to say… so much I should say… But I-” Eddie’s breathing grew heavier, and there was another long pause. “Oh, fuck this.”

Richie’s eyes shot open, he could hear shuffling on the other side of the phone.

"Sir, please take your seat and put your seat belt back on. The plane will be taking off shortly."

"I need to get off."

“I’m sorry, sir, but-”

“I need to get off this plane!”

"Sir, you can't-"

The voicemail ended abruptly. Richie frantically tried calling Eddie back, his heart beating out of his chest, fingers fumbling to dial the phone. He didn’t know if he was shaking from the cold or nerves. The first call went straight to voicemail. So did the second. And the third. “FUCK!” Richie yelled. “Eddie, Eds, baby, please pick up. Please tell me you got off the plane. Please, Eds, just-”

“I got off the plane.”

Richie spun around so quickly, his phone almost fell out of his hands. Standing a few feet from him, a faint light from the street lamp shining upon his face, was Eddie Kaspbrak. They both stood still, not knowing what to say.

“I-”

“How-”

They both went silent, waiting for the other to speak first.

“How’d you know I was here?” Richie finally asked.

Eddie shrugged and slowly started closing the distance between them. “I… I don’t really know. I remembered you used to come here whenever you had a bad day and… Bev drove me everywhere, but we couldn’t find you. I was just hoping…,” he sighed. “Richie,” his voice cracked, “Richie, I love you. I love you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. And I’m sorry I left last year. I’m sorry for everything. I-”

Richie rushed forward and crashed his lips onto Eddie’s. His hands reached up to hold onto the smaller man’s face, as he felt his arms wrap around his waist. Richie could smell Eddie’s cologne. A smell that was both foreign and familiar. A smell that somehow still lingered in the apartment they used to share. A smell that Richie had missed so much. He felt rain falling lightly around them, but he didn’t care as he pulled Eddie closer to deepen the kiss, only breaking apart briefly to breathe before diving back in. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, still holding each other. “Is this real? Please tell me this is real. Tell me you’re actually here with me right now. That this isn’t another dream because I’ve had too many like this, and I don’t think I can handle another one, Eds.”

“I’m here, Chee. It’s real, I promise.”

A/N: let me just tell you that it was actually very hard to decide on whether to write a happy ending or a sad one, but I opted for the former (: I do want to thank everyone’s support for this fic, because honestly I have no confidence in my writing, so thank you for all your kind words <3

tag list: @beepbeeprichiellc @prettyblossoms @richietoaster @frncsfields @lizwillstealyourgirl @eddierichietozier @starstrucknerdgirl @itsway-past-mybedtime @11roses // I hope I tagged everyone?

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it fic #reddie fic #it fan fic #reddie fan fic #it stephen king #it movie #it 2017 #writing #mine #bitchardtozier

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almaasi · 8 years ago

Text

reaction post typed while watching the JIBcon 2017 Jensen & Misha panel

um............this is........ kind of gay

under the cut: my casual thoughts on Cockles, Jensen in heat, a lil bit of Destiel, and a small dose of toxic masculinity because man it just keeps coming back to that

08:00pm

PART 1

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esVT4rZ1F0M&ab_channel=thiniassk

i’m not fucking prepared honestly oh god

08:12pm

i have petted my cat diezel and i am slightly more prepared

08:14

it STARTS with them singing to each other?!?!?!

jensen gets so much of his energy from misha he can’t address a crowd without first staring deeply into misha’s eyes??? IS THIS THEM SOULBONDING BEFOREHAND SO THEY MAKE A BETTER TEAM

miSHA TURNS AWAY IT’S JUST JENSEN SERENADING MISH OH GOD

jensen: *leans in for no reason*

08:17

HE DOES SO MUCH OPEN-HANDED REACHING

08:18

j: “the hairs on my arms are standing up”

m: “he was just showing me his freckles”

j: “who don’t love freckles *winky face* know what i’m saying”

m: “you wanna hear something weird”

J: “SHUT UP”

MISHA WAS GONNA SAY FRECKLES ARE ANGEL KISSES AND JENSEN VETOED IT

THIS IS THE ONLY OPTION

08:20

YES MISHA putting a chair backwards stops you worrying about crotch-staring

j: “oh no, i enjoy showing my crotch the entire time”

m: “i know”

j: “i don’t have to hide it”

...........................surely this is illegal

08:2

j: “let’s see how deep it goes”

(talking about the crowd size?)

m: “by which she means it’s an innie”

(talking about navels maybe?? not sure how we got here?)

(OR DICK FORESKIN WHO KNOWS)

JENSEN YOUR FACE

WHAT

08:25

? i think jensen moved to cover his crotch jokingly aND MISHA REACHES IN TO UN-COVER HIS CROTCH

;A;

08:28

j: *faces misha and spreads his legs* “here’s the thing. pick a leg”

WAT THE FIDSAHFSF I???

08:29

jensen wants misha to choose between his bowlegs??? OH NO

I JUST GOT IT

HE STANDS UP TO DO THE DICK-ADJUSTMENT DANCE

RIGHT NEXT TO MISHA

“PICK A LEG” IS ABOUT WHICH LEG HIS DICK SITS AGAINST

why the fuck does he want MISHA to choose what the fuck this is so fucking gay what the fuck

misha claims out loud he’s uncomfortable but frankly he doesn’t look that uncomfortable

08:32

jesus christ jensen is flat-out turning everything into flirtation

j: “you have big dolls?”

(regarding the mini-dads misha has in his house)

JENSEN HOW BADLY DO YOU WANT THIS GUY TO FUCK YOU

WOW

08:34

such blush

...and jensen starts hitting himself in the head as self-chastisement for flirting????????????????????????????????????????????????

08:36

https://youtu.be/esVT4rZ1F0M?t=4m8s

fig 1: jensen believably pretending he doesn’t know what “firework[s]” by katy perry is

fig 2: telling the truth “of course i know what ‘firework’ is, i have a 4 year old daughter” (correcting misha’s addition of the ‘s’ at the end, i must note) “i DANCE to firework”

....but like.......jensen’s process of ”i don’t know what this potentially emasculating thing is at all”.... “did i mention this thing is close to my heart and know it intimately”

does that sound like “talk about cutting the fat”/”who’s cas?”/”misha who?” to anyone else? hurr

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT DEAN DOES. BLAH BLAH BLAH THEY’RE DIFFERENT PEOPLE But tHEY DO THE SAME SHIT WHEN IT COMES TO ~EMASCULATING~ THINGS

granted jensen does it easier and more jokingly than dean does, but he STILL DOES IT

(also? jensen asked misha what’s on west’s playlist and requested he be honest, probably knowing full-well what’s on there (and there’s something dodgy there to be honest about). jensen pretends he doesn’t know the song, misha reaches in to touch him and says “you would be off on a lot of [these songs]-- AND THAT’S WHEN JENSEN REVEALS THE TRUTH TO PROVE HE’S NOT ALL COUNTRY FOLK SINGER and then blames his knowledge of popular songs on his daughter rather than the fact it’s impossible to go through modern life without having heard that song)

(he serenades misha with a few lines before mocking the song)

(i wonder if he’s ever sung it to misha in private)

08:50

jensen: *finger over his lips as misha’s talking about his kids singing carry on wayward son in the car* i.e. ~don’t say the thing~

j: “is what you told me earlier public knowledge? ‘cause that’s kind of a nice segue”

it’s nice that he asks

m: *high pitched voice* whyyy did i tell him

SO HE CAN RELAY YOUR CUTE STORIES TO US WITH HIS PRETTY POUTY BLABBERMOUTH, THAT’S WHY

j: *leans in to whisper and ask about the story he wants to tell*

m: NO NO ON ON O

wow that’s gotta be a damning story holy shit

m: “i am actually having palpitations right now”

I REALLY WANT TO KNOWWWWW AAAH

08:56

j: “real men have twins”

....wtf

j: *looking apologetically at misha* “aaah it’s just a shirt somebody sent me, it was pretty cool”

...........wtf even more because why are you apologising to misha wtf

(after the panel i came back and read this and I JUST GOT IT. i thought “have twins” meant the man in question has a human duplicate sibling. but it actually means the man in question has two offspring who are born at the same time. welp.)

08:58

bless daniella for getting these boys so fucking drunk

drunk!jensen is kind of.... look i dont wanna say it as a slur but also i do really wanna say it.... he’s kind of a slut?

god i love how much he’s enjoying himself aaah

09:00pm

here we have jensen laughing way too hard at misha’s “i am not a spy... which is exactly what spies say” accent

j: “that one got me. i dunno why”

BECAUSE YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE AND ALSO DRUNK

09:03

rip fluffy unicorn

jensen for someone with a 4 year old daughter you very quickly, very unnecessarily, AND VERY VIOLENTLY reject soft fluffy cute things your daughter would like

someone tell me again how he’s not fuelled at least 25% by toxic masculinity

j: *to the unicorn* “fuck you steven”

what did steven ever do to you

see this is where dean and jensen differ. dean would maybe sneer at the unicorn but he’d keep it if it was given to him by someone who cared about him (the in-show version of daniella?). he’d give it to a little kid. smile, play with it for 10 seconds if no-one else was watching. but jensen? THROWS IT AND INSULTS IT AND HATES IT FOR EXISTING

like dean and jensen are both haters of soft cute things (in front of people) but in totally different ways

jensen’s hatred seems kinda disingenuous to me ?

and waaaaay over the top, maybe just because there’s a crowd

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE

who exactly in that room would think any less of him if he said “aw cute” and hugged the thing on his lap, y’know? the room would be full of cheering. i feel like he’s only doing the act for self-comfort idk

it’s a soft unicorn .........i don’t get it

it’s a kicking machine with a death spike

IF IT WAS MADE OF PLASTIC AND LOOKED LIKE A ROBOT WOULD HE REACT THE SAME WAY THOUGH

(not that i dislike him for this, i’m just commenting on what i observe. he fascinates me. how did he get like this? WHAT COTTON CANDY PLUSHIE ABUSED HIM IN A PREVIOUS LIFE)

09:16

regarding superstitions: jensen steps right foot first onto airplanes, it hasn’t failed him yet. misha “always wears something akin to orange underwear”

OH NO HERE WE GO

j: “wait seriously?”

jensen looks fascinated...and awed

does he not know this stuff already? do they not talk about weird personal stuff outside of conventions?

okay well jensen is definitely adding “lucky orange underwear” to his list of things to imagine while he’s lying in bed with his hand between his legs

09:23

jensen’s lil finger wiggle to encourage misha to take his pants off?????

09:26

k but why did the convention crew turn the lights pink when jensen dropped his pants for misha

jensen to misha: “you can’t unsee that”

misha, kinda shaken: “no, i’m trying”

WHAT THE FUCK WAS JENSEN WEARING

AND WHY WAS IT SO BAD THAT WE COULDN’T SEE TOO

my current theory: a cock sock (maybe so jensen doesn’t get visible boners and/or panty lines??)

like this (WARNING NSFW NSFW)

j to misha: “rawr”

........................STOP

j: “you didn’t even get the full picture”

OKAY THAT’S IT IT’S GOTTA BE A COCK SOCK RIGHT ASDFSJF

m: “now would be a good time to take a 10 minute break”

AND WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE YOU AND JENSEN DO IN THAT TIME SIR

KINDLY DO SHARE

09:32

fan: “[jared] was kind of away with the fairies”

j: “no he’s been a fairy all day”

and THEN HE LOOKS AT MISHA EXPECTING A REACTION

is it just me or is jensen perfectly aware when his jokes are potentially homophobic and he’s checking with misha to see if it’s okay?? because i guess misha is the in-house feminist and if jensen goes a minute without misha’s approval he knows he needs to start sucking up and grovelling

J: “misha kept us out late” MORE RAWRING

like does he just wanna go behind the curtain and blow him ‘case i think we’d all wait patiently

(apparently completely unrelated, except by connection of “they wanna bang”) jensen: “by the way they go down to here” *points to mid-thigh*

someone mentioned maybe he was wearing a brand called ethika underwear on some post i made yesterday, i had a look at their website and it just seemed like perfectly normal boxers just with some funky prints

idk why that would make misha gawp so madly though, if it was just a loud print. or why that would mean the audience can’t see. it had to be something about the cut of them, too. (unless there was a tiger or something on them. i think i saw cat faces on the website)

also why is jensen so keen on telling misha about his underwear

...this is some exposure kink bullshit honestly

he’s not shy in the slightest, he’s getting off on making misha squirm

09:42

fan: “people who work together frequently develop habits/quirks”

j: “undoing your pants in front of each other”

fan: “probably not as many people do that”

j: “no”

they know how gay they are. they know. they know we think they’re fucking. they don’t care. they encourage it. why. jensen is absolutely revelling in this. he has not one single problem with people shipping him with misha

and i am dying because of it

09:45

fan: “i was wondering if there’s anything that doesn’t involve your pants--”

*jensen shakes his head*

fan: “--that you only do around each other”

jensen covers his mouth ~don’t say the thing~

oh no

(bless this question-asker)

09:49

AND HERE MISHA GOES CHANGING THE TONE BECAUSE JENSEN CAN ONLY THINK OF INAPPROPRIATE THINGS

PART 2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0BnSu26yjE&ab_channel=thiniassk

09:53

m: “jensen came in, his eyes were red, i gave him a hug... jensen said - i’m quoting here - don’t do that”

(jensen smiles)

m: “we have these brief interstitials”

OOH interstitials. what a good word

09:55

when misha is talking, jensen listens. he LISTENS. he reacts in real time.

when jared talks, he zones out so much more often, or at least acts like he does (”i’m sorry, what were you saying? i zoned out”)

idk what to make of it

10:01

jensen’s lil speech <3

also bless daniella for always being the hero we need

10:05

jensen’s like ~welp i just spilled my heart out!! time for a circus act and some unicorn violence

10:06

DAT NECK SQUISH THO

i wasn’t expecting it to turn into this

... this panel has so much more jensen than misha. misha’s so quiet and still. and jensen’s so animated and talkative and aggressive and affectionate ??

is misha sick, tired, or upset?

10:10

https://youtu.be/T0BnSu26yjE?t=9m5s

fan asks what dean and cas would do together on a scooter in rome

m: “WHEN IN ROME”

and jensen looks at him like his gay innuendo alarm is flashing red

.....but like. they’re in rome. when in rome. gay things happen in rome. yes?

m: “NAUGHH NO you’re taking this the wrong way, i just mean ‘when in rome’ i just mean, show each other our underwear”

NOT ANY LESS GAY

AND NOW IT’S COCKLES AS WELL AS DESTIEL

++ misha referring to dean and castiel’s underwear as “our” underwear

m: “NOT ANYTHING WEIRD.”

what’s weird misha. what would you classify as weird. tell us.

*jensen’s dead eyed blue steel*

m: “YOU CAN’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT ANY MORE BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID” (misha’s voice breaks)

MISHA RAWRS

OH NO

.........................jensen sPREADS his legs

oh no

JENSEN COULD YOU LITERALLY ACT ANY MORE LIKE YOU’RE IN HEAT

FUCK

10:18

this person’s head is blocking my goddamn view

but

jensen

what is the purpose of your face

10:20

https://youtu.be/T0BnSu26yjE?t=10m47s

fan: what would dean and cas do in rome, “a holiday” ?

m: *to jensen* “where do you GO with that?”

j *flirty*: “i know where i’m goin’~”

IN WHAT WAY EXACTLY COULD THIS BE INTERPRETED IN A NON-DESTIEL NON-GAY WAY

I‘M TRULY, TRULY STRUGGLING

look why don’t they just say “dean and cas would rent a hotel room and fuck the shit out of each other for five days straight” OH YEAH BECAUSE THAT’S TOO CLOSE TO THE TRUTH RIGHT

BUT THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE BASICALLY SAYING ANYWAY

they could’ve said “eat all the italian food” and “check out some of the monuments, dean and cas probably haven’t seen a lot of that stuff, cas knows all the history since he was alive in ancient times, and jensen would really appreciate a holiday spn episode in the future” BUT NO

THEY DELIBERATELY LEAVE IT OPEN AND MAKE SURE EVERYONE’S THINKING ABOUT ROMANTIC GAY SEX

forget the underwear exposure, i need all the gifs of this and all the meta

THIS IS WAY GAYER

i’mma puke rainbows brb

10:28

misha tries to save it with “the colosseum” BUT JENSEN’S FACE IS ALREADY LIKE “I SAID A GAY THING DIDN’T I”

misha: *rushed* “yes great question thank you”

THAT WAS IN NO WAY THEM AVOIDING “DEAN AND CAS WOULD MAKE LOVE”

NGHGHNH

m: “i don’t know how you’d answer that. i feel like there’s a lot of..”

daniella: *says something*

m: “go to the vatican?”

nope. hopeless. it’s too late, you can’t save this misha, it’s already gay.

fan: “can you explain why cas is driving the motorcycle and not dean?”

i love this person and their suspiciously gay questions

https://youtu.be/T0BnSu26yjE?t=11m49s

(can anyone figure out what jensen says when misha’s saying “dean actually drives the impala but...”)

PART 3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xr1d_7fG5zA&ab_channel=thiniassk

10:36

AW MAN EVERYONE RUSHED ON STAGE AND I WANTED TO HEAR JENSEN’S ANSWER TO WHATEVER THE QUESTION WAS!!!! he did comedy elbows followed by throat stroking and lots of thinking I WANTED TO KNOW WHAT WAS SO DIFFICULT TO EXPRESS

10:40

https://youtu.be/Xr1d_7fG5zA?t=3m7s

MISHA DUCKS AND HE PUTS HIS FINGERS IN HIS EARS

gimme the gifs friends i need them

10:42

THIS IS THE LAST JIBCON??????? NOOOOOOOOO WHAT

WAit wait---- wait............

DANIELLA says: “LOOKS LIKE THERE’S GOING TO BE ANOTHER ONE”

YYYYYAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY MORE COCKLES

fsjdgfd that was scary

daniella’s crying

oh god i love her so much

YESSS SHE DESERVES TO HAVE HER NAME CHANTED BY A CROWD

10:46

did jensen and misha leave the stage? i’ve lost them

did they go off for a bathroom quickie or what

10:48

the endddddddd

ahh i’m exhausted now

in short: jensen’s head over heels in love, horny, in heat, and definitely spreads his legs in bed

misha? seems a lil upset. quiet. not as energetic as he usually is, which was surprising given jensen’s highkey flirtation. this panel was a lot of jensen and not a whole lot of misha, or misha+jensen as a pair. jensen was throwing a ton of sexual energy at misha and not getting much of anything back.

idk how to feel about it, but a tiny bit of me is disappointed? and maybe a tad concerned. however, that said, they did make it fun and interesting AND SUPER FUCKING GAY

this panel reiterated to me that romantic destiel is a thing and they know it, and anything jensen says against that is just consciously-created bullshit

also? he lies really easily and really well. and it’s usually to protect some kind of face-value manly-man thing. even if he counteracts it within seconds.

but i find it very interesting how he looks to misha as his source of how much masculinity he’s required to protect. he asks misha “too much?” regarding the unicorn violence, and looks at him any time he made a gay or unfeminist joke that was a little risque (the “fairy” thing about jared, the “real men have twins” shirt)

it’s like misha’s his gatekeeper for gayness and softness, jensen clearly trusts him implicitly, and vice versa (although misha seems shaky on that, second-guessing why he told jensen a private story which jensen wanted to tell but misha was all NO NO NO OMFG)

but IMAGINE HOW MANY SECRETS THEY HAVE TOGETHER

OH NO

hopefully there’ll be some more cockles soon ...but at least we have hawaiicon to look forward to in november!! =u=

#Cockles #Cockles meta #jibcon #jibcon 2017 #conventions #my Cockles meta #Elmie watches things #post of postiness #Jensen's sexuality #Jensen Ackles #Misha Collins

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quinzelade · 7 years ago

Text

By No Constraint (chpt 72)

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, @waiting4morning, for her wonderful work!

Tumblr has apparently changed its linking rules, meaning I can no longer externally link my FFnet or Ao3 accounts if I want my story to show up in the tag search on tumblr. If you want update alerts, please search ‘quinzelade’ on either of these sites and follow me there.

This is the final ‘main’ chapter. Next week is the epilogue.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

–

Family Ties

–

Michelle Cooper was a mess. She lay curled up in a bunk at the top of the ship, thin and unwashed, her hair greasy and unkempt. Her face was pale, her eyes blank and unseeing, staring past Quinn, who was crouched down next to her.

“Did you hear what I said?” Quinn asked, giving Michelle’s shoulder a little shake.

Michelle flinched and snapped her gaze to Quinn, blinking slowly. “What?”

Quinn bit her lip. She had avoided going to Cade to ask about Michelle’s condition, because she didn’t want another prolonged goodbye with Carson. Everything that needed to be said had been said. Quinn couldn’t do it again. But Michelle was clearly in a bad way. Quinn had heard the rumours, how she’d been taken off active duty and given time to recuperate, to no effect. Instead, Michelle was deteriorating.

“Josh,” Quinn repeated gently. “I’m leaving to do work in the Commonwealth. Josh asked to go with me. If he went with me, it would be unlikely you’d see him again. I know this is a hard thing for me to ask you, but Josh wants it, and I think in the long run—”

“Take him.”

Quinn stopped. She gawped at Michelle Cooper, the speech she’d prepared to convince Michelle to let Josh go collapsing to dust. There was a long silence while Quinn tried to get a hold of herself. Michelle Cooper returned to staring at the wall.

Eventually, in a strangled voice, Quinn managed to say, “You’ll never see him again, Michelle. Are you sure?”

“I can’t look after him,” Michelle replied, not bothering to meet Quinn’s eye again. “I can’t even look after myself. It’s for the best.”

Quinn had expected more of a fight. Now she hadn’t got it, she was at a loss what to do. She studied Michelle for a moment and then said, “Do you want to say goodbye to him?”

“No.”

Anger rushed through Quinn like wildfire, and it took everything she had to hold her tongue. Instead, she gave a nod she was sure Michelle couldn’t see, stood up, and left. Quinn wasn’t going to waste her time on such a pathetic, selfish—

She breathed hard through her nose as she stomped through the ship, her mind racing. How could anyone be so disinterested in a child? Even grieving, Michelle still had a responsibility to Josh, still had to set the example and keep herself together.

The look on Josh’s face when he’d pleaded with Quinn to take him with her surfaced in her thoughts, and she felt a stab of guilt. The desperation, begging her for an escape. The despair when she said no. She’d had no idea. No idea it was this bad.

The disgust coursing through her was near overwhelming. She just couldn’t understand how little Michelle cared for Josh. He was reliant on her for love and support, and instead she just moped in her bed, with no thought for anyone but herself.

As Quinn seethed, she slowly became aware that her anger wasn’t entirely directed at Michelle. Sure, she was furious with Michelle, but there was something else too. It needled at her, scratching her with guilty memories until the wounds bled with self-loathing.

This could have been her. It nearly had been her. This was what Charlie faced that night, when she’d drank herself into oblivion. Scared enough to traverse a dark and dangerous wasteland for help. Scared enough to reach out for Danse.

Never again. Never again.

Danse had saved her. Saved them both. He was everything she wasn’t: calm and controlled. Thoughtful. Responsible. He really was her better half, brought out the best she could be. She loved him.

Quinn swore there and then to remind him of this fact when they were reunited. She didn’t tell him enough.

For now, though, there were more important, pressing things to deal with. It didn’t take her long to locate Josh, questioning the staff on the ship, as well as the other squires. He was in his room.

This was news to Quinn, who assumed that the Coopers slept in the open bunk space with the rest of the soldiers. But as it turned out, only Michelle lived in the shared bunks. Josh lived in a ‘family room,’ as had his parents when they’d been alive. The idea of three or more people being crammed into one small living space while the officers had their own private accommodation annoyed Quinn a little, but she decided not to dwell on it. Soon it would no longer concern her. At least they’d let Josh keep the room for the time being.

She knocked on the door and heard the sound of scuffling from within, followed by light footsteps. The door opened and Josh peered around the edge, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Can I come in?” Quinn asked.

“No.” He went to shut the door again, but Quinn jammed her foot in the gap. She heard him snarl and lean on the door, with little effect.

“Go away!” he grunted, opening the door and slamming it on her foot repeatedly. “Just...go away!”

“Squire Cooper!” Quinn snapped, and despite himself, Josh stood to attention.

He blinked, surprised at himself, and then glared at her. “What?”

“I have some questions for you. On your mother and father’s lives, I need you to answer them truthfully.”

Josh’s face paled, before slowly tinging green at the mention of his parents. “What kind of questions?”

“I’d rather talk in private. But whatever you answer, I’m not going to tell anyone else. This will stay between us. I promise. Now can I come in?”

His face darkened, but after a second he stood back in a silent invitation. She strode inside, her eyes trailing around the room. There were three beds, two of them pushed together, and another in the corner. The decor was sparse, one peeling Fancy Lads snack cakes poster on the wall, and a bookcase crammed with medical journals and old, classic novels. Next to the makeshift double bed stood a gleaming rifle—well cared for, but clearly old. Quinn wondered if it still worked.

“My mom’s,” Josh said sullenly, walking to the double bed and standing in front of it, as if trying to shield it from Quinn’s eyes. “My dad gave it her when they first met. She never wanted to take it out but always cleaned it.” He cast his eyes to the floor.

Quinn kept her distance. She was already intruding on a sacred place, and she didn’t want to impose any more than she had to. But it could all be worth it with some care and a bit of luck. Quinn took a deep breath. “How do you feel about synths?”

“Weapons of the Institute that will cause the destruction of humanity,” Josh said at once. His speedy reply betrayed the rehearsal behind the statement.

Quinn folded her arms, glaring at Josh until he reddened and dropped his gaze. She stared at him a little longer, and then said, “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me, Josh. I know how your mother felt about synths, and it wasn’t that.” Quinn wasn’t entirely sure if this was true—after all, Vivian Cooper had only ever defended Danse to Quinn—but the tone of their last conversation suggested she’d never seemed particularly threatened by synths. Quinn was banking everything on this assumption.

There was a long beat of silence, and then Josh shrugged. “I don’t really see anything wrong with them. My mom said they can’t help how they’re made. My dad used to look mad when she said that, until...until Paladin Danse died.”

Quinn’s stomach turned. “What happened when Paladin Danse died?”

Josh’s face crumpled, and she remembered that he used to idolise Danse. Josh bit his lip before saying, “Mom told me that Paladin Danse was a good man, even if he was a synth. She didn’t think he was a traitor. She said he probably didn’t know.”

“What did your dad say about that?”

“He...he didn’t say anything. But he didn’t look angry, either. Just sad. I think he agreed with mom but didn’t want to talk about it.”

Quinn’s heart suddenly felt light. This was what she had been hoping for. Maybe not a perfect opinion, but the foundations for acceptance. Vivian and Stephen did right by their son, it seemed. But she had one more question.

“How do you feel about ghouls?”

Josh scowled. “They’re gross. And dangerous.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, like my mom said, they can go feral. Eat you! I mean, I know synths kill people too, but the Institute is gone now, so they can decide what they want to do. But ghouls will always be like that. They’re monsters.”

Well, she was never going to get everything she hoped for. But it was more important that Josh tolerate synths, what with Charlie and Danse. And if Danse himself could learn to accept ghouls over time, then Josh could too. Adults were far more stubborn over bad habits and beliefs than children.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Josh,” Quinn said, straightening up.

Josh looked surly again. “Fine. Can you go now?”

“Sure,” Quinn said. But as she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder and added, “Or...you can come with me.”

Josh drew in an audible breath, his mouth slightly open. “What?”

“I spoke to your Aunt Michelle and Elder Maxson, and they both said if you want, you can come with me.”

“Don’t,” he whispered, going pale again. “Don’t prank me. This isn’t funny.”

Quinn smiled. “No prank. We can leave as soon as you pack your things.”

Josh stood as still as a statue, staring at her. His bottom lip began to tremble, and then suddenly he burst into tears. He ran to her, throwing himself at her. Quinn crouched down and held him tight.

“Go on,” she said into his ear when he eventually calmed down a little. “Go get your stuff.”

Josh broke away from her and nodded, wiping fruitlessly at his streaming eyes, before picking his mother’s rifle up and setting it carefully on his bed. Then he got onto the floor, scrambling under the frame and pulling out a box.

Quinn stood in silence for a while, watching Josh collect the little he owned. Whatever Danse said, this was still a risky thing to do. There were so many things that could go wrong. A high potential for her to lose everything. But like Danse insisted all those months ago, if Quinn could change her decision, would she? If the answer was ‘no,’ then she had done the right thing.

The look on Josh’s face was all she needed. He was coming home with her.

Danse picked up the Brotherhood flag off the floor, letting the fabric run through his fingers. He’d left it until the very end, avoiding the moment where he’d inevitably regret his disrespect towards it.

Brotherhood, through and through.

It didn’t matter how much he hated their methods, their betrayal of him, or the consequences of their dogged mantra...he was Brotherhood. He was a soldier. And he still cared about them.

Danse sighed and closed his eyes, kneading his forehead with fists still clenched around the flag. This was why he’d sent an encrypted message to Haylen so she could stay in contact with him. Why he’d packed up everything into his Brotherhood armour. He hoped Quinn would forgive him for leaving the new set behind. There were too many memories. Too much blood and pain and friendship trapped in the old, rusted plating.

Thinking of Quinn was sombering, though, and slowly he lowered his hands, letting the flag trail at his feet. Was Quinn alright? When would she be back?

As if on cue, the elevator rumbled to life. Danse quickly stashed away the flag in the compartment of his armour and clambered inside, before picking up his rifle. With any luck, it would be Quinn. But if not…

To his great relief, it was Quinn. And she had a companion with her.

Joshua Cooper stopped dead as he saw Danse, gripping at Quinn’s arm. Even from this distance, Danse could see the boy’s knuckles had gone white. His eyes were wide and fearful, and he stared up at Danse with great trepidation.

Danse set down his weapon on the nearby table and got out of his armour, trying to set Josh’s mind at ease. It seemed to work, and Josh slowly let go of Quinn’s arm, though he still looked apprehensive. Josh glanced at Quinn, who gave a small smile and gently pushed him forward.

“I...I knew your parents,” Danse said gruffly. “Worked with both of them for years. They were fine people. I’m...I’m sorry for your loss.”

Josh nodded, his bottom lip trembling. But then he squeezed his fists and any sign of upset disappeared. “My mom didn’t think you were a traitor. She said you were too nice. Too…” Josh fumbled for the word, “noble. That you wouldn’t betray any of us.”

“I didn’t,” replied Danse, the feeling of gratitude towards Vivian Cooper making him near dizzy. “I didn’t know what I was, and when I found out…” He shot Quinn a nervous glance. “I tried to make sure I was executed for it. Quinn convinced me otherwise. And I’ve kept my distance ever since, to make sure I didn’t pose a threat to the Brotherhood again.”

Josh considered this. “The Institute is gone, right? That means you’re safe. Because they aren’t there to try and control you anymore.”

Danse looked pained, but he nodded. “That’s right. I’m free.”

Josh raised his eyebrows at Quinn. “Is this why you didn’t want me with you, ma’am?”

Quinn went red. “Yeah. I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

Josh nodded solemnly. “Sensible.” He shifted his backpack and smiled. “But I’m glad you decided to trust me. Let’s go.” He stared up expectantly at them. No questions asked. No concerns. He talked like a soldier but accepted like a child.

Quinn and Danse looked at each other.

“Yeah. Let’s go,” she said, smiling at him.

“Quinn, wait, I…” The guilt was needling Danse now, so he could barely breathe. “I’m taking Brotherhood armour with me. I can’t leave it behind. I just…”

“Too many memories?” Quinn asked, and he nodded. “I thought you might. No big deal.”

Danse blinked at her. Didn’t she understand? “But you risked your life to get me the new set.”

“We can come back for it another day.”

“But what if it’s stolen?” His voice sounded childish, persistent. Danse cringed a little, but she clearly wasn’t getting it. She needed to know exactly what he was giving up, and reprimand him in turn for treating her gift so…

His thoughts cut short as Quinn got out of her own set of armour, emptied its contents, and walked across the room with her arms full. She approached Danse’s X-01 series, packed it up with her things, and then climbed inside. Danse stared at her.

“Your armour is important to you,” she said, her voice sharp behind the helmet’s sound filter. She strode over to him and patted him on the shoulder, almost knocking him over in the process. “Not enough space for all three of us at once. We’ll meet you up top.”

She held out her metal plated hand to Josh, who frowned. “I’m not a baby, ma’am.”

Quinn laughed. “Fair enough.” She gestured for him to follow, and they walked into the elevator together.

The doors closed.

I love her, Danse thought dimly to himself, overwhelmed by her gesture. She acted as if it was an easy decision—and maybe it was for her—but Danse could barely think for his gratitude.

I love her. I should tell her more often.

The scowl on Charlie’s face spoke volumes. He sat on the sofa, surrounded by comics, eyeing Josh with blatant dislike.

Josh looked equally wary. Quinn and Danse had explained to him on the way that Charlie was a synth. This seemed to unsettle Josh, but he didn’t comment on it. Now he was staring at Charlie like he was a bomb about to go off. Quinn didn’t blame him. Josh could quickly adjust to seeing Danse again, because he knew him, and because his parents had been open minded. But Charlie was an unknown quantity: uncertain...unsafe.

“Danse, why don’t you get Josh settled?” Quinn said pointedly. Danse nodded and ushered Josh into the next room.

“Why is he here?” Charlie hissed at once, in a tone that suggested highest treason. Quinn knew what he was thinking. She had brought another child into their home. Replaced him. This needed to be stopped before it truly got started.

“His name is Josh and he’s staying with us from now on,” Quinn said, before adding forcefully, “I don’t want to hear it!” as Charlie made to argue with her again.

She crouched down next to him and waited until he met her eye. He looked a mixture of furious and upset. She kept her voice low as she said, “Honey, you are my son. Nothing will change that. But I couldn’t leave Josh behind. His parents were murdered...and it was my fault.”

“How was it your fault?”

“I didn’t get to the fight in time. I let people down.”

“So you’re feeling guilty?”

Quinn winced. Nothing like the honesty of a child. “Yes. I am. But I’m also responsible for him. If his parents weren’t dead, he’d have somewhere to go. Family to be with. The least I can do is try to look after him, make sure he’s okay. But I need your help to do that.”

Charlie fidgeted. “Does he know I’m a synth?”

Quinn nodded. “He knows, and I think he’s a bit nervous. You’re the second synth he’s ever met, and…” An idea hit her, and she quickly seized it. “And you need to show him that synths are just normal people. That’s the only way things are going to change, by showing other people that synths are nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m just a kid,” Charlie said with a frown. “Why do I have to do this?”

“Because…” Quinn sighed. It was a good question, and the answer was unfair. “Because kid or not, you are a synth. You are always going to have to defend yourself against people that don’t know any better. Danse is the same. So where better to start than with someone your own age? You never know—you might make a friend.”

“I don’t want a friend,” Charlie replied moodily, folding his arms. “I don’t need a friend.”

“But Josh does. So please try. For me?”

Charlie pouted.

Quinn decided that was as good as she was going to get. She kissed Charlie on the head and stood up. She could talk about it again later. For now, better to see how Josh was getting on.

Danse passed her in the corridor, mumbling something about sleeping arrangements and disappeared out of sight. Quinn walked into Charlie’s room to find Josh sitting cross-legged on the floor, slowly unpacking his things.

There wasn’t a lot. A few pieces of uniform—some of which Quinn suspected had belonged to his parents, judging by the size—a couple of books, scrap that had been cobbled together into little statues, a rolled up poster, and a very battered action figure with a missing arm. Josh looked up as Quinn entered, and quickly stowed away the toy.

Quinn smiled. “You’re allowed toys here, Josh.”

“Oh.” Josh pulled out the toy, which Quinn recognised as Grognak the Barbarian, and set it down on the floor. “We were allowed them, but…”

“The grown-ups would tut about it?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well I won’t tut about it.” Quinn indicated to the stacks of comic books and toys she’d managed to salvage for Charlie. “You’re a kid.”

Josh’s eyes went wide. “Are they all his?”

“Yeah,” said a high voice behind them. Quinn turned to see Charlie hovering in the doorway. “What, never seen a comic before?”

Josh shrank away a little and shook his head. “No. Not this many.”

“They didn't keep comics on the ship?” Charlie edged closer, frowning.

“Some of soldiers kept them, and Proctor Quinlan had a lot. But the squires…” Josh shrugged. “Elder Maxson selected us so we could learn. Playing was a bad thing. A distraction of duty.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “That's stupid.” He walked past Josh, eyeing the Grognak figurine on the floor, and began sifting through his precious collection. He unearthed several Grognak issues and tossed them to Josh. “Here.”

Josh picked them up, his mouth falling open in shock. “Wow!”

“Not to keep,” Charlie said quickly, shooting Quinn a nervous look. “Mr. MacCready gave me them. But you can borrow them for a while.”

Josh stared at Charlie like he was a god descending from the heavens. Charlie blinked after a few seconds of awed silence, and then turned slightly red, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. He pointed to a colourful issue with a scantily-clad woman on the front—Why am I letting him read these things again? Quinn wondered—and said, “Start with that one: The Legend of the She-Squid. It’s the earliest issue I have.”

Josh nodded and opened it, but his brow furrowed almost instantly. “Wait, who is The Vixen?”

“Oh, that’s one of Grognak’s nemy—nemming—nemma—” Charlie peered at the front page of the comic, and then carefully said, “Nemeses. I think that means they fight each other and stuff. But he has a crush on her too. They kiss sometimes.”

Both boys pulled a face, caught each other’s eye, and then giggled. Charlie walked over, sat down next to Josh, and picked up another comic, advising Josh read that one after he was done with the She-Squid adventure.

Quinn left them to it. They didn’t even look up as she slipped away. She made her way back towards the living room, feeling a bit more settled. With any luck, there wouldn’t be any more issues, aside from typical sibling squabbling.

As she came back into the main part of the house, Quinn noticed Danse had already begun to unpack things from his armour. The Brotherhood flag was hung carefully on the wall. Quinn smiled. He still had a lot of baggage to work through, and she’d be with him every step of the way.

As if on cue, Danse tottered back into the house with a grunt, lugging a bed behind him. Quinn ran over to help him get it through the door, and then set it down in the living room. Danse wiped his forehead, panting, and gave her a grateful smile.

There were light footsteps, and Charlie poked his head from the corridor. “What are you doing?”

“Bringing a bed in for Josh,” Danse huffed, leaning against it. “Not sure where to put it yet, though.”

Before Quinn could say anything, Charlie replied, “Oh right. Put it in my room. Then Josh can look at my comics without taking them anywhere.” He disappeared back down the corridor, and a moment later Quinn heard him say, “So they took you on missions with them?”

“Yeah,” Josh replied, his voice muffled by the walls. “I’ve seen a super mutant up close. They’re really big.”

“Are super mutants like ghouls?”

“Kinda. They eat people too.”

Well, they seemed to be getting along at any rate. Quinn let Danse catch his breath while she absent-mindedly looked about the room. Her eyes fell on the flag pinned to the wall for a few seconds, before she glanced back at Danse. He had noticed where she’d been staring, and was now scarlet.

“I’ll take it down if you want,” he blurted out, moving around the bed in such a rush he tripped over the frame and nearly fell over. Quinn held out her hand to stop him, her palm on his chest as she bit back a laugh.

She looked up at him, trailing her fingers from his chest to his neck, before finally resting it on his cheek. “It’s important to you,” she said, tracing his lips with her thumb, “so it stays.”

Danse made an odd noise in the back of his throat and suddenly pulled her close. The kiss was long and tender, the stress that had plagued them since the day they’d met falling away. Danse pressed his hand to the small of Quinn’s back, while she wrapped her arms around his neck, never wanting to break apart. But they did, and they stared into each other’s eyes, oblivious to all around them.

“I—” they both said at the same time, before fumbling apologies and urging the other to speak first.

Danse laughed and ran his free hand through her hair as he kissed her forehead. “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Dragging me from rock bottom and making me see my own worth. Showing me I am capable of standing on my own two feet...and that there was a life after the Brotherhood.”

“Everything I helped you with, you deserved,” Quinn said, cupping his face with her palms as she kissed him again. “You make me a better person just by being yourself. Things aren’t so hard when you’re around.”

His cheeks grew hot at this, but he smiled all the same. “I love you.”

Quinn leaned against him and closed her eyes, smiling as Danse rested his chin on the top of her head. She snuggled into his chest and said, “I love you too.”

Danse squeezed her, but then they both looked up running footsteps came up the corridor, and Charlie and Josh ran into the room. Both boys halting, staring at Danse and Quinn, and then Charlie pulled a face.

“Ugh, Mom!” he exclaimed. “Dad! Gross!”

There was a long pause as Charlie’s words settled. Everyone looked from Danse to Charlie, both of them going scarlet.

“Um…” Charlie fidgeted, glancing between the two adults. “Do you mind if I call Mr. Danse that?”

Quinn and Danse looked at each other, and almost at once there was an unspoken understanding between them. Quinn turned back to Charlie, smiling. “If you’re comfortable with that, honey, then it’s fine with me.”

“And me,” Danse said, nodding.

Charlie looked delighted. “Cool!” He turned to Josh. “Come on. Let’s go play with Dogmeat.” He gestured to a beaming Josh, and the two boys ran from the house. Seconds later, their laughter and Dogmeat’s barks filled the air.

All Quinn’s worries about Charlie and Josh dissipated. She turned to Danse with a smile. “I think we’ll be alright.”

#fallout 4 #paladin danse #ss x danse #sole survivor x danse #by no constraint #story #writing

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abovethesmokestacks · 8 years ago

Text

Make Me Feel Like I’m Real (6/7)

Title: Make Me Feel Like I’m Real Pairing: T.J Hammond x OMC Rating: General Audiences Warnings: referenced assault (nothing graphic), a couple of bad words? Spoilers: spoilers for Political Animals (esp. the last couple of episodes)

Writer’s block hit me hard after last chapter, and I was not expecting to finish this chapter at all this month with Camp NaNo. Surprisingly, doing Camp NaNo has been instrumental in getting this chapter done; the joy of writing and creating, and I kept adding stuff to this chapter while working on the Camp NaNo-story with Loup. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as I do.

Tag list at the end of the chapter.

<< Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 >>

March 2015

It hurts. T.J struggles to claw his way back to consciousness only to be met by an onslaught of pain. It’s familiar, tendrils shooting from a thudding ache that seemingly encompasses his entire being. Shit. He knows without opening his eyes, hell, without even being fully conscious that he’s not in his own bed. He’s been here often enough to know the feeling of being in a hospital without seeing the sterile walls or hear the incessant beeping of the machines.

It’s strange how his lucidity decreases the more he wakes up. What day is it? Why- What happened? Okay, maybe he knows, or can guess, the what. Why is more important. He fumbles for any clue in his jumbled memories, each as fuzzy as the next. Election. Collier. Reeves.

Oh, god, no.

Not again.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

Out of everything he’s trying to grasp, it has to be the memories of finding out Sean Reeves won the Republican nomination that fill his clouded mind. His mother calling him and Aiden over for dinner. Having to relive everything, again. Because of course. It makes sense. They think they have a chance with Reeves as their candidate. He’s young, has the traditional values that attract voters, no scandals. Even if the tawdry story about him and T.J was to surface, he could easily turn it. Blame it on the Democratic party as a conspiracy to slander him, sweep it away as the desperate smear campaign of the opposing candidate’s junkie son, a proven liar and disappointment. Or he could launch an investigation into how the information was obtained. T.J has no objection to humiliating Collier further, but there are more important things to consider. He begs his mother not to be dragged onto the circuit again, not to have to stand and smile next to the rest of the family while sharing any kind of space with that man.

Elaine promised. She… she promised, right?

Did it not take?

”T.J?”

The voice is muted, fuzzy. He thinks he recognizes it, his consciousness turning towards it like a flower bending towards the sun. Fingers tread softly through his hair, and little by little, T.J finds the rest of his body, categorizing it by the level of pain radiating from each part. His head aches dully, while center mass feels like it’s been through the grinder. Legs don’t feel too hot, either. His arms are like spaghetti, the muscles there refusing to obey him when he tries to make either arm reach for whoever is talking.

”T.J, I’m here, please wake up.”

His eyes flutter open for the briefest second before he squeezes them shut, the light shooting much too bright and searing. A soft touch to his hair, his face, and it’s the most glorious sensation, even if it is tinged with discomfort. T.J tries again, squinting against the light until it doesn’t hurt, gradually letting his eyes open fully. The world around him is slightly out of focus, but he can make out two shapes, one of them leaning over him, bringing with it a sweet scent of sandalwood. T.J lets out a contented hum. He knows this scent, knows this touch.

Aiden.

He finds enough strength to lift an arm, just enough to make contact with Aiden before it fails him and the appendage falls limply to his chest. Groaning at the ache it causes, he sluggishly pulls it away. Aiden laughs next to him, breath hitting T.J face in warm gusts. He tries to say Aiden’s name, but it comes out jumbled, hidden in a breath and a groan, but somehow, the other man recognizes it.

“I’m here, baby. God, you had us scared. Do you need anything? Water? Should I get the doctor? How do you feel?”

“Sit down, sugar, you’re gonna break yourself.”

Another voice T.J would know anywhere. Guilt floods him, he hates that Nana has to see him like this again. Blinking a couple of times, he finds her, leaned back in a chair off to the side and slightly behind Aiden. She looks more than a little amused at her grandson’s boyfriend wrapped all around him, but T.J can discern the faintest trace of utter and complete relief in the way her posture relaxes and softens.

“Thirsty,” he finally croaks, and a small plastic mug of water is thrust into his hands before he can blink.

It feels like the water evaporates the second it hits his tongue, and T.J drinks greedily until his mouth and throat feel somewhat normal again. It doesn’t hurt like it usually does. No intubation, then. It doesn’t add up.

“Wh-what happened?”

Aiden frowns at him, wets his lips nervously. Wrong question.

“You don’t remember?” he asks, eyebrows still knit together.

T.J tries, digging in the muddled mess that is his memories. Had they been out? To be exact, had he been out? Dread fills him. Please, don’t let this be about Reeves. His mind gives him nothing, not a single flashback, and it scares the shit out of him. He shakes his head, and he can feel a lump forming in his throat when he notices his boyfriend’s shoulders slump.

“I’m… I think we should get the doctor in here. Or a nurse. They should know you’re awake? Right?”

The fact that Aiden is avoiding the subject isn’t comforting in the least, but T.J hums his assent at his question. It has to be done at some point, might as well get it out of the way. God, he has been doing so well.

By the time the nurse shows up to check his vitals and look through his chart, he’s geared himself up to face his failure, so much so that when the doctor arrives minutes later T.J has mentally already checked into rehab. He’s so distracted he barely registers when he’s filled in on all his injuries. Cracked rib, bruised kidneys, a concussion-

“Wait- concussion?”

Did he fall over?

“Yes,” the doctor, a kind- but rather sharp-looking woman, confirms. “You’re probably in a lot of pain. We were made aware of your past substance abuse, so certain pain medications were out of the question. You were in quite the rumble, mr. Hammond, from what your… friend told us.”

He can’t even be bothered to correct the doctor, staring at her. “I… what?”

“He doesn’t remember,” Aiden supplies, nervous fingers fiddling with T.J’s hair.

“Do you remember your name?”

He knows this, remembers it from the time he got a concussion when he was seven. The amnesia, the nausea, the disorientation. Nodding, he repeats his full name back at the doctor.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

The memories are there, T.J knows, and he should remember. Last time wasn’t nearly this bad. He fights to pull anything from his hazy mind, anything to smooth out the lines of worry etched into Aiden’s and Nana’s faces.

“We… were out?” he fumbles, knitting his eyebrows together. “Did- did we see a movie?”

There’s a smile that calms his heart. It’s small, something’s still missing, but it’s a start.

“Your memories will return in time,” the doctor says, checking his vitals and jotting them down on the chart. “We’ll need to keep you here another day for observation, just to make sure.”

She excuses herself, leaves the room and as soon as she’s out, T.J fixes Aiden with a look that demands an explanation, trying in vain to sit up straighter in bed. He winces, conceding to lying down and he can practically hear Nana scoff at his stubbornness.

“We barely got a block away from the movie theatre, you- a couple of guys, they started throwing insults around,” Aiden started, worrying his lower lip.

Oh, god.

Much as he’s relieved this has nothing to do with Reeves, that he hasn’t broken his sobriety, he has still fucked up. All the shit that got thrown his way when he was a teen gave him a habit of running his mouth, sassing and taunting whoever had the gall to try and insult him to his face. T.J shifts in the bed, bringing on a fresh wave of dull pain in his abdomen.

Boots.

It’s… not exactly a memory, but he just knows. They wore boots, not steel toed, but still sturdy enough to cause a pain so sharp he winces at the sense memory. A group of them, shouts dimmed, but he can vividly imagine what they had to say.

“Your mother wants to get a security detail on you again,” Nana remarks dryly, crossing her left leg over her right. “What the hell happened? This one,” She nods to Aiden, “wouldn’t tell me a peep.”

“I was freaking out, Ms. Barrish!”

“Margaret, Ms. Barrish makes me sound like my daughter. Now why did someone feel like they needed to beat the shit out of my grandson?”

Aiden’s gaze flickers back to him, asking without speaking what he should say, if he should tell the story. T.J quirks his eyebrow. It’s not like he’s going to be remembering a whole lot unprompted. Aiden nods almost imperceptibly, taking hold of T.J’s hand.

“We’d been to a movie, and were thinking about going somewhere to eat. You told me you wanted to try some new place that opened last week.”

“Anthony’s.” The name pops up along with a nagging thought that there was meaning behind his choice, something he still can’t recall.

“Yeah, Anthony’s,” Aiden affirms with a nod. “We got about a block from the movie theatre and a bunch of guys started yelling after us, trying to provoke us. It wasn’t anything either of us haven’t heard before, but for some god damned reason, this one had to confront them.”

Nana heaves a dramatic sigh, making a big show out of letting her forehead rest against her hand. She’s seen this before, in all its ugly permutations. Between him and Doug, T.J was always the more temperamental, and though a lot of it was hidden behind expectations and rehearsed politeness, he knew just how to provoke, lash out, bite back. It’s a defense mechanism, still hanging on from his sordid past and it finally came back to royally bite him in the ass.

“He just stood there,” Aiden continues, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Fuzzy memories are playing in his mind’s eyes, brought on by the narration. It’s not clear, more like an out-of-focus, damaged movie reel that occasionally sharpens and comes alive.

“One of them asked what he was staring at, only a little less polite, and T.J – not missing a beat – he just tells them-”

“That thing between your legs, it kinda looks like a dick, only smaller,” T.J echoes, the words spilling out of him before he can think.

He chuckles, remembers thinking it had sounded so god damn hilarious in the moment. It’s a zinger he’s been carrying for years, something he came up with too little, too late in high school after he came out and some of the guys in his PE class decided to throw a couple of insults his way. The difference between the jerks in high school and the ones he and Aiden had encountered last night is that adults pack a hell of a harder punch, or he wouldn’t be here.

Nana stand from her seat, crowding in next to Aiden to lean in and clasp T.J’s chin in her dainty hand. “Thomas James Hammond, if you hadn’t already been knocked into next week, I would hit you over the head. I swear to god… I don’t know whether your mother should be privy to this little nugget.”

“I’m sorry, Nana…”

He hates disappointing her so much, that look of sorrow that’s almost worse than anything else. She believes in him so much; his heart still hurts thinking back to her broken voice asking what happened to him, to the happy kid he’d been. T.J’s eyes burn, and he pulls his lower lip between his teeth to keep it from trembling. He didn’t want this to happen, he had the night planned, it was supposed to be perfect, he was-

“Honey, I can see you digging yourself into a pit.” Nana tilts his head gently up so she can meet his gaze, but T.J tries to avoid it. “T.J. Look at me. Maybe… Maybe the way you responded wasn’t the best, but that did not give those people the right to hurt you. It will never be okay. You understand me, young man?”

T.J nods, mumbling a muted “yes, Nana”, which seems to satisfy her enough to press a kiss to his cheek before settling back in her chair. They fall silent, T.J dozing off, waking with a start and wincing at the pain that continues to ache dully or give a quick shooting stab. Aiden stays by his side, hunched over the side of his bed, the expression in his eyes so soft and loving T.J wishes he could stay locked in that gaze forever. He feels bad for his boyfriend, the uncomfortable position, the worry he must have felt, and god, having to witness the assault. He can’t even begin to apologize for fucking up their night, not without breaking, so he opts for reaching out to take Aiden’s hand in his own.

He’s gently shaken awake, head feeling all fuzzy and he makes the mistake of trying to turn around to pull the covers over his head, the “five more minutes” on the tip of his tongue. The hiss in response to the pain is enough to start him awake, finding the hospital room still there, his body still battered, Aiden still by his side. T.J lets out a shuddering breath, sinking back into the pillows, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand.

“Can we settle the whole squirming and cover hogging issue now?” Aiden jokes, running the pad of his thumb over T.J’s knuckles.

“Pics or it didn’t happen.”

“You are awake!”

“Barely,” T.J rebuts, managing a small smile.

“Ugh, you two lovebirds are giving me diabetes…”

Nana’s moved, standing by the door and making faces at the two of them. T.J’s smile dies, looking from Nana to Aiden.

“You gonna leave?”

“Have to. Visiting hours are over, I can’t stay longer.”

T.J nods solemnly. This is the part he’s always hated about hospitals; the eventual moment when he’d be left alone. For some visits, he was lucky, his family was all in one place and they could take shifts, make sure he was alone as little as possible. Now, he’s not sure how long he was even out to begin with, the time he got to spend with Aiden and Nana was so brief, and now he’s about the be left alone?

“Hey… I’ll be back tomorrow. The doc came in again while you were sleeping. If you’re looking okay tomorrow, they’ll let you come home.”

“Jail break me if they won’t discharge me?” he manages, forcing a small quirk of his lips.

“Only if you make a break for it in the hospital gown.”

They both snort, and Aiden presses a kiss to the corner of T.J’s mouth, careful to avoid any of the bruising and abrasions on his face. Humming, T.J settles back into the bed, receiving a light kiss on the cheek from Nana before his two visitors say goodbye and exit the room. Taking a deep breath, he lets his eyes flutter close and tries to keep his mind focused on every positive thing he can think of until he slowly falls asleep.

It’s an uneasy sleep, the nurses coming in to wake him and check on his condition throughout the night, reminding him of the fact that he’s here alone. The last couple of hours before morning rounds are fitful and even though T.J’s probably slept for a decent amount of hours if you count all the little bits together, he feels like he’s been awake for days. The doctor comes back, and for a moment he’s hopeful, waiting for the magical word “discharge” to come up in their stilted conversation, but nothing.

He sulks through something that passes for breakfast, wanting nothing more than to be home and watch Aiden curse through half a dozen eggs before he manages two good eggs Benedict to go with their toast and bacon and orange juice. They have been talking about moving together, about how ridiculous it is to have two places when they could make do with one. It’s been…

His head feels sluggish trying to count the months, but finally arrives at just under one and a half years. One and a half years of loving the same man and not having it torn apart, a little over a year of staying clean. He’s never been at this point before, where his life feels like it’s all coming together, like he has a future that won’t end with his ultimate misfortune splattered over the front pages of the newspapers.

“Knock, knock.”

It’s two hours later when Aiden’s voice reaches him, and T.J smiles at his attempt to hide behind the door. It would’ve worked, but in trying to peek around it to see if T.J had spotted him, his hair stuck out.

“I swear to god, you’re ten,” T.J snickers, lifting the tray of picked apart breakfast food to the small nightstand.

“Excuse you, I’m twelve and you know it,” Aiden shoots back, coming out from behind the door.

He takes in T.J’s state, which admittedly hasn’t improved a lot since last night, giving him a warm smile before kissing him softly. T.J doesn’t want to break the kiss, stretching as far as his battered body allows before the pain wins out and their lips part.

“How you feeling?”

“Same. Better,” T.J answers, only to get a look from Aiden that has him conceding: “I don’t know really. Same? Sort of same?”

“Has the doc been in to check on you?”

“Came in before breakfast.”

“And?” Aiden presses, taking his seat next to the bed.

“She’s an excellent hummer.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There was a lot of humming,” T.J clarifies, suppressing a snicker at the inadvertent innuendo. “She asked me a bit about how I was feeling, what I remembered.”

“And? Did she say anything about discharging you?”

“No.”

“No? Did you ask?”

“Well, no…”

Aiden groans, smacking his hand against his forehead in exasperation “T.J!”

“What? I figured she’d tell me if I was going home!”

“Jesus Christ… I may be twelve, but at least I’m older than you, you child!”

Shaking his head, Aiden rises and disappears out the door, no doubt to hunt down T.J’s doctor for answers. T.J kinda hopes he’ll force her to discharge him, but he knows better than to hold out hopes for anything hospital-related. It hasn’t served him well in the past. However, he hasn’t had Aiden with him in the past, because not ten minutes later, his boyfriend returns with the doctor in tow, looking far too pleased with himself.

Another round of humming and examining and questions begin, and T.J is itching to just go home. He tries to play nice and not sigh exaggeratedly when he’s asked the same question for what feels like the fiftieth time, or when the little flashlight is waved back and forth in front of his eyes.

“So, mr. Hammond, how are you feeling?”

“I’m…” He hesitates for a moment, gives himself a second to actually take stock of his body and injuries. “I’m okay. Doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday.”

“But you’re still in pain?” the doctor prods, making a note in the chart.

“Well, a little, I guess?”

“Any dizziness?” T.J shakes his head, and another note is made. “Nausea? How’s your memory?”

“No nausea. And I’m not sure about the memory,” he admits, wringing his hands.

“Can you remember what happened?”

“Aiden told me, and I kinda remember bits and pieces. It’s getting clearer. I know what day it is today, I don’t get confused over that, I remember my name, my address, my phone number, all those things.”

A nod is all he gets, and it is infuriating. She looks over his chart again, humming and looking and not giving away anything about whether he can go home or not. T.J is about ready to flip his lid and scream, when he finally speaks.

“I’d like to keep you here for another hour, just in case. If you’re still feeling okay then, I see no reason why you can’t go home, mr. Hammond.”

It’s the longest hour of his life, of just lying there with nothing to do, while Aiden keeps glancing at the clock, reminding him how long until he can go home and asking if he feels okay every ten minutes. He’s fine, or as fine as one can be after having been assaulted. Probably won’t be skipping down the street anytime soon, but he can live with that. He can accept the bedrest he is prescribed, because he will be home. He will go along with Aiden’s likely request of staying with him so he won’t be alone in case something happens. Trouble will probably park on his chest and make him ache, but he doesn’t care.

He wants to go home.

When he’s finally approved to leave, he hates the fact that any major movement causes him pain because he wants to fucking tap dance because he’s so happy. Aiden fusses over him, to the point where he has to ask him to go call a cab for them so they can go home because he’s a grown man and has been able to dress himself for a major part of his life.

He regrets sending away Aiden about five minutes later when he’s trying to get his pants on, grunting with each and every dip and bend, hissing when the waist of his jeans cling too tightly to his bruised and swollen skin. Getting into his t-shirt and blazer brings another round of shooting pain that makes him reconsider Aiden’s quip about jailbreaking in the hospital gown. He has a nice ass, who cares if people see it as he walks out?

T.J catches his reflection in the window as he moves to exit. Despite little sleep and bruises and the awkward way he holds himself to keep the pain in check, he still looks as dapper as the night before. He’d just wanted a nice night out, movie and dinner that did not come in a greasy carton. His hand flies up to the buttoned inside pocket of his blazer, fingers running over the little bump there, the memory returning. He’d had a plan. Now he can’t even kneel like he is supposed to.

With a sigh, T.J walks out of the room to sign his discharge papers and go home.

It’ll have to wait.

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Strike-through means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!

#t.j hammond #t.j x omc #t.j x aiden #political animals #political animals fanfiction #political animals imagine #fic: make me feel like i'm real

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