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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years ago

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Beautiful Ghosts

Ghost!Reader X Draco

Summary: Request: @sydthekid1518: I had an Idea for a draco fic, where y/n is a ghost that’s fairly popular with the students and staff, and draco falls for her and stuff? And then maybe y/n and Harry create a plan that would allow reader to come back to life and stuff and be with draco.

A/N: Happy spooky season to all and to all a good night filled with Draco Malfoy. I’m so excited about how this turned out and that I got it done before Halloween because the odds weren’t looking to hot not gonna lie, but here it is and it’s beautiful. As always, let me know what y’all think,,,

“Y/n, please don’t disturb my students,” Snape droned with a monotone voice.

“You’ve got no power over me, Severus,” I laughed, ghosting away from his Slytherins working on Polyjuice potion.

“But I do have control in this classroom, dead or not Miss Y/n, this is my domain,” Snape argued, ruffled.

“I’m eternally bonded to this school. It’s my domain more than it is yours,” I countered, perched on his desk.

“Blasted ghosts,” A boy muttered, catching my attention, “No respect for authority,”

Tilting my head, I made my way over to him, studying the young Slytherin. He was about the age that I was when I had died, moved on, crossed the veil—whatever. His steady grey eyes and twisted sneer told me all that I needed to know about him.

“Another Malfoy,” I mused. “Interesting... And where’s your respect for the dead Mr. Malfoy?”

His eyes went wide at the idea that I was addressing him at all. Like I spooked him. Imagine that, a ghost spooking someone.

“Enough Ms. Y/n. Kindly refrain from scaring my students if you must stay,” Snape intervened. “I’m not scared,” Malfoy shot back.

“Boo!” I teased before passing through the walls of the dungeon and into my favorite spot in the entire castle, even living: the library.

I never had so much time on my hands before being dead, and now I could just take a book and read. Pince had been able to enchant them in such a way that I was able to hold them and turn their pages still. I was in the middle of a riveting tale about a boy who never grew up and had his destiny forced upon him and could fly. Perched on one of the tops of the shelves, I was lost in another world of magic.

“I didn’t know you could read,” I heard the same condescending voice from Severus’ potions class earlier that day.

“Little Malfoy,” I smiled down at him, closing my book. “And why would you assume that? I don’t look that stupid, do I?”

“Well, no,” He fumbled. “But you’re a ghost, you’re dead,”

“Yes, and I like to read, anything else?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t call me little Malfoy. My name’s Draco,” He huffed.

“But it annoys you,” I mocked a pout. “And you are a little Malfoy, a bit taller than your father, but young all the same,”

“Who are you calling young? We’re the same age,” His voice raised enough that Pince had to shush him.

“I was born in 1776, I think you’re a little young,”

“1776!?” Draco’s eyes bulged. “But... how? You’re...” Pince hushed him again. I floated down and perched on the desk, trying and failing to contain my laughter.

“Oh, so now you care little Malfoy?” I teased lightly. “What happened to your dismissal of spirits not hours ago?” He didn’t have an answer for that. He just stared and didn’t dare to meet my eyes. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you some time, but you’re going to be late for McGonagall if you don’t get going,”

Flustered, Draco headed out of the library and I watched him go. Knowing that Remus had a class this hour with the infamous Harry Potter, I headed over and perched on a desk in the back.

“Miss Y/n,” Remus acknowledged, “Perhaps you’d like to aid us today as we learn about ghosts and spirits?” Even though he had grown quite a bit over the years, there was still the same shine in his eyes when he was able to teach—even if it wasn’t a rag-tag group of marauders.

“So... you’re a ghost?” A young Hermione asked, a girl who spent a lot of hours in my library.

“Yes,” I smiled at her. “There are different types of ghosts however,”

“Oh, yes, Poltergeists, Funnels, Whisps, Orbs, and Shades,” She said matter-of-factly.

“Exactly, and Hogwarts has them all,” I looked to Remus who nodded for me to continue. “Most of you know that Peeves is a Poltergeist, a trickster loud ghost. Sometimes they were loud and violent, sometimes... well sometimes you have something like Peeves.” The class laughed.

“I’m sure you all have heard of the Grey Lady?” Remus interjected. “Helena Ravenclaw was murdered by the Bloody Baron and spends the rest of her days here at Hogwarts, they are both what we classify as Funnel ghosts. Ghosts who visit loved ones or loved places,”

“What about Whisps?” An intrigued Weasley asked.

“Well, most others are Whisps,” I explained. “Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, and most others you see strolling about. There is no strict reason that they’re here, other than they chose not to move on, or felt their work on earth was not completed.”

“Orbs are normally the spirits of animals or humans travelling about,” I continued, “They mainly show up in photographs. It wasn’t till after I died that cameras were invented, and they were found,”

“Any what kind of ghost are you?” A shy kid in the back asked. The class of kids turned to me, all expectant.

“I’m a Shade,” I explained. “It means that when I died, I wasn’t meant to. My soul knowing that, remained, and here I am,”

“Shades are very rare in the Wizarding World,” Remus cut in, “Not many are killed before their time, and many of them are very young,”

“Aren’t Shades allowed to come back though?” Hermione asked. “Because they were wrongfully killed? Doesn’t fate allow them another chance?”

Remus and I shared a look. I remembered when he had asked me that same question when he was no more than a third year as well. There was a solemn sorrow in his eyes.

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly. “There is a possibility, but the odds are almost impossible. Most of them have to do around prophecies.”

Class had ended, and Hermione waved as she went to leave. I lingered behind a bit with Remus for old times’ sake. He was one who had always been kind to me. I was one who never judged him for being a werewolf before he found his marauders.

“Sirius escaped from Azkaban,” He whispered softly, his gaze fixed on the papers on his desk. “I... I thought I was over it. Over him. He had my best friends killed,”

Pity flooded my chest as I hovered over to him, my hand ghosting above his.

“That wasn’t your fault Remus...” Was I going to give away the truth that I knew? Or would I keep it a secret? “And it wasn’t Sirius’ either,”

“How can you say that!” Remus slammed his hand on the desk. “He gave away Lily and James’ location! Then he killed Peter!”

“Remus,” I shook my head. “I can’t tell you everything, because it’s not in the stars, but... your friend isn’t who you think he is,”

A quiet moment passed between us and rather than get upset at me like I had thought he would, he spoke softly and surely.

“You’re... you’re saying there’s hope?”

“There’s always hope,” I offered a soft smile. “For all of us... even me,”

“How are you doing with that? The prophecy?” He asked.

I sighed and shook my head. “I might really be stuck like this for the rest of... forever...”

“Is there anything...?”

“No,” I denied softly. “Interfering with a prophecy can ruin it,”

“Can,” Remus stressed. “Not that it will,”

“But is it worth that risk?” I countered. “I could lose my one shot to come back. To be human again,”

“If I could be human again, I’d take any chance I could,” Remus’ eyes held a sadness that very few could sympathize with. One of those was me.

“Perhaps you’re right,” I murmured and let him be, drifting around the halls for a bit then back to the library to think some more and maybe find the right answer.

What I didn’t expect to find however was Draco, fast asleep where we had spoken earlier, draped over a few books and handwritten notes. I hadn’t noticed the late hour, sometimes time did elude me, and the days seemed to run together.

I didn’t want to wake the young Malfoy, instead, I peered at the books underneath him. Potions books, it seemed. Supposing that a Slytherin might have a partiality to Snape’s class, there was no need to question why he’d rather work on this subject than the others. Knowing Pince would chase Draco out of the library if he didn’t wake, my notion to not disturb him fell to the wayside.

“Malfoy!” I whispered loudly. “Draco, wake up!”

It was useless to try and shake him awake, I wasn’t able to. I could however pull the book out from under his resting head. So, I did.

“Bloody hell,” Draco grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What’d you do that for?”

“You fell asleep?”

“And that was the only way you know how to wake a person?” He snapped, blinking into consciousness.

I gave him a flat look and reached out to touch him. He shied away, but it was in vain because my hand passed right through his material body.

“Oh,” He muttered. “But you can touch the books?”

“Pince and I worked on that together,” I informed him. “Did you think I would spend eternity and not figure out how to read?”

“I... uh,” He stammered, blushing a bit. “How come I’ve never met a ghost like you before?”

“And that means?” I pressed, perching on the desk.

“Well, all of the other ghosts are... I don’t know... stuck in their ways? Not sad about being ghosts? Haven’t kept up on things like reading?”

“You think I’m sad about being a ghost?” I mused.

“I... you—I mean,” He stammered, looking down in embarrassment. “You just seem... optimistically hopeless,” It was almost mumbled through his exhaustion.

“You know those words have opposite meaning, right?” I teased softly. “And... I’m a Shade. I doubt you’ve met another before like me,”

“A Shade?”

“Do you not pay attention in Remus’ class?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t have his class until tomorrow,” Draco dismayed. “And it’s a stupid class anyway,”

“Defense against the dark arts isn’t stupid,” I refuted. “Especially with Remus teaching it,”

“You knew him then... when he went here. Professor Lupin,” Draco noted.

“Yes,” Lost in thought, a quietness passed before I spoke again. “When you learn what a Shade is, you’ll understand,”

“You could just tell me,” Draco whined, listlessly tired.

“But then you won’t pay attention in class,” I smiled. “Go on to bed, Draco. I’m not going anywhere,”

____________________________

Draco sulked in bed that night, thinking about you. Thinking about what a Shade was. Of course, he didn’t wait for class in the morning, instead he took out his DADA book and began to read up on ghosts. And he read. And read. And read. And barely found anything about what a Shade was. All that he knew was that you died when before your time. Maybe that was why he saw the sadness in your eyes.

He had every intention to be at Lupin’s class that day, but having Mythical Creatures beforehand, things hadn’t gone as planned.

“There’s always one,” Your voice sounded amused. “Why am I not surprised it was you, Little Malfoy?”

“It was the bloody hippogriff,” Draco snapped back.

“And somehow I don’t think that’s the entire truth,” You mused, hovering at his bedside. Until Pomfrey gave him the clear to leave, he was stuck with you.

“Won’t you just leave me alone?” He groaned, closing his eyes and laying back on the lumpy pillows of the hospital cot.

“Did you not want to learn about Shades? You’re going to miss Remus’ class after all,” The smile he heard in your voice made him look over to you, skeptical.

Your offer was tempting. Very tempting. He didn’t care much about magic other than excelling at it, therefore things that didn’t pertain to his advancement—mythical creatures and the like— held no inkling to him. And yet, you were a mystery he didn’t mind learning about. He wanted to know more about you. And you specifically.

“I guess, since I’m stuck here,” He tried to play it off as nonchalance, but you raised an eyebrow at him, seeing right through his charade.

“Well, Little Malfoy,” You hovered and perched on the end of his bed. “What do you know?”

“I... uh. Shades are people who have died before their time,” He stammered, not sure why he was so nervous.

“Quite,” You nodded. “Anything else?”

“Our book didn’t have anything else,” He admitted.

You went pensive a moment then nodded. “I suppose that you’d learn more about me in Divination than the Dark Arts,”

“Divination? You’ve got to be bloody joking! That class is a circus!” Draco exclaimed, wincing when he moved his arm too much.

“Perhaps,” You didn’t berate him, but seemed to be lost in thought once more. “But all Shades are tied to prophecies.”

“All of them?” Draco pressed.

“The fates understand that these souls left before their time, and give them another chance, a prophecy... to come back and live one more time.”

“So, you have the chance to live again?” His genuine curiosity seemed to shock both of you. “How?”

“If the prophecy is fulfilled, then I get to live again,” You said it as if it were obvious.

“So, why haven’t you, I don’t know... fulfilled it?” Draco asked.

You laughed something sad and soft. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve read every prophecy, every book, every scribble. I’ve tried everything... after so many centuries, you give up hope and accept your fate,”

“But this wasn’t your fate,” He argued back. “You were meant to live, back then, whatever that life was,”

“Do you know what happened when I was young, before I died, Little Malfoy?” You spoke, and he could hear the age in your voice though you liked no older than he was. It was your sorrow that aged you. He waited for you to continue. “I was born in 1776, the year the Americans went to war with the King of England. At the time we were living in the French countryside with my aunt because my father had gone to fight in the war. He was a general,” A smile ghosted your lips. “My father died in the war... the battle of Yorktown... that’s what it’s called today. Back then it was just a letter and inheritance money that went to my brother,”

“Hang on, you’re saying that your father fought in the American War of Independence? Under the king?”

“So, he can be taught,” You smiled at him. “Yes, the king at the time was a wizard and until parliament and the ministry were born and declared that muggles and wizards should rule themselves. Of course, the ministry was formed in the beginning of that century, but it took the war for them to call the final straw.”

“So, your father died in the war, that doesn’t explain what happened to you,” Draco pointed out, deeply invested.

“Well, tell me, what happened in France after that war ended?”

“The French Revolution,”

Your warm smile had the same effect as the sun. “Yes, and as I said, I was in France at the time, being tutored at home for the summer. Muggle girls weren’t allowed to go to school back then... I travelled to Hogwarts to receive schooling and even then, I was only allowed to learn Herbology and Potions. At least those two classes stayed the same,” You sounded sad and wistful. “But the revolutionists were going for the rich, any sort of rich. And at the time, they saw knowledge as wealth and power, and I had a reputation for being able to read and attending a private school out of the country and well...”

“They killed you because you knew how to read?” Draco distressed, sitting up, enraptured by your tale. “That’s so... stupid,”

“It was. But perhaps it was my own fault, I wouldn’t deny that I could read. I was proud.” Your smile faded again as melancholy settled on your face. “Now it seems that’s all I do. Fate is funny like that...”

“You’re free to go Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice seemed to draw you both from whatever world had been created with your words.

He had to blink a few times to come to grips with the fact that he was currently in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and not centuries behind, trying to imagine death for the reason of knowledge. There was an awkward moment between the two of you as you both seemed to realize that you were no longer int eh late eighteenth century. You offered a smile and left without another word, a curious look on your face as you left.

That was the last time he saw you that day, and that week for that matter, but he always wondered what you were doing. What were you reading today? What was your prophecy? Was it really as hopeless as you said it was? Was there a reason that he found himself caring?

______________________

“Oh, hello Harry,” I stood from the corner of Remus’ office, intrigued that the young Potter had come. He looked so much like his father that my heart ached for Remus and to imagine what he felt when he saw Harry.

“Y/n,” Harry seemed surprised. “I... uh... you know Professor Lupin?”

“Well I was here when he went to Hogwarts himself, so yes, I’m quite fond of him if you can believe it,” I smiled as Remus eyed the situation.

“Is there something that you needed Harry?” Remus asked, trying to sound professional, but I could hear the sentiment in his voice.

“The map...” Harry turned slightly pink.

A smile grew on my face. “You have the Marauder’s Map?” I almost laughed. “How in the world did you get that? Oh, if your father knew,” I did laugh this time.

Remus shot me a sharp look and Harry looked at me in wonder.

“My father? You knew my father?” The realization seemed to dawn him.

“Yes, well,” Remus interjected sharply. “Don’t get caught again Potter,”

“Why haven’t you told him?” I demanded as soon as Harry left. “Remus, come on, that’s not fair to Harry,”

“I’m not the one to tell him though! I can’t be!” He protested and I could hear the anxiety in his voice.

“Remus, I’ve known you a long time. And I’ve known James and Lily. They would want you to talk to him. They would want you apart of his life,” I argued, or perhaps encouraged softly.

“Maybe you’re right,” Remus mumbled.

“Of course, I am,” I smiled. “It’ll work out Re, with Sirius, and with Harry,”

“I hope you’re right,”

I left him to his thoughts and on my way to the library, I was ambushed by the younger Potter. Not that I wasn’t expecting it, I knew that Harry would have questions for me as soon as he knew I knew his father.

“Hello Harry,” I smiled.

“You know about my dad,” He burst out, hope in his eyes and tone.

“And your mother,” I smiled and perched on the windowsill nearby.

“Can you tell me about them? Please?” His eyes went glossy with tears that he blinked away.

“Your mother was bold, but still kind and gentle. She looked out for the little guy. She rooted for the underdog and protected the younger years of any House. She was always kind to me. Her and Remus both.” The memory was fond, if it was a memory. Did ghosts have memories after they were dead?

“And my dad?” He clung to every word.

“He... was a bit like you. Always finding trouble whether it was his fault or not. Totally deserved to be smacked a few times... but the war changed him. He grew up rather quickly. Into a protective caring young man. Almost everyone had eyes for him, but he only saw your mother,”

“Do... you think they would be proud of me?” His gaze dropped to his beat-up sneakers.

“Harry,” I called his attention. “You’re their son, they’ll always be proud of you,”

“But—”

“No buts,” I interjected. “That’s all it takes for you to make them proud, I promise,”

He nodded and mumbled a thanks before taking off toward the Gryffindor dorm. Finding solace in the library, I began to read again. Maybe a week had passed. Perhaps two. I wasn’t sure. I was so wrapped up in my books that I became lost to time. Until a blond-haired boy came in, his nose stuck in a book.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again Little Malfoy,” I smiled, from my perch in the library. He didn’t acknowledge me, causing me to frown. “Draco?” I ghosted down and perched on the table next to him. “Are you ghosting a ghost?”

Though he ignored me I could see the smile that twitched at his lips. That gave me little hope. “Is everything alright?” I asked, genuine concern coloring my voice.

“Ask Potter,” Draco snapped. “You seem to fancy him lately,”

“Excuse me?” I was taken aback. “Harry? He just wanted to know about his parents, that’s all,”

Draco frowned at this and he finally looked at me. “His parents?”

“Yes,” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like he has a lot of people who know his parents and are willing to tell him anything. Dumbledore has made almost everyone vow not to talk to him, but what good is a vow to someone who’s already in the grave?” I shrugged. “Poor kid knows nothing,”

“I...” Draco didn’t seem to have the words. Instead he looked back down at his book. I smiled and rolled my eyes at his antics.

“If you care that much, you are still my favorite Little Malfoy,” His cheeks tinged pink and I laughed. “You’re something else Malfoy, you know that?”

“Says the girl who died for admitting that she could read instead of lying,” He raised an eyebrow at me. I chuckled and shrugged.

“Says the boy who avoided me for what, two weeks, because I talked to a boy about his dead parents,” I mused.

“It wasn’t two weeks,” Draco grumbled. “Nine days,”

“Oh, forgive me,” I laughed. “Nine days.”

He smiled and looked back down at his notes. I think it was the first time I had ever seen him smile and not sneer.

“So, nine days,” He prompted. “I assume you haven’t left the library... read anything interesting?”

I laughed and somehow the hours passed as Draco and I spoke about books and stories we had read as kids, and the ones we were currently invested in. It shocked me to know that he was an avid reader, of fantasy novels, nonetheless. Though I had read just about everyone that he had mentioned, there were a few that I added to my mental list of his that I said I would check out. He seemed sincerely happy at my interest of the books he read.

“Father thought they were childish,” He muttered when I asked him about it. “Fairytales and fantasies,”

“That’s stupid,” I scoffed, and Draco gaped at me, aghast that I would dare to call something his father said ‘stupid.’ It made me pause. “You... you know you don’t have to always agree with your parents,”

His gaze cast downward. “I don’t want to disappoint them,”

My face furrowed. “You’re they’re son, that’s enough for them to be proud,”

“You don’t know my parents,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I think the last time they were proud of me, is when I was sorted into Slytherin.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I protested.

“You don’t know my parents,” Draco argued again.

“I do,” I retorted. “Or I did,”

The notion seemed to dawn on Draco as he stared up at me with wonder in his eyes.

“You did,” He realized. “Can you tell me about them... have they always been so...”

“Strict?” I offered.

“Suffocating,” Draco supplied.

I pressed my lips together and thought a moment.

“Your father, perhaps. I never spoke to him much, and he never paid me mind. But you mother,” I smiled at the memories that came flooding back. “She was bold, cunning. She loved her sisters with a fierce passion.” My smile. “The three of them were some of the brightest witches I’d ever seen,” I glanced over to him. “You have her eyes, her same spirit,”

A smile drew on his lips as his face turned a soft shade of pink. “Do you know that because you’re a ghost?” He mused.

“No, I’m just a girl who can read character pretty well. After seeing so many faces pass through here, and reading so many stories, there are those who stand out and stay with you. Your mother... she stood out to me. And I can see her in your eyes,” My demeanor softened as I realized the words I was saying and if I could have, I would have blushed.

“Thank you,” He whispered as the clock chimed a late hour.

“You should head back,” I sighed softly. “Get some rest,”

“Why don’t I ever see you near the Slytherin dorm?” Draco asked, gathering his things.

“I’d rather not cross paths with the Baron,” I admitted.

“The Baron? Why?” Draco frowned; his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Never you mind,” I smiled. “Get to bed Little Malfoy,”

“Don’t call me that,” He grumbled, trudging out of the library.

The night progressed as did the month and I went from one book to another, soon searching for a book I hadn’t in a long time. My diary from when I was alive. Published as its own book that I had found a few decades ago. Tucked into the pages was what held my fate. My prophecy.

I went to the shelf in which I knew my book had its home, but it wasn’t there. Instead a sliver of time carved away by my missing book. Drifting over to Pince I asked her about where my book had gone. She told me that Malfoy had checked it out and had it for about a week—since the day we spent in the infirmary together.

For the first time in a long time I felt... embarrassed that my story and thoughts were on display for anyone to read. I never cared before, but this felt different.

Cursing the late hour, I knew that there was no way to get to Draco now. The Bloody Baron was protective about other ghosts coming into the Slytherin dorms. I’d have to find him in the morning then. I considered loitering outside the Slytherin portrait, but I also did not want to go anywhere near the Bloody Baron. I had heard and read enough.

So instead I headed to the Astronomy Tower to watch the stars again, having silent conversations with them, wondering if they’d ever grant me life again.

“You’re glowing,”

The voice startled me enough that I actually jumped. The irony of scaring a ghost. I turned to see Draco behind me, his eyes glued to my shimmering skin.

“Yes, all ghosts do it under the moon and stars,” I noted. “By the way, can I have my book back?” I stood, going over to him.

“Your book?” He questioned.

“My book,” I restressed. “My diary? That you have from the library? The one that has my—” I stopped myself.

“Your prophecy.” Draco finished, offering me the book that he had drawn from his robes. “Yeah, I know.”

I stared at him curiously, pulling the book back into the security of my arms, where it belonged. That uncertain feeling returned to my chest.

“You know it’s rude to read a girl’s diary,” I retorted, defensive.

“It’s a published book in the library, anyone can read it,” Draco rolled his eyes. I gave him a flat look and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So, have you figured out what it means?”

I sighed softly and shook my head in defeat. “The only thing I’m sure of is the great star is Sirius,”

“Sirius, like Sirius Black? Escaped Azkaban criminal?” Draco exasperated.

“Well, the star is his name sake. But I’m sure you of all people know that Draco,” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Your family has a knack for celestial namesakes. If I remember correctly, Sirius is your mother’s cousin,”

“What?” Draco demanded. “No! There is no way!”

“Draco,” I reached out for him in vain as he paced in anger and confusion. “Draco will you calm down?” I nearly shouted.

“Calm down!? How can I when I know that I’m related to that criminal!?” He demanded.

“Sirius isn’t a criminal!” I argued back. “He didn’t kill Peter or those people!” I gasped, covering my mouth in shame, my eyes wide. That was a secret that I wasn’t supposed to tell.

“What do you mean he didn’t kill those people?” Draco sneered, stalking up to me.

“I—I’m not supposed to...” I took a step back, ghostly tears welling in my eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to... Merlin,” I cried, sliding to the ground.

Draco’s demeanor changed from anger to worried and concerned. Not that I noticed through my distress. I felt as if I had just betrayed one of my best friends.

“Y/n, what... what in the world are you talking about?” Draco asked sitting beside me, a failed attempt to reach out and comfort me.

“I promised. I promised I wouldn’t tell what I knew until the time was right,” I sobbed. “Bloody hell, he’ll never trust me again,” I squeaked.

“Who?” Draco demanded.

I looked at him, wide eyed with fear, shaking my head softly. “I... I can’t. I’m sorry Draco,”

I dematerialized and rematerialized in a quiet portion of the castle grounds, away from the rest of the students, among the woods. The trees welcomed me and the further I walked in, the less tied to the castle I felt. I came to a lake and sat beside it. Crying tears that would never fall in my undead state, I stared at the water and my lack of reflection.

“I’m so sorry Sirius,” I wept softly. “I didn’t mean to tell him... I was just defending you,”

“I’m surprised you kept the secret this long,”

Again, I jumped, startled by the voice behind me.

“Hey there Spooks,” Sirius gave a lopsided smile, the years in Azkaban resting in his eyes and in the lines on his face.

“Sirius,” I gasped. “What are you doing? It’s not safe here!” I protested.

“I couldn’t leave my girl to cry, now could I?” He smirked, before his expression sobered.

“You should,” I sniffed. “I’m so sorry Sirius, it slipped out,”

“I know,” He held his hands up in a calming effort. “I knew it would, and it’s okay. Who did you tell? It wasn’t Moony was it?”

“No,” I looked down. “But you need to tell him Sirius, he deserves to know,”

“He won’t even talk to me. He thinks that I betrayed James and Lily and killed all of his friends,” Sirius toed at the dirt—the same tick he had in his Hogwarts years when he had been caught in a lie or prank.

“But you didn’t,” I protested. “He still loves you Sirius, I can see it in his eyes and when he talks about you and James...”

“He—no,” Sirius shook his head. “That’s not for you to worry about,”

“Do not make me mother you,” I threatened. “Talk to Remus,”

“I will,” Sirius sighed. “When the time is right,”

“As a girl who’s waited for centuries for the right time... talk to him as soon as you can,” There was a pity-filled look on his face that I brushed off.

“Any luck with that? Your prophecy?” He seemed almost hopeful.

“No,” I sighed. “But there is one who took the time to ask this year. Like Remus did his first year,” The memory was a soft spot for both of us.

“You were his first friend,” Sirius smiled at the same memory. “So, who is it this year?”

“Little Malfoy,”

Sirius snorted. “We both know you don’t have a sense of humor, drop the act,”

“I’m ser—” He gave me a look and I paused to rephrase. “I’m telling the truth. It was Draco who asked, who read my diary, and knows about the prophecy,” I hesitated. “He’s also the one I told,” My gaze dropped to the ground waiting for the backlash.

“Malfoy!?” Sirius demanded. “You told Malfoy!?”

“I’m sorry! I told you I was sorry!” I shouted back, bristling, feeling my body shudder. Sirius seemed to notice and took a few paces away and composed himself.

I dared to speak. “All he knows is that you didn’t kill Peter. That’s all. I’m so sorry Sirius,” I turned, and he was gone. “Fine! Leave!” I shouted. “Like always... like everyone...”

I let out a scream of frustration that was carried away with the wind. Letting out a sigh of defeat I wandered up to the castle again.

“Y/n?” For the third time tonight, I jumped at the call of my name. It was Draco again.

“Draco, look,” I started. “I...”

“No,” He stopped me softly. “I’m sorry... I...” He shook his head and took off down the hall towards the Slytherin dorms. Chasing after him, he was too far gone, and I was face to face with the Baron.

“Oh, could this night get any worse?” I shouted to no one in particular. “I don’t mean to trespass, apologies.”

“Stay out of my territory and away from my students, you little harlot,” The Baron sneered.

“Gladly,” I growled back. “Arse,” I muttered as I ghosted back to the upper levels of the castle.

Utterly lost on what to do, I found myself by the Black Lake, staring up at the moon and stars. I stayed there until the sun rose over the dark waters, painting the valleys in a golden light. I remained there, watching the sun and moon dance in the sky in an unchangeable waltz that continued for eternity.

“They said you were out here,”

I didn’t jump this time at the sound of his voice as the moon rose to her duet again.

“Hello, Draco,” I murmured softly. “Come to watch the stars with me?”

“Sure,” I could hear the smile in his voice as he sat beside me on the bank of the lake, the only sound was the music of the night, the lake lapping at the small beach, and his gentle breaths.

“I... I’m really sorry,” He murmured softly. “For that night, I didn’t mean to get so angry. I wasn’t upset with you...” Silence fell softly between us. “My parents never told me... I wrote to my mother...” My eyes widened as I gazed over at him, his pale skin almost having the same affect that mine did in the moon light. “I never knew...”

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“Merlin don’t apologize to me,” He laughed hopelessly.

“Well I did sort of freak out on you, so... sorry.”

He shrugged and his gaze fixed on the moonlit water. “My father thinks it’s absurd that I’m talking to you... and I think my mother is slightly worried about me for it,”

“Any particular reason?” I mused.

“Father has always been against those different than him in any way... my mother probably worries that I’m not making friends...talking to ghosts...” A smile toyed at his lips at the mention of his mother.

“Are we not friends then?” I teased lightly, causing him to laugh.

“Sure,” He rolled his eyes at me, this time causing me to laugh. “Do you miss them?” He asked after a quiet moment.

“Who?”

“Your parents... your family?” He seemed almost afraid to ask.

I pondered the question. “Yes, sometimes... but I’ve spent a lot of years wasting tears that will never fall over people I can never see again... you move on and learn to live after a while... well as much as a ghost can live,”

“You can’t cry, can you?” He came to the fact easier and saner than most did.

I shook my head. “I can feel bitter sorrow, the worst loss, but I can never shed a tear,” I chuckled humorlessly. “The irony, I have the most to mourn and I can’t even cry,”

“I’m sorry,”

I shrugged. “I’ve lived a long time without being able to cry... just reminds me that I’ll never be quite human again,”

“But you could be,” He had more hope than I ever had about the fact.

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “That stupid prophecy,”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,”

“You’ve haven’t spent centuries wondering what it meant,” I argued back:

“In the days when evil lurks around every corner;

The condemned will become innocent;

And the innocent will become condemned;

True love can reanimate a deceased heart;

Under the star of Great Dog;

She will become alive as time is altered;

Two souls will be set free that day as the star takes her place.”

“True love,” I scoffed again; my lips pressed together. “Like some sort of stupid fairytale,”

“I thought you said that fairytales weren’t stupid,” Draco raised an eyebrow at me smirking.

“They’re not,” I rolled my eyes. “Believing that there’s true love out there to save me? That’s stupid,”

“Then maybe there’s no hope for any of us,” Draco sighed. “If someone like you can’t find true love, where’s the hope for the rest of us,”

A smile ghosted me lips at his words as I looked over to him, his eyes still trained on the water.

“You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that Malfoy?” His eyes darted to mine as his cheeks tinged pink.

“Will you come back inside?” He asked softly. “The library isn’t as interesting without you there,”

“Sure,” I smiled warmly at him.

Fall turned to winter turned to spring, and Draco and I spent a lot more time together than I cared to admit. He was almost easier to talk to than anyone else I had met. And that was saying something, because I knew Remus Lupin, who was fascinated with my fascination of the young Malfoy.

But all the same, I found myself crave Draco’s company more and more and cursing the Baron for not letting me see him while he was in his dorm. It was rough when he came down with a cold and I wasn’t able to see him for a week. No number of books could distract me from the fact that he wasn’t there to talk to. That he wasn’t here to talk to me. I had never missed anyone like this before.

But when he felt better, we’d press curfew to mere minutes just to get another word in with each other. Then he’d have to be human and I’d have to remember that I didn’t belong in his world and never could. It didn’t stop me, however, from finding and talking to him the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Then there was a day in late spring that caught my attention as Sirius had finally gotten to Harry and his friends, but things had gone from bad to worse as I watched the scene unfold, doing the only thing I could think of, I spirited away to find Remus. He would know what to do, he would know how to help.

After I had explained what I had seen, Remus grabbed his wand and took off towards the Whomping Willow. I followed him, and as soon as I left the castle, I felt the dark presence of the dementors around me.

“No!” I shouted, going up to meet them, and for the first time in a long time gave into my spiritual power, long enough to hold them off and let Remus pass through safely.

I hovered over the Shrieking Shack, keeping the dementors as bay, away from Sirius, away from Remus. They didn’t dare to go near my pure light that was amplified by the full moon. Soon I saw the three of them emerge, Peter in chains, when the light of the full moon hit my little Remus.

With a cry of desperation, I did my best to keep the dementors away as I watched the horrors unfold before me before I couldn’t take it any long and chased after Remus, who was not a wolf into the wood.

“Remus!?” I shouted; my voice lost with the wind. “Remus, it’s me! Please come out!” I caught sight of Hermione and Harry and gestured that they should leave, and quickly. “Remus!?”

I heard a growl and turned, seeing golden scared eyes.

“Hey,” I cooed softly. “You’re alright, you can’t hurt me,”

A pained howl left his lips.

“I know,” I replied. “But you’re going to be alright, let get you back, yeah? To Prongs and Pads, they’re waiting for you.” Tears I wanted to cry weren’t shed at the pitiful heartbreaking whine that left his lips.

But he let me lead him back to the Shrieking Shack all the same. I stayed with him until McGonagall and Dumbledore came. There was a soft thank you from the both of them. I drifted back to the castle, pacing in anxiety.

“Y/n?” It was Draco’s voice. I turned.

“Draco, it’s not safe!” I squeaked. “What are you doing out of bed!?”

“I had to see you,” He confessed. “There are rumors, about Black and Lupin... I thought you’d... Are you alright?”

“Draco, really,” I glanced around, cursing that I couldn’t drag him inside to where it was safer. “It’s not safe for you out here,”

“Bloody hell, Y/n, what about you!?”

“I’m already dead! So, unless you’d like to join me!” I shouted, realizing after the fact what I had said. “Draco, I didn’t mean that,”

“You’re keeping things from me,” It was a broken accusation. “About Sirius, about Remus,”

“Draco, please,” I pulled away. “I... I have to go, I have to make sure that he’s alright,” My eyes trailed up to the top of the tower, knowing that I may have been the reason that Sirius was in chains again.

“No!” Draco shouted, drawing my attention.

He had never demanded anything of me before, not like this. It wasn’t the fact that he told me to stop, it was the notion that he had found his own voice in it that caused me to pause. I waited for him to continue.

“I’ve spent all year, all of my three years here, knowing you, and getting to know you and I’m not going to let you walk away again! I want to know! I don’t want this you can’t tell me act. If anyone, you can tell me. Can’t you trust me? Please,” His voice broke, unshed tears in his eyes.

“Draco,” My non-material heart broke a bit as he stood before me, vulnerable. Shaking and terrified I nodded. “Remus... is a werewolf. Sirius is an Animagus. Peter betrayed the Potters, and Sirius went to confront him. Peter faked his death and killed all those people and it was blamed on Sirius...” In my nervousness I began to ramble:

“...and Sirius and Remus confronted Peter tonight and Harry and his friends were there and I had to fight off dementors so that Sirius would be okay because I couldn’t bear to see him get hurt for something he didn’t do and then I had to go and help Remus because it’s a full moon and he won’t hurt me but for the love of merlin he will hurt you so will you please go inside!”

Draco gaped at me, in utter disbelief.

“Please Draco, go inside,”

“Only if you come with me,” He recovered.

My thoughts for Sirius were forgotten as I took a step closer to him. Instead, all I could see and focus on was the heartbreak on his face and the hand that he held out for me. A hand that I wanted to accept but knew that I couldn’t because I would phase right through him. Never had I loathed being dead so much but in that moment when all I wanted to do was comfort him.

For the first time in almost two hundred years, tears slid down my cheeks. I barely noticed.

“Please,” His voice shook as did his hand as it remained extended to me. “Please, Y/n,”

The moon fell behind the mountains as the sun shed her first light onto us.

And with reckless abandon, I reached out for him, for his hand. In desperation and false hope, closing my eyes, knowing my heart would never break more that in the next few moments for not being a part of his world.

Then my hand felt softness and warmth.

I gasped and jerked back, and Draco seemed to realize this as I did.

“You just...” He stammered.

“I...” Trembling, I held my hand up, the sunlight no longer passing through it but refracting off of it. I finally reached up and felt the wetness of tears on my cheeks as I gasped in pure joy.

“I’m human,” I laughed, “I’m human!” I marveled at my rosy skin and the soft green fabric of my dress as I felt the grass beneath my feet. After a moment, I, at last, looked to Draco, who seemed to be frozen in a state of wonder and disbelief, and almost... scared.

“Draco,” I called softly, “It’s me,” I offered my hand to him, the grin not leaving my face.

“You’re... and...”

I nodded and smiled, taking a step closer to him. “Not scared of ghosts, are you?” I teased softly.

He finally laughed and took my hand, pulling me close, into the comfort of his arms. I began to cry again because for the first time in two hundred and fifty years, I was hugged. I clung to him, my fingers marveling at the softness of his shirt, trailing up into his hair.

“Merlin,” Draco pulled away softly. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,”

Before I could ask him what he meant—or argue that I had been waiting longer than he ever had—he pressed his lips to mine, and in that moment, I swear I could have died all over again in his arms.

In the days when evil lurks around every corner,

The condemned will become innocent,

And the innocent will become condemned.

True love can reanimate a deceased heart,

Under the star of Great Dog,

She will become alive as time is altered;

Two souls will be set free that day as the star takes her place.

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beatricethecat2 · 4 years ago

Photo

"No joy," Myka says, peeking into the static bag.

"That was the correct part, was it not?" Helena enlarges the photo on Myka's phone of a nineteenth-century elevator car housed at the Warehouse.

"I'm pretty sure. But that picture's not great." Myka slides the handle out and plops it back in to the tune of no sparks.

Helena noses around the storage space as The Dakota building's manager walks in.

"Maybe what you're looking for's in here," he says, plunking down a milk crate full of parts. "When they renovate, they save anything original."

"It's an elevator handle. From the original manual ones. Just not this one." Myka slips the part from the bag and holds it up.

"Might be in Ms. Shiva's apartment then. Parents took two cars and made them into a bar. Or could be from the one that went missing, the mysterious fourth car."

Myka and Helena share a concerned look, knowing the Warehouse took it without permission.

"Can we see the other two?" Myka asks.

"Look just like that one." The man points toward the ornately carved wooden car on the other side of the room. "Handle's that important to you, huh?"

"As architectural historians? Yes," Helena snips in a clipped, scholarly tone.

"Alright. Gimme a minute." He slips his phone out of its belt clip and walks out of the room.

Helena picks through dust-covered items in the crate. "This may be a lost cause."

"It must be upstairs. The walls are so thick, the ping could have come from anywhere."

"You said 'pickup,' not 'ping.'"

"Claudia called it a pickup yesterday! Today she called it a ping."

Helena huffs a disgruntled breath.

The manager waves a hand from the doorway. "She said it's ok to come up."

Myka follows the man, but Helena hangs back.

"Aren't you coming?"

"I...should look through this crate."

"You know more about this stuff than me. You should come with."

"Myka, I...."

Myka steps closer and lowers her voice. "I know you're not happy about being here, but I really need your help."

Helena holds Myka's gaze but doesn't move.

"Please."

Helena nods an apprehensive yes.

"You'll tell me what's going on with you later, right?"

Helena nods again, with equal apprehension.

Myka grimaces. "Come on."

They follow the manager out of the room and into the elevator to the fourth floor.

-----------------

The Adventures of Wells and Bering ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 3 Title: New York City: I'm buggin' out!

Summary: After three blissful days holed up in their Philadelphia hotel room, Myka receives a call from the Warehouse asking for help. Helena proclaims New York "a cesspool" when told the pickup is in the city. Myka laughs when told Helena was last there in 1893. Told she can stay behind, Helena follows anyway, the pair taking the train to avoid driving. Helena tells tales of city adventures with her partner Wolcott as she and Myka make their way uptown. Helena tenses upon arrival at their destination, so much so, Myka can tell something is off. Later that day, Helena reveals a long buried secret.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2

-----------------

***BONUS SCENES***

After a less than jovial dinner (pictured above), Myka and Helena settle into their hotel room. Myka lounges in bed, already showered, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, nose buried in a book. Helena searches through her luggage after emerging from a shower swathed only in a robe.

"I know dinner wasn't great," Myka says, setting her book on the nightstand, "but something else's off. You've been weirdly touchy all day."

"I apologize for not being, as Claudia might say, 'all sunshine and rainbows.'" Helena yanks a t-shirt out of her suitcase. "Perhaps we should call the whole thing off."

"What 'thing'?"

"This trip."

"Why?" Myka sits up.

"Because me being sullen is not an anomaly."

"I know."

"Then why on earth would you subject yourself to that again?" Helena turns to face Myka and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Because you promised when you got like this you'd talk to me and I believed you."

"Fool," Helena says, the word filled with fondness rather than bite.

"Come here," Myka says, patting a spot next to her.

Helena stares at the bed but doesn't move.

"Come here..."

Helena's eyes lift to meet Myka's; the longer they stay locked, the less defiance they hold. She huffs a disgruntled breath but does as she's told. She sits stiffly, arms folded over her chest, back propped up against the headboard.

"Now, tell me what happened in that building," Myka says, laying back, turning to face Helena, head propped up by a hand. "Remember, I said I wouldn't judge you."

"You say that now..." Helena says, glancing at Myka.

"I won't," Myka says, slipping her hand over Helena's and squeezing, dragging it down to her lap, breaking her protective arm-fold.

"Where to begin," Helena grumbles, pressing her eyes closed, head falling back against the wall.

"How about..." Myka scoots up, aligning herself with Helena, all the while keeping hold of her hand. "The first time you were there, finding that artifact."

Helena rolls her head to the side and meets Myka's gaze.

Myka raises her brow and grins expectantly.

"Oh, alright," Helena grumps, sighing deeply, then lifting her head from the headboard.

"Wolly posed as an investor, and I, his wife. He and I were given guest accommodations, courtesy of Gustav Schirmer, a music publisher. We had a vague idea of what the curiosity was but needed time and access to suss out its location."

"I bet you and Wolly made a better couple than Pete and I ever did," Myka quips.

Helena huffs a short laugh. "People like us 'acted the part' on a daily basis. Anything beyond that was an extension of those fabricated selves. One had to switch 'on' any number of personas just to keep safe. It was difficult at times to remember our true selves."

"I'm sorry. That sucks."

"Easier for me than others. Though in that regard, I'm glad society seems to have changed for the better." Helena meets Myka's gaze, her eyes falling to her lips.

"Me too," Myka says as Helena cups her jaw, guiding their mouths together.

Their kiss lingers but as Helena's hand slides to the nape of Myka's neck, Myka pulls away.

"Story first," Myka says, slipping her hand over Helena's, lifting it away.

Helena pouts.

"After." Myka caresses Helena's cheek, then places a soft, brief kiss there. "I promise."

"I shall hold you to that."

"Oh, I know," Myka says, smiling. She settles back and waits as Helena collects her thoughts.

"The Dakota was unique,' Helena begins, "its design, the first of its kind in the world. A playground for 'new money,' miles away from 'civilization' further downtown. Few dared travel that far north, so their soirees were rather insular."

"That's good, right? Easier to find the artifact?" Myka says.

"Indeed. Gustav adored hosting events, along with the Steinways. Guests chased tunes all over the building as engagements spilled between apartments. Wolly and I snooped around gratuitously."

"Steinways...as in the grand-piano-maker Steinways?"

"The very same," Helena mumbles. Her eyes turn distant, a thumb rubbing idly over a knuckle, her hands linked primly on her lap.

"Did you find the artifact?" Myka asks.

"Hmm? Oh...yes. But it took quite some time," Helena answers. "And along the way, I found something far more profound." She looks down at her lap, her hands pulling away from each other, tensing.

"What was it?"

"I found my One."

"Y-You had a One?" Myka says, stiffening.

"All too briefly," Helena says, then glances at Myka. "To have found another is a kindness beyond anything I'd ever imagined. I'm sorry it took so long for me to believe it possible."

"You mean me?"

"I do." Helena brings Myka's hand up to her lips and kisses its palm.

"I, um, guess it's silly to be jealous of someone who lived over a hundred years ago. Especially since I know nothing about them." Myka scoots closer, cozying up to Helena. "Will you tell me?"

"Would you like to know?"

"I want to know everything about you."

"That may take some time."

"We have time, don't we?"

"Time has never been my ally. Especially with the ones I love."

"Let's change that." Myka tugs on Helena's sleeve, and the pair slip down to lie prone on the bed. She turns and snuggles up, head pillowed on Helena's shoulder, arm resting across her middle. Helena relaxes into Myka's hold and wraps an arm over Myka's.

"Tell me about your One," Myka says. "Or, your 'first' One."

"She...was an extraordinary woman," Helena answers. "Unlike any I'd ever known. We bonded instantly, which was unusual."

"How did you meet?"

"I caught her hiding from the merriment during a soiree, nose tucked in a book. One Mrs. Elizabeth Westcott." Helena smiles, obviously warmed by the memory.

"Mrs.?"

"A marriage for appearances; personal gain for two up-and-coming families. Residing at The Dakota allowed her husband to carry on extramarital affairs with less scrutiny. He cared little about her own."

"So you and she..."

"If those walls could talk," Helena says, her smile bordering on devilish. "We had several glorious years together before she..." Her smile fades in an instant.

"I'm afraid to ask."

"She died, as one does when one's husband's mistress plots to kill you."

"S-She was murdered?"

"Freak carriage accident. Never proven, but everyone knew. To ensure Elizabeth never gave him an heir, after Christina. The irony being we'd planned on running away to California soon enough--"

"Wait, Christina was Elizabeth's?" Myka lifts her head to look Helena in the eye.

"I loved her as if she were my own," Helena snaps, "spirited her away to England as soon as I could, with the housekeeper's help."

"You stole her?" Myka pushes away, falling back on her elbows, mouth agape.

"I rescued her," Helena barks, jerking upright. "That monstrous woman still had talons in her father. There was no doubt Christina wasn't safe. It's what Elizabeth would have wanted."

Helena moves to leave, but Myka grabs her arm.

"Don't go," Myka pleads. "I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't judge you."

Helena freezes in place, her heart pounding wildly. A few moments later, she returns to Myka's side.

"Did anyone come looking for her?" Myka asks, pushing forward so as not to leave Helena stewing.

"I don't know. I doubt they could find me as only Elizabeth knew my true identity. And I never set foot in New York again."

"So literally 1893."

Helena nods, the sour look on her face softening. "I'd thought to visit her grave but haven't found the courage."

"You should go. We could go together. It'll give you closure."

"You sound so certain."

"I know it will help. I've loved and lost, too, you know."

"Indeed, you have, my love," Helena says, then sighs heavy-heartedly. "What a pair we make."

"I think we're a good match," Myka says, tugging Helena back to lie flat again. "We could take our minds off it. Make some new, pleasant memories." She slips a hand under the tie of Helena's robe.

"You did make a promise earlier," Helena replies.

"And I always make good on my promises," Myka says, drawing the tie free, brushing a fingertip over newly exposed skin. Helena quivers and relaxes back, offering no resistance as Myka fulfills her word.

End of Episode 3

-TBC-

NOTES: According to the internet, the term "buggin'" was coined in New York City. The fourth elevator really did go missing during The Dakota renovations in the 1960's (pre-landmarking). Thank you to the library for being open so I could borrow books and down some facts as this got way more involved than I meant it to become (but that's part of the fun).

This story format is...in my head, I'm calling it "TV POV." If we were watching the show, we'd see things but not hear the character's thoughts, so that's what I'm going for, I think? Broad strokes and quicker resolutions due to the 45 minute-ish run time (or would this show be a 25 minute one? Hmm.) Let me know if that's not working at all. I mean these are obviously pastiches of content - the images come first then the stories materialize afterwards. They are supposed to be short and clippy - plenty of room for the reader to fill in the blanks - but this one got away from me! Also Tumblr keeps making the second image blurry and I can't figure out why...

#BERING AND WELLS #w13 #fan art #fan fiction #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #i guess this project is #me making prompts for myself in some way?#like i need more work to do...#but I do hope there's some joy in it for those of you out there reading!

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ilovefandoms102 · 4 years ago

Text

Part 3-Where Loyalties Lie

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Potter!Reader

Summary: A forbidden romance is betrayed when the very dark wizard who is out to kill you is your lovers master...

Taglist:

@jeyramarie @drewswannabegirl @teamnick @jiaraendgame @agirlwholovescoffee @outerbongs @jaxxandcomet @velyssaraptor @baby-pogue @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @must-be-a-weasley-92 @kaitieskidmore1 @ma10427 @ifilwtmfc @lasnaro @justcallmesams @judayyyw @lonely-kermit @gviosca @iamaunicorn4704 @jellyfishbeansontoast @fernweh-fangirl @runway-to-my-aid @eb15 @hurricane-abigail @tangledinsparkles @amanda-rotigliano @hxfflxpxffs @bannerbubble @hybridfamily @coldlilheart @fandom-phaser @sunwardsss @http-cherries @bibliophilewednesday @evaporatedrosepetals @thetomatosaucee @tomatosauceagent @redosmo @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @susceptible-but-siriusexual @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @obx-direction-sos @they-reblog-once-in-a-blue-moon @iraniq @nekee-lilac02 @gracielou0518 @aplaintart @wollymalfoy @thefandomplace @poguestyleskye @butterflydior

Part 2

Note: I’m so happy for the love and support you all have given me! Thank you for 500 new friends, I am grateful for each and every one of you! I can’t wait to put out more stuff for you guys!

Would anyone like for me to continue the series for how Draco and y/n raise Scorpius and go through the trials of parenthood? Maybe even include their wedding and wedding night😛...let me know in the comments or message me!

================================

Draco pushed me into the main room, his family eyeing me now. I spotted Hermione on the ground, I went to move towards her. I was stopped by an unspeakable pain, a screech left my throat as I fell just feet from her.

“Crucio!” Bellatrix shouted, waving her wand at me again.

I convulsed on the floor, screaming as the pain shot from my head to my feet. I rolled to my side, heavily breathing. I scooted to Hermione, her hand barely mustering the energy to hold mine.

“Since this filthy Mudblood won’t talk, perhaps you will Potter. Where did you get the sword?” she seethed.

“Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you!” I panted.

“Draco! Your wand at the ready, torture this disgusting Halfblood until she admits her faults.” Bellatrix commanded.

“She said she doesn’t know, maybe they’re telling the truth for once.” Draco answered, trying to hide his fear.

“Either you do it, or your father kills them.” Bellatrix hissed, Draco’s face going pale.

They cleared to the other side of the room, leaving just Draco and I with Hermione limp on the floor. Tears started to leak from his eyes, my heart shattered. His hand shook that held his wand, bending his head to let out a sob.

“It’s ok, do what they say.” I spoke, Draco shaking his head.

“I can’t, I can’t do it.” he sobbed, fervently shaking his head.

“Draco please! It’s the only way we’re getting out of here!” I pleaded.

“What is the meaning of this Draco!? Do it!” Lucius boomed, Draco still sobbing.

“I can’t hurt the girl I love!” Draco shouted, his family gasping.

“You cannot be serious!” Lucius shouted, Hermione’s grip on my hand tightened.

“Fine, if you cannot man up to the task...CRUCIO!” Bellatrix shouted, repeating the spell over and over.

Draco tried to come to my aid, but his father fought to hold him back. He cried as he watched me suffer one of the three Unforgivable Curses, shouting my name as I screamed in pain. I couldn’t even put into words what the pain felt like, an excruciating void of unending beats was the best way to put it.

I tried to reach out for Draco as blood started to fall from my ears and mouth, him trying to do the same with the restriction of his father.

“Please Bella! Stop, please!” Draco yelled, falling to his knees as Lucius scrapped to get a hold of him.

“That’s enough Bella,” Narcissa spoke, pulling on her sister’s arm.

“Consider yourself lucky you belong to the Dark Lord Potter. For your friend, I can’t say the same.” Bellatrix sighed.

There was a sudden commotion as Harry and Ron burst into the room, firing off spells. Draco pretended to drop one of ours, rolling it my way. I fired one at Lucius, knocking him several feet away. It was a struggle trying to get up, only to be snatched by Narcissa, my muscles too weak to fight back. Bellatrix held a knife to Hermione’s throat, Harry and Ron dropping their wands at her command.

I looked at Draco, his eyes wide with worry. There was a squeaking sound from above us, looking to see Dobby unhinging the chandelier. It came crashing down, giving enough distraction for Hermione and I to break free. I launched myself at Harry, he held me close as we all huddled to apparate out. I took one last look at Draco, he mouthed those three little words. I mouthed them back, tears shining as we apparated away.

===============================

Harry was headed to the Ravenclaw common room to find the Grey Lady, while I tried to make the Room of Requirement pop up. Just when I was about to give up, I heard creaking behind me, turning to find the Room of Requirement. Harry appeared next to me, dragging me with him.

We looked around the disastrous area for what felt like hours, clapping my hands over my ears when I heard the telling sound of the Horcrux’s. I whipped around to find Harry holding the tiara that belonged to the Helena. Just as I reached him, a voice I knew all too well sounded in the room.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here. What brings you two here?” Draco taunted, Crab and Goyle holding their wands at us as Draco did.

“I could ask you the same,” Harry answered, tugging on my wrist so that I was behind him.

“You have something of mine,” Draco spat, eyeing me before looking back to my brother.

“Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix? You knew it was me, and you didn’t say anything.” Harry asked, tilting his head.

“I would never hurt her,” Draco whispered, the other two Slytherin’s giving him a confused look.

“If you truly loved her-” Harry hissed, now my turn to grab his arm to pull him back.

“Harry!” I exclaimed as they all held their wands higher, at the ready to fire at us.

“Don’t be a prat Draco, do it!” Goyle seethed, Draco gulped before moving his eyes to meet mine.

In a split second, I whipped my wand out. Firing at Draco, disarming him. He turned and ran as his friends continued their assault, Hermione coming to aid. I shouted for Draco, watching as Ron ran after the Slytherin’s.

After some digging, Harry and Hermione plopped back to the ground. Ron came out of nowhere, snatching Hermione’s hand as he claimed that Goyle set the place on fire. Indeed he did as a giant fire in the shape of a snake came bounding after us.

I grabbed Harry’s hand as we weaved through the stacks of rubbish, not finding a way out. I whipped my head in search of Draco, wondering if he made it out alive. My chest burned from the fire, and the thought of the love of my life being dead in the very same room.

We bumped into some brooms, taking off to find the exit. I looked all over for Draco, not spotting him. Harry then caught my attention, whisking around to go back from where we just were. I sobbed in relief when I saw Draco, his eyes lighting up when he caught sight of me. I grabbed his arm, tugging him so he could jump on the back of the broom. He held tightly to my waist, his lips moving to kiss my cheek.

The blast from the fire knocked us off the broom once we reached outside of the Room of Requirement, Draco kissed me before taking off. Harry stabbed the tiara with the Basilisk fang, knocking both of us back.

==================================

My heart crumbled after Harry and I took Snape’s tears to watch his memories. Not only did both of us have to die to completely destroy Voldemort, but that we might not come back. I thought of Draco, that we would never get married, have children, and grow old together. Neither would Harry, but this had to be done.

We found Hermione and Ron at the bottom of the stairs just in front of the castle. huddled together. They stood once they saw us, knowing what Harry and I were about to do. Hermione crushed Harry into a hug, Ron leaning down to hug me tight.

“We all had a feeling this is how it would have to end, no one just wanted to accept it.” I spoke, pulling back to smile sadly at Ron.

“After us, it’s just the snake. Kill it, and you’ll kill him.” Harry said.

Hermione tugged me to her, crying into my shoulder. I rubbed her back, sniffling to hold in my tears. Once I pulled back, I took Harry’s hand as we made our way to the Forbidden Forest. Harry found the Resurrection Stone in the snitch, holding my hand tightly. We looked around to see our parents, Remus, and Sirius. Our mother held her hand out, I instantly went to her. My hand went through her’s, my heart clenching when I couldn’t feel her.

“You’ve been so brave my babies.” she spoke, her voice melodic as it rang in my ears. How I wished I could have heard her voice my whole life.

“You’re nearly there,” our father said, his features resembling Harry so much they almost looked like the same person.

“Does it hurt? To die?” Harry asked Sirius, my eyes leaving my mother’s to look at my Godfather.

“Quicker than falling asleep.” Sirius quipped, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I wish more than ever that none of you had to die, not like this.” I croaked, Harry nodding in agreement.

“I never wanted any of you to die for me,” Harry spoke, looking around at our lost loved ones.

“Remus, Teddy he-” I started.

“Others will tell him what his parents died for, and one day, he’ll understand.” Remus smiled, his eyes looking between Harry and I.

“You’ll be with us?” I asked.

“Until the very end.” our father answered.

“Stay close to us.” Harry said, grabbing my hand again.

“Always,” our mother replied, my eyes tearing up as they disappeared.

===========================

Voldemort had been defeated, finally freeing Harry and I from our life long torture. No more looking over our shoulders constantly, no more people that we loved would have to die for us. I could be with Draco...if I ever saw him again. He fled with his parents after Harry and I revealed to everyone that we were in fact still alive.

“We did it,” I gasped, laughing as Harry and I embraced one another.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I were walking across the bridge that separated the castle from the outside world, mindlessly kicking the cement that littered from the battle.

“So what will you do with the most powerful wand in the world Harry?” I asked my brother, turning to face him.

I watched in horror as he broke the wand, throwing the pieces over the edge. He did the right thing though...

“Y/n...” Hermione mumbled, pointing at something behind us.

I turned around hesitantly, my heart soaring at the sight in front of me. Draco stood at the other end of the bridge, once he saw me turn he began walking. I took off in a sprint, tears rolling down my cheeks. He jogged the rest of the way, meeting me in the middle as I crashed into his arms. He spun me around, both of us laughing joyously. I pulled back to look into his eyes, a second later his lips were on mine.

Draco held tight with his arms around my lower back, my feet still off the ground. I licked my way into his mouth, challenging his tongue into a dance of passion. I moved one hand to fist it in his hair, tugging it slightly to hear him moan into my mouth. He sat me down gently, pulling away to lean his forehead to mine.

“You came back,” I sniffled, intertwining our hands.

“I’ll always come back for you my love,” he whispered.

“I love you Draco,” I smiled.

“I love you more y/n,” he sighed, pulling me into his embrace once more.

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moonflower-31 · 4 years ago

Text

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Part 25

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

A/N: So, if you haven’t noticed, I’m gonna do one every other day with this so I don’t get burned out again. Hope that’s constant enough for you! Sorry about my little hiatus but I should be good now!

Warnings: Talk of murder, PTSD Flashbacks, the usual stuff.

Also, Feedback is really appreciated :)

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @serendipity-imagines, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @thatsonezesty13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of reality - Edgar Allen Poe

Unfortunately for you, serial killers didn't know how to wait. So not two days after Spencer had finally been able to be home with you were they called on a case. Their first one without you since you were hired.

It left you with a slight dull feeling in your heart as you sat curled up on the couch reading the same page over and over as you kept losing focus. Morgan had stayed, as Spencer had promised. But he was currently asleep in Spencer's bed. Something about it being softer than his own with Savannah. Whatever that meant.

You grumbled and closed the book after your fifth attempt at distracting yourself from how lonely you felt. And how the nagging feeling of thinking you're being watched didn't go away, even with Morgan’s less than helpful presence.

You sighed and put the book down on the coffee table and picked up the remote instead. You flipped through a few channels until you find the news channel was having a 'Breaking News' segment. When the title appeared on the screen you almost screamed.

19 year old Arthur Grant goes missing from his family's estate, reward not yet posted.

You widen your eyes, your hands beginning to shake. Why? Why you? Why must you be overloaded with so much grief and trauma? Did some bereavement mailman decide to ditch his route and dump all of the bad stuff on your doorstep?

You didn't even have tears that came to be shed. You'd cried so much the past week that you had run the banks dry and squeezed more than at least 5 headaches out of you. And each of them having lasted at least 4-5 hours. Sometimes more.

Instead of your normal first step of denial, or depression in the stages of grief you unfortunately knew too well, you found anger boiling up through your feet, making your toes curl and your fists clench. You were pissed. Everyone around you was suffering because of Peter's self-absorbed, narcissistic, and sociopathic God-Complex. And you were sick of it.

You didn't care who heard, who came running to see if you were okay. You just couldn't hold back your frustration anymore: you screamed.

You threw the remote against the couch, still having half the mind to keep from destroying it. It was still Spencer's property. You didn't exactly have the 20-40 bucks to give to replace it. So, precautionary aggression was the best course of action.

Your hands found your hair and gripped tightly, letting out a frustrated and loud grumble. You could still see his cocky smirk, his evil eyes as they stared at you like you were nothing but a good fuck to him. You could hear his sickening laughter in your ear, and you could hear the rumble of the gravel underneath the tires of his stupid truck. You were almost there, same feelings, same feeling of paranoid, survival instinct came rushing into your decision making controls and overrided them.

You were engulfed in the flashback, seeing him, feeling the cold metal of the cuffs around your wrists as they dug into your skin, the shiver of having your clothes ripped off of you like you were some prize he had won, it was too much.

You were panting and holding your head, trying to make sense of everything and trying to get a grip on your own reality. You ended up backing up into the dining table and sending things to the floor. This only amped up your paranoid reaction, causing you to be on guard, but thankfully the flashback was able to end.

Then, some poor soul decided to knock on the door. Your eyes snapped towards the mahogany door and you let out an instinctive growl. You then began stalking towards the door, sneering and baring your teeth.

As you made your way towards the door, a pair of protective arms wrapped around you, preventing you from opening the door or causing anymore ruckus from your rampage.

"Woah there feisty, what was all that for? I thought you were seriously in trouble."

Morgan’s calm but worried voice was like a fire extinguisher to your anger and your guard, calming you down in a matter of minutes. The fire quelled inside of you, being replaced with a lake of sadness and pain. And unfortunately, that meant that instead of anger, well, you had to deal with tears. Which you had recently come to find were annoying as hell.

"Morgan…" you breathed, letting yourself become almost limp in his arms. You felt the tears building, almost climbing inside your eyes. You couldn't do this. You couldn't face him again. Face these memories. But you were fucking stuck with them. You had no way of forgetting them. Ever. Thanks to your stupid memory. You didn't want it. You wished you had a normal memory, or at the very least an eidetic memory like Spencer's. At least then you could forget some things. But you? No. No the only things you couldn't remember were whether or not your parents ever really nursed you or even held you when you were an infant. Even the things you did remember weren't pleasant. No warm glow, no blanket colors. Just the cold, monotone voice of your father introducing you to your 'future staff'.

Morgan held you, not asking you any questions. He just let you begin to cry and let out your frustration on him. Your balled up fist gently hit his chest a few times as you wailed and inaudibly tried to explain what you thought had happened. He didn't stop you, just tried to sooth you as the knocking sounded again.

You froze in Derek's arms, the knocking now being persistent and fear-inducing now that you had your overly cautious mind back.

"D-derek…" you whispered. Derek shook his head.

"I'll get it, alright? You stay right here." He says, gesturing for you to stay. He didn't have to tell you twice, you were still hiccuping from your sobs.

Derek slowly approached the door, looking through the peephole before opening it slowly. "Hey… you should've called first. We might've been able to answer quicker."

All of your fears and concerns and panic all ceased at the sight of the man, well more of a boy, that stood in the doorway.

You stood there in disbelief as you called to him, hoping you weren't seeing things.

"Arthur?"

○●♡●○

Spencer sighed as he was put in charge of the geographical profile yet again. He had a newfound routine in having you help him with it so much so that he found it harder to do his job.

Not to mention his mind was filled with worry about how you were at home. How your well-being was, if Morgan would be enough company for you when you had the nightmares he knew you had after everything. He'd been the one to comfort you after each and every one in the hospital. He just hoped that Morgan could still comfort you while he was away.

Not only that, but a certain Real Estate Broker had his mind doing flips and his eyes seeing red whenever he thought of him and what vile thing he could be planning next. Spencer hated being away from you. Especially when everyone knew by now that Peter was a snake and was easily able to slither away. And to sneakily find you as he had done before. Spencer was thankful now that he had asked you to stay with him in his apartment rather than your own. If you were staying in yours, the chances of Peter finding you were 90-100%. And he hated those odds.

So safe to say, Spencer's mind was at odds with itself. And to top it all off all he could think about was what it would be like to squeeze the trigger and kill Peter himself. For you. That's all he wanted was revenge for you. He'd have to make sure he didn't instigate anything, so that it would be seen as self defense. But he would love to feel the backlash of gunfire if it meant that Peter would be dead. And you would be safe.

"Hey, any progress on that profile yet?"

Spencer looked up and saw JJ standing in front of where he stood next to the map, having found himself lost in thought with his fist clenched around the little box of pins in his hand.

"Oh, uh… no, not yet. I was just… distracted is all." He admitted, pulling out the box from his hand and pinning the last two locations for the dump sites.

"From what I can see just from first glance is that the dump sites seem to be within 6 or 7 miles between each other, give-or-take." Spencer expressed, trying to flip on his work brain to no avail. He soon found himself thinking of you before he finished his statement.

JJ looked at him with a sad smile. "You're worried about her, huh?"

Spencer was caught off guard by JJ's question, causing him to turn towards her a few seconds later. "Huh? Who?" He asked.

JJ gave him a slightly teasing look. "You know who. Garcia told us and the rest of the team about your little crush on her. Apparently she overheard you talking to your mom a few weeks ago. Said you loved her." JJ reveals, a gentle and motherly smile on her face.

Spencer felt a warmth rise to his cheeks, suddenly feeling much warmer in his cardigan than usual. "S-she did?'

JJ nodded. "Mhm. It's okay, Spence. Besides, I kind of figured after how you carried her back to the ambulance. She was snuggled up on you. And you refused to let her go until you knew for certain that the lead medic had an actual medical license." JJ teased gently.

Spencer sighed and rubbed his neck, closing the box of pins so as to not spill them all over the carpet. "Is… is it that obvious?"

JJ nodded again, a slight giggle on her lips. "Am I or am I not a liaison for the BAU?" She asked, obviously giving him a half hard time. "But seriously, I know you're worried about her. We all are. But she's gonna be alright. Morgan’s with her. Even with a busted knee he can wrestle any man to the ground."

Spencer sighed. JJ was right. The only reason Morgan had been taken by Peter was because he caught him off guard and was shot before he could shoot first. He was more than capable of protecting you. So why did he feel so badly?

Spencer rubbed his face and put the box down on the map's marker holder. "I know, JJ. I just… I can't help but worry about her. What if she has a nightmare and I'm not able to be there to comfort her? Wh-what if she has a panic attack and I can't get to her cause I'm all the way out here in South Dakota?" He asked, his worries getting the best of him.

JJ lifted her non-full hand and laid it on Spencer’s shoulder, no matter how much taller he was than her. "Spence. She's going to be okay. We have people watching over your apartment building on Strauss's orders. They're doing it on their overtime. I think she's safe. Even then, you're just a phone call away, right?"

Spencer sighed again, now noticing that JJ carried with her a coffee in her hand that wasn't on his shoulder. JJ laughed. "I'd be wary of the day you don't smell coffee when it's available. You're lucky it's for you." JJ teased, handing the warm cup to him.

Spencer took it and took a quick sip of the liquid. "Thank you, JJ. Really. I… I really needed this." He says. JJ nods.

"I figured you did. Now I gotta go address the press. They're gathering like vultures out there. So I gotta be their food source." She jokes. Spencer laughed and nodded.

"Yeah… actually, most vultures tend to go for larger prey than the usual roadkill, as that is more sustenance for them-" Spencer began to ramble. JJ laughs as he caught himself.

"Yeah, just like every animal it seems." She answers before he leaves the room, opening the door wider as Garcia bursts into the room with her laptop.

"Reid! Reid I think I might've gotten word about Peter!"

○●♡●○

"Arthur?"

Your brother chuckles slightly and rubs the back of his neck. "Surprise? Please don't tell me you've watched the news. You know how dramatic mother is. I told her I was going to come visit you and-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as you very quickly engulfed him in a hug. You felt short, as he had grown much taller than you. But you didn't care. He was still your little brother. And you loved him.

"Y-you're okay… you...you've grown so much…" you begin, looking up at him as you pull away. Arthur's arms had very quickly reciprocated your hug, enjoying the first bit of contact he has had with you since you left.

"Yeah, apparently somewhere in my genes there's supposed to be another inch or two. But I think I'm done." He laughs, laying a hand on your head. You smile at him, your panic completely gone at this point.

Derek raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms from where he stood. "(Y/N), you wanna tell me who this is?" He asks.

You look over at Morgan and laugh softly, Arthur having given Morgan his most awkward expression. He really hadn't changed much.

"Derek, this is my younger brother, Arthur Grant." You introduced. Then you turned to Arthur. "Artie, this is SSA Derek Morgan. He… He was the agent P-Peter captured alongside me."

Arthur widened his eyes and held out his hand to Derek as he gulped. "N-nice to meet you. T-thank you for protecting her. She's really all I've got." He says, rubbing his neck.

Derek smiled and gave Arthur a firm handshake in return. "It was my honor, Arthur. I'm glad she's got some real family left. Not that her work family isn't good." He jokes, nudging your arm. You rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself.

"Hey, as a wise man on Supernatural once said, 'Family don't end in blood'. And I think that qualifies here." You giggle softly, happy to have found even a small bit of happiness and willingness to be able to express it freely.

Arthur shook Morgan’s hand gladly and smiled his signature smile, looking back towards you. "Hey, uh… sis? Can we… can we talk? I haven't seen you for… what is it… five years now? I just wanna catch up." He expresses, his eyebrows turning up genuinely.

You sigh, but nod. "Morgan, can you go into the other room while we talk? Just for a half hour?" You ask. Morgan shrugs and nods.

"'Course kid. He's the only member of your damn family I'll trust. Just don't be gossiping without me." He teases as he leaves the room. You giggle softly as you watch him leave.

"So… how have you been? O-other than-" Arthur began, his awkwardness taking over. You sigh and hold up a hand and look at him sadly.

"Artie… please, let's just… not talk about that. I'm dealing with it. That's all that you need to know right now. You might be taller than me, but that doesn't mean that you're gonna know all of my secrets like an older brother." You tease, guiding Arthur towards the couch.

Arthur playfully rolled his eyes and followed you, mocking offense. "Oh come on, height has to factor in there somewhere Sis."

You shake your head and take a seat beside him on Spencer’s couch, sighing gently. "Nope, sorry little bro." You insist.

Arthur smiles at you and leans back on the couch, sighing as he looks at you. "(Y/N/N)... you… You have no idea how much I've missed you. I pushed myself to graduate with all honors because of you. I got a scholarship too. In business. Because you always pushed me to do better. To do my best. I… I want to do something for you in return. Please. Name it. I can start making it up to you."

You give Arthur a joking look and shook your head. "No need, Arthur. Besides, that was all you. You just needed the extra push. I'm so proud of you." You say, laying a hand on Arthur's arm. He smiled at you and took a sigh, signaling to you that the conversation was about to take a turn.

Arthur's hands intertwined with each other and he leaned over for a moment, his elbows digging into his thighs. "(Y/N)... Look I… I know you said you were okay but…" he sighed again. "Mom she… she forbade me from seeing you in the hospital, I promise that's the only reason I wasn't there. After I promised to testify against her for you she banned me from leaving home."

You widen your eyes, your mouth gaping a bit. "Arthur… y-you're testifying?"

He looked up at you and nodded. "Yeah. She assaulted you at work and literally sold you, sis. If I can put her away, along with him, I'm gonna do it. For you. I want you to be safe. I may not be your older brother, but I want you safe too. I'm gonna try and protect you like a brother should. I couldn't do much as a scrawny 13 year old you know." He chuckled. You laughed briefly, a smile teasing at your lips.

"Yeah… not really." You giggled. He shook his head and laughed back.

"Ha ha. Very funny. But really… it's good to see you sis. I… I'm sorry I didn't do enough for you back then." He exhaled, his expression solemn and regretful. You take his hands in yours and give him a reassuring look.

"Hey, just as you said. You were a scrawny 13 year old. What much could you do?" You point out. Arthur sighed.

"I could've protected you. At least told Peter to scram at least once." He grumbled. You shake your head and smile at him.

"I think I did that enough for the both of us."

Arthur smiled softly and looked down, showing you his vulnerability when it came to you. You squeezed his hands gently, assuring him it was okay.

And you both sat there in each other's company for a few more moments of silence. It wasn't an awkward one, so there were no awkward feelings.

Arthur spoke up a few minutes later, having come up with an idea. "Can… can I at least pay for your therapy? I can pay for it with the money dad gives me. You… you need to see someone. I saw someone, you pushed me to go see Dr. Francesca and now I see her every two weeks. Please… let me do this for you."

You sighed as Arthur began to try and persuade you. Damn him and his puppy eyes. He still had the gift.

"Tell you what, how about we call Derek back in here and we watch some procedural cop show that we can all laugh at and I'll tell you what I decide later?" You narrowly avoid. Arthur thankfully notices this and drops the question.

"Only if the show is dumb enough for a citizen like me to laugh at it." He settles.

You giggle and nod. "Deal!"

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 4 years ago

Note

Shakespearean mc here- what are your thoughts on the different plays? Specifically twelfth night and midsummers night dream since you mentioned characters from those plays plus Macbeth (I’m studying that one in school)

*Cracks knuckles and takes a long, deep breath.*

Fam I have written entire essays about this for my courses. I have done presentations and powerpoints, not to mention monologues. I have filled journals. You know not what sort of floodgate that you’ve opened. The doorway to my dorkish heart.

Twelfth Night is my favorite comedy and it was actually the first one I ever saw. The premise behind the show is a farce-like situation, it’s literally one big joke. Viola has a crush, so in order to woo him, she dresses up as a man and goes off to try and convince another woman to date him. Y’know, as you do. But then here’s the kicker - his crush falls in love with the male disguise! I know it’s probably something we all just kind of accept as normal Shakespearian humor at this point, but you must understand how hard Tiny Brandon was laughing when he first saw this, especially since Olivia was played by a friend of mine. (Well I say “friend,” she was a drama coach, but I considered her a friend, so there.) Viola holds a special place in my heart, for being the first protagonist I saw, and I friggin love how she puts it all together immediately and her reaction is just, “I wonder how badly this will all go wrong by the end. Welp! No turning back now!” She’s literally such a mood, and I’m so glad to see her reunited with Sebastion by the end. Speaking of him, I like how he just kind of stumbles upon the plot and passively accepts it. Oliva throws herself at him, and he just accepts. I’ve seen this played multiple ways. In the first production I saw, the guy was bewildered and just kind of went along with it like “Uh...okay?” But later on, I saw a version where my good friend was playing him, and he made me laugh so hard, because he played it like “This total babe wants to marry me. I have no idea why or who she is, but she does NOT need to ask twice.” Also this has nothing to do with anything, but between Oliva falling for “Sezario” and Orsino continuing to treat Viola as a man until they’re married...yeah, this play had characters who were LBGT and didn’t know it. Them’s just the facts. Anyway, I love this little squad, I’d watch a sitcom about them for sure. Oh who am I kidding, the real comedy of this show, the elephant in the room...is Malvolio, and his whole storyline. What a role, and I want it. I wish to play Malvolio before I die. I wish to see fanfiction about him getting revenge on the whole pack of them. I cannot read the cross-gartered scene without laughing. He’s...he’s Percy. He’s literally Percy, right down to how he’s the punch line of the joke, and it’s treated as okay because he’s just that annoying...but y’know I don’t really mind? Like sure, he was wronged. He was most notoriously abused. But it was funny!

Midsummers is a show that I basically know by the back of my hand by now. It’s one of the classics, it’s like Romeo and Juliet in the sense that it’s one of the shows that everyone had heard of, everyone knows on a basic level even if they hate Shakespare or know little to nothing about his work. And I used to joke that this show was following me. Because everyone was putting it on, and no matter where I went, what company I worked with...inevitably, that show would crop up. If I had any dancing ability or movement training that I hadn’t all but forgotten by now, I would love to play Puck. The ultimate trickster, the ultimate troll. He’s the best. Another classic and cliche plot of course, but that’s because it’s iconic at this point. Like a blend between a soap opera and a farce this time, everything that happens between the four humans in the woods. I love how it’s just canon that Hermia is short, and angry about this. I like how Lysander is kinda witty, “You have her father’s love, Demetrius. Would you marry him?” and y’know, he’s not a bad guy. He does try to get into Hermia’s pants before the wedding, but he backs down when she says no. Demetrius though? He’s a dirtbag. I mean, he’s not as bad as Proteus from Two Gents...but like...are we just never gonna talk about how his love for Helena was artificially induced...and that’s the happy ending? And none of the humans will ever know it? Oh well. There’s also the rivalry between Oberon and Titania, and I always love watching them onstage. They really feel like two deities waging a war, or “playing a game” with each other, with mortals caught in the crosshairs. I believe this romance, I ship it. Titania is a character that I always have high standards for. I expect an amazing performance from her, especially after seeing what my friend Chrissy put in the role. (I doubt you will ever see this, Chrissy, but if you do - shoutout!) Then there's the whole subplot about Pyramus and Thisbe. It’s a little awkward that the production is put on after the whole resolution with the four humans, but I guess it makes sense in-universe. And who cares - it’s always, always the funniest part of that whole show. I look forward to it every time. “This dog. My dog.”

Don’t get me started on Macbeth. This is my favorite Tragedy and probably my favorite Shakespeare show overall. But it’s not just a Tragedy, it’s a Horror, the very best kind of Horror. A story where the audience is betrayed. The hero that was talked up, named in the show’s title, and introduced as a good man...he does a terrible thing, and it all spirals from there. Leaving the audience stranded, unsure if they’re supposed to still root for him. Not to mention how well this play dives into the psychology of murder. How it changes a person forever, once they’ve done something like that and have to live with it. Macbeth was an ordinary man. He didn’t want to kill Duncan for any personal reason or grudge, it was just because of the obvious reason: Power. He wanted the throne. Sure, every man wants to be king, but once the Witches made it seen attainable, once Lady Macbeth painted that picture in his mind...he made his choice. And it’s so important that he’s ordinary because anyone could fall into that kind of trap. Not to get dark for a second but like...a lot of us have people in our lives who we would probably be better off if they weren’t around. And we probably have at least one person who we could kill and probably get away with it. The monster in the back of the human mind. That is what Macbeth is all about. I know the “Out, damn spot” scene is iconic, but it really demonstrates how different people would respond to trauma in different ways. Then there’s Banquo, who basically figures out the truth but can do nothing about it other than wait for Macbeth to realize he’s a loose end. The mystery of the “third” murderer...and I’ve written essays about who that might have been, too. The hubris of Macbeth not to realize how the witches words could be twisted. I also grew so, so attached to Macduff. The poor guy lost everything, and he was the one who spearheaded the rebellion, and ultimately killed Macbeth. Reading it as a kid, not understanding the line of succession, I remember being so annoyed that he wasn’t made King at the end, because he totally deserved it. Also, as someone else who was, “from my mother’s womb, untimely ripped” I consider Macduff a kindred spirit.

#Shakespeare #William Shakespeare #Twelfth Night #A Midsummer Night's Dream #Macbeth #The Scottish Play #Long Post #Ramblings

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 4 years ago

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Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter IV

Summary: Javier left one small detail about his partnership with the DEA, a insignificant one but that changes how Isa perceives this job and the risks he’s about to take. They spent the last weekend before he leaves in Laredo where they made many memories at the beginning of their relationship.

WC: 4,3k

Warnings: angst and many hurt feelings, miscommunication, swearing. NSFW +18 SMUT at the end of the chapter (fingering, male masturbation, p in v and a bit of sex talk but not that explicit)

A/N: Hi! this is chapter four and I think that I can wrap up this story in a few chapters more (4 maximum, at least that’s the plan) I literally based the whole end of the chapter on my first participation on #Writer Wednesday that you can read here and my love for Juan Luis Guerra. The song mentioned is “Burbujas de amor” I grew up dancing and listening to that tape while my mami cooked and later in my life I really paid attention to the lyrics discovering that well, it’s about sex 😅, still it’s a beautiful bachata and the hopeless romantic in me wishes that somebody (Javi Peña please) would dance it with me someday while being madly in love 💃❤

Listen and Lyrics here (there's a few verses translated by yours truly in the chapter)

Masterlist | Chapter 3⬅

Chapter IV: Small details

Isabel tries to focus on her daily routines like doing the chores; it’s easier than to think about anything else, she tries to keep going as if nothing is going to happen. But every time she looks at the door where Javi has left his luggage, she feels her stomach twisting. She’s desperate; thinking how she could make him stay: maybe she could lie, pretend that something has come up, but she dismisses those thoughts straight away, she must be overthinking, it’s just a week, she repeats herself but she cannot help feeling that something is wrong and that she should do anything to make him stay.

Javier plays with Elvira on the garden, the little girl screams and laughs out loud while her father tries to catch her; Isabel looks at them amused from the sliding door when the phone rings.

“Hello?” she answers

“Hi! It’s Steve, is Javi home?” a deep male voice she doesn’t recognize replies

“Yes, who is this again?” she actually has an idea. He, this Steve, it's the one that has convinced his husband to go, the one that called a thousand times during the night.

“Steve, I was your husband’s partner back in Colombia. You’re Isa, right?”

“Yes”

“Nice to meet you, well, through the phone at least” he chuckles

“Nice to meet you too”

“Javi has told me about you and, let me tell you, me and my wife, we’re dying to meet you”

“I’d love to say the same but he doesn’t share much about that time” she blurts out, she actually feels hurt, why did Javi tell him about her and nothing of the man calling to her, his wife? “Are you going with him to Mexico? You are the one that asked him?”

“Ask him? We didn’t...” Steve says confused “Yes, y-y-es, we’re going together” he coughs “Can you pass him the phone, please?”

“Yes”

Isa strides angrily towards the garden and calls for Javi to come inside. He stops immediately the games with Elvira and returns to the house with a curious look.

“Sí, amor?”

“The phone, it’s your friend Steve” she hisses

“Steve?”

“Jav...I think I might have fucked up talking to your wife”

The rest of the day is a symphony of Isa stumping through the house, slamming doors and grunts and curses slurred.

“She’s angry again” Elvi confides leaning on her father’s ear while their watching a movie after dinner

“Yeah, I think so too” fuck Steve and his big mouth

His wife is doing the dishes and if he wasn’t able to hear the water running, he would think she is actually destroying the whole kitchen rather than cleaning; she lays things unnecessarily loudly and the clack clack sound of the plates smashing against each other announces that she’s losing her cool and that she’s about to break some of them soon enough.

Crash

“Fuck!”

Eli gasps and cringes hearing her mum say a bad word for the first time.

“You keep watching, I’m going to see if she’s ok” Javi gets up and walks to the kitchen

She’s cleaning the thousand tiny pieces muttering a list of bad words in Spanish and English.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes” she says abruptly

“Clearly not, but...”

“Of course I am not” she starts shouting but she lowers her voice immediately knowing her kid can hear her “I’m about to lose my mind”

“Isa...” he approaches her but she backs away and stops him

“You forgot to tell me some small details, Javier” she accuses

“What details?”

“Why did your friend imply that they didn’t ask you to go?”

He sighs placing his hands on his hips

“I didn’t want you to...”

“Worry?” she interrupts “We’re passed that”

“Alright, I did offered my help” he confesses

“What kind of help?”

“I’ve told you. See what they got and testify when necessary about the information I found” he looks tired, dark circles under his eyes and he lowers his arms defeated “Can we please talk about this later...”

“You’re telling me that you are an informant, Javi?” Isa waits for his answer with her fists close tightly; her lips are a fine line now

“Yes, more or less” he sighs

“Javier... why did you put yourself at risk like that?” her voice is low and she closes her eyes before speaking trying to control what she’s about to say “You know what those people do to whoever dares to speak up?”

“Of course, I fucking know, Isa!” he screams and slams his hand on the table, making her flinch

Helena

Maritza

Carrillo

Even fucking Mr Pickle

The list of people Javi had seen die or their lives distroyed because they dare to face the Narcos or say something they shouldn’t have was long and his mind repeats those names again and again when he tries to forget about what happened in Colombia.

“What did you want me to do? Look the other way? Ignore it as everybody in that fucking stupid job? Let those people go?” his eyes glow with the white light on the kitchen. He never loses his temper; he’s actually pretty calm even when they’ve fought before. But in that moment, Isa see how his hands shake how his body tenses

“What I want it’s that you don’t want to comprise yourself, your health to something that isn’t your job anymore” she mutters

“Yeah, but guess what? It’s the only thing I know how to do and I’m actually good at it, not that stupid office job that kills me every fucking day”

“If you don’t like it you can change, Javi, nobody is holding you there” she suggests

“Nobody is holding me there? Well, we have to keep paying this fucking house don’t we?” he snarls

“It’s our fault then that you have accepted to put yourself in this position? that you always want to run away?” Isabel gawks. She’s about to say something else but Elvira’s cries and screams are loud now after she has listen to her parents fight, so Isabel storms out of the kitchen to her. The little girl is sitting on the couch trying to muffle her whimpers holding her unicorn.

“Mi cielo, ven aquí” (My love come here) she jumps to her mother’s arms and she shakes and sniffs “We’re going to bed, come on” Isa lifts her tiny body up and walks towards the stairs, she glares at Javi when he tries to reach for them and shakes her head.

Isabel comes to bed late and when he’s already there, in the dark, she undresses and takes her place on the right side without saying a word.

“Isa” he murmurs

Javier stretches his arm to reach her but as soon as she feels him, she moves away.

“C’mon Isa” he raises putting his weight on his elbow “Talk to me”

“I don’t want to talk”

“Then listen to me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed and say those things”

“Doesn’t matter how you said it if you think them, though” she counters still not turning to face him

“I don’t think them”

“Which part?”

“I don’t think you are responsible of me wanting to do this or that I’m bored and disgusted of my job”

“You’re doing it again”

“What?”

“Lying to yourself. You’re bored of your life I can understand that, I didn’t choose to be in this life either, but I have to accept it. And you’ll have to accept that the life you had back in the day can’t come back at least Elvi and I we don’t fit in it”

“Amor it’s not like that”

“Then stay”

“I can’t” he sighs

Isa stays quite and tense hugging the pillow and when he tries again to touch her, she gets up and strides outside the room

“I’m going to sleep with Elvi tonight”Javier raises to stop her but again she refuses his touch. Defeated, he throws himself on bed. Then stay, I wish it was that easy

They leave to Laredo the next morning to spend the weekend with Chucho before Javi crosses the border.

Isa responds with just “yes” or “no” to anything her husband says during the ride and focuses on distracting Elvira with music or playing with her Barbie dolls.

Her last sentence, the one she said the night before, burns in his brain.

You want your life back and we don't fit in it it makes his stomach turn, because deep down he knows it's true.

That hunger he feels, the thrive that hooks him to this job is a lingering ghost that whispers in his ear, a siren singing until he's about to drown.

----------------------------------------------------------

He remembers one night back in Colombia a few years ago. Gabriela under him, her soft skin glowing in sweat as he poured his frustration in her, she was sweet and always understood what he wanted, beautiful but with a sadness in her eyes, very common among the girls in the same job, and he had ask her why she didn't stop and she responded with the same question back to him.He didn't have an answer back then, and when he did stop, he was forced to because the system wouldn't allow him to do his job properly. His departure from the DEA was a bad break up; he didn't find closure no matter how many times he did say that he was through.

Chucho welcomes his family with tamales and cold beer. He lets Elvira roam around the chickens and the rest of the animals on the ranch before dinner. He's not naive and senses the tension between his son and daughter in law since they've gotten out of the car.

“¿Bueno qué te hizo este pendejo?” (what did this idiot do to you?) He asks to Isa while setting the table

“He's going to Mexico you know, with the DEA”

“What?”

“He's an informant now apparently”

“An informant”, Chucho thinks about that information and decides not to mention anything during dinner as he prefers to listen to his granddaughter stories. Once they're done and Elvi and Isa are cleaning the dishes he forces Javi out of the house.

“Isa told me you’re going to Mexico with the DEA”

“Just for a week, I'm helping them with something”

“You remember that day after you got back from Cali? In this same place”

“Yes”

“You told me you were through”

“And I'm, I'm just being useful. That information landed on my lap what was I supposed to do? Ignore it, pops?”

“You could just passed the tip and let them do it. When you got back from Cali I've found you here, every morning watching as the boats go up the river with los kilos, you were never through Javi, don't lie to me”

“You and Isa are just perfect for each other” Javi scoffs

“She worries about you, she loves you, mijo” he grabs his son’s arm

“I know”

“You're not the young man that left Laredo, Javi, nor the man that came back from Colombia, you're a dad now. And let me give you a piece of advice, out of experience, even if you think your father is annoying” Javi shakes his head “Parents always know, they know you and see you for what you are even when yourself is trying to deny it. You've been always like that, Javi, always trying to do the right thing even if it costs you your health and your heart and blaming yourself endlessly for the things you couldn't control”

Javi listens in silence, chewing hard on a nicorette.

“Now the right thing is not going after those Narcos, the right thing is to stay with your family”

Javi has his gaze fixed on the moon and stars that illuminates the river under them.

“But that's only this old man opinions, your family will wait for you here, we always do” he adds

“So can we go? Please please” Elvira begs at the table

“Claro, mija” (Of course, love) His grandpa always spoiling her pinches her cheek before hers parents can answer “We’re going all of us together”

Javi and Isa look at him. Isa is still giving Javier the silent treatment and has being avoiding him even though Chucho forces everybody to share every meal on the leaving room and do the same activities together; even though Javi has tried to approach her many times a day, she finds ways to reject him.

“Papá...” Javi starts

“There’s no discussion, son. Mi nieta quiere ir a la feria y vamos a ir a la feria” (My granddaughter wants to go to the funfair and we’re going to the funfair”

“It could be fun” Isa agrees and gives a timid smile; it’s the most she’s spoken since they’ve arrived.

Laredo’s funfair takes place at the end of the summer and it’s practically the only activity for a lazy summer evening so the whole town is there. Isa watches as her daughter grins, her mouth already sticky thanks to the cotton candy she’s eating, and the sugar is starting to kick in, she’s jumping and screaming pulling her grandpa’s hand and the poor man follows trying not to fall down.

“Easy on abuelito, Elvi” Isa laughs

Isabel is beautiful tonight, like many years ago, she wears a sunflower summer dress and her dark curls clipped on both sides. Javi smiles, his mind wandering through the memories from the past when they were starting to know each other.

“You remember our first date?” he asks

“Yes” she nods “It was a pretty good date I think”

“Never thought we will be back to this funfair with our daughter years later”

“Me neither. And I think your father regrets now that he said yes to this” Isa motions to her right where Elvi is forcing his grandpa to get on one of the rides.

“I should go with her instead if I don’t want to collect my father’s corpse after this” he grins and they walk towards the people queuing.

“Elvi, leave abuelito, Dad is going with you” Isa tries to sound like an authority but she keeps laughing watching poor Chucho scared

“No, I want to go with you” she crosses her arms and pouts “With you both, mami y papi” she says

“I-I” Isa simpers

“Leave mami, she doesn’t like this kind of things”

“No!” she cries “Like abuelo said, we’re going together all of us”

“Honey...” Javi bends to her, but Isa posses her hand on his shoulder

“Okay, I’ll go too, but you leave abuelo stay”

She seems to hesitate for a bit, but then she nods and finally Chucho breathes deeply in relief.

“Be careful” he says walking way too fast away from the queue

The attraction simulates a ship going forward and backward, each time farther away and faster. Isa exhales trying to calm herself down while Elvi and her husband laugh at her.

“Remember I told you I puked in one ride the first time I came to the fair? So this is the one, you two won’t be laughing once I vomit all over you both” she screams and that makes them laugh even more

The first two rounds are not that bad. Isa holds one hand on her seat the other over Elvi’s body. Javier reaches timidly at first to brush his fingers over hers as to reassure her, he’s about to recoil but she holds on tightly to his fingers, her eyelids strongly closed. When thing finally stops, Isa can barely walk.

Elvira is already jumping towards Chucho trying to convince him to get on another round with her.

“Hold on to me come on” Javi says holding her by the waist it’s been two days since he last touch her. Two days where he has tried to hold her hand or subtly tried to bump into her while on the kitchen but she has refused his touch. So he closes his fingers on the dress trying to hold on what she has finally given him and not force the situation and make her go back to that state again. Although all he wants is to hold her in his arms and take the pain he sees on her eyes away. Pain you have caused, idiot.

“No way, señorita, you will kill you grandpa” he responds

Time passes and Isa is no longer shaking and can stand on her legs, but lets her husband’s arm around her, his hand rubs gentle circle on her side.

“We should get you something to eat”

There’s a big plain at the center of the fair where they’ve installed a stage and some tables facing it; around the terrain many foodtrucks offer anything you’d like to eat and fill the air with million different and delicious scents.

Javi kisses her temple “I’ll be back”

After ravishing a burger and fries Isa feels the cold sweat and the nausea fading away. The band is now playing slow songs and a many couples are dancing around the colorful little lights that cross over the flatland. Chucho clears his throat and looks at his son in a not very subtle way and motion his head to the people dancing and then to his wife.

“Do you want to dance?” Isa sips her soda and seems confused by his offering

“You don’t dance”

“I dance... sometimes, c’mon, it’s been a long time” he stand up and tends a hand to her gaining a smirk and a wink from his father.

The band starts playing a bachata. Javi lays her hand on her lower back feeling the way her hips go right and left, her soft breath on his chest while he brushes his lips on her forehead.

“I think this one was on that tape I gave you” she says on his ear, raising her voice over the music

“Suggestive enough” he smirks “We listened to that tape on a loop in my car that summer”

“I don’t know if I’d call listen to a tape what we used to do in your car” she laughs

“Yeah, the nights at the riverbank and that tape...I remember”

“I wish we could go back sometimes” she whispers so softly that Javi is not sure if she just says it to herself

The song ends and the people cheer and clap but they stay in a tight embrace knowing that when they let go and they’re back to square one. Javi is still parting on Monday and Isabel will stay always waiting for him to come back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The trip back home is calm; Chucho drives while the radio plays some classics from the 60’s, Isabel holds her child’s head on her chest, her other hand lays lazily between the seats, slowly advancing towards Javi’s thigh until she brushes her knuckles over his jeans. He turns to face her but she keeps looking through the window at the night sky and the fading lights of the fair. After leaving Elvira on bed, Chucho feels that it’s time for him to leave the two of them alone.

“I’m going to sleep, you don’t have to wake up early but I’ll go to church tomorrow at nine” Chucho announces before going to his room

The humble space in the living room suddenly feels like a world away from one end to the other, from the corner where Javi stand to Isa on the other. She looks down trying to find the things she wants to say and to command her feet to walk, to run to him.

“I think I’m going to sleep” Javi says unbuttoning his shirt

“Do you want to walk with me? Just for a bit” she interrupts

“Yeah...okay” he raises his brow confused but agrees instantly, whatever makes her talk to him again.

They walk around the property, the crickets and breeze the only sound around them. The animals are asleep and the current of the nearby river is stronger in that part of the ranch.

“I used to love nights like this” she says eventually

“Yeah, I’d pick you up after your shifts at the bar and we spent the night right here” he points to an old red truck now dusty and abandoned.

“I should have known better than to end up with a guy that fucks you on a pick up because his father is sleeping inside the house” she scoffs

“Well, to be fair, I remember I fucked you in plenty other places” he jokes back “Do you want to see if that old tape is still there?”

They approach the shed where Chucho keeps the old car, the door squeaks when Javi opens it.

“Ladies first” he lays out a hand so Isa can get inside and impulse herself on the step. They sit, as many years ago, on the black leather seat that is well preserved even if it’s been years since the last time it was used. Isa throws a look behind her; the blankets they used to cushion their bodies are still there, and she sighs softly

“When was the last time that we did it here?” she asks while Javi struggles to open the radio that’s full of dirt and rust.

“Probably two weeks before you told me that you were pregnant” he guesses

“Poor Elvi, we made her on this old thing” she laughs

“Our lives and my back were never the same” he jokes

“It was me who was most of the time on back” Isa slaps him playfully “So dumbed by you I’d let you do anything over those old rugs”

“Under the stars, listening to Juan Luis Guerra...it was romantic, you told me yourself” he defended

“Again I was dumb”

“I still think this old thing brought us many joyful moments” he taps on the dashboard

“Nostalgic I see” Isa smirk

“A little, you?”

“You’re trying to fuck your way out of this one too” she sighs shaking her head

“Just trying to give my wife a good orgasm before leaving”

“Oh, you’re so sure of yourself”

“Empiric fact, don’t I always make you cum?”

His hand raises the hem of her dress and pulls her legs apart. Her panties already have a damp patch on its center and he grunts feeling her moan just with the faintest brush of his finger between her folds

“What did the song say? I want to spend the whole night wet in you”

Isa gasps when he pulls her to his lap in a swift motion.

“Something like that” she bends her head and kisses him hard biting his lower lip softly

“I want to make love shapes under the moonlight” Javi raises slowly her summer dress until he takes it off and wastes no time in kissing and licking her bare breasts once they’re liberated from the fabric. He tends to one first cupping it, licking and sucking on her nipple and then to the other until her soft skin gets gooseflesh. Isabel moans and rocks her hips back and forth trying to find relief.

“Face to face, kiss by kiss, I want to live always wet in you” he whispers before resuming his sweet attention on her tits

“You learnt it by heart” she laughs

“Cos it’s accurate, that’s how I feel about you, baby”

Isabel unzips his jeans and palms his length over his underwear before releasing him. She wets her hand with her own saliva before stroking him up and down. Helping her, Javi reaches for her core and slips the wet panties to the side not without caressing her clit first with his thumb

“Isa” he moans feeling her arousal, his head on the hollow of her neck nibbling over her pulse. The way he pronounces her name, how he caresses every letter sends her shivers and increases her hunger for him. She reaches between her bodies and lets his cock slide inside her. She starts rocking her hips, moving up and down and in a few thrust she finds the perfect angle where he hits that sensitive spot.

“Shit” she pants

Javi whispers praises in her ear how good she feels, how beautiful she looks naked in the moonlight with him buried so deep inside her. And with that she loses control and rides him faster and harder with her back arched against the dashboard; sensing her immediate release Javier locks his lips on her breasts sucking on her nipples and reaching for her clit between their bodies.

“Cum for me, my love” he says, his gaze fixed in her contort expression, eyes closed and mouth open and she shakes around him feeling tense for a second and then as if her bones had melted she collapses on his chest.

Javi thrusts lazily feeling how she quivers around his cock and lets her relax from her orgasm before increasing the pace again to find relief.

Regaining a bit of her conscience, Isa straightens her body and lets him push in her hard and fast until he crumbles.

They stay there under the moon and starts in the old car where all started; a thousand times they had lost themselves in each other like this, and a thousand times Isa wishes that everything would be as easy as this with him.

She strokes his arms drawing soft circles over his muscles “I know you can’t, but I really want you to stay with us, with me. But if leaving this time helps you understand that you belong to me and your place is here, with me, then so be it”

#Javier Peña #Javier Pena #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña x OFC #Narcos #Narcos fanfic #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal characters Fanfiction #Narcos Netflix #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javier Peña fic #Narcos fic #Pedro Pascal fic

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years ago

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Title: In the dark blue sky you keep Summary: Martha Wayne, the Bat of Gotham, wakes up in a world where here son never died. The difference is startling. AN: Based on an anon prompt in which Flashpoint Thomas and a Batman!Martha meet my happy imaginary canon verse.

Her son had green eyes.

Her son was dead.

Reflexively, Martha grabbed the imposter, clone, hallucination, Fear Toxin. Had someone finally figured out her identity? Was it Crane? No, he wasn’t smart enough on his own, maybe Two-Face had helped or Black Mask. He had been pretty annoyed she and that upstart with Joker’s old moniker had been decimating his empire-

“Grandmother! You’re hurting me!”

Bruce was struggling against her grip, cursing in Arabic under his breath, and Martha finally remembered. Shocked, she let go of Damian, who was quick to take a few steps back.

“Damian. I- I apologize.”

The teenager just sighed, feigning calmness, while still staring at her hand. He looked a lot like Talia wearing that expression. In her homeworld – dimension traveling was a concept Martha still wasn’t comfortable with – Talia had been a girl just as stubborn and proud as Damian. After her death, Martha had often wondered who she could have become, hadn’t the world wanted to get back at Ra’s al Ghul. It was strange to see a world where she had a son.

Where Martha’s son was a father himself.

“It’s fine,” Damian said. “I’ll tell the others to wake you with a broom or a ruler like we do with Baba. And breakfast is ready. Alfred said you can eat upstairs if you want to.”

She had eaten breakfast with everybody else for the past five days, even if it had been uncomfortable to sit next to Thomas again. This other world’s version of him was rough, broken. He didn’t resemble the sweet man Martha recalled. But she supposed she wasn’t much like his wife either. That Martha Wayne had fallen into despair and madness, thriving in the blood splatters of the Joker.

She hadn’t locked down her emotions like a Kane, taken off her wedding ring and traded it for a knife to become someone, something different.

This Bruce probably recognized neither of his parents in these killers wearing their faces.

“Do you have guests today?”

Damian shook his head. “No, just a full house. Everybody’s home again for the first time in weeks, so we’re all eating together. It’s become somewhat of a tradition. Baba wasn’t sure whether you or Grandfather would be up for that.”

Martha was the Bat.

Her life had never been a question of if she wanted to do something. She had to.

“Of course, I’m coming. I’d like to meet the rest of your siblings.”

“I’ll tell Alfred.”

Damian rushed out of her room – a guest room outside of the family wing of the manor – on silent feed. None of the people in Bruce’s family made a sound unless they wanted to. Martha hadn’t been able to stop herself from imagining what assets they must be on the battlefield.

Martha had never taken on a side-kick, or a hero in training, as the Justice League liked to call their junior members. Not that Martha was much of a hero or a vigilante with her poisons, syringes, knives and the League of Assassins on speed dial. She had worked together with the Justice League a few times when the whole world had been threatened by outside forces, but their methods didn’t agree with each other. She thought children were too young for Gotham, any city at all, and they hadn’t approved of the blood trail she left behind.

Martha got dressed. Alfred had rushed to a store after the first day so she could wear clothes that didn’t belong to her grandson’s ex-girlfriend. He had returned with a full batch of outfits, all similar in cut and style to what she used to wear.

Martha hadn’t had the heart to tell him she hadn’t worn a skirt in two decades.

After making sure she was presentable, she left to go to the dining room. Martha had gathered that they usually ate in the kitchen when only four members of the family were in the manor, but since her and Thomas’s arrival, they’d taken to eating in the dining room. With so many people attending – she’d heard a few names being dropped over the past days – they needed the space.

On her way across the manor, she encountered Thomas. He was finally clean-shaven and, wearing Bruce’s shirts, he appeared much younger than he had when they had first arrived.

They both mustered each other, but none of them really knew what to say.

“My room has a mural,” Thomas spoke up. “It’s a mix of spray painting and acrylics.”

Martha had seen a couple rooms decorated like that.

“I think that’s Damian and Duke’s work.”

“The meta?”

Her Thomas used to love giving speeches. He could talk for hours about what fascinated him without taking a break. When Bruce had been- He used to give Bruce biology lectures to fall asleep to.

This Thomas was talkative if he said more than ten words.

“Damian mentioned boding with Duke over art,” Martha continued. “Bruce allowed them free reign of the guest wing as long as they don’t make Alfred disapprove.”

“The manor’s messy enough by his standards already.”

Martha wouldn’t necessarily call the manor messy. It was just more lived-in than what the two of them were used to. There was a distinct lack of breakable vases, and many paintings had been taken down to be replaced by family portraits or paintings done by Damian.

The rugs on the ground weren’t as bright and clean as they used to, but Bruce had said that multiple of his children were friends with speedsters. She’d also found rations of non-perishable food hidden in different corners, an immeasurable amount of cats, a skateboard, toys, instruments, posters, stickers and everything else that belonged in a good home with happy children.

The closer the two got to the dining room, the louder did the voices become.

“And I’m standing there, baby vomit all over my uniform, still holding the kiddo and go ‘Sir, you just violated 34 laws and-‘”

“Timothy, I saw your schematic for a hoverboard, and I was wondering if you would-“

“-too much to ask for one mixed productions where a guy plays a female lead? If you don’t have enough men to cover all male roles, just mix it up completely, why can’t they-“

“Don’t even think of stealing my chocolate, I dare you.”

“-and the kid won’t stop crying. The guy is crying too. And I still had a date to go to.”

“I have multiple degrees and I’m ‘not qualified enough’. Just say you don’t want to hire a woman in a wheelchair and be done, but don’t waste my time.”

“-I’m a broke bitch these student loans can’t kill me-“

“You’re literally putting caviar on your eggs right now, Steph. I know Bruce gave you a credit card, what student loans-“

“Anyway, so I’m running an illegal betting pool at school-“

“Lively, aren’t they?”

Bruce was smiling, looking at his kids discussing heatedly at the table behind Thomas and Martha. Helena, who had been resting in his arms, was now wide awake and squirming. Bruce sat the toddler down and she rushed over to the rest of her siblings.

“The one picking Helena up is Jason, my second son and third eldest. You already met Duke and Damian and heard Tim when he checked the portals you arrived through for abnormalities. He’s the one falling asleep over his cereals. Steph is the blonde one talking to him, gesturing at her food. She was the one to lend you her clothes. The girl beside her is Cassandra, my first daughter and actually second eldest. You know Kate and Bette, I assume? Dick’s my oldest, and he’s the one reenacting the chokehold with the banana. The one who kept the water bottle from falling over next to him is Barbara.”

That had surprised Martha.

“The Commissioner’s daughter?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes. Jim pretends he doesn’t know and we give him space for plausible deniability. It makes holidays very interesting.”

The children kept talking, exchanging stories and snacks, and the tiny toddler in-between them. There was a warmth to their interaction Martha hadn’t felt in years.

“They are strong,” Thomas said.

“They are beautiful,” Martha added, though the term was a poor substitute for what she actually wanted to say.

They’re alive.

She hoped Bruce wouldn’t catch on, but his eyes were already narrowing in concern.

It was easy to forget she wasn’t the only Bat in Gotham anymore.

#dc #dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #batfam #martha wayne #damian wayne #thomas wayne #every other batkid they're all here I'm not tagging everybody #YES EVEN CASS AND DUKE #fanfic #prompt #duke and damian bonding is my life #there are 3 whole batman in this fanfic #batmans???#what is the batman plural seriously #i've been in this fandom for 10 months now and I still don't know

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icanbeyourgenie · 4 years ago

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“ If professor Gryffindor isn't your husband, where is he then? ” – a student to Rowena

Rowena sighed at this question. It’s been fifteen minutes now that she desperately tried to get her students to focus on the lesson, in vain. All they seemed to care about was her relationship with their other professor. If the students talked before, they did it a lot more since the two started keeping their distances from each other. And now, they wanted to know about her personal life. Rowena was about to shift to focus once again, but then a funny thought crossed her mind: ‘Why the hell not?’. She looked at the children before her. Most of them came from wizarding villages, and had no idea how dangerous it was among muggles - af few only were muggles or half-blood (Hogwarts was getting really popular among pure blood but sadly, muggles and half-blood still prefered hidding their children), and had themselves their share of traumatic stories. It was a hard time, and the job of a professor was to prepare their students to the real world, was it not? If telling them her story could make them safer, of feel less alone, she didn’t see why she couldn’t.

❝ Alright, since I see none of you are going to focus today, let’s change the subject. ❞ The sudden interest in their looks proved her they were quite content of this decision. ❝ My... husband... Goodness, it feels so long since I haven’t use that term it feels wrong. Well, as you must certainly know, I am a half-blood. My mother - bless her soul - was a witch. Not a very brillant one, dare I say? ❞ Her class tried to hide their laughs. One shouldn’t talk bad about the deads, but this joke was funny anyway. ❝ My father however was a muggle. The three of us lived together in a small village full of muggles. My mother told me very quickly how to hide my magic. Can some of you explain why? ❞ A few hands rose, and Rowena wasn’t surprised to see that most pure blood students were still blind to the reality of the muggle world.

❝ Because muggles don’t like magic. ❞ the chosen student answered. ❝ They hunt and kill witches and wizards. ❞

❝ Many of them do, yes. It is not this hard everywhere in the world, but here, it can be very dangerous to show you magic to muggles. Especially when you are unprepared to defend yourself. That is why we try to teach you that in here. ❞ She paused, to let the information sink in. ❝ Anyway, when I was very young, I was married to the son of the village’s richest family. My parents were please, even more knowing this family suspected us to use magic. Soon enough, I had my daughter Helena, and my parents really thought they were safe. But they weren’t. My mom made a mistake, and soon we were all on trials, and sentenced to death. Helena included. ❞

Rowena stopped talking for a while. She’ll spare her young students the horrible details of her parents death - she herself didn’t want to relieve it.

❝ My parents died before my eyes. I barely managed to escape, taking both Helena and a very large amount of that family’s jewlery with me. I mean, I had to take care of Helena and I, and it’s not like I was going to get a job... The last time I saw my husband, he tried to stop us. Fortunately, even if I had no proper training at the time, I managed to escape him. I haven’t seen him since that day. ❞ The rest of the story, how she met the others and after a while they started to found a school, helped by their reputations the be the greatest witches and wizards of their time - they already knew that.

❝ This is a sad story. ❞ complained a student. Definitely one of Helga’s chosen.

❝ But wait, you are married to a man you don’t live with?!❞ another added.

❝ Are you really still married then? ❞ asked a shy girl of her own house.

❝ Don’t be silly, of course she is, marriage is for life. ❞

❝ This is, sadly, one of the rules that is enforced upon us yes. ❞ Rowena replied. ❝ But don’t forget what I taught you. You must always, always think for yourself. Just because something is common knowledge doesn’t mean it’s right. ❞

She looked at every one of their students. They were still so young, but if they had to keep one thing from their years at Hogwarts, Rowena wanted it to be this. No one is truly free if they’re don’t think by themselves, and question everything that is taught to them.

❝ Forget about the husband. ❞ a young boy said ❝ Do you still have some of the jewlery left. ❞ Rowena couldn’t help but laugh at that. She was almost tempted to add Slytherin’s house some points.

❝ Indeed I do. Like I said, I took a lot. ❞

❝ Is the diadem a stolen object too? ❞

❝ Only the precious stone in it. ❞ Rowena replied, while taking in hands her precious diadem who laid on her desk. She loved this object. He was full of mystery, and didn’t work the way everyone thought it did, but she wasn’t ready to expose its secrets. It was her doing, and she’d hold on to it for dear life. ❝ The rest is my doing. Now, if you agree, I think it’s time we get back to the lesson.❞

❝ But what about professor Gryffindor then? ❞ asked another boy, who was quiet until now. ❝ Are you two lovers? We all thought so. ❞

❝ Godric is one of my dearest friend. ❞

This was true, technically, but he was more than that. And if denying her true feelings for the man wasn’t hurtful enough, the thought of their recent distance made Rowena’s heart hurt. She tried to ignore it, but the final question of the boy managed to get on her nerves.

❝ Surely you must know that people talk. Sometimes our parents do ask questions. And we don’t know what to say...❞

❝ Well, Mr. Millstone, ❞ Rowena came closer to the boy, her body langage warning him that she wasn’t ready to talk about this particular matter in front of her students. ❝ You can tell your parents that you are currently receiving an education by four wizards and witches who, let’s not be modest, are definitely amongst the best of their generation, and have knowledge of magic from all over the world to pass to you. If they want to remove you from this school on the base of simple gossips, it’s their lost. And yours along with it. Now, as I said, let’s go back to the lesson. ❞

#rowena ravenclaw #rowena writing prompt #writing prompt #likeafairytale #rowena x godric

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lost-n-stereo · 5 years ago

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can we steal a moment of happiness

A/N: Harry/Allie New Year’s Eve AU. Prompt by @livinginrhythm

There are at least fifteen people in this room that he doesn’t know.

When he was sixteen it would have been exactly his scene because when he was in a room full of loud people it meant the shit in his head was a little quieter. Booze and pills, random girls that didn’t mind that he had a girlfriend when he kissed them, driving down an empty freeway at three am in a car that cost more than most people made in a year also did the trick.

His dad’s death fucked him up, in more ways than one, not to mention the news that his mom was screwing his girlfriend’s father barely a year later. Everyone looked at Harry Bingham like a rich asshole, which he was (is, sometimes even now) but no one ever really looked beyond that.

Well, except a feisty blonde that made him feel more in two days that anyone else ever did.

It’s been months since he’s laid eyes on Allie Pressman and it’s not as if he thinks about her every day or anything. But sometimes when he’s sleeping alone, which lately has been more often than not, he thinks about her in his bed, blonde curls spilling over dark navy pillowcases, and he thinks maybe he can still smell the perfume she wore in high school.

Luke and Helena are throwing their first New Year’s Eve party as a married couple, which he honestly thinks is a little fucking crazy because they just barely graduated from college. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to settle down. He can’t even make a lifelong commitment to what kind of shampoo to use, let alone who will share his life until he’s fucking dead.

Somehow their entire group of friends managed to stay friends through their college years, even though they spread out literally from coast to coast at various universities. It doesn’t really surprise him that most of them ended up back in the area after graduation. All of their families have been friends for generations so it’s just a given that they all come home for holidays and vacations.

Helena’s parents gifted her and Luke a two story house as a wedding present, a couple acres of land and a wraparound porch, but instead of looking like a newlywed’s sweet little home it currently looks like a fucking frat house. Bodies are everywhere, red solo cups in sweaty hands, and he sees two girls making out in the corner while a group of idiots cheer them on.

He honestly thought he left this shit back in college but hey, what are holidays for?

“Harry Fucking Bingham!”

Hands hit his shoulders and he laughs as Grizz turns him around and pulls him in for a hug. “What’s up, dude?”

Grizz shrugs, takes a pull from a Stella bottle before pointing it at his boyfriend across the room. “Just drove in last night and then picked Sam up from the airport this morning. When did you get in?”

They make small talk, which he kind of hates, and catch up on all the stuff they’ve done since the summer. Harry spent Christmas in London with his mother, which was more of a business trip for her than anything resembling family time. They got back into town two days after Christmas and besides gifting him a new Rolex and the keys to his late grandfather’s Manhattan penthouse, his mom hasn’t said two words to him since.

He sees Cassandra standing in the kitchen, arm around Gordie who’s telling Kelly a story that makes her whole face light up with laughter. It’s hard not to miss her, they weren’t always great together but they spent basically all of high school as a couple but now their parents are together and it’s just weird.

Cassandra makes him think of Allie and he finds himself looking around, eyes searching the crowd for a mess of blonde curls and a surly attitude.

“She’s not here yet,” Grizz says, a smirk playing across his face. Harry raises an eyebrow and his childhood friend laughs. “Oh come on, man. I know you’re looking for Allie.”

He could play dumb or just own up to the fact that yeah, he had a thing with her for a very short time many moons ago and the last time he saw her it was through a diner window in the dead of summer. Kill him for wondering how she’s been.

Instead of saying anything though he just nods, drinks half of his bottled water in one go, and checks the door every few minutes as he’s joined by more of their friends.

It takes an hour before she finally walks through the front door but he doesn’t miss the way her arm is extended behind her, some too tall Hemsworth wannabe grasping her hand as he follows her into the house.

“Allie!!!”

Kelly, Helena and Elle all rush her immediately and Too Tall smiles fondly down at her, kisses her forehead and yells over the music that he’ll grab them some drinks.

He feels a little like he’s been kicked in the stomach but he has no idea why. They slept together two times over four years ago. He shouldn’t give a second thought to her bringing her boyfriend to a party. Then he thinks about it and if she’s bringing him here that means they probably spent the holidays together, with her family, and that means it’s probably serious.

Fuck. Why does he even care?

Her eyes meet his and its then that he realizes he’s been staring at her like a creepy asshole. His first instinct is to just smirk and nod at her, which makes her roll her eyes but he can see the tiny smile playing on her lips.

She might have always seen past his asshole ways but not too long ago she liked how cocky and confident he was.

Her boyfriend joins her after a few minutes, hands her a glass of white wine and joins the conversation she’s having seamlessly. It’s obviously not the first time their friends have met him and he’s kind of surprised no one told him about him.

Then again, no one really knows that they had their little two night stand so he can’t say that he blames them.

“Not drinking tonight?”

He turns around and Cassandra is eyeing his water bottle with a surprised look on her face.

“Nah,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t drink very often these days.”

“Not even on a holiday?”

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes. “New Year’s Eve isn’t a holiday. Just a good reason to party because no one has to work tomorrow.”

“Say hi to my sister yet?”

He’d really like to know why everyone just assumes he wants to talk to Allie.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ like a jerk. He doesn’t mean to be this way but the entire vibe of this night is just pissing him off. If Luke wasn’t one of his oldest friends he probably would have blown off the entire thing.

“You should meet her boyfriend Tommy. He’s a great guy, just graduated top of his class at Stanford.”

He nods and tells her that he’ll get right on that, thinks to himself that he’ll probably keep referring to him as Too Tall in his head, and seriously considers finding a bottle of scotch and making himself at home.

***

The best thing about this house is the wraparound porch. There’s a line of trees at the edge of the property and he lowers himself down on an Adirondack chair that looks straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He doesn’t have to turn to know who that voice belongs to. Sometimes he still hears it whispering in his ear, an echo from long ago that never really seems to go away.

(I’m sure, Harry. I’m ready just…go slow.)

“It’s New Year’s Eve in West Ham, Al. Where else would I be?”

She’s wearing this romper dress thing that he hates immediately but her hair is down and messy, just like it always is. He’s glad to see that hasn’t changed.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

Allie sighs and sets her glass of wine on the table next to him before sitting down in the other chair. “Tommy is inside with Gordie, discussing the time space continuum.”

“Fascinating,” he says with a grin. She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile.

“Shouldn’t you be inside, celebrating the last few minutes of the year?”

“Shouldn’t you be with him?”

She’s quiet and when he looks at her she’s staring in the direction of the trees. “What do you think is beyond that tree line?”

He’s not going to make a big deal of her completely ignoring his question, especially since he ignored hers.

“I dunno,” he says, interest piqued at how she’s studying the landscape so intently. “Wanna find out?”

Allie looks back in the direction of the house. “I probably shouldn’t.”

Harry scoffs. “I didn’t ask what you should do. I asked what you want to do.”

“I don’t know,” she says, so seriously that he wonders what exactly she’s thinking about. “Do you?”

“Do I know what I want to do? Fuck, Allie. Not really.” They both laugh but he’s kind of serious. He graduated pre-law but the idea of going to law school gives him hives. “I just want to be happy, I guess.”

She smiles. “Is that your resolution this year?”

“Sounds simple, doesn’t it?”

He watches as she shrugs, takes a tiny sip of her wine and holds the stem gently between her fingers. “I think I have the same resolution. Just find a way to be happy, every day, if only for a minute or two.”

“Are you happy now?”

The wind blows her hair around her face a little and he realizes she must be fucking cold because it’s December in Connecticut and she’s not even wearing a coat. “I am, right this second.”

He doesn’t know what that means, if it has anything to do with him, but he finds that he can echo her sentiment without any trace of a lie.

“Me too.”

There’s yelling from inside, the countdown is starting (at twenty seconds to midnight because these people are idiots) and she sighs, stands up and runs her hands down her sides.

“We should head inside,” she says needlessly and he nods. She surprises him by reaching for him, giving him a hug and kissing the side of his mouth lightly.

“Happy New Year, Harry.”

“Happy New Year, Al.”

***

He hears through the grapevine that Allie broke up with Tommy shortly after Valentine’s Day.

It’s not that he cares but he does file the information away for later.

***

Summers after college don’t feel the same, on account of the fact that almost everyone has a real job and can’t just take three months off to do nothing.

After some serious soul searching he decided to forgo law school. He’s still not sure exactly what he wants to do but he’s got some irons in the fire in Manhattan, some companies reaching out to hire him so for now he’s considering his options and what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

Or at least for the near future.

There are a few people home though, and he smiles when he sees Allie walking down the street near their high school. He pulls his car over and rolls down the window.

“Want a ride?”

She startles at first before she sees that it’s him. It’s ninety degrees outside but she’s still in jeans and a mint green hoodie. “I’m not sure,” she says with a smile.

“You look hot,” he says, and when she raises an eyebrow he points to her hoodie. “A sweater in June, Al? I mean, come on.”

She climbs into his car, making fun of how ostentatious it is and he shrugs.

“What can I say, it makes me happy.” She’s hiding a smile behind a fist and he nudges her with his elbow. “What about you, Allie Pressman? Are you happy?”

“Right now?” She asks as she clicks in her seat belt. “Absolutely.”

#hallie #hallie fanfic #harry and allie #harry x allie #harry bingham #allie pressman #the society #fanfic #drabbles

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moretreasurewithinarchive · 5 years ago

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Ella's mother calls her clever at least twice that I heard.

LITTLE ELLA HAS A LEGIT FULL SIZED CAROUSEL HORSE IN HER BEDROOM??? And with that, it looks like there was at least 1 puppet stage, what I can only assume to be a carousel music box but it's built like a Christmas Pyramid, a mobile, and a canopy bed.

The way she and her dad both say thank you this must have been very difficult for you when they get news the one they love is dying???

The Just So and Shall We lines repeat too.

The dress she's wearing when her father returns and when her mother's dying are the same, it just had fake flowers on it when he returns.

We see 3 different Ella's walking with her father toward the meadow. There's little Ella in Black after her mother dies, then what I assume is teenage Ella in a white or blue floral dress sand her hair work to the side and flowing over her shoulder, and then Lily.

Ella lets her shoes hand off her feet a lot

Her physical reaction to her father mentioning Lady Tremaine even before he says anything about marriage.

That butterfly comb will never NOT remind me of Rose's in Titanic.

I can't see anyone in that time period actually making their day Lucifer???

I hate Lady Tremaine's black hat when we first meet her.

The way Ella smiles and laughs for her father and then visibly deflates the instant he turns around KILLS me.

When the Tremaines arrive, Ella's mother's portrait is on the bookshelf in the study/parlor/whatever that room is where she died.

Drisella tells Anastasia their mother's lying about the house being charming and says it's just manners. Anastasia tells her to shut up.

The look Ella's father gives Anastasia when she says they never thought to decorate, and how he looks back at Ella.

Before he leaves on that last trip, Ella KNOWS he isn't well and she can tell something going to happen.

Why the fuck does Tremaine get so jealous of hearing about Ella's mother when she CLEARLY doesn't love her father?

The way Anastasia and Tremaine both look at Drisella after the complexion line kills me.

Like... Tremaine legit kept up a smile until the carriage pulled away and it was gone in less time than it took to blink.

The harp just sitting in the corner. Totally Ella's mother's. Js.

When Tremaine banishes her to the attic, it sounds like Ella was going to say something about staying in a smaller room?

By the time Ella and Tremaines talk in the study/parlor, all of her things, her father's things, and her mother's things are packed up and set aside, including the portrait of her mother. Suspicious much?

Anastasia and Drisella have toys. At first, we are Anastasia holding a doll and Drisella a rabbit, but they switch later.

Casual reminder that Ella's the youngest, since Anastasia calls her their little sister.

I want a full version of Lily singing Sing Sweet Nightingale and Lavender's Blue.

There are flower decorating and motifs all over this house. The walls. The clothes. Even in the stone wall in the kitchen.

Ella's look at Drisella while she's singing. And like... Tremaine herself tells her to shut up, but she gets mad at Ella for being like cringe.

Ella immediately knows as soon as she opens the door and see Farmer John.

Tremaine is a damn good actress though. Her eyes treating when they get the news.

THE BEEHIVES ARE SO CUTE.

That red bedroom of Tremaine's is so garish though.

Another casual reminder: ELLA NEVER GOT TO PROPERLY MOURN HER FATHER BECAUSE SHE WAS WORKING 24/7.

I imagine the scraps they gave her to eat lessened as time went on and they had less food and money. But she always shared them, no matter how meager.

Jacqueline is iconic.

A GIANT POT OF LAVENDER IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS TO THE ATTIC FROM THE KITCHEN.

Gods that robe of Tremaine's is AWFUL.

"Is there someone we've forgotten" They're dehumanizing her already. What a cunt.

Ella riding barebacked and workout reigns will never NOT impress me tbh.

Convince me the stag wasn't a test for both Ella and Kit from Fairy godmother.

Gods Richard was PERFECT in this role. And every time I hear his real accent I'm shook.

Kit's fucking whipped from the start.

Ella only calls him Kit. You can't tell me otherwise.

His sympathy when she says "They treat me as well as they're able". Tell me that this like doesn't ring in his head later and that's why he knows she's been stopped from coming to him.

RICHARD'S DIMPLES

IT'S KIT. KIT. I'M KIT. You absolute fucking disaster of a man 🤣🤣

And you know the Captain never lets him live that down.

Kit goes away a little and comes back when he says he hopes to see her again.

Ella's little lip bite.

Gods those blue and yellow split outfits on the palace staff are ATROCIOUS.

The banter with Kit and the King. And Kit and Ella in the secret garden.

MASTER PHINEAS.

Why are Kit's outfits so attractive?? 🥺

Kit and the king are so short compared to the Captain and the Grand Duke.

The Captain's laugh.

"That's very kind of you. To think of me." My poor baby.

THE LOOKS AFTER SHE CLAPS BACK IN FRENCH. SLAY.

Also, "I speak French not Italian".

Kit, honey you can say it's for the people all you want. You're not fooling anyone.

What the actual fuck does moonface even mean??

Ella making her dress in a day??? Damn girl.

I love Fairy godmother's beggar woman cloak???

Gods I HATE Lady Tremaine.

Ella's pink dress swear her mother's wedding dress like in the deleted song from the cartoon. And this is the hill I'll die on.

"Hairy dogfather" JFC.

I'd have liked the whole fairy godmother getup better without those dinky little wings tbh.

Ella not knowing what cantaloupe is.

MR. FUCKING GOOSE.

I'm sorry, but the lizard footmen creep me out. THEY DIDN'T NEED TO GIVE THEM THOSE TEETH LIKE WTF.

Ok but like... Would the greenhouse have been repaired at midnight though???

Honestly, Disney deprived us all of Lily being trapped in the pumpkin a la the Cinderella episode of Britannica's Tales Around the World with Pat Morita.

WHY TRANSFORM THE MICE. IT'S A FARM. THEY HAVE HORSES.

"I can't drive, I'm a goose" is my favorite line.

Unpopular opinion??? But I liked the ballgown better either without the butterflies or during the transformation when there was only those few blue ones.

I do like the gold butterflies in the slippers though.

I want to know how they got the crystals to stay in Lily and Helena's hair.

Sitting in a crinoline must be awful.

The palace is stunning.

I love every single one of the chandeliers in this movie.

The king waves at Chelina and Kit KNOWS.

The girl on the staircase next to the Tremaines when they get introduced laughs at them. And honestly, same.

"Someone I meet once TONIGHT".

For real, how did the guards at the stairs not hear Ella's name or that her footman was a lizard? They were like not even 5 feet away.

Ella playing with her skirt when she happy and scared.

KIT'S SMILE.

I wish we saw more of the purple in the ballgown.

I love that Ella's descent had Lavender's Blue and the dance has Once Upon A Dream in the score.

The Captain HAD to have told Kit that the Grand Duke already promised him to Chelina. And who gave him the right to do that anyway?

Kit's stammering.

Ella's gasp when he takes her waist and the way she looks at him is like the signature Lily shot. They did the same thing in War & Peace.

"They're all looking at you. Believe me they're all looking at YOU".

The one part in the dance where they kinda flap their arms up and down reminds me of a butterfly and idk why.

Dancing wearing a sword had to be tough. Especially when your partner's in a crinoline and a heavy ass dress. Props to Richard.

Lily tripping at one point during the dance.

Even Chelina loves Ella let's be real here.

Why is there so much telling people to shut up in this movie???

WE GOTTA FACE FACTS HERE, KIT AND ELLA ARE EVEN BETTER AND MORE LOVING PARENTS THAN THEIR OWN WERE.

I love the secret garden scene so much.

When Kit puts the shoe on her foot... Why is that like 😏😏. I hate feet. Why is that breathtakingly romantic??

Why do they always hesitate? GO AFTER HER IMMEDIATELY DAMN IT.

The crier's aids when he hits his head on the stairs.

Ella's interaction with the king.

Kit you're so slow. She's in glass heels and a crinoline and she still outran you.

DISNEY I WANT A DIRECTOR'S CUT OF THE FILM WITH ALL THE DELETED SCENES PUT BACK IN. I NEED KIT SAYING THE LADY ISN'T HERE TO DEFEND HERSELF.

They honestly don't see the footman using his coat tails to lower the portcullis??

Anastasia actually seemed pretty nice to Ella after the ball? Saying she looked cheerful and patting her arm? But then again, we really only see Tremaine and Drisella ripping the dress soooo?

ELLA YOU CAN'T KEEP A SECRET TO SAVE YOUR LIFE.

Girl you need a better hiding place than under the floorboards.

But like the music in the attic after the ball is so sweet???

KIT AND HIS FATHER. THANK YOU FOR LETTING HIM CRY AND SAY I LOVE YOU.

Also like... Notice that Tremaine's Just so to Ella's father was really patronizing and condescending. Ella's to Kit was insecure and uncertain. But the king's to Kit was proud.

At least Kit's not dumb. He's meet this girl multiple times. He don't need a shoe to tell him it's her.

WHY RIP THE ORIGAMI BUTTERFLY THOUGH.

Ella was full on ready to die in that attic to save Kit.

Why do all they guys' pants fit really well except Stellan's? His are loose and baggy.

Y'all know this girl is young and blonde wtf.

Also, fun fact. The girl that asks the Captain if she can try the other foot is Mimi Ndiweni. She played Fringilla in The Witcher on Netflix.

The Grand Duke turning away from the old lady, but the Captain letting her yet the slipper on anyway. 🥺

I want to know where in the line Kit was hiding.

Also how many takes they had to do of Sophie and Holliday trying the slipper on. Cause I wouldn't have been able to do it without laughing. Especially at Holliday's face.

Like... Even if the plan had gone down the way the Grand Duke and Tremaine wanted, I don't see him keeping his word to make her a counted and get good marriages for Anastasia and Drisella.

"YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN AND YOU NEVER WILL BE MY MOTHER".🗣️🗣️

Ella and Kit is my favorite score in the whole movie.

You know, the girls actually seen happy for Ella. Especially Anastasia. Her and Ella getting along better like in Dreams Come True is canon ok.

NEVER GONNA GET OVER KIT AND ELLA WEARING THEIR PARENTS' RINGS.

I love Ella's wedding gown.

Where did they get all those flowers in the winter though 😂

#Outofjourneys {Ooc}

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thanks--for--listening · 5 years ago

Text

I’ll only hurt you (if you let me)

finally finished a BOP fic ayy i have so many more ideas and one that’s close to done but your validation will probably speed up that process. (also on ao3)

Helena Bertinelli didn’t cry.

That had been her first lesson. When she’d arrived, it was just about all she could do. He’d sat next to her, told her you cry tonight, child, but tomorrow you take those feelings and you use them. Crying will get you nothing. Sadness will not help you. It is anger you want, anger you can use. She nodded her head, cried herself to sleep, then woke up with a fury she’d never felt before. As she began training, she grew to understand that he was right. Tears had their purpose, initially, but overall they were counterproductive, and she had a job to do. Crying in the face of pain would do nothing, so she vowed to never do it again, no matter how much she wanted to. And she didn’t.

But damn if this didn’t hurt like a bitch.

“Can you just get it out already?” She yelled behind clenched teeth. Lying on the couch, she wanted to close her eyes, but she didn’t trust the frenzy around her not to lose their shit if she did. It was like they’d never seen a bullet wound before.

“I’m trying,” Harley said, “but I’m also trying to not kill you in the process, so if you could just stop yelling at us, maybe it would go faster.”

“I’d stop yelling if you all could stop being babies and get this fucking bullet out of my fucking thigh!”

“Okay, let's all take a breath,” Renee said.

“I can’t take a breath, because there’s a bullet in my leg and you’re all too stupid to take it out!”

“Hey, watch who you call stupid, Robin Hood, because I could always just take my PhD and go.”

“Fine, leave! I’ll do it my-fucking-self,” Helena grumbled as she tried to sit up. She felt hands on her chest immediately, saw Renee and Dinah on either side of her pushing her back into the couch. “It’s a PhD in Psychology, dumbass, that doesn’t make you a fucking surgeon,” she mumbled as she laid back down.

“Okay, this is insane,” Dinah sighed. “Harley, stop being dramatic and just try and get it out. Helena, you gotta calm the fuck down, because we can’t help you if you keep trying to fight us.”

“Yeah, you gotta relax,” Harley said, and Helena’s face must have matched the way she felt, because Harley held both hands up. “I’m talking from a strictly medical perspective, here,” she added. “It’s harder to get the bullet out when you’re all tense like this.”

“Well excuse me if I’m having trouble relaxing when there’s a bullet in my fucking leg,” she said, and she felt Dinah’s hands on her shoulder again.

“H, look at me,” she said, “ignore her.” Helena turned toward her, and she smiled, and even though Helena could tell it was forced, it still made her feel warm, somehow. Unless, of course, that was just her body fighting off the foreign invader in the form of the bullet that was still in her fucking leg.

“Woah, Crossbow,” Dinah said, and she wondered how she saw the anger in her without her having to say a word. “Eyes on me. What do you do to calm down normally?”

“She’s never calm,” Harley mumbled under her breath.

“Harley!”

“Well, it’s true!”

“Just focus on the bullet wound, please,” Dinah asked her, and Helena could feel the exasperation coming off her. Somehow, by the time she turned back to face her, though, it was gone, replaced with a look that was both serious and calm, and just a little stressed.

“I don’t know,” Helena answered her earlier question.

“What do you do when we get back from missions, huh? What do you do then? To...decompress, or whatever?”

“I don’t know!” She yelled without meaning to. She felt and saw Dinah flinch, which made her more upset at herself than she was at Harley. “I listen to music, I guess,” she said in a much softer tone.

Usually she didn’t mind silence, but she’d always had a soft spot for music. The men who raised her didn’t really do leisure time, but music had been their only exception. Sometimes they played it while they trained, anything from hip hop to Italian opera. Other times, usually when someone brought out a second bottle of wine, they’d break out the guitar and create it themselves. Outside of success in her training, it was the only thing that had made her feel anything but angry.

“Good!” Dinah said, “That’s good. Where’s your phone? We’ll play some right now.”

“Yeah, that might not be a possibility,” Renee said, and Helena forced herself to turn her head and look at the completely shattered phone Renee held in her hand.

“That’s alright!” Dinah said in a tone that was way too cheery to be sincere. Helena looked back at her, saw her rummaging through her bag. “I’ll just play something from mine and—“

Helena gasped so loudly she felt as if she sucked the rest of the noise straight out of the apartment. The pain was blinding, white dots dancing around her eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she felt rather than heard herself say, and she finally had to shut her eyes because everything was too much and she didn’t think she could even breathe let alone—

The hand in her own grounded her. “It’s alright,” she heard, and even though she knew Dinah was right next to her, her voice still sounded miles away. “It’s alright.”

She heard the others speak, but none of their words were clear enough to make out. Everything was muffled, like she was underwater and they were all on land. She could feel herself breathing, and she knew each breath was too short but she couldn’t stop it and the voices got louder and it hurt so bad, got it hurt so fucking bad and—

She stopped breathing when she heard her. Just for a second, before she forced herself to exhale. Her eyes were still shut but she didn’t need to see it to know what was happening: Dinah was sitting next to her, holding her hand, and she was singing.

Helena didn’t know any of the words. She didn’t recognize the melody, either, but it didn’t matter. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. It was slow and soft and gentle. She could hear the phrases, tried to breathe along with it. Tears stung at her eyes but she kept them at bay.

She kept her eyes shut, even as she heard Harley exclaim “I got it!”, the first words from her or Renee to break through her fog. Dinah stopped singing, and she forced her eyes open to look over at her.

She was smiling, and if she hadn’t been lying there with an open wound, the sight would have been enough to make her smile, too. She tried to speak, but she didn’t trust herself to open her mouth and not let tears out, so she kept looking at Dinah, trying to thank her without words.

“You see, if you had just calmed down when I told you to, that would have gone a lot faster,” Harley said as she began to stitch the wound, and as much as she didn’t want to take her eyes off Dinah, she forced herself to glare at Harley long enough to flip her off.

“I’m gonna go check on Cass.” Helena’s face must have reflected her confusion, because Renee elaborated. “We locked her in Dinah’s room when they got here,” she explained. “I think you were too busy screaming every swear word known to man to notice.”

Oh. The thought of Cass hearing all that, hearing her pain and anger, brought her closer to tears than the bullet wound itself. Dinah had told her about when she’d first met Cass, about the foster parents who were always yelling awful things at each other, and now she’d had to listen to her do the same thing to Harley, to the others, and she had to look up at the ceiling because if she didn’t she was going to break her own rule and all that would do was make everything worse.

“With the way she blasts her music, I’d be surprised if she heard any of it,” Dinah told Renee, but she squeezed her hand again as she said it, and Helena knew the words were meant for her. She tried to squeeze back, but the more she stared up, the more she felt the world spinning around her. She closed her eyes, and as soon as she felt Harley finish the last stitch, she drifted off to sleep.

Her exhaustion didn’t stop the dreams.

Every night it was slightly different. Sometimes she’d start in Italy, getting the shit beat out of her over and over and over again until she learned to fight back. Sometimes it was the bad stuff from After, the boys who made fun of her lack of skill at the start, the ones who mocked her smug reaction to shooting an arrow on target, because while she thought putting her archery lessons on display was impressive, they’d long since graduated from the childish bow and arrow. Sometimes she closed her eyes and all she saw was the scarlet fury that had spent over a decade festering inside her, and she woke up scared of how much she craved finding a release for it.

It wasn’t alway bad. Some days she saw mostly good stuff. The days as a child where her mom used to braid her hair. Playing video games with her little brother in the basement, letting him win and not feeling bad about it. The boy in Italy who noticed that she never sang or danced with the rest of them, who found an old string base and taught her how to play so she could be a part of the group. Those days, though, waking up hurt more, because she knew that no matter how many times she closed her eyes, she could never truly go back.

Tonight was both different and the same.

She sat at the bottom of the pool. Up above, she could hear her father yelling. He was always on the phone, always angry at someone, but down here it wasn’t so bad. Down here, she could see how long her breath would last, how long she could go without having to stick her head above water. Her long hair floated around her, and she liked the idea of it having a life of its own, moving with its own free will.

The singing got her attention. It cut through the water, echoed against the walls and the pool floor, carried her up, higher and higher, until she left the pool and her house and the whole world behind. It took her up to the clouds, where she saw Dinah. She smiled at her, the one that made her feel weak inside in a way she didn’t mind. Helena noticed that she was herself again, the adult version, the version that got to know her. Dinah motioned for her to come sit, so she did, and they sat there on the clouds, looking down on the world below. The singing stopped, but it was replaced with a gentle kind of quiet. It was peaceful. It was comfortable. It was perfect.

“It won’t last.” She turned and saw Dinah staring right at her, a serious expression on her face. “You’re going to lose me just like everybody else. You’re going to lose all of us.”

She tried to speak, tried to protest, but the words died on her lips. She watched as the clouds slowly evaporated, as Dinah evaporated with them. She reached for her, but Dinah was ash and dust and Helena was painfully solid. The soft surface disappeared beneath her and she dropped, fell through the sky, through time itself. When she landed, she was twelve again, walking into her house for the very last time. She tried to scream but she couldn’t, she couldn’t do anything but watch as the bodies fell, all at once, motionless around her. She felt her parents’ weight on top of her, so heavy on her chest she could barely breathe. She saw red, had to close her eyes as someone’s blood dripped onto her face. She didn’t know whose it was, her mother’s or her father’s, but she knew it was warmer than both of them.

Worst of all was the noise. The shots still echoed in her ears, ringing out even though she knew the shooting was over, knew because she still heard the shots but not the screaming.

After a minute, the laughing started. She shut her eyes, begged God to kill her right there, because she didn’t want to hear it anymore, didn’t want to feel it anymore. Everything was too much, and she silently begged Him to let her go with them, to not leave her behind, but He was as silent as her family, and she knew then that He’d died right along with them.

Suddenly an arm was on hers; an instant later she gasped as she woke up. She kept her body motionless but her eyes were frantic, wouldn’t stop moving until she remembered where she was. At home. On the couch. Bullet wound in her leg. Dinah next to her.

Wait. She turned her head quickly at the realization and saw her kneeling next to her, hands still on her shoulder. They both noticed it at the same time, and Dinah moved them away quickly.

“Sorry,” She said softly. “You were breathing really weird and your whole body was tense and I was worried you’d try and move or something and ruin your stitches.”

“Oh,” she said softly, her voice scratchy and hoarse. Dinah noticed, handed her a glass of water, and she chugged half of it before she added a weak “thanks.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asked, and she said it so casually that Helena found that she was almost tempted to say yes. Instead, she shook her head. She wondered if Dinah would push it, would try and coerce information out of her, but she just nodded, and asked, “Does it hurt? Your leg?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle”. The memory of the dream was fading, replaced with reminders of what happened when she was awake. “How’s Cass?” She asked her. “Is she—I mean, did I—“

“She’s fine,” Dinah told her, and even when she was just talking there was something so soothing about her voice, something she almost couldn’t describe. “She’s just worried about you.”

“She shouldn’t worry,” Helena said quickly, “I’m fine.”

“She only worries because she cares about you,” Dinah said, and she could hear her surprise, her hesitation, in the inflection of her voice, heard it telling her to calm down. It didn’t work.

“She shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what? Shouldn’t care?” Helena didn’t answer, and she could feel the shift, knew that Dinah’s hesitation was turning into incredulity and confusion and pity. She hated that she knew what she was feeling. A person's emotions could be used to predict their actions, or so she’d been told. It was why she’d been forced to study them, to always know how to read someone’s face or body, how to hear words in their voice they didn’t say. But just because she knew what people felt didn’t mean she knew what to do with those feelings. Especially when they weren’t coming from an enemy she could fight.

“Helena,” Dinah’s voice snapped her out of her own head. “Why shouldn’t she care about you?”

She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t, but she was tired and angry and the fear from her dreams was lingering longer than it usually did, so she opened her mouth and confessed. “Because everyone who cares about me gets hurt.”

“That isn’t true,” Dinah said, and Helena felt the fear in her stomach growing, and she forced it down, because she knew that if she let it out, it would be anger who would rear its ugly head. It always was.

“I won’t be the cause of any of her pain,” she managed to say.

“You’re not.”

“But I will be. It’s inevitable.”

“You love Cass, and she loves you, so how could you possibly hurt her?”

“She’ll get hurt because she loves me! Don’t you get it?” She hated herself for raising her voice. Even if it only reached her normal speaking volume, it felt like she was screaming.

“No, I don’t.” Dinah held her ground, shaking her head and staring straight at her. “Explain it to me.”

“There’s a reason I was working alone before I met you guys,” she said, “and it’s not just because of my inability to play well with others. There’s no one left.”

“Helena,” Dinah said in that tone that she hated, the one that was all sympathy and pity. “What happened to your family, that’s not your fault.”

“Of course it’s not my fault.” She didn’t think Dinah was expecting that answer, but she didn’t give her much time to process it. “I killed the people whose fault it was. But it is a fact that every single person who’s ever loved me is dead. Except—“ she stopped herself, realized the confession that sat on her lips.

“Except…” Dinah said, trying to prompt her to finish, and she wasn’t going to, she really wasn’t, but she made the mistake of looking in her eyes, and all of a sudden she was drowning all over again.

“Except for you,” she said, then quickly added “and Cass. And Renee. And even Harley, even though she doesn’t always act like it. I know she does— I know you all do. I can tell.”

“So what, you’re just going to get us to stop caring about you?” Dinah asked. “That’s your big plan for keeping us alive?”

Helena just looked away. When she said it out loud, it didn’t sound as serious as it felt to her. Dinah had a way of exposing the illogical, and this was no exception.

“Hey,” she said, and Helena felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to look at her. She wasn’t smiling, but there was something so gentle about the way she looked at her that it felt like she was. “I get it. I really do. But look at what we do, the line of work we’re in. Even if...even if something happens to one of us, it won’t be because we love you. I promise.”

“I—“ she hesitated. She knew that everything Dinah said made sense. She knew that, but she still saw the faces that haunted her at night, and she knew what it felt like to be completely alone in the world, and the thought of losing everything again…

“I just can’t risk it,” she finally told Dinah. “I can’t risk you. Any of you.”

Dinah was quiet for a long time. Helena just sat there, waiting for words she was sure would come. For her sake, she hoped Dinah would just accept it without making too much of a fuss. It would make everything easier. It would save her. Even if Helena would never truly get over it.

“For the longest time,” Dinah finally said, her voice low and her eyes glued to her lap. “I only ever cared about one person. She was the only person in the world who loved me. And I lost her.” She looked up, waited until their eyes met before telling her, “I guess everyone who cares about me gets hurt, too. So really, it’s you who shouldn’t care about me.”

She felt as if time stopped. The thought of living a life where she couldn’t care about the woman in front of her was an impossible scenario. Dinah was everything that was good and beautiful in the world. She’d prepared herself to spend eternity loving her from afar. She’d do anything for her. She’d die for her, kill for her, but stop caring about her?

“No.” She blurted out.

“No?”

“No.”

Dinah waited a minute, before smiling slightly. “Okay,” She said. “Then how about we agree to care about each other? You put up with my pain, and I’ll put up with yours, and maybe we’ll find a way to protect each other from fate, or God, or whoever decided that we don’t get to be loved.”

“Okay,” She said softly. She was aware that they’d never talked this much before, at least not about feelings. Usually moments like this one freaked her out, but there was something about Dinah that made her feel calm. It was that calm feeling that made her ask, “What was that song you were singing? While Harley was pulling the bullet out?”

“Oh,” Dinah smiled, and if she could’ve seen better, if the only source of light hadn’t been the moon hanging right outside their window, Helena would have sworn the other woman was blushing. “Nothing. Just some song Cass wanted me to learn. She wants me to make these videos with her so she can get famous on some app or something. It’s not really what I’d usually sing, but I already told Cass I wouldn’t let her record me shattering stuff with my voice, so I figured this would hold her over for a minute.”

“You should sing like that more often,” she said softly. “It was beautiful.”

Dinah just smiled at her, and Helena felt herself melting. “You should get some sleep,” she told her.

Helena nodded, but Dinah didn’t make any effort to move, and it was only then that she noticed the pillow and blanket on the floor next to her. “Why aren’t you sleeping in your room?”

“Harley’s sleeping there.”

“Why isn’t she sleeping in my room?”

“Cass is in your room,” Dinah told her, and Helena didn’t get it, because she knew that Harley and Dinah and Harley and Cass had all shared beds before, and she tried to figure out why this time might be different, but before she could she heard Dinah laughing. “I volunteered to sleep out here,” she said.

“Why?”

“I wanted to. In case you woke up and needed something, or you were in pain, or you know, something like this happened.” Helena felt the urge to look away, but she forced herself not to. “Besides, she continued with a smile, “based earlier today, we figured I had the best chance of not facing the wrath of Cranky Helena.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned, “I’m gonna have to apologize to Harley, aren’t I?”

Dinah laughed, trying to muffle the sound so as not to wake anyone up, and Helena couldn’t help but laugh a little too. She couldn’t remember a time where she’d laughed after a night like this one.

Their laughter died down, swallowed by the silence around them. Helena shifted, stared up at the ceiling, and she knew what she wanted to ask for, knew that normally she’d never actually do it, but there was something about the middle of the night that gave people bravery they didn’t have, so she kept her eyes glued to the ceiling and asked softly, “Can you sing it again?”

For fifteen seconds, Dinah didn’t make a sound, and Helena had an apology waiting on the tip of her tongue, but before she could blurt it out, she heard her. Her voice was soft, raspy almost, and quiet. She was singing just for her and they both knew it. This time, Helena listened to the words, listened and realized that the lyrics were a little bit tragic and a little bit desperate, that the music itself was low and high and everything in between, but when she closed her eyes, all she heard was Dinah. And she was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

#please tell me what you think!#bop #birds of prey #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #dinah lance #black canary #helena bertinelli #huntres #dinah x helena #TFLAO3 #fanfic #bop fanfic #dc #also yes the title is from that billie eilish song when the party's over and yes that's the song dinah sings (in my head at least)

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pandoraimperatrix · 5 years ago

Text

Four Names for Love

Gotham | BatCat | BabyFic | Multi-chapter | Read on AO3

Summary: When Bruce parted ways with Gotham he was leaving behind more than he thought. Meanwhile Selina is trying to find a way to herself after being abandoned again and on top of that she finds out she was left with a lot more than a heartbreak.

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Philia VII

Selina walked past Bruce ignoring him, and went straight to her daughter gathering her in her arms and holding her tight.

‘Hmmm? Mom?’ She asked sleepy and confused.

‘Helena what were you thinking?’

‘I… Are you mad?’

‘Of course I am mad! You leave the house, alone, in the middle of the night, without saying to anyone where you’re going! What do you think?’

‘Sorry, mommy.’ She pouted, her eyes big and watering.

‘Oh, I hope you are. I just don’t understand why Helena? You know you can come here all the time.’

‘Alfie wasn’t visiting anymore…’

‘Why didn’t you just call him?’

‘I thought you guys were fighting and he wouldn’t want to come to see me.’

‘Helena, what have we talked about assuming things about other people without asking first?’

‘I know, mom… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ Helena held her mother hard, tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘Shhh kitten, don’t cry, hn? No tears.’ Selina cleaned her daughter’s tears with her thumbs. ‘That’s better. Just promise me you won’t do this again.’

‘I promise mommy. Am I grounded?’

‘Of course you are.’ Selina said still holding her daughter and rubbing her arms. ‘What the hell did you do to Holly?’

‘Oops?’

‘Jesus, Helena. Go wait in the car.’

‘It’s late, you could stay.’

Selina turned back to Bruce alarmed like she just remembered he was also there.

‘Yes, mommy! I miss my Mansion room.’

Bruce raised both of his eyebrows to that.

‘No need. We’re leaving.’ Selina said dryly.

‘Mommy!’

Selina glared hat her daughter.

‘Helena, do you really think you are in position to bargain, now?’

‘Didn’t hurt to try.’ Helena said sheepishly.

Selina raised her eyes begging for patience.

‘Go wait in the car, Helena.’

‘Okay…’ She sighed defeated. ‘Goodnight, Mr. Wayne, it was nice to finally meet you.’

‘Goodnight, Helena.’

They silently watched the little girl walk away, her dark curls bouncing.

Selina then took a deep, tired breath.

‘Thank you for keeping her safe.’ Selina said holding herself.

‘No problem. She is a very smart young lady.’

‘That she is, sometimes I think she’s too smart for her own good.’

‘She is very much like her mother, then.’

Selina felt a wave of emotions hit her so hard after those words that she knew she has to leave before embarrassing herself.

‘Are you okay? You are shaking.’ He reached his arm to touch her but Selina avoided him. Bruce put his hands in his pockets. ‘Are you sure you can drive?’

‘I’m fine.’ She managed to say in a strangled voice. ‘And I’m leaving, bye.’ She took another deep breath.

‘Selina?’ He asked when she was in the doorway.

She stopped.

‘That night, why did you pretend you didn’t know me?’

She took so long to answer that he almost thought she wouldn’t. And then he wished she didn’t.

‘Because I don’t. Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.’

Despite his tiredness Bruce didn't go to bed that night. The cave was far from being completed, but it was already in use. He had enough to make a working lab for the basics like DNA tests. He took the swab he used to collect saliva from Helena when she was sleeping from the vial in his pocket, then took another clear one and used it to collect a sample from himself. He already knew the result or hoped he did. In that moment he couldn’t say which was scarier.

Next morning exactly fifteen minutes after Helena left for school Selina heard her doorbell ring. She was in no mood to see anyone after the hell she went through the night before. And after she brought Helena home and listed the punishments she would have to face from now on – which just “apologise to Holly” was the one that would actually stick – she called Barbara to tell what happened. Then called Lee to repeat what she had just said to Barbara, assure Jim that everything was fine and that she would personally kill him if he sent cops to her place, then back to Lee to ask her if Holly would be okay. Both women tried to pry into her life and how was things now that Bruce was back and what was he like with Helena, but she ignored them.

Selina then covered Holly with a warmer and bigger blanket, checked Helena again, she was asleep and for that she was grateful. After that, when the sky was brightening and she sent a text to her boss – the proper one – that she was sick and could go that day. And then, only then, she decided to take a shower – RIP relaxing bath with fancy salts – and go to bed.

Too bad in three hours she had a kid to wake, and feed, and get ready for school, and coach a grown adult woman to take said kid to school and go to work, but she had all the intention to go back to bed after all that when the bell rang.

And behind the door was the last person she ever wanted to see her in that state: Bruce Wayne. But when he took off the shades he was wearing indoors like a hipster, she noticed that even though he was not a mess of bed hair and rumpled silk PJs like her, he was also looking like hell.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Good morning to you too, Selina. We need to talk.’

She rolled her eyes so far into her head that she went temporally blind.

‘I have nothing to talk to you, goodbye.’

She tried to close the door on his face, but Bruce stopped her.

‘I’m calling the cops!’

‘Yeah, that will happen a lot. Stop being so childish, Selina! Let me in!’

‘Oh, I did that, fifteen years ago, and what I got? A bullet in my spine.’

‘Selina, come on!’ He pushed harder, she let go, he almost fell. She smiled sadistically, but he was in. Bruce straightened himself and closed the door behind him. Selina made a beeline for the martini, she was sure whichever conversation Bruce intended to have with her, she wasn’t sober enough to stand it.

‘I’ll give you a chance to tell me, who Helena’s father is?’

She snorted, spitting the martini, then she had to put the glass back on the counter because her laugher was too strong.

‘Give me a chance? Oh my God you are so arrogant. It’s pathetic.’

‘She is mine, isn’t she? Tell me, Selina!’

The laughter was gone, her whole face was contorted with red fury now.

‘I tried to! Don’t you think I did? Ten years ago when you just left? I wanted to tell you right away, but you wasn’t here! And how dare you, appear here like I owe you something, like you deserved any kind of explanation. How dare you say that Helena is yours. She is my daughter, Bruce. Mine. You are nothing to her. To either of us.’

Bruce felt like he just have been defeated in battle and in some ways he had. He remembered his training, tried to calm himself, tried to understand where his opponent was coming from. And then he thought about the Selina he left, the despair she must have felt after being abandoned once again by someone she loved. And what must have been her reaction to find out she was also pregnant. They were so young. Bruce closed his eyes, he thought about all the extensive research he made on Helena and Selina that night and morning. How Helena had a perfectly normal life, how bright she was. How Selina had tuned her life around even if she still kept her not so honourable practices, he was proud of her, and yet he knew he had no right to be.

‘Selina…’ He tried to touch her, but they were once again set apart when the door suddenly opened.

‘Helena! What are you doing here?’

‘School sent us back home. I came walking. Hello, Mr. Wayne, are you staying for lunch?’

‘What? He is not. Why did the school send you back?’

‘Haven’t you checked your twitter yet or the TV? Scarecrow put something in the school water reservoir. A lot of sick kids having scary hallucinations.’

‘You didn’t drink it too, did you?’ To Helena’s surprise and joy the question came from Bruce.

‘Nah, I take my own bottle to school.’ Said wisely the little girl that just in the night before had roofied her own sister.

‘Oh thank God!’ Relief washed over Selina.

‘I have to go.’

‘What? Why? Stay for lunch! Mom can’t cook’ Selina gave her a mean look, but Helena ignored ‘but we can always order Thai.’

‘Although your offer is tempting, I really have to go. Bye, Selina. Until next time, Helena.’

‘Bye…’ Answered Helena gloomy.

Selina said nothing or moved to open the door to Bruce, they just held each other gazes for a while until he turned his back and left closing the door behind him. He was almost reaching the elevators when he heard his name. It was Selina.

‘Let’s talk. Later…’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know… Hm… The cathedral? The roof.’

‘Ok. After the sunset?’

‘Fine.’

‘Selina?’

‘What?’

‘Thank you.’

#batcat #baby batcat #gotham #selina kyle #bruce wayne #catwoman #batman #my fic #Four Names for Love

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7r0773r · 6 years ago

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Neon Vernacular by Yusef Komunyakaa

For You, Sweetheart, I’ll Sell Plutonium Reactors

For you, sweetheart, I’l ride back down into black smoke early Sunday morning cutting fog, grab the moneysack of gold teeth. Diamond mines soil creep groan ancient cities, archaeological diggings, & yellow bulldozers turn around all night in blood-lit villages. Inhabitants here once gathered seashells that glimmered like pearls. When the smoke clears, you’ll see an erected throne like a mountain to scale, institutions built with bones, guns hidden in walls that swing open like big-mouthed B-52s. Your face in the mirror is my face. You tapdance on tabletops for me, while corporate bosses arm wrestle in back rooms for your essential downfall. I entice homosexuals into my basement butcher shop. I put my hands around another sharecropper’s throat for that mink coat you want from Saks Fifth, short-change another beggarwoman, steal another hit song from Sleepy John Estes, salt another gold mine in Cripple Creek, drive another motorcycle up a circular ice wall, face another public gunslinger like a bad chest wound, just to slide hands under black silk. Like the Ancient Mariner steering a skeleton ship against the moon, I’m their hired gunman if the price is right, take a contract on myself. They’ll name mountains & rivers in my honor. I’m a drawbridge over manholes for you, sweetheart. I’m paid two hundred grand to pick up a red telephone anytime & call up God. I’m making tobacco pouches out of the breasts of Indian maidens so we can stand in a valley & watch grass grow.

***

Corrigenda

I take it back. The crow doesn’t have red wings. They’re pages of dust. The woman in the dark room takes the barrel of a .357 magnum out of her mouth, reclines on your bed, a Helena Rubinstein smile. I’m sorry, you won’t know your father by his darksome old clothes. He won’t be standing by that tree. I haven’t salted the tail of the sparrow. Erase its song from this page. I haven’t seen the moon fall open at the golden edge of our sleep. I haven’t been there like the tumor in each of us. There’s no death that can hold us together like twin brothers coming home to bury their mother. I never said there’s a book inside every tree. I never said I know how the legless beggar feels when the memory of his toes itch. If I did, drunkenness was then my god & naked dancer. I take it back. I’m not a suicidal mooncalf; you don’t have to take my shoelaces. If you must quote me, remember I said that love heals from inside.

***

Safe Subjects

How can love heal the mouth shut this way? Say something worth breath. Let it surface, recapitulate how fat leeches press down gently on a sex goddess’s eyelids. Let truth have its way with us like a fishhook holds to life, holds dearly to nothing worth saying—pull it out, bringing with it hard facts, knowledge that the fine underbone of hope is also attached to inner self, underneath it all. Undress. No, don’t be afraid even to get Satan mixed up in this acknowledgement of thorns: meaning there’s madness in the sperm, in the egg, fear breathing in its blood sac, true accounts not so easily written off the sad book.

Say something about pomegranates. Say something about real love. Yes, true love—more than parted lips, than parted legs in sorrow’s darkroom of potash & blues. Let the brain stumble from its hidingplace, from its cell block, to the edge of oblivion to come to itself, sharp-tongued as a boar’s grin in summer moss where a vision rides the back of God, at this masquerade. Redemptive as a straight razor against a jugular vein— unacknowledged & unforgiven. It’s truth we’re after here, hurting for, out in the streets where my brothers kill each other, each other’s daughters & guardian angels in the opera of dead on arrival.

Say something that resuscitates us, behind the masks, as we stumble off into neon nights to loveless beds & a second skin of loneliness. Something political as dust & earthworms at work in the temple of greed & mildew, where bowed lamps cast down shadows like blueprints of graves. Say something for us who can’t believe in the creed of nightshade. Yes, say something to us dreamers who decode the message of dirt between ancient floorboards as black widow spiders lay translucent eggs in the skull of a dead mole under a dogwood in full bloom.

***

Charmed

I jump between the cat & a bird. The cat cries as though I had struck her with a stick. If animals possess souls her cry’s close to sin. She moves toward the bird. Women have moved gently toward me—& me toward them— this way. Some dance concealed under the skin, creatures of habit. The bird sits perfectly lost like a flower. So red. Lost behind the five colors of the cat’s eyes brighter than truest memory of water. The cat has pierced him deeper than bad luck, moving like a hand buried in the dark. Years ago I stepped between a woman & man at each other’s throat, both turning against me. I try to shoo the bird away. I pick him up & his small heart flutters through me. The bird has no song left. I close my eyes, I place him on the ground, I back away.

***

February in Sydney

Dexter Gordon’s tenor sax plays “April in Paris” inside my head all the way back on the bus from Double Bay. Round Midnight, the ’50s, cool cobblestone streets resound footsteps of Bebop musicians with whiskey-laced voices from a boundless dream in French. Bud, Prez, Webster, & The Hawk, their names run together riffs. Painful gods jive talk through bloodstained reeds & shiny brass where music is an anesthetic. Unreadable faces from the human void float like torn pages across the bus windows. An old anger drips into my throat, & I try thinking something good, Letting the precious bad settle to the salty bottom. Another scene keeps repeating itself: I emerge from the dark theatre, passing a woman who grabs her red purse & hugs it to her like a heart attack. Tremolo. Dexter comes back to rest behind my eyelids. A loneliness lingers like a silver needle under my black skin, as I try to feel how it is to scream for help through a horn.

#yusef komunyakaa #book quotes

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beatricethecat2 · 7 years ago

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out of place, out of mind - 2

REMINDER: This story is meant to replace “Instinct,” so the timeline starts after 4.14 and moves forward with it’s own trajectory. It does cull hints of plots from episodes afterwards (for instance, Claudia becomes caretaker, you’ll glean the rest) but then spins off in it’s own direction. It's a fix-it on many levels and requires some knowledge of the show (as well as “part 1,” linked above). There will be typos but I’ll fix them later!

(Read first) one step forward, two steps back (v.2.0):part 1+ part 2 (Previously) out of place, out of mind: part 1

///////////////////

A ruckus erupts outside, and Myka wavers on cue, wilting with no acting required. Men rush to prop her up then ferry her behind closed doors, her maids following to assist. When the men leave to join the scuffle, Myka instantly perks up and hugs both maids goodbye. She slips out a back hallway and exits near the stables, meeting a masked, uniformed, now armed Helena by a horse.

"Are you hurt, Miss Mary," Helena says, darting forward to collect her.

Helena hugs Myka with equal intensity then holds her at arm's length, eyes beaming at her swollen belly.

Myka guides Helena's hand so it rests over her bump, smiling proudly at the child they've made together. She lifts Helena’s other hand up to her face and nuzzles her cheek into its palm.

The spell is broken by shouting in the distance, and Helena says, "We must go." She guides Myka to the horse, and helps her mount, then hops on in front of her. Myka leans into Helena and wraps her arms around her torso, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Helena shakes the reins and kicks her heels into the horse, taking off at top speed into the dark.

Their furious gallop jostles Myka into the present, and she sees how overpowered she's become by her character. Better pull herself together before it's too late or the kool-aid will take over.

-------------

When a glow appears in the distance, Myka tightens her hold, hoping they've finally reached their destination. As a farmhouse comes into view, Helena yanks on the reins, slowing the horse then dismounting.

Helena extends a hand to Myka, but Myka struggles to keep hold, her leg swinging awkwardly over the saddle. Hands swarm around her, and as her feet hit the ground, she doubles over, her nausea returning.

"Get her inside," Helena instructs, and she's ushered up wooden stairs then lowered, gently, onto a bed. Her chaperones dart about the room, drawing the curtains, closing the door, and one of them offers her a glass of water. Still nauseous, Myka declines, but breathes in deep, measured breaths, hoping to calm both her own and Mary's frayed nerves.

The low light flickers, but is bright enough to discern her aide's masculine clothes but distinctly feminine features. Guns hang from their belts and hats adorn their heads, but braids spill freely down their backs.

Helena bursts into the room and strides over to the window, parting the curtains and peering out into the abyss. A sudden distress overcomes Myka and she shimmies off the bed, worried over what happens next.

“Why did we stop here?” she asks, crossing the room to stand by Helena. "Shouldn't we should keep going?”

“In your condition, it's best Mrs. Freeman shelters us for the night.” Helena points with her eyes to Myka’s belly then returns to scrutinizing the yard.

Hooves thunder ever closer then feet pound up the stairs. Helena draws her pistol and maneuvers Myka behind her.

“Mary Louise Branson, you come out this second!” Myka's father's voice booms from the hall.

“Father, I’ll not obey you any longer,” Myka replies.

The door flies open, and Mayor Branson enters, his men streaming in behind him.

“You’ll do as I say."

“She’ll do nothing of the sort.” Helena points her pistol at Mayor Branson.

“Out of my way, you scrub!” Mayor Branson's men grab Helena, and he steps towards Myka.

“Stop right there, Mayor,” a woman’s voice, cold and authoritative, sounds from the door.

“You dare challenge me?" Mayor Branson grunts as he turns to face the woman.

“This is my territory. You’re out of your jurisdiction. You’ve no authority here."

“I’m only collecting whats mine, Mrs. Freeman."

“On my land, she’s her own property. She has free will."

“The hell she does!” Mayor Branson lunges at Myka, but Mrs. Freeman’s women surge in and surround her.

“Brazen hussies!"

“No need for obscenities, Mayor."

“Tell you what, let’s settle this once and for all, like men,” Mayor Branson looks directly at Helena. "A shootout, at dawn, winner takes all, between Jamison and that…that criminal.” Mayor Branson pats Jamison on the back and narrows his eyes at Helena.

“No one needs to die,” Myka pleads, wavering as if she might faint. The women beside her catch her before she falls.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Mary by my side,” Helena says, jerking free from the men's hold and stomping in front of Jamison.

“Only a coward would hide among women. We’ll see who’s the better marksman,” Jamison says.

“I am,” Helena sneers, shoving Jamison back. The men raise their guns, and the women target the men.

“You need to leave," Mrs. Freeman says aiming her pistol at Mayor Branson. The two stare each other down until Mayor Branson huffs, dismissively.

“Gentleman, let’s go. We’ll settle this in the morning."

Guns drawn, the women follow the men as they file out of the room.

“You two rest. We’ll keep guard,” Mrs. Freeman says, warmly, then exits and closes the door.

----------------

“Are you injured?” Helena asks, searching Myka for bruising.

“I’m fine,’ Myka says, swatting Helena away. She paces across the room and throws a hand in the air. “Whatever are we going to do?”

“We’ve a few options. Don’t stress yourself with worry.”

“Do we have food, money, shelter? Where’s this baby going to be born? And if you die--”

“I won't. Please don’t fret, or you’ll harm the child.”

“This corset’s doing more harm than I am. Help me get out of this crazy thing.” Myka flinches at her outburst, but her dress is unbearable, so she reaches behind her back to undo its laces.

“Are you feeling odd, my love?” Helena asks, scrambling to help.

“Everything's odd right now,” Myka mumbles, stepping out of her dress. Helena loosens her corset ties, and she shimmies free from her bindings.

“Oh, thank god,” Myka mutters, breathing in and puffing out her belly. “I felt like a sausage in that thing.”

Helena arches a brow and cocks her head at the quip, and Myka kicks herself for messing up the scene. She closes her eyes and tries to “feel” her character, but whatever she’s done has killed the vibe.

Helena lays a hand on Myka’s stomach, then looks up, meeting her questioning eyes.

“I remember it well.”

“Helena?”

“Myka.”

They embrace.

"Why on earth are you here?”

“To bring you back. I can’t lose you, lose anyone else.” Myka blinks back a tear, suddenly overcome with genuine emotion.

“I’m so very sorry about Leena. Such a senseless, tragic event. Her light shone so brightly; the Warehouse must seem dim without her.”

“It hurts so much. I can’t talk about it yet. And Artie…"

Myka leans into Helena and Helena circles her arms around, steering her toward the bed. She lowers her down then lays next to her, maneuvering Myka's head onto her shoulder.

“If it helps at all, Artie’s beside himself. I’ve helped counsel him through his grief."

“You counseled him? When? No one would tell me where you were. Then you show up out of nowhere on this ping." Myka pushes Helena away. "Why didn't you come back after the astrolabe, after Leena?"

“You must understand, I have little agency. I was told if I followed orders, I'd be given a chance to return. And my faux pas involving you and the orb cost me."

"But you were…I mean…Emily was a security risk. You couldn’t have stayed like that."

“There are those that wouldn’t agree."

“They’re stupid."

Helena sniggers, and shifts closer to Myka.

"You died, Helena. Died to save me. You shouldn't have to follow their rules.” Myka's eyes well up. “God, these hormones!”

Helena wipes a tear from Myka’s cheek. "One act of kindness does not negate a lifetime of missteps."

“Sacrificing yourself goes beyond kindness. What good would it do to keep you locked up?"

"I’m not their prisoner. I’m free to leave at any time."

“But you said you have no agency. Why don’t you leave?"

"If I do, I’m to have no contact with the Warehouse. I’d never see nor speak to you again."

“That’s not right. That’s totally not right. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Helena inches closer and cradles Myka's jaw, kissing her softly in answer. "You had asked once, what 'this thing between us' might become and I’ve realized, life’s too short to leave such questions unanswered.”

Thoroughly charmed by Helena’s words, Myka initiates the next kiss, leaning forward, pressing their lips together. Her need to touch becomes desperate, but as she presses closer to Helena, her protruding belly gets in the way.

“I want...I need..." Myka says, slowly coming to her senses, holding a finger up to Helena's lips as Helena dips in for another kiss. "We need an exit plan."

Helena kisses Myka's finger and takes hold of her hand and presses her lips into its palm.

"H-how did you get shot instead of me? I only remember the end, and it's fuzzy.”

Heena sighs and lowers Myka hand. “I acted out of turn; hunted Jamison too aggressively. I didn’t allow the plot to guide me. I’m assuming that was in error as you’re here now.”

“Claudia told me the overall plot, the way it was supposed to happen and what went wrong. "

“I’ve deduced it's a western. A "genre" film in your times."

“No kidding," Myka says, chuckling, sliding a finger under Helena's uniform collar. “It followed a formula but had a dark ending. Claudia said it's from the 60's."

“The 1960’s? That means little to me."

"No TV in limbo?"

"Nor the bronze.”

“Books are better, anyway."

"I'm meant to shoot Jamison, aren't I, but the scene went awry."

“Yeah,” Myka says, scooting back on the bed. Helena helps her lean against the headboard then settles in beside her.

“Mary and your character were a couple in real life. By the time the film was shot she was pregnant, so they wrote it into the script."

"A romance on screen and in real-life. How charming."

"I guess.” Myka shifts to get more comfortable and Helena props her up with some pillows. "How did you deal with this? It's super uncomfortable."

"This was thrust upon you. I had time to acclimate. And it was my child growing inside of me."

"True,” Myka says, thankful it’s only temporary.

“So Jamison, and the gun?"

“Jamison and Mary dated, briefly, before Mary met 'the cowboy' but he never got over their breakup. He bought into his character, hard, and brought a real gun to the set, intending to shoot 'the cowboy' to show Mary how much he loved her.”

“Not so charming.”

“No. The gun was antique, and the kickback threw off his aim off, so he shot Mary, accidentally. The gun became an artifact when the actress died.”

“And the child?” Helena asks, laying a hand on Myka’s belly.

Myka shakes her head.

"What a shame."

“How are we going to get the gun? If we keep it from going off, we should be zapped back, right?"

"My thoughts exactly."

"We could avoid the gunfight."

"We'll be transported to the scene no matter how hard we fight it. Veering off script is difficult when the camera’s upon you."

“Then we'll have to move out of the way. We can fight it, together."

Helena's lips curl up at the ends in agreement, and Myka's heart beats a little faster.

“What’s happening now? Are we on camera?"

"It's implied that we’re…intimate."

“Intimate? When I'm like this?" Myka points at her stomach.

“Oh, yes." Helena lays a hand on Myka's shoulder and leans forward, kissing her until both parties gasp for air.

“The feeling's so strong."

"We needn't do anything you’re uncomfortable with."

"We're not ourselves, so maybe you should sleep in the chair."

"Perhaps I should."

"But I don't want you to go."

"Nor do I desire to."

"It's not bad, right, if something happens. Because we’ve already…"

"I'd like to think so."

“Then maybe we should, to stay on script."

"Perhaps, yes." Helena brushes a thumb over Myka’s cheek then kisses her, in a way that says "let’s start here and see where the night takes us.”

Myka wraps her arms around Helena and follows Helena's lead, allowing the night to guide them to places unknown.

--------------

“Father no!” Myka cries, lunging forward, nearly tripping over her dress as she swerves to avoid her maids. She skids to a stop in front Helena, holding her arms out to her sides, barricading her from further harm.

“I will not let my daughter run off with that heathen!,” Mayor Branson fumes, waving his gun at Helena.

Myka stumbles back, smacking into Helena.

“It’s alright,” Helena whispers. “We know what happens. Let the scene play out.”

Myka glances back and nods.

Helena clears her throat. “This is Jamison's fight, yet you hold me at gunpoint. You’d murder me in cold blood, as your daughter stands witness?” Helena steps in front of Myka, taking hold of her hand, staring directly into Myka's father's eyes.

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you <i>murderer,</i>.” Mayor Branson's finger tenses on the trigger and Helena smirks cockily, squeezing Myka's hand.

“I’m no murderer, and you’re fooling no one with this sham of an engagement.” Helena glares, hard, at Jamison fumbling for his gun.

“We need to get that gun,” Myka says, in Helena's ear.

“I’m aware, but we must wait. This is where my folly arose previously."

“She’s my fiancee, and that kid's mine!” Jamison snarls, wrapping both hands around the handle as he raises his gun.

“I believe you’re mistaken,” Helena answers, hand poised over her holster.

“You’re going to wish I was.” Jamison cocks the hammer using both thumbs.

Helena threads her fingers around her gun. “I won’t shoot if you put that away.”

“Give me the girl.”

“I’m the better shot.”

“Give her to me!”

“Myka, run!” Helena yelps.

“But—”

“Go!"

Helena shoves Myka aside and rushes towards Jamison, tackling him to the ground. They tumble over twice, gun waving in the air until Helena pins Jamison down. Helena glances at Myka and Myka snaps into gear, running away as Jamison flips Helena over. Myka trips and as her face hits the ground, her consciousness fades to black.

-TBC-

#BERING AND WELLS #w13 #fanfiction #fixit #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #mid #season 4 #and beyond #I wish I had something witty to say #but this short work week has been intense!#Happy Thanksgiving everyone #I hope this whacky thing makes sense

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