#i just need to free myself from the shackes of my brain..

[laugtherhyena]

You guys have no idea how fucking awesome this scene is to me (Clock devil oc yadda yadda yadda)

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 15 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: get ready for some whumpy aftermath

Rated M

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~~~~

Emma creeps through the building, eyes scanning each door for any indication of Elsa’s whereabouts. Robin told her in haste as she was leaving that Elsa lives in this building, too, but he failed to inform her of what unit she was in. 

 As she walks the halls, a door opens slowly and reveals the face of someone she recognizes and is relieved to see. “Tink, hi.”

 “Looking for El?” 

 She nods. “Killian asked me to make sure she’s safe.”

 “Is he okay?” she asks with concern. Emma almost smiles at how much his friend truly cares about him. 

 “I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “They really hurt him.”

 Her voice is heated. She won’t get past the anger that boils the blood singing through her veins. They hurt the man she loves, and she isn’t sure how she’ll get past that fact without making someone pay. 

 “Well, let’s get the hell out of here so we can get him help.”

 Tink shows her where Elsa’s apartment is and she knocks on the door, answered quickly and coldly. “Yes?” 

 “Elsa,” Emma greets, confused by her clipped tone, less confused to see that she looks entirely unharmed. “Killian wanted me to check on you.”

 She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure he did,” she says sarcastically. 

“We have… we have a safe place for you. Come with us,” she tries. She doesn’t actually want to even bother convincing her, but she knows it’s what Killian wants.

 “Safe? You’re full of it.”

 She knew it. Killian feared that she had the information tortured out of her, unable to believe that she could have betrayed him with her own free will, but Emma had a sinking feeling that that wasn’t the case. Now, she thinks she’s right. “You told them,” she accuses. 

 “Yes, I did. He should know better than to try to betray the club like that.”

 “He trusts you,” she tries. “He loves you because you loved his brother.” 

 “I love my family,” she argues vapidly. “Killian tried to destroy it by shacking up with you and killing one of our own. He betrayed Neal, just because he can’t get over what happened to Liam.”

 Tink laughs, shaking her head, and Emma says, “They killed Liam! How can you not see that?”

 “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t see. You don’t know anything; you certainly don’t understand the inner workings of the club or why Peter makes the decisions he does.”

 Her thoughts are swirling in her head, moving too quickly as she tries to straighten out what Elsa says to her. She’s too forgiving, too accepting of what’s happened to the man she was supposed to love. Her actions have been too cruel. Someone who loves Killian wouldn’t have given him up; she wouldn’t be taking such a black and white stance if… 

 “You knew,” she accuses knowingly, without needing to ask. “You’ve known all along that they killed Liam.” 

 With a roll to her eyes, she says, “Liam’s actions no longer reflected his promise to the club. They did what needed to be done, and I understood that-- unlike you. The club has been my family long before Liam came around.” 

 “How could you…” she whispers, unable to say anything more. She can hardly vocalize how horrified she is to learn that someone she thought was sweet and innocent has been working against the people who love her all along.

 With a scoff, she says, “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Go back to your real boyfriend, you slut. You’re lucky he even still wants you after all you’ve done to betray us.”

 “You’re a monster,” Emma grumbles, backing away from her. “I don’t know how you can do this to someone who really loves you.”

 The sting against her cheek is immediate and sharp, Elsa’s hand delivering a solid slap and making Emma and Tink gasp in unison. “The club loves me. They’ve taken care of me since I was a kid. Now get away from me before I tell Peter what you told me about a safe place,” she goads. “Go back home, and maybe you won’t get hurt.”

 “Like Killian did? And Liam?” 

 “They got what they deserved. If you’re not careful, you will, too. I’m willing to look past this transgression, only because I know Neal loves you and thinks you’ll be a good candidate at carrying on the bloodline. But make no mistake; fuck up again and I’ll be taking this little conversation to Peter.”

 Emma couldn’t have convinced Elsa to come with them if she tried, because she wasn’t even able to try. The door slams in her face before she has a chance to get another word in.

 ~~~~

 His surroundings are barely visible before the pain sets in again. 

 It’s blinding, no matter what he does. Opening his eyes is painful. Keeping them closed is, too. 

 He doesn’t need to be awake to know where he is, either. The waves rocking the boat violently give away their location.

 “I think he’s waking up,” someone says with a voice he doesn’t recognize. “Get over here.” 

 “Mate,” he hears from Rob, his voice vaguely recognizable through the fog in his brain. “Killian, come on.” 

 “You shouldn’t have let him sleep. He probably has a concussion.” 

 “You try stopping him.” 

 “Shut up,” he groans, his lip cracking again as he speaks. Each of the men by his side laugh in relief. 

 “Killian,” he hears Robin breathe. “You alright, mate?” 

 He winces as he tries to take in a grounding breath, his ribs protesting vehemently. “Where is she?” he asks, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice. 

 “Who’s that? The one looking for me?” 

 “Emma,” Robin confirms, and Killian forces his eyes open. He only hopes that the look he gives his friend is enough to relay his fear and anger at him telling this stranger anything about the woman he loves. Doesn't he know she’s in danger already? “Don’t look at me like that, mate,” he says, although Killian can detect a hint of relief in his voice at seeing his open eyes. 

 “What did you do?” he asks, unable to expend the energy it would take to say much more. 

 “This is David. You, and especially Emma, might recognize him as James Spencer.” 

 Killian groans as he lifts his head, the crushing pain of his headache almost unbearable. Truthfully, he thought he would be worse off. Sure, he’s quite certain several ribs are broken, and he worries that he might have a fracture or two in his cheek from how many times Cassidy beat on him, but the pain isn’t quite as bad as he expected it to be. 

 It’s still bloody excruciating, though. 

 “Spencer,” he answers, looking at the familiar stranger. “The cop?” 

 He nods. “You’re girlfriend’s good. I’m with the FBI now, deep undercover. I thought we’d buried everything.” 

 “Of course she is,” he agrees, trying to take a breath deep enough to actually fill his lungs. He digs his fingers into the thin mattress and winces. “So, what now? Where is she?” 

 “She’s meeting me here,” Robin tells him. 

 “You left her alone?” he asks angrily.

 “You told her to round up Tink and Elsa. Begged her. I had to get you the hell out of there before they bloody killed you.” 

 “Why the hell would you listen to me?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes painfully. “How long has she been gone?” 

 Looking down to his watch, Robin answers, “About two hours. But she’s smart, she’ll get out of there alright.” 

 He can’t even answer, can’t even tell his friend how stupid it was to let Emma go off on her own, unprotected, before Nolan speaks up. “Your friend tells me you always seem to have a plan.” 

 “Give me some water and something to get rid of this damn headache and I’ll be much more amenable to talking.” 

 He can barely keep up with his surroundings, too disoriented and dizzy and in too much blinding pain to keep his eyes open or to form a coherent thought beyond his worry for Emma. He isn’t even sure how much time passes, how long it takes for the glass of water to appear in his hand.

 “I checked you out,” David says after what must have been a few minutes, the water finally washing away the taste of blood from his mouth. “I have field training. I think you have some cracked ribs, but I don’t think your face is broken.” 

 With a sigh and a roll to his eyes, Killian says, “Well aren’t I lucky.”

 The medication he gives him sets in after a few minutes more, numbing the pain slightly and making it so that Killian can finally breathe in enough oxygen to not feel like he’s drowning. Satisfied with the lessened pain, he takes another gulp of water and says, “Aye, I think I have a plan.”

 “Go on.” 

 “Peter’s on a rampage, ready to destroy whoever he can, but I’m assuming that if you’re here, the Kings of Elsinore must be close.” David nods in agreement. “He doesn’t know they’re coming. He planned to attack them first. Have your gang found the Lost Boy’s clubhouse yet?”

 “No.”

 “Good. We can tell you where to find them and you can set up a raid with the FBI, take both clubs down at once. On one condition.” 

 A particularly forceful wave rocks the boat again, the one that’s all too familiar to Killian, and sends David stumbling to the right. Killian’s stomach flips once more. “What’s that?” he asks once he gets his bearings. 

 Despite his pain, and his desperate need for some chapstick, Killian smirks. “You’re going to help us get out of this mess.”

 ~~~~

 It’s almost midnight by the time Neal finally falls asleep. His adrenaline and anger has kept him up, his anger directed at his plaything being taken from him rather than his girlfriend potentially being hurt before he finally crashes. He hasn’t even noticed her swollen, red cheek, too busy focusing on his rage. 

 She plays it up dramatically, acting like she’s relieved that he finally found out and got her out of the dangerous situation, while also terrified at the fact that it happened. Really, she knows she’ll be having a similar, but still drastically different, exchange with Killian the moment this is over. 

 She takes a final look around the apartment once he’s sleeping, looking for one thing and one thing only and unable to find it. She isn’t sure what he’s done to her only possession; the children’s book is the only thing she cares about aside from her friends' safety. But she isn’t surprised to know that he stole or destroyed it given his complete disregard for her well-being in any capacity. 

 She sneaks out the front door, content to never return, and creeps down the hall towards Olivia’s unit. 

 “It’s time,” she says once she gets there, her voice just above a whisper. 

 As they quietly tiptoe across the dock once they arrive, she briefly wonders how Robin will know of their arrival, before her question is answered for her. He pokes his head out of the cabin of a rather large yacht, and Emma scans the area before hurrying towards him. 

 “You made it,” he exclaims, taking her backpack and helping her onto the deck of the boat. “Where’s Elsa?”

 “Where’s Killian?” she asks, willing to ignore his question and put her out of her mind a bit longer. 

 “Below deck. He’s awake.”

 She’ll tell them about Elsa soon. Right now, she has more important things to worry about, and she can’t imagine bursting Killian’s bubble once again by telling him the truth. 

 Stepping down into the cabin is daunting. The boat reminds her of the clubhouse, weapons on display wherever they can fit. She wonders about how safe that can be, the clubs and knives and primitive looking tools bound to fall eventually with the way the waves are rocking the boat. 

 “Killian,” she exclaims, excitement to see him sitting up on his own taking over her resolve to stay strong for him. The tears are leaking from her eyes before she even realizes she’s about to cry, and she hurries towards him. The last time she saw him, he was so broken that she was worried she would lose him. 

 He breathes her in when she collides with him, wincing as she puts too much pressure on his ribs but not releasing his firm hold on her. 

 “You alright?” he asks her, his lips brushing against her neck as he speaks. Leave it to him to worry about her after he was beaten within an inch of his life. His hand reaches up to touch her cheek, the redness fading but evidently still noticeable enough, at least to a man who truly cares about her. “What did he do?” 

 “I’m fine,” she answers. She wants to crawl onto his lap and hold him in her arms for the rest of their lives, but she knows she can’t. They have to move. “Can we go now?”

 “Where’s El?” he asks, confused. 

 Robin interrupts, not letting Emma answer, and says, “we can’t go yet, unless we want to get arrested. Emma, meet Special Agent David Nolan.”

 Her eyes widen when she looks up and sees a man she recognizes, stunned to have his identity confirmed for her. “James Spencer,” she says, nodding her head. “So you are undercover?”

 “I am. Props to you for figuring it out, although it’s a bit disconcerting.”

 “I didn’t tell anyone,” she shrugs. The agent laughs. “Plus, I thought you were just a cop.”

 “Close enough.”

 “Emma,” Killian says softly, his hand closing around hers and squeezing again. “Where's Elsa? What happened to you?”

 She bites her bottom lip when she looks into his eyes again and is met with his painful stare. It’s unfair that she has to be the one to tell him this. That a woman he thought was his family should betray him like this and she has to be the one to pass the information along and to see the look on his face when she does. 

 “Killian,” she answers softly. “Olivia and I went to her and tried to get her to come with us. We told her we had a safe way out, that we would help her escape. But she wanted nothing to do with us.” 

 He touches her face again, the concern written across his face pulling at her heart. “What happened?” he nearly whispers. 

 “She said some awful things,” Tink tells him. “Emma told her she was being stupid, essentially-- ripped her a new one for selling you out-- and El gave her a good slap.”

 His fingers dance along her tender skin once more as he shakes his head in disappointment and disbelief. “She did this to you?”

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you--”

 His lips find hers effortlessly, his touch gentle and delicate and careful not to let things between them get too passionate while they still have an audience. She’ll have to tell him about Liam eventually, but it’s too much right now. He’s so broken, and she worries that telling him that his sister-in-law knew about his brother's death could put him over the edge when he has to focus on healing. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe she would--”

 “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we really should get moving. The SWAT team will be here soon.”

 “SWAT?” 

 “Love, David is planning a raid on the clubhouse. We’re going to give him the club’s location in exchange for our freedom and immunity during any investigations.”

 She lets her jaw drop in surprise, her expectations of their evening completely shattering before her. “Oh shit…”

 “Aye,” Killian confirms. “We just need to figure a way to get them all to the clubhouse. We need Peter to call another family meeting, but me simply being gone likely wouldn’t be enough of a reason.”

 “If I may,” David offers, Emma looking up from Killian’s distracting eyes at him. “Isn’t she the leader’s girlfriend?”

 “She is called Emma, and if you think she is going back there, you might as well just haul me off to jail right now because I’ll bloody beat--”

 “Killian!” she insists, placing her hand on his and squeezing to try and calm him down. “Just hear him out. He might be onto something.” 

 He turns to her, his cheeks flushed in his pain and anger. “I’m not sending you back there! You just left; I’ll die before I let anything more happen to you.”

 She rolls her eyes, but it’s only to protect herself. The fact is, he did almost die in favor of letting anything happen to her. “No you won’t,” she says definitively. She stands from her place beside him and looks seriously at the agent. “What did you have in mind?”

 “Emma--”

 She turns around sharply. “After everything you’ve been through today, don’t you dare tell me I can’t do something to protect you. We can end this, Killian. We won’t be on the run; we’ll be completely free to live the lives we want.” Turning back to David, she asks, “Right?”

 “She’s right,” he agrees, though he’s looking at Killian. “With all of your cooperation, I’m positive I can get you off scot free.”

 “Killian,” she whispers, sitting back at his side and taking his hand once more. “I can do this.”

 “I know,” he agrees immediately with a firm nod, a look of consternation on his pained face. “I’ve yet to see you fail. I just hate that I have to put you through this.”

 “You’re not,” she promises. “I am. And I’ll be fine. I can handle Neal.”

 “Aye, you’ve proven that much,” he smiles, his hand finding her cheek again. His eyes are starting to look heavier and heavier, whatever he was given for the pain taking over his consciousness again. “You’re a mighty strong lass.”

 “You sound so much more British when you’re high,” she laughs, leaning over to kiss his broken bottom lip softly. 

 “I just happen to know you like my accent,” he flirts, and she giggles in response, pecking the tip of his nose. 

 “Alright, my love,” she whispers. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

 ~~~~

 “Neal,” she whispers when she arrives in his bedroom. Their plan is a solid one, fully formed and ready to be put into action. That fact doesn’t make her any less anxious. 

 Killian gave David plenty of information on the club before she’d arrived. He told him about the millions in merchandise they’ve stolen, and where to find the pieces and the blueprints for evidence. He told them about the countless murders they’ve committed, including that of his own brother and where his body can be found. He told them about the illegal pornography business they’ve been running, and in exchange, David and his team will look past Olivia’s involvement. 

 Now, all that’s left is to gather the club for a family meeting and wait for the shooting to start. 

 She won’t be there, though. She and Killian made sure of that, making a plan just before he fell asleep and just after David left to make a call to his superiors. 

 “Neal, baby, wake up,” she says, appealing to his distorted senses and shaking his shoulders. 

 “What is it?” he asks grumpily, pushing her hands away. 

 “I found something.”

 He groans and snaps, “Just tell me what it is.”

 She clears her throat awkwardly and says, “I was able to pin Spencer’s last known location. He’s here, in Storybrooke. I think the whole gang is.” 

 He sits up suddenly, his eyes glowing meanly in the moonlight and making her shudder. “An attack,” he says, his tone definite, as if he’s the one who figured this out. 

 He doesn’t bother to even question how she found out, but she’s fine with that. “I think we should ask Peter to call a family meeting. This changes the whole plan, right?”

 “You’re right,” he agrees. “Come on, get dressed.”

 For once in her miserable relationship with him, she happily does as he commands. 

~~~~

~~~~

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[mirainawen]

easy to convince myself of the worst and you cannot disprove it cause your actions bespoke the worst parts of you and i took the brunt of all of it down on my knees heartbroken, bleeding burst an artery gone straight to the brain this poison in my veins shot up by your hands and i’m shaking i’m shaking i’m shaking so hard the scale broke and i shattered apart

it’s alright i found the home inside my dreams wandered broken through her halls until she comforted me but i woke scared and alone and couldn’t find the key to unlock the worst parts of me and set her free set them free i set them all free twenty-nine months ago they still withhold all the hope i will never know never know what it’s like to hold this scythe and not take the cut so deep it severs the lifeline of me but it severed and i fell asleep last night still grieving she’s dead at the heart of me i will walk out of their funeral homes alone and breathe in the grey days as they come to me little smoke off the back of the hit they dealt me i did not want it they did not want me so i grew from that headstone headcase where they said i was depraved but i was never insane painted labels have sixteen layers they’ve been trying to cover over i’m over it i just don’t want it

i renovated a broken rundown shamble of a shack where they told me to hide all of me out back beneath the landfill where they hid the bodies like no one would ever find me like no one would ever find me trace the crime retrace the time line this scene ate away at the gut of me until i was spilling my insides out of me at the altar where He met me He met me and for the first time i will breathe knowing someone actually wants me Someone actually wanted me and He opened the doors that let the light in and many blessed hands reached in longing longing to know me longing for belonging we long to give to one another i will rise up again this morning and today i will let the light in forgive all the mourning i’ve been doing all over again grief comes and goes like a widow frozen in the moment in time the world fell apart on her and her along with it and i will forgive it i will not curse the pain of it because when a heart is broken and grieving we need only patient understanding longing to hold the pieces together even as it bleeds into each other and we hurt so very deeply one another, we carry one another and thus fulfill the law of Christ and i am abiding in it learning to love the very matter that can neither be created nor destroyed and forsake the evil that can only corrupt and create between us the heart of the matter that still beats tender in the brokenness that became of one another we are alive and that calls for forever we are eternally straining so do not grow weary and we will fulfill we will fulfill my love, i promise you we will fulfill the law of Christ or die trying

–the law of Christ, k.m.i.

[drethanramslay]

A funny thing called Fate: Chapter 2

Pairing: Bryce X MC (Aisha Khurrana)

Word Count: 4.6 K words (yeah yeah its more than usual)

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Warning: None, just some cursing

Author’s note: The next chapter is here and it is in Aisha’s POV!!

I decided to take part in @choicesseptemberchallenge20​ and the prompt is heaven which you will find in bold. 

TERMS THAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

- IIT, Delhi: It’s one of the most premier institute for engineering in India. Delhi campus is said to be the best one in the country. The majority of the Indian CEO’s like Google, at least have a degree of IIT under their belt. 

-ku'uipo: Sweetheart

-'Ae: Yes

- Beta padhai par dhyaan do, dost aate jaate hai: Child, focus on your studies, friends come and go (TBH this is the one line which maximum desi kids have heard while growing up. That's why we can be uh.. awkward in making new friends lol)

-Main kya gadhi hoon: I'm such a dumbass (side note: gadhi (female) actually means donkey in hindi)

-Duniya main maine itna bada gaandu kabhi dekha nahi hai maine: I have not seen a bigger asshole than this guy. (yes I love swearing in hindi and what about it)

Forgive me if i made any errors

10 YEARS AGO- AISHA'S POV

My fingers ran against the spines of the book, my head tilted as I searched for a new book to dive into.

"Found anything of your liking, Aisha?" Tina, the librarian asked, her kind eyes twinkling. The old librarian loved me because I always helped around in sorting the books or with checkout. She suggested that if I were to help her, she would pay me so I decided why not?

But the lack of people coming to the library and their constant need to be fake on social media, flexing about their looks instead of textbooks often left the library empty which consequently resulted in free time.

Not that I minded.

In that free time I would either catch up on my study assignments or I would read the books recently added to the collection be it fiction, politics, history, astronomy... I wasn't picky about the genres.

But lately, my attention is being drawn to medical journals and textbooks. Yes, I'm 16 and that its definitely not people my age do but, to be the person balancing on the tightrope between life and death, the person who stands between existence and heaven... it's just a beautiful paradox that I can't help be captivated by the concept.

That and my strengths are biology and chemistry so its just an added plus. So, I definitely dream of being a world class doctor. 

Not to brag, but I know all the pulse points in the body and can name the bones of the skull in my sleep. My parents don't know that because... let's say there is a reason why I stay out of home for the majority of the day.

Are we again going to go over this? I am sick and tired of your fucking indiscipline. How I wish you could be more like Aditya... Mama's voice rung in my ears which made me close my eyes and take a shuddering breath.

Now is not the time to think about how awful you are. I repeated it in my head like a mantra, making it a point to message my brother and rant about the newest development.

Despite our parents trying to pit me against bhaiya, we were thick as thieves. We always had each other's backs and we're there to cheer each other up. Whenever our parents would scream at any of us, we would wait until they fell asleep to do something to lift the other person up. Midnight feasts, movie binge or just cuddling and imagining a future where we were away from them... That always managed to cheer me up and I knew bhaiya enjoyed it too.

I don't think we fought that much either because we were pretty close in age, with only three and a half years difference. We are pretty like-minded and scientifically inclined only he was interested in computer engineering while I was fascinated by the engineering of the human body.

It sucked that he is in IIT, Delhi while I'm so far away. We still manage to video call irrespective of the time zones but it is not the same as having the comfort of your older brother.

"I think I will take this." I handed her a battered copy of Gray's anatomy.

Tina just gave a knowing smile and I checked out. I headed to the nearby Fleming Beach Park, which is one of the most popular beaches in Maui. It was a five-minute walk from the library and the majority of the school population used to come here to hang out in the evenings.

Not that I was paying any attention to my oblivious classmates.

I headed to Kimo's Beach Shack and the owner gave me a gentle smile.

"What will it be, ku'uipo? The usual?" They asked as they wiped their hand on the dishtowel.

"'Ae." I smiled at them and they started making my favourite drink- Strawberry milkshake.

Precariously balancing my bag, the drink in one hand and my wrist-thick library book under the armpit of my other hand, I headed to the quieter side of the beach, away from the raucous.

I settle down under the shade of the palm trees and lean back against the rocks, taking in the view around me. I could see people from my school roaming around in their swimming suits either playing volleyball or surfing. As I sipped my milkshake (looking like an absolute loner, must I add) my eyes drifted to their happy faces as the joked around, laughing and having fun with their friends.

The two concepts that are so unfamiliar to me.

When I was back in India, I had a good group of friends who I would hang out with and play basketball with. It was good but shifting to a new place can strain those relationships. I do follow them on social media but seeing them enjoying and doing the things which we used to do together, it causes my heart to ache.

And I never really tried making friends here in Maui because a) The people here didn't consider me as one of them and b) My parents kept on saying it is temporary so there was no point focusing on that. Beta padhai par dhyaan do, dost aate jaate hai. My dad told me the one night I decided to express my excessive loneliness.

Thanks papa, real helpful. I shook my head, sipping my drink as I carefully opened my library book.

"You look sad." A childish voice spoke up breaking me out from my melancholy. I looked up and saw a four-year-old girl, her doe-like eyes staring down at me. She was wearing a pink summer dress and a cute bow hairband, taming her light brown hair.

"Huh?"

"You look sad... and lonely."

"I am okay, keiki... Don't worry."

The kid's eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "How did you know my name?"

My eyes widened. In the two years in Hawaii, I had learnt a little bit of Hawaiian and spoke in bits and pieces. And I'm pretty sure keiki meant 'child' in Hawaiian so you could imagine the shock I felt when her name was the literal translation of child.

Who the fuck names their child... child?

"A lucky guess. It is nice to meet you Keiki." She moved her hand forward and Keiki's hand clutched my big hand with her small ones shaking it. Her hand was as big as my palm.

"What's your name?" Keikie asked as she sat down next to me.

"I'm Aisha. And, what are you doing here all alone?"

"I came with my elder brother but he and his friends were playing and he forgot his promise to build a sandcastle with me. So I just went walking." She huffed and crossed her short arms across her chest.

"Well, your brother would be worried about you, won't he?" I asked as her eyes scan the crowd, looking for a guy who remotely looks like my little companion.

"Well, I think that's a go-good puni-shi-ment for him." She struggled with the big word.

Aisha chuckled and soon Keiki's giggles joined hers.

"You remind me of the times when I used to bother my elder brother like that. He would get so mad."

"Where is he now?" She asked as her hands fisted the sand, her eyes moving to look at the brunette.

"Well, he is in university, in a completely different country."

"Do you miss him?"

"A lot." I sighed. Her puppy eyes met mine and she reached to hold my elbow. I smiled down at her, appreciating the gesture. She opened her mouth to ask me more questions when we heard a commotion.

"KEIKI!! There you are!" A shout wafted towards us, interrupting Keiki. I saw a tall guy jogging towards us and when my eyes landed on him, I immediately recognized him.

Bryce Lahela. The golden boy of my school, with girls and guys falling for him, left, right, centre. And right now, he was approaching me completely shirtless, his abs glistening in the evening sun. He had a Polynesian tattoo wrapping around his left bicep and ending a little below his collarbone which had me feeling... uh thirsty?

Cool, cool, cool, just act like yourself.

Yeah as if that's helped you deal with your awkwardness. Her conscience snarked at her.

“Shut up.” I muttered to myself. But, I wasn’t subtle enough and Bryce turned towards me, a weird look in his eyes.

Off to a great start, Aisha. Keep up the good work. I mentally groaned as I went back to reading my library book. 

"Thank god Keiki you are okay... I was so worried." He kneeled and hugged her, immediately forgetting my weird mumblings. I could feel the body heat emanating from him and suddenly, the anatomy of the kidney seemed more interesting than the hot guy beside me.

"Its okay Bryce. I was talking to my new friend." Keiki squeaked as she pulled away from the hug, two sets of hazel eyes staring at me now.

My eyes widened and I subconsciously reached to push my glasses up my nose, feeling the back of my neck heating up.

"Well, thank you so much." His voice reverberated and I swear I felt as if I would combust at the spot.

I looked up and shot a tiny smile. "No worries. Keiki here makes a nice study buddy."

I internally smacked my head. Study buddy? Really? Who uses that term now?

"Of course. Daddy says that I'm a beauty with brains." She said with a smug smile.

"Well, that's the one thing that I agree with dad," Bryce said as he settled down on her other side. The one feet distance enabled my mind to resume working.

I smiled down at Keiki and I found that Bryce was looking at me intently.

O... okay?

"Wait... You go to my school right? Lahainaluna High School?"

I nodded my head. I was about to introduce myself when his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

He was snapping his fingers when his face lightened up with recognition. "You are Aisha, right? The newbie who joined us last year I was in your chemistry class last year."

The drink almost fell from my hand and I had to clutch it tighter to prevent myself from making a bigger mess. Clearing my throat I smiled nervously. "Yeah, that's me. You are Bryce, right? You are on the basketball team, right?"

"You know me?" He asked, shocked and I could hardly stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"Duh?! You are Mr. Popular with really good looks and either people love you or hate you." I rambled off.

A small smile played on his lips. "And which category would you belong too? The love or hate category?"

I gave a shy smile. "Let's just say I'm on neutral grounds. Give me a good reason why I should like you."

"Because of my dashing looks? My tattoo?" He stretched his hands wide, gesturing towards himself. His hair caught the evening light, making it look like a halo. His hazel eyes had flecks of gold which threatened to drown me but before I could get lost in his sheer beauty, I shook my head to snap out of the daze of his presence and gave a mocking sigh.

"Aaaannnndd, he is just like other dumb jocks who is overly obsessed with his looks. Why are they all the same?"

Keiki put her hand sympathetically on my lap. "Don't worry Ash. I don't like Bryce when he talks about his looks either."

Bryce gasped. "Keiki you are breaking my heart."

"Good."

He reached for her and started tickling her which made her squeal with laughter. I had to get up so that the sand doesn't get on me, laughing at the sight. "Brryyccee!! Stopp!!"

"Not until you tell me I'm the best brother in the world."

Gasping for breath with tears in her eyes, Keiki breathed out in defeat. "Okay, okay. You are the best... brother in... the world."

Bryce pulled back a grin playing on his lips.

"Good."

My phone rang and I saw Mama's name flash on the screen which made me sigh.

"Your mom?" Bryce asked.

"Yep. should reach home before she turns into momzilla." We chuckled as I put my book into my bag.

"Bye Keiki, it was nice talking to you."

"Bye Ash. I like you. Can we make sandcastles next time?" I laughed and nodded, "Sure sweetie."

"Where is my goodbye?" Bryce pouted.

I rolled her eyes. "Bye Bryce. See you around."

And with that, I turned on her heel, and walked home, feeling much better.

PRESENT

Aisha felt like banging her head against the wall of the hospital out of utter embarrassment. In the span of 7 hours, she had pissed off her superior, met her ex from ten years ago, got stuck with a partner who hardly did anything and now managed to embarrass herself yet again in front of her role model.

Rookie... Are you hiding from me? The way Dr. Ramsey had an eyebrow raised, as if to question why she was hiding behind another intern and the appalled expression as she stumbled over her words were forever imprinted in her mind.

Not my brightest moment. Aisha recollected as she sighed at the way she stuttered and finally came up with an excuse.

I'm doing charts. She mocked herself as she shook her head. There was a table right next to me!! I could have come up with anything but that weak ass excuse.

And she had always dreamed that if she were to meet Bryce in real life, she would definitely insult the fuck out of him and then for the finishing stroke, she would probably punch him in his handsome face or kick him in the crown jewels.

But sadly, you seldom get the things you wish for.

I don't have time for this - Main kya gadhi hoon. She mentally groaned as she tried to shut off the part of her brain which was so hell-bent on making her feel humiliated.

She entered Annie's room to find her curled up in her bed, playing idly with her phone. She perked up a little when she saw Aisha, forcing a smile on her face.

"Oh. Hi, Dr. Khurrana."

"I just came by to see how you're feeling Annie."

Annie shrugged. "The same. The nurse came by and gave me some medication a little while ago.."

Opening Annie's chart she checked. "Yeah, antibiotics. It's too soon to see any improvement yet, but hopefully, we'll see some results soon."

Aisha was about to turn on her heel and leave when she heard Annie's small voice. "hey, could you stay awhile? It's... kinda lonely, being here all on my own."

Aisha gave an empathetic smile and reached to sit down on the chair near her bed. "Of course I can."

"Thank you once again doc."

"No, thank you. I haven't been off my feet since I got out of bed this morning. So Annie," Aisha leaned forward, "what are you studying?"

Annie blinked as if she was confused by the question. She took a couple of heavy breaths before attempting to answer.

"My master's is in... English... but my... my..." She swayed, her voice woozy as she tried to finish her sentence.

Aisha was on alert. "Annie, are you feeling okay?" She asked as she felt her pulse which was dropping before Annie passed out.

The heart rate monitor sounded a long, flat tone as her heart stopped.

"OH MY GOD!! Code blue, I need some help here!!" Aisha shouted, pressing the button near her bed.

"C'mon Annie stay with me." As Aisha stood on the nearby stool, performing CPR as she waited for the code team to arrive.

"Aisha?!" Jackie's shocked voice made her lookup.

"Jackie, where is the code team?"

"Room 502 called a code blue just before you. Just keep up with CPR. They'll get to you when they can!"

Aisha's eyes flashed. "That could be too late!! Help me, Jackie we are losing her fast."

"What were her symptoms?" Jackie asked as she snapped on the latex gloves and moved towards the bed.

"Symptoms were headache and nausea. Started during her vacation to Indonesia. Aurora and I did a blood workup and gave her cefpodoxime." Aisha opened the gown and Jackie's eyes narrowed in on the rash rapidly spreading on the side of the body.

"She is breaking in hives. She is in anaphylactic shock!"

"Now that I think about it, it may be because of her allergy to the antibiotics I gave... I had fucking asked her, dammit." Guilt made her chest heavy.

Jackie's face turned into a scowl as she wheeled the defibrillator cart closer. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. This girl needs you now! We have to get her heart started ourselves."

Aisha nodded as she opened Annie's gown, baring her chest. She took a steadying breath. You have done this numerous times in AIIMS, you can do this.

Taking the paddles, she placed one paddle on the right side, beneath her collarbone and the other paddle on the left side, just beneath her armpit.

A small impressive smile made its way on Jackie's lips. "Good, now set the charge."

"Charging to 300 volts... Clear!"

Annie's body spasmed as the paddles discharged. Keeping them aside, Aisha resumed her compressions on Annie's chest.

C'mon Annie... You can do this... Come back to me. Aisha prayed.

The monitor beeped twice before Annie's heartbeat returned, accelerated but constant.

She let out a sigh of breath as she bent over the bed. Jackie clapped her back. "You are soooo lucky."

"Shut up. Now just give her an epinephrine injection and intubate while I maintain compression."

Jackie nodded her head and Aisha shot a grateful smile as she continued her compressions, her hands aching.

"What the hell is going on in here, Rookie?"

Yikes. Aisha winced at the tone and looked up to find Dr. Ramsey glaring from the doorway.

Time to own up, buddy. She sighed and spoke up. "Dr. Ramsey, she was allergic to the antibiotics I prescribed.

She couldn't gauge his reaction from so far away. "Well... at least you are taking responsibility. Sometimes patients don't know about their own allergies. That's why you always have to be cautious."

Jackie injected the epinephrine pen into Annie's tight. Still unconscious, Annie took a shuddering gasp of air.

"And now we intubate."

"Excellent work, Doctor...?"

A self-satisfied smile made its way on Jackie's face. "Varma."

"You were assigned to this case?"

"No, I was passing and I hear Dr. Khurrana calling a code blue."

A smile made its way on his face which shocked Aisha. This man voluntarily uses his facial muscles to smile? I wouldn't have known. "The patient's very lucky you were here. I'm not confident Dr. Khurrana could have handled this alone."

Now, wait a damn minute... Aisha clenched her jaw. This wasn't her first time she was getting insulted and yeah it was called for but it didn't help her feel any better either.

Jackie bit her lip and glanced at Aisha, which Aisha pointedly ignored. Watch her jump at the opportunity in 3...2...1

"Thank you. Just doing my job, Dr. Ramsey."

There it is.

Gulping down her annoyance, Aisha spoke up. "Dr. Varma really bailed me out." Aisha turned towards Jackie and nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Dr. Varma."

Jackie tried to read her, guilt swimming in her eyes.

She should be guilty, she took the credit of the save when I was the one calling the shots.

"...Anytime."

Fuck you. She narrowed her eyes slightly which made Jackie wince.

Luckily, Dr. Ramsey gave Jackie an out. "Dr. Varma, you should return to your patients."

A relieved smile made its way on her face. "Yes, Doctor." Throwing a backward glance towards Aisha, she walked out.

Dr. Ramsey swivelled towards Aisha, his face drawn tight with annoyance. "And you... you need to have a long hard think about whether or not you're ready to be here. It doesn't matter that it's your first day, or that you're still learning. Whether this girl lives or dies is on you. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Dr. Ramsey."

"You still have no idea what's wrong with her, and your first attempt nearly killed her. This is the real world. No room for mista--"

"Hi, Dr. Ramsey? Sorry to interrupt." A short Asian intern interrupted him and Aisha let out a small sigh of relief.

This guy would give my parents a run for their money. Why do I meet assholes everywhere I go?

"For the love of God, what now?"

"One of the nurses told me... that one of the other interns told them... that one of the doctors said..."

Dr. Ramsey certainly didn't enjoy beating around the bush. With a biting voice, sharp enough to make both Aisha and the intern to flinch, he commanded. "Skip to the point."

"Dr. Toussaint needs to see you urgently." She rushed.

Dr. Ramsey pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered something about 'interns' under his breath.

Straightening his coat, who gave pointedly glanced at Aisha. "Remember what I said, Rookie. Next time I see you, you'd better have solved the case." He turned on his feet and stormed out making the petite intern jump.  

Aisha stepped out into the hall with the intern, leaned against the wall and let out a sigh.

"Thank god for Dr. Toussaint. I swear if he wouldn't have called, Dr. Ramsey would have burst a vein or something."

The intern leaned against the wall adjacent to Aisha. "Yeah... Too bad he doesn't actually need to see Dr. Ramsey."

Aisha's eyes widened and she turned to stare at the other intern. "Huh?"

"I made it up! I could hear Ramsey chewing you out halfway down the hall, I figured you might need a save."

Oh my god, that is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me.

Aisha smiled brightly. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. But you could get in serious trouble if he realizes it."

She shrugged with a cheeky grin. "If. Besides, I'm tougher than I look. I'm Sienna by the way. Or Dr. Trinh. Whichever floats your boat."

"I'm Aisha Khurrana. Thanks again." Aisha's pager beeped and she looked down and sighed. "As fun as our little adventure was, I need to get back to work. Nice talking to you Sienna and once again, thanks for the save."

"Bye, hope you solve the case. Also, wait! I heard all the doctors hang out at this bar called Donahue's. I think, just down the street. Apparently, it's like the place to go and decompress after a long shift. Wanna come?"

"Sure!! If only I survive my first shift."

Sienna gave a brilliant smile. "Assuming you live through the next few hours, I'll meet you in the atrium after we clock out."

And Aisha got back to work, tending to her other patients but Annie's unconscious face kept on flashing behind her eyelids and Ramsey's words echoed in her head, like a broken tape recorder.

You need to have a long hard think about whether or not you're ready to be here.

She took a shuddering breath, doubt slipping into her mind, making her question everything she did. Every patient she treated and every prescription she signed.

Am I really cut out for this?

She tried to stop the rising anxiety but it still continued to swell in her like a balloon. Her throat began to dry up and it felt as if the weight on her chest didn't allow her to breathe.

Oh god, it's happening.

Feeling like she was on the verge of a breakdown, she ducked into a dark supply closet so nobody could see her while she tried to pull herself together.

It's okay. You worked your way through med school to get here. You are worthy. She chanted, taking in gulps of air.

It had hardly been a minute when the door suddenly opened and she heard footsteps.

Aisha internally groaned in annoyance. "Get in or get out. Just quit holding the door." She turned around and saw Bryce.

Oh fuck.

He nervously cleared his throat and walked towards her, maintaining his distance. "I feel like I'm interrupting something. Are... are you okay?"

Thanks to the dark, he couldn't see her tear rimmed eyes. Sighing loudly she untied her hair and ran her fingers through it, something she often did when she felt like her life was on the verge of falling apart.

"Nothing. I'm just looking for something." She tried to speak in a sharp tone but it just sounded like her voice was cracking.

She knew that Bryce had definitely heard how close she was to crying. Concern laced his voice. "Hey, I know when we met I was nothing but a dumb, self-obsessed jock but it's different now. I... I know you are not okay. Want to talk about it? Or vent?"

Goddamit Bryce. "Fine! I almost killed my first patient and I fucking swear to god I saw my career flash before my eyes. But it was lowkey my fault. I should have checked for allergies. But I tried fixing my error by calling the shots and Jackie helped me. BUT that's not it! Instead of being a humble person, Jackie swoops in and takes the credit of my save and Dr. Ramsey just goes on congratulating her as if she won some fucking AMA Award-"

"Aisha, breathe."

Taking a lungful of air she continued. "- And don't even get me started on Dr. Ethan Freaking Ramsey. Duniya main maine itna bada gaandu kabhi dekha nahi hai maine. What a dick!! He should get fucking laid to work off all his anger issues-"

Bryce snorted but didn't dare to interrupt Aisha. From the short time they dated, he knew better than to interrupt her mid-rant, it only managed to instigate her.

Another deep breathe. "- Boy does he manage to make me doubt myself in every step of the way like am I worthy of being here? I mean, I threw my heart and soul into med school because I wanted to be the best doctor out there but dammit I don't think I am ready."

When he made sure she wasn't going to launch into a new roast session, he spoke up. "Wow. You managed so many years of med school, but eight hours into the shift and you're surrendering? Didn't take you for a quitter."

Excuse me? Aisha's eyes narrowed.

"You don't know me anymore Bryce. The Aisha you dated is long gone and dead." She said in a low voice.

He shrugged. "True, but I know that you still have the fire in you to do what you love the most. C'mon, you have dealt with worse but yet you are here, standing tall. This is just temporary. I know you can pick yourself back up and break down all the obstacles in front of you."

She looked up at Bryce, only able to see the faint outline of his body. He still was the same- tall, well built and with really good hair. "No offence but... you used to be the guy who would wet himself during chemistry practicals, what happened to make you so...?" She gestured her hand at him, accidentally hitting his hand.

He hesitated. "As you said, things changed and you don't know me anymore Aisha."

"Fair enough."

The lack of space and the awkward silence just fueled the tension between them. She could feel his converse bumping into her shoes and the heated gaze on her face.

There used to be a time when Aisha and Bryce would talk for hours on end and they never ran out of topics to talk about. Be it something as lame as which is the superior flavour of ice cream or as deep as life after death.

Look at us now... Aisha thought to herself, gulping.

Her hair fell on her face as she averted her eyes, unable to come up with something to talk about. Bryce's hand involuntary reached to push back the rebel strands behind her ear, his hands caressing her cheek in the process. It felt as if electric sparks shot up her cheeks, making her blush.

Bryce opened his mouth. "Aisha-"

The door opened and she heard a feminine voice. "Bryce I saw you giving me the look so I decided to join you-"

A woman walked around the corner of the help and Aisha's jaw dropped. It was not because she was shocked that he was dating, he could screw the entire hospital for all she cared but, no... she was topless.

"Oh." The unknown woman placed her hands beside her.

"Sam-" Bryce began and Aisha spoke up at the same time. "I was just-"

The confusion was interrupted again when the closet door opened again and a senior resident stood before them, aghast. "What is going on over here?"

"Oh fuck." The expletive spilt from Aisha's lips.

The topless woman, whose name apparently was Sam, quipped in. "Yeah what she said."

Well, this is totally not awkward.

AUTHOR”S NOTE #2:

Number one, yeah I dragged PB a bit in regards to Keiki’s name.. PB do your research challenge 🙄

Number two, okay so about the tattoo part, me and @bratzlahela​ were just talking about Bryce having Polynesian tattoos based on this post and I had to integrate it in my series lol

This is something I imagined 🤭

Number 3, Also I tried to change up the scene a bit with Jackie because tbh, Aisha is pretty fucking smart and she won’t be like “Boo-hoo. I don’t know anything” And about the part where she spoke about using the defibrillator numerous times in AIIMS, In India the medical education is a little more hands-on and focuses more on clinical practice rather than theory. Medical students from first year start doing ward duty and help around in the hospitals taking patient history, etc. Also, they have a mandatory year of internship without which you don’t get your license.  

Number 4, So about that supply closet scene, how many of y’all thought would you get a make out sesh?

If yes, here is your clown wig 🤡

Number 5, AND CAN WE TALK ABOUT TODDLER KEIKI I SWEAR I WAS JUST GUSHING THE ENTIRE TIME 🥺

Lastly, IT PHYSICALLY HURT ME TO ROAST ETHAN LIKE IM SO SORRY SWEETIE 😭🥺🤧

This was a pretty long author’s note heheheh

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[sireniana]

A Gift of a Better Kind- Part Seven

I came back to myself slowly, hundreds of memories of my Mother, of her stories beating their way back to the front of my mind. I kept them back for so long, forever pushing back their assaults.

And now I remembered.

"The poor doctor!" Came a squeaky voice from my subconscious. The five year old who felt such pity for the creature, came to the surface of my brain, looking as full of curiosity as she had then.

I brushed her away, taking back my thoughts with a quiet groan as I stood tentatively. There was so much to process, everything had flipped in one day.

Stories were truth, monsters weren't cruel, and I was no longer free. I was also alone, in that small creaking shack, surrounded by nothing more than the quiet shushing of the waves and the lament of the house as the wind swept about it.

"Ouch!!" I yelped, as I pinched my arm severely. "There's no time for whining, do something with yourself before you go mad!

Thus self disciplined, I turned my attention to the other residents of the hovel, namely, the garbage. I looked around, looking for any place a broom might be hiding, but no dice.

I grumbled, but carefully began cleaning away the fish skeletons. Their relatives would've been horrified by the funeral I gave them (hucking them back into the lake) but they didn't need to know.

The rags, however, received a bit more respect. They appeared to be bits of an old suit, dusty and damp but still recognizable. The arms and legs were intact, but the back seemed to have been completely shredded.

How very odd.

I carefully bundled them up, and laid them in a much neater pile in a corner. Now, the bed.

I hadn't taken any notice of it earlier, as I looked upon the movies entranced, but it was there. Sitting saggily on a shattered bed frame, seeming for all the world like a depressed whale. I almost felt sad for it.

"Alrighty, since Lord Doctor Insecurity will probably tell me to sleep on you, I might as well make you fit to touch human skin." I spoke aloud, surveying the bed like a cat might look at a diseased mouse.

The bed was a much bigger project than I bargained for, just fixing the frame took nearly an hour. Two of the legs were broken off. Fortunately, there was some old fishing line that made a handy cast for the bed's shattered limbs. Even my most thorough cleaning hadn't managed to uncover every item strewn across the floor.

The mattress was even worse, every spring seemed to have been compressed. With my only tools being my hands and some bits of old suit, my chances of fixing it were slim. With a resigned sigh, and another grumble, I hoisted the mattress back onto the frame. Thankfully my "casts" held beautifully.

I smiled slightly, forcing myself to focus on my work, and not the ever building questions and fears inside my head. As such attempts usually do, it shattered almost immediately.

I began to pace, floor boards creaking in succession as I trod over them furiously. Why was I here? To be a monkey, a captive for the entertainment of some otherworldly beast? Was this kindness a lure to hook me to himself? Why did he choose me?

And why was he so afraid of me?

I was hardly threatening, short and skinny, clumsy and inexpressibly annoying, or so I had been told. My rejection or horror at whatever he was hiding surely would not damage his life, even if I wanted to hurt him, I couldn't.

I didn't want to hurt him? Why ever not? He took everything from me, my Father, my farm, my future.

What future? Of forever being the outcast? Laughed at and ignored, too uncouth and boyish, haha look at her she's such a tomboy because she lost her-

"STOP!" I screamed internally as I sat heavily upon my most recent project.

I'm not going to think about her, not now, I have bigger fish to fry. Literally, as the door creaked open, and I forced my unwilling form to turn away, curling in on myself in the process.

"Are you ok?!"

♥️

[milfbailorgana]

I posted it 

The urge to nest had been bothering Han for almost a week now. He knew, in the back of his head, that the urge meant he was in preheat, but he really wasn’t going to let himself hide in the Falcon for a week, pretending like he didn’t have things to do.

But the urge was overwhelming now. Han could feel it gnawing at the pit of his stomach, along with the beginnings of his heat; the feeling was a restless anxiety and restless urge to do something.

Huffing and getting up from where he was meant to be relaxing in the captain’s chair after fixing some faulty wiring in the Falcon’s cooling system, he walked down the corridor and pulled up the cover to one of the smuggling compartments with a grunt. It was empty, not having seen much use since he joined the rebellion. A little dusty but otherwise clean. Hidden. Safe.

Han dropped his pillow and blanket into the hole. If this is where Han’s hindbrain wanted him to spend his heat, who was Han to deny it. He’d come a long way from Corellia and Qi’ra and their singular bunk where anyone could walk in on her helping him through his heat, but it seemed his mind still hadn’t adjusted to the fact he was safe here. Well, as safe as one could be, in the rebellion.

Chewie was somewhere else on the base, which meant Han could raid his room. He wasn’t sure if it was unusual for an omega to want the scents of many different people around them, even non-humans, but his nests always felt the best when he could smell his family all around him. He grabbed Chewie’s blanket and pillow, standing for a minute to debate taking the fitted sheet but deciding against it. It was too much of a hassle and he had two new scents to add to his nest this heat, he would be fine without it.

He pressed his face into the pillow to take a deep inhale of Chewie’s scent, reveling in the familiar smell. Chewie smelled like motor oil and fur and something else that was distinctly Wookiee. It was what home had smelled like for the last ten years. Sighing, Han dropped Chewie’s things into the compartment and contemplated when he had last taken his birth control. It wasn’t yesterday, and certainly not the day before, but if he took two today, he’d be fine, right? It almost made Han long for his days in the imperial navy, where he was kept on heat suppressants, but he shuddered remembering how bad the heat afterward had been. Without Qi’ra he’d had to go to Lando, cramping and feeling slick drip down his thighs, hoping the man wouldn’t take advantage of him.

Grabbing Lando’s things was easy. He had never cleaned out his closet after Han took his ship and even though those clothes were almost ten years old by now, Lando liked to leave Han a shirt or cape whenever they spent time together. Whether Lando knew he brought them into his nest during heats or just left them around to mark his territory was unimportant; Han was grateful. Not that he’d ever tell Lando that. He grabbed the lilac cape that had been hung up in the closet a few months ago and pressed it to his nose, breathing in the scent of linen and something smoky that always followed Lando around before tossing it into the smuggling compartment.

Now, getting Luke and Leia’s scents in his nest would be more tricky. Neither of them stayed on the Falcon, and Han didn’t exactly know where they were staying, let alone their room codes. Plus, walking around the rebellion base smelling like he did was not Han’s idea of a good time.

His scent suppressants had gone missing over a tenday ago. Well— missing was relative. Chewie could probably find them if Han bothered to ask him to look, but his pride and the assurances he’d made to his hairy friend that ‘yes, I am going off my scent suppressors willingly, I think being drug free would be good for my system’ with his fingers crossed behind his back meant that wasn’t possible. Curse past him and his procrastination problem.

Comming Luke wouldn’t be a problem. Han was sure the beta would lend him a jacket or blanket or something if it would help Han through his heat, but the princess was a different story. She’d started giving him looks ever since he’d come off his scent suppressants and she had finally noticed he was an omega. If Han really thought about it, the looks might be about the fact he was in preheat and ignoring it, but it could just as easily be that as her thinking him less capable than another alpha or beta. Han wasn't very inclined to believe that someone who called Chewie a walking carpet on first introduction wasn’t probably a bigot in another way.

He rumbled in frustration— a noise he’d picked up from Chewie— stomping back to his room. He pulled out the stack of blankets Chewie had gotten him when they had first gotten the Falcon, just in case Han wanted to nest like a good omega should, rather than shacking up with a rando he’d picked up at a bar. If Han was honest with himself, he’d always preferred the heats he had on the Falcon. The familiar setting calmed something inside of him and Lando— the only alpha Han had ever let fuck him on the Falcon— was, admittedly, a good alpha. Too bad he was playing by the rules now. Not to mention, the last time they’d talked was... not pretty.

Han threw the blankets into the smuggling compartment and lowered himself inside after them. The compartment wasn’t exactly tall— the walls only came up to his armpits when he stood— but whatever his hindbrain wanted, Han was going to have to provide. Setting up a nest was never something Han had been particularly good at. His nests never looked pretty or elegant or clean, but he made them work. Arranging the blankets and pillows around the compartment in whatever order would appease his omega brain, Han contemplated what lay ahead. Usually in this situation, Han would be flying to a seedy bar on a seedy planet to for a seedy alpha to fuck him. Unfortunately, a snowstorm had come in the night before and was forecast to last at least a week and there was no way anyone was granting Han clearance to take off.

And the alternative: fucking someone on base. He’d considered it, of course he had, but it was completely off the table. Han had a policy: there was no way in hell he was going to fuck anyone he might have to talk with again later. It just led to knothead alphas feeling entitled to his body and Han wasn’t doing that again.

So here he was. Sitting in one of the Falcon’s smuggling compartments, getting ready to ride his heat out with nothing but toys. It certainly wasn’t any omega’s favorite way to spend a heat but it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. With the way he never tracked his heats and Chewie doing his best to make sure Han didn’t sleep with any shady people, Han had weathered multiple heats with just a knotting dildo and his fingers.

Flopping down once his nest was as complete as it was going to get for now, he pressed his face into the closest blanket. It was one of his designated nesting blankets so he couldn’t smell anything but Han assumed it probably smelled like him. He’d been told during a heat once that he smelled like delicate jogan fruits and honey, and since Han wasn’t exactly going to ask someone what he smelled like— nor had he ever actually smelled a jogan fruit— he supposed that was the best he was going to get.

Han climbed out of his nest and traipsed into his bedroom, where his compad and birth control were.

The birth control was easy. Han took three from the bottle and dry swallowed them. That should make up for his missed days, right?

The compad was harder. How was he supposed to write this message to Luke? ‘Hi, I’m horny and needy and I just need your jacket so I can sit next to it and feel safe whilst I get myself off’? It was stupid.

Han flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He’d never had to do anything like this before. He’s never had a group of people he could almost call a pack. As much as being in the rebellion made him nervous (one of Jabba’s goons could pop up any time to take back what the Hutt was owed) the people here were some of the best Han had ever met. It wasn’t exactly a high bar, as a street rat turned imperial soldier turned smuggler, but the kindness he had been shown in his few months in the rebellion was nice, even if Han didn’t think it was deserved most of the time.

Han could feel the beginnings of heat gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Soon he would be slick and open and wanting. He didn’t have time to put this off.

He groaned and opened the device, finding Luke’s contact

H.Solo: hey kid

H.Solo: you know that jacket I lent you for the ceremony?

H.Solo: the yellow one?

H.Solo: I need it back for something

H.Solo: pretty urgently

It was seconds before he got a reply from Luke

L.Skywalker: of course!

L.Skywalker: I'm glad you messaged me now, I’m about to start combat practice with my squadron

L.Skywalker: Leia should be free, I’ll ask her to bring it to you

Kriff.

H.Solo: Kid

H.Solo: You don’t need to do that

H.Solo: I’ve got it under control, actually

But it seemed Luke had already started his training.

He really didn’t need that temptation around. Leia, who smelled like leather and something earthy that was unidentifiable to Han. He wasn’t sure there was any scent better than it. In his weaker moments Han could admit to wanting to press his face into her neck and drown in her smell, and this was certainly one of his weaker moments.

But as much as he wanted her, Han couldn’t let himself. Whenever he let an alpha with any power over him into one of his heats it always ended up with he and Chewie being blackmailed and Han having to do things he didn’t want to. Han would stick to fucking strangers he picked in bars, thank you very much, even if it dissapointed Chewie.

Han whined in the back of his throat and got up to pace. There was no way he could let Leia see him in this state.

Taking deep breaths to calm himself down— Leia didn’t need to be smelling a distressed omega along with one going into heat— Han left his room and walked back to the smuggling compartments, tugging the metal cover back over his nest.

Moving to the ‘fresher, Han took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed and his hair was messy. He looked exactly how he felt: hot and out of control. It was a look Han wore a lot whilst working on the Falcon, though, so Han hoped he wouldn’t look too bad.

There was no way to disguise his scent, but Han hoped if he looked out together enough, Leia would assume he had a plan for his heat beyond fucking himself on a toy.

Alphas love to butt their heads in where they don’t belong, especially if they think it’s good for an omega, and the princess was definitely one of those righteous types.

Han froze from where he was trying to tidy up his hair when he heard the entrance ramp to the Falcon being lowered. Kriff. Either Chewie was back or Luke had given Leia the code for his ship. Either way Han wasn’t particularly enthused.

Straightening his shirt to make himself look as presentable as possible, he walked to the ramp, clearing his throat loudly. “Entering someone’s ship without knocking is rude, you know? I could’ve been naked”

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: Three

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read/reblogged/commented on the last chapter. You are all lovely and deserve a Whiskey of your own. This chapter still revolves around the plot of the film, so if you have any questions just let me know! I hope this little story can make you smile at least for a moment. My asks and DMs are always open.

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 5.7k

Rating For This Chapter: T for guns, blood, injuries

Catch up on the Prologue, Chapters One, and Two here!

Y/N sat at the bar and ordered a cranberry juice.

Butterfly Guy was sitting with Eggsy, Whiskey, and a guy who insisted on being called Merlin in a booth near the window.

“Rough day, sugar?” Paula the bartender asked as she set down the cloudy glass filled with purple-red juice.

“Rough couple of days,” she muttered and handed over a handful of crumpled bills that Paula methodically straightened out before placing them in the till. Paula was basically an agent in her own right. She’d been part of the bar for nearly twenty years and since only Statesmen drank here and knew of its existence, they spoke freely about their work. She probably knew more classified intel than some junior agents.

“You sure I can’t get you anything stronger?” She asked, her bleach blonde hair swiping over her shoulders. “Something with a little more oomph?”

“Just the cranberry juice for now.” She smiled and sipped on the too-bitter drink and resisted puckering her lips at the taste. “But thank you.”

Paula nodded and cast a glance at the table where the agents sat. “You know, Whiskey keeps lookin’ over here.”

She ignored the twisting in her stomach and took a large gulp. “ ‘s just post-mission jitters.”

“Uh-huh,” Paula said with a roll of her eyes. “Sure. When a handsome man looks at me like that…” she drifted off with a raise of her eyebrows.

(But she wouldn’t deny that she noticed Whiskey looking at her a little more often. When they met up after she implanted the tracker in Clara, she noticed Whiskey kept turning away every so often, a hand tucked in his front pocket. It was a common gesture used by men to hide an erection, she knew that—she just didn’t believe he would have one at that moment. They were in the middle of a mission. There was no way he was hiding a boner. But the thought was fun.)

Thankfully, Agent Moonshine started hollering and she sighed into her drink and got up from her barstool and walked behind the bar.

Paula was watching the scene unfold like she hadn’t watched a million bar fights before and looked ready to piss herself. Sunny patted her on the shoulder and signaled for her to hide in the little cubby beneath the register.

The Butterfly Guy quickly made a fool of himself, trying to teach Moonshine and his buddies some manners and she leaned against the sticky bar to watch as Whiskey stood from his seat. It wasn’t the first time she would watch Whiskey kick Moonshine’s ass but it was always fun to witness.

And those tight jeans did wonders for his butt.

While she would never understand his affinity for his lasso or his whip, it was nice to watch him work (and to see Moonshine bleed a little).

As he finished, Moonshine and his hangers-on all unconscious or bleeding enough to keep them still, Whiskey adjusted his hat and let out a whistle. “I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”

She snorted and finished her drink as Paula slowly came out from the cubby and gaped at the mess. “It looks like a tornado came through here, boss. I think you owe Paula another window.”

“And new glasses!” Paula said with a frown.

She patted Paula’s shoulder again with a promise that the window would be fixed within a handful of hours as the televisions switched from the football game and were overtaken by a wash of yellow and red with an obnoxious chime.

A woman draped in a horrendous yellow outfit with fiery red hair soon filled the screens. “Mr. President, my name is Poppy Adams. I believe the UN has no teeth. So I've selected you, as leader of the free world, to receive this communication. And I invite you to begin negotiations on the largest scale hostage situation in history. A few weeks ago, an engineered virus was released and contained in all varieties of my product: cannabis, cocaine, heroin, opium, ecstasy, and crystal meth.” Each line item popped up on the screen in a pretty font. Cap looked over to see Whiskey already looking at her, lips pulled into a frown. “Some of you are already infected. And this is what you can expect in the coming days. After a brief incubation period, victims present with stage one symptoms: a blue rash. Next, second stage symptoms appear: mania, as the virus enters the brain. Very distressing to the victim and those around them. Stage three: paralysis. Muscles enter a state of catastrophic seizure. And once the muscles of the thorax become affected, breathing becomes impossible.” She watched as one new victim after another was revealed on the screen until blood spurted out of the last man’s eyes and nose, dead for millions to witness. “This leads to a very nasty death within 12 hours. But I have good news to the millions already affected. It doesn't have to be this way. I have an antidote.” Poppy held up a clear vial filled with an amber liquid—and Elton John behind another glass wall.

“What have you done to me, you fucking bitch?” God bless Elton John.

Undeterred by Elton John’s outburst, Poppy continued, “100% effective and ready to ship out worldwide at a moment's notice. I will do this if the following conditions are met. First, you agree to end the war on drugs, once and for all. All classes of substance are legalized paving the way to a new marketplace in which sales are regulated and taxed just like alcohol. And second, my colleagues and I receive full legal immunity. Meet my terms. I look forward to helping you keep our beloved country great, boosting our ailing economy, and easing spending on law enforcement. Or continue this blinkered, outmoded, and, frankly, disastrous exercise in prohibition, and live with blood on your hands. Save lives. Legalize.”

The broadcast ended and the televisions screens quickly flipped back to the football game. Whiskey was at her side in a blink of an eye. His hand brushed down her back. “We gotta talk to Champ, Sunny.”

And that was how she found herself bundled in winter gear on an Italian mountainside. Clara had called Charlie, and thanks to the tracking device she had implanted at Glastonbury, they were able to pick up the conversation. Charlie told Clara (who was now covered in the blue rash) to meet him at the ski resort they’d visited last year so he could give her the antidote. The tracking device could pinpoint their exact location and everyone was betting that the Italian resort was one of the storehouses for the antidote.

But she was also wondering, once again, why she found Whiskey attractive. He was in a terrible blue and white snowsuit that had to have been made in the 1970s. And he still refused to take off his damned cowboy hat. She appreciated the dedication to his aesthetic but it still seemed…ridiculous.

And he’d been grating on her last nerve on the flight over.

Ginger had buzzed in and suggested that Cap be the one to retrieve the antidote because only Clara would recognize her as opposed to Charlie possibly recognizing Eggsy or Butterfly Man (who she was told to call either Galahad or Harry). Whiskey then laughed��loudly—and stated plainly that he would be planning the mission and Ginger should stick to her computers and gadgets. “It isn’t like ya have any experience in the field.”

She really thought about murdering her boss for the rest of the flight. Her plots to kill him only got more creative when he told her to stay at the safe-house when they landed.

She was tired. She was angry.

And that was probably why she finally snapped. “If you didn’t want me to come along, you could have just told Champ. God knows you don’t listen to anyone else.” She hefted her bag filled with her own weapons and ammo higher onto her shoulder and turned away from him, readying to hike up toward the house and stew in her lonesome until the three men returned—hopefully with the antidote in hand.

But his hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop before she could get very far. “That ain’t fair, Sunny.”

She pulled out of his grip with a poorly hidden snarl. “No. You’re not fair. To me. To Ginger. All because of some bullshit you think is right.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been in this game a long time-”

“And I’ve been in it longer-”

“-and I can take care of myself. What you’re doing to Ginger is so fucking backwards I’m surprised you can see straight,” she hissed it out like a curse. “I’m tired, Whiskey. I’m so tired of watching her jump through hoops trying to get you to notice that she could outperform half the agents in the field and you want her stuck behind the desk until she dies. I’m tired of you thinking you know best in the field. Why do you even request me to go with you if you’re going to undermine me every step of the way?”

Whiskey’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Her shoulders slumped. Harry and Eggsy both looked like they were very interested in the calibrations of their earpieces and not listening to what just happened. God this whole situation was pathetic. They were trying to save the world and she was waffling between yearning and rage for her stupid boss. She trudged away in the snow toward the safe house and barely heard Whiskey say, “what are you lookin’ at, Butterfly Guy?”

But she continued on, up the mountain and found the small shack of a house and swept the perimeter before settling in. She comm’ed in only to say she reached the safe house. Eggsy responded cheerfully but she didn’t respond when Whiskey also chimed in with a, “good work, Sunny.”

Time ticked by.

There was a commotion on the other end of the comm line when Butterfly Guy wouldn’t respond—and then all she heard was Eggsy and Whiskey screaming. She rolled her eyes. They were so dramatic. But soon, the trio was making their way toward the safe-house and she didn’t bother to open the door when she heard them outside. They all hobbled in, mid-argument.

Eggsy pulled out a small vial and showed it to her with a smile she had to reciprocate. “You got it.”

“We did. A little dicey—Charlie recognized me.”

She glanced at Whiskey who frowned in return. It didn’t matter. Ginger had been right and now he knew it.

“Can I see it, kid?” Whiskey asked with his hand outstretched as he walked toward them. But then his dark eyes tracked to the window and widened. “Get down!” Whiskey all but tackled both Eggsy and her to the dusty ground of the house as bullets started to fly. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

She watched, unable to do anything from her pinned position, as the small vial was all but knocked from Eggsy’s hand and shattered on the ground.

“You fucking dickhead!” Eggsy hollered as he scrambled out from under Whiskey to look over the spilled antidote, almost uncaring of the bullets whizzing by.

“Fuck you, I just saved your life!” Whiskey retorted.

“Yeah, and cost millions of people theirs!”

She had to slap at Whiskey’s thigh to get him to move off her and she rolled off into the corner when he did. The rain of bullets stopped for a moment and she looked out the window. “They’re reloading.”

Whiskey nodded. “All right, I'll fix their wagons. Cover me, boys!” And then he all but bolted out of the house, guns blazing.

With a roll of her eyes, ignoring how Whiskey had told the ‘boys’ to cover him, she followed suit and ran out into the snow, pulling her guns out from their holsters. The shootout was nothing she hadn’t seen before and, while she didn’t have all the flair most of the Statesmen agents had, she could mow down people just as efficiently. (The acrobatics the Statesmen and Kingsman agents seemed so fond of really just seemed…excessive.)

Whiskey went through the left flank so she went through the unlucky men on the right.

It was easy pickings, really. Despite the heavy artillery and uneven numbers, it was almost too simple of a gunfight. But the adrenaline rush was nice. It had been too long since she had felt her heart beat this fast. Bullets were flying by her head as she dove behind a tree and then twisted to shoot down the other man. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Whiskey pull out his electric lasso and then cut a man in half who came out with a knife.

“Fucking ridiculous,” she muttered as she stood, lowering her guns and quietly thankful that Whiskey wasn’t hurt.

There was a single gunshot and she froze. A familiar cold crept up her torso and one last man stepped out from the tree line with his gun raised right in her direction. The barrel smoked. But his eyes were wide like he couldn’t quite understand that he’d actually managed to shoot her. With a snarl, she pulled her guns up again and fired twice, painting the trees and snow behind him in a spattering of red.

“Sunny!” Whiskey yelled as he spotted her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and felt the terrible, wet warmth soak her palm. She holstered her guns again and stepped out to look at him, turning ever so slightly to hide the blossoming red from him. “We’re good.”

“You should’ve stayed in the house.”

“You needed back up!” She said, marching toward the house despite feeling her legs shake. Pressing against the wound only made bile rise in her throat.

“The kid and Butterfly Guy-”

“It’s over, boss. Let’s just-”

Whiskey suddenly grabbed at her waist and all but threw her into the house and she nearly lost her footing. She barely had time to recognize the pain suddenly roaring through her system as the adrenaline started to fade.

“Troop carrier coming in. And I’m out of ammo—whaddya got?” He asked, pointedly looking at Eggsy and Harry.

But they were both looking at Whiskey’s hand.

He slowly raised it to his face and saw it covered in blood. His head snapped to the side to look at her. “Sunny?”

Her knees finally buckled and she hit the weathered wood. She shakily caught herself with her other hand, feeling blood slip between her fingers. She coughed and watched as blood splattered against the wood.

“They’ve got Gatling guns!”

Whiskey was yelling. Bullets whizzed by. And the beat of her heart started to drown out everything else.

“Harry, no!” She barely heard Eggsy shout.

And then, in her quickly-hazing vision, she watched Whiskey’s body crumple to the floor beside hers. She reached out a bloody hand toward him without thinking, pressing crimson-colored fingers against his face as if that would stop the bleeding.

“He broke the vial on purpose, Eggsy. If we made it out of here, he was gonna kill us both!”

The world went dark.  

                                                     **

The sterile scent of HQ’s medical wing was a welcoming aroma as her eyes opened.

“There you are.” Ginger leaned over her with a soft smile. “How ya feeling?”

“Tired.”

“No pain?” She asked as she helped Cap sit up slowly.

“A bit tender—but I know what feeling shot in the chest feels like so I would prefer this.” She pulled at the bland, cotton-blend shirt she was dressed in and saw her stomach covered in a bit of gauze and tape. Despite Ginger telling her not to, she pulled at the coverings to reveal the mostly-healed bullet wound and then pushed back into the pillows. It looked like it had already been healing for weeks instead of a day or two. Statesmen truly knew how to patch someone up. But then a thought struck her. “Where’s Whiskey?”

And Ginger’s soft, answering smile calmed her suddenly clenching heart. “He’s in the next room over, Cap. He’ll wake up soon. Eggsy gave him the Alpha Gel and it worked like it was supposed to.”

She pushed out a long breath through her nose and nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Ginger’s watch beeped. She looked at the small screen and sighed. “I will be back. Don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“I promise nothing.”

Ginger chuckled, having heard that answer many times before, and let herself out of the room. 

She let herself stew for a moment (it was really about an hour). Her life had really gone off the rails since Vegas. It was one thing to secretly harbor amorous thoughts about your boss. It was another to scream at him, get shot, and then see him get shot after seeing him (possibly) thwart any efforts to get the antidote and save millions of people. And she had a chance to say something to Ginger. But she didn’t.

Hm.

She carefully slid off the bed and winced when a bolt of pain zig-zagged through her body as her feet touched the cold floor. Shuffling over to the door, she peered out into the hallway and then stepped out. Whiskey’s holding room was only a few footsteps away.

Should she go in? But then what would she say?

Should she just go back to her room and pretend she was unconscious the entire time and remembered exactly nothing from Italy? But what was she trying to forget anyway?

But, thankfully, Eggsy found her in the middle of the hall and broke her rambling thoughts. He pocketed his phone and looked a bit worried as he noticed her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Better than I should be after being shot. You?”

He started to nod but then shook his head. “My girlfriend…she, uh, she’s got the blue rash.” He rubbed at his forehead.

“You care about her. Probably more than you should, right?” That was easy to see. Eggsy was a good kid, probably a little too easy to read. “Especially in this line of work.”

“You get it—Kingsmen aren’t allowed to have attachments. And I…” he tried to grasp at the words he needed, “love her.”

“Statesmen doesn’t have that rule. Probably because we’re very bad at following any sort of guideline anyway.” She shrugged and regretted the movement as it pulled at her wound. “But that means you’ve got less than 12 hours. You got a plan?”

Eggsy quickly explained that they had been able to trace Poppy’s location to Cambodia and they were heading out there now. But his eyes quickly widened as he realized he had just revealed a plan to a potentially dangerous adversary.

“Relax, Eggsy. I’m not the one you shot in the head.” She waved him on. “Go. Save the world. Look out for landmines.”

“Landmines?” Eggsy parroted, face scrunching into a confused frown.

“If Poppy’s as crazy as I think she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has nonsense like that. Who knows? Maybe she has a fleet of man-eating robots, too.”

“What are you on about?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiled and started to walk away. “You should come to London when this is all over. I’ll get you a drink!”

She smiled a bit and watched him disappear around a corner before her eyes once again drifted toward Whiskey’s door. “…fuck.” Against her better judgement, she walked up and let the door glide open without a sound. The room was quiet. Whiskey was motionless on the bed, face still covered by the machine to help the Alpha Gel finish its work. His vitals were steady, displayed on large screens across the wall.

He would be fine.

He would be fine.

He would be fine.

She slipped gingerly into a chair near the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. He just looked so…vulnerable. It was so unlike him. An angry, terrible twisting pulled at her chest. “I’m not sorry I yelled at you, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she was talking to him but the words kept coming anyway. “You need to let Ginger out in the field. She’d be a better agent than me. I don’t know why you’re… I don’t understand you at all, actually. I wish I did, I think. I wish I could understand you and why you do things and say things. I wish I could understand why you make me feel so stupid.”

Maybe being this close to death—again—was making her sentimental. Or maybe the pain medication was making her crazy.

Probably the second option. Hopefully, anyway.

The door opened again and Ginger stepped in. “I knew I’d find you in here.”

“How’d you figure that?”

Ginger gave her a look but didn’t answer. “It is about time we wake him up. You remember how it’s like, right?”

She nodded. She had heard stories about how most agents needed a ‘reminder’ of a traumatic event to bring them back to the present and how their minds could be a bit foggy for a few days after, but she had never seen it in person. But she basically knew what to except--right? 

With a flip of a few switches, the machine receded and Whiskey’s eyes opened. He was up and off the bed with a spring in his gait that had her laughing as he gave some terrible pick-up line to Ginger. But the laugh drew his attention and his body went rigid as his eyes landed on her. “Sunny.”

She felt tension she didn’t realize she was holding leech from her shoulders as he smiled at her. “Hey, boss.”

Ginger tucked something back in her pocket and her smile seemed to reach her ears. “I’ll leave you two…alone. But I’m just outside if you need anything.” She then scurried out and left her alone with Whiskey and her hammering heart.

“Sunshine.” The new nickname was all but crushing to her heart, caving in her chest.

She waved him back to the bed and told him to rest before she curled her fingers around his hand. It was warm and calloused and, as cliché as it sounded, seemed to fit hers perfectly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot in the head.”

She almost laughed and her other hand carefully pushed his still-impeccably styled hair away from the bandage covering a small bit of his temple. “Yeah. You look great for a dead man, though.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” But he said it with a smile and squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”

“You look great.” And her smile grew, heart a little lighter.

He huffed out a laugh but then a long silence stretched between them. She looked away from his dark eyes but didn’t pull her hand away from his, fearing he’d disappear if she did.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sunshine?” He squeezed at her hand until she looked at him again.

“I’m okay. They fixed me up just fine. A new scar for the collection.”

His smile slowly dropped and he placed his other hand over hers, too. “I saw you drop. You were bleedin’ out and I-”

“I saw you get shot, too, you know. Butterfly Guy has an interesting way of showing he doesn’t trust someone.” She shook the thought away. Harry’s brain was scrambled, too. “I’m just happy you’re okay. Your brain might feel a bit funny for a day or two, but I’ll be here.”  

“Where are they now? The Brits?”

“They’re on their way to Cambodia. They think they’ve found Poppy’s base.”

Whiskey all but yanked his hands from hers and threw his legs over the side of the bed before standing on his long legs. She quickly stood too, chair clattering backward. “We’ve gotta go. Tell Ginger to get the Silver Pony on the runway.” He started toward the door before she grabbed at his arm.

“Boss, c’mon. You need to rest-”

“I need to make sure that bitch doesn’t get what she wants.”

She was scrambling then, hands pawing up his arm to grasp at his face. Her heart was in her throat as she looked at him. His dark eyes looked so cold. Unfocused. She knew the Alpha Gel could scramble someone’s brain as it physically repaired it, pushing them into old habits and thoughts and fears. She knew Whiskey wasn’t thinking right at the moment—no matter how soft he had been with her moments ago, this wasn’t her Whiskey. Her mouth went dry. Thoughts raced by as the pit she had felt growing in her stomach expanded to an abyss. She knew what he’d been through. The death of his wife at the hands of some coked-out druggies was an open secret. And she knew her own grief, dealt with it in her own way—not all of it healthy, she knew. But she had to try. She knew the look of a man who wanted vengeance no matter the cost—and, right now, the cost was millions of lives. “Do you know why I don’t drink?”

“We don’t have time for this,” he said as he pulled out of her grip.

“Drunk driver plowed into my dad’s car. I was at the local pool with some friends and Dad piled everyone in to pick me up so we could get ice cream after. They never made it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you think I hold it against everyone who likes to put a little something extra in their coffee? Likes to have a little liquid courage to talk to the cute guy across the bar?”

Whiskey’s face twisted and his eyes seemed to dilate before he scrunched them shut. A shaking hand pushed through his hair.

“I work at a distillery for a man named Whiskey.”

Another silence stretched between them. She would swear he could hear her heartbeat in the quiet of the room.

A careful hand reached out to touch his wrist, too afraid to do much else. “Stay,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

And his eyes finally opened.

                                                        **

Champ smiled and congratulated them on a job well done. It was a week since the entire Golden Circle situation had been handled. Tequila was well. Whiskey’s mind was clear. And their profits had never been higher.

Merlin, Harry, and Eggsy were standing at the end of the table and each held a glass of amber liquid as everyone raised a toast. Whiskey was sitting across from his Sunny, golden glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He probably should have been listening to what was Champ was saying but all he could see was how she licked her lips after taking a sip of her cranberry juice.

Statesmen, knowing an ally when they saw one, had purchased a distillery in Scotland. It was the perfect guise to help Kingsman rebuild and keep their money looking “clean.” Yes, he should have listened.

Because the Kid opened his mouth and said Kingsman needed more agents.

“I think Ginger would be a great Kingsman,” Sunny said with a smile.

Ginger, tucked into a corner a drink of her own, smiled in return. “I…”

“Agreed,” Whiskey heard himself saying. And he quickly realized that he meant it. 

Ginger’s eyes went wide and she nearly sloshed the entirety of her drink across her shirt.

Champ laughed. “Alrighty then. Ginger Ale, well, I guess you’ll get a new code name, won’t ya?”

But the Kid’s smile widened. “And I was thinking Cap could come, too.” He turned to her and shrugged a shoulder. “Whaddya say, Cap? I’ll show you the real London.”

Whiskey looked at her, feeling like someone had shoved their fist down his throat. Don’t go. Don’t leave.

“I always wanted to be a knight of the round table.”

The men at the end of the table cheered again and Ginger walked over to knock their glasses together.

And while everyone continued to pat themselves on the back for completing the mission, all he could feel was cold.

The revelry eventually died down and Whiskey found himself the last one seated at the table. Everyone else filtered out to ready for the next mission—or the move to London. It was just him and Champ. The older man plopped down in the seat beside him and refilled his empty glass.

“London is only a few hours by plane from New York.”

He took a long pull from his glass.

“I’ve never known you to wait for something you wanted, Whiskey. But sure seemed to drag your ass on this one.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Champ?” He finally asked after another large gulp of alcohol.

But Champ just shook his head with a throaty chuckle. “You two are a mess.”

                                                     **

Royal weddings were…an event, she was finding.

After nearly losing Princess Tilde to the Golden Circle, Eggsy actually proposed. And with Harry now known as Arthur and presiding over Kingsman, the rules changed. Attachments were allowed. And because Tilde knew his fellow Kingsman were like Eggsy’s family, they were invited to the wedding. A handful of Statesmen, too. It had been a year since Poppy’s demise in Cambodia and the world was (mostly) at peace. Kingsman managed to salvage quite a bit from the wreckage of their former bases and Statesmen funded the rest of their necessary rebuilds. It was slow-going, and a handful of new agents were still finding their footing after graduating from the selection process.

“Please tell me Tequila is not wearing jeans,” she muttered.

Ginger, now known as Agent Percival, rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile as she spotted the jean-clad man amid the rest of the American crowd. “I could but that would be a lie.” She paused. “But Whiskey certainly dressed for the occasion.”

She leaned forward just the slightest bit to see Whiskey dressed in a fine tuxedo. “Is that one of ours?”

Ginger hummed. “He came in a few days ago for a fitting.”

She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth and turned back to watch Eggsy nervously fidget with his cufflinks at the end of the aisle. “Looks good.”

The ceremony finished after the vows and a bit of perfunctory reading and singing before the guests were all chauffeured over to the reception space at the royal palace. “You know, Merlin told me that you and Whiskey are quite fond of using emojis in your emails,” Ginger said as dinner was cleared away and dessert started to be served. 

Her glass of water nearly slipped from her grip as embarrassment washed over her. “I was told those were private.”

“Nothing’s private in our line of work,” Ginger said with a pat to her hand. “But you haven’t really explained what is going on between you two.”

She rubbed at her temples. How could she possibly explain that she knew Whiskey, while his brain was still scrambled, wanted to let everyone infected with the Blue Rash die? How could she explain that she, despite all that, missed his smile and stupid mustache? Missed how he had terrible pick-up lines that always made her roll her eyes? Missed how she always seemed a little lighter whenever he would waltz into her office in New York?

Their constant contact devolved away from work and missions and into their private lives. He would ask after Bela and she would ask him to tell her about the view from his office window. It was now a strange sort of friendship that she treasured and protected despite how they hadn’t seen each other in person in over a year. She had taken the position at Kingsman, took the code name Agent Mordred, moved to London. It should have been a clean break. She could have kept their communications purely professional. But she didn’t. She just couldn’t truly let him go.

But on the outside, she shrugged as her hands dropped away from her face.

“It looks like I’ll be able to see for myself because he’s on his way over here.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Ginger’s smug tone and, sure enough, Whiskey was on his way over, walking through the dancing crowd and wandering guests, right toward their table.

“But oh no. Would you look at that, I need more champagne.” Ginger then scampered off and left her alone.

Whiskey easily took Ginger’s vacated seat and smiled at her. “Hey, Sunshine.”

“Hey, bos-Whiskey.”

He chuckled at her slip. His head tilted to the side as he looked at her, eyes trailing down her form and she resisted a shiver like a teenaged girl but was silently thankful for the designer dress that fit her like a glove in a soft blue silk. “You look good.”

“You too.” And he did. The tuxedo was impeccably cut and the darkest black. A pristine white shirt was held back with a matching cummerbund and a black bowtie was slightly crooked around his neck. She reached out and straightened it.

He reached up to keep her hand pressed against his chest with a small smile. “I miss you.” It was whispered like a secret.

“We talk every day.” But she didn’t pull her hand away.

“ ‘s not the same and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Dance with me?” Wordlessly, he led her out onto the dance floor and pulled her close.

His expensive cologne made her mind swim but she resisted the urge to rest her cheek against his shoulder despite every nerve in her body telling her to do so. The music was slow, soft, and romantic. The lighting was low and accentuated by flickering candles that danced across the golden walls of the royal ballroom. If she could let herself remember anything—it would be this moment. Held in the arms of the man she loved even if it was just for a tiny sliver of time.

“I never thanked you, you know.”

“For what?”

“Saving me. My head was a mess—even before Butterfly Guy put a bullet in it. It took me a while but I…” He shook his head. “You’ve given me a second chance.”

She cocked her head to the side with a smile. “To save the world?”

Whiskey’s smile was small and his cheeks reddened the slightest bit but his dark eyes never left her face. His grip on her hand and waist tightened the slightest bit. “A second chance at everything.”

She chuckled and ignored how her chest tightened. Reading into it would only make it hurt.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm​ @honestlystop​ @paryl​ @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

[thepotatonami]

I can’t title this or explain this writing.

Just accept this thing that came out of silly ideas brain storming with @hydrangeasheart​  This is kinda based on their AO3 story au but could be read without context from the story (probably)

Important points are just that - Dream is possessed by Demon still (Dreamon) and Phil, Techno, Ranboo and Tommy are all living in Techno’s house. It’s crammy.

Word count: 3261

English is not my first language so there might be some grammar errors

-----------

“Technoblade, we need to talk.” “Do we now?” “Yes. I know we both don’t exactly like each other, but this is about Dream.” “Now why would you think that will make me more inclined to listen to you?” “I am unarmed, the worst I can do is spit on you.” “Gross. Fine. You have five minutes.” “Something weird happened the other day.”

-----------

“Come here Fundy~” Dream called, as he walked towards Fundy, keeping up with his pace even though Fundy was running. “No! I am sorry! Please leave me alone!” Fundy yelled, almost stumbling. “Come on Fundy~ We can have fun together~” Even without seeing his face, you could hear his excitement from the chase in his voice.

“Fundy over here!” Puffy called to him. Fundy quickly made a turn and ran towards her, causing Dream to also start running now.

Fundy was screaming off the top of his lungs as he ran into the border of the Holy Land, the land of Twitch Prime church. Puffy caught Fundy into a hug, embracing him into her protection, as Bad came to stand next to them, already pissed to see Dream causing misery on another child yet again. Dream did not stop, even when he saw them. There was something maniacal and threatening in his movements. 

Well… Until one moment anyway.

The moment that Dream’s body passed the border into the Holy Land, it was as if his body just stopped mid air, before he fell face first into the dirt. The sight of dream just down on the earth with his face in the dirt was definitely an unexpected sight. The fact he didn’t immediately get up as well, but rather just laid there for a moment was even weirder.

-----------

“Dream just wanted to kiss the dirt.” Techno commented as the eyes of the other side bore into him. “Can you shut up and listen?” The other nether creature replied as Techno just shrugged. “The next part was really unpredictable and weird.”

-----------

The first to break the silence that fell on all of them was Fundy - as he barked out a laugh.  Dream slowly sat up, crossing his legs and looking around him rather confused.

“What… What is going on?” Dream spoke up, turning his head to look at the trio. Fundy was still trying to calm his laugh while Dream just whipped the dirt off his mask without taking it off. “Uhh… We are supposed to ask you that.” Captain Puffy asked gently, nudging Fundy to stand behind her. Dream kinda nodded along, but it was obvious he was still severely confused over something, as his nodding just kinda went on.

“Dream did you just hit your head? Do you have a concussion or something?” Bad spoke up, causing Dream to turn his head to look at him. He tilted his head a little, as if considering that as an option. “You were chasing Fundy when you just… It looked like you stumbled on air. How did you even fall?” “I-- I can’t say I am totally sure where I am even… So Uhm… Could I uhh… Could we put this whole thing aside for a moment while I go to uhh… Corner… To… Regroup myself?” Dream slowly got up, cleaning the dirt off himself in light brushes. Fundy hid behind Puffy, as she looked over to Bad. Bad just looked like he was trying to process everything as he kinda gestures to a corner behind the church.

“Uhh, remember no fighting or killing on Twitch Prime Holy Land” Bad simply added as Dream walked over to the corner.

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

“Oh wait, I can hear my tea kettle going off.” “Technoblade!” “Just relax. Dream walked off anyway, right? Bad, Puffy and Fundy probably just stared at him until he did something else weird. The story is at a pause from Bad’s point of view.” “You talk as if there is another one.” The visitor scoffed as Techno rolled his eyes. “There is, just not one that we know.”

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

“Yo, what the fuck was that right now?” Dream grumbled, turning with his back to the trio and taking off his mask to clean it better. No answer came back to him. “Real mature, can you talk to me and explain yourself? The sudden switch really hurt! It’s not fun to kiss the goddamn dirt.” 

The ever staying silence was growing unsettling for Dream. It’s not like he didn’t like it. He preferred his head to be quiet, and having control over his body is definitely nicer than not, but this was all too weird.

He placed the mask back around his face, securing it tightly. He tried to find a reason for the sudden switch, this was definitely not normal for the Demon to do. He wasn’t in any danger, could it be that it didn’t want to deal with BadBoyHalo again? That is a possibility but the Demon was feeling cockily confident this time around so… 

He took a look around the Holy Land. He realizes now that he was never really here… This specific land anyway was created after he was already possessed. He saw it from the outside, but he, well, the Demon never really stepped into-- He let his arms drop to his sides.

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

“Anyway yeah, I am here.” “It’s cold out here.” “Yeah, well, deal with it. You are not coming into my house. Continue your Bad’s story that he told you. Dream went to the corner, what happened then?” “I am glad you are so interested in the story.”

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

“You can’t be on this land. You can’t control me while I am here, I am free here!” Dream practically shouted. “Uhh Dream?” Bad spoke, catching his attention again. It seemed as if he forgot that there  were people around him and was just reminded of that fact. He turned to look at the trio who were awfully confused.  Puffy had that motherly worried look in her eyes, and Bad could see how he obviously was attracted to Puffy’s motherly nature. He was her duckling as she used to say. He kind of moved to stand in front of Puffy as well now. He looked like there were plans running through his head, something that worried and scared Bad.

“I have a question about the Holy Land.” Dream came over casually, trying not ro make any sudden movements that might give them any concerns, even though he could clearly see on their faces they already thought he was insane.  “Uhh… This is a change of topic but sure?” Bad spoke. All of them stared at him in curiosity. “Can I live on it?”

-----------

“Pfft-- Nerd I knew he was homeless.” “Technoblade.” Techno notioned the action zipping his lips as the other sighed.

-----------

“What???” The reply was almost sung in unison by the trio. Dream simply nodded, placing one of his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, waiting patiently for a reply. “I mean… There are no rules against it…?” Puffy started, trailing off to look at Bad as if he will have any help in finding a proper reply for Dream. Bad was looking just as confused, and he also looked like he was still processing everything. “But I think you will make people uncomfortable here with all your gear and--” “That is not a problem!” Dream replied before Puffy could finish her sentence. 

He started to drop to the ground everything he had on him. Protective gear, his sword, his axe, his crossbow, his bow, his arrows, even his golden apples and potions. Fundy in a hurry starts to pull everything to a pile behind Puffy and Bad, looking in awe at the gear. “Wait Dream, are you being serious here? No tricks, no lies, no--” “No manipulation.” Dream finished Bad’s words before placing his last golden apple down, as it gets snatched by Fundy right away. 

“I think I will live here like a monk. That sounds so exciting, doesn’t it? Me living like a monk. Devote myself to church prime, away from causing harm and instead taking care of this land. More purple flowers will be nice for this place, no?” 

-----------

A laugh fell out of Techno’s lips.  “A monk?” He snorted, unable to contain his amusement. Dream surprised him a lot in the past couple of years, mostly for the worse, but this was a whole new thing. “Hey, that is what Bad told me.” Sapnap crossed his arms, growing irritated with the pig’s attitude.  “And you believe everything Bad tells you?” Techno let another amused gruff leave his throat as Sapnap growled lowly. “No. I went to check it out myself.” “Oh?”

-----------

“Dream?” Sapnap called, as he walked into the Holy Land. He can’t deny the fact that the land looked a lot more taken care of. With more flowers around and well cut grass… Was Dream actually staying here and taking care of the place? Dream came out of a tiny shack that was built inside the borders of the Holy Land. It was off to the side, and there wasn’t even a proper path yet. He looked towards Sapnap, and moved the mask a little to reveal a genuine happy smile.

“Dream, what is this? What are you doing?” “Reforming! And terraforming. Wanna see the wheat farm?? Oh it came out so beautiful! I am actually farming! Can you believe that?” Dream started to speak, so excited as if he wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone in years. 

He simply also started to walk away from Sapnap, leading him to the wheat farm he didn’t ask to see. “That… That is a nice farm… Dream do you not remember all the shit you have done?” Dream quickly ran his hand over the wheats before sighing and turning to Sapnap. “You think I can forget? I can’t. There is no forgetting, and believe me when I say that there is no one, and I mean no one, who hates me more than me.” Sapnap couldn’t see Dream’s eyes, but he didn’t need to see them. His voice spoke truth. The way he bite his lower lip, before letting a sigh out and forcing a smile back.

“I am guessing Bad told you. I really do mean what I said. I am planning to stay in this land. I can’t fix what has been done… But I can at least stay here and… And…” Dream stumbled over his words for a moment. “And be a monk?” Sapnap asked, crossing his arms, earning an iconic Dream laugh. “Yes! Do you want to taste the cake I baked? I think it came out decent!”

-----------

“No Techno, that is stupid! I am not going to allow you to do that!” Phil’s worried tone echoed through the house. Ranboo buried his head further into Tommy’s lap, as Tommy just gently placed his hands over his ears as if that would help.

“Do you think he will go…?” Ranboo eventually asked, when it sounded like Techno and Phil walked away from each other. “I… I don’t know…” Tommy admitted. “I know he is my big brother and all but… Techno was always full of surprises I guess…” Ranboo simply hummed in agreement. “I wish Sapnap didn’t come here. Phil sounds so worried for Techno.” “I think it’s because he knows Techno is able to sneak out.” Tommy sighed. “I mean this is his house.” Ranboo added, making Tommy chuckle.

“Boys,” Phil’s voice came from the door, as Ranboo sat up to look at him and Tommy turned to look at him, “It’s bedtime, did you brush your teeth Tommy?” He asked as Tommy groaned, making Ranboo snicker.

-----------

“Techno?” Tommy slurred tiredly, watching Techno wear his cape. “Go back to sleep, Tommy. I will be back by morning.” He walked over to Tommy and messed up his hair before picking up his axe. “Are you going to see him…?” Tommy looked at Techno with worried eyes as Techno held back a sigh but let his shoulders drop a little. “Yeah, I have to see Monk Dream. Can you imagine how stupid he looks?” He tried to joke, turning his back on Tommy. He could hear Tommy stifling a laugh, and he smiles to himself.

“Stay safe, okay?” “Holy Land or not, my axe was never a believer.”  “Techno!” “Shhh, I won't disrespect the Holy Land, I promise. Go to bed.”

Techno opened the door. When he didn’t hear Tommy walking away, he turned to look at him again. “Good night Tommy.” Tommy let a smile stretch on his lips. “Good night Techno.”

The moment Techno closed the door he was face to face with Ghostbur. He almost jumped out of his own skin, placing a hand over his chest to try and swallow the yelp that got stuck in his throat. He still needed to stay quiet, it’s the first time in forever where Phil actually fell asleep and he can leave quietly.

“Ghostbur, can you no?” He grumbled as Ghostbur smiled weakly. “Sorry, I was just worried about you.” “Worried? Why?” Techno didn’t wait for a reply from Ghostbur, as he began to walk away from the house. Ghostbur, of course, just floated along. “I overheard your talk with Phil… From a couple of days ago? He doesn’t want you to go see Dream.”

Techno stayed silent. He couldn’t be upset at Phil not wanting him to visit Dream, especially not alone. After everything that Dream did? And even if he was to go to see Dream with someone else by his side… It wouldn’t be right, not like he has who to tag along.  He needs to see this “monk phase” that Dream is going through. He chuckled at his own thoughts. Ghostbur tilted his head, trying to look at Techno without floating into a tree by accident. Techno just shook his head.

“I need to see this for myself, Ghostur. It’s important to me.” “Even if you are going against Phil’s wishes?” “Phil won’t be mad for long over this, he will understand. He has every right to worry, but I am an adult. I can make my own choices.”

Ghostbur stayed silent for a moment. Techno looked at him from the corner of his eyes.  He sometimes wondered what went in Ghostbur’s head. His thoughts must be so different then Wilbur’s as he is in general so different from him. 

God this wasn’t the time to miss Wilbur.

“Well, I surely can’t stop you, so can I just be your escort until we get there?” “I won’t refuse the company.” 

-----------

Techno stood at the border of the Twitch Prime Holy Land, and watched as Dream watered the flowers at the moon light. He couldn’t bring himself to call out to Dream. Not like he needed to, it didn’t take Dream long to notice him and wave over to him. He decided against waving back, standing guard with the axe in hand. His knuckles whitened as he tightened the grip on the axe. He watched Dream place down the watering can and walk over to him, stopping a good distance from the border.  Techno couldn’t help but note that he didn’t stop away from him, but away from the border. 

“So you really meant it when you said you are not going to leave the borders of the Holy Land.” Techno decided to break the silence. As much silence they can get in the middle of the night. The crickets were goddamn loud, but it still felt awfully quiet.  Especially because the voices in his head seemed to be at rest as well, or maybe just curious of how this will all go down. 

Dream reached up to take off his mask, as he smiled widely.  “I did. It’s great to see you Tech! You were one of those people I was sure that wouldn’t come to see me…” Dream looked around the Holy Land. His face looked to be content and happy.

“Why stay there?” Techno asked, trying to keep his composer. He knew Ghostbur was probably watching them from afar, so he did his best to keep himself calm. But this situation was too surreal.  He ran the blade of the axe around the outside of the border. Dream crooked his head to look at the blade then at Techno.

“It’s quiet here. No voices, no one to control me, no one to tell me what to do, I am free to just…” He stopped himself for a moment as Techno squinted at him, waiting for him to finish. Techno’s voices were always slightly quieter around the Twitch Prime church, but he always guessed they were just against religion. Did Dream have voices as well? And this talk about no one controlling him…

He never did finish his sentence.

“Do you like the flowers?” Dream gestured to the various flowers planted around. “They seem lovely, I am sure.” “Oh right, you aren’t wearing your glasses. Must be tough to see in the dark without them.” Dream started to tap his cheek with one hand, and his mask with another hand. If the mask was on his face, he would simply tap it. Techno hated the fact that he knew his mannerism so well, but also found it so comforting to see him act the same as they were kids.

“You are not going to try and force me into the Holy Land to see your little flowers?” Techno asked, trying to read Dream’s expression. It was honestly just pure thinking. As if this man was not manipulating his little brothers a couple of weeks ago. Dream simply shook his head. “I can’t force you to come in, Techno. It’s not the same as we were kids…”

Quiet fell between them. Technoblade couldn’t explain it, but he hung his axe into his belt and simply fixed the braces on his arms. Something about that sentence alone made him decide to let his guard down, just a little.

“So uh… What else besides the flowers are you doing here?” Dream’s lips spread into a wide smile. 

“I baked cookies! I was told the cake I baked was not great, and I have to say I kind of agree, maybe more frosting is needed, but you can’t go wrong with chocolate chip cookies!” Dream’s enthusiasm about cookies was almost ridiculous to listen to. “Where did you get the cocoa beans?” Techno asked, trying to sound casual and not tease Dream’s behavior. “Oh, Puffy agreed to bring me things for stuff like this, saying she will supervise me to make sure I am staying true to my word. I actually enjoy her company, she is very motherly.” Dream smiled. Before Techno could even question the part of supervision or the motherly behavior, Dream started to talk again.

“Oh! And apparently, come here along the border-” He spoke as he started to walk along the inside border with a few good feet from it, as Techno reluctantly followed along the outside of the border, “This area is considered also a part of the Holy Land! This little water area. So yesterday, you won’t believe this, But I fished!” “You are right, I don’t believe you.” Techno tried to stifle a laugh, but an amused snort still escaped. “You laugh! But I have caught two fishes!” “Oh yeah? How long did that take you?” “We don’t talk about that.”

Techno started to laugh, this all felt so familiar and so right, it almost felt wrong. But he laughed, and Dream huffed before joining into the laugh with Techno.

[moonscarsandstars]

“Do you really love me?”

The stars glittered against the clear, black surface of the lake. Grass prickled Remus’s skin as he turned around to face Sirius. His grey eyes held spiralling universes in them.

“More than you’ll ever know,” whispered Sirius.

Remus reached out to kiss him, but pulled apart as Sirius pointed up at the sky. ”It’s starting,” he whispered excitement tingling in his voice.

It seemed like frozen fire was travelling through space, leaving a shining trail behind. Like the stars were raining, falling on them. Like the universe was falling apart, each woven thread coming undone.

It was like nothing Remus’d ever seen before.

Mouth parted in awe, he hastily turned to Sirius in excitement, only to find Sirius looking back at him, with the same love in his eyes that set flames in Remus’s heart.

Suddenly, Sirius’s lips where on his, and in a blur of passion, they were against each other, almost like the universe really was falling apart.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

A heavy tear fell down Sirius’s cheek, as a harsh croak escaped him. Remus’s eyes landed on the giant bruise on his cheek- from where James had punched him.

But that was nothing compared to Remus’s gnawing flesh, with lacerations larger than life barely holding together at the seams. What did Sirius expect? It was dangling fresh meat in front of the wolf before snatching it away.

“I- I’m sorry- you have no idea-”

“No,” growled Remus. “You have no idea. Know what would’ve happened if I managed to kill Snape? If your fucking plan had succeeded?!”

Sirius shook his head weakly and cautiously, cold fear pooling in his eyes.

“Forget being expelled, I’d have been put down! Like the fucking beast I am!”

A loud, horrified gasp escaped Sirius, and he flinched back in terror, gripping the table with his white knuckles. His lower lip was trembling, and his face was paler than before.

“No- no- that- please- no-”

“Yes. And that’s what you don’t understand, isn’t it?” Remus took a heated breath.

“I’m- I’m so sorry-” Sirius managed to stutter out through gut wrenching sobs. 

“You don’t really love me. You never did,” spat out Remus, as if the words were poison.

“That’s not true,” whimpered Sirius in a wavering, broken voice.

“No you don’t.”

“I- I-”

“You’re just like your fucking parents.”

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then leave,” spat out Remus brusquely, voice scraping against the walls of the shack.

Chains dug in deeply against his wrists, and bloodied streams of dirt lead up to him struggling against himself. A loud, guttural wail escaped him, echoing through Sirius’s body. Sirius shuddered, tears pricking his eyes.

“You need the pack!” Cried Sirius, pulling fingers through his knotted hair.

“I need you to get out!”

Remus heaved a little, blood falling from his lips which he spat away. He trailed a broken nail along his shaking legs. He whimpered quietly, tugging harshly at the chain pulling against his foot.

“I’m staying,” muttered Sirius, more to himself. “I’m staying.”

“You stay, and we’re over.”

Swallowing thickly, Sirius stood confidently. “I’d rather end it than leave you alone here.”

“Fuck, Sirius just get out!”

“No! Don’t you understand?! I love you, and I don’t fucking care if I get hurt! As long as you’re safe,” he added softly.

“Are- are you- fuck it’s starting!” 

His screams wracked the building, and the walls seemed to shiver with Sirius, who hastily transformed into a dog. The last thing he could see was sharp, bloodied teeth, before the wolf’s claws carved through his arm.

Gritting his teeth and howling loudly, Padfoot tried to lick the wound, edging to the back of the room and staring cautiously.

The wolf was different now.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

“I can’t believe it either,” deadpanned Sirius, bursting into laughs. “Why d’you think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Remus, a lump hanging at his throat and his eyes glassing over.

“Moony, hey Moons, what happened?”

Sirius crouched next to Remus, who was cross legged on their bed. He dragged a finger over the Gryffindor  poster that hung from one of the posters.

“It’s- I mean- we’re leaving this place soon, aren’t we?” Remus’s voice wavered in a way that broke Sirius’s heart. 

“We’re going to stay together,” said Sirius, trailing a finger over Remus’s tear stained cheek. “I promise, I’ll never leave you.”

“What if you find someone better?”

“No one, and I mean that Moons, no one could be better than you. You’re everything, better than this world, better than this universe. You’re more than I could ever have asked for. I love you.”

Another tear fell down Remus’s cheek, gently wiped away by Sirius’s soft thumb.

“Are you sure?”

Sirius chuckled. “I’d be in Azkaban before I stopped loving you.”

“You’d be in Azkaban within three years of leaving this place, I’ll bet.”

“Oh we’ll bet, all right,” chuckled Sirius, moving over Remus’s body. 

They fell down on the bed, smiling against each others’ lips. Sirius’s hands travelled through Remus’s hair, and he kissed him passionately, like there was no tomorrow.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

“Where were you?”

“I asked if you really love me.”

“I asked,” repeated Sirius heatedly. “Where were you?

“Don’t you trust me?!”

A hitched breath stuck in Sirius’s throat, and his eyebrows furrowed further. He threaded fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, it’s just- I’m not allowed to tell!”

“Why not?” 

“Dumbledore’s order,” muttered Remus defeatedly. “I wasn’t even supposed to say that. But fuck, it’s all I can offer in this stupid war.”

“What?” Sirius’s eyebrows shot up, and he suddenly stood from the old, dusty sofa they were sitting on. “He’s asking you to use your lycanthropy or something?”

“I- no.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why can’t you fucking trust me?!”

Remus got up too, anger fueling his tired, injured and bloodied body.

“Because you keep disappearing half the time, and fuck knows where you go every transformation!”

“Dumbedore asked me to! You think I’d do this out of my free will?”

“Then tell him not to,” said Sirius earnestly. It took all Remus had it in him to keep from screaming and falling into Sirius’s arms. “I’ll come with you!”

“I- he’s done so much for me,” said Remus desperately, on the brink of tears. “I can’t just take it for granted, can I?”

“You paid him, right? You studied well, right? And he said it was a gift, right?”

“Yes but-”

“No. You’re going to go to Dumbledore, and we’re going to tell him to get his head out of his-”

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it now.”

“Now. I’m coming with you,” said Sirius, grabbing a cloak off the stand and walking out.

“No- no, it’s okay,” muttered Remus, his voice breaking. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Promise?”

Sirius’s voice was so tender.

“Yeah,” replied Remus, putting on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I promise.”

“I love you.”

Remus couldn’t bring himself to return it as he walked away from Sirius for what could’ve been forever.

~~~

“Do you really love me?”

Remus stared up at the ceiling of their flat. No. His flat.

The emptiness sunk in, carving a hole inside Remus. One that ached inside, tore apart his barely beating heart.

“Did you really mean it?”

His voice was remarkably steady, hiding bleeding hope and pain that stretched through his heart,

“Did you mean it during the meteor shower?”

Remus closed his eyes, biting his lip to hide the pain. He could taste blood, crimson and metallic. Like the chains.

“Did you mean it when you apologised?”

Maybe that was the start. Maybe Remus shouldn’t have been so fucking desperate for love. Maybe Remus should’ve used his fucking brains.

Remus loathed himself, kicking the chair harshly as pain erupted through his leg.

“Did you mean it when you stayed?”

Remus couldn’t help his voice waver, as his eyes glassed over and his heart burned painfully.

“Did you mean it when you promised to stay with me forever?”

A harsh, bitter chuckle stung his throat.

“You really did go to Azkaban. And leave me. I fucking hate you!”

Remus screamed, tears pouring down his face as a gaping hollow feeling tore him apart from the inside. It physically hurt- worse than any transformation, and he fell to the ground in pain.

“I fucking hate you!” He screamed, knowing the lies that he weaved.

Bloodshot eyes met the picture of the Marauders watching the meteor shower. His white knuckles gripped it tightly, and he felt sick.

“Did you really love me?”

[fallen-gravity]

Fightin’ Back Chapter 4

Chapter Notes: I’d like to give a shoutout to @elegiesofemptiness for throwing suggestions my way for this chapter and helping me out of a rut.

We’re really in it now, boys. Scary-oke this time around, and the next chapter following this one takes  place in my favorite episode in season two. >:)

AO3

“You have to promise me you’ll only use the journal for self-defense, and won’t go sniffing around for trouble.” 

Dipper crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, but only if you promise that you don’t have any more bombshell secrets about this town”.

“Promise” Stan replies, placing one hand against his heart and the other crossed behind his back. Dipper squints at him for a moment, but then he sighs.

“Promise”, Dipper echoes, and his tone doesn’t sound any more genuine than his own. 

Maybe he should just hide all the black lights in the house so the kid doesn’t get any big ideas. For now, though…

“Oof, we have a lot of zombie damage to clean up.” Stan pokes at his recliner with his foot. “Where’s my handyman, anyway?” 

As if on cue, the zombified Soos wanders into the room from the kitchen, arms outstretched and eyes glossed over. 

“Holy Moses!” Stan yelps, instinctively grabbing for the nearest piece of furniture to smash it over Soos’s head, before Dipper stops him, placing a hand on his arm. 

“Wait! It says here there’s a cure for zombification. It’s gonna take a lot of formaldehyde” 

“Ooh, and cinnamon!” Mabel beams, popping her head over Dipper’s shoulder. 

“C’mon, Soos, let’s fix you up” 

Mabel picks up one of the dining chairs off the floor and prods Soos in the stomach back towards the kitchen. Dipper’s about to follow her into the kitchen, but Stan places a firm hand on his shoulders to stop him in his tracks. 

“Not so fast, little man,” he scolds. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I saw that zombie pick you up”

“Are you...accusing me of being a zombie?” Dipper turns to face him, and Stan almost laughs that he looks more baffled than he does angry.  “Wouldn’t my head have exploded while we were singing together if that were true?”  He asks, and visibly cringes at the mental image. 

“Well, yeah. Maybe you weren’t infected as quickly as Soos, but zombies don’t always gotta bite you to infect you. It’s about direct contact.” Stan grins. “Matter of fact, most zombies only bite cause they’re hungry! If they’re just looking to infect, they’re more likely to leave a nasty scratch” he offers out his hand. “Lemme see” 

Dipper places his hand in Stan’s, and Stan tugs him a bit closer so he can get a better look at Dipper’s arm. His shoulder looks fine, which means it isn’t spreading as quickly as Stan expected it to. That’s a relief. He turns Dipper’s hand to inspect the other side of his wrist, and sure enough, there are three large gashes right on the spot where the zombie had grabbed him. It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding, but the skin surrounding the gashes are already turning a sickening grayish green.

Dipper’s face goes white as a ghost at the sight of it, and if Stan weren’t holding his wrist he’s almost sure the poor kid would pass out right then and there. Stan squeezes his hand, just to give the kid a grounding gesture to prevent him from passing out a second time. “Whoa, whoa. Deep breaths, kid. You said it yourself! There’s a cure for this. We just gotta follow your sister into the kitchen before she uses it all on Soos, okay?” 

Dipper sighs, and his breath is shaky. “Okay” he replies, and he takes three steps forward before he stops. Stan’s afraid he’s going to pass out again, but he turns back around and points a finger at him. 

“How did you know that?”

“Know what?” 

Dipper’s rubbing at his infected wrist, and the sound it’s making is akin to someone walking through a pile of dead leaves. “How did you know that zombies can infect someone without biting someone? All Journal 3 talked about was how to cure a bite”

...Shit. That must’ve been the first journal that talked about home remedies for monster attacks.

“W-Well I’ve lived here for over thirty years, y’see? You have to learn these things pretty quickly.” Stan straightens out his posture to better sell his lie, and gestures vaguely towards Dipper. “Look at you, kiddo. You’ve had the journal for...what, two months? And I see you going around every day like you own the place” 

Dipper blushes. “I guess that makes sense”

Stan rolls his shoulders. “Of course it makes sense. I’m older and wiser, and all that” 

Dipper chuckles quietly, mumbling something under his breath about I don’t know about wiser, but Stan’s too distracted by the fact that Dipper keeps scratching at his infection to bite back. “And speaking about older and wiser, I of all people would know that all scratching at that thing is gonna do is make it worse” 

Dipper’s hand drops to his side immediately. “Right, right” he murmurs. Stan rolls his eyes, and places a hand on Dipper’s back to gently shove him towards the kitchen.

“Hup to. The last thing we need around here is a zombie with an irrational fear of himself” Stan slaps Dipper on the back and roars in laughter, who only responds with a roll of his eyes. When they step into the kitchen, Mabel and a dezombified Soos are sitting at the table chatting casually. Soos has an ice pack on his head.

“Oh, hey dood!” Soos grins. “Hey Mr. Pines! Sorry about the whole trying to eat your brains thing. I got like, way too into the character.” 

“Uh, water under the bridge” Stan waves him off before he turns his attention to Mabel. “Listen, sweetie, you got any more of the formula?” He exchanges a quick glance with Dipper, who’s hiding his arm from his sister behind his back. “I, uh, wanna toss some of it around the yard. See if it doubles as a free fertilizer for the...dead flowers” 

Mabel gasps, her eyes going wide. “Those poor zombified flower pixies!” She yelps, and gestures to a pot bubbling with oil on the stove. “Take as much as you need. I accidentally made, like, ten batches too many anyway, so if it works you could sell bottles of it in the gift shop and tell ‘em Mabel sent ya” 

Stan laughs, and takes a moment to muss up her hair. “Ah, I knew my swindling skills would rub off on one of ya! Atta girl” he grins, and she grins back in equal measure before returning to her conversation with Soos. As soon as she has her back turned to him, Stan grabs the entire pot and walks as fast as he can towards the back porch without spilling any of the oil.

“Follow me”, he whispers to Dipper once he’s sure he’s out of Mabel’s earshot, and Dipper doesn’t hesitate to trail closely behind. He places the pot of oil on the ground beside the porch couch, and pats at the armrest. Dipper wordlessly complies and takes a seat, and Stan takes one last peek through the window to make sure Mabel hadn’t followed them out to watch him “revive the pixies” or whatever it is she’d said. Once he’s sure that she’s too engrossed in her conversation with Soos to notice they were gone, he takes a knee beside Dipper.

“Alright, lemme see it again” Stan says, and Dipper spreads his arm across the armrest. The infection seems to have spread to the base of his elbow, and the skin surrounding the initial gash in his arm has withered to a faded gray color. Stan sighs, and dips both of his hands up to his wrists into the pot of oil. 

The smell of it makes Stan sick. It’s far from his first time dealing with formaldehyde, and a tiny little demon at the back of his head is screaming at him that Dipper could’ve been coming into contact with it for much, much worse reasons if he came up from the basement to help him just ten seconds later. 

No. He squashes that thought down before it can get any worse, and begins rubbing the oil into the worst of the infection on Dipper’s wrist. It makes him flinch, and Stan’s not sure if it’s because of the smell or the burning sensation.

“Y’see, this is exactly why I tried keeping you and your sister away from the supernatural.” He flicks the excess oil off of his hands, but it’s a redundant gesture because he’s right back to sticking his hands in the pot anyway. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you if I hadn’t heard you in time? Or if I’d looked anywhere else in the Shack for you first? I would’ve been forced to assume the worst”

He’s trying to sound strict, but damn these kids for tearing him down so much that it hurts his chest to even think about it. “I can’t have the people I care about aimlessly running around and throwing themselves into danger”

“I’m not being aimless!” Dipper whines, but hisses in pain when Stan accidentally rubs some of the oil directly into the gashes in his wrist. 

“Mhm,” Stan hums. “And I’ve never spent a year in a Colombian prison”

“I’m not!” he squeaks. “Look, Grunkle Stan, I’m not just running around trying to hunt and capture every monster in the journal for fun, or anything! I’m so close to discovering the identity of the author that I have to follow leads when they present themselves! Nobody can really just...disappear out of thin air, right? He has to be around here somewhere”

Every nerve in Stan’s body freezes up at once. 

I’ve been telling myself that for thirty years, kid.

“Look, kid…” he pauses. What can he say? You’re never gonna find him cause I accidentally pushed him through an interdimensional portal? Oh, and by the way, he’s my twin brother and your other Grunkle and he would probably love you and your sister to bits if he were still here? “...I get it. I do. But you have to understand that I’d never forgive myself if anything horrible happened to you or your sister.” He waves a defensive hand in the air. “I don’t mean to say that you can never go anywhere, ‘cause even I know that tryin’a strap you down and make you sit still would be like caging a rabid animal.” He wipes the rest of the excess oil on his pant leg, and places a gentle hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I just can’t have ya gettin’ hurt on my watch, ya hear?” 

Stan can’t help but drift his gaze towards his wrist,

More than you already have, anyway.

“It’s not like that. Mabel and I can take care of ourselves”

“Watch it.” Stan points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re twelve. The last thing you need is a hero complex”

“What?” Dipper shakes his head. “No, Grunkle Stan, I mean, Mabel and I’ve already fought half of the monsters in the journal and won. You don’t need to worry about anything happening to us”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Kid, didn’t I just rescue you two from a hoard of zombies?”

“That’s just the thing! We’ve been chasing after monsters all summer, and this is the first time you’ve ever had to get involved!” Dipper’s beaming, and okay, someone better tell this kid to stop being a picture perfect replica of his brother before he finds out it’s his biggest weakness. “You saw Gideon’s giant robot the other day, didn’t you?” 

Stan blinks. “You mean that giant pile of metal scraps everyone was crowding around?”

“Yeah!” Dipper backtracks. “Okay, well, before that, it was a giant robot.”

“You’re losing me” Stan huffs. “What could Gideon’s broken robot have anything to do with why I should trust you running off on your own?

Dipper blinks, like he’s in disbelief that Stan hadn’t already connected the pieces together himself. “We’re the ones who broke it”

If Stan had a drink in his mouth, he’d be spit-taking all over the place right now. “You two? Wasn’t that thing twice the size of the shack?” 

“Oh, it was. As soon as the bus you put us on to go home pulled away from the bus stop, he tried chasing after us in it because he insisted that we still had something that he wanted”

Stan snorts. “Was he goin’ off about Mabel’s hand in marriage again?” 

Dipper laughs, but then he shakes his head. “No, he just kept rambling on about Journal 1 and how bringing the journals together could, I dunno, end the world or something? And he wanted to bring them together so he could hold the world hostage, or something.” He shrugs. “It didn’t make any sense to me. I mean, I know the author’s missing, but I just assumed he’d been kidnapped by some...thing that didn’t like being recorded. I didn’t think it was some kind of superweapon”  

Stan swears he can feel his blood turn cold. He tugs awkwardly at the collar of his shirt, and hopes Dipper assumes it’s because of the mid-summer heat.

“...But we didn’t have it!” Dipper throws his arms up in the air. “We tried telling him we had no idea what he was talking about, but he just kept getting angrier and calling liars. He had both of us in his...giant robot hands at some point, but then he decided there was nothing else he wanted from me and literally tossed me away”

Dipper’s hands are balling up into tiny, shaking fists. “He tried taking Mabel hostage. I wouldn’t have cared how much he insulted me, but...we’ve never been separated like that before”. He glances down at his shaky hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been the braver one between us. But next thing I know, I’m flinging myself off the train tracks” 

“Train tracks?” Stan blinks. “Y’mean the ones up on the cliff?”

Dipper nods, blushing. “I just...went for it. I probably got a ton of cuts from the broken glass when I smashed through the eye of the robot,” he muses, pausing to give his own arm a look over. “But I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much adrenaline in my life”

Stan snorts. “You’re trying to tell me you punched the robot so hard that you knocked it off the cliff?”

“What? No, Gideon was inside of it. He was wearing one of those weird...motion control suit...things. The robot only lost its balance because I punched him in the face.”

Stan roars in laughter. “You punched Gideon in the face?” 

“Yep!” Dipper beams. “Quite a few times, actually. I think with everyone treating him like he’s a god he tends to forget that Mabel and I are three years older than him.” He flexes an arm to show off his nonexistent muscle. “Remember that trick you taught me about punching someone in the face with their own fist?” 

“Hah!” Stan grins. “That worked?” 

“Knocked the robot’s head clean off!” Dipper grins back. “Or, well, it probably would’ve, if that wasn’t what pushed the robot over the edge” 

Stan’s keeling over in laughter. He can’t believe how casually Dipper’s talking about this. Just a month ago, if Dipper had told him the same story detail for detail, Stan would’ve been sure that Dipper was describing a movie he’d watched the previous night. 

“Not bad, kid!” he grabs Dipper into a gentle headlock, messing up his hair. “But what about your sister, huh? Don’t think I don’t see you trying to take all the credit” 

“Oh, not at all!” He’s beaming again. “That’s the best part. Mabel’s the one who saved us from falling to our deaths. Don’t ever tell her I said this, but I think the grappling hook is the best thing she’s ever owned”

Stan nudges him with his elbow. “Yeah, last thing we need around here is both of you having giant heads”. Dipper glares at him, which only makes him laugh harder. 

Stan wipes a tear from his eye with his wrist. “Alright, kid. You convinced me. If you two can come out of fighting a giant sci-fi monster without so much as a scratch, I trust that you and your sister know what you’re doing”.

Dipper’s eyes go wide. “Really?” 

Stan nods. “Really. But you have to promise me you’ll still be careful, okay? I can go back on my word and hide that book away from you faster than you can say journal. Got it?” 

Dipper nods. “Got it.” and then, after a short pause, “I promise”. 

[woulddieforperrytheplatypus]

In this AU where Phineas is the author of the journals, does Ford just... not exist? Because I think there'd be something kind of poetic of him being the one to confront and eventually reform Phineas

Not gonna lie, I was wondering about that myself. I was kind of thinking that he probably did exist but never made it to Gravity Falls? Like Stan created the Mystery Shack free of any emotionally scarring backstories about missing brothers? And then even if Ford did eventually make it to Gravity Falls, once he realized Stan was already there, he would scram? Now that you bring it up, though, I really love the idea of Ford confronting Phineas. I feel like they’d get along really well -- arguably even better than Ford and Dipper, if only because Phineas wouldn’t view him as some sort of celebrity or god (which is not a knock on Dipper and Ford’s relationship at all because I do love it but this is definitely a different vibe). 

But that begs the question of how Ford plays into this if he didn’t write the journals. Did he write anything? Did he leave Stan any type of clue on how to bring him back? Did he end up in the other dimension at all? I’m gonna just kinda write out thoughts as they enter my brain as I usually do; that’s how most of these asks get answered lmao and hopefully it forms a coherent backstory under the cut but no promises

Maybe Ford was the first of the main characters to end up at Gravity Falls. He would still presumably be interested in the supernatural, and he’d definitely be drawn to somewhere like this. But no one would believe anything he says about it, so this is more for his personal gain that anyone else’s, which means he doesn’t have to write out everything he sees and learns. He just writes the things he thinks are the most important, which leaves one journal. That would presumably be the one he gives to Stan, and he asks Stan to never let it out of his sight but to keep it as far away from Gravity Falls as possible. The same fight ensues with the same outcome, and now it’s just Stan and the book. 

The only problem is that the book isn’t complete. Ford only wrote down little details that he didn’t want to forget, and everything in there operates under the assumption that the reader knows everything that he knew -- which, obviously, is not the case. The instructions to open the portal are probably in here somewhere, but Stan can’t understand a word it says. So instead of pouring over the journals, he spends his nights exploring the town and hoping to find all the secrets that Ford never wrote into the journal, because he’s convinced that’s going to be all it takes to open it again. He doesn’t realize that none of the bullshit about zombies and gnomes and the hide-behind matters. All he needs is Bill, but Ford never wrote about Bill because he was so captivated by the guy, he knew he wouldn’t forget any of it. 

And that’s the really important part -- this is all centered around Bill. Ford has more experience with him than anyone else on earth. Dipper can’t reach Phineas because he’s always viewed Bill as the enemy, but Ford knows exactly how Phineas feels because he was right there too. He fell for Bill’s charm and his cocky attitude and his godly powers just like Phineas did, and he paid the price. And if Phineas refuses to let Bill go -- to let his endless summer go -- that’s fine. Ford can’t force him to. But he’ll stay right here with him, because he learned the hard way that once you get sucked into Bill’s mess, you’ve already lost your friends and family and there’s no way to get them back. He’ll stay right here and be the friend that Phineas needs when it all goes south. 

And tbh I don’t think think it would be the first-hand account that would do it for him. He’s going to assume that Ford is lying or exaggerating, because Bill would never hurt someone like that. It wouldn’t be the threat of losing everyone he loves, because he has idealized versions of them in his neverending summer dream, and, of course, he has Bill, the best friend he could ever ask for. No, the thing that convinced Phineas that maybe he’s on the wrong side here is the fact that Ford is willing to drop everything and stay here with him. Phineas had been nothing but rude to him this whole time, and Ford still sat down on the ground next to him and refused to move. He gained nothing from that, but he did it anyway, and no one does anything that selfless and completely useless if they don’t feel like they have to -- if they’re not so completely haunted by their own past that they have to feel like they’re helping, even if there’s nothing they can do. 

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Headfirst for Halos (ch. 5)

*does a fortnite dance* this took me wayy too long to write

Ship: Tate Langdon/fem!Reader

WARNINGS: allusions to both physical and emotional abuse from a family member, actual physical abuse between a freshman and a senior, allusions to mental illnesses such as depression, student v. student violence. A certain way an event was phrased could be considered an allusion to molestation. strong language. a reference to homophobic slurs (none were used)

general comments: the american rock band My Chemical Romance was referenced in this story, yes it doesn’t work with the timeline, no I do not care. pretend mcr was around in the 80′s and 90′s. overall, I’m pretty proud of how this turned out. SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1 FOR AMERICAN HORROR STORY AHEAD. pre-death tate, pre-shooting tate, pre-beau death

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

 It's cold. My blood runs like ice through my veins, the image of my mother still fresh in my mind. The cops had arrived at some point, their red and blue flashing lights coming through the windows. The neighbors must've heard me scream. An officer attempted to console me, but I couldn't register his words. Everything is just so cold, and that's all I can focus on.

             I refused to let Delilah anywhere near the house after I saw the body. I picked her up and held her, the chilling numbness of shock consuming me. I'm shivering, and I can't tell whether that's due to the cold or the scene. I think I threw up, I can't remember. Everything is all blurry, the only thing I can remember clearly is her cold, empty, horrific gaze. Hundreds of muffled voices surround me, each of them fading away with each passing second. One familiar voice cuts through the mob of unending murmuring.

“Y/n? Hey, Y/n, are you alright?” Pluto’s worried eyes meet mine. “Shit, Y/n, I came over as soon as I’d heard.” 

“Why?” My voice is weak, my throat is sore from screaming. I don’t intend to come off bitter, I’m genuinely asking.

“Because I thought you’d want a familiar face around in this chaos.” Pluto says firmly, their eyes not leaving mine. Their concern is comforting, the knitted sweater they’re wearing softly brushes against my skin as they envelop Delilah and I in a tight embrace. 

“She’s dead.” I say quietly. “She’s dead. My mother is dead.” The tears spilled over onto my cheeks as the realization set in. The shock faded away, and the raw emotions consumed my body causing my senses to numb and my chest to tighten. Whenever I close my eyes I see her. I see her stare. I see the deep gash in her throat, the remnants of a petrifying fear in her eyes. It isn’t long before I’m in hysterics, catching the attention of the officers around us.

It’s only then that two paramedics exit my house, carrying my mother’s corpse on a stretcher. The thin sheet over her body is blown by the wind, revealing her upper torso to me once again. I guess the initial shack shielded me from seeing the extent of her injuries. She looked ghastly, dark bruises covering her face. Scratch marks ran down her arms, her fingers broken; she looked as if someone had beaten her down before slitting her throat. The sight does nothing to sooth my sobbing, it only fuels my emotion as Delilah begins to cry, too. It’s going to be a long night.

________

“Tell me again, in your own words, what were you doing when you found your mother.” Officer McCoin asks, his cold eyes glaring at me from across the metal table. 

“I took my little sister, Delilah, out for ice cream. We left around 4PM and got back around 7PM--”

“You were out for three hours? Getting ice cream?” I nod.

“We went exploring for a while. We wanted to stay out of the house.” I noticed the officer’s eyebrow twitch.

“Why did you want to stay out of the house?” I stayed silent for a moment, and Officer McCoin took my silence for advantage. “Miss L/n, what happened to your face?”

“I-.. uh, I-” My thoughts are jumbled, the mixture of shock and pressure making my brain go fuzzy. I know what’ll happen; if I tell them my mother hit me, they’ll find some way to connect me to her death. That’s how cops operate-- make the evidence shown reflect who they personally suspect. “Some kids at school roughed me up a bit. It’s nothing too serious. We wanted to stay out of the house because of the heat. The air conditioning in our house is broken, it’s much cooler outside with ice cream.” That wasn’t totally a lie-- our AC was broken. Thankfully, Officer McCoin is quite gullible. He simply nods and makes notes on a small pad of paper beside him.

“What were you doing earlier that day? Before you left?”

“I had a friend over and we listened to music for a little while. After that he went home and Delilah and I left.” I explain.

“Could you give me the name of your friend?” Officer McCoin grabs the notepad and pen, preparing to take notes. “And, uh, your relation to this person.” My jaw clenched at McCoin’s insinuation.

“His name is Tate Langdon, and he’s my… friend.” Wait, fuck, are Tate and I just friends? Does getting each other off on occasion count as a relationship? Probably not, but I’m still not quite sure. Officer McCoin’s eyebrow twitches once I say Tate’s name.

“Alright, Miss L/n, that’s all for now. You’re free to leave.” I immediately stand up, turning to exit the interrogation room. Officer McCoin speaks once more before I leave. “Miss L/n? Be careful around that Langdon kid. He’s bad news.” Anger ripples through my veins as I walk out the door. Who does that asshole think he is? Tate isn’t bad news, hell, he wouldn’t hurt a fly! The rush of emotion makes me feel like I’m spiraling with no one to catch me. That is, until I see Pluto outside the police station.

“Pluto--” is all I can muster before I collapse into their arms, clutching them like they’re my last hope. My fingers dig into their shoulders as I steady myself, letting my emotions out in one good hard cry. Pluto informs me that Delilah was setting up at their house.

“Y/n, you’re going to stay with me for a while, okay?” I simply nod, any attempt at a verbal confirmation diminished by my sobbing. Everything went so wrong so fast-- I was falling and I needed someone to grip onto. I know I can’t trust Pluto, not after our previous interactions. Suddenly, he pops into my head.

“Tate,” I say quietly, my voice thick with tears. “I want to see Tate.” Pluto gives me a weird look.

“You wanna see Langdon? Why?” Pluto inquires, gently leading me out of the police station towards their car.

“He might’ve gotten hurt or seen someone or something. He was coming from that direction last time I saw him.” I neglected to mention the fact I also wanted to see Tate because he made me feel safe. Pluto doesn’t need to know that, hell, I’m not sure they care. This is just another charity case for them, isn’t it? Well, I don’t really care. I need a place to stay, and Pluto has one-- charity case or not. 

“... alright. I’ll give him a call--”

“No!” I snap. I’m not sure why, but I’m the one who needs to do it. Admittedly, my outburst was out of left field. “Uh, no. I’ll call him.”

I’m quick to compose myself, wiping away the tear tracks on my face and blowing my stuffy nose. My voice was still low from my screams and cries, but it’s much stronger than before. Pluto and I drive in silence, their dark eyes trained on the road. Eventually, I break the silence. 

“Why are you doing this?” Pluto hesitates.

“Because you’re just a kid.” That’s all Pluto says on that topic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to say all that stuff back there.” “Yes you did, Pluto.” I said firmly. “It’s okay, I understand.” Pluto looks hurt but I don’t really care. They exit the room with a huff, leaving me in silence. I sit there for a minute, taking time to breathe. Things have changed so quickly, but at least I still have a few constants. I grab the phone and quickly dial Tate’s phone number.

Ring

I still have Delilah

Ring

I still have myself

Ring

I still have Tate.

Ri-- “Hello?” It’s so nice to hear his voice again.

“Hey, uh, it’s Y/n.” My voice sounds unnatural and odd, but I don’t really care.

“Oh my god, Y/n, are you ok?” Tate gushes, and I can practically see his face contorted in concern. “I’m so sorry about your mom, I really meant to call earlier but I thought I’d give you space--”

“It’s okay, Tate. It’s good to hear you now.” A voice echoes slightly on the other line, and Tate is quick to cover it with his own. I can tell it was his mother, and I can tell that she was angry. I felt defensive, the last thing I want is for Tate to have to experience what I did. 

“Hey, uh, do you wanna, maybe, come over like… right now? I think you could use a hug.” Tate laughs ever so lightly.

“God, yes, I just want to see you.” I sound desperate. I am. “I’ll be there in 10.”

“See you then.”

“Bye, Tate.”

“Goodbye, Y/n.”

[blissfulalchemist]

how much do you value your life? + dark!cat xx

Hey Stella! Thanks for bringing about the worst timeline for the Brains and Disaster verse! I have thought about this part way to much, so please enjoy.

Hard to tell when Cat had become so impatient, pacing around the shack of a cabin someone once called home. She checked the restraints once more, they were going to hold, they always did, if she even planned on using them today. He called her here, he sent messages to her, wanting to talk. Cat couldn’t see why he would want too, after all this time….how long had it been? Weeks since they last spoke, but months since they last saw each other in person. She sighed as she thought about what could have changed with him, if he looked like the man she once knew or if he even was that man still.

The low rumble of the truck engine brought her back from her thoughts, watching out the window as the white van with it’s stylized black cross on the side pulled up. The engine cuts as two men with long dark, straggly hair, jumped out the side door reaching behind them dragging out Raf, his face covered with an old pillowcase. Cat’s eyes narrow as she watches him stumble between the two men, hands bound in front of him, struggling to break free from them. Cat opened the door for them, “I thought I told you to be gentle with him,” she snapped as the men threw him in the chair.

“He wasn’t very gentle with us,” one of them grumbled, making their way back to the van, leaving the two alone, the van pulling away. 

She waited for the sound of the van to disappear, Raf’s heaving breathing making it harder to do so. Cat moved to pull the case off of his face, the gag in place, brown eyes narrowed, trained on her as she took a few steps back. “I don’t have to restrain you if you promise to be good,” Cat crossed her arms, the pounding in her chest threatening to betray the front she worked so hard for, just for him. “Would it make you feel better if I did?” He didn’t attempt to say anything to her just look at her, assessing her. She couldn’t take his silence anymore, yanking the gag down to hang around his neck. 

He took a deep breath, moving his jaw around, “You have capture parties now?” Cat clenched her jaw, Raf scoffing, “Really drank the kool aid with them didn’t you?”

“What do you want, Raf? You called me here,” Please tell me you changed your mind.

He held his hands out to her, “You said you didn’t have to restrain me,” Cat raised a brow at him, seeing the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I promise I won’t hurt you. I-,” a flash of sadness passing through his eyes, “I just want to talk to you.”

Cat looked to the ground laughing softly, “Now you want to talk,” she shook her head, her hands working on the knots, “After I tried talking to you for weeks, now you want to talk.”

He rubbed his wrists once they were released, hands grabbing onto hers, “You need to stop this, Cat,” his touch made her blood run like a frozen river, “or at the very least come back home.” What home? “I know this isn’t you. That you never agreed with them. Never had their blind faith.”

Cat pulled her hands back, “People change Rafael, and you haven’t paid much attention to me in a long time.”

“You’re trying to tell me that you, in your own words, found truth in their lies? That would never happen.” He stood stepping close enough for her to feel the warmth his body once provided her, “What you’re doing now? That’s far from the woman I once knew. You have to know how wrong what you’re doing is.”

“It’s not wrong when done for the right reasons,” Cat took a step back from him, “You on the other hand, what you’re doing is wrong. What you’ve done is wrong.”

“It isn’t though,” his voice raised, Cat standing straighter, “I know you’re in pain but this isn’t the way to deal with it. There are better ways-.”

“Like what! Like what, Raf,” she demanded, “Throwing myself into work! Not sleeping for days on end! Shutting myself off from all emotions!” Cat slowed her breathing, hands balling into fists, “What the fuck would you know about how to handle emotions?”

Raf took a small step back, “Cat, please. Just listen to me. I only want to help,” it felt odd to Cat to see his hands so still for once while he spoke to her, “I know you. I’ve seen who you really are and this is far from that. You’re not a killer, this,” I don’t think he came here of his own free will, “This isn’t you, not who you want to be. He never would have want-.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Cat broke the distance between them, grabbing onto his shirt, “Don’t you fucking dare think that for one minute that you knew what he would have or hadn’t wanted! You knew fuck all about him!”

“He was my best friend! I loved him!”

“Oh yeah some fucking best friend you are! You just let him leave, when he needed you most! You didn’t even go looking for him until someone asked you too,” she pulled his face closer to hers, “Tell me would you have even gone looking for him on your own accord?”

His eyes narrowed, pulling her hands off of him, “Don’t start talking about things you know nothing about. You weren’t there, you never saw the full picture of what happened. Wes wasn’t completely innocent in that matter.”

Cat’s eyes went wide briefly, “Who do you think you are letting his name pass through your lips?”

Raf rolled his eyes, “I can say his name. I have been saying it. You’re the one that refused to say it for weeks afterwards. Wanted me to never say it.”

“All I did was cry those first few weeks at the mere thought of him. I was trying to mourn and grieve, which is more than I can say about what you were doing,” Cat blinked back the tears wanting to form in her eyes.  

“I was doing the same thing, con-, Cat,” he let out a breath looking to the ground, “I lost my best friend, someone that I loved.”

Fire started to pound in her chest as she heard him speak, “I did too, Raf. I lost him too and you acted, act, like you were the only one suffering.”

“I was trying to make sure Wes didn’t die in vain!” Raf saw the hitch in her jaw clenching readying to speak, “I will say his name! Wes. Wes,” Cat’s hands tightened their fists, “Wes! WES!”

Her hand shot out grabbing his throat pushing him to the chair, the surprise enough to get him to obey the amount of time to get him seated and a wrist secured to the arm of the chair. She felt her nails dig into his skin, windpipe beneath her palm, “I can’t believe you think you’re worthy enough to be allowed to say it.” She released him, Raf letting out a sharp gasp, her hands quickly moving to secure his other wrist down to the chair before pulling out the knife in her pocket. Cat held his jaw in place, the tip of the knife pressed to his lips, “I should cut your tongue out for that stunt.” He moved out of her grip, nostrils flaring, “If I did that though, you wouldn’t be able to pass along a message.”

“You said you wouldn’t restrain me.”

“And you said you weren’t here to hurt me.”

“Cat,” he fought against the restraints, “let me go. I know you don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she stood up, running a hand through her hair, “Not anymore.” Catlina looked up, catching her reflection in the mirror, half of her face obscured, Do I know anything about me, anymore? 

“I do though,” Raf said, her brown eyes meeting his, “I know how lonely you are underneath, how you’re in so much pain. Please I could help you-.”

“Help me?” Cat crossed her arms, laughing looking to the ground, “Why would I want your help anymore, Rafael? Haven’t you done enough helping?”

“Please, just listen to me,” the sting that filled her hand was soon forgotten, seeing the red shadow of her hand form on his cheek. 

“No. No!” She said between her heavy breaths, “I’m done listening to you. It's high time you listen for once and be faced with your truth.”

“Cat,” he whispered, “what happened to you?”

She gave him a smirk, eyes narrowing slightly, “Oh don’t you already know, mi amor,” she leaned over him, giving him a smile, “You happened.”

“You can really blame me for his death can you? It could have happened at any point. That’s just how it is in these times.”

“It didn’t have to be though.”

“What if we just talked to them,” he gave her a tired look, “Cat they were hurting people. You were against that once upon a time.”

She shook her head, “No. Though that is a factor, one I’ll deal with, there was something else that could have been done.” She ran the edge of the knife down his chest, tracing the scarred letters on the left side of it, “If you had just been nicer, more empathetic none of us would be here. Here in this moment,” she looked away from his eyes, to think she used to caress his skin, “We could have been happy. You and I, but that’s something you shy away from isn’t it. Happiness.”

“We still could be, it’s not too late to turn back, to take the fight to the right people,” it was the smallest choke in his voice as he pleaded with her, Cat was way past listening to his pleads. Anyone’s really.

“I am taking the fight to the right people,” her soft smile returned, “There’s bad seeds on both sides, no pun intended,” Cat laughed under her breath, “It's my job to root it out and eliminate it to create a world better for those after me. You could help me in this mission Rafael, we could work together to create something better.”

“By killing anyone that doesn’t agree?” She gave a shrug at his question, “Cat you have to know that Wes wouldn’t have wanted this, he wouldn’t want you to have become this. Especially in his name.”

“How can you know what his wants were? What he would have wanted after the fact, he’s dead Estrada, and no thanks to you!” Cat moved the knife down his shirt ripping it open from the front and the back, his tattoos revealed to her. “You keep saying you loved him, that you cared for him, but I can’t see how that’s possible when you left him when he needed you most.” She let her fingers brush the VY etched onto his chest, the ivy marred, but the compass still mostly intact, “I used to love this tattoo so much. The story behind it, the way I thought I was able to see the real man under the facade of confidence,” she let her nails dig into his chest, “Oh how wrong I was to believe there was ever a real man in that shell of yours.” Cat moved the tip of the knife down his sternum, pressing just deep enough for a thin line of blood to form, “Tell me Rafael,” she looked up at him through her lashes, “If I cut you open, would I find that fabled heart of yours?”

“There really is no hope for you is there?”

“Hm, no,” she pressed the blade into his flesh, Raf letting out a small hiss in pain, “Not for the ending you want at least.” She tilted her head, eyes looking for the best place to start, “As if you deserved it in the end after all the pain you caused.”

“Which was what Cat? What did I do that led you to blame me for what you’ve done?”

“I can’t believe I have to fucking lay it out for you like you’re some goddamn child,” she huffed, “All those years ago, Wes needed you, needed your love, comfort, and support but what did you do instead? You turned your back on him. Sure you went back for him, saved him, but would you have done that had his mom not requested it of you? If you didn’t have to put on this show of being so kind and righteous, would you have still gone to find him and bring him home?” He stayed silent, Cat rolling her eyes laughing, “Thought so. Then you brought him home and what did you do after that? You still pushed him away, reminded him of everything that was wrong with him, never letting him see that vulnerability of yours when you knew that he craved to be validated and supported by those that claimed to love him. All he wanted to do was attempt to live up to your expectations in an attempt to get that praise from you, but you still held back only ever focusing on the bad.”

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about Cat,” he growled, pulling against the restraints, “There’s so much more to that story. Things you don’t know.”

Cat waved him off, “I know enough. I know enough to understand that this,” she traced around the tattoo on his chest, “this piece of art is a lie. Something that you should have never gotten.” Cat slid the knife under his skin, watching as it moved underneath the compass, “This is something that you no longer deserve.”

“Cat,” Raf fought against her, his breathing rate increasing, “Stop! Don’t-!” She grabbed the corner of skin dragging the knife to cut around the tattoo, peeling back as his screams filled her ears. She moved the knife to cut the rest of the scarred letters off his chest, John was wrong. His greatest sin was Pride and she’d have carved it into his skin if she didn’t know there was something better. The whole process was slow as she made delicate work of skinning him, couldn’t hurt too much, she wasn’t ready to kill him yet. 

Rafael clenched his jaw, holding back the pain he felt once Cat finally pulled away holding the skin in front of her, knife slicing off most of the ENVY, the top of the Y still holding its place in the art, “You should consider it a mercy that I bothered to take off that inaccuracy.” She walked to the single counter in the shack, gently laying out the skin, “Are you ready to hear more?”

“I don’t think you’re going to give me a choice on the matter,” she met his anger with a smile.

“People call you a saint, savior, make comparisons to arch angels and such,” she walked around him, bloody fingers lightly touching the wings on his shoulders, biting her lip at the indiscernible shiver it caused, “Even I thought those things. Partook in the praise and idolization of Captain Estrada.” She stood back in front of him, her flattened hand resting just above her right eyebrow, “Sir, yes, sir,” she brought her hand back down, “It was easy to follow you, compelling even. Then we followed you into that battle, executed the plan that you came up with.” “I don’t think we can make it a silent attack anymore Wes?” “He knows what he’s doing.”, “Wes followed that plan, trusted you,” “His plan was wrong Wes. People will die that don’t need to.”, “We warned you that something was amiss. And what did you do, Rafael? Do you remember?” Cat grabbed his chin, stopping him from looking at the ground, “Because I do. I remember.”

“That ain’t gonna happen. We just wait for his signal.” 

“Wes, we have to tell him to fall back,” Cat held onto his arm, “something’s wrong I can feel it.” She was always on edge with these plans still, no longer holding the knowledge and resources she once had, there were some things that stayed consistent though with the Project.

“You ready for this,” Raf whispered through the static, “Let me take the front. You two take the back and under ground.” Cat’s stomach turned, hands shaking. 

“Whenever you are,” Wes responded, opening the grate for Cat to slip into the tunnels underneath. All she had to do was make it to the room with the power supply, just make it there and this whole plan could go off without a hitch. “We got your back Catnip,” Wes told her a smirk on his face. 

She made her through the tunnels, referring to the directions written on her arm as little as possible. She could tell she was under the building finally, the muffled voices indistinct, until she hit the first grate. “That mine testing was yesterday right?”

“No, today. Rained too much, made the ground all muddy.” That’s why there were a few more here today. 

Cat inhaled sharply, making her way back away from the house just far enough to hide her voice. She pulled the radio out hands and body shaking, “Raf, Wes,” she whispered, “We have to go back.” There were going to be too many of them. There was no way this could end any other way. It was too late to go back the way she came, and the silence meant that they were getting into place. She just had to make it to where Wes was, that’s all she had to do. The plan was fucked anyway. Her knees hurt, palms scrapped when she finally made it to where Wes was supposed to be, heart pounding, “Wes, we have to stop this plan,” she pleaded into the radio, “The testing is today.”

“I got a plan for that don’t worry,” Raf responded the static nearly overtaking his words, “Just trust me on this.”

She looked up, Wes coming into view, his golden eyes serious as he helped her out of the tunnels, “We got plan B. So you stay put,” he looked over his shoulder, eyes scanning, “If it goes south like you say,” he said avoiding her eyes, “run.” She let his name out on her breath, eyes meeting hers, “You heard me. Run and don’t look back. Raf and I’ll be fine.”

She nodded, steadying her breathing, hand gripping the hilt of the foot long hunting knife, she just had to trust them. Her mouth ran dry, a high pitched ringing in her ears as the two waited, Wes moving slowly to the inside of the building after a minute. Plan B must have involved Wes going in to take out the power supply, while Raf tried to keep the ones up front occupied. This could still be silent, they could do this, Cat repeated the affirmation as she watched Wes move inside, Raf’s plan be damned if she needed to help Wes. 

The sound of an explosion had the two stiffen in place, eyes turning to the front of the building, the members of the Project moving to see what happened. Wes glanced behind him, Cat’s eyes going wide, Raf!, Wes made a sprint to the front of the building taking out those that got in his way. Gunfire going off as Cat made her way along the side of the building towards the front of it. She was their support, she had to help them. She was out of breath as she watched the scene unfolding in front of her, it was six to one with Raf already sporting a bullet graze on his arm. “Get them mines outta here!” She heard one of the members yell out, “Get them out!”

The garage opened revealing a semi truck, the engine roaring as it waited for the garage to finish opening. “Wes!” Raf called out to him, “We need to stop that truck! Cover me!”

She watched as his hazel eyes scan the scene around him, yanking the nearest remote explosives, sprinting to the truck, Rafael trying to follow behind, the members surrounding him a few keeping themselves trained on Wes as the truck finally pulled out, Wes grabbing hold of the handles on the back doors of it. It was a struggle to get one to stay in place on the truck, Wes settling on throwing the other as far as he could up the road in front of them. A bullet hitting his shoulder, he released himself from the truck, back hitting the ground. Wes was fast in moving back up to his feet, eyes moving between the truck and where Raf stayed hunkered down. 

Wes took out his side arm, the hand it was placed in one that he wasn’t used to shooting with, making his way over to Raf, only hitting the button setting off the explosive once the truck made it halfway down the hill of the driveway. The enemy count was going down, as he finally made it within shouting distance of Raf, Cat feeling some hope that they could pull this off. That they could all go home. They could really-.

Her eyes locked onto Raf as he was shoved to the ground, Wes placing himself where he once stood, a member, he looked to be a sniper, had come down to help his friends standing near the back. Time slowed as all Cat could do was watch, Wes falling to the ground, Raf getting up long enough to take down the two that were in front of them still, feel the burning in her legs as she ran to the sniper, knife drawn. Watching as it made contact with his spine, all her momentum from the jump, flowing into the blade, red seeping through the man’s clothes, her reward for bringing him down to the ground. 

“I still run through that day over and over again, Cat,” Raf blinked back the memory, shutting down the “What ifs”, “There was nothing you and I could have done. He saved a lot of people that day.”

“He could have saved more if he were here today,” she said through gritted teeth, “You failed him, and then you failed me.” She brought the knife down along his shoulder, “I needed you after he died,” she cried out, another slash, creating an X over the top of the wings, “I needed you! And you tossed me aside! You left me!” More and more X’s appeared over the wings, tears streaming down her face, “I couldn’t figure out why you left me all alone, but then it hit me! It was because it was your fault that he died! It was your stupid plan! I warned you! I told you and you still went through with it!” Cat took a pause taking in his pained face, red running down his arms, her breathing ragged, “You’re no saint Rafael Estrada. I see that now. You cause people to die, they follow your plans and you lead them to their death. Especially now.” 

“And what do you do!” He snapped back, “What do you do that makes you any better to be judge, jury, and executioner? I also remember you stabbing that man over and over until he was unrecognizable!” He was yelling, teeth gritted, “I remember you covered in his blood. How your face became one of enjoyment before I pulled you off of him. You were on this path way before you perceived me as leaving you.”

“And yet!” She held the knife under his chin, blade resting against his right jugular vein, “You did nothing to try and stop me. I needed you Rafael, I needed you to mourn with me, to process what happened, but instead you threw yourself into work. I stopped seeing you, you never spoke to me much unless we were at those god awful meetings where you never took anyone else’s input, God forbid, my input on plans that got more people killed since then. You’re not learning from your mistakes.” 

“And you are?” His throat started to close in on him, “Catlina you don’t have to do this. It’s not going to solve anything.”

“It will though, Rafael,” she tore off the remaining fabric of his shirt exposing his arms in full, “You’ll see that soon enough. You’re going to see it to the very end.” She brushed her fingers over his unmarked inner arm, “You’ll be proven wrong as I start to rid this place of all those that cause harm. Those that are the root of the problems. That’s who I’m after,” she looked up to his eyes, “Which includes you,” she gave him a smile, “Tell me, do you keep a list of names of the people you’ve gotten killed under your command?” She brought the knife to his right inner arm, “Maybe we should start one for you,” she ran the blade down, Raf clenching his fist, clenching his jaw from the pain, “Start with the reminder of who’s number one on that list.” She made slow, careful work of writing on his arm with the knife: PEOPLE I’VE KILLED 1. WES BROOKS. 

“Why not just kill me already,” he looked down to his arm at the words, looking at Cat with narrowed eyes.

“Because I need you to sit with this,” she met his eyes evenly, voice calmer, “I need you to sit with this knowledge that you started this. You started what’s coming for you all.” She let out a sigh, eyes landing on his left arm, “Shame to leave that one empty. Then again,” Cat leaned over the arm, throwing her hair over her shoulder, “I don’t want you to forget what you’ve done.” Raf threw his head back as she worked on writing two words into his arm, the physical pain no longer registering. She pulled back admiring her work, “There,” she moved his face to look at the phrase: YOU FAILED, “Now there’s no excuse to forget it, or others to believe you as anything more.”

Raf, let his head hang catching his breath, “I’m to be a messenger aren’t I?”

“Ding, ding,” she laughed, “Get this man a prize.” She leaned forward forehead against his sweat covered one, “The message is this: Judgement is coming for you all and my last act of mercy is giving you all time to think about what you’ve done. I’m giving you all a week and if in that week you feel that I won’t deem you as good enough, well better pick how you want to die.” Cat moved to grab the radio she had, “One last thing for you Rafael,” he looked up to her slowly, “You should think about how much you value your life compared to others,” she relayed a quick message into the radio, “because you better hope that I don’t find you before I’m good and ready for you. If I do,” she released one of his wrists placing the radio in his lap, “then we might have to start using your body to keep track of all the deaths that were because of you.” Cat heard the truck pull up, bringing her lips to his, the response instinctive before she pulled away, “Good bye Rafael. Hopefully I see you soon.” She moved to grab the tattooed flesh from the counter, making her way to the door, glancing back at him sitting in the chair one last time, “Though hopefully not too soon.” A member met her outside the truck meeting her halfway after she shut the door to the shack, a cooler of ice ready for her, as she placed the last bit of the past into it, “Preserve this, just like how John would do with those that he felt were special.” He gave a nod, helping her in the truck, “Take us to the church. I have work to do.”

Raf sat in silence for a minute after he heard the truck disappear to who knows where, every part of him tired, broken, the sobs starting once he felt he was alone. That’s what he was now. The two people he was closest to him, gone. Just like that. He let the tears fall as he reached to undo his other wrist, hands covering his face screaming into them. How could he have let this happen? He did have a hand in this happening and that’s what made this all feel so much worse. There was so much that happened that day, things he played over and over. How many times did he try to think of what could have been differently? What could have saved Wes? Over and over, watching him die in so many scenarios and if not him than Cat, he did everything he could to make sure they would stay safe and they all still ended up here. One dead, the other on a warpath now, and him barely hanging on by a thread to life. It was the biggest regret of his life, they should have never gone through with it, even if it did achieve the end goal. The cost too high now, he could see that, something he never anticipated. 

Gone, everything they had worked for….gone. Tossed aside. Now left with little options as to where to go next. He first had to come to grips with the fact that he was going to have to kill her himself. It couldn’t be anyone else. Could never ask anyone else to carry that burden, he could live with it. Get people on board or in places where they feel safe, god was there even a safe enough now with her? He needed to see where her morals still lie, get an idea of who had the most potential to be safe in this collapse. Then what….god there was so much pain, how could he even think properly like this. Her words repeating over and over in his head. Oh Cat, he thought, you and I have made too many mistakes. If only I could let you see that there was so much grey to this situation. He felt himself rocking back and forth bringing himself to his knees, “Lord show forgiveness for what must happen, for what has passed,” he prayed softly, “Help me, God my savior, for the glory of your name, deliver me and forgive me for my sins for your name’s sake.” He wiped away at the tears on his face, “Wes forgive me for what I must do.”

He didn’t know how long he had sat there crying letting out everything he held back for months. The grief and pain pouring out in tidal wave after tidal wave, things he should have done long ago. God would it have changed anything if he did? When the sobs finally slowed and felt his tears dry up, did he even think to turn the radio to the right frequency, mumbling prayers and affirmations, setting it to the side. He couldn’t call anyone yet, not like this. They all needed him to be strong, to have a plan, to be the leader they needed him to be. The flash of the words she carved into his skin bringing on another shot of pain to his heart, god what would people think of him now. She knew exactly how to hurt him.

“Raf,” Lance’s voice came over the radio, “You alive still?”

He glanced to the radio, breathing ragged, hands shaking, as he picked it up, “I-,” his voice cracked, clearing his throat before starting again, “I’m here. I’m alive.” 

“Tell me where you’re at I’ll come and get ya.”

Raf shook his head, “No. I’ll come to you. I can find a car somewhere,” the turns and roads he felt beneath him in the van on the way here had him thinking he was within walking distance of Lance’s, “Just meet me at your place.” 

The radio went silent for a minute before Lance took a deep breath, “We lost her didn’t we?”

Raf inhaled deeply looking to the ceiling, swallowing back the emotions again, “Yeah. Yeah we did.” He stood up slowly, reaching for an old dusty blanket to place over his shoulders, “Get the maps and lists of contacts we have,” he hissed at the open wounds touching the blanket, making his way out the door into the night, “We have a collapse to prepare for.”

[deuynndoodles]

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suspicion increase by deuynndrabbles and @whimsicalweast chapter summary:

Three kids have a sleepover. One word- Mabel.

“Seriously, Mabel?” The boy groans, and looks at his sister with The Look.

“Yes, seriously,” she says, in a tone that is anything but serious.

3k | ch. two

Danny is currently curled up in a rainbow blanket (given to him by the boy, but he mentioned it was knitted by Mabel- he doesn’t necessarily need it because of his ice powers, and therefore likes the cold, but he figures it’d be weird to refuse) in the attic, aka the twins’ bedroom.

He glances over to Mabel, who is currently laying on her bed coloring in a coloring book on her belly with her feet in the air, her tongue sticking out playfully, he starts to reflect on what landed him in this spot in the first place.

(Danny accidentally mentioned he didn’t have anywhere to go that night, and Mabel had none of that and scooped him up, dragging him to another room in the Mystery Shack and asking her great uncle if Danny could stay over for the night.

The older man didn’t seem to care all that much, only giving them a few warnings such as “Don’t stay up too late”, and “Never let Mabel have any Smiley Dip”, and “Don’t raise the dead again”.

Danny found everything he mentioned fairly standard sleepover rules.

The two children thanked the man, one certainly more enthusiastic than the other, and Mabel rushed up the stairs, hopping each stair two at a time, gripping Danny with her right arm.

Mabel’s brother didn’t seem quite as eager to have Danny over as Mabel was, but remained quiet throughout the process for the most part. Well, he did reprimand his sister for inviting over a stranger, which was a reasonable response. But. He was right here, jeez.

All Mabel did was blow a raspberry at him and told him not to worry, but her brother didn’t calm.)

Still feeling the kid’s gaze focused on the back of his head, Danny pulls out his phone and dials two very familiar numbers, one to a specific techno-geek and the other to a goth activist, but is only met with “The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please call back later or leave a message at the beep.”

He sighs, dropping his phone back into his jeans pocket and gives the twins a smile, saying, “I’ll try again in the morning. It is kinda late, anyways. And who knows how late it is for them in Illinois.”

Mabel gives him a wide grin and nods her head, but her brother just gives him an uncertain glance before returning to the journal in his hands. It looks fairly odd to Danny, a red cover with a six fingered hand slapped on the front and a bold number 2 in the center. But he’s not one to judge.

(So now here he is, kidnapped by a thirteen-year-old girl, staying in the attic of a tourist trap wrapped in a multitude of blankets in between two twin beds.)

He still feels as if he’s gotten whiplash from this whole scenario. But he just pulls up the blanket draped around his shoulders to cover his cheeks, content with the situation as well as he can be.

Mabel is now laying on her back, placing her bare feet on the slanted ceiling. Her brother is still scouring his journal, with two other identical covers sitting on his bedside table. He’s chewing on the end of the pencil he holds, occasionally pausing to write a thing or two in the margins. Their pig, deemed ‘Waddles’, is snuggled up to Mabel on her bed.

Danny himself is in a make-shift nest (no matter what you call it, Mabel will say it’s a bed, but Danny will call it a nest) surrounded by a various amount of blankets and pillows.

“By the way, what do ya like to do, Danny?” Mabel says, her tongue stuck out quite dorkishly and she grins a wide brace-filled grin at the boy.

Danny blinks, and then the audio forms itself into words in his brain. “Video games, I guess?” He says, tilting his head slightly and the blanket falls back onto his shoulders. “I don’t have a whole lot of free time.”

(Danny doesn’t share the reasons for this.)

“Cool!” Mabel draws out the syllable, and flips over onto her belly again and props her arms up on her pillow. She turns to glance at her brother. “Hey, bro-bro? Do we have any video games in the shack?”

The small teen furrows his brow. “I don’t think so,” he mutters, setting the book in his lap aside on his bedside table to join the two other identical volumes. “Soos probably has some, but for now I think we just have board games downstairs in the gift shop.”

Mabel gasps, and smirks. “How about Candyland?” Mabel grins, and her brother groans.

“Fine,” he says. “You okay with that, Danny?”

Danny shrugs, and says, “I don’t really care, to be honest.”

Mabel takes the neutral answer and grins even wider, sliding off her bed with an “oomph” and trotting downstairs to retrieve said board game.

The brunet on the bed sighs and looks over to Danny, who simply blinks at him in confusion. “What?” Danny says, and the boy tentatively offers a slip of paper attached to a clipboard along with the pencil he was chewing on to him.

“Can you write some things down on Phantom?”

(Danny is suddenly reminded of the fact that he had agreed to hunt essentially himself- his brain hasn’t quite caught up and he’s sure he’ll bolt up in the middle of the night and go “I’m hunting myself with two thirteen-year-olds”.

But he hasn’t quite comprehended this fact yet.)

Instead, Danny grimaces at the chewed and slightly wet pencil, but takes the clipboard and starts to write in slanted print anway.

After a few minutes, he offers the paper back to the boy, and he starts to read the text out loud. Danny rolls his eyes at this. (He knows what the paper says, thank you very much.)

“Phantom’s a pretty friendly ghost. He’d save people from oncoming ghost attacks back in my hometown. Nobody really knows where he’s from or how old he is-”

(It’s not like Danny’s going to go and share his life story to this kid he doesn’t even know the name of. Besides, it’s technically the truth. Excluding a certain trio, a sister, and a whole world of ghosts.)

“-or how he died, but they never can find out because Phantom is fairly elusive. He typically stays in his own haunt, so it’s unlikely you’ll see him anywhere else.” The boy pauses his reading, glancing up from the paper to meet sky blue eyes with hazelnut brown. “This is all you know?” He says, shaking the scrap of notebook paper.

The door is slammed open to reveal an excited Mabel with a decorated cardboard box in her hands. (To be honest, both boys had pretty much forgotten she was downstairs.)

“Who’s ready to play Candyland?” She exclaims, and doesn’t wait for an answer before she plops down on the wooden floor and sets up the game.

“I get red!” Mabel says, and picks up the piece that is now ‘hers’ and sets it by the start. She grabs a blue and sticks it by the start as well. “Danny, which color do you want?” She shakes the green and the yellow gingerbread man figures, a wide grin still adorning her face.

“Green.”

Mabel shoves the yellow one back in the box. “Poor yellow guy, he’ll be all lonely in there. Well, we’ll make it quick!” She grins, and offers the deck of cards over to her brother who shuffles and sets it down next to the board.

The first card is a purple, and Mabel decides that she goes first and moves the red figure. Danny goes next, and takes an arm out of his blanket nest and moves his character five blocks forward.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, the yellow man is reunited with his best friends after Mabel yells “I win!” and flips the board over in victory.

(For a quick second, Danny is reminded of when Sam would brag whenever she’d win the round of Doom they all played together, slamming the controller down on the couch and announcing her victory to two sour boys.

Though of course, this girl is the complete opposite of Sam so he isn’t really sure why he thinks of her.)

“Seriously, Mabel?” The boy groans, and looks at his sister with The Look.

“Yes, seriously,” she says, in a tone that is anything but serious.

Danny snickers, and stops as he sees Mabel’s wide grin as she believes Danny is on her side.

(He’s neutral.)

-

“Anyway, let’s focus on Phantom,” Dipper says, and pulls out the slip of paper that Danny filled out. He reads it out loud again to his twin, and she smiles as she listens.

She seems to almost deflate like a balloon when he mentions that they might not see Phantom, but when Dipper thinks of that night last week of seeing a bright light above the trees at just before sunrise-

He’s pretty sure they’ll see Phantom.

And besides, Danny’s parents are ghost hunters so he knows a couple things. They’re bound to find something.

“Though you guys could probably find a bunch of animal ghosts and stuff in the woods. Seemed pretty supernatural to me,” Danny throws out, and glances up at the twins.

Suddenly, Mabel’s balloon is filled with helium again and she sits up straight with an excited expression. “That sounds sweet,” she says, drawing out the last syllable annoyingly long and Dipper groans on the inside.

But he can’t say he isn’t excited, because he definitely is. He just doesn’t show it as much as the girl does. His heart is still beating fast, and a grin adorns his face. He just doesn’t flail his limbs around like Mabel is currently doing, hammering questions about ghosts at Danny, while the boy looks at the floor and responds with short, concise answers.

‘Yeah,’ Dipper thinks. ‘Let’s do this.’

And then Mabel hits him over the head with a pillow from Danny’s nest, knocking his snapback off his head and he turns to glare at her.

“C’mon, lil’ bro! It’s sleepover time! We can focus on those ghostie thingies tomorrow!”

Dipper abstains from responding, but he thinks ‘You were just asking Danny a bunch of questions about them’ as Dipper tugs his hat back on.

“Now, let’s paint your nails, boys!”

She lifts a few bottles of nail polish in her hands and a smirk adorns her face.

Danny groans, and says, “Ugh, fine. But I want black.”

(He’s still thinking of Sam and Tucker.)

Dipper soon has rainbow nail polish smothered over his fingers, carefully painted and Danny has all black nails and toes. (Danny found it hard to object to that puppy-dog-eyes face when she begged to paint his toes.)

“Who’s ready for makeup?” Mabel smiles, opening a drawer.

“Uh, no,” Danny deadpans, “I didn’t agree to this.” Dipper falls over onto his bed with a groan.

-

If Mabel didn’t notice her brother’s clear discomfort from this entire situation, she’d call herself blind.

She believes that she knows Dipper better than he knows himself, and now is just proof of that. Danny’s examining his makeup in the mirror, and Mabel watches Dipper fiddle with the pen in his hand unconsciously, spinning it around. He stares down at the hardwood floor as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world with brown hair falling into his eyes.

Dipper has a tendency to avoid things that makes him uneasy, so it makes sense he’s quiet throughout the sleepover. Not that he was ever really that loud in the first place; Dipper usually waits until attention is diverted away from him so he blends into the background when he’s wary of anything.

Or anyone.

Dipper has never been a social butterfly like Mabel, and she doesn’t blame him for that. He still tries. . . Well, at least he used to. Ever since their last summer at Gravity Falls, he seems so different, so closed off.

With everything that occurred last summer, he’s grown even more distrustful of people in general, and she can’t blame him for this either. (She still feels guilty about what she said to him when they were trapped in that ideal world, paradise, but was really just a trap. She was too blind to see, and she has Dipper to thank for ever getting out of there.)

It makes sense, after all.

(A small part of her blames this mysterious town for what it’s done, who’s really responsible for this shift in Dipper’s personality, and Gravity Falls no longer has him haunting the streets but that voice still echoes in her brother’s head.)

Mabel knows that Dipper doesn’t particularly trust Danny yet. She’s still trying though, okay? Games, makeovers, icebreakers; nothing seems to work for them. The two could get along so well if they just talk to each other! (Danny seems down to get to know her brother, but it doesn’t go the other way and she hates it.)

It really irritates her, how she can’t do anything to get Dipper to trust Danny.

She huffs to herself, pulling out another packet of blush and sticking it in the other makeup she holds in her arms.

Mabel knows that she can’t force him to get closer to the teen, or Dipper’ll just shut them both out, which wouldn’t do either of them any good. He may not be sure of Danny, but Mabel just knows he’s nice.

Mabel likes to think she’s a good judge of character, and she’s gotten better at it in the past year. Danny has yet to make her suspicious, so that’s positive!

Besides, there’s no way he’s one of those annoying gnomes, or a vampire, or anything else. He wouldn’t have been able to get through the weirdness barrier if that was the case.

(Though she knows this, she finds herself checking his eyes as she smothers makeup over his face. Just to make sure.)

She definitely cares about her brother, there’s not doubt about that. But Danny had nowhere else to stay! She couldn’t just leave him to the wolves, or even worse, the crazy town members. After Danny mentioned he had to go, he just seemed so lonely and that wouldn’t do!

Even if Dipper doesn’t like Danny, he has to understand why she’s doing this.

She does want them to get along, but she can’t just throw them into a closet together. (last time she did that with Dipper- well, there were some unforeseen occurrences.) She can’t force them to be friends. So for now, she’ll just try to lighten the mood. Try to have fun, it is a sleepover after all!

There has to be some way to get them to talk to each other and she’s gonna find out how.

-

“Hey, Dipper, you good?”

Dipper has a full face of makeup, the makeup surprisingly working pretty well on both Danny and himself. “I’m fine,” he says, and it’s true. Mabel can be annoying at some times but he still loves her.

“Dipper?” Danny questions, and Mabel immediately responds.

“Yup! It’s his nickname because of a birthmark he got on his forehead!” She gets a little closer to Danny, and stage whispers, “It's the Big Dipper.”

“Mabel!” Dipper exclaims, feeling his ears reddening.

“What?” Mabel shrugs. “He was wondering.”

“No, I was double-checking to see if that was his name.”

Dipper turns to glare at Mabel, and then calms. “Yeah, uh, my name’s Dipper.”

“Do you really have the Big Dipper on your forehead, though?” Danny asks, and it’s a fair question, but it still slightly irritates Dipper.

Dipper nods, and wipes the makeup off his face and grabs his cap from the ground (Mabel had thrown it off to make it easier to apply makeup), steadying it on his head once again.

“Cool,” Danny says, sounding genuine, and Dipper pauses. He was almost expecting him to laugh at Dipper for it. “Space is awesome, I think it’d be cool to have a space birthmark or something.”

“Um, thanks.” Dipper says, and glances at the floor. 

(He thinks of how familiar Danny feels, not for the first time that night. He still can't place why, though.)

Stan pops in, slamming the door open. “Kids, get ready for bed. Your Grunkle wants to be able to watch babies fight without the ruckus above his head.”

Dipper finds himself yawning, and nods in agreement.

“C’mon, Grunkle Stan! It’s a sleepover,” Mabel argues, and Stan shakes his head, arms crossed.

“Lights off in five,” Stan says, and it sounds odd coming from such a gruff voice.

“Okay, Grunkle Stan,” the twins say in unison, Mabel’s in disappointment and Dipper’s with agreement.

Despite her craziness a few minutes ago, as soon as Mabel’s head hits the pillow she’s out like a light. Dipper watches Danny curl up in a ball on the floor, his head facing away, and his eyes start to droop.

He falls asleep.

-

Danny is left the last awake, with Mabel snoring and Dipper exhaling softly on his bed. He’s curled into a ball, The blanket essentially a cocoon around him, and he gazes out the open window. The window lets in soft chilly air from the summer night, but Mabel and Dipper are both curled up tight in their blankets so they don’t notice.

Danny slides his blankets off, instead settling them into a mattress shape and curls into a ball again on the fluffy floor.

He still gazes out the open window, watching the waxing moon gently shine through the panes of glass and make pretty shapes on the floor. It’s serene, and there’s no sound except for breathing in the room.

The halfa sighs, tracing a circle in the floor as a stim as he watches the moon. He isn’t sure how he’ll get home if he can’t contact his friends, but he hopes they’ll be awake in the morning.

He finds himself yawning, and eventually drifts to sleep.

[swan--writes]

Jealousy

I will get to my asks soon, but this has been sitting in my docs for about a week and I wanted to finish it up! I wanted to see what would happen with someone who sees Beetlejuice’s possessive and jealous tendencies and his trust issues escalating and who isn’t having it. Honestly, this might be the most Me thing I’ve written in a long time.

Warnings: possessiveness, hot kissing, violence, like a lot of violence, some stabbing, some nail guns, a defenestration, just so much violence you guys, but surprisingly not much blood, cursing

So, here’s the thing:

You would be the first to admit that Beetlejuice could be a bit on the possessive side. He was jealous of your coworkers, your newer friends, your oldest friends. From the moment you first summoned him, you could scarcely go anywhere without feeling ghostly fingers tapping at your back. At the grocery store, you had the sneaking sense that he hung off the end of your shopping cart. In line at your usual café, you felt him providing an invisible buffer between you and whoever happened to be waiting behind you. And hell help you if you tried to go to a bar with your friends.

You could always tell when someone he deemed threateningly attractive walked past the table. Before you realized what was happening, a vice-like cold patch would crop up on your inner thigh. Without fail, every time this happened there would be a crash several feet away, and whichever poor soul had strayed too close would be picking glass shards from the newly stained area of their clothes.

On the up side, the frequency of this meant you knew Beetlejuice’s type. Still, it was a problem.

And then there was the dress code. On the night you finally decided you couldn’t take it anymore, you were trying your best to leave the house. Your demon did not want you to.

“Y/N, we’ve talked about this.” Already, you could hear the restraint in Beetlejuice’s voice cracking.

“No, you ranted about this, and I listened because I didn’t want to fight.” You kept your tone steady, but with a note of finality.

He had been following you around your apartment, watching you get ready for a night out. You had asked him not follow you out after your last night out, and he had agreed. Just like the time before that. And the time before that. You had long since given up on having that argument, and you didn’t like arguing with him much to begin with. You knew he wouldn’t leave you, he didn’t like the Netherworld much. And you hated leaving things unfinished, which meant that one of you always had to win whatever the disagreement happened to be.

The trouble was that fighting with Beetlejuice had become so easy lately. The demon had a pile of trust issues, and a temper to match. You were determined, however, that you were going to win this one. Unfortunately, Beetlejuice was determined that he was going to win.

“I don’t want you going out looking like some goddamn free snack for any breather to sink their teeth into!”

“Good thing I’m not dressing for them then, huh? Why can’t you just tell me I look hot and leave it there?”

Frankly, you did look hot and Beetlejuice was highly aware of it. Your arm cuffs shone, standing in contrast to the soft skin of your arms. Your crop top was snug around your waist and the glitter you had dusted across your chest was subtle – tasteful rather than cheap. With every step you took around the apartment, the heels of your boots came down on the laminate flooring with a noise that said ‘I will step on you, and you will like it.’ And good Lord, he would.

Him and just about everyone at the concert you were going to. That was the problem.

“If you’re not dressing for them, why are you wearing your fuck me shirt?”

“Any shirt can be a fuck me shirt!”

He followed you into the kitchen and gripped the back of a chair while you shoved your arms into your sweater. “Good point! Guess you’re staying home.”

“For a guy who’s so precious about freedom, you really hate when anyone has it who isn’t you, don’t you?”

“Only when that person is mine!”

You rounded on him immediately. “Oh, I know you didn’t say that. Because you know I belong to myself, right?” You saw a spark of doubt – almost fear – light in his eyes, but his hair was such a bright crimson that you knew he wasn’t going to back down.

He stared at you with an intensity you rarely saw, and his teeth were sharper now when he spoke. “You’re shacking up with a demon, babes. You really think you don’t belong to me?”

“Oh my God, this isn’t about you being a demon!” At any other time you would have been nervous, but by this point, you were barely in control of your words. “This is about you having trust issues and thinking I’ll hook up with someone who doesn’t have lichen clinging to their hairline! Jesus Christ, Beetlejuice, how many times to I have to tell you that that isn’t gonna happen?” Finally ­– finally – Beetlejuice looked staggered. There was silence for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved for the door, grumbling “I won’t be back too late.” Then, Beetlejuice did something very stupid.

He blocked the door.

With only a dim thought, you lunged for the counter. The first thing your hand landed on was a long, sharp boning knife. He’s already dead. Clinging to that dim thought, you turned to face Beetlejuice, shifted the knife in your grip, and shoved it underneath his chin and up through his mouth, his nasal cavity, and into his brain. He’s already dead. You felt the tip of the knife scrape against his skull. Already dead.

The groan of exertion you made rung through the kitchen, the only sound now. Beetlejuice was stunned. Or so you assumed. There are only so many expressions one can make with a knife through their head. You didn’t wait to find out what it was. You wiped your hand on his back as you rushed out the door.

To your muted surprise, your mind was blank as you drove to meet your friends. You had a drink at your favorite bar, you walked together to the venue just a few streets over, and you managed to enjoy the concert. All in all, a successful night. You laughed, you drank, you took selfies that you would later regret, you even cried at that one song. You always cried at that one song. The whole time, you were totally serene. Maybe it was the knowing that you hadn’t really hurt Beetlejuice, or the feeling of complete justification. The lingering high from the righteousness coursing through you when you stabbed him. Anyway, you knew that Lydia and the Maitlands had decapitated him a few April Fools’ Days ago, so chances were that the demon probably liked it.

As soon as you pulled into your parking space at home, your hands started shaking.

At first, you were confused. You had been so confident just moments earlier. Now you could feel the cold dread sitting in your stomach. But your body seemed to move without consulting you, opening your car door and shutting it behind you, walking up to your side of the duplex as calmly as ever, and slipping right inside. Beetlejuice never locked the door when he was home. Once, a few weeks earlier, you had asked Beetlejuice to possess you, just to see what it was like. You knew how it felt, and you knew this wasn’t it. Still, you felt detached. Frightened.

You closed the door behind you as quietly as you could. Then, slowly, you walked through the kitchen. It was spotless. There had been dark blood (ectoplasm?) when you left, you were sure of it. You had washed your hands since leaving, and there were still dark crescents under your nails. But you saw nothing on the floor, nor the table or the chairs. More than that, the counters were clear, there were no dishes in the sink, and both of the dishtowels were hanging neatly on their designated hooks. That wasn’t how you had left your kitchen – it hardly ever was. The only thing out of place was the long, sharp boning knife on the dish drying rack, winking at you under the exposed fluorescent light.

Rather than investigate the living room, you drifted over to the knife. You lifted it to inspect it in the light. Both sides of the blade were gleaming, and it appeared as sharp as ever. The tip was thankfully intact. When you turned it over, however, you felt something under your thumb. Upon closer inspection, you saw what looked like a small letter B marked into the handle. It had to be deliberate – you took excellent care of your knives.

“Hey there, dollface,” came a low voice at your ear. The arms that wrapped around your exposed waist were cool, but the breath on your neck was hotter than hell. You gasped and tried to whip around, but those arms held you fast. “Easy, babes, it’s just me.”

Beetlejuice had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His cold flesh was pressed tightly against your stomach, pinning you against him. You could feel every inch of his torso on your back. He nuzzled into your neck. A haze was invading your mind, though you suspected there was nothing supernatural about it.

“It’s late.”

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“You wanted to belong to yourself,” he growled.

You tried to keep your head from lolling back onto his shoulder. “I wanted–”

“You do to belong to yourself.”

In an instant, your mind cleared.

“What?” He still wouldn’t let you turn around, and you felt his lips curving into a smirk against your neck. Now he had your full, prompt attention.

“But I need you too, baby.” There was a neediness in his tone. But unlike his usual, pained neediness, this was hot. Demanding. Beetlejuice bit down on your neck. You hissed. If it were at all possible, his arms tightened further.

You stopped trying to turn. In a spark of creativity, you ducked out of them instead. He let you, not expecting your sudden drop. Seconds later, you had turned and risen, slipping through his still encircled arms so you could face him.

“Then stop trying to take me, sugar.” You threw an arm up over his shoulder. His eyes were flashing golden in the light and his hair was streaked with the brightest magenta you had ever seen.

“That was some move you pulled, stabbing me in the face.”

“Technically, I stabbed you under the face.”

“Hate to damage these features.”

“Of course.”

“I need you, babes.”

“Ask nicely.”

Now it was your turn to kiss his neck. Your lips ghosted over the sensitive skin, your teeth nipped at the column of his throat, you smiled at the sounds he made when he realized you were taking control.

“Make me,” he said. You raised yourself a few inches on your toes to look Beetlejuice straight in the eye.

Saying nothing, you shoved him backward, grabbed his now free hand, slammed it onto the counter behind him, and stabbed right through it with the boning knife you were still holding. He cried out, but recovered quickly. When his gaze returned to you, he didn’t seem to be in pain. He almost seemed in awe of you.

“Looks like I’ve created myself a monster.”

You smiled at him, nearing his lips. “Honey, I’m shacking up with a demon. I was already a monster.”

Honestly, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Beetlejuice would enjoy something as objectively unsexy as murder. But after that night, every time he tried to keep you from leaving the apartment or said something a little too possessive, you stabbed him with the nearest sharp object. It might have passed for a casual occurrence, except that he gave you a show every time you did it, staggering away from you, performing death monologues more eloquent than you would have thought him capable of, forcing you to drag him from whichever inconvenient spot he had chosen to fall onto.

You stabbed him with the same boning knife a few times – in the chest, in the eye, in the chest again, but on the other side. After the fourth time, it started to feel like a stale bit. The next time you ‘killed’ him, you were helping the owner of the duplex build a shelf. The owner lived on the other side of your duplex and, because she was your landlady, you could hardly say no to helping her. So, bright and early on a Saturday morning, you were in the small backyard wearing overalls with a sports bra and carrying a nail gun.

About an hour into the project, your landlady went inside to get drinks. You heard Beetlejuice before you saw him.

“Hey, nice bra, sweet cheeks.”

You rolled your eyes. “Good morning to you too,” you muttered, mindful that no passers-by could see the demon at your elbow.

“Don’t remember you saying goodbye on your way out this morning. Afraid I’d make you change?”

“As if you could make me do anything.”

“Maybe, but I could certainly make your landlady’s son stop staring at you through that window.” You didn’t bother to look. Actually, you froze. This was almost certainly not an idle threat. Since your landlady’s son lived in the duplex, and the duplex was technically one house, it probably wouldn’t be any trouble at all for Beetlejuice to simply float through the wall and onto their side.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed.

“Hey, he’s the one who’s staring, and if you’re not gonna put a shirt on, then I’ll just have to–”

The nail in his forehead choked off his sentence.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” your landlady asked, walking down the steps at the back of the duplex.

“Oh, yeah.” You fought the urge to watch Beetlejuice keel over beside you, or to talk over the sound of him thudding to the ground. You cleared your throat. “Everything’s fine.”

You took a sip of your drink and tried not to laugh at the demon’s lame croak.

The next time you felt the urge to ‘kill’ your demon was couple weeks later. This time, you were at the Maitland-Deetzes. You had noticed that Beetlejuice’s body did not react normally to being stabbed. Unlike the helpful videos shown in your classes at mortuary school, his blood did not spurt from the wound, and it was generally helpful to remove whatever you had stabbed him with. Normally, there would be a thick dribble of something black and vaguely gelatinous and, depending on where you stabbed him, it might leak onto your hand.

Neither the Maitlands nor the Deetzes would stand for that. Well, Lydia might. It wasn’t so much the violence, though you suspected Delia was somewhat opposed to it. Their issue would more be with the cause of the violence. Demon-stabbing was not an appropriate response to Beetlejuice’s possessiveness, even you knew that. Really, what needed to happen was an open and honest conversation between you about his jealousy and where all those feelings were rooted. You had mentioned the first time that he had trust issues, and both of you knew it was true. Still, you didn’t feel quite ready for that.

You also weren’t about to stab Beetlejuice with the pocket knife he had given you for your birthday on the Maitlands’ nice clean attic floor. But once he started, you knew you had to do something.

“C’mon Maitlands, you know I’m just kiddin’!” Beetlejuice waved them off. You weren’t entirely sure what he had done, you had been looking through some scrap wood by the attic door. You were sure it was something appropriately lecherous for the demon, though not so offensive that the Maitlands couldn’t brush it off.

“Of course you are, Beej,” said Barbara, rolling her eyes.

Beetlejuice feigned insult. “I’ll have you know that I would never be untrue to this woman.” Before you had fully straightened beside the scrap wood, you found yourself being squeezed into Beetlejuice’s side. “Even if she does insist on flirting with the UPS guy.”

“I do not flirt with the UPS guy.” Your tone was playful, but you were watching him warily.

He laughed. “Yeah, right. Hey, Mr. Post Man!” Damn him and his perfect impression of you. “Have you got some packages for me to sign? Oh, Mr. Post Man, you’re such a hard worker. Ooh, ooh, Mr. Post Man! Thank goodness you’re here, I’ve just been dying to try a new–” You shoved him backwards. “Hey, whoa-whoa! Tell my story!”

Faintly, you wondered why the attic window had been open. Barbara and Adam could not feel or really smell the fresh air. Maybe they had done it for you. How thoughtful.

“Y/N!”

“What?” You shrugged. The Maitlands bustled past you to look down at the demon you had just pushed through their window. You didn’t bother to look, knowing he would be back in just a few moments, probably praising your ingenuity as he had when you stabbed him with your landlady’s nail gun.

Barbara turned back to you and sighed. “Y/N, you guys need to talk about this.”

“Why? I’ve never thrown him out a window before, but I’m sure he’ll tell me if he likes it.”

“Wait, you–?”

Adam came to his shocked wife’s side and finished her thought for her. “You mean this isn’t the first time you’ve solved a problem with violence?”

You raised your eyebrows, truly not understanding why they were looking at you as though you had really murdered someone. Hadn’t Lydia stabbed him a few years ago, and actually killed him?

Though, you supposed, he did deserve it for marrying a fifteen year-old, even if it was a business arrangement.

“And he likes it sometimes?” Barbara’s voice was pitching upward, and you raised a placating hand.

“Barbara, he’s a demon. He’s into some weird stuff,” you explained.

“But what about the reasons you’re fighting? Don’t you think you should work that out?” Adam pressed.

“Nah.” Beetlejuice floated in easily through the window, right over to you. His feet dropped to the floor and he faced the Maitlands with you, flinging an arm around your shoulders and leaning on you heavily. You staggered under his weight for a moment, but recovered quickly and wrapped an arm around his waist, taking the hand he had on your shoulder with your free hand. “We’re working it out just fine, aren’t we babes?”

You gave him a serene smile, knowing he would see the smugness behind it. “You know it.” The Maitlands, openly staring at you in clear disbelief, shook their heads.

Yo, I made reader and OC. Here she is. Nobody wanted this.

Buy Me a Coffee?

[arabellaflynn]

For anyone who didn't catch it on other social media, I have finally moved out of the "temporary" apartment I was stuck in for 7 months, thanks to a lot of emotional and logistical support from friends, and a generous amount of financial support from the folks who gave to my GoFundMe. I am endlessly grateful to all of you, and if I weren't so goddamn tired right now I'd be more eloquent in saying so.

I've spent the past few weeks of unpacking and working out the bus routes around my new place trying to figure out how to explain what was so terrible about the last one. Most attempts devolved into page upon page of rage, which is not really what I want to be doing here. On the other hand, I also don't want to downplay how bad it was. 

Spoiler: The temp apartment was Very Very Bad.

The tl;dr is that I was offered someone's spare room on the condition that I help out a little extra with household chores and caring for their rats, because the pet owning roommate had recently had back surgery and was still mobility-impaired. What actually happened is that as soon as they realized I had any basic life skills whatsofuckingever, I was cornered into becoming the 24/7 on-call House Adult. I would have gone on strike, but the other two people in the apartment were so terrible at coping with absolutely any aspect of being alive that if I had, one or both of them would probably be dead now.

That is not hyperbole. I sat back at one point and realized that I had talked to 911 dispatch five times in the preceding four months. None of those calls were for me. To be clear, I ain't mad about other people having medical problems. All five of those calls were appropriate and necessary uses of emergency services. I just resent the hell out of being the default option for handling all of it, even though none of the medical emergency problems were mine, and there were other people in the house. Literally, Short Roommate had a catastrophic asthma attack one night, and when she was wheezing too hard to talk she passed the phone to Tall Roommate -- who immediately ran to the other end of the apartment, banged on my door, and handed the phone to me. It got to the point where I just told the operator what was up, went downstairs to unlock the door for EMS, stood in the corner answering the occasional question until they hauled someone off to the hospital, and then went right back to bed, because none of this was my problem. And that's just the 911 calls, not even counting the number of times I had to talk her down out of a dissociative episode, or any of the other shit I was not warned about and did not volunteer to do. They wore me down until my only response to "a fellow human can't breathe" is "fuck's sake, why am I even involved here".

They both needed a lot more, and a lot more professional, help than they could possibly have gotten out of a random civilian roommate. They both fought tooth and nail against actually getting any of it. Every time Short Roommate was dragged to the hospital, her discharge papers included a big fat packet full of social services, resources, and business cards for actual physical people to phone. I know this because whenever I cleaned the apartment, I found them on the fucking floor, whereupon I placed them on her fucking keyboard, and told her point-blank to call these people. As far as I know, she never did.

I am neither qualified nor equipped to be a live-in caregiver for anybody. There is a fucking reason I have never wanted children. I keep critters because if you give them food, water, toys, and boxes to sleep in, you can leave them to entertain themselves for hours while you work or sleep, and no one will arrest you.

There was a bunch of other stuff. Tall Roommate rarely if ever cleaned anything, including herself, unless directly ordered to do so and given a detailed list of instructions of what you meant by "clean". I only ever got her to wash her own damn dishes once, and I did it by messaging her from the other room 'I just found a mouse in the sink eating snacks off your dirty plates GO DO YOUR DISHES'. She had a laundry list of problems, but the relevant one here is that she was high-support-needs autistic with no support and zero inclination to find any. 

[Did I mention the mice? We had mice. All over. The rats murdered two of them when they got into the cages, looking for the free-feed bowl.]

Short Roommate clearly loved her rats but didn't actually do any of the rat care beyond petting and playing. One of them was tremendously sick at one point and needed meds q6h. She was supposed to be helping with that and didn't, which meant that I went several weeks on a maximum of six hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. I tore the fuck into her for that one, pointing out in exactly so many words that some of these meds were painkillers and if the rat didn't get them on time HE SUFFERS. Not doing any of the grunt work, Short Roommate evidently thought rats were so easy she should just keep getting more of them! She rescued two, one of whom was preggo, kept several of the babies, and started talking about waiting for one of the girls to grow up so she could breed him with one of her younger boys. 

Gentle Reader, I promise you the only reason I did not strangle her in her sleep that very night was that I knew, deep in my heart, that I could not move the body down two flights of stairs by myself, and if I left it up to Tall Roommate, the corpse would still be in the apartment today.

If I were inclined to any sympathy, it would have died when Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend and New Boyfriend's Mother. She initially took all the rats with her, which made them officially not my problem anymore, but I woke up one morning to a message that said something like "[New Boyfriend's Mother] says that if I show up to our new place with the rats she's not going to let me in, [Tall Roommate] is coming back with all the rats and everything they own". I found out later that this was because their new place was in section 8 housing, where you are not allowed to have pets that aren't service or support animals. Which Short Roommate had known the entire time, and just... made no plans for. At all. Unless "ignore everything until bitchslapped by reality, then panic and make unreasonable demands of other people" counts, I guess.

Eight rats. She dumped eight rats on me. Eight. I wound up taking care of them all without help; Tall Roommate was incapable of keeping anything in her habitat clean, including herself, and I wasn't willing to let her neglect animals. I was actually down to one rat of my own, having lost my two venerable old men, and was looking for a new friend or two for Tseng. Which I had to stop doing, because nine fucking rats is a lot of rats, and I couldn't in good conscience bring Rats nos. 10 & 11 into this shitshow. Naturally, none of the rats got along; two pairs of boys had to be kept apart, and both of them tried to pick fights with poor Tseng, and four of them were girls that had to be kept away from all of the boys for obvious reasons. It was exhausting and a catastrophe.

Once I had the rats she apparently made no further effort to re-home them, although she did keep telling Tall Roommate to come knock on my door and take pictures of them. (I put a stop to this. Tall Roommate did it because Short Roommate had broken up with her to shack up with New Boyfriend, and Tall Roommate had literally no way to cope with this other than try desperately to get her back.) I bugged her to do something about this until, predictably, I had to contact the local rat rescue people to find fosters less than a week before my moving crew was scheduled. When I told her, she replied "oh, I was just about to submit that". Sure you were. And while you're here, I have this nice bridge to sell you.

[The four girls and two youngest boys went to Mainely Rat Rescue. It looks like the boys have already found a home, but the girls are up for adoption. I kept the two old men, who both have special care needs; Garion has breathing problems that involve his own asthma inhaler and a steady diet of NSAIDs, and Errand has attitude problems that involve picking fights with any rat who isn't Garion. They're both just shy of three(!) and unlikely to find homes through a foster program, plus I'm already their third caretaker, so I couldn't send them off with a stranger. They are currently sulking because I wouldn't supplement their dinner with all of my dinner -- which is to say, they're fine.]

The point is, my brain just about died off. The only time in that apartment that I didn't spend cleaning up after three grown adults, two of whom weren't even me, were the weeks after Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend, which she had broken up with Tall Roommate to do, and Tall Roommate took it so badly she ended up inpatient before she ate a bottle of Tylenol. (I called 911 when I overheard her plans. It was about 50% "a fellow human is in need of help" and 50% "argh jesus fuck THIS IS NOT MY JOB please go talk to someone who is actually paid to deal with this".) I am slowly clawing my way back to the surface, so if you'll just bear with me, I'll be back on Twitch this Sunday 3-7 Eastern, and type out more things that have been on hold while I tried to retain at least some of my marbles.

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