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lifewithdavefarts · 3 years ago

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DaveFarts - Episode 4 “Post Gym Gas” [Episode List] The showers at Dave’s gym are once again out of order so he shows up at Tim’s house to take a shower. This time, however, he’s not in a rush, so he can spend a bit more quality time with his best friend… With some help from the gassy effects of his fiber bars…

Unlike the other stories, this one is told from Dave’s POV.

Post-Gym Gas

“Man… thanks again, Tim.” I said, showing up in his bedroom wearing only a pair of boxers.

Yes, only a pair of underwear. Tim’s gay? He finds this attractive?

Who cares. That’s how I act when I’m around our other straight friends and I’m not going to treat Tim “unnaturally”, or like he’s some kind of of sick person, just because he thinks he’s making me uncomfortable. Heck: he probably got a boner right now. Big. Fucking. Deal. I’ll just take that as a compliment.

“Those idiots at the gym again messed everything up. Maybe I should go to a different one.”

I grabbed the towel that Tim gave me earlier and pressed it on the rest of my body as I still felt a bit too wet. I then checked my phone, answering a couple of texts from my girlfriend Dana and put on my pair of black gym shorts (they’re not really ‘shorts’ actually as they almost go below my knees when I get up). I remain bare-chested as it’s not really a cold evening and I don’t want to sweat again: I just took a shower!

As usual, I felt my stomach rumble a bit. “Fucking fiber bars again!” I thought. I ripped like eight long farts under the shower, but I still feel bloated. Is the gym working? I’m eating tons of those bars and I just can’t see the point. Well, at least they sure make Tim happy.

Yeah… Tim, my great, disgusting best friend. Can’t believe he likes this stuff.

Look at him, trying to read his books, in silence. He’s already as red as a tomato. I wonder when he’ll understand that he doesn’t have to feel so embarrassed about this stuff, not around me at least.

Speaking of which, I think I got one ready…

I couldn’t hide my smirk as I slowly got up and walked towards my friend sitting behind his desk. I was literally towering him. Tiny, short Tim: must defend at all costs!

I don’t know how this stuff works, but I hope he’s enjoying it.

And, honestly, I think it’s hilarious, and I’m always glad to share a few good laughs with him.

“Dude. I think I got a big one for ya.” I simply said.

I turned around, chuckling a bit, pointing his butt at his face. I leaned a bit and I felt his defenseless head brushing against the fabric of my gym shorts. I already started to laugh. I’m a worthless immature, but I thought that was hilarious. I pushed a bit and the fart came out naturally, as big as my usual blasts. I made sure that my ass was still brushing against my friend’s face: I need to make clear that I’m perfectly comfortable with his fetish.

The fart vibrated violently through my shorts right in his face.

Eight seconds. Man! I’m so talented. Fucking fibers though.

I turned around to check whether my friend survived to that, and his hilarious smile confirmed that he was alive and well (and probably aroused too, but that’s a problem I can’t take care of). I bursted into a laugh, I couldn’t’ help it.

“Told ya it was big!”

He nodded at me and smiled.

As long he’s comfortable around me it’s great.

We still spend an incredible amount of time together and, to be honest, nothing really changed.

But sometimes Tim acts a bit too awkward, so I just make him understand (every. single. time.) that there’s no reason to act all weird around me. Dude, I’m like your brother, you can trust me! I trust you, that’s for sure!

Man, I’m pretty sure he wishes more face-farts right now.

I wonder if he will ever have the guts to ask me directly. He knows I’m a proud farter, I’ve always been.

Gotta admit that the funniest part about all of this is how much of a dork Tim is, seriously.

If he wasn’t gay, pretty sure some girl out there would have considered him adorable.

To me, however, it was a mixture of annoying and hilarious.

I felt my belly hurt a bit; fiber bars were still messing up with my stomach. I finally put on a black undershirt and sat again on my friend’s bed. I’ll leave in a couple of minutes though, gotta a lot of stuff to work on back at home.

“Dave…”

Apparently, Tim just grew a pair.

I saw him turning red, into a stuttering pile of awkwardness.

I pretended to have no idea of what he was going to tell me and I tried not to laugh at him.

“I’d hate to make you uncomfortable but…”

I checked my phone, not even looking at him, if that made him more comfortable.

“But since you seem so open-minded about it I was wondering… nah never mind!”

I chuckled a bit. “What?” I asked, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

“It’s just that I don’t want you to think that I want to be your friend because of…”

“…because of my farts?” I simply said, cutting him off.

He almost fell from his chair and quickly stood up, nervous as usual.

“Tim, I know you’re not an asshole. If you were, I wouldn’t be here.” I stated.

Let me tell you the truth: I knew that Tim loved my farts and most of all loved the fact that I didn’t care at all about his fetish. And that’s it. He was my friend before realizing his fetish, since middle school.

Tim always says “Oh Dave! He’s so great. Always looking out for me!”, but that’s because he’s an insecure little shit.

The truth is that Tim has always been the one looking out for me. He’s always been there, for reasons that I don’t really want to explain, but let’s just say that sometimes it was pretty serious family stuff.

He’s not an asshole: he’s the opposite of that.

I know he considers me “the” best of the friends.

Let me tell you that I consider myself lucky to have a friend like him.

It’s hard to believe, I know, since he’s so weak and awkward, while I’m stronger and all this bullshit, but trust me.

This “best friend” thing goes both ways. He’s my bro.

“Were you going to ask me for a fart?” I asked, with a smirk.

His reaction was priceless.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just too… gay I guess.” he tried to say, faking a chuckle, trying to *not* sound embarrassed, completely terrified.

It’s not like this came out of nowhere though.

I did “help” somehow, not only with my continuous face-farting.

I even send him random fart videos on WhatsApp. That must be painful for him.

“That’s not what friends are for. You’re already doing so much for me. You’re being so supportive, more than I could have ever hoped, and I’m not only talking about… well… this” he said, too embarrassed to pronounce the word 'fart’ apparently. “I’m not in the position to ask for this stuff. Sorry.”

That was too easy.

I nodded and then, with a deft movement, gently kicked his ankle, making him trip on his own bed. His head landed right next to my sagging (in shorts) butt and I didn’t even need to move.

“There. Now you’re in the position to ask.” I chuckled.

He was, quite literally, in the *right* position: I could sit on his face in a moment.

I laughed so much at him, but I wanted to laugh with him.

I simply stared at my gay friend and smiled, finding his teary, embarrassed eyes a bit too hilarious maybe. I finally lifted my butt, and put it above his defenseless face. I didn’t sit directly on him: my ass was hovering above him, only inches away from his nose. I then started to fart, as I usually do.

Fiber bars were an incredible fuel. The blast almost ripped my pants. Even I could feel the wind being fired right in my friend’s face. Disgusting. Disgustingly hilarious. I bursted again into a laugh and I sat directly on his head as the fart kept going. One of my best of that day, that’s for sure. I think it lasted around 9 seconds.

Pretty sure he loved it.

“Smells great, does it?” and I lost it, laughing again like an immature jerk, despite being in my 20s.

Tim was dazed, startled and sat next to me.

I patted his shoulder in a friendly manner and he turned to me, finally laughing too.

“Gotta go now, bro.” I said, it was getting too late. “See ya tomorrow. I’m expecting you to join us this weekend. We’re having a surprise party for Lucy.”

“Of course! I already texted Greg. He’s got a new car and can pick both of us, so we can drink as much as we want!” he replied, with a rare smirk.

You smooth little fucker.

You act all awkward around me, but you’re still a party-animal.

So proud of you, bro.

“Finally! That’s the Tim I want to hear!” I said, heading downstairs. “See ya tomorrow then…”

Outside of the house, in his front yard, I then ripped one last, long, rumbling fart.

Fucking fibers!

I guess this one is literally on the house, Tim.

End of Episode 4

#fart story #eproctophilia #fartkink #davefarts2 #gayfart #malefarts

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puckrph · 3 years ago

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‘ YOU’RE AWFUL, I LOVE YOU ’ SENTENCE STARTERS

feel free to change pronouns, etc!

LOVE ME DEAD

‘ love me cancerously. ’ ‘ kill me romantically. ’ ‘ you’re awful. i love you. ’ ‘ you know just how to hold me. ’ ‘ when your edges soften, your body is my coffin. ’ ‘ love me dead. ’ ‘ you’re an office park without any trees: corporate and cold, gushing for gold. ’ ‘ does the fun ever start? ’ ‘ how’s your new boy? does he know about me? ’ ‘ you’ve got the mark of the beast. ’ ‘ you’re born of a jackal. you’re beautiful. ’

DRUNKEN LAMENT

‘ self-loathing is quaint. ’ ‘ you’re gone and i’m lost. ’ ‘ you said “forever.” ‘ ‘ tell me, why can’t you stay? ’ ‘ i’d ride in your pocket all day, but i just don’t fit. ’ ‘ i’ve been drunk since saturday, without you, without restraint. ’ ‘ i’m starving for words that would ration my sadness away. ’ ‘ you were the mermaid for me, till one day you found your feet, leaving me in this god-awful bottle, a model of heartache and grief. ’

PLEASE

‘ take me over. ’ ‘ please save this for me. ’ ‘ i’ll come back for you, love, i promise to. ’ ‘ my love will burn, and my heart will stay. ’ ‘ i’ll be gone by first light, last chance, hold on tight until then. ’ ‘ i lie awake and memorize your face as you sleep next to me. ’ ‘ the road looms lonely, but i will not fail. ’

TOPEKA

‘ i found god in a catalytic converter in topeka on a monday night. ’ ‘ i taste blood every time i think of summer. ’ ‘ i’m waiting desperately to get out of town. ’ ‘ you’ve been known to obsess over the future. ’ ‘ do you think you’ll get away from the past? ’ ‘ consider what you might have found. ’ ‘ every saint has a past. every sinner has a future. ’ ‘ you know what keeps me hanging around. ’ ‘ from here on, you can count on all things going the way they must’ve from the start. ’ ‘ all you feel is the current flowing through you and seizing your infected heart. ’

LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN

‘ rest your soul and feed your brain. ’ ‘ you’ll get to see everything the water can be. ’ ‘ the rain was coming down. ’ ‘ it was the kinda night that makes you think the whole world’s going to hell. ’ ‘ wade to where the shallows break. ’ ‘ the interstate was flooded. ’ ‘ bad move, in retrospect. ’ ‘ come back! ’ ‘ there were no bodies; i’ve got none to hide. ’

SUCH AS IT ENDS

‘ i’ve been losing sleep for days. ’ ‘ love, such as it ends, breaking the hearts that wouldn’t bend, closes the doors you used to listen through. ’ ‘ we’ll start again. ’ ‘ in the end, i’ll be with you. ’ ‘ you’ve been burning up for days. ’ ‘ you know they can’t all be saved. ’ ‘ i’ve been vacant for so long, but you were there. ’ ‘ you look so tired now. just please, love, let me take it on my shoulders. ’ ‘ we might make it home. ’

MUTINY BELOW

‘ put me in my proper place. ’ ‘ i’m not the one for you, but you’re here now. ’ ‘ can you come in? ’ ‘ you made me feel alive again. ’ ‘ you made me feel alive again. i wish we’d never met. ’ ‘ i finally let go and learned to live without you. ’ ‘ there were nights when i was sure your love was all i had. ’ ‘ we’ll work it out tomorrow. ’ ‘ let me go. ’

STREETLIGHTS

‘ when the streetlights come on, the pooling night is leveed aside and pressed in twilight against our two rooms. ’ ‘ i’ll see you tonight. ’ ‘ the pavement is aching, cicadas are crying, the wine-colored air is breathing thoughts through your hair, breezing to me, leading me there. ’ ‘ i come alive as the shadows parade. ’ ‘ my hot summer blood comes in floods and in waves. ’ ‘ i’m not longer afraid of what you’ll say. ’ ‘ streetlights will keep watch over me: they flicker like stars. ’ ‘ the secrets carefully kept inside run the streets red. ’ ‘ now, there are no words, only the glow in our wires. ’ ‘ our lips set the sun. ’ ‘ i’ll never leave you. ’

GO-GETTER GREG

‘ you must be new, i guess. at least, you’re new to me. ’ ‘ i saw you unpacking your car so i said to myself “maybe i should help her out,” since we’re neighbors now, and all the other people here are elderly and probably a little stand-offish, and i’ve got nothing to do, and whatnot... by the way, i live in 207, my name is ______ . ’ ‘ i’m a go-getter guy with a gun on my hip. i’m just searching for that someone to be firing it. ’ ‘ i’ve narrowed down the field and i’m taking a glance, and i’ve say you’ve got a pretty good chance to be my girlfriend. ’ ‘ didn’t mean to sneak up on you there. ’ ‘ you could come over tonight, i’ll be watching cop dramas, smoking fatty-fatties. ’ ‘ i really think you could use a guy like me in your life, looking after you. ’ ‘ i’d never leave you along. ’

THE HORROR OF OUR LOVE

‘ i’m a killer. ’ ‘ i’ve murdered half the town, left you love notes on their headstones. i’ll fill the graveyards until i have you. ’ ‘ i can smell your softness. ’ ‘ love, i’d never hurt you. ’ ‘ oh, the horror of our love; there was never so much blood pulled through my veins. ’ ‘ i wake in terror. ‘ ‘ i’m your servant. ’ ‘ break my skin and drain me. ’ ‘ that ancient language spoken through fingers, the awful edges where you end and i begin. there’s catastrophe in everything i’m touching. ’ ‘ you’ll die like angels sing. ’ ‘ you’re a ghost, love. ’ ‘ you are a dream among the sharks: beautiful and terrifying. ’ ‘ we dance in dark suspension. ’ ‘ bury me in the ocean floor beneath you where they’ll never hear us scream. ’

SCREAM, SCREAM, SCREAM

‘ a man is many things; let’s count them all tonight. ’ ‘ there’s nothing catchy about the life of a saint. ’ ‘ if i scream about a good man’s life, would you ever stop and listen? ’ ‘ sing it sad and sweet. ’ ‘ say goodnight, goodbye, love: in the morning, you will see. ’ ‘ it’s breaking me down to tears. ’ ‘ i’d rip my eyes out for you. ’ ‘ i’ll pull you close. ’ ‘ it’s so dark tonight. ’ ‘ would it make you cry? ’ ‘ would you finally see that all your lives are moments? ’ ‘ all your words and closeness keep you here and human. ’ ‘ do you think they’ll ever care? ’

IN SPACE

‘ the moon is old, all dusty craters. ’ ‘ stretching in the morning light, no celestial body could compare to you. ’ ‘ all i think about is you and me and the atmosphere. ’ ‘ i can’t wait for gravity to bring you close to me. ’ ‘ i bet the leaves are changing there again. ’ ‘ i’m hurtling and pressurized; if only i could get a breath of you. ’ ‘ i hope this message finds you, and you won’t feel so alone, even if i never make it home. ’ ‘ your picture’s all i look at. ’ ‘ my place is with you. ’

#memes #ask memes #askbox meme #rp meme #ludo sentence starters #rp sentence starters

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raynblaze · 2 years ago

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Wildfangs

Lyanna Howell may have arrived back in her hometown of Moonwood Mill on a particularly bad day.

Athena made it to Moonwood Mill, and she was enraged once again. As soon as she saw Lyanna, she sensed something off about her, possibly the fact that she used to be a werewolf herself.

"A MERMAID? HERE? WHY DO YOU STILL SMELL LIKE ONE OF US!?" Athena shouted. Ever since she left her house in Willow Creek, Athena's rage had been out of control.

"I....who are you!? What do you want?" Lyanna asked, terrified.

"Where is my brother?? Where is my father?? I demand answers! You must know SOMETHING!"

Athena lunged at her, but the Wildfangs were quick to act. They had been patrolling Moonwood Mill ever since Lucy left for the valley, and stopped Athena before she could touch Lyanna.

"LYANNA! Go to your dad's house, you'll be safe there!" Rory exclaimed. Lyanna didn't hesitate and ran as fast as she could to the warehouse where her father and brother were staying.

"This is why I turned into a mermaid instead! Wolves are crazy!!!" Lyanna thought to herself, while running away.

Rory and Lux tried to talk to Athena, but it was clear she wasn't in the mood.

"You think you're soooo tough? Attacking the innocent like that?" Rory spit on the ground next to Athena. " I know who you are, and I'm not going to let you be a bully around here." Rory said, with a glare in her eye. "Why don't you fight me instead?"

"GLADLY!" Athena shouted.

Rory and Athena both transformed while Lux stayed on the sidelines for support. She trusted Rory's judgment to fight Athena alone, but still knew that Greg's daughter would still have a bit of fight in her.

Athena got a few good swings in, but it was obvious she didn't know how to control the way she fought. She was pure rage, but no form. Rory was able to overpower her. They were both beat up in the end, but Rory was the victor.

"I told you.." Rory looked down at Athena, who seemed to calm down a little after getting her butt handed to her. "You're trash. You might be the spawn of that lunatic, but you don't know how to fight." Athena just glared at her, without saying anything. Athena doesn't understand why she isn't stronger. She naively believes that just by being a powerful werewolf daughter that she should have unlimited strength. She knows she needs to train. This makes her want to find her father even more.

"I'm locking you up in the basement. When Lucy gets back, she'll know what to do with you."Lux looked at Rory confused.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? She can't stay here!"

"I can't let her loose on the rest of the world. She'll stay down there for now." Rory said. They both grabbed Athena, who was trying to fight back, but she was still weak.

Athena was torn. She knew she needed training, but all she wanted was to find her family. She started to destroy the objects around the basement. Once she calmed down, she noticed something. There was a heavily locked door that didn't lead to the upstairs area. Athena used what little strength she had to pry open the door, and saw there was an opening to some underground tunnels. Athena laughed to herself. "Well, they might be tough werewolves but I guess they don't really use their brains, do they?" Athena thought. "I'm getting the hell out of here."

#sims #sims4 #thesims #thesims4 #ts4 #ts4story #simsstories #simsstory #simblr #werewolf #howell #sims werewolves #wildfangs #rawr

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space-helen · 4 years ago

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‘Case Shmase’

Words: 1623

Pairing: Greg Sanders x Reader

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while! Again, not proof read but I hope you enjoy!

Request: You do CSI x reader fics? I swear there's like 0 on Tumblr. Can I get a Greg and Reader where one of them has a gun pulled on them? - Anon

______________________

The car pulled up outside of the small restaurant, the homicide had taken place three days ago.

Both you and Greg knew there was something missing from the case so you’d decided to come back and have another look. Hopping out of the vehicle you grabbed your kit and followed Greg inside.

Everything was still and stagnant, like the place had been left alone for months rather than three days. Putting your kit down on the table as you walked in the two of you scoured the area again. Looking at all the elements of the room with a careful eye.

“So we know Mr Travers was stabbed here.” Greg said standing approximately where the body had been.

“And we know Miss Hale was stabbed as she was running for safety behind the counter.” you replied moving towards the counter.

“But we found bullets but no bullet wounds.” Greg paused.

“I think they must have come in with the intention of shooting but missed and had to grab what was closest to them. A steak knife from a pre-set table.”

“Who even lays out steak knives before the guests even arrive.” Greg said in disbelief. “I’ll go get the lasers from the car and we can start trying to map out where the suspect was and their movements.”

“Sounds good to me.” Greg smiled and left you alone. You moved around the small restaurant and made your way behind the counter, slipping gloves on you traced the bullet holes in the wall with your finger.

Moving further into the back area you could see the freezer door, the door in which the young woman was killed in front of. What startled you was that the door was slightly ajar. It was most definitely closed the last time you were here.

Approaching the door slowly you hovered your hand over your gun. Pulling it out quietly you took a breath and opened the door quickly and could see a figure in front of you. The woman quickly rushed forward and knocked your gun out of your hand, quickly aiming her own gun at you and backing you into a corner “hands up.”

You obliged and felt dread come over you. You and Greg should have done a sweep of the place together when you arrived. “Please, don’t let this end badly.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a Crime Scene Investigator. I’m here to put the pieces of the puzzle together. If you just put the gun down-”

“Shut up.” the woman raised her voice and you obliged. “How much evidence have you found huh? I thought I was off the hook.”

“We’re still investigating-”

She shook her gun towards you in a threatening manner, you could feel emotion bubbling inside you. You’d never had a gun pulled on you before and it was certainly terrifying.

“I thought the blame would stay on James but I guess not.”

“Please put the gun-”

“Shut up!” she took a step forward “If he’d just kept his mouth shut I wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place.”

You could feel tears threatening to fall as the woman got angrier. You took a very slight step forward and the woman subconsciously took a step backwards as she babbled on. You did the same again to get her in line with the open doorway that could be seen from the front of the restaurant, hoping Greg would notice the situation.

A tear began to roll down your cheek, you fought the urge to wipe it away and kept your hands in the air.

“Oh is the officer upset?”

“I’m not an-”

“Do you even know how upset I’ve been?”

You shook your head and continued to listen to the woman’s babbling as Greg entered the restaurant.

At first he was confused when he couldn’t see you but a voice that wasn’t yours set alight alarm bells in his head. Slowly, carefully and quietly he put down the equipment he’d just bought in and listened out to hear your voice. “If you drop the gun-”

“Shit it, you hear?”

His heart leaped and his eyes finally landed on the woman pointing a gun, presumably towards you. Sneaking around the open restaurant he hid himself out of view from the open door way and approached it, calculating his moves once he got there.

Standing with his back flush against the wall he took a deep breath.. Lunging around the wall he grabbed the woman and fought for the gun.

Two shots were let off in the struggle one hitting the ceiling and the other nicking your arm. In the struggle Greg had managed to knock the woman unconscious and quickly called what had happened over his walkie. Kicking the gun away he was quickly at your side.

“Y/N, you ok?”

You were balled up on the floor clutching your arm, tears running down your face you nodded.

The man kneeled in front of you “You’re ok. Backup is on it’s way…” he paused and realised you were clutching your arm, blood slightly staining your hand. “Let me have a look.”

You removed your hand and the man took in the sight, it wasn’t too bad the bullet had skimmed your arm. He looked up and could see the bullet in the wall. “It wasn’t too bad, just a scratch.”

You were shaking as tears still fell but were drying up slightly. Greg stretched his arms out and wrapped them around you, bringing you close and making you feel safe. You clutched at the man as the tears stopped. “I’m not even upset.”

“It’s a natural response.” he reassured rubbing circles into your back.

The sound of other’s entering made Greg pull away, helping you to your feet the two of you met Brass and Nick out front, two officers cuffed the woman and escorted her out.

“Y/N and I came back to map out the bullet trajectories.” Greg explained to the two men.

You cut in shakily “Greg went to the car and I should have gone with him but I stayed and went towards the back. She was in the freezer and pulled a gun on me and tackled me for mine. Greg came back and managed to disarm her but some shots were fired. We should have done a sweep”

“Are you two ok?” Nick questioned

“Y/N took a bullet to the arm.”

Brass and Nick’s eyes fell to your hand clutching your arm, moving it you exposed the wound. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Listen here, the two of you made a mistake but lucky for you I’m in a good mood. We’ve learnt our lesson haven’t we? You’re lucky you didn’t get more hurt. We’ll deal with it all later.” Brass turned towards Greg. “Sanders get Y/L/N to a hospital and get her patched up. Then I’ll need a statement from you both when you’re ready.” and with that the man walked away.

You had to admit this was the biggest fuck up you’d done on the job but you’d been shouted at and punished more on the job for smaller mistakes. Sighing, you turned to Greg. “We should go before we upset him more.”

“I’ll process the scene until you guys get back.” Nick added tapping you on the shoulder and giving Greg a nod before walking towards the back where everything had happened.

You and Greg left the restaurant to the vehicle you’d arrived in, heading straight for the passengers seat you got comfy and put your seatbelt on as Greg went to the trunk.

He slid into the driver's seat with a handful of supplies. “Let me bandage that up until we get to the hospital”

“You really don’t have too.”

He laughed “I know I don’t but I’d rather not get blood all over the car either.”

You laughed back at the man who was trying to make light of the situation. “Alright but be careful. It hurts a lot.”

“I can be gentle.” the man adjusted in his seat to get a better look at your arm, quickly bandaging it up you took the trash from him and held it in your hand as he put his own seatbelt on and started the engine.

“I’m sorry for not being more careful.”

“Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about. We both messed up.”

“But I was the one who-”

“Y/N I don’t want to hear any more if it ok?”

You sighed and rested your head back “alright.”

“Good.”

The rest of the journey was normal for the two of you, general friendship banter as you drove. You were soon approaching the hospital. “You can drop me off outside. I’ll go get this sorted and you can go see Brass and help Nick.”

“Nice try but I’m not leaving you.”

“It’ll save time and you can get along with the case.”

“How’re you going to get back? You have no car?”

“I’ll get a cab or something.”

“I’m not letting you pay over-priced cab fees.”

“But the case if we delay any longer-”

“Case shmase, Brass told me to make sure you get patched up so that’s what I’m going to do.”

You smiled, all these years working together had made you grow really close, there was a moment of silence as he parked up. “Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we still on for our movie night this weekend.”

A smile played on his lips “We sure are if we wrap up this case on time.”

You undid your seatbelt and opened the door “you know it’d get done quicker if you didn’t have to wait around for me.” you winked and closed the door, Greg smiled and leaped out the car to be by your side.

Tag List: (open)

Greg Sanders: CSI:

#greg sanders x reader #csi x reader #csi vegas x reader #csi: vegas x reader #sanders x reader

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lilydalexf · 4 years ago

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Audrey Roget

Audrey Roget has 10 fics at Gossamer, with some different ones at AO3, fanfiction.net, and her website. You might know her from her very good fics or as part of Musea, a collective that all wrote fic and posted X-Files fic recs. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas and The Shirt. Big thanks to Audrey for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)? A little, yes. Not so much by folks who were around in those days. I sometimes go hunting for beloved stories from the early years, both those I read and loved, and those I never got around to. I am always delighted to hear that later generations of fans have stumbled across my stuff, especially since I haven’t posted anything new in a number of years. It’s fantastic that both years-long fans and new ones are out there continuing to rec fic from all eras, and to maintain archives for fans yet-to-be born. What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general? It may sound corny, but the main thing I think of, and the thing that has ultimately been most valuable and lasting, has been the friendships. The feeling of having found a tribe – not just of TXF fans, but of other people who could be as enthusiastically engaged as I was (if not more so) with fictional stories and characters – was mind-blowing. Since I was a kid, I had often mulled over the books/movies/TV I loved and speculated internally about what happened off the page or off-screen, or created new stories for characters in my head. But, except for an elementary school phase where I and my two BFFs regularly played Charlie’s Angels, I hadn’t engaged in that kind of gleeful immersion in a fictional world with others until TXF fandom. My involvement in fandom followed pretty quickly from getting hooked on the show, so for me, it’s all one big ball of experiences. Even as my interest in/involvement in fandom has waxed and waned over the years, I’ve been lucky to remain friends with wonderful people who I originally connected with as fellow fans.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)? What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

My initial entrée to the fandom was through fanfiction. I didn’t get interested in the show until mid-season 5. Around the same time, I read an article in a zine called Might (co-founded by Dave Eggers) about this thing called fanfiction that people would write and publish online. At first I thought it was satire or a joke – the fic cited involved Wilma Flintstone and a polished sabre tooth, as I recall – but then realized this was an actual thing. So I figured that a show then at the peak of pop culture must have fanfiction, and I went looking. Early on, I scrolled atxc on a daily basis and downloaded stories. But I didn’t engage in discussions about the show on Usenet, since I only knew how to access it with my Earthlink email client, and I didn’t want to post using my real name.

Later, I set up a pseud address with Yahoo and subscribed to a couple of email fanfic/discussion lists, and stayed subscribed to those for years. There was also a period in there somewhere – of maybe only a year or so, when I think about it – when I’d often nerd out into the wee hours with other fans via IM chat groups. That was around the time the small writers’ collective Musea was founded, and we were active for several years after the show’s initial run. In the early aughts, I followed many authors to LiveJournal and eventually set up my own account and stayed involved in fandom that way, until it mostly dispersed as well. What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show? In a word: Chemistry. I had casually watched a couple of episodes during the first four seasons, but I’m not a huge sci-fi/horror fan at heart, and the story lines didn’t immediately grab me. But I happened to tune into The Red and the Black in 1998, and BOOM. For the first time, the intense layers of emotion and attraction between Mulder and Scully really struck me – and then of course, upon further viewing, I realized it was unmissable, an essential element in the fabric of the show. As a wise woman once said, a switch had been flicked. Mulder and Scully’s magnetism was like nothing I’d ever seen, and though I eventually came to appreciate the storytelling, humor, production values, and other components that made the series so successful, watching those characters interact has always been what kept me coming back. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files? I was part of a list-serv discussion group for The West Wing for a while, which was a fun melding of character and plot analysis with political discussion. Later, I got into the House, MD fandom, again mostly as a fanfic reader/writer. I was finding that other fandoms, unlike TXF, were more dispersed, the networks of people structured more loosely, if at all. There were fanfic and discussion communities on LiveJournal, and fanfiction.net was the other main hub for posting and reading, but if there was anything centralized like Gossamer, Ephemeral, or the Haven, I never found it. Within all those fan communities, as in TXF, there were partisans for various characters and pairings, and flame wars erupted over plot developments that outraged this faction or that. One main difference was that those other shows had larger, ensemble casts and more varied subplots. So on one hand, there was more opportunity to explore back stories and multiple perspectives. In House MD in particular, there were several entrenched rival shipper camps, which were about equally grounded in canon, rather than TXF’s central ship. I was less into TWW fic, but my impression was that readers were less militant about their pairing preferences than TXF or House fans. Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I was deeply fascinated by Greg House for several years. (And the love-hate chemistry between him and Lisa Cuddy was a strong draw for me.) House MD came early in a wave of TV shows centered on anti-heroes, and Hugh Laurie brought amazing complexity and thoughtfulness to the character.

Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (The Americans) are a lethal pair of antiheroes. The inherent moral conflict of a sympathetic narrative from their POVs, and the global political conflict they embody was TV catnip for me. The internal struggles at the hearts of those characters were so exquisitely written and performed, they completely fascinate me.

The West Wing felt so much like a show created specifically for me. I’m especially fond of story arcs and scenes that centered on CJ Cregg, Charlie Young, and Josh Lyman. Though I loved Martin Sheen’s human portrayal of Jed Bartlet, the fact that he was the President always made him a little untouchable in my mind. But CJ, Charlie, and Josh were basically hard-working functionaries who were ambitious and idealistic and funny and flawed, and they spoke to me. What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I do continue to think about Mulder and Scully and watch episodes somewhat often. I’ll sometimes run a favorite episode as background when I want something comforting on. I read TXF fic pretty regularly, which can inspire me to go back and watch a particular episode or story arc I haven’t thought about in years. Just recently, I started listening to The X-Files Diaries podcast (@XFDPodcast, @admiralty-xfd), and that’s a fun dive into the characters, and how other fans react to and interpret episodes.

Every once in a while, a TV show or movie – and more particularly, the characters – will grab my attention and make me curious about how fanfic writers have interpreted the original material. Random example, I saw Singin’ in the Rain for the first time in a theatre a couple of years ago, and the chemistry of the three leads sent me to AO3 as soon as I got home. I also loved the first season of Mercy Street and found some well-done stories in that fandom. I usually peruse the Yuletide gifts every year and have been amazed by the sheer variety, creativity and cheekiness of the output. There are a bunch of other shows I’ve followed faithfully, and sought out fanfic – Broadchurch, The Killing, Agents of SHIELD, Elementary, The Good Wife. Although I’ve found some well-written stuff in those fandoms, I’ve rarely gotten the same charge from them as reading TXF fic. Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

syntax6 (@syntax6) – Universal Invariants/Laws of Motion. I’d also shout out to syn’s Hunter fics, too – well worth reading even for those who have never seen or particularly loved the show itself.

JET – I re-read Small Lives Awake every year around Thanksgiving time. Other annual holiday re-reads: Revely’s The Dreaming Sea and Jordan’s Through the Fire (both set at Halloween).

Amal Nahurriyeh’s Casey universe – the rare post-col fic that felt hopeful, made extra intriguing by a kick-ass original character. [Lilydale note: the series starts with Machines of Freedom and has lots of additional fics and snippets.]

Prufrock’s Love – Finding Rokovoko was genuinely terrifying and tender.

melforbes (@melforbes) – Seaglass Blue is a recent favorite, lyrical and bittersweet.

These are just a few (apologies to those that didn’t come to mind immediately). Fortunately for readers, there’s an astonishing number of authors who have written in TXF fandom whom you can depend on for a good yarn, insightful character study, and/or ingenious “fixes” where 1013 went awry.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Probably the two set in my own (former) backyard of Southern California: Enivrez-vous and Ravenous. I’d first read the Baudelaire poem that was the source of the former’s title back in university days, so I was tickled to be able to use a few lines as an epigraph. Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online? It’s not out of the realm possibility. I’d meant for “Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas” to be followed up with “And One Time She Did.” In fact, the idea for that never-finished story was what inspired “Three Times” in the first place. I have a couple of scenes sketched out and – unusually for me – even know exactly how to end it. Every year, November rolls around, and I think I should finish and post it…maybe in 2021?

Where do you get ideas for stories? Sometimes it’s from my environment. “Enivrez-vous” and “Ravenous” describe places that I’m fond of, that made me want to place Mulder and Scully there. “What Not to Wear” has that element too – I set it in Memphis as a tribute to a great trip there with a sister Musean. But WNTW was also inspired by a kink challenge in a years-ago LiveJournal thread, so sometimes ideas come from fandom discussions or even other fanfics. In the House MD fandom, a fic by another writer made me want to continue the story, and the author kindly allowed an authorized sequel. What's the story behind your pen name? I wanted my pseudonym to sound like it could be a real person’s name – or at least, maybe like a romance writer’s pen name – rather than an online handle. I also wanted to use a slightly obscure fictional character, to amuse anyone in the know. I had long had a bit of an obsession with Whit Stillman’s 1990s film trilogy, which started with Metropolitan; the 3rd installment, Last Days of Disco, came out the same year I started down the TXF rabbit hole: 1998. The central heroine of Metropolitan – who is mentioned in or makes a cameo in the other two – is Audrey Rouget, a lover of Austen and, eventually, a book editor. I altered the spelling of the last name as a nod to every writer’s companion, Roget’s Thesaurus. Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions? I have a few close friends – from outside TXF fandom – who know that I’ve written fanfic. I don’t know if they know my pseud; if they do, or if they’ve ready any of the fic, they haven’t said so to me. They are fannish sorts themselves, but not really TXF fans. A smattering of other friends and family members know or could intuit that I’ve been a fangrl on some level for years. My boss, whom I’ve known for about 3 years, recently mentioned off-handedly that she was really obsessed with TXF “back in the day,” and I am DYING to know if she got involved in fandom, but don’t think I’ll ever work up the courage to ask.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now? Most of the X-Files stuff continues to be generously and steadfastly archived by Forte at The Basement Office. The House MD stories and some TXF things are at fanfiction.net; same for AO3. If ever post anything new, it will probably go to TBO and AO3. I really ought to get it all together in one place, one of these days…

(Posted by Lilydale on April 6, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #audrey roget

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

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Hey Steph!

Any chance you've got any fics where John and Sherlock come out publicly (an AU or just canon)? For some reason I just adORe the tension

Anyway, thanks for everything you do on your blog, it's hugely appreciated!

Hey Lovely!!

Ahhhh Hmm I thought I had a list for this but apparently not, oof.

Here’s what I can offer you with my tags in my bookmarks and MFL’s! Feel free to add some, y’all if you have any I missed!

COMING OUT

See also:

Homophobia / Sexuality / Pride || [John’s Sexuality]

John’s Friends Find Out About Sherlock

John’s Internalized Homophobia

Ex by Itsallfine (T, 1,248 w., 1 Ch. || Angsty Fluff, Love Confessions, Coming Out, Exes, First Kiss, Fake Relationship, Getting Outed) – One night, in the midst of their post-case high and on the cusp of something more, John and Sherlock run into John’s ex. His ex-boyfriend.

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w., 10 Ch. || For a Case, Gay Bar, Pining, Coming Out, Slow Burn) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most. An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete. (This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

MARKED FOR LATER

About Being Gay by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G, 1,088 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, First Kiss, Romantic Fluff, Older Rosie) – Rosie looks up from Sherlock’s picture book about poisonous plants, gives Sherlock a look and asks, 'Are you gay, Sherlock?' and Sherlock, without missing a beat, just says 'Yes,' and continues drinking his tea, and Rosie says 'Ah,' and goes back to her plant book, and John nearly doubles over in the corner.

A Regular not at all Terrifying-for-unknown-reasons Conversation by Dodoa (T, 5,506 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Unilock, Best Friends, Coming Out, Self-Discovery, Dialogue Heavy, Self Acceptance) – Sherlock is trying to work something out and goes to John for help. John might not have all the answers, but he's determined to help.

Still alive by LoLecter (M, 8,375 w., 1 Ch. || Teenlock AU || Trans!Sherlock, Suicide Attempt, Overdose, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Bisexual Character, Fluff, Transphobia, Asshole Parents, Big Brother Mycroft) – Sherlock has known he was transgender for a while now and he decides to come out to his parents, but they react badly and Sherlock end up trying to kill himself only to be saved by his best friend John who doesn't know anything about Sherlock being trans.

Isolated by CarmillaCarmine (G, 8,549, 6/7 Ch. || WiP || Quarantine From Virus, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Bi-Panic, Cuddling & Snuggling, Coming Out, Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Kissing) – Due to an ongoing pandemic, John and Sherlock find themselves isolated at 221B.

Who I Really Am by agirlsname (T, 13,067 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE [1] or [2] || Post S4, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Grief/Mourning, POV John, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending) – You don't tend to give up your heterosexual privilege without a fight.

Coming Out by LiviKate (M, 13,439 w., 5 Ch. || Teenlock, Homophobia, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Oral Sex, Drunk John, Bisexual John, Teen Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Reconciliation, Arguing) – John has had feelings for his best friend for a very long time. Feelings he knows will never be returned. When John goes out to drown his sorrows in booze and girls, he finds himself falling into bed with a man for the first time instead. John doesn't expect Sherlock to think much of it, as he had never cared either way about people's sexualities. But when Sherlock finds out, things go downhill quickly, leaving John confused and alone. Can the two friends come back together after such an explosive coming out? If they do, will it be like before? Or might it be so very, very different?

Straight Boy Pain by Glenmore (NR, 18,257 w., 10 Ch. || Coming Out, Pain, Romance, Birds, Sexuality) – Sherlock is in pain. Billy Kinkaid, the Camden garroter and best man Sherlock knows, diagnoses it. Ademar Silver, a male prostitute in south London, attempts to treat it. Lestrade, kindly Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard, doesn’t notice it. Eventually, John Watson, healer and registered medical doctor, cures it. And a beautician called Penny paints Sherlock’s toenails.

The Lying Doctor by pagimag (E, 44,285 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Fix It, Hurt/Comfort, Past Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Anger Issues, Depressed John, Watson Siblings, Coming Out, Bi John, First Time, Dom/Sub Undertones, Parentlock, Internalized Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John's relationship is fragile after the events at Culverton Smith’s hospital. John struggles with guilt and anger issues. During a case he decides to visit his aunt, which leads to an unexpected development. He’s forced to reevaluate ingrained behaviours, confront long lasting issues and question how he leads his life.

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

NO! by Tildathings (M, 50,043 w., 36 Ch. || Homophobia, Bed Sharing, Military Uniforms, Past Abuse, Jealous John, Stalking, Violence, First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Pillow Talk, Coming Out, Sherlock’s Past, Shower, Cuddling, Grief and Sorrow, Hugs, Character Death) – Sherlock has been in a coma in over 8 months after he overdosed on the plane at TAB, during which time Mary and Rosie were killed by Vivian Norbury. This story starts 3 weeks after Sherlock has woken up. John is asking to move back to Baker Street.

What have you done? by Tildathings (M, 63,940+ w., 17/? Ch. || WiP || Interenalized Homophobia, John’s Family, Coming Out, Sherock/OMC, Hugging, Suicide, John Deduce’s, Nightmares, Love Confession, First Date, Bed Sharing, Psychiatry) – John have been invited by Sherlock on a pub night?! Sherlock said to him at Monday that Greg and Mike wanted him to come with them on a pub night. Sherlock is afraid that he would do something wrong socially left alone, so could John come with him? When John arrives at the pub Two Broken Hearts he sees Sherlock talking to a man.

A Change of Heart by SosoHolmesWatson (E, 65,436 w., 20 Ch. || Post-S4 / Canon Compliant, Jealous Sherlock, Past Abuse, Parentlock, Dev. Rel., Idiots in Love, Suicidal Sherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Mollstrade, Coming Out, Love Confessions, Big Brother Mycroft, John’s Childhood, POV Alternating, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Hand Jobs) – After all they have been through, after all the heartbreak and desolation, John and Sherlock want to make their way back to each other, still convinced that friendship is all that can exist between them. Will there be a change of heart? Part 1 of the The Pains of Growing series

Worst Kept Secrets by Sherlock1110 and sherlockian4evr (M, 61,515+w., 8/? Ch. || WiP || Engagement, Coming Out, Angst and Feels, Homophobia, Idiots in Love, Big Brother Mycroft, Fluff, Scars, Weddings, Honeymoon, Playing Pirates, Parasailing, Archaeology, Paintball, Swimming, Golf) – For the prompt: What if the thing Mycroft did to upset Mummy... was to come out? What if, as a teenager, Mycroft decided to tell his family that he is gay, and his parents disowned him for it? It's okay now, he runs the British Government, he IS the British Government, but there's still that tiny part of him that wants his parent's acceptance, especially now he's found the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Part 4 of the Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff series

Sacré Coeur by Mamaorion (M, 95,235 w., 27 Ch. || S4 Fix It Rewrite, First Kiss, UST / RST, Eventual Happy Ending, Coming Out, Holmes Family, Marriage Proposal, Husbands, Healing, Evil Mary, Beekeeping, Caretaker Sherlock, Mind Palace, Alzheimer’s Disease, Protective / Big Brother Mycroft, TD-12) – In this s4 fixit, John must piece together the gaps in his altered memory if he and Sherlock are to face the terror that has plagued Sherlock since childhood. As they untangle the web, seven years of hidden love ignite.

Full Court Press by MissDavis (E, 126,123 w. || College Basketball AU || Unilock, Masturbation, Homophobia, First Kiss / Time, Oral/Anal, Coming Out, Switchlock, Blowjobs) – Sherlock Holmes has accepted a scholarship to play basketball at the College of St. Bartholomew's. He expects to be their star player and turn the team's losing record around. He does not expect to fall in love with the team's captain, a certain scrappy point guard named John Watson. Or: Sherlock is the team's best shooter. John is the team's best ball-handler.

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 175,094+ w., 35/? Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

Of Ice and Men by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 176,906 w., 20 Ch. || Olympics AU || Paralympics, Prosthesis, Disability, Established Relationship, Threesome - Johnlockstrade, Angst with Happy Ending, Coming Out, Secret Relationship, Asexuall Sherlock, Pilot John) – Greg wants Sherlock to win his first Olympic Gold medal. Sherlock wants John to win his first Olympic Gold medal. John wants Greg to come to bed wearing all four of his Olympic Gold medals, and you didn't really think this would be that terribly serious after reading that title, did you? Bundle up, it's a Winter Olympics OT3!

Radioactive Trees In A Red Forest by Maribor_Petrichor (E, 280,251 w., 73 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S4, Suicidal Ideations, Alcohol / Rx Drug Abuse, Coming Out / Bisexual John, Seizures, Past/Referenced/Implied Child Abuse, Hallucinations, Rehab, Celibacy, Sobriety / Relapse, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Psychological Trauma, Nice /Not Anti-Mary, John’s POV, Parentlock, First Time, Angst, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending) – John Watson is what happens when a man can no longer see a reason to go on. John Watson is what happens when a man starts to let go. "It is what it is." John Watson is what happens when what "it is" becomes too much to bear. This is a story of the life, death, and resurrection of John Hamish Watson.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #coming out #my fic recs #sexuality fics #mindless-octopus

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addictedtostorytelling · 3 years ago

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Hi! So this weird thought was inspired by your latests gif set. Decontamination shower but Grissom is there instead of Greg, he so would have looked :D

hi, anon!

may i interest you in a fic-adjacent answer?

so, up front, i will just toss out there that it's entirely possible that grissom has already seen sara naked (and is perhaps even doing so on the reg) by the time the events of episode 05x19 "4 x 4" take place, depending on when they actually get together in vegas.

BUT.

assuming that he hasn't ever seen her naked to that point, then i don't think he'd look on purpose.

for one thing, in the moment, what’s happening is so hectic and scary that i don’t think that grissom’s thoughts are even going in that direction. more likely, he’s worried about her (and himself) and is just hoping they’re okay and that there will be no lasting side effects from their exposure to the as-of-yet unidentified biohazard.

even when sara glances at greg in canon, she’s not doing so because she is curious about what he looks like in the buff, but rather because she’s freaked out and doesn’t want to close her eyes because she’s surrounded by strange people while being in a very vulnerable situation (and he’s the one familiar thing to her, so she kind of fixes on him). though she later makes light of what happened and teases him about having seen “everything,” if you look at her eyes during the actual scene itself, she’s clearly afraid.

for another thing, i’m sure that grissom is also supremely self-conscious of doing anything that might make sara any more uncomfortable than she already is. even if he is at all tempted to sneak a peek for any other reason than to just see if she’s all right, he’d probably rather die than to transgress that boundary without her permission.

that so, i don’t think he’d choose to look at her, and especially not having any ulterior motives other than just “i need to see if she’s okay.”

BUT.

let’s say that as he’s being stripped down and dragged into a shower stall next to her, in the chaos and confusion, he loses track of where she is in relation to him, and somehow his eyes alight on her by accident.

there would be a half-second where he didn't even realize what was happening —where he would be seeing but his brain wouldn’t be processing anything.

then there'd be another half-second where he did realize what was happening but was still unconscious enough of the implications that he'd just allow himself to look directly at what was in front of him because that's what his gaze was trained on and that’s what his instincts were telling him to do.

then there'd be another half-second when his superego would kick in and start scolding him for being so flagrantly disrespectful of her and selfish and awful and beholden to his impulses (as if he had actually looked on purpose and for his own gratification).

then there’d be another half-second when he'd worry about what she must think of him and how much she must hate him for being such an opportunistic boor.

then there’d be another half-second when he’d think about how upset she must be about everything—not just about his peeping but the whole terrifying situation they found themselves in—and his concern would override all other thoughts and his gaze would lift so he could check her face and determine how she was faring.

in the next half-second, he'd meet her eyes, and it would vaguely register that she was returning his look—that she had been looking at him the whole time that he was looking at her—and that her expression wasn’t one of disgust or anger but rather concern; that she was reciprocally concerned about him.

of course, no sooner would that thought cross his mind than would they both be whisked away for further decontamination.

that three-second interval would run on loop in his head through the rest of the hazmat cleaning process and as he was getting redressed into a forensics jumpsuit and once he and sara were cleared to go back to the lab.

inevitably, he'd beat himself up for dwelling on what he’d seen, but he also wouldn't be able to deny himself of doing so, and the whole time he'd keep questioning what it meant—that look on her face in the last instant before they got pulled off to the next decontamination station.

of course, the drive back to the lab would be awkward and silent, him not daring to look at sara even in the rear view mirror, fearing what she must think of him.

then, once they parked in the pd lot, he would offer the most awkward of apologies: “you know, back there in the tent, i wasn’t trying to see anything. i just turned my head and—i’m sorry. i hope you know i didn’t do it on purpose.”

only at the very end of the apology would he dare to cast a glance over at her, just to check her reaction.

he would, to his surprise, find her smirking.

“you know,” she’d say, “that is not what i pictured the first time we saw each other naked being like at all. next time, i’m hoping there are far fewer people around. and fewer bunny suits.”

she’d then give him a look and exit the vehicle.

at that point, his brain would short-circuit.

a half-second later, he’d be imagining the possibilities.

thanks for the ask! please feel welcome to send another any time.

#answered #anon #asks: csi #**#my fic #hypothetical scenario #let's talk shop #05x19 #csi #gsr #gil grissom #sara sidle #csiverse

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years ago

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I Will Rise

Hufflepuff!Reader X Draco

You can take everything I have

You can break everything I am

Like I'm made of glass

Like I'm made of paper

Go on and try to tear me down

I will be rising from the ground

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Summary: With the next winter holiday things get to their lowest point. But rock bottom is always the place to start building up.

A/N: So this was supposed to be super angsty with no end in sight but ya know, I changed my mind. This is angsty don’t get me wrong, but this is also where choices are made and people are changed for the better or worse. Sidenote: I just ended a four year relationship yesterday and ya know. I’m great. Anyway. Love yall!! Let me know that you think as always!!

Draco and I stood at the Manor gates. Dark clouds rolled in, suffocating us. They threatened with snow, ice, and fury.

“It’s the Dark Magic,” Draco noted, his voice seemingly indifferent, taking my hand.

I nodded, sighing. Something was to be said about missing sunny days and warmth. Even in the dead of winter, this chill sat differently on our shoulders. Winter promised spring... this artic promised nothing but death.

Inside and unpacked, Draco and I shared a bit of tea in front of a warm fire. He was reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe aloud, and despite my adoration of the book, I couldn’t seem to lose myself in the words as I once had. Even with the silkiness of Draco’s voice. I now had a deeper understanding for Narnians before the events of the book. An endless winter with only a small gossamer of hope to cling too.

“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,

At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,

When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,

And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”

The words mocked me. Draco seemed to pick up on my disinterest.

“Don’t tell me you don’t prefer the book any longer?” There was a soft teasing smile on his lips as he closed the book, setting it on his lap. It was the one I had given him almost a year ago.

“No, I do,” It was a sad sigh. “I just... do you think someone is out there for us? An Aslan to come and save us?” I hugged my knees.

“Well, you know as well as I do,” He took the same book and flipped further back before settling on a page that seemed to satisfy him.

"Dearest," said Aslan very gently, "you and your brother will never come back to Narnia."

"Oh, Aslan!!" said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.

"You are too old, children," said Aslan, "and you must begin to come close to your own world now."

"It isn't Narnia, you know," sobbed Lucy. "It's you. We shan't meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?"

"But you shall meet me, dear one," said Aslan. "Are — are you there too, Sir?" said Edmund.

"I am," said Aslan. "But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

A smile brushed my lips as he closed the book again.

“But do you think that was meant for us?” I laid my head on his shoulder.

“I think that it was meant to give hope,” Draco decided after a quiet moment, “Aslan, by any other name, would still be something to believe in,”

“Unless that name happens to be Harry Potter,” I chuckled, drawing a laugh from Draco. “And have you been reading my Shakespeare?”

“Maybe a bit,” A smile toyed at his lips.

“Romeo and Juliet though?” I rolled my eyes. “I told you, it wasn’t a good story to read presently,”

“I think you also told me that it was worth keeping the books that didn’t have a happy ending,” Draco set the book on the coffee table and pulled me into his hold.

“Do you think we’ll have one?” I asked softly. “A happy ending?” His face was hard to read as his eyes fixed on the burning fire.

“How can we with what we’re going to do?” The words echoed in my thoughts as we both sobered.

The plea for him to not do what he was asked of came rushing to my lips, but I held them there. I wouldn’t tell him. I had decided on that long ago. This was the one choice that he needed to figure out how to make on his own. I was torn myself. I wanted to tell him to stop, to help him make this choice, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to. But I could stay beside him... I prayed that it would be enough for him.

Even with the holiday upon us, the air was void of excitement and magic. The Manor was decorated immaculately even still. Tears stung my eyes, when thinking that this was the first Christmas I ever had without my mother, without baking or cooking or the music or movies. There was nothing to do in the kitchen with the house elves working and practically shoving me out of the room. There was nothing to clean. Nothing to tidy or move... It felt unnatural. Draco pulled me into his arms, giving me the comfort that I craved so desperately.

“Your mother is arriving soon,” He murmured softly. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I think so... we’ve been civil through writing. How bad could this possibly be?” My words were cynical but hopeful still. “Besides... at least it won’t be just the four of us. By comparison my mother will be a delight,”

“Bellatrix has agreed to be civil, and Snape always comes for Christmas. Or has before the last couple years at least. He’s my godfather, you know. He and my father were close when they were young,” Draco’s voice was strained. “But I suppose they will all be needles in a haystack,”

“It was right to invite the rest of...” I trailed off. “They’re alone too,”

“Always the Hufflepuff, are we?” He mused softly.

I hummed in acknowledgement. I was still wary about Bellatrix attending supper. Too many things had the chance of going poorly.

“You know we have to do this,” He read my thoughts.

“The perfect children. The perfect couple. The perfect soldiers.” I sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to go back to that night at the Ball. Or the month after...”

“It’s ironic,” Draco chuckled darkly. “That we now know ignorance is bliss,” I nodded at the doorbell chimed throughout the house.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,”

It was something quite different dining with just the Slytherins and dining with their parents as well. It wasn’t just I and Draco who were playing perfect children, but all of my friends, everyone I knew. All sapped of joy, of smiles, expression... under the scrutiny of their parents. Blaise, Vincent, Greg, Theo, and Pansy.

“How has schooling been?” My mother tried asking as the first course was served.

“Well—”

“Ugh,” Bellatrix scoffed. “Who can learn anything with that daft old fool as headmaster?”

“Bellatrix,” Narcissa warned gently.

“Yes, yes. Civil. As you wish,” She rolled her eyes and slouched, digging into what I assumed was quail.

Draco and I shared a look. Attempts for conversations halted after that.

Dinner passed and I barely tasted any of the surely rich foods that were placed before me. After the awkward affair, my mother asked to speak with me in private. Draco, Narcissa, and oddly enough, Snape eyed me warily.

“Of course,” I gave Draco one last look. He looked as if he were ready to pick me up and make a run for it, but he refrained.

I led her to the small rose garden that Draco had once led me to. It seemed sacrilegious to tread upon this secret haven, but it was a place that gave me comfort. Though it was covered in snow and the trees and bushes were bare, I still remembered the summer warmth the garden offered.

“You have surrounded yourself with quite a group people my dear,” Her voice strained out the words. “And that dress is lovely,”

“A gift from Narcissa,” A tight smile touched my lips.

“So, you’ve replaced me then?”

I turned, frowning at my mother.

“You really think that?” I was baffled.

“Well look at you! New dress, new shoes, new friends! You’re living and dining with a bunch of Death Eaters for Merlin’s sake!”

“Yes, because I had so much of a choice to abandon the people I love and come home and live with my mother who lied to me for fifteen years and manipulated me!” I watched as my sharp words silenced her.

“You could have come home any time,” It was a quiet notion.

“No, I couldn’t have,” I wrapped my arms around myself and took a deep breath. “I’m going inside,”

“Please, dear. It is Christmas,”

“Yes,” I turned to face her. “And I’d rather be inside with Draco, if you can understand that.”

“Draco,” It was nearly a sneer. “I have heard... rumors about him.”

“I really don’t think you have any right to say a word,” I said, my tone as ice.

“You’re blind. Your own love blinds you to who he really is. You’re going to get hurt,” There was an air of concern in her voice.

“No! I’ve spent years of my life terrified of letting people in because you’ve got it so deeply ingrained in me that I might get hurt! Well you were wrong about the world! And you were wrong about me!” I stalked up to her. “I have done things that you will never know! That you will never understand! I’m living through a war for god’s sake mom! And you’re here yelling at me about who I’m dating!?” I took a small step back, shaking my head. “This was a mistake...”

“Y/n, wait, please, you have to understand—”

“No mom! You... you don’t get to just waltz in here and ask me to understand! I don’t have to understand, and you really don’t get to give a damn after all you put me through! Don’t you think I want to have my mother here for me!? That it doesn’t kill me inside because I’ve never felt so alone in my life!? That everything I’ve known has been pulled from under me and while I’m trying to set myself somewhere new you just criticize me!? No! You just...”

“And what would your father say?”

I gaped at her, enraged.

“How dare you!?” I annunciated each word. “Dad would be damn proud of me! And he never would have let you do what you did to me! I am supposed to be your daughter! But I’m done.”

Without another word I stalked up to the house and inside, fuming. Draco caught me at the door, but I shrugged him off.

“Love,”

“No,” I snapped. “I need to cool down, just...” Wordlessly I headed upstairs before collapsing behind a random locked door, sobbing.

After a while, when my tears had subsided and my frame only shook minimally, I pulled myself up off the ground and stumbled over to a vanity. It must have been a guest room that I found myself in.

The girl looking back was a mess. Tear tracks stained with mascara ran down her cheeks and red lipstick was smudged out of place. Her hair was hanging haphazardly and out of order. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her lips etched into a permanent grimace.

There was a knock at the door.

“Go away, Draco,” I sniveled.

“Do I look like that blond-haired prat to you?” The door clicked closed softly as I saw Pansy’s reflection in the mirror.

“Pansy, please... I—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m not here to console you, not particularly,” She came up beside me and leaned against the vanity. “Everything’s really fucked up, huh?” Her voice was depressed as she looked down.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” I muttered.

“You know, I can’t tell my parents about Abby at all,” Her confession was small and weak. “She’s not a pureblood, and well, they’re not as accepting as her parents are about our relationship...”

I looked up at her, my eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out why she was telling me this now.

“We haven’t spoken all holiday,” This wasn’t the strong confident Pansy I was used to seeing, but rather a broken scared teenager. “She’s mad at me because I won’t tell my parents about her, and I... I can’t do it. I’m a coward,”

I let out a hopeless laugh and smiled at her.

“I just told my mother off and now I really think I’ve been disowned,” A dry humor coated my voice. “And I’m in love with the son of the man who killed my father,”

“Well shit girl,” Pansy laughed. “You make my problems seem so trivial,”

“Not my intention,” A smile met my lips. “And I’m really sorry about you and Abby... not saying that it’s anywhere near the same... but I’m aware of what it’s like to be scrutinized for my choice in partner.”

Pansy nodded and a silence fell between us.

“You’re going to run yourself thin, Y/n. Trying to be everything for everyone.” Her voice returned to its somber mood.

“I think I’ve past that point,” I muttered darkly.

“Then tell me, little Hufflepuff, who are you going to be?” There was a slight challenge in her eyes. “You don’t have parents watching over your every move, you don’t have the constant expectations.”

“I can’t just—”

“And why not?” She shot back.

“Because I have to protect Draco,” I breathed out. “Play the part and get through this,”

She eyed me; eyebrow raised but said nothing. “If that’s what you think,” She mused.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shot back.

“Well, the girl I met a couple years ago would stop at nothing to be herself even if it meant being teased and bullied by a couple Slytherins. The same girl who cut off all her hair and started to fight back. I just wondered what changed.”

I opened my mouth to refute her point but refrained. A lot had changed. Draco was a Death Eater now. We had a trial to get through alive or we would both die. I had to somehow manage not to get killed by his aunt preferably. I still had to pass my bloody N.E.W.T.s as if the rest wasn’t enough.

“Tell me, or don’t. But I care about Abby and Draco a lot. And now I’ve got this kid sister under my wing and I don’t want to see her drive herself into the ground like I have. This war is shit, but you... Y/n, you’re someone to believe in.”

I tutted out a laugh. “I’m a mess. Please don’t believe in me,”

“But that’s what makes you so valuable to all of us. Blaise, Theo, Vin, and Greg too. You gave us all a second chance. It doesn’t take much to lay down your life for a good man, but to forgive a bunch of villains?”

“You’re not villains,” I refuted.

“See, that there. That’s why we believe in you.” Pansy smiled. “Even through it all, you still are kind and believe in us,” She tucked my hair behind my ear. “Now let’s get you cleaned up, because I’m sure Draco is on the verge of breaking in here himself,”

I laughed and pulled her into a hug.

“Thanks Pans,”

_____________________________________

Draco paced outside the door as he heard your ragged sobs coming from within wishing nothing more than to go in there and hold you. But you had asked for space, so he tried to honor that. Draco jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Pansy?” he asked, relaxing a bit. “What—”

“I’ve got this lover boy,” She smiled and patted his shoulder.

“She doesn’t want to be bothered,” Draco defended, glowering.

“Maybe not by you, but I think she needs a sister about now, what do you think?” Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, and it reminded him of all the times that Pansy had been there to be a sister to him and he nodded, knowing that it might help you more that he could.

Draco leaned against the wall, next to the bedroom door, his eyes closed.

“Draco?”

He peaked an eye open to find his mother on the landing with him.

“Is she alright?” Soft concern colored his mother’s voice.

“I have no idea,” It was a ragged whisper. “I knew we shouldn’t’ have invited her mother. I knew it was a bad idea,”

Narcissa laid a hand on his shoulder and tilted his chin up so that his eyes reached hers.

“It was going to happen eventually, but maybe now she can get some closure from it,” His mother sighed. “I remember the night that Andy walked out... it was weeks before that last fight and I could see how much it drained her. And you know it’s been hurting her too,”

“Andy?”

“Your aunt, Andromeda.” Narcissa smiled sadly. “Married a muggle and was disowned... she was barely older than you,”

“Talking about our dear sister again?” Another voice snarked from behind them.

They both turned to see Bellatrix leaning against the stair banister.

“She was a traitor, Cissy,” The witch sneered. “Walked away from this family. Married a muggle,”

“I know,” Narcissa’s voice was strained. “But I thought perhaps it would give some insight to what Y/n is going through,”

“Are you sympathizing with our dear sister then? Are you a traitor sister mine?” Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not,” His mother snapped. “If anything, Y/n has just affirmed her loyalty by turning her back on her muggle loving family,”

Draco knew the words were said to appease Bellatrix, but still he flinched at the reality of them and what it looked like on the outside. He knew that was far from the truth. He knew that you had walked out on your mother because she had a problem with you being with him. It had nothing to do with blood status. But perhaps the wicked narrative would keep you safe.

Three pairs of eyes snapped up as the door opened. Pansy emerged first, a smile on her face and you followed behind. You were smiling and held your head high. You were also barefoot, your stilettos in hand. Draco smiled at the sight.

His aunt on the other hand.

“Improper if you ask me,” She muttered.

“I don’t think anyone did,” The smile on your face was tight and he had to refrain from laughing at the look of shock on Bellatrix’s face. “My apologies Narcissa, I do believe that I may have ruined your dinner party,”

“Think nothing of it my dear,” His mother smiled. “I’m just glad to see that you’re alright.”

Tucked by his side, Draco tried to read your facial expressions, but even he couldn’t pick anything up. What you showed him seemed real. A real smile and real confidence, but he doubted that it was really the case given the present circumstances. But perhaps it wasn’t far fetched after all.

Bellatrix glared at you, but you held no air of worry or fear. Instead it was almost as if you were challenging her. Which left him wondering what in Merlin’s name had Pansy talked to you about.

Draco kept a close eye on you all night, but you really did seem alright. Curled up under his arm on the sofa in the company of just your friends, you were almost at ease. He itched to know what had happened between you and Pansy, but there was never a moment alone with just the two of you.

The night wound down, and soon it was only you, him, and his mother left in the large house. The both of you had drifted to the sitting room that held the grand piano. Draco’s fingers danced along the ivory keys, remembering how last Christmas he had composed for the first time. Your song was still remembered under his fingertips as it became a part of mini concert.

Christmas morning came and there were few presents under the tree, most of them trivial. Christmas seemed trivial. He had gotten a pack of permanent markers from Abby with a note saying that you would know what to do with them. You had gotten a pair of diamond earrings from him—and his mother. You both agreed, however, not to get each other anything. It was a depressing notion, but there was simply nothing to say about the occasion.

That evening, you donned your cloak and smiled at him softly.

“I’m gonna go visit Papa,” Your voice was soft and subtle. “Would you like to join me?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He never expected for you to invite him to something like this. After the events of yesterday he didn’t feel worthy to go with you, let alone meet your father.

“It’s okay Draco, I can go alone,”

“No,” It was immediate. “You’re not going alone,”

Draco never thought that your father would be buried here. At Godric’s Hollow. He supposed it was a common place for wizards to be buried, but... he didn’t make the connection. There were others here as well and he could hear the faint hymns being sung at the church down the road. You and he were just cloaks in the crowd, two hoods visiting a loved one. You paused at a gravestone.

Walter Y/l/n

1956 — 1983

A Father and Husband

~Have Courage and Be Kind~

“Happy Christmas Papa,” You whispered softly, waving your wand, riding the gravestone of snow and frost. You sank to your knees, tears in your eyes and a smile on your lips. “I brought someone here to meet you,” Your fingertips brushed the stone. “This is Draco, Draco Malfoy. I know you probably don’t like the last name Papa, but... he is good,”

Tears welled in Draco’s eyes at the interaction. He stooped beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hello,” His voice was tight. “You have a wonderful daughter,” A pause. “And though I cannot atone for my father’s mistakes, I will try. And I will be someone worthy of her affection and love,”

You laid your head on his shoulder, not saying anything, but rather enjoying the quiet night, the soft snow starting to fall. Drawing his wand, Draco conjured a small wreath of holly at the bed of the grave.

“He would be so proud of you,” Draco murmured. “As I am.”

“He would be proud of you too,” You looked up at him, snowflakes on your eyelashes. “We should go before the snow gets worse. I can feel it growing dangerous,”

Draco’s eyes darted around to the other mourners in dark colors that made only your silver cloak stand out when his eyes landed on a rather large focal statue. You followed his gaze and stood, standing.

“Do you think Harry has ever...?” The question was soft.

“I don’t think he knows it’s here,” Draco answer truthfully, his brows tugging together.

He led you down the rows of headstones until you were before Lily and James’ gave. It was sobering, seeing it like this. Draco knew the legends and stories, of course, but looking at the small bundle etched in the stone, cradled in Lily’s arms, it seemed almost too real. With your wand, you used the same spell and cleared the grave of frost and snow.

“As much of a prick that he is...” You trailed off. “I hope he’s having a good Christmas,”

Draco hummed in acknowledgement.

___________________________________

Narcissa greeted us at the door to the Manor. A warning in her eyes. The warning, proven to be in vain because nothing could prepare us for what was awaiting inside. The treacherous smile of Bellatrix greeted us, as she was flanked by two others, in hoods and masks—deeming them unidentifiable. Even though I had seen her the night before, her civility seemed to have vanished.

“The young prince returns, dear sister,” Bellatrix cooed. “But he has not been such a good young prince now has he?” She twirled her wand in her hand as Draco took a step in front of me, his own wand out.

“Bellatrix,” A steady recognizable voice called.

My eyes snapped to the right where Snape stood. His nonchalant demeanor almost blending in with the gloom that hung in the air.

“You know his fate, Bellatrix,” Snape did not attempt to stop her, but something held in his words accomplished the feat.

“Yes,” Her head cocked to one side as she drawled out the word. “But he is not above the Dark Lord’s law. And that goes for his harlot.”

“You will not speak to her like that,” Draco spat, growling.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. I could handle some name calling. I was just desperately trying to figure out Bellatrix’s game and why she had come back and why the hell Snape was here too.

“You know, you might have gotten away with it, little tramp, had the Ministry and that blood traitor Weasley stepped in and torn through the enchantments,” The purr fell from her lips. “And Cissy you should really know better than to leave me alone anywhere,”

Bellatrix waved her wand and I felt unseen hands grab my arms and drag me forward, to the center of the foyer, and then they were gone, causing me to stumble onto my knees. I glowered up at the witch, picking myself up and drawing my wand.

“Bellatrix!” This time it was Narcissa.

“Worry not little sister,” The witch stalked up to me, her wand tracing along the scar that resided under my shirt: from her knife the last time we had met. “She is in no harm... The Dark Lord has plans for her after all... But I am afraid that her possessions...”

My eyes went wide. I shoved the idea that the Dark lord had plans for me and finally figured out her game. The reason she was here.

My room in the manor. Filled with my muggle books, and records, and photos... Everything I had left from the family and home I no longer had.

“Yes, little pet.” Bellatrix snapped. “But I wanted to take this as a learning opportunity. That the Dark Lord will expect nothing less than perfection—dedication.”

“Bellatrix, please—” I started, only for my voice to be taken by a flick of her wand.

“You will be silent, little toad,” She snapped.

I turned, and saw Draco standing with his mother, pure fury written on his face as Narcissa held him back. As much as I yearned for his touch and comfort, I knew that this had to be played very carefully for us to survive. His eyes met mine.

“Come, come,” The deranged witched cooed almost happily.

Draco wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me along beside him. I looked up at him with frantic questions in my eyes, but he just shook his head. Though I couldn't hear the others behind us, I was sure they were there. Standing at the door of what was once my room, I saw the scattered books, torn pages, and absolute destruction that was in the room’s wake. Tears welled in my eyes at the sight. Draco’s and Narcissa’s arms around me were the only thing that held me back from running forward to save something—anything.

“Draco,” Bellatrix motioned him forward. Rigidly he let me go and took a step forward.

“The Dark Lord and every Death Eater believes that Purebloods are superior. That Muggles are filth and should not be considered human. And yet you allow such scum in your house. Muggle scum.” Bellatrix turned to Draco. “Destroy them. Prove your loyalty, little prince.”

Narcissa’s arms became a vice grip, holding me up instead of holding me back. I ducked into her shoulder, not being able to bring myself to watch what I knew had to be done.

“Confringo,”

Time passed. I wasn’t sure how much time. Maybe seconds... maybe an hour. Everything froze around me. My lung burned for oxygen. My eyes saw nothing. There was nothing left for me to see. Nothing but destruction in wake.

________________________________

“Draco give her mind time to protect itself,” Snape’s calm voice chided, watching the young boy pace outside the room you were in, nursed by Narcissa.

“No.” He snapped. “She—Fuck she’s going to hate me! Do you realize what I’ve just done!” He nearly screeched. “I’ve just destroyed everything—”

“And rightfully so!” Snape hissed. “Do you think the Dark Lord would be as forgiving as Bellatrix? If he came here and saw such things?” Snape’s eyes narrowed. “If it weren’t for the Dark Lord’s plans for her, she’d be under a gravestone by now.”

“Plans for her!?” Draco rushed his teacher, wand out. “No. He doesn’t touch her.” The threat was malicious and icy.

“It is out of your hands,” Snape merely brushed Draco’s wand away. “Has today not been enough for you to understand that there is no other choice for you here?”

Draco took a cool step back. “Crystal.”

The door opened and two pairs of eyes snapped and fell upon a weary Narcissa.

“She is awake,” Her voice wavered slightly. Narcissa walked forward and placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “She’s asking for you,”

Ice ran through Draco’s veins as dread filled his chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was goodbye. Maybe this finally broke you. It’s what he dreaded the most, but knew it was coming.

You were sitting up, on the edge of the bed, your gaze cast to the floor.

“Y/n, please, you have to—”

You held your hand up and shook your head.

“Books... can be bought again. So, can records...”

“But they—I...”

“Draco,” You called, squeezing your eyes shut. “I know.” Your voice was curt. “I know, but right now, if I dwell on that...”

He nodded and looked down.

“Can you ever forgive me?” Tears welled in his eyes as he sat beside. “Please forgive me,”

“You had no choice,” Your voice was small. “They’re just... things.” Your eyes still didn’t open. “They’re trying to break us. Break me. The Dark Lord has plans for me,” You almost scoffed. “Like I’m his pawn. Like I belong to him!” You stood pacing the room. “Well you know what? He can watch me bleed, he can watch me burn, but I will not give in!” Your voice was vehement. “I—won’t—break,”

Draco gaped at you, utterly shocked. This was... new. This was different. This was also the first time that he had ever seen you so adamantly speak against the Dark Lord with such fervor. A kind of courage that he wished he possessed. A determination that made him believe that maybe, if nothing else, you would get through this. It gave him hope that maybe he would too.

You sat beside him again and took a deep breath, running a hand through your hair.

“How are you feeling?” You voice was gentle and soft.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” A small smile touched his lips.

A shrug fell from your shoulders and your hand ran up and along his left arm. The action alone eased the ache of the magic etched into his skin.

“I hate what I am,” He confessed through tears. “I hate what I’ve done and what I have to do. I... I don’t want to kill anyone. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Sobs wracked his frame. “And I don’t know how you’re getting through this so well because I’m just breaking. I’m broken.”

Your arms wrapped around him, head resting on his shoulder.

“And that’s okay,” You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Go ahead and break. You’ve been strong too long, Draco.” Your hand ran through his hair.

He clung to you desperately, sobbing into your shoulder, hiding there. And he did break. He broke on you. He came apart at the seams in your hands and you held him together.

“I—I don’t w-want to kill him,” He sniveled. “W-why haven’t you tried to stop me?” He started to hiccup from the lack of oxygen.

You took his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Deep breath,” You instructed and took an exaggerated breath waiting for him to follow suit. It was shaky and ragged, but Draco managed a couple. “And because I wanted you to figure that out on your own. I wanted you to make that choice,” Your thumb brushed away his tears. “And I’m so proud of you for making it,”

He nodded and collapsed back into your arms a sense of relief flooding through him despite the threats that closed in from all sides.

__________________________________

“M-miss?”

It was early January when the house-elf came to me, clutching something in her hands tightly. Cassie, I thought was her name.

“Yes?” I knelt down, a soft demeanor to the action.

“I—I am—” She started to hyperventilate, tears in her wide eyes.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” I soothed softly. “I won’t hurt you, nor tell you to hurt yourself. You’re safe in my presence,” I held my hands out, a slow action, showing the cowering house elf that they were empty and held no threat.

“I—I have been a b-bad house elf,” She cried. “I s-stole from M-miss,”

I frown furrowed my brows. I couldn’t think of anything that I owned that was worth stealing. A depressing thought tacked on that I didn’t own anything worthwhile even to me at the moment.

“It’s alright,” I smiled something sad.

The house elf held out what she was clinging too.

My photo album, the gift from Abby last Christmas. Tears sprung in my eyes as I hastily snatched the book from the house elf’s grasp.

“P-p-please do n-n-not be cross with C-C-Cassie,” The elf sobbed. “S-she likes l-l-looking at the p-p-pictures of h-h-happy mom-ments.”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” I quickly rushed out. “Not even in the slightest,” Tears streamed down my face. “You saved this,” I set the album down and drew the elf into a hug that she tried to scramble from but eventually relaxed, sobbing into my shoulder. “Thank you, thank you.” I cried.

“P-P-Please do not tell Master D-Draco,” She sniveled. “Y-Y-You have a-a-always been k-k- kind to us e-e-e-elves, p-p-please,”

“Y/n?” Draco’s voice was concerned. “Tell me what?” Cassie squawked and hid behind me, cowering.

“M-m-m-master D-Draco,” The elf stammered apologies.

“What’s going on?” Draco was reserved, a mask of calm.

“Cassie, she saved my album.” I ran my fingers over the leather cover. “She took it from my room I guess... said she liked to look at the photos,”

Shock and relief flitted across Draco’s face in waves. He knelt down beside me and brought the book into his hands tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,” He spoke softly to the house elf. “Thank you for saving what I couldn’t,”

“Draco,” I chided softly, reaching out for him. “It wasn’t your fault,”

“Regardless if it was or not,” He turned his attention back to the house elf. “You have my deepest gratitude,”

I flipped to a worn page by my own hand, to a day last year in the snow of four friends laughing and smiling. It wasn’t much, but I supposed it was something to believe in.

Chapter 9

Masterlist

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18@whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522@zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco@welcometomyworldwithoutrules@akari180 @slytherin-emerald@memalfoy-spidey@queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe@spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi@katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur@belcvayelena@moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie@xtrashmouthxtozierx@cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte@braelynn-j @jiggllyy@honeymarvel @darcypottah@atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss@lottie289 @boredashaeck@beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao@deadlynyghtshayde@iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes@anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle@dragonsandbread @okaydraco@the-queen-of-hell-things@cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter@angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake@fanficsigottaread@gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge@cleopatera@ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl@peters-legos@quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo@wollymalfoy@lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @sdicapriox@slothgirl22@peachesandpinks @monimillion @hufflautia @livize75@annie-mcl@riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel@coconutdawn@skteaiy @wannabeskinny-thinspo@naughtygranger @queenofmankind @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @myforeveryoungblog @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @strawberriesonsummer @jjustsomerandomgirl @mrvlfangirl3190 @loverbbgirlsblog @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @stoleurmomsvan @echpr @sunkissed-hufflepuff @dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle

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gregoftom · 1 year ago

Note

I often think about what Tom’s childhood/adolescence in Minnesota must have been like to make him Like That. His parents seem like very normal people that love him a lot, so I feel like it’s not because of them. Like no parent is perfect but I’d say he has a pretty good relationship with them given how happy he is to see them at the wedding and the fact that he trusts his mom to be his lawyer (him rarely going to see them is likely more Shiv’s doing). So I think a lot of it comes down to Tom being a very repressed and closeted gay kid in the 80s lmao. Like I imagine him being the flamboyant kid that enjoys traditionally “girly” stuff (like reading his mom’s Vanity Fair magazines) and naturally gets along better with the girls than the boys, and getting relentlessly bullied for it to the point that it breaks something in him and he starts to do the whole hypermasculine posturing thing we see him do constantly in the show. But that’s not *him* so it comes across as stilted and unnatural and he still has trouble making friends with the other boys, who find him weird and definitely call him gay (or some other nasty slurs). As he gets into high school I think he’d have figured out how to convincingly play straight and be accepted by his peers. A headcanon of mine is that one of Tom’s formative gay youth experiences is being on his high school hockey team and having a crush on one of his teammates; maybe he has a homoerotic moment with him, or maybe not, but the whole thing is terrifying to him. He’s surrounded by guys that are so easily masculine and are attracted to girls and don’t have to force themselves to be “normal,” and he knows he’d be shunned if they knew what he was and what he was thinking. Basically I think he was under so much stress ALL THE TIME so when he becomes an adult he just shoves it down and makes himself commit to the act that he’s a Masculine Heterosexual Man because he believes he needs to be one if he wants to be happy. Then he meets Greg when he’s in his forties and everything completely falls apart lmao

ohhhh god my poor babyyyyyyyyyyyyy 😭 i love all of this so muchhhh but for me i feel like. yeah his rs with his parents is mostly good but he Definitely has daddy issues like 100%. i feel like his dad ofc wasn't cruel to a logan degree but he like. really drove home the idea that boys don't cry. iygwim. and the fact that they have the exact same voice intonation is just mmm delicious on top of that. i think that definitely contributed to a lot of his feelings on masculinity and insecurities and why he also feels the need to repress so much and when it boils over unhealthily express it as rage because that's so much better than crying because he shouldn't cry because he's a man ffs suck it up. but all the other stuff, YES i mean i see him as bi BUT it all relates to the same thing, being queer in that time and being so repressed and his stress and pain, like ugh. ugh!!!! baby boy. baby. and yeahohhhh yeah greg drops in like a spanner in the works. cupid's arrow strikes and tom is like. man

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sirowsky · 4 years ago

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: Another day of side-effects where my head really hasn’t been in the game. But a little fun stuff to pass the time has managed to crop up.

So sorry for the tease ending... I blame the headaches.

Chapter 27

The Chef, Greg, had personally brought you extra leftovers during the five weeks you were living in the cell, training and learning about your abilities. He knew about your abnormal energy-consumption, and had become concerned when you never ordered more than a double portion of food, no matter how exhausted you were. So, he’d come to give you the leftovers one evening, and you’d explained that it felt like you’d be stealing from others that might need it, if you ordered six or even eight portions. After that, he’d begun saving all the leftovers every day, and bringing you that for the extra portions you otherwise wouldn’t have ordered.

“I may have to make Greg my Best Man.”

“He’d probably decline. He’s nice, but he does have standards.”

“Ouch…”

“He doesn’t know you, Cujo.”

“Okay, seriously, what is up with that?”

“It’s just an accurate description.”

“I am not a fucking dog.”

“Yes, you are. It’s just that, ordinarily, you’re a puppy. You just have that lovable puppy-face, with the eyes and the grin that can melt the coldest of hearts. And then, you bare your teeth and growl, and you look fucking terrifying.”

“I do?”

“Um – yes. Unequivocally – yes. It’s amazing.”

“Wait… you like my Cujo-quality?”

“I like that you have that side, when you need it. I like that it comes out almost exclusively to protect the things you love. And I have to admit that I like the fact that even the remotest possibility that William actually had tried something, elicited that kind of a response from you.”

“I was a little shocked at how strongly I reacted to that. Just the thought… I would’ve killed him, if he had. Not because you… belong to me. But because you were weak and unable to stop anyone that might have tried. Thank god William’s even more of a puppy than I am.”

“Will is more of a Greyhound.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you know – sleek, effective, streamlined.”

“Okay, let’s just drop the whole dog-topic already.”

“And, just for the record – of course I belong to you. Ass-hat.”

He practically beamed at you.

“Ditto. Mama bear.”

You’d been talking while walking back from lunch, and when you got back to your office, Anita was there. Just standing in the middle of the room, with her signature scowl in full effect.

“Hi, mom. Wow, you’re actually in the office, it must be serious.”

“Fifty noise-complaints in the last hour – is serious.”

You both stopped smiling, and threw a nervous glance at one another, but she just huffed and turned to you.

“Have you had yourself checked out by medical, yet?”

“No… why would I…?”

“Because human beings don’t possess the biological imperative to breed, to the point where their libidos take control of their bodies.”

You had actually checked both your offices for cameras and microphones a good while back, and found nothing. And there weren’t any fucking flowers in your office!

“How the hell do you know that? Seriously… How?”

She just rolled her eyes.

“Get your ass down to medical. Now.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever it is, I feel fine now, which means they probably wouldn’t be able to detect anything abnormal, so I’m gonna finish my work for the day, and then I’ll go to medical.”

You walked over to your desk as you spoke, and as you sat down, you remembered something.

“And by the way, where you in charge of selecting my substitute while I was gone?”

“Yes. Petra wasn’t ideal.”

“You don’t say. If I’m ever gone for an extended period of time again, no one sets foot in my fucking office. Got it?”

“Did you just try and give me an order, loco?”

“I’m not trying anything. I’m telling you. No one.”

She threw you a kinda skewed smile and then turned around to leave. But as she crossed the threshold she stopped and looked back at you with pure steel in her eyes.

“4pm. If you’re not at medical by then, I’ll drag you there by your ear.”

“Try it. Please.”

She left and you sighed and looked at Marcus, who had sat down on the couch again, one arm draped over the backrest while he’d watched you take on Máma.

“Are you absolutely sure you feel fine? Because I’m all kinds of hot and bothered right now.”

“50 noise-complaints, Marcus. That’s half the damned building.”

“And like I said: fuck ‘em.”

“Please go away so I can think.”

“Only if you promise to call me the moment you feel any amount of craving. I’m serious.”

“You think I want to feel like that again? Of course I’ll call, and you’d better pick up. I don’t care if HQ’s on fire.”

“You have my word, famb.”

“You know, your list of nicknames is getting a bit ridiculously long.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started on the real one’s yet.”

“Real ones?”

“Prometida, esposa, amada, mi corazón…”

“Okay, okay, have as many as you like, jeez.”

“Which one’s your favourite?”

“You already know.”

He got up from the sofa and came over to kiss you before he left. His lips lingered long after the kiss ended.

“Hermosa…”

He was intoxicating. You put a hand up on his chest and pushed him away gently.

“Get out of here, gorgeous. Mama’s got work to do.”

“Oh, that’s mean. You know how I love it when you talk all husky like that.”

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

He walked away looking disappointed, but also kind of expectant, like he was looking forward to getting you back later. You smiled and shook your head after the door closed behind him.

You did get a lot of work done after that, and even if you were still miles behind from catching up to where you’d been 7 weeks ago, it still felt good to have gotten back on track. Especially on what had been possibly the weirdest day of your life. Which was saying something. Your libido stayed calm and behaved for the rest of the workday, but you did see Anita’s point in getting yourself checked over, and so you were planning on going to the med-bay. But at 3:30 you were working on your computer, looking up rare metals for an upcoming build, and you sort of stumbled over a site for wedding-rings. You were just gonna take a quick peak, scrolling through the various options, and getting progressively more worked up as you saw the price-tags. You were just about to leave the page and go back to work, when an ad in the corner popped up.

Wedding-dresses.

Fuck.

You clicked.

“If you thought I was kidding about the ear, you were sorely mistaken.”

You startled at the sound of her voice, and a puff of energy escaped you, sending papers flying everywhere.

“Thanks a lot, Anita. Why don’t you give me a heart-attack while you’re at it?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not my fault you were so engrossed in that screen you didn’t notice me. What were you looking at, anyway?”

Had half an hour already passed? You just clicked on that ad a second ago… And why was she looking at you like that?

“Just research.”

“Mhm. Let’s go.”

“Alright, just let me get these papers off the floor.”

As expected, since the event seemed to have passed, the medical exam didn’t reveal anything, and Anita seemed unnecessarily peeved about that.

“What are you so upset about? What exactly did you think they’d find?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Never mind, my ass. You all but dragged me to this exam, and now you’re disappointed. So, spill. What’s the deal?”

“I just hoped that maybe… you increased enthusiasm was…”

“Was…?”

“Alright, most women experience increased sensitivity when they’re pregnant. I just wanted to be sure.”

You sort of half froze midway through pulling your pants back on, and your hands involuntarily went to your abdomen.

“Oh… I never even considered…”

“I’m sorry, niña. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I’m not upset. God, I don’t even know what I am.”

You finished dressing and sat down on a chair, letting your head fall into your hands.

“Eight months ago, I was just a designer, going on a fucking vacation. Now, I don’t even know what the hell I am anymore, much less what to do. Every time I think I’m starting to get a handle on things, something else happens and I’m lost again.”

She tapped your leg with her cane, ushering you to look at her.

“What you are, is my son’s fiancé. My granddaughter’s adoptive mother. You’re smart, highly capable and stubborn, kind and caring, but abrasive when the situation requires it. You’re everything you need to be. And that’s all you ever really need to know about yourself.”

You drew a deep breath.

“Do you think he made the right choice? With me?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Thank you.”

You called Marcus to let him know how the exam had gone, and he was just about to pick up Missy, so since you had your own car you told him you’d race him home. But you decided to stop by Amanda’s house on the way. You wanted to talk to both of them, but her place was closer.

When you walked in at home, Missy was in the living room playing a video-game with Noodles, A Capella and Wild Card. It had been a while since she’d had any friends over, and you smiled when you saw how much fun she was having.

“Hey, Alma! Wanna see me crush these guys for the second time?”

“Any day of the week, angel, but I gotta talk to your dad right now.”

“Okay, suit yourself!”

You laughed and walked into the kitchen to find him opening pizza-boxes and distributing slices onto plates.

“Hey, sweetheart, sorry, this wasn’t planned, they just spontaneously asked if they could come over as I was picking her up.”

“Honey, why are you explaining yourself?”

“I don’t know… it’s just, with the weird day you’ve had and how you seemed a little down after the exam, I thought that maybe you weren’t quite in the mood for a house full of teenagers.”

“No matter how I feel, Missy’s entitled to enjoy herself with her friends. I would never wanna deprive her of that.”

“No, I know. I just worry about you.”

“Yeah, I do too, sometimes. But that’s usually when I remember I have you, and it all feels better.”

He smiled and asked you to help him carry out the food to the living room, and once you’d done that, you sat down at the dinner table to eat yourselves.

“So… I may have googled wedding-dresses today.”

He beamed.

“Really? Did you manage to narrow down any preferences? Don’t give me any specifics, by the way.”

“I did, I think. Or, at least, I found a lot of stuff I didn’t like, so I guess that helps. I don’t know, I feel like I need to see them, touch them, to actually get a sense of what I like.”

He beamed even more.

“I really like the sound of this. I’m sure Amaire would come with you if you asked.”

“Yeah, I kind of already asked them to, this weekend.”

He was fucking radiating joy at that point. He got up and took your hand, leading you to the bedroom and closing the door behind you. Then he reached into his pocket and fished something out. His smile turned just a hint of insecure, as he held up the ring he’d chosen for you. It was gold-plated steel, with a single row of small diamonds sunk into the centre of the band all the way around. A sturdy and solid piece that wouldn’t break or lose its shape. While you admired it, he started trying to explain his choice.

“I know you’re not much of a jewellery-girl, so I figured we’d skip the whole engagement ring plus wedding-band. You can wear it right away if you want and then just take it off before the ceremony, or you can wait and put it on then, either way is fine with me. That is, if you like it? If you don’t, we’ll take it back and you can pick something else. It just felt right as soon as I saw it. You’re not the frail silver band type of person, and I know you’d only get annoyed with a big rock getting in the way and getting caught in stuff. You work with your hands and so I figured something sturdy but elegant. I have a matching one just without the diamonds. Please say something before I pass out from oxygen-depravation…”

“I love it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

You both beamed.

“Can I put it on you?”

“You better.”

He slipped it on your finger and it fit perfectly. And for the first time it really sunk in that you were gonna marry this man. The love of your life. It felt like a really long time until the kids went home and Missy went to bed, with her headphones on.

“I totally forgot, we need to go bed-shopping, honey.”

“I don’t know, a mattress on the floor might be preferable until we know the extent of your ‘heat-situation’.”

“Mm. Good point. Although, breaking in a new bed is always fun.”

“Hermosa.”

“What?”

“Stop talking and get undressed. I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight @farfromjustordinary @allmyspideys @hrk-fic-recs @strawberryperegrine @lucrezia-thoughts @computeringturtle @sarahjkl82-blog

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Where Your Heart Will Fly on Wings - 1/2

Part One: A Ship, A Map, and A Secret

A Neverland arc (season 3A) rewrite where the gang doesn't meet Captain Hook until they get to Neverland to rescue Henry. Most of the end of s2 ("Second Star to the Right..." "... and Straight on' Till Morning," the last two episodes of the season) are the same: Greg and Tamara kidnap Henry. With Killian not present, I imagine that David succeeds in wrestling a bean away from Greg. They go to Rumple for help, and though he refused before, Blue's potion worked in giving Belle her memories back and he changes his mind. Somewhere in his shop, there is a ship in a bottle, and he removes this ship, docks it in the harbor, and leads Emma, Regina, Mary Margaret, and David through a portal that takes them to the waters surrounding Pan's island.

Also on AO3

Special thanks to @shireness-says my forever beta who only makes my life (and my stories) better, and all the ladies on discord who answered all the little questions I struggled with while writing this. Thanks, ladies. ( @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @stahlop ) Written for @neverlandnewyear. Some other interested pals: @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @scientificapricot @carpedzem @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @regi-writes-stuff @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @winterbaby89

The ship touches down on the waters, the portal disappearing from around them — but what they find is no better. Fat, cold rain drops pelt them from above, and below them, the waves begin to toss the dilapidated ship in every direction.

“Great job, Gold!” Regina yells, wrapping one of the ropes around her wrist. “You landed us right in the middle of a storm!”

“Believe it or not, dearie, my powers do not include the ability to control the weather, and certainly not in this realm!”

"We don't have time for this!" David chimes in, helping Mary Margaret keep her footing on the quickly-dampening deck. "If we're even going to make it onto the island, we have to get through this storm together!"

"And how do you expect we do that?" Regina chides. "This ship is barely more than a pile of old boards, it's not going to survive this storm."

"Then maybe we should work together to try to make it through this!" Mary Margaret yells.

"What do you expect us to do?”

"Well, we can start by trusting each other!"

Regina scoffs. "You think trust is going to get us through this storm? Is your trust going to keep us from taking on water?"

"No," Emma mumbles, looking down to her feet, and the water that she finds there makes her realize just how much trouble they're in.

And that's when something rams into the side of the ship. And again. And again.

"What the hell was that?"

"Sharks?"

"Afraid not," Rumple mumbles, trying to plant his feet on the slippery deck to keep control of the helm.

Regina looks over the railing, conjuring a fireball in her hand. "Mermaids."

"Mermaids?" Emma repeats. "They're real, too?"

"Does that really surprise you anymore?" Regina asks.

"We have to do something!" Mary Margaret yells over the wind.

"I am not being capsized by a fish!" David sloshes across the deck to a small cannon, which he loads a length of chain into before firing it into the water.

Mary Margaret picks a large net up off the helm, tossing half of it to Emma. “Help me get this into the water!”

“What are you going to do, catch one of them?” Regina tosses a fireball towards the surface of the water — which, surprisingly, works, and a mermaids around them back off the ship.

“Yes!" Mary Margaret stops for a moment to glance at Regina before tossing the net into the waves. "And ask her to help us.”

“Mermaids aren’t going to help you, dearies!”

“Obviously you’re also not going to help us, either!” Regina crosses the deck and throws out another fireball, clearing the starboard side just as she did the port. “There.” She wipes her hands on her soaked slacks and smiles at the fact that the storm also seems to have left with the mermaids. “They’re gone.”

“Not all of them!” Mary Margaret says, grunting as she and Emma struggle to pull their fishing net back onto the deck. “What about this one?”

With a flick of Regina's hand, the creature is out of their net and sprawled on the boards of the deck, her hands bound in front of her and her shining tail flopping into the inches of water that have settled onto the boards of the deck.

But her presence on the deck only causes an argument to break out between them, each offering their own way to deal with her — to ask for help, to kill her, to let her go. With every question they ask her, she offers them a vague but threatening answer, and the storm that Regina thought was over slowly begins to reform around them. Even after Regina turns her to wood with a whoosh of her magic, they continue to argue amongst themselves, the storm surging around them — all except Emma, who realizes the mermaid’s plan was to set them against each other to be destroyed by the storm. With no other option, she tries to get their attention, screaming across the small ship towards them, but nothing works — and she dives into the sea.

Quickly followed by a piece of metal rigging, pulled off by the winds into the water behind her and making hard contact with her head, immediately knocking her unconscious.

Without a second thought, David moves to dive in behind her, but Mary Margaret’s hand tight around his arm stops him. “No! You could get pulled under, too!”

“Not to worry!” A voice cuts through the rushing wind and water, another ship appearing out of the darkness of the storm. Within moments, it is close enough for the man to follow Emma into the water, a rope tied around his waist.

For a few long, terrifying moments, nothing happens. The storm still surging around them makes it impossible for them to see into the water, and they can only hope that the mysterious man can save her before it's too late.

After what feels like forever, a head breaks the surface of the water, Emma's bright hair a strong contrast to the dark waves, and the other man follows.

"Pull me up, Scarlett!" he calls, facing away from their small ship, and the man just visible on the deck of the nearby ship does as asked, pulling the man with Emma in tow. David wants to oppose, beg the man to bring Emma back to their ship, but just the feeling of Mary Margaret's hand on his arm keeps his mouth closed.

"Can you get us over there?" Mary Margaret asks, turning towards Rumplestiltskin. He rolls his eyes, but twirls his hand in front of him anyway, taking them all onto the other ship's deck in a wisp of smoke.

"Is she okay?" David asks as soon as he finds his footing, kneeling beside where Emma is laying on the deck — just as she spits out a mouthful of seawater and rolls onto her side. Mary Margaret drops to her knees on the deck beside her daughter, wrapping her arms around Emma's shoulders.

"Perhaps we should give the lass a moment? A bit of space?" the man who rescued her says, leaning against the bannister behind him, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Oh, come on !" Regina cuts him off, raising her hand towards the wave, moving ever-closer to their ship. "We don't have time for all this."

"Alas, she's right. I'm afraid we'll have to save the pleasantries until after the dashing rescue," he says, striding to what can only be his rightful place behind the helm and leading them quickly away from the waves, away from the storm. David helps Emma to her feet and they all watch as their old ship crumbles beneath the waves, after which the storm around them seems to disappear at an alarming rate; within mere minutes, the sun shines down from a cloudless sky and the soft wind blows lightly on the sails.

The man locks the helm into place and holds his hand out in a welcoming gesture. "This seems a much more appropriate time for introductions. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger. "

"Okay,” David says, crossing his arms across his chest. "Who are you?"

"Captain Jones," he says, mimicking David's position -- which only draws attention to his left arm, which is blunted just shy of the elbow, replaced with a shining, metal hook. "But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker—"

Rumple laughs, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You've really owned up to your ailment, haven't you, Captain Hook ?" he says, spitting the last two words between his teeth.

The man turns around, noticing Rumple standing behind him for the first time. "Oh, now that's just my bloody luck, innit?" He pushes his dark, wet bangs off his forehead with his wrist and lets out a small laugh. "All I was expecting was a few damsels in distress," he says, turning towards Emma for a moment and waggling his eyebrows at her before returning his attention to Gold. "Yet it appears I've caught myself a crocodile."

"Like, Captain Hook Captain Hook? Waxed mustache and perm and Peter Pan?"

"Well, love, I must admit I'm uncertain about the first two, but I'm glad to hear that you know who we're going up against."

"Up against? I just want to save my son."

"Why do you think they brought him here, dearies?" Rumple asks, flourishing his hands to conjure a whisp of purple smoke, revealing a new outfit of dark pants and a black, reptilian-scaled vest. "Pan is the one behind it all, I have no doubts about that. And he is a far more powerful foe than any of you are able to go up against."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Regina bites back, but Rumple is gone in another wisp of smoke before the question even leaves her lips.

"It appears that even after all these years, he is still as helpful as he's always been," Hook says, his jaw obviously tight with tension.

Emma's head is spinning. She's spent months trying to wrap her head around everything about Storybrooke and her life, around the idea of true love and fairy tales and everyone's stories intertwining — but this, running into handsome, one-handed pirates in Neverland that have a history with Gold, goes beyond all else.

"Wait, you know Mr. Gold?" Mary Margaret asks, voicing the question they all seem to be thinking.

"Aye, " he says, wrapping his hook around one of the spokes of the helm, where his attention is also focused. "though he was not known by that name. Before he became the Dark One as well, if the rumors are to be true."

For once, Regina seems interested in what he has to say." But he's been the Dark one for —"

"Lifetimes, aye," he says, cutting her off, but turning his eyes down to where she is standing on the lower deck.

No one knows how to respond to him, so the deck stays silent. For the first time, Emma looks around, taking in the small crew that stands around them. There are five that she can see, not including the captain: another tall, dark-haired man standing against the railing, arms crossed over his chest; a stout man with a red beard and an even redder hat; a fierce-looking woman with a mess of dark hair piled high on the top of her head, her dark orange tunic and black pants having seen better days; and two dark, brooding young men, no more than twenty, on the far end of the deck.

"What brings you all to Neverland?" the woman asks. Emma is not surprised that she is the one who tries to make conversation, though she vaguely remembers something about women being bad luck on ships.

"They took my son," Emma and Regina say simultaneously, and none of the ship's crew are able to keep their immediate reactions off their face.

The dark haired man leaning against the railing behind David barks out a laugh, but when Regina turns her glare in his direction, he snaps his mouth shut.

"What could Pan want with your son?" Hook asks.

"Does it matter?" Emma spits back. "We need to get him back."

Hook holds up his hands in a gesture of reluctant surrender. "Of course, of course, you're right." He turns to the man still leaning against the railing, who pushes off to his feet when he sees the look on the captain's face. "Prepare for a return to open waters, I would like to dock at Pirate's Cove before dinner time, Mister Scarlett."

Emma expects a salute, given the rest of the captain's countenance, but the man — Scarlett — just nods and walks away.

"Dinner?" Regina asks, her voice dripping with anger. "What part of ' we don't have time for this' don't you understand, pirate?" she spits.

"Can I ask you how many times you've visited this island, your Majesty?" he asks, the same fire in his voice.

She's taken aback for a moment, but answers nonetheless: "Never."

"That's what I thought. I, however, have been here for longer than any of you can even imagine, which gives me the kind of knowledge you could use on this type of quest. Are you really going to turn that down?"

To this, Regina has no response.

"Now, the beaches at Pirate's Cove will prove much more useful to your mission here, and by sailing around the island, it will rid you of the necessity of walking either through or around the Dark Jungle, which I can assure you is something you do not want to do. So, yes, we are going to chance the few hours it will take to sail around the island to hopefully cut days off of what it would have taken you on foot, and then we will be closer to Pan's camp and it will hopefully prove easier to find your boy."

This time, it's David who is angered by his response: " We ? What do you mean 'we'?"

Captain Hook practically rolls his eyes at this, which almost pulls a laugh out of Emma. “Do you expect to navigate the island yourselves?"

Emma intervenes, trying to calm the tension while also ensuring they stay focused on rescuing Henry: "He's right, David, we could use his assistance."

He winks at Emma. "I had a feeling I was going to like you."

Though she knows she should be resting, bunking with Regina, David, and Mary Margaret belowdecks, Emma instead finds herself drawn to the crew of the Jolly Roger , and spends the next few hours chatting quietly with them as the ship makes its way across the surprisingly quiet waters surrounding Neverland.

Especially the woman — Tiger Lily, Emma learns. Something about her keeps Emma interested in their whispered conversation, and it does not take her long to learn that, like her own, the woman's background is full of sadness and sacrifice. She tells Emma how she sacrificed herself to try to stop someone from turning evil and spending the rest of her magic to get to this island after exiling herself; tells her about being found by Pan and working for him in return, only to learn how evil and twisted his ways are, stealing boys from their families and never allowing them to leave. (" And there's something deeper and darker behind it all, something that he only mutters about with his second in command, a Dark Magic that keeps the island alive — I believe with the sacrifice of the boys who decide they want to leave." ) And Captain Hook, saving her as she tried to escape Pan, though she knew it was impossible — or, well, improbable.

"And I've been in his service ever since. He was working with Pan for a while, too, and able to leave this realm. He asked every time we docked somewhere if I wanted to leave, to live a better life, but I've enjoyed the time I've spent with him as my captain. I've never known a better man."

"Oh, is that so, Lily?" the very man appears behind them, a smile covering his dark features — except his eyes, Emma realizes. His eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen, the same color as the soft waves moving in the sunlight.

"Now, come on, Captain," she laughs, and the way she sets her hand on the captain's arm sends an unwanted shiver down Emma's back. "You and I both know you're nothing if not a man of honor."

"Yes, but you're not supposed to divulge that knowledge to our new guests just yet."

"And why not?" Emma asks, knowing that her crossing her arms over her chest is a defense mechanism, but that only makes her pull them closer to her.

He wags his eyebrows across his forehead, then winks at her once more. "Can't go around telling everyone that Captain Hook is a big softie. I have a reputation to uphold."

Emma rolls her eyes and walks away, if only to save herself from any more unwanted shivers or repressed feelings.

Their mission is to save Henry. Henry comes first and everything else has to wait.

"Well, what are we going to do once we're ashore?" David asks, hunched over the Neverland map spread across the desk in the Captain's cabin.

"Pan's camp is only a short distance from the Cove, remember?" Mary Margaret adds, the focused planner and adventurer that Emma has only seen glimpses of. "We can sneak up on him and—"

"Nope," Hook says from where he has planted himself in the corner, one boot crossed over the other and his arms crossed over his chest. "There's no way to sneak up on Pan."

Regina's eye roll is practically audible. "You keep saying that but offering no helpful advice."

"And you keep saying that but not actually listening to what I have to say."

"Hook is the one with the knowledge of the island, Regina," Emma reminds her.

"And I'm the one with the knowledge of magic, maybe we should just give that a try!"

"What are you suggesting?" Mary Margaret scoffs. " Poof ing yourself into the middle of a camp on a magic island you've never visited before?"

"What do you suggest, Hook?" David asks, if only to keep Mary Margaret and Regina from fighting. It's obvious that the last thing he wants to do is take advice from a pirate, but even David realizes that they are left with very few other options.

"There is no way to plan what is going to happen once we reach those shores. Everything we do, everywhere we go, Pan will know about it and will always be steps ahead of us."

"How have you spent all this time in this realm and not learned even a few tricks that could help us?"

"Most of my years here have been spent on this ship, provided with rations by the very demon himself. Before that, he and I had an agreement that made us more comrades than foes, and all the time I spent on the island was for his own doing."

"Oh, that's helpful," Regina mutters, leaving the cabin without another word.

"So, let me see if I understand this," Emma asks, knowing that neither David nor Mary Margaret will be able to be civil about this. "Your plan… is to not have a plan at all?"

Hook nods. "There is no other option in Neverland. It's Pan's game there, and he makes all the rules. Best we can do is be ready for whatever he throws at us."

"I don't like this," Mary Margaret mumbles, and David wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to press a kiss against the top of her head.

"It's what we have to do to get Henry back, and that's all that matters," he says, a princely tone of finality in his voice, and the room falls silent.

"Can I ask you something, love?" Hook asks, his eyes leaving the horizon for just a moment to look at her (again, though she has only noticed a few of them) where she is sitting against the railing on the starboard side of the ship.

"I'm not your love," she bites, looking up from one of Hook's maps that she's borrowed from his quarters.

"I've had my share of run-ins with the Crocodile, and I've even crossed paths with the Evil Queen once or twice. The other two, that's Snow White, the princess, right? And her husband?"

"And how do you know that?"

He pauses, trying to chose his words carefully. He knows that if he says the wrong thing, he'll lose the small amount of ground he's made with them trusting him. "I've been… through an agreement with Pan, I can leave these waters every once in a while, as long as I fulfill some of the things he asks of me."

"You work with him," she says, but her face fails to give away any of what is going through her head.

"In a way, aye. But I've been to the Enchanted Forest, and I know what happened to it. How is it that you got here?"

"Well, there was a curse."

"Aye."

"And I — I broke the curse."

" You broke the curse?"

"Yeah, I — I'm the Savior , apparently, because I — I'm their daughter."

"Snow White's?" He's not nearly taken aback enough. "And the Prince."

She nods. So does he. Somehow he is wrapping his head around all of this much easier than she did. Maybe once you're alive for a few lifetimes, things like this are a lot less surprising than they were for Emma.

"How is it that you and the Evil Queen share the same son?"

Emma can't help but laugh. Where does she even start? "No offense, Hook, but it's a very long story that we don't really have time for."

"Aye, that I can understand." He lifts his hand off the helm to scratch his beard before moving his hand behind his ear and to the base of his neck. "But do you — you know — live together?"

"No, no, it's more like… joint custody."

"Come again?"

Right. "Joint custody," she says again, even though the centuries-old pirate knows nothing about the ins and outs of child custody. "We, uh… share him, I guess. Take turns."

"And what about the boy's father? Is he a part of this taking turns ?"

His question turns her blood to ice. Neal. Where does she even begin? For a moment, she's angry — at Neal, at herself. "No." How dare he. How dare Hook to even ask about Neal, he has no right —

He has no idea. It was an innocent enough question, there's no way he knew the still-gaping wound that a question about Neal would inflame.

"He's — dead."

"Apologies, love, I didn't mean to stir up any unwanted emotions."

"Stop calling me that."

"I'm afraid it's more of a habit than anything."

She has no response to this and turns her attention back towards the map.

"Bloody hell," Hook mumbles, though Emma and Smee, his first mate, are the only ones close enough to hear him. At first, they don't see whatever the problem may be, but as the ship continues to approach the shore, Emma sees him leaning against one of the trees just on the other side of the shore.

Pan. Emma can sense it somehow — her motherly instincts, maybe, or something like that, but she can feel that the man on the shore is Peter Pan.

No. No, not man. Boy , with a pudgy teenaged face and dark hair that falls down to his eyebrows.

"That's him," Emma says. She means for it to be a question, but it does not come out that way.

"Aye." She turns to him just in time to watch the edge of his jaw tick as he grinds his back teeth together. "That's the demon Pan."

For a moment, Emma is unsure how she feels about all this. Hook's plan to take them around the island has already taken hours of their precious time, and all under the guise to keep them from Pan — only to have him waiting for them right where Hook brought them to shore. What if Hook had been playing with them the whole time? Giving Pan time to plan ahead while he wasted time sailing them all around the island?

But then she looks at him again, sees the rage obvious on his face, and she almost feels bad for questioning his motive even though she has every right to.

"Bested us again," he mutters, but then straightens his back and looks out over the ship. "Prepare for docking!"

Pan watches, unmoving, from the shore as Hook and his crew lead the Jolly Roger to the dock — and, still unmoving, as they come ashore. Finally, he speaks. "Thank you for bringing our special guests ashore, Captain," the boy leers. "Good to see you're still good for something."

"You know I can't pass up the opportunity to give assistance to a damsel in distress, nonetheless three. And Dave." There's a joking tone in his voice, but it's not present anywhere else in his body.

"Ah, yes," Pan says, pushing himself away from the tree. "Welcome, your highnesses. I hope you find Neverland as welcoming as you have spent all those years hoping your Enchanted Forest would be. And you, Regina, you and I have more in common than you may want to believe."

Regina rolls her eyes, conjuring a fireball in her left hand. "Oh, please," she spits. "Let's do this the easy way: give me my son back and I won't burn your whole island down."

Pan just laughs. "No, I’m afraid that's not going to happen. You're on my island now, and you're going to play by my rules."

"Do you think this is a game?"

"Oh, your majesty , that's exactly what this is. So, Emma, I'm going to give you a map." He pulls a folded piece of parchment out from under his tunic. "A map that will lead you straight to your son."

"If this is some kind of trap," she starts, taking a step towards him with her hand on the sword on her hip.

But Pan's soft laugh stops her. "I may not be the most well-behaved boy on the island, but I always keep my promises. The path to finding Henry is on this parchment."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

He chuckles again. "See, it's not about finding Henry. It's about how you find him. And, Emma," he says, placing his hand on her wrist as she reaches out to take the parchment. "You're the only one who can."

She takes it from him, then unfolds it — only to find it blank, save a pattern around the outside. "It's blank."

"You sound surprised," Regina bites, but no one pays attention to her. All eyes are on Pan.

"You'll only be able to read that map when you stop denying who you really are."

Emma looks down at the map once more. Everyone around her looks at it.

And when they look up, Pan is gone.

As they follow Hook's lead through the jungle, Emma's focus is on the map. She thinks of all she can: her background, everything she's learned since coming to Storybrooke. She even attempts to admit that she's the savior during a short break, but nothing works.

Regina, angry and impatient and nothing if not motivated, takes it from her, insisting on magic, despite the arguments from the rest of the group. It works — to a point, leading them not to Pan's camp, but to an ambush by a group of Lost Boys. It does not last long, the heroes quickly overpowering the boys, but David gets nicked with a Dreamshade-tipped arrow — a secret he tries to keep from the rest of the camp.

Hook sees it, though, the one in the group that really knows how deadly the poison can be, but he, too, keeps it to himself.

He leads them away from the ambush, towards a cliff that looks out over most of the island. From there, he insists, they can plan a route through the jungle and maybe even scout out Pan's camp. But by the time they get there, the sun has set, and all they can see is shadow. "Now that you've seen what Pan can do in just a few short hours, we need our strength. I suggest we make camp."

Regina, unsurprisingly, is against his idea. "You want to sleep while my son is out there suffering?"

"If you want to live long enough to save the boy, yes," he argues, and no one has a comeback for this. Regina is first to walk away, huffing knowing that Hook is right. Hook is second, closely followed by David, who barks an order about finding firewood, leaving Emma and Mary Margaret looking out over the jungle.

They are silent for a moment, Emma obviously worrying about something, but Mary Margaret has learned not to push. And after a few moments, Emma does say what's on her mind:

"Regina's right, Henry's out there somewhere."

But Mary Margaret is ready with her positive comeback. "And Hook is right. We have to survive if we're going to get him."

"I know. I just hope we're not too late."

Mary Margaret leaves her there, knowing that sometimes, her daughter just needs her space to think. She stands there as the others build their camp, her attention turned once more towards the blank parchment — the map , removed from her pocket.

Though he does not mean to, Hook startles her with his approach. "I opted for first watch so you and the others could get your rest."

Emma just shakes her head, starting towards the campfire, needing the monotony of the crackling fire to slow her mind down. "There's no way I can sleep here without solving this map."

"Then it appears you and I will be not sleeping together, love," he jokes, waggling his eyebrows at her with a smirk on his face.

Emma just rolls her eyes. "Listen, Hook. I am here to save my son. The very last thing I'm going to do is get distracted."

His smirk is gone, not even a trace of a smile left on his features. "Of course, Swan. I meant no insult."

They sit in relative silence, the rest of them falling asleep quickly — or, at least, staying quiet. The sounds of the Jungle seem to grow louder in the darkness, almost deafening. But Emma's attention is still on the map.

"Nothing I can think of is working," she groans, dropping the map to the ground beneath her feet.

"None of those are what Pan is looking for. What have you been avoiding? What have you been hiding from, love?"

She is already on edge, and his endearment only makes her angrier. "I am not your love, Hook. Why are you helping me, anyway?"

He's been wondering the same, so he's quick to answer. "I've been searching for a glimmer of hope when it comes to defeating this demon for as long as I can remember. If finding your lad and ruining his plans takes his power from him, then helping you is the very least I can do."

"But why? What did Pan ever do to you?"

He's silent for a moment, trying to decide how much he wants to divulge to her, and he maks a quick decision. "It wasn't me personally," he lies. "But it's the principle of the thing. He preys on boys who think he's taking them to a better life, but all he's doing is taking them from their families. Growing up alone is the worst thing that could happen to a boy, and Pan thrives on separating families."

"Sounds like something you know a lot about." She doesn't mean to be so forward, but once it's out, there's No taking it back.

"Pardon?"

"Only someone who grew up alone would talk like that."

Now it's his turn to get defensive. "And how would you know that? You're the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. What can a princess know about growing up alone?"

She knows that there is no way for him to know otherwise, to know the truth about her childhood, but his assumptions about her still make her a little angry. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she grits, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. "My parents sent me through a portal when I was only a few hours old. I grew up alone , spent my whole life alone . I was an orphan, too, Hook. Or, at least, I grew up believing I was."

"I'm — I'm sorry, Swan, I shouldn't have assumed—"

"No, you shouldn't have."

"You're right though, love. I, too, spent much of my life alone. My mum was sick and passed when I was a boy, and my father took my brother and I on a ship to a far-off land. Until one day, we woke up and he was gone. He left us there to settle a debt and we never saw him again."

Silence settles between them for a moment, and then he smiles. "It seems you and I have quite a lot in common, then, love," he chides, but Emma barely hears him. She's too distracted by the parchment in her hand, which has revealed a map at some point in their conversation.

"Hook—" she tries, but he cuts her off.

"Apologies, I know, you're not my love ."

"No, Hook, that's not it."

Finally he looks at her, trying to find what she is talking about on her face, following her eyes down to the parchment in her hands. But there is something else that has changed, too, something about her . He can't quite put his finger on it, but he thinks he maybe sees a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

#csnlny #captain swan #neverland new year #my writing #cs fics #ouat #neverland rewrite #really just a bunch of headcanons in one little story

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novantinuum · 4 years ago

Text

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he’s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

#su #su future #greg universe #steven universe #su fanfiction #su fanfic #my writing stuff

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irrelevant-ramblings · 5 years ago

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humans are space orcs- sacrifice

We have all heard the stories about humans, but we have also learnt that humans are not as ruthless or terrifying as they seem. Living on board the ship with them has shown them to be kind beings who are able to think for others beside themselves. However, I am beginning to doubt how long these humans have survived, as they do not seem to possess any self preservation at times. I have recorded my observations:

Our ship was attacked one Moon Cycle ago. The path we took has been known to harbor many space pirates. We took necessary precautions but each acknowledged that we may not survive a scuffle with the pirates.

A space pirate infiltrated our ship despite the preparations we made. The humans were able to hold them off for a while, but eventually the pirates came into the command room. The human medic, Human Joan, was with me. The pirate had a human weapon, what I believe to be called a “gun”. Now, if a weapon like that can kill a human, it can kill almost any other organism in the galaxy. The pirate pointed the weapon at me, but as I was getting ready for certain death, Human Joan pushed me aside and was shot by the pirate instead.

I do not understand why Human Joan did that, even though she knew she would face death. The other humans arrived and Human Janet, the other human medic, took Human Joan to the medical bay to get treated.

The other humans were not worried about Human Joan, much to my surprise. The human commander did not seem angry in the slightest. Some of the humans were commending Human Sara for her quick thinking, as she was the first one on the scene and stopped Human Joan’s bleeding.

Human Janet stepped out of the medical bay. “What’s her prognosis doc?”one of the humans asked.

Human Janet bared her teeth, which I have learnt is called a “smile” in human language. It usually means good things and not an attack. “She will make a full recovery,” said Human Janet.

The other humans relaxed and started to talk among themselves. Human Janet turned to the human commander, Human Greg, and myself. “Would you like to see her?”

Human Greg inclined his head, which I have learnt is called a “nod”. It means an affirmative response. I too, indicated my affirmative response by wriggling my feelers.

Human Greg spoke to Human Joan first. “That was very, very stupid,” he reprimanded- or, what I thought was a reprimand. While the words certainly sounded like a human version of the reprimand, Human Greg’s tone indicated otherwise.

Human Joan bared her teeth. “Hey, I’m alive, right?”

“Yes, thank God.”

“Human Joan, why did you push me aside? It was very dangerous. According to our research, the human weapon, “guns”, have proven to be lethal toward your kind. Do you not want to live?”

Human Joan and Human Greg made noises which I have found is called “laughter”. It is often an indication of mirth and amusement. “Of course I want to live, Commander Gu’arg. But I also want to make sure you lived.”

“Would it not have been at the expense of your own life?”

“Hmm, I guess it might have been. Commander Gu’arg, are you familiar with the human tendency to pack bond with each other?”

“Also with other living earth organisms and inanimate objects. Yes, I am familiar.”

“Well, you and your people have been good to us when we came aboard this ship. You have given us hospitality, food, protection and a space to live. Us humans have bonded with you, as well.”

I was surprised to hear this, as our previous research did not suggest that the human tendency to bond extended to intergalactic organisms, such as ourselves.

“You have not answered my question. I understand now that as part of the pack, you were seeking to protect me. I still do not understand why you would do it at the expense of your own life.”

“Humans will do anything to make sure most of their pack survives,” Human Greg said.

“Even at the expense of their own lives?”

Both humans nodded.

“Why?”

“I wasn’t thinking about my life ending, when the pirate shot at me. I was just worried about protecting you,” Human Joan said.

“I see.”

The above account has shown two things. First, that humans will truly pack bond with anything, including organisms outside the earth species. Second, that humans will go to any lengths, including termination of their own lives, to protect the members of their pack.

I believe we must add this to our Human Database. Humans, after all, appear to be fierce protectors, and I feel safe knowing they are on our side.

#humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #my first time doing one of these #i also did not edit it oops #this is fun

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myhauntedsalem · 4 years ago

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The Most Haunted Mirrors in the World

Since 6000 BC, mirrors have been a common object found in most households. Apart from photographs, mirrors enable us to truly see what we look like from an outsider’s perspective. But what happens when a mirror shows you more than just your reflection?

What happens if a mirror shows you something frightening? Something you were never meant to see?

Over the last few centuries, people have started collecting mirrors not just for the sake of practicality, but for décor around their houses. And every once in a while, a person may stumble upon a mirror that could be considered haunted.

Often times someone will claim a mirror is haunted as a means of making profit off sites such as eBay. But occasionally, a person may come across a piece of glass that is really and truly haunted.

1. Twisting Inversions

Years ago, while at a cookout with his family, a gentleman named Juan heard a chilling tale of a haunted mirror from his cousin in Vercruz, Mexico.

One day, Juan’s cousin and a friend of his were shopping in an antiques store when he came across a large Victorian style mirror. The mirror was incredibly ornate, with a brushed silver frame. Juan’s cousin was drawn to it immediately and asked the shop owner how much it cost.

The shop owner told him the price, but seemed a little edgy afterward. He told Juan’s cousin that if he wished to purchase the mirror that he must make sure that it is always covered by a heavy cloth after the sun goes down.

Juan’s cousin found the man to be a bit quirky, but nevertheless promised that he would do as the owner bid. He purchased the mirror and drove it home in the back of his truck.

He arrived home in the early evening. After he found a space on the wall of his bedroom to hang it, he admired his reflection for a few minutes, then promptly covered it with a bedsheet. He felt a little silly doing so, but the shop owner had been so adamant…

Dusk approached. Juan’s cousin was relaxing on the couch when he began to hear a steady knocking sound as though someone was at the door. However, no one was there.

Puzzled, he wandered through the house, tracking the noise until he got to his bedroom. Chills ran down his spine as he realized that the knocking sound was coming from within the mirror. Slowly, he grabbed the bedsheet by the corners and pulled it off the mirror.

Inside the mirror was his reflection, but a reflection that moved entirely on its own. Juan’s cousin watched in horror as his mirror self slowly knocked on the glass surface, an eerie, leering smile on its face.

He moved to cover the mirror back up, but his reflection somehow managed to grab him, and attempted to pull him into the mirror itself. This surreal violence had Juan’s cousin paralyzed with fear. He fought to free himself, but his reflection was too strong. He was partially pulled into the mirror.

His fear escalated ten times over when he peered around. Within the mirror he saw his bedroom, but everything was inverted backwards. Juan’s cousin began to pray, and only then did he find the strength to free himself from the mirror.

He fell to the floor and immediately ran out of the house. He ran down the street to his friend’s house and stayed there until morning, too terrified to return to his home. When the sun rose, he and his friend grabbed the mirror and burned it in a raging bonfire.

Since destroying the evil mirror, everything has, thankfully, returned to normal.

2. Scratches in Oil

A young man who goes by the name of Nooko once discovered a mirror in an abandoned building not far from his house. The building was strewn with various trash and broken furniture, and it seemed that the only thing that was in perfect condition was a small, square mirror he had found up against the wall.

Nooko was studying art at the time, and had been interested in painting on a glass surface for some time. He brought the mirror home with him, thinking it would be his next canvas.

He laid out a brand-new tarp, and arranged his oil paints on the floor of his bedroom. For hours, he worked on the mirror, adding stroke after stroke until at last he was finished. On the mirror’s surface was a portrait of himself.

Happy with this work, Nooko carefully closed up his paints and crawled into bed shortly after midnight. The following morning, he opened his eyes and recalled what he had done before. Looking to the mirror, he was shocked to see that it had been altered over the course of the night. His portrait was still drying on the surface, but through his face was a series of long, deep scratch marks.

Had he somehow missed these marks when he first picked up the mirror? No, he had cleaned the surface before he had started painting. Puzzled, Nooko looked around his room, trying to discern what could have made the scratches. All of his supplies were in the exact place they had been when he had fallen asleep. He didn’t have any pets or siblings, and his parents would have never destroyed one of his pieces.

In addition to the scratch marks, Nooko also noticed substantial tears in the tarp. He searched his room thoroughly, but he could not come up with any possible theories as to what had caused such destruction.

He was scared. After the portrait finished drying, Nooko took the mirror and placed it in the shed in his backyard. It remains there to this day. Whenever Nooko needs supplies out of the shed, he always feels extremely uncomfortable, as though something foreign and malicious is present.

He hasn’t look at mirrors quite the same way since.

3. Victorian Evil

When Sotiris Charlambous and Joseph Birch found a large Victorian mirror in the dumpster outside of their London flat, they thought they had hit the jackpot. The antique mirror was quite beautiful, with a thick walnut border. They believed it would look great hung up over the radiator in their apartment.

But not long after they hung the mirror up, strange things began to occur to both of them. Sotiris found himself suddenly waking up in the middle of the night with stabbing pains shooting through his entire body. Joseph, usually a very happy twenty-year-old student, found himself feeling incredibly depressed and void of energy

At first, neither of them made any correlation between their mental and physical symptoms with the mirror. That is, until Sotiris decided to paint the walnut frame a bright silver. After that, their problems only escalated.

Joseph began to experience the same sharp pains that Sotiris felt during the middle of the night. Objects began to go missing, such as keys and documents.

And that’s when Joseph started noticing strange movement coming from the mirror. It began one day when he was alone in the flat. He had been walking down the hall towards his bedroom when he caught movement in the mirror’s reflection out of his periphery. Dark shadows seemed to flicker and move on the glass surface, even when Joseph stood completely still.

The two friends confronted their landlord about the mirror and soon discovered that it had once been his. When they asked if he wanted the mirror back, he quickly shook his head.

“I don’t want anything to do with that mirror,” the landlord said.

It wasn’t long after that the nightmares began. Joseph feared being in the apartment by himself—he was certain that something malevolent was there with him, draining him of his happiness and energy.

Sotiris began to theorize that something awful had happened in front of the mirror, and it had somehow managed to absorb the negative energy from the event. He became convinced that someone had once been murdered in front of its glass surface, and now the mirror brought nothing but discomfort and despair wherever it was.

When the radiator and landline phone mysteriously stopped working, the two friends begrudgingly realized that their troubles were only going to escalate. They decided to put the mirror on Ebay, with full disclosure as to what had been happening to them.

The mirror has since gone to the highest bidder, and the two friends are certain that a feeling of lightness and hope as flooded into their apartment once more. They hope that whoever has the mirror now is well trained in the paranormal and will not experience what they endured while the Victorian mirror was in their home.

4. A Family of Spirits

Most people who have a deep interest in the paranormal have heard about the infamous Myrtles Plantation in St. Francisville, Louisiana. Built in 1796, the house has become known as being one of the most haunted historical locations in the south.

But what some people may not realize is that within the haunted house lays a haunted mirror.

In the hallway, across from the large wooden staircase is a large, rectangular mirror with a gilded gold frame. The mirror has been within the house for well over two centuries, and many eerie stories have surfaced about it.

According to one story, Sara Bradford Woodruff, who lived in the house, along with her husband and children, during the 1820s haunts the house, and is said to be permanently trapped inside the mirror.

Tourists who take their picture in front of the mirror often find strange anomalies in their photographs—creepy looking shadows, or an array of orbs. Some people even claim that they have seen fingerprints and silvery apparitions standing on the staircase reflected within the mirror’s surface.

Some people believe the mirror shows nothing but ordinary reflections, but there are countless accounts of believers and skeptics alike who have seen something paranormal in its ancient surface.

Today, the Myrtles Plantation is open to tours and also serves as a Bed and Breakfast. If you decide to visit, be sure to have your photograph taken in front of the mirror. But be warned—you may not like what you see.

5. Into the Black

Greg Newkirk has always had a profound interest in the paranormal. Over the years, he began to research and track down various objects that others had deemed as haunted. Once Greg had collected a sufficient number of items, he, along with his wife Dana, formed the Traveling Museum of the Paranormal & Occult. Essentially, Greg and his wife travel around the country and display their supernatural finds for anyone who is curious.

A couple years ago, Greg was contacted by a young woman about a small mirror with black glass. The woman, who wanted to remain anonymous, stated that her mother had acquired the mirror during a psychic expo. Her daughter thought nothing of the purchase until her mother began to act very withdrawn and subdued. When the young woman confronted her mother, her mother claimed that it was the mirror’s doing… that it was inherently evil.

Skeptical, the young woman took the mirror home with her, concerned over her mother’s mental health. Despite not believing what her mother had said about the dark mirror, nevertheless she found herself feeling oddly uncomfortable and uneasy in her home. After a few short days, she contacted Greg and donated the mirror to the traveling museum.

At first, Greg kept his distance from the mirror—not because he was frightened by it, but because he didn’t want to be disappointed if nothing paranormal occurred. Often times, the museum has supposedly haunted objects donated to it, but nothing strange ever actually occurs. However, since it was newly acquired, Greg brought it along for their next tour.

One their first stop in Pennsylvania, a woman immediately picked up the mirror and gazed at her reflection. Within seconds, she had grown extremely pale and had set the mirror down, hastening to cover it up with a piece of cloth. When Greg asked her what she had seen, the woman replied that she had seen her own corpse in the mirror’s reflection. The woman then stated that the mirror was dark in nature and that she needed to go pray.

Confused but excited by such an account, Greg made it a point to carefully observe anyone else who grabbed the mirror. Some individuals only saw their reflection…but others had much more ghastly things to report.

Another woman in a different location also claimed to have seen her corpse. One man, a supposed diehard skeptic, stated that he had seen his reflection but that it had turned around and had walked completely out of the frame. Another woman claimed that when she looked at her reflection, her mirror image had begun to whisper ,despite the fact that the woman herself never once opened her mouth while gazing into the mirror.

Greg and his wife continue to tour with the dark mirror, but the paranormal enthusiast admits that he keeps the mirror covered when it resides in their home. He avoids looking at the mirror at all costs. The mirror itself seems to want to draw Greg in, but he has always resisted gazing into the glass surface head on. He has become convinced that whatever the mirror wants to show him, it will not be pleasant.

#The Most Haunted Mirrors in the World #shared stories #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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