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captaincoldzero · 3 years ago

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Bird or Angel? | Steve Rogers x Male Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Steve Rogers needs help and Sam knows someone who can find Bucky Barnes.

A/N: I made this to happens after Captain America 2 - Winter Soldier.

A/N.2: I made the powers of the reader based on Hawks from Boku no Hero Academia.

A/N.3: Sorry for any mistakes, but English is not my first language.

Ever since Steve found out that Bucky, his best friend, was still alive, he couldn't think of anything else. He didn't know if he just wanted his best friend alive or because seeing him being used by Hydra made him so uncomfortable.

Sam Wilson promised he wanted to help him find Bucky but as they expected it wouldn't be easy.

― I know someone who can help us. ― Said Sam one day when he was eating at a diner.

― Why didn't you speak before? ― Steve asked, wiping his mouth after taking a bite of the hamburger.

― He's a difficult person to contact. ― He replied, drinking some of the soda.

― Have you spoken to him yet? ― Steve asked a little excitedly.

― Calm down, he won't talk about this with anyone. ― Sam said, sounding very relaxed.

― How can he help? ― Steve asked, leaning back in his chair.

― You will see. ― Sam said with a smile.

…

Steve and Sam had to go to the roof of a tall building. Steve was worried about the other man's request, but Sam seemed calm about it. He had told Steve that he had met this man because the two of them worked together. Sam said they flew together.

Which made Steve wonder if he also had wings like Sam's.

— Where is he? ― Steve asked when he saw it was just the two of them on the roof.

― He should be arriving by now. ― Sam said and approached the edge of the roof.

― I'm already here, Wilson. ― They heard a male voice behind them.

A man was standing above where the door was to go back inside a building, wearing an aviation jacket and sunglasses. But when Steve looked right, he noticed two large black wings flapping against the man's back that kept him a good few inches off the ground.

― It's been a long time, L/N! ― Sam said, smiling at the flying man.

― Should you be Steve or do you prefer Captain America? ― The man approached Steve, still keeping off the ground.

― Are they real? ― Steve asked, focused on the two black wings flapping.

― What? ― The man asked, confused, but seemed to remember that he wasn't stepping on the floor. ― Yes, they are. ― He replied with a smile.

― That's the Y/N. ― Sam said approaching Steve.

And so for the first time at that moment, Y/N touched the ground like a normal person. Maybe even he could look like a normal person if it weren't for the wings on his back.

― I'm a mutant. ― Y/N said, putting his hands in his coat pockets. ― A human with special genes that give me special abilities. In my case, Wings.

― Is your power having wings? ― Steve asked.

― Yes and no. It goes further than that. ― Y/N replied smiling.

― Y/N was one of our best trackers. He flew fast, saw far and wide, and could hear and feel other people through walls. ― Sam said a little excitedly.

― Can you do this? ― Steve asked a little curiously.

― Of course, my captain. ― Y/N said in a joking tone.

…

Y/N started helping Steve and Sam search for Bucky. The man disappeared early in the morning and returned late at night. He'd gotten leads on Bucky's whereabouts, but nothing on James himself.

Steve went alone so he could walk a little. He went to a mall as if he was going to find Bucky walking around at any moment, but his subconscious told him he just needed a break.

― Are you okay? ― Y/N asked, scaring Steve a little.

― When did you get here? ― Steve asked in surprise.

― I saw you coming in here and it looked desolate. ― Y/N replied.

Steve noticed that Y/N always had a similar tone in his voice, something like good humor and lightheartedness. He was strange for someone who had served in the army and was still an agent type.

Looking closer, Steve missed something behind Y/N. In place of wings, Y/N carried a backpack slung over one shoulder. And instead of the aviation jacket, he wore another coat.

― I thought the wings were real. ― Steve said going to sit on a bench in the mall and being accompanied by Y/N

― But they are. ― Y/N said laughing.

Y/N opened his backpack and showed it to Steve. Inside were thousands of dark feathers. Steve looked confused at Y/N and quickly grabbed one of the feathers. He pinched the quill a little and rubbed his finger. Y/N grimaced slightly and took the quill out of Steve's hand.

― They're sensitive. I can feel and control each of the feathers, so they are still attached to my body. ― Y/N explained putting the quill back in the backpack and zipping it up.

― They look tougher than a normal feather. ― Steve said laughing at Y/N's reaction.

― And they are. The scientists at the barracks said they are as resistant as adamantium.

Steve kept thinking about Y/N's wings and the way he looked happy and calm when he was away from the ground. Now, looking like a normal human, he looked a little more serious. He still maintained his fun vibe, but he looked unhappy at the same time.

― Do you like to fly? ― Steve asked to bring up a topic.

― Think that I have to like it. ― Y/N said laughing. ― I'm passionate about flying. But I think the wings influenced me for that.

― Since when do you have them?

― As long as I can remember. They told me that I was born with bones in my back, especially in the area around my shoulders, different from the average person. At first, they just thought I had a disability until the feathers started to grow. ― Y/N said without a smile on his face. ― My parents didn't like it at all and I ran away from home. I started to hide the wings with coats and big shirts until they reached sizes that kept me from hiding. So I learned that I could make the feathers come loose and still manage to get them back into place.

― So that's why you're walking around with your backpack when you don't have your wings? ― Steve asked and the man nodded.

― It's easier. ― Y/N replied, smiling again.

The two stared at each other for a while. The image of Y/N flying in front of the Sun, making him look like some sort of angel, came to Steve's mind and made him feel his face flush a little. Y/N cocked her head to the side.

― You're turning red. ― Y/N said and Steve turned away.

Steve was going to reply, but Y/N turned away quickly as if something had caught his eye. He got up and started to run. Steve started following Y/N wanting to know what he was doing.

They got close to the escalators when they heard people screaming on the second floor.

― What's up? ― Steve asked, reaching for Y/N.

― A robbery. ― Y/N said following with his eyes, two men carrying a large bag running. ― They're armed.

Steve ran to the escalator and ran up, while some people complained about his haste. Arriving on the second floor, he began to run to catch up with the men.

When they realized that Captain America was behind them, they aimed their gun so they could shoot. People screamed as he walked away and Steve jumped behind a pillar.

― Are you afraid, America? ― One of the men spoke up.

Steve tried to look at the men behind the pillar, but when his face appeared, the man fired in his direction, causing him to go back into hiding.

Suddenly, he heard the men cry out in the complaint. When Steve looked their way carefully, he noticed five black feathers around them. They had hit the guns and cut the handle of the bag, causing it to fall to the floor.

― Where did these things come from? ― They are hitting the air as if trying to ward off flies, while the feathers stay around them.

Steve looked over the edge of the second floor and found Y/N still in the same spot, but now the backpack was open and hanging from his hand. Also, some feathers were still sticking out of it. Steve smiled at the other man who returned the gesture.

The men began to run, leaving their weapons and bag on the floor. A man tried to stop them, but the robber pushed him over the edge of the railing. People screamed and more feathers came out of Y/N's backpack. Some got into the man's clothes and others just got under his body causing him to slowly start to fall like a sheet of paper. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the feathers moved away from him and went to where the men were trying to flee.

― Thanks. ― The man spoke and Y/N nodded.

Many feathers began to fly around the men until they pushed them over the edge of the banister. They screamed in fear, but the feathers caught them before they hit the ground.

Y/N took off his coat, revealing two small tufts of feathers on his back through the two holes in his shirt. The feathers that held the men and the ones that were in the backpack flew towards the Y/N until they formed the two large wings that Steve already knew well.

People were looking at him in surprise. Some with disgust and strangeness, but most fascinating.

― The police have arrived and you are not going to run away. ― Y/N spoke and some feathers came out of his wings and came back carrying the men's bag under it.

Y/N opened the bag seeing several jewels and gold in it. Probably from the jewelry store he had inside the mall.

― Are you seriously trying to rob a store at the mall? ― Y/N asked, laughing at the men.

They tried to get up, but feathers flew quickly towards them, showing them a sharp point.

― They won't hurt me. ― One of the men spoke, staring at a feather that was aimed directly at his face.

― Will they not? ― Y/N stretched his left wing to the wall and some feathers flew to the wall, pinning them to the wall as if he had shot them with a gun.

The two thugs looked scared at the wall and remained still until the police entered the mall. Some people started cheering for Y/N which surprised him.

― People like heroes. ― Steve spoke beside him.

― For someone as old as you, you don't seem to know anything about the world. ― Y/N was serious.

As the officers approached the men, Y/N brought his feathers back into his wings. He left off the ground with a flutter of wings, but Steve held his hand.

― I want to fly with you one day. ― Steve said with a smile and Y/N noticed that he was a little red.

Y/N smiled and nodded in agreement.

― Just let me know when. ― Y/N spoke and Steve released him.

Y/N fast flight to the mall exit, disappearing into the sky.

― Was he with you, Captain? ― One of the cops asked as he approached Steve.

― Will be. ― Steve said looking at where Y/N had flown.

…

Y/N always liked to work in silence and not helping people was easier. He helped people in front of an audience for the first time. During the week, newspapers, magazines, and the internet were talking about the flying man at the mall. Some haters and the others adore them.

Y/N was following what people were saying, but what made him smile was when he watched the news that night.

“No one has any news about the flying man from the mall. Nobody knows who he is. But despite all the mystery about this man, he is already winning over many fans who are now calling him the Hawks.

Will the Hawks be a new hero? Is he with the Avengers? Will we ever see him again?”

#x male reader #marvel x male reader #marvel #captain america #captain america winter soldier #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x male reader #captain america x male reader #captain america x you

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yanban-san · 2 years ago

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So, Elesa knew the Eldritch twins' identity a bit and kept a BIG secret in respect for them from Darling knowing the truth. Even though they are sisterly acquaintances or friends, what about Skyla per chance? Does she also knew the twin brother's identity and kept it secret as well? I bet Skyla is more scatterbrained than Elesa in a funny way.

This is- I suppose- The next part in the gym-leaders-are-dealing-with-eldritch-horrors thing we have going on.

Under cut because it’s long :)

Skyla had always been one of Elesa’s closest friends. The two often trained together; Skyla working to improve her beloved flying pokemon’s strategies against electrical attacks- One of their greatest weaknesses, and Elesa never failing to find a dazzling new way to break through the graceful evasive dances the birds performed.

Skyla often flew Elesa to her photo shoots around Unova- And even beyond, on occasion, and Elesa often returned the favor- Taking her on vacations with her across her destinations throughout Unova, and Skyla had even appeared in various fashion shoots with her! It was entertaining, but certainly tough work- And it certainly brought Skyla a larger fanbase outside the world of aviation and pokemon battles; Sometimes she would be recognized from magazines. Beyond that, the two of them would often hang out, going shopping together or out to a café or to the Nimbasa amusement park.

Being one of the great Gym Leaders of Unova, as well as a practicing pilot, gave her a great number of duties- But she was still fairly young, and had a much more childish side to her. Her friendship with Elesa allowed her to lighten up- to let loose a little bit, with Elesa treating her like a little sister she’d never had. Sisterly was the best way to describe their relationship- Incredibly close, caring, and at this point, ready to drop what they were doing to be there for one another no matter what, if the other should need them.

And so, when Skyla got a sudden, strange text from her beloved Elesa-

She became incredibly worried. The messages and their contents were alarming, and highly ominous- a blurry, glitched out photo. And two messages.

[ Store this where you cannot delete it. ] [ Something strange is happening at Gear Station. ]

Skyla suddenly felt herself get a headache- She didn’t really process the weight of the messages, but later- she returned to them in alarm.

A, quite frankly, bizarre photo- Of a man, wearing a white coat, with a strange afterimage in the photo showing him with a phantom set of extra limbs; And ghostly extensions of light surrounding him. His coat twisted and writhed, looking less like a coat and more like a tattered, feathery sort of monstrosity- But it also looked horribly blurry. In the corner of the photo- Whatever the man was looking at, was completely obscured by what appeared to be corruption. It looked like someone had taken the image, cut it up, and collaged it back together- with white strands and bits and stray colors where the photo had become corrupted.

Skyla realized who the figure looked like.

One of those Station Masters. Those peculiar bosses of Gear Station- And immediately knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Why hadn’t she texted Elesa back immediately? She couldn’t quite think of why- Her head didn’t hurt, but- She just couldn’t think of it. She kept finding herself forgetting she’d looked at the photo. Back she’d look- And a moment later it would be out of her mind.

And she kept hearing of Elesa having… strange problems. She got a call from Fennel- a Pokemon Scientist the two knew, and occasionally hung out with- An unusual call. ”Skyla, dear... I don’t mean to pry, but...” Poor Fennel always spoke so softly, and slowly- And Skyla was ready to drop the call, and return it later- ”When did Elesa... develop such an... aversion to darkness?” Skyla’s face contorted in confusion at the question. “Never?” She responded. Elesa had never been afraid of the dark- This, Skyla knew very well. Elesa was brave- Cool-headed, calm, intelligent, beautiful, and sensible. She had never, and would never, be afraid of the dark. “Ah. My... apologies then. It just... I must be imagining things...” And with that, Fennel refused to elaborate- And hung up. The call stayed in Skyla’s mind over the next few days- Hoping to hear from her lovely Nimbasan friend, but no call ever came. Elesa was too busy. Well, thought Skyla. Perhaps no news will be good news in this case-

But such a wish was short lived, as a breaking story hit the Mistralton airways. The waiting lobbies all had TV broadcast displays in them, and Skyla was walking through when the news broke quickly and quietly, evidently an attempt to hush up the incident as no big deal- About how Gym Leader Elesa had a nervous breakdown at one of her photo shoots several days ago. A black light shoot earlier that day. Hyperventilating, convulsing, and running out of the studio to stand in the sunlight- Luckily no footage or photography had occurred of the event, but she announced she’d be taking a break from modeling gigs until she was over her “illness”.

Skyla had to get to Nimbasa. Immediately- And so she took the Subway, far faster and less traffic than her beloved planes, and less paperwork as well, unfortunately, and promptly booked it to Elesa’s condo.

[Something strange is happening at Gear Station.]

The text message played back in her mind the entire time she was on the train. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that Skyla could tell; Her bird pokemon were a little on edge, but that could easily be explained as them not liking the new experience of being on a train, and being confined underground. Most flying-types simply did not like to be separated from the sky. Skyla did not like it either, but if it would get her over to Elesa faster than her birds could carry her, than by all means, she would have run through the desert resort in the middle of a sandstorm to get to her beloved friend.

“Elesa! It’s me, Skyla! Can I come in?” Skyla shouted as she knocked on the door to her friend’s condo. “Skyla! I’ll com-bee there in a flash!” Elesa shouted back, muffled by the door. Well, bad puns were certainly a good sign, she noted-

The door opened in a second, and Elesa stood before her fellow gym leader, her hair done up in a towel, wearing a comfy Emolga-themed dressing robe. “Skyla! How are you doing? I’m just finishing getting ready-” “I saw the news report. Are you doing alright?” Skyla began, “You haven’t been returning my calls lately and- then when I heard about you running out of your photoshoot on the news, I got… really worried, Elesa. Is everything alright?” Elesa’s shoulders shifted uncomfortably, her face growing red- “O-Oh, that- Oh!” Elesa’s expression relaxed suddenly. “That was caused... I uh, I got hit by some kind psychic attack while I was in a battle in my gym. Oh, I’ve Gothitelle you all about it later-” Elesa laughed at her own pun- Skyla internally groaned. Her friend’s one great vice. Love of terrible, terrible puns. But still. Something did not seem right. “What about that photo you sent me a while ago? Does that have anything to do with this?" She persisted. Elesa seemed to restrain a flinch- Her smile still on her face as she allowed Skyla into her apartment. “You still have that photo?” She asked, almost apprehensively. “Of course! You told me to store it somewhere I couldn’t delete it!” “O-Oh, right! A-About that, Skyla, it- It was just a bad uh, photoshop prank someone tried to pull on me. It was really weird, and I didn’t get the joke- So it- It uh, made me really nervous and worried about it- You don’t need to hang on to that silly thing anymore- I totally forgot about it too!” The nervousness with which she spoke- Fidgeting with the edge of her towel, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so subtly- She’s still lying, Skyla knew.

“Elesa...”

“What really happened?”

Elesa looked as startled as a Sawsbuck in headlights. “That is what happened, Skyla! Really!”

“Are you sure? That photo- There’s something... off about it…”

“Nope, it was a bad prank from a dumb challenger who was angry I kicked their butt.”

“Well I don’t agree- And even Uncle Drayden said it looked weird too.”

Elesa’s attention suddenly snapped to Skyla, her eyes wide. “Y-You showed the photo to Gym Leader Drayden?” She asked, hesitantly-

“Welll, yea… you said to store it somewhere it wouldn’t get deleted- So I sent it to Uncle Drayden! He said it looked really weird, and he’s worried about you too! He’s gonna come down to Gear Station later this week to check things out, anyway.”

Elesa, meanwhile, was screaming internally- Emmet and Ingo, she had learned, were not human- But instead, mysterious, terrifying entities from beyond the edges of reality, with horribly messed up senses of morality- And rather merciless natures. And she’d promised them the photo she’d accidentally taken of Emmet... in a rather inhuman state had been deleted, erased, and promptly forgotten about.

“It’s verrrry important that no one knows what we are, Miss Elesa.” Emmet had explained. “Indeed,” Ingo added. “It would be exceedingly dangerous for Unova, and quite assuredly, the entirety of this world, if a great number of people came to know about us. If many were to come to know of us, then…”

And the two looked at each other, debating how to phrase their answer- It was complicated.

“This world as you know it would end.” They answered in unison.

They had tried to make light of the threat- The End of the World was not the worst that could happen, they assured, but it showed the gravity of what they were dealing with. And they seemed quite serious.

And now there was another person who knew about it and who was probably- Oh shit. Drayden hadn’t given it to anyone, had he? Oh shit.

“Oh, Skyla, really- nothing happened! It was just a bad prank someone tried to pull on me, really…”

Elesa was desperate not to get Skyla involved with this- Especially since the brothers had threatened her if she should reveal their secret to anyone- Especially the secret of their beloved Darling. Elesa thought it cute at first- And though they’d agreed not to hurt her, they made sure she understood that the fact they’d... fallen in love with this pretty little human was a secret they were willing, above all things, to ensure stayed a secret; It must not be uttered or even whispered about. After all, they had a great deal of enemies, they explained- And that meant that their darling beloved was a target for their enemies without even knowing it; and now Elesa was caught in the middle, and though they had promised to provide her with protection, that secrecy was of the utmost importance when she wasn’t in their office in Gear Station.

Skyla stared her friend up and down. Elesa was really bad at hiding the truth. “…Fine, then. You gotta get to work, right? We should grab dinner together once you’re done, I’m gonna take my birds out to the Rendes-view for a little bit.” Elesa agreed, and they both went their separate ways for the day. At least Skyla was off her back- She’d deal with Drayden later.

…And should she inform the twins? Elesa wondered what their plan would be; Would they demand to take away her memories in full, saying she couldn’t be trusted?

Would they take away Skyla’s memories, and now Drayden’s as well- How many people could they even effectively… take away memories from anyway? What if Drayden had sent it to someone? What if Skyla would send it to more people?

Oh no-

“Oh, you want to know… about taking away memories?” Ingo repeated back when Elesa arrived at Gear Station. “Yes, I was- I was curious how exactly that works. You can give people selective amnesia, that’s… I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around your… powers, basically.” She lied. Ingo set down the documents he was studying. Even without using his powers, he could tell.

Elesa was lying through her teeth.

“Miss Elesa… You’ve told my brother and I that… we were not to, as you call it, ”read minds“, or otherwise engage in… activities of a nature that allowed us to uncover personal… er, thoughts, opinions, that any human might have, without their er, lucid consent, correct?” “I did say that, yes?” “However, I wish to clarify- I have not done anything aside from observe you, but- Why are you lying?”

“I-I’m not lying! Stop reading my mind!”

“I’m not, though! Y-Yo-You have a dimple on your cheek that appears when you’re lying, or nervous, or losing a tough battle!” Ingo cried out, trying to assuage her.

Elesa grabbed the corner of her cheek in shock. That damn dimple. Ingo had noticed it?

“E-Either way, Miss Elesa- I thought we had made it clear we are to consider you as a friend- An ally, And that we would strive to follow your advice to learn the intricacies of human courting- I’m far more patient than Emmet is, and both of us wish for you to trust us- We would not bring harm to you-”

“Would you promise not to harm any of my friends? Anyone in Unova?”

Ingo leaned back in his seat. “Absolutely not. You are, as you have said, our friend- And our agreement states we will not bring harm to you. We cannot extend that courtesy to just anyone, you understand-”

Elesa stared down Ingo. His eyes were cloaked in shadow, and unreadable.

“…Though, It is curious to me that you are inquiring about my ability to erase and alter one’s memories- And that you’ve now asked me not to bring harm to your friends, or to any human in Unova.”

Ingo stood up, his shadows flickering ‘round his hands dramatically-

“Elesa, What happened?“

The dark, rumbling voice of the demon did something to Elesa- breaking her down, as tears fell from her eyes under the gaze of the aberration-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just- I didn’t know what to do before I talked with you or Emmet, I thought you guys were monsters, and I was terrified that Emmet was going to try to murder me- I just don’t want you guys to hurt anyone, please-”

Ingo sighed, moving across his desk etherically- As he’d comforted small children lost in the station, so he comforted Elesa- But- What exactly had Elesa done...?

——

Skyla knew Elesa had been lying.

So why not go straight to the source of the weird photo, and figure it out herself? Skyla charged into Gear Station- Though, to be completely honest, she had no clue where to go. Where exactly were the Subway Bosses to be found, anyway? “I’m sorry Miss- You just can’t go back to see the Subway Bosses whenever you like. If you want to meet them, please wait until they return to their stations, alright?” Cloud held back the hot-headed gym-leader, refusing to allow her into the employee’s only tunnels of the Station. “Nonsense,” Skyla retorted- But what was she to do? Explain that- There’s this random, weird photo that vaguely resembles one of your bosses and it seemed to cause my friend to start acting weird?

Such a claim would make her sound even more insane- But as she walked away, turning her attention to the photo in her hand... “Ah, Station Master Emmet- I was just about to head on lunch, but here’s those construction requests you asked for.” Her head snapped around to see the tall, painfully bright figure of Subway Boss Emmet- Staring down at you with a warm, loving smile- He took the documents gingerly from your hands. “Thank you, thank you, Miss- Ah, I was about to go eat as well. Why not go together? It would be nice! Verry nic-”

“You! You’re one of those Subway Bosses! Stop!”

Emmet halted, turning his gaze down to the sassy… child? In front of him. No, wait- an adult. A verrry short little adult. Small. Easily snappable-

“I have questions for you and your brother, I want them answered!” Skyla half shouted, intent on not letting the strange man get away from her. Emmet was bothered by the sudden intrusion- And not only that, but with you here- His eyes darted over to you, a look of shock on your face at Skyla’s aggression. You’d be more than appreciative to not have to deal with this woman right now- And he wanted to go. And you know what? He could.

”Eh?” You blinked- You were standing in front of a small sandwich shop across the street from Gear Station. When had you- What were you just-

”What’s the matter, dear? You’re spacing out.” Emmet asked gently- He held open the door for you, and your stomach growled as the delicious aroma of the delicatessan flooded out and into the street.

”I guess- Er, nevermind, Sir. Sorry about that!” And you walked in- But you swore you didn’t remember walking over here- But maybe you did-? Maybe hunger was clouding your thoughts that badly.

And Skyla stood alone in Gear Station. A strange feeling overtaking her-

Something had been in front of her-

Now it was not.

Her mind was desperately clinging to it- Someone-

She looked down at the photo.

Station Master Emmet had been in front of her-

The photo trembled in the pilot’s hands- A feeling-

A feeling of something behind her and around her- light and feathery dancing over her-

And she left Gear Station, almost running for the exit.

----

“Don’t worry, Skyla. I’ll be coming down post-haste.”

“Please do, Drayden, Sir-” Skyla spoke quietly into her X-transceiver as she hunkered down into her seat in a rather familiar cafe-

“Oh,” She added on, thinking to herself- “I have one more request.”

Drayden’s microphone crackled. “Yes?”

“Could you ask for Shauntal and Caitlin to come down here as well? Oh, and... Maybe Grimsley, though I doubt he’ll be of assistance...”

“Of course,”

“Thank you Uncle Drayden!”

And with that, Skyla hung up. Drayden returned his attention to helping clean the bladed jaws of his dear Haxorus. His hands clutched the towel in his hand harder. If someone- If these Subway Bosses- Were hurting Miss Elesa, or Miss Skyla- Or Any resident of Unova- They would know the full might of his dragon’s wrath. And the wrath of every other Gym Leader in all of Unova.

Skyla steeled herself. Her dinner date with Elesa would be tonight, and whatever was going on Gear Station- Whatever was going on at Gear Station that seemed to have hurt her dearest friend-

She would uncover it, no matter what.

#Demon AU #Monster AU #Monster Submas #Demon Submas #Emmet X Reader #Ever so slightly #mostly fluff #Seth.anon #Seth.asks #Gonna hide under a rock now #I have not proofread this aaaaa

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ghost-oftheriver · 4 years ago

Text

Parent Guidance Recommended

word count: 3,281

focus characters: Pacifica Northwest, Fiddleford H. McGucket

warnings: child neglect, implications of alcoholism, implications of infidelity, mugging, knives, threatening, generally awful people

summary: On the worst birthday she’s ever had, Pacifica finds herself seeking support from a source she’d least expect; the new owner of the once-Northwest Manor, her own former home.

Pacifica was turning fourteen on the Fourth of July. A perfect birthday. Perfect girl. Perfect family.

Her parents would throw a party. Like any Northwest party, with gorgeous, itchy lace ball gowns and impeccable etiquette, each word in every conversation spoken with flawless flow, with purposeful posture and respect-demanding mannerisms. A perfect party for perfect people, with perfect food prepared.

After claiming her designated ruby-studded chair at the dinner table, she would be shocked when her plate was revealed to her. Deep-fried Roareos. Stacked in a small sweet-powdered delicious heap in front of her, chocolately, cream-filled cookies, dipped in batter and deep-fried to perfection. Sugary. Messy. Pacifica had never had it before. How did her parents know she wanted to try it?

She turned her head to cast a quizzical look to her parents, who’d been watching her, holding each other with loving smiles directed at her. A warm feeling spread inside her like warm butter. She reached for a fork.. but hesitated, and hovered her hand over the plate instead. She casted another glance at her parents to see their reaction. No cold response was elicited so far. In fact, she could have sworn her father nodded in approval.

She delicately picked one of the cookies up with her thumb and forefinger, and raised it to her lips to nibble at it. Her senses were flooded with warm, sweet goodness. Just as amazing as she imagined. She stuffed the rest in her mouth, going so far as to lick her fingers. Her lips were coated with melted cream. She neglected the napkins beside her plate to instead lick the sugar mixture from her lips. Barbaric. But her parents didn’t seem to mind either of the actions. She thought she even heard an amused giggle from her mother.

“Sweetie, would you like your presents now or after you’re finished?” Priscilla— no, this was Mom— asked. Pacifica paused. She had a say? Were they not on a schedule? She supposed if she was given the option, she would love to open gifts while she snacked on the rest of the Roareos.

“Now, please,” the young blond girl responded. On cue, one of the butlers was beside her, placing a neatly-packaged gift box on her lap. A beautiful purple silk ribbon sat on top, holding it together. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt so eager to reveal its contents.

What was inside? Some comfy clothes? Paint, perhaps? A cute animal plush that would contrast the creepy porcelain dolls in her room? The possibilities were endless.

Delightfully, she tugged at it. The box opened. As she peered inside, her excitement dissolved. The warm feeling turned to ice.

The bell. The one her father carried on his person at all times. The one that willed his command in the mansion. The one Pacifica hated. Suddenly Preston was standing over her, slowly picking the bronze item up.

Loving smile gone, replaced with a disapproving, even disgusted scowl. She shrank in her seat.

“Pacifica Elise Northwest,” he boomed. “So it’s true. You’re mingling with the common, ignoble crowds these days.”

“No!” she found herself crying out. “It’s not like that! I have to!”

“Have to what? Work a lowly job as a waitress in that slobbish cesspit? At that- that disgusting, sorry excuse for a dining destination? THAT’S NOT ACCEPTABLE EVER. How can you call yourself a Northwest? How can you call yourself our daughter?”

The very first thought she woke up to was that it was too good to be real.

Tangled in her sheets, warm tears trickling down her cheeks. She sniffled and quickly wiped them away before slipping out of bed.

The house was dark. Silent. The clock on the wall read 7:52. Her parents’ bedroom was empty as she passed. It smelled of wine. They would not be back for a while. Pacifica found herself releasing a sigh, her tension easing a little, even if that meant she’d be spending her birthday alone for the very first time. She leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes, trying to recall the good part of the dream, trying to revive the taste of the sugary treat, but it was gone. Soured by the unreality of it. All it was doing was making her hungry belly ache.

When checking the refrigerator, cabinets and pantry and coming to the realization that all that was left was a loaf of bread, a half-empty tube of Bringles and a couple dinner kits. No breakfast food. Not even a single egg. Not even leftovers. Something like despair and disappointment blossomed inside her. She would have to eat at the diner again…

She snagged her wallet from the counter only to find her twenty had disappeared, leaving only a couple measly ones and fives and whatever coins were loose inside. She felt the tears building a little again and slapped the wallet shut to try to stifle them. There was a time she had nearly everything, but now after Weirdmaggedon, she couldn’t even trust that her own hard-earned cash wouldn’t be snagged if left around her own greedy birthgivers. Her strength was being sapped by the will not to burst into a sobbing fit. There was enough in there to cover breakfast at work when she got to Greasy’s, at least.

With her belly still growling, she changed out of her nightwear, threw on her apron and a pair of aviators and began the walk to work.

The day was a bright one, sunny and a little breezy. A pleasant temperature. It did not reflect how Pacifica felt. Despite the summer weather, she pulled her scarf over her head, casting shade over her face. The neighborhood streets were mostly void of people, every house gated off. Just because they lost the mansion did not mean the Northwests were living in squalor, but her spending money was strictly monitored. Her parents now enforced that any money she spent, she’d have to earn. A fourteen year old. A child. Just so her birthgivers could ensure a few extra dollars in their account.

Pacifica couldn’t help but feel the fanciness of the neighborhood was almost deceitful. Her own household was a prime example. Her own rumbling tummy was a prime example. She wondered if there were others who lived in these houses that had similar problems as hers. Unlikely here.. however there were definitely others, people who’d been pushed to extremes just to get by.

Whether that was the reason behind why Pacifica soon found herself being followed halfway through the trip, she didn’t know. The feeling of being watched intensified by the minute, and glances into the reflections of shop windows told her there was a person. They refused to let up for at least a couple of blocks, the likelihood that they were just going the same direction by chance was steadily decreasing. They probably saw her leaving the wealthier neighborhood. The young girl picked up her pace. It did her no good.

The next moments were a blur. Her arm was snatched. When she struggled, a slice put a stop to it. Her arm began to bleed. Something sharp pressed to her throat, stiffening every muscle in her body. Vulgar language was hurled at her, demanding cooperation before her purse was yanked from her shoulder, and she was thrown to the curb. She was left winded, bruised, panicked and hyperventilating. She struggled for her breath back.

Mugged. She’d been mugged for the few measly dollars she had on her. And the fact that her first thought after all that was concern for what her parents would think that she let those precious dollars be nicked in the first place.. it only increased her distraught. Her breaths hastened more and more, and she didn’t realize her tears had finally started to flow until she was already sprinting down the street, her vision muddled. Every step felt like thunder to her ears. Home. She just wanted to go home. Maybe she couldn’t be herself as much, and maybe she was always busy, under constant supervision. But at least there was stability. At least there was certainty of the future. At least it was comfortable, at least there was always food on the table, breakfast, lunch and dinner. At least her father never stumbled around reeking of alcohol while only Lord knew where her mother was. Maybe her parents weren’t the best to other people but at least she could be certain they were true to each other. At least she could pretend everything was fine.

Pacifica wasn’t sure how far she’d gone. She was sweaty, she felt gross and sticky. Her legs were sore, threatening to give out if she went any further. She was still bleeding. She ached everywhere. But she’d reached her destination. She stood at the bottom of a familiar, long driveway, and at the top, sitting on a large hill, towering over the town stood the proud family mansion. Waves of nostalgia and sorrow crashed over her. Everything felt so gross. Every memory tainted by the knowledge of her parents’ true nature. She couldn’t even speak to anyone, not even her parents. Who would listen to a rich brat whine about how she used to be richer? Certainly not any of the townsfolk.

She found herself staring at the manor for a while, not entirely sure what to do.

“...What am I doing here…?” Pacifica whispered, sniffling and reaching for the tissues she kept in her purse, only to be hit with the whirlwind of events that had just happened again. Her arm stung. She could barely hold herself upright. She felt so… so tired. She meekly wiped her nose on her sleeve, and started to turn around when suddenly she bumped into someone.

“Wo-ah there, kiddo, careful, better watch where ya—” a cheerful voice piped, before cutting itself off when the sight of Pacifica in her disheveled state registered. “Huh? Hey.. Ah’ know you.”

Color drained from Pacifica’s cheeks. This guy again.. Why was he here? She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tried a witty remark, but — “Y-y-ea-h, well-, wh-o w-ou-uldn’-t-” �� ultimately failing when her quivering body wouldn’t stop heaving sobs. Again she sniffled. Disgusting. In front of the hillbilly too.

McGucket’s face morphed into something like sympathy. He kneeled down to her height. “Ah- hey, what’s goin’ on kiddo? Are ya alright?”

Pacifica parted her lips. She wanted to say yes. Her instincts screamed at her to say yes. She could practically hear her birthgivers demanding her to say yes. She had to be perfect. She had to be flawless. She had to be stoic, proud, happy, for her family.

But that’s not what came out.

“n-NO!” she cried, her knees finally buckling as if the years of abuse weighing down on her shoulders finally came crashing down on top of her. Her face buried in her hands, sobbing violently into them. She wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay. Wails and cries escaped. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore. She was in so much pain, she was so alone. The sobs wouldn’t stop. The raging storm of emotion only continued to demolish her walls, clawing at her pride and self esteem. Everything she pretended to be crashed and burned at that moment.

Fiddleford had been a little stunned by the sudden breakdown, but he started to piece the situation together from the bits and pieces the poor girl was babbling. He didn’t get up and walk away like Pacifica was expecting him to. He stayed put, even placed his hand on her shoulder to try to console her. When she didn’t flinch away from him, the old man started rubbing circles on her back as she cried and cried. Fiddleford never was the best at comfort.. though he could only imagine how long this outburst had been bottled up, and he thought it best that Pacifica let it all out before trying to say anything.

It was a while before Pacifica’s sobs began to calm enough to allow her to speak in more coherent sentences. The story became clearer. She spoke about how her parents had mistreated her, like she was an accessory rather than a human being, a literal child. How things had been getting worse this past year since they were forced to move due to her father’s irresponsible stock market decisions during Weirdmaggedon, to preserve what fortune they had left. How she felt more at home at the diner than she ever did at her own residence. How she hardly saw her parents anymore. How everything had changed for the worst. The way her parents had become about money, even how they scolded her for ‘nagging’ about her birthday the previous day, when it had been the first time she brought it up in half a year. It all hurt terribly to speak of but Pacifica couldn’t help but notice the sudden weightless feeling after getting everything out. She was surprised to find Old Man McGucket was still listening.

“Y’know,” he spoke finally, “Ah knew a fella once who thought ‘e had everythin’ before ‘e lost it all too. ‘Should’a been there for ‘im like he needed.”

Pacifica was quiet for a moment. “..W..ho was he?”

Fiddleford only waved his hand. “Ol’ college buddy. Doin’ mighty fine these days. Now whaddya say we get off’a the street an’ patch up that lil’ ol’ scratch a’ yours inside?”

It tooka moment to register the question through his southern accent, but when she did, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “..I- inside..?”

Inside the mansion. Pacifica almost couldn’t believe it. Old Man McGucket was the one that bought the Northwest Manor. She wondered how on earth a former homeless man was possibly able to afford such a grand purchase, until peeks into a couple rooms along the hallway that had been filled with computers and strange machinery told her she didn’t know nearly as much about McGucket as she previously thought.

It was so strange walking through the hallways again. Everything was the same, but different. Was the grand rustic architecture and furniture always so beautiful? And… were those.. raccoons she was spotting out of the corner of her eyes?

McGucket led her to a room with a couch- a familiar silver-themed room with a certain carpet pattern. It looked nearly the same, except for the banjo leaning against the couch’s armrest, and maybe a few more stains than its previous flawless condition “for guests- that is, for guests to look at”. Despite her emotional state, she found herself smiling at the memory of her adventures with Dipper Pines, trying to bust that ghost… until she recalled the punishment her parents had made for her after that was all over. She began to feel a little sick. Her gaze dropped to the floor as McGucket trudged into the room, plopped onto the couch and patted the cushions beside him. Hesitantly, she followed him and did as gestured. It was.. weird to be back. She wiped her eyes again.

“How’d that’a happen?”

“..What?” the question hit her like a slap.

“The cut.” He gestured to the bleeding injury with a bandaged hand.

“...Oh.” Again, her gaze dropped. Her eyes began to mist again before she shut them. “..I-I.. I was.. um.. mugged on the way here… They stole my favorite purse…” Shame burned at her belly. She didn’t see any sign of judgement in McGucket’s reaction, though. He didn’t ask why she let that happen, or why she wasn’t responsible enough to bring someone with her. There was only concern for her.

“Oh.. ‘Ahm sorry that’a happened. Gravity Falls’s usually safe.. er- ah..” The old man scratched the back of his head. “‘least, it’s not the people ya gotta usually worry ‘bout.”

“Heh.. yeah..” Shrugging, the old man pulled out a full-blown first aid kid, temporarily baffling Pacifica for a moment. “Wai- were you just carrying that—?”

The question went without a response as McGucket went straight to disinfecting the cut. “‘Doesn’t look terri-bubly deep,” he piped. “Should’a stopped bleeding by now but we’ll patch it up ta’ keep it safe while it’s a-healin’.”

“Wait.. how do you know how to do this..?” Pacifica asked, furrowing her eyebrows a little. The old man gave her a cheery grin.

“Well, ‘gotta pick up somethin’ ‘bout it after livin’ in the dump buildin’ evil whatsits and thingamajigs outta rusty metal for a couple’a decades.”

..Oh. Well, that would make sense, she supposed.. Briefly, the question as to why he was being so nice to her after the way she and her family treated him crossed her mind. She wondered if that friend he mentioned had something to do with it… Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d paid closer attention to the details of the relationships between the other people involved in the zodiac. She guessed it could be that hotter Mr. Pines (or.. Dr. Pines?), she recalled seeing some kind of emotional exchange between him and McGucket during Weirdmaggedon.

Occupied with her thoughts, she hardly realized McGucket had completely finished with the bandage until he announced it.

“Done!” he cheered, stuffing the first aid kit back into the oblivion from which it came. Weird. More Gravity Falls weirdness. “...Thanks.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Y’always got’a listenin’ ear right here if ya’ need it.”

Pacifica gave him a small, grateful smile. The old man would never know what that meant to her.

“I.. I don’t know..” she sighed softly. “Today was just… awful… It’s the first birthday I’ll be spending alone, and I guess it’s… getting to me…”

“Yer birthday’s today?? Ah, Ah’m sorry, sugerbun,” McGucket spoke. “Awful break, goin’ through somethin’ like a’this on’a birthday mornin’. Say, ya always got a place right ‘ere if ya need. Plenty a’ empty bedrooms.”

Pacifica raised her head. “...R...Really..?”

McGucket beamed. “Why sure! Ya remind me a’ my lil’ Tator Tot, Ah’ miss ‘em somethin’ terrible. It gets a lil’ lonely in this ‘ere big ol’ mansion sometimes and ah wouldn’t mind a visit from some young folk from a’time ta’ time.”

She could… she could visit. Whenever she wanted? Her old home, without her parents around. McGucket was that okay with her? Even going so far as to compare her to (presumably) his own kid? That was… incredible. Before thinking it through, she threw her arms around the old man, chorusing her ‘thank you’s with a bubble of laughter. Though startled, Fiddleford slowly returned the hug with a warm smile.

He stank quite a bit. Pacifica recoiled a little at the realization of what she was doing. Ew. What would people think of her if they caught her doing something so unthinkable? Willingly embracing this stinky old man who…. gave incredible hugs.. Her concern suddenly dissolved. In its stead, a certain safety appeared, and she melted into it a little more. It was the same feeling she craved in her dreams. Dirt didn’t matter at all anymore. The feeling of a parental embrace shielding her from the unpleasantness of the world was all she could bring herself to care about at that moment. It felt so warm… Before she knew it, she was tearing up again.

“...Thank you, McGucket..”

“Heheh, anytime, sugarbun. Say, since it is yer birthday, whaddya say we hit th’ town an’ find somethin’ ta’ cheer ya up?”

Pacifica wiped her eyes with her palm. What an offer... To think a year ago she would never had even considered walking around with the old kook as a possible option, but.. She found herself looking forward to it. “I… I would love that.”

[Part 1 of ??? possibly 2??]

#this totally isn’t a vent piece for the nightmares i keep waking up from skdhkdbd #i’ll prolly write the second part. soon #my writing #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fic #pacifica northwest #gravity falls pacifica #fiddleford mcgucket #gravity falls mcgucket #found family #angst with a happy ending #comfort

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infinitegalahad · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Request with prompt “i’m not jealous!” “you’re clearly jealous.” With nixon please? I love jealous nix! Lol 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 You’re the best!!!

WASHING MACHINE HEART

Prompts: "I'm not jealous!" and "You're clearly jealous"

Gif Credit: @andrewhaldane

Summary: Nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world. You are pretty much the only person who could change the way Lewis operates, and that's exactly what you do-change him.

Word-Count: 4.8k

WARNINGS!!!: semi-not healthy relationship, alcohol abuse, investment to lovers, sugar daddy/baby, semi-age gap (21-28?), a

Notes: Life lesson learned. Never listen to Mitski or Lana Del Rey when having thoughts about Lewis Nixon being your sugar daddy? Why you may ask? Because it will destroy you. This request was so fun to do, thank you op! I haven't written for Nixon before, so I apologize if he's a little too OOC. Also warning, this is defiantly not the most healthiest relationship, and I realize that. But they try to make it work. Also while writing this, I listened to @web-gott's lewis Nixon playlist and all of her playlists r GREAT BUT THAT DESTROYED ME. great job ily. anyways enough rambles! enjoy!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @now-im-a-belieber @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @ask-you-what-sir @web-gott

Masterlist | Send In A Prompt!

“You want me to be you’re what?”

Nearly spitting out drinks, Vat 69 mixed with vodka (A Nixon classic). It was quite a bizarre offer. Maybe Lewis had drunk too much, which was a common habit. But you made eye contact with him and he had a shit eating grin on your face. You let out an awkward laugh, and he followed suit.

You had been Lewis’s assistant operations officer since Caretan, there with him through a demotion, a divorice, and all of the other wonderful things that happened in his life. Not only was he your boss, but someone you confided in. He would confine in you, you would confide in him with stolen alcohol-it was a perfect example of mutualism. It’s as if you were his therapist at first, then a friend, and then a friend with benefits. Everything was kept under wraps, of course, for both of you to honor your diginites. Besides, you wouldn't wanna tarnish Lewis’s relationship with your father-considering that he was his boss, a Major general for the 101rst Airborne Division.

“A confidante. Companion. Confrère.” Nixon explained as he poured more vodka into your empty cup, which was not a good sign, “Miss Nixon won’t leave her baby boy alone. If I show her I have someone on my arm, she’ll shut up.”

“So let me get this straight. I go back home with you to New York, attend a party with you, be your arm candy, and you pay me?” You summarized his point, swimming the drink in your hands.

“Money, gifts, whatever you want, I can give you,” Lewis promised. He leaned against the railing as you looked at him. Your elbows grazed against each other. Resting your chin on your palm, you went deep into this arrangement.

The war had ended in The Pacific, so you could finally go home. As much as you were excited to leave and finally get back home, you’d miss Nixon. Sure, you’d be in Bronxville and he’d be Manhattan, only a train ride apart. Yes, he was a total asshole, but he was your asshole. The two of you had been together through thick and thin. Your parents would never approve of an alcoholic divorcee, but there was something inside of him that made you fill up with nervous excitement.

You could hear your mother’s voice, scolding you about the type of man Lewis was. Maybe he was a little too old, a little too broken, and a little too much for you, but that’s what attracted you to him. Over time, you learned that you and Nixon had much more in common. Both of you wanted to get away from your families. Hell, Nixon was paying for your college tuition at Sarah Lawenrece and when he had a weekend pass into Paris, you would come. For “work purposes”, but in all honesty it was for fine dining in Paris, shopping for the finest things in Champs-Élysées with Nixon, arm in arm wrapped under your finley manicured finger, and learning more about Miss Nixon’s best boy.

It was hard to let go of that. Everything he had done for you, and yet you were just friends with benefits. Still, after all you have gone through. It frustrated you. But after his divorce, you wanted to support him. He had lost everything, and without Dick, he was probably more lonely and hurt than ever. You wanted to be his comfort besides Vat 69. This arrangement could be an opportunity for the both of you. Maybe it would be more than an arrangement, but something bigger than that.

Lewis nudged your elbow as he raised a thick eyebrow, “Well, whatta’ say?”

“I say, why the hell not?” You accepted the offer, and the two of you clinked your drinks together. “So would we call this an arrangement? Be the pretty thing on your shoulder and you give me pretty things? Just like in Paris?”

“Just like Paris.” He reassured you, patting your shoulder. Sitting on a bench, he patted the spot next to you with his arm stretched out. “Sit with me?”

“Why I’d be honored too, good sir!” You dramatically stated for a comedic effect, which earned a smile from Lewis as you sat down right next to him. Moving close, both of your thighs caressed with each other. He adjusted and moved his free arm around you, bringing you close to him. You responded by laying your head on his chest, along with one of your hands.

Lewis didn’t say much besides drinking more from his cup, which kept getting refilled and gouged in seconds. There was a cold silence that filled the air. You kept adjusting in his hold, craving for that attention that wasn’t crude jokes or touch, but it always flew over his head. As he got lost in what the hell he was going to when he was home and the alcohol that poured in his system, you laid on his chest, waiting for that kiss, even though you knew that it wasn’t happening.

You closed your eyes as you laid there, pretending that Lewis was more than an arrangement for you.

The thing was, Lewis wasn’t dumb. He knew that too, but he didn’t know how to put it in words, so he used what he knew who to use best-money and gifts. Just as you always did.

A month after you had set up the arrangement, the two of you returned home. He went back to Manhattan, you went to Boxnville to attend Sarah Lawernce. Two months later, the week before you’re to head off to see your family in Florida, Nixon finally chooses to call you. After he ignores all your calls, letters, everything-he finally chooses to be a man. It doesn’t even feel like a relationship, which is what you wanted it to be. All of the effort you have made has gone to waste. Lewis looks as if he wants to keep it in an arrangement.

Normally, you’d appreciate the cash and all the lavish gifts, but money didn’t buy happiness.

His offer was simple. The Nixons were throwing a party at the Tribeca Rooftop, and it was bound to be full of every socialite in the Tristate area. Lewis asked for you to accompany him for the weekend. Separate rooms if you wanted, all of the dinners paid for by him, in exchange he gets arm candy and you get all the money you need. You considered using it to pay for rent, but after all-Lew was paying for everything, despite there being ignored communication.

It was hard to pass, and you were frustrated. But despite it all, you took up the offer. It was better than being stuck with your parents.

Once you accepted the offer, Lewis drove his Buggati down to Bronxville to pick you. You lived in a cramped apartment with a bunch of other Journalism majors. Seeing him outside of the window, you opened your window and waved.

“Look at what the devil dragged in.” You spat with a smile.

Lewis looked up at you, wearing those damn aviators he got in Austria. They had also been the ones that you had picked up for him, so it must have been sentimental.

“There you are,” He said, leaning against his car, “You coming?”

“Give me a minute!” You called and closed your window. Grabbing your keys and bag, you walked out of your room and towards the exit, only to see all of the girls who lived in your apartment ushered, admiring whatever the hell Nixon was to you. A friend, a sugar daddy, you truly had no idea.

One of the girls turned her head back to you, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe, “So, you’re the lucky one?”

You looked at her, slipping your boots on and tying them, “For?”

“A weekend in the city with a man who’s got money. Fancy dinners, fancy things, almost anybody would want it,” She explained, a tint of jealousy in her voice, “Just don’t come back pregnant.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” You confirmed. Once you finished getting your coat on, you waved goodbye to your flatmates, who all begged for you to bring nice things back to you, and even a man for them. The thought you made it chuckle, since they were truly all naive to what it was really like to be treated as an investment.

Walking down the stairs, you were greeted by Lewis, slouched on the front of the car and upon seeing you, straightened up. He began to walk towards you, and so do you. For once, he had cleaned himself up and looked like he was taking care of himself. It took you by surprise when he pulled you into a one armed hug, wrapping around your neck. You met with his chest, taking in his expensive cologne.

“Hey,” He mumbled into your shoulder as he held you close. Maybe for warmth, you thought. “I missed you.”

The cold layer you had felt upon seeing Lewis again had suddenly melted away. Normally, he wasn’t so sentimental. He was sarcastic and witty, but this time-he was different. Kinder, softer, just a little sadder. You put a hand up his armpit, also holding him close.

“Guess I did too,” You responded back. Breaking from the hug, the two of you looked at each other. You chuckled to yourself, not really knowing how to fill the silence.

“I’m glad you took up the offer, by the way.” Nixon added on. It made you look up and shrug your shoulders.

“It’s not like I wanna see my family.” Your shoes moved around on the icy ground, swishing the ice to the side. You were happy to see him, but there was just something about Lewis that was always sad. The same could be said about you, but he looked exhausted. Drained, emotionally and physically.

“Yeah, me either. But you make it tolerable,” Lewis said as he took your bag out of your hands, putting it on the back seat. The two of you got into his car. Before he started the car, Lewis threw a velvet case at you. You were taken by surprise and looked at him.

“Open it,” Lewis nudged his head.

Puzzled, you carefully opened the case and smiled. It was the Willsonite sunglasses, the tinted tortoise shell ones you had seen in Austria when roaming the streets with Lewis.

“It’s what all the girls in the city wear,” Lewis explained. He had picked out his gift with precision and care. Normally, all the girls would buy sunglasses for cheap at a stand at the beach, but hell-you were with the Lewis Nixon after all.

You put on the sunglasses and turned to Lewis, the glasses gently sliding down the bridge of your nose. “Is this your apology for neglecting me?”

Lewis leaned back, looking regretful. “I sent money, I sent the Mademoiselle perfume every month, I’m taking care of you-”

“That’s not what I want. I don’t-” You let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was easy to get angry, but you contained yourself, trying to hide your anger. “I love the gifts, but I want one thing. You. I want to actually spend time with you.” You bit your lip, and the only reason you were going to say it was to keep Lewis, “I’m supposed to be your arm candy, aren’t I?”

“You’re more than arm-candy to me, y/n. I enjoy your company. You’re a great kid.” Lewis began to explain his case. His sunglasses fell down his face, revealing the eyebags, “I didn’t want you to know that I went to rehab.”

“What do you mean? That’s all I wanted for you.”

“I know-it’s just. It wasn’t pretty, and you’ve got a lot going through you. I didn’t wanna drag you down with me.”

Guilt tugged at your head. The last thing you wanted to do was make Lew feel guilty. The only way the arrangement was going to work is if Lewis got the help he needed. He repressed his problems, and you were stubborn and weren’t going down with a fight.

“Lew,” You cooed as you put your hand on his. He looked at you as you inhaled and exhaled, “I don’t give a shit about whether it was pretty or not. I’m just glad you’re getting help. Take the worry off of my back. I care, y’know.”

Lewis put his hand on top of yours and his dark eyes connected with yours. He looked deep into your soul as you sat there, a smile on your face. It was your motto to just sit and act pretty. It was backwards, but If it was for Lewis, then it had to work.

“You make everyday worth living.”

You were unable to respond, frozen. The ice barrier that you surround yourself with had melted away. The one thing in your mind was a kiss. It seemed appropriate. As you began to slowly lean forward, not to scare him away, Lewis removed his hands and put them on the wheel as he began to back out of the parking lot. You sat there, your hands once we’re Lewis rested.

“Let’s have a good weekend, okay?” Lewis says, and you clench your hands together. Putting on a smile, you put on the facade of the arm candy. It’s all a part of the game.

“I’d like that a lot,” You commented and moved towards the window. Putting your sunglasses back on, it earned a smile from Lewis as he drove the car. Now both you matched.

“I like those on a lot,” He complemented, “They bring out the shape in your face.”

You moved them down, winking at him. “My oh my. Someone’s coquettish today.”

The two of you chuckled as you drove down the road. As you merged onto the highway and saw the traffic, you made a polite request.

“Can we go down the west side highway instead of the FDR please? It gets down to Tribeca faster.”

“Sure,” Lewis said, his hand resting on the wheel. “Anything for little miss/mister y/n.”

You leaned against the window and smiled to yourself. You should’ve been happy, you had everything you ever wanted.

But the one thing-Lewis’s love.

Lewis’s apartment in Tribeca was wonderful, located on the top floor of the most expensive building in the city with glorious paintings, velvet chair, and a built-in fireplace and bar. For such a large place, it was empty, all besides his Daschuand puppy named Pepper. He got the dog since he felt lonely, but made your heart twitch. He let you choose whatever room you wanted, despite the look in his eyes. So, you choose to sleep with him in the master bedroom.

That night, you expected Lewis would want to have sex, but he wasn’t in the mood. Normally, that’s what it was. Fucking and money. But Lewis had changed. He just felt you close in bed, and the two of you walked about mundane things. Pepper, of course, slept in the bed since she was Nixon’s little girl. You fell asleep in his arms, and enjoyed the change of the pace.

The next morning, Lewis took you down to a restaurant on the water. When ordering drinks, he asked for a bloody mary-virgin. You ordered a mimosa-virgin as well.

“You realize that’s just orange juice, right?” Lewis commented as you leaned over the table.

“And you’re drinking raw tomato juice,” You snarked back, which made Lewis smirk. You saw the change in him from yesterday and today. So, you decided to question further. “So, did you quit?”

“Trying. Whenever I think of doing it, I think of you, throwing out every single bottle in my cabinet and threatening to leave me. And I don’t want that, so go figure.”

Under the table, Lewis’s legs crossed and held the ankle of your foot. You felt your cheeks grow pink, grasping onto the napkin on your nap.

“Why me by the way? Think about it. You’re a hermit socialite, I’m a college student. Those two don’t click well together,” You itched the back of your neck.

Lewis looked at you, his leg itching up your ankle. He thought you were joking as he furrowed his thick eyebrows. He stopped, straightening his posture. “Well you, my dear, are someone that isn’t easy to forget. I like making you happy. Also, who else would be paying your rent and tuition?”

“Myself.”

“Waste of money.” Lewis threw his hand up to shrug off the matter, “Where’s the fun in that?”

The waiter came over and put your drinks down. Lewis gave the waiter a thank you as you laughed to yourself. He was really good at playing his role.

“Y’know, you’re good at this stuff. The whole sugar daddy thing,” You let out a snort, taking a sip at your drink.

“I like making others happy. That’s what money does. Not for yourself, but others. When I take you shopping and I see your eyes light up, that’s what makes me happy,” Lewis acknowledged. The two of you looked at eachother. Not in that joking way, but it was romantic. Sweet. He loved to see you happy, and you loved to see him sober. It worked.

“Also, wherever you wanna go today, I’ll take you. But I do have one rule.”

“And what is it?”

“We stop at Lord and Taylors. I have another surprise in store.”

The surprise in store turned out to be an outfit for the Nixon’s party. It was nothing too flashy, but regal enough to make you feel like you were out of a fairytale. His goal was to make you the belle of the ball, and he never failed to under the assignment.

Nixon's party was what you expected it to be. Awkwardly meeting Lewis’s parents and his mother giving you a death glare, seeing the dark haired solicates drink, a jazz band, and the best part of the party-Blanche. She was the only one besides Nixon without a stick up her ass. Most of the party you and Nixon were arm in arm. You would occasionally lean against him, yearnin for his attention, but he’d be too busy with the supply of Vat 69.

You had that feeling in your gut, and it wasn’t a good one. It made you sick, anxious, nervous-all around horrible. The more he drank, the more the pit in your stomach would drop. So you went outside onto the patio to catch some fresh air, to be alone and stroll around. Hell, you were even wearing Nixon’s jacket and clutching to it like a child to it’s comfort blanket.

Strolling across the patio and watching the skyline, your moments of peace were interrupted by the distant yellings coming from a room with an open door. You walked down the line, realizing that the voice was Nixon’s.

“An escort at this party? Lewis, you usually disappoint me, but this is unacceptable!” An older gentleman cried, setting down his scotch.

“Do you see the way they were dressed! What a vixen…” A woman cried, who you presumed to be Miss Nixon herself.

“There is nothing like that. They chose to come-”

“Stop lying to yourself. Someone of that age and you, someone with money, is a recipe for disaster. How much do you pay them to accompany you?”

The words kept breaking your heart. You leaned against the window, as fishguard as you were, listening to every single world.

Under pressure, Lewis threw his hands up, “Fine. You know what? You’re right. I pay for what y/n wants. To make them happy and for them to accompany me. They are nothing more than an investment to me.”

Those words cut like ice, like a bullet to the heart. A hand wrapped around your mouth as he pushed away and began to walk away, unable to listen to another word. An investment! How pathetic you felt to think that after all this time, everything you had been through together, everything he had brought you was all for nothing. Just like you had been told, Nixon was using you for your youth or as a way to cope with his many divorces.

Naturally, you would have felt like running out of the place and getting on the next train to Bronoxville, never seeing Nixon again. But there was anger in your heart that burned brighter than any fire you had seen. The ice surrounded your heart once more. It was a party, after all. And you didn’t want to leave without leaving a mark. After all, you 're a vixen.

Long story short, you stormed back into the party and met another young soilciate. Typical asshole with too much money and his way paid into an Ivy League. You didn’t even catch his name as the two of you conversed, and he kept the alcohol pouring. The two of you sat on a couch, and he eventually cozied up to you, wrapping an arm to pull you close. Just as he was on the topic of bringing you to Montauk to the summer, Nixon, of course, had come by.

“Hey, smartass. What the hell are you doing?” Nixon spat, the alcohol evident in his voice.

Smartass was now his name, and you couldn’t even remember it. Smartness looked up at Nixon, shrugging, “Talking to this pretty little thing. Why don’t you go back to drinking and ruining your family name?”

That comment was enough to make Nixon throw a punch, once again bring shame to his family, and get the two of you kicked out of the party. Lewis tried to talk to you, but you ignored every word he said until you reached the apartment.

“What is your problem?” Nixon asked, closing the apartment door. You threw off his jacket, throwing it onto the ledge of the loveseat.

You let out a snort at his unbelievable behavior. He acted as if he did nothing wrong.

“Are you serious? What is your problem!” You hissed back, “You can’t control yourself in drinking, let alone with me hanging out with other men. Face it, you’re just some spoiled , jealous, alcoholic.”

Lewis ignored all of those other comments and chose to focus on the most petty of them. “I’m not jealous!”

“Ha! You clearly are!” You quickly quipped back, walking towards him as he pointed your finger at his chest. “Look at you! Getting all angry, throwing punches. Just for a little investment! After all, I’m just what you use when you need a distraction from all of your other life problems. Just like all of your failed marriages.”

Your eyes began to feel watery and you spun around, biting your lip as he attempted to hold it together. This hurts more than you wanted it to, and no matter what you did, the waterworks wouldn’t stop.

Despite being drunk, Lewis could sense what he did was wrong, and he fucked up-bad. He was drunk, frustrated, and had no control of what he was doing.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean that.”

“Like I mean anything to you,” You sniffled, wrapping your arms around yourself, “The only reason I came was because I wanted...something more than an arrangement. I, fuck-love you, damnit.”

There was a silence in the room, and you felt cold. Goosebumps trailed all over your body as you bit your lip to contain your sobs. Suddenly, a pair of arms held your shoulders and turned around. Knowing it was Nixon, you wanted to punch him, but your head fell into his chest as you let out a long sigh.

He rested his head in your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you close to his warm body.

““I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that but yeah, I love you too.” Nixon said into your hair, drawing circles into your back. “How mad would you be if I kissed you?”

“Absouetly fucking furious.” You tilted your head up as Nixon grabbed your chin, and your lips collided. It was a beautiful and messy lip with lounges smearing against each other. The messier it got, the more passionate it was. Eventually, the kiss calmed into a fiery disaster into a slow moving dance. Through the kisses, you let out a moan, which made Nixon’s hand go lower down your back. You separated from the kiss to catch some air.

“Why’d you stop, my dear?”

You playfully slapped his chest, “You’re lucky you’re hot. Can we go to bed, please?”

The older man swooped you and carried you to bed, treating you like the royalty you were. Once you were placed in bed with Penny by your side, Lewis crawled in next to you, holding you close.

“That’s why I asked you to come, y’know. I wanted to tell you, but I thought you’d say no.”

“For someone so smart, you don’t pick up on cues. Lewis Nixon, I love you, but you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“I’m your idiot, dollface.” Nixon smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. You felt his body weight onto you as you patted his shoulder, giggling.

“Have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?”

Lewis pressed little kisses into your hair before stopping his kissing parade to stare at you. He moved the bangs from your face, letting his hand rest on your skin. “The world could be on fire and I'd still be happy as long as I'm with you.”

Once again, Lewis brought you close and the two of you made passionate love. It wasn’t out of frustration or anger or a distraction, but it was raw, genuine, and emotional. It was all you ever asked.

A patterned knock on the door prompted you to stop unpacking the books from your book and to call, “Come in!”

Turning around, you saw Lewis walk in, along with Penny, who was scrambling in on her tiny feet.

“Well look at what the cat dragged in.” You smirked, and Lewis threw his arms up. He held a photo in his hand. You returned to putting the last of your textbooks on your desk, gently patting them down.

“How’s the unpacking going?” Lewis asked as he picked up Penny, who was squirming to attack your face with kisses. You walked over and gave both Penny and Lewis a quick peck. You admired your brand new Burkburnett Desk with Hutch. Photos, memorabilia from Europe, books, and pencils decorated your desk for school.

“Good. Turns out, living in a penthouse is a thousand times better than being a dormitory.” You said, leaning your shoulder against Lew’s as you played with Penny’s floppy ears. After some decision, Lewis had made your relationship official, but to both of your parents distaste. Your parents thought Lewis was a creep, his parents thought you were vixens. As Lewis said, the thanksgiving we're going to be interesting. So Lewis decided that you should move in with him, which you didn’t reject. Tribeca wasn’t that far from Bronoxville.

“Good girl/boy. I’m glad you already like it here.” Lewis cooed into your ear, placing a tender peck. “I got an addition for your desk.”

Lewis pulled the photo and showed you. A smile appeared on your face as you took the beautiful frame. It was a black and white photo of you and Lewis, having dinner on top of the Refinery Rooftop. Both of you had your hands together on the table, smiling as the sun set in the sky. Despite there being no colors, it was a breathtaking photo.

“I know just where to put this.” You breathed, walking towards your deck. Right next to your light and glasses was where the photo went. Next to it, a photo of Lew holding a two week old Pepper, a gift from Blanche. More like Blackmail according to Nixon, but you didn’t care. “There. Perfect. Now I’m all moved in.”

Lew snuck up behind you, snaking his hands around your waist as he rested his head on your shoulder. You leaned back with a subtle smile, putting one of your hands on his own.

“Since you’re here to stay, I was thinking of dining in tonight. Blanche’s coming over too.”

“She is?” You hummed.

“Yup. I Want to see the new place, since you came in and cleaned it up.” Lewis mumbled, “How does that sound?”

“That sounds great. Just peachy, Lew.”

You and Lewis fell in love during the war. You were there for eachother in your worst moments and pulled each other up when you both needed it most. But nothing is ever easy in life. You fight. It’s rough. You fight, breakup, kiss, and makeup. With Lewis’s recovery and your family disowning you, the path down the road won’t be easy. You know that you and Lew will face thousands of hardships, but it’s ok. You have each other, and it’s not perfect at all. But it works, and that’s all that matters.

#carrie writes #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers headcanons #band of brothers masterlist #lewis nixon headcanon

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citydreamgrls · 4 years ago

Text

how much have you had to drink?

george weasley x fem!reader

words: 2,387

a/n: maybe I did use too many differing pov’s but it is what it is,, enjoy!! :)

warnings: none ( i think )

I had been the first, and only person to prank the twins back at Hogwarts. Everyone else in the school was too afraid of their tricks that it was easier to stay out of a never-ending war with them. But I'd always been up for a good challenge, even if it was a 5 year long one.

As usual the twins joined me at breakfast, ignoring Angelina who had been telling me about the upcoming halloween party, and sat either side of me.

“Morning boys,”

“y/n,” they acknowledged in unison, both reaching for toast.

“Sleep well?” I asked George.

“Oh yes, perfectly.” He said sarcastically, taking a large bite of food.

“Almost as if someone slipped us a sleeping potion.” Fred joined in on the other side of me.

“Well I had to test my homework on someone,” I admitted, unashamed of my great potion-making skills. “Anything else strange happen last night?” I asked innocently.

“Nope.” they said.

“You sure? Because I managed to get some very lovely pictures of you too sporting some very sweet hairstyles.” I waved the photos of their sleeping forms in their faces, the little red pigtails flashing before their eyes.

Oliver Wood, having caught onto the end of our conversation leant across the table to see what I had.

“So that’s why you too looked like that this morning, I was beginning to worry I’d started sleepwalking.. Or styling.” He laughed, earning a glare from the boys beside me.

“You know we will get you back y/n,” Fred warned, but his threat was empty.

“Oh come on, you boys always go easy on me.” I laughed, taking a sip of my juice and immediately spitting it back out. “Gross!”

“Oh do we?” George asked, barely looking up from his book to hex my plate into slugs.

As much as the twins and I battled, they were still my best friends and I had spent pretty much my entire time at Hogwarts at their side. Unless Angelina pulled me away to gossip about whatever ‘exciting’ thing was coming up next.

This time it was the halloween party.

“I just don’t get why I have to dress up Lina, I'm already a witch. Can’t I go as myself?” I huffed, resting my legs on her lap as we sat in front of the fire.

“The Weasley’s won’t let anyone in who isn’t dressed up, it’s the rules.”

“Oh that’s easy, they’ll let me come regardless.” I laughed.

It was as if they appeared at the sound of their name, popping their heads over the back of the sofa. Both Angelina and I jumped out of our skin, immediately reaching up to hit them in retaliation.

“Hey, you guys will still let me come to the party saturday if I don’t dress up right?” I asked with an expectant smile.

“No costume,” Fred started

“No entry,” George finished. And then walked off to the dorms.

“Oi, but it’s me-”

“No exceptions,” They called back.

I fell back into the sofa, ignoring Angelina’s smug face as she started discussing costumes once again. Tossing up whether to go as a cat, or some sort of muggle character. Not that she really knew any, but she just wanted to impress one of the boys in the year above.

“Will you help me y/n?” she pleaded, to which I finally gave in. Knowing I didn’t have anything better to do.

Saturday morning rolled around and I still hadn’t sorted my own costume, but at least Angelina was happy with her Daphne costume that I’d helped organise.

Fred and George had slipped away early from dinner last night, claiming that they had to ‘finish up party plans’. But I felt uneasy, having swapped their ties for two slytherin ones and then locking them in the dorms until 2 minutes before classes started that morning.

Yes it made me late for Mcgonigall’s lesson too, but seeing them rush in wearing the wrong uniform and having to explain that it had just been mixed up somehow to their head of house was well worth it.

Still, they could be planning payback.

The party was starting in an hour, and everyone was in their dorms getting ready. Including about three more girls than were usually in mine and Angelina’s dorm, racing around with masks and lip liner and other parts of costumes.

I walked in to see a hat with bunny ears laying on my bed.

“It’s all I could find,” Angelina told me, as she passed by to grab her purple jacket. “Dunno if it’ll be enough though.”

“I’ll sort something out, thanks Lina!” I shouted after her as she raced to use the bathroom before anyone else slipped in.

My only thought at the time was clown makeup, but I didn’t have any white face paint, and never really enjoyed its feel as it was. So I took a red lipstick and some dark eyeshadow to draw diamonds round my eyes. With the bunny hat on I looked far from scary, but paired with the clown makeup and a dark lip, I at least looked creepy.

Angelina leant me some fishnet tights to wear with my black skirt and I threw on a zip hoodie I had stolen from one of them twins years ago. I couldn’t remember which one if I was being honest.

Oliver and I had been sharing a bottle of vodka I'd brought with me from home, knowing it got everyone drunk quicker than wizard booze. Without realising it, an hour had passed, and I was yet to see either of the twins.

“You seen Fred or George tonight?” I asked the boy beside me, who was enjoying his stress-free evening.

“Yeah, Fred is dressed as a fighter pilot and I think I saw George in some kind of lab coat… or maybe it was a doctor?” He laughed to himself.

I headed up to their dorm room to see if they were there, and sure enough I just avoided a head on collision as they walked out.

“Whoa, nearly lost me there!” I screamed, stumbling back with a laugh. “What are you guys doing up here,”

“Nothing,” George spoke quickly.

“How much did you drink, y/n” Fred asked, helping me down the stone steps until we made it safely to the common room.

“Not loads, hey that’s not right.” I frowned at the boy holding me steady. “Oliver said you were dressed as a Pilot Fred, not George.”

“I am George!” The boy, with the aviator sunglasses on, teased. “You’re as bad as mum honestly.”

“Yeah, at least our costumes are legit!” the other teased, flopping the bunny ear that had fallen over one eye away.

“Do you like it?” I spun round, the skirt bouncing around I did.

“It’s an interesting combination,”

“Well you haven’t kicked me out… yet.”

Unbeknownst to y/n’s knowledge, the twins continued to confuse her. Constantly running off to swap costumes, and mess with their friend further. Although it kind of backfired, as the more she drank, the less she trusted herself to tell them apart and gave up altogether. In the end they went back to their original costumes, Fred as the Pilot and George the bloody doctor. They both decided to tell y/n the next morning, when she could at least have a chance of understanding.

Everyone else was in bed, except for the twins and I who sat up singing by the fire and sharing the last bottle of gin that I could find in my stash.

“I’m gonna have to stock up my stash at christmas,” I laughed as the last swig was taken and we fell into each other's shoulders. I slumped between them, laughing at the memory of Ron and Hermione’s perfect dance routine to livin’ la vida loca earlier that night.

I felt a lump in my jacket pocket and remembered that’s where I’d left my cigarettes since being at home. I stood up, startling the boys and declared what I was leaving to do.

“I’m off for a smoke, see you in a bit.” They shook awake.

“Wait y/n, you can’t smoke here rememb- oh god she’s gone.”

“Well go on then George, stop her!” Fred grumbled to his brother, having already drifted back off to sleep.

George ran down the staircase, being careful not to make too much noise as his doctor’s coat flew behind him. He had only been a few seconds behind y/n, how could she have disappeared already? Still, he headed for the black lake, knowing that was her favourite spot to go when she wanted to be alone. He had watched her there many times, far away enough that she had never spotted him though.

“Y/n!” He whisper-shouted, running down the bank towards her. She was already sat down, the lighter in one hand and a cigarette balanced between her lips.

“What are you doing Fred?” she asked, mistaking him for the other twin.

“Oh about th-”

“At least it’s you and not George,”

The boy felt hurt by her words, always having looked after her without her knowing. Most of the time the lack of retaliation from the twins in their prank war was because George would sabotage it. He always felt guilty playing tricks on y/n.

“Why’s that?” He asked, playing along with what she believed to find out the truth.

The girl lit her cigarette regardless of his warning, and puffed out a breath of smoke offering it to the boy beside her who reluctantly agreed. Knowing that if his mother could see him now, she would have a heart attack.

“I always embarrass myself in front of George,” y/n admitted. “Whether it’s being drunk, or making stupid jokes. I just look like an idiot when I’m around him.”

“I don’t think you do,”

“I can’t help it though, it’s different with you. You’re like a brother to me Fred.”

“Actually y/n-” George started, wanting to come clean, but she kept going.

“But George, he’s just more than that you know. He always cares for me and makes sure I’m safe, hell he thinks I don’t notice when he watches me sulk down here.” She laughed lightly to herself, leaning to rest on the boy beside her. “I was so sure I knew him better than anyone else, but obviously not.” Her shoulders dropped in despair.

“Why’s that?”

“He probably just sees me as a friend right? I mean, I couldn’t even tell you two apart tonight, I thought you were him.” She scoffed.

George swallowed, knowing that him admitting to their prank would most likely cause some backlash from the girl. But he bit the bullet.

“I am George.”

Her body froze.

“Don’t joke.” She said flatly.

“I’m not, honestly. It was just supposed to confuse you earlier but I am George.”

Y/n stood up, dropping her cigarette into the water and headed up the hill towards the courtyard. George ran after her again.

“Please y/n wait!” He called out, grabbing her hand to stop her. She spun around, tears running down her face. “Oh god i’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you thought I was him, I just came to check on you.”

“I’m such an idiot god.” she huffed, trying to drag herself away but he wouldn’t let go. “I can’t even tell it’s you when you’re right here,”

“Yes you could y/n, that’s the whole point.”

“Still I just told you how I feel about you, with no intention of actually telling you, yet here we are with you being kind and nice and perfect and I’m just embarrassing myself once again.”

George followed her into the hallway and up the stairs, not wanting to call out until they were clear of the earshot of others. He managed to stop her just before the common room, pulling her aside into a secluded corner.

“Y/n, darling..” she had never heard him call anyone that seriously until now, and she couldn’t help but feel special because of that. “I have never seen you as an idiot, and you have never embarrassed yourself in front of me. In fact, I’ve always thought you were the perfect one.”

“Then why are you only telling me this now?” The girl asked him.

“I always thought you liked Oliver,”

“Wood?” she laughed and he hadn’t heard a sound better “God, he’s way too intense. Even tonight he wanted to talk game strategies with me, it was so boring.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

“So… you’ve always liked me?” She teased him slightly, playing with the seam of his costume. George just rolled his eyes and held her face, making her look up at him. Of course she had stood next to him before, but it was only in this moment that she felt the sheer height gap between them.

He leant down and kissed her lips, still clutching her face as her hands dropped from his coat in shock. He was soft and sincere, holding her as if he’d longed to do so for quite some time. Y/n smiled against George’s lips, making the boy blush to himself and thank Merlin that she couldn’t see him do it.

They broke away after what felt like nowhere near long enough, y/n rested her head into his chest and sighed happily.

“We should get to bed, it’s late.” George whispered and she nodded. “You tired?” y/n nodded again. “Okay darling let’s go.” He took her waist and lifted her off the ground, letting her wrap her legs around him and nestle into his neck.

He passed Fred who was slipping into unconsciousness on the common room sofa.

“Night Fred,” they called to him, and he just groaned back.

“Don’t worry, we can tell him in the morning.”

“George,” the girl in his arms groaned.

“Yesss..”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course darling,” George said softly and took the girl up to his dorm so she could sleep comfortably in his arms, her little head tucked between him and the bed. He laughed at the bunny hat discarded on the chair, remembering how sweet she’d looked in it.

Even as a creepy clown George had wanted to kiss her.

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #weasley #weasley twins #fred and goerge weasley #fred weasley #harry potter #y/n #george weasley x reader #the weasleys #the weasley twins

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 3

First

It was a good thing that Master Fu was giving them a month to get used to each other before he was going to make them start posting, because Chloe doubted any of them would give a convincing performance if they were supposed to start acting as friends.

It’s almost like suddenly shoving five people into a confined space and saying ‘play nice’ caused tensions. Who knew?

They were, for the most part, avoiding each other.

After all, even before the whole ordeal, their best relationships with each other were tense. Ladybug had something against Chat, Carapace didn’t see eye to eye with Ladybug, and everyone definitely hated Chloe.

The only person who didn’t seem to be mad at anyone was Rena… but she was also relatively new, and Chloe was pretty sure everyone agreed with her when she said that Rena was annoying.

Chloe walked into the kitchen and fought back a wince when she saw Rena at the table eating cereal. She turned around as slowly as possible. Maybe she wouldn’t notice her, she was on her phone after all --.

“Chloe!”

Dang.

Chloe turned back around and tried for a smile, exhausted as she was. The worst part of all of this was that none of them could properly express their grievances without fear of someone being akumatized.

“I have some questions for you!”

She was still going to be super passive-aggressive, though.

“Again? Didn’t you get enough information the first few times?”

“Nope! Every answer just gives me more questions.”

She supposed she should just be glad that she wasn’t currently in costume. Her wings tended to buzz when she was annoyed and she doubted Rena could take any of them being angry with her.

“Okay. Go ahead, I’ll answer while I make myself food,” said Chloe.

Rena started questioning her about her powers. Luckily they just seemed to be the basics of her powers (Do all bees listen to her or only worker bees? Does she need to eat a lot of honey to create honey in battle? How do her wings carry her if, by all known laws of aviation, there is no way --?). Sure, they were awkward questions to answer because she only had theories, but the words ‘I don’t know’ seemed to satiate Rena just as much as proper answers.

She saw people shuffling in to make food and take it back to their rooms as quietly as they could while Rena was distracted with Chloe. She sent them glares out of the corner of her eyes but she didn’t call out to them or anything. This was a consequence of her own screw up, she would have to be the one to deal with it.

So, she drizzled honey on her cheerios and resigned herself to answering more questions.

Know what? Even if this is the direct result of her own mistake, she was allowed to complain.

And complain she would.

These people are the worst.

You already know why Rena was annoying to live with. Her constant questions gave Chloe no peace outside of her room.

And, inside her room, she had to deal with listening to Ladybug working on… something above her at all hours. Did Ladybug sleep? Signs point to no. Chloe wished that Master Fu hadn’t let her convert the attic into a room, it was very clear at this point that the people who made the house had not expected people to live in the attic. For some reason.

Chat Noir was… a cat. He slept almost the entire day and left things everywhere in the few hours he was awake. (Chloe understood that he likely had a maid back at his house, she wasn’t used to not having her normal butler around herself, but even she was better about picking up after herself.)

The only slightly tolerable one was Carapace. He spent most of his time hiding out in his room, studying.

Chloe had considered getting a job to get away.

(She wouldn’t actually get one, obviously, that was peasant stuff. Still, the fact that she even briefly thought about it is proof enough of the stress she was under.)

Beyond that, chores were just… not getting done. Have you ever seen a cat do something it was told to? Seen a turtle do anything at all? No? Chloe hadn’t seen that, either. The two bathrooms were a mess of different products. The washing machine was constantly in use because people kept forgetting that they were the last person to put anything in. She was beginning to forget whether or not the floors were carpeted she hadn��t seen them in so long…

(The only things that got done were the garbage and dishes, and only because no one wanted the house to smell. Chloe wasn’t sure who did them. Chloe also didn’t care as long as it wasn’t her.)

So, yes, things were not looking good. The only reason no one got akumatized during that first week was that everyone was working to stay calm.

Eventually, they adapted like all humans -- or partial humans, because at this point she was pretty sure everyone was at least a little bit their animals -- do when put in a new situation.

Chat, after getting a single pimple because he couldn’t find one of his skincare treatments in the mess, ended up cleaning the bathrooms. It was here that the girls realized that some of the products in their own bathroom were, in fact, Chat’s products, but they were fine with it because now they didn’t have to bother cleaning.

Rena took up the rest of the cleaning. Apparently even the five of them were less messy than her younger siblings were. Whatever she found that had been there for days that wasn’t hers was thrown into Chat’s room -- which ended with a lot of things going ‘missing’ but it was better than finding stuff everywhere.

Ladybug ended up doing laundry. It seemed that Ladybug had some kind of knowledge about clothes (maybe it had something to do with the job she apparently had?), because they found that their clothes were completely devoid of wrinkles and that the colors were bright even after a few washes. They weren’t going to question it.

After seeing Chloe and Chat’s spending habits, Carapace had decided that he would be the one to go to the grocers. It may be Master Fu’s money, but apparently he couldn’t handle the idea of spending that much more than they needed.

And Chloe? Chloe did nothing.

Just kidding. She tended to all of the plants in and outside the house. She rather liked gardening, she thought, but she figured that it was just a side-effect of the bee miraculous. Either way, it led to the group having fresh herbs and vegetables on hand for cooking.

Hardly anyone cooked, but still. It’s the thought that counts... or something.

Chloe had finished her gardening for the day and now she looked at the sign up sheet for patrols.

She huffed a little when she saw that Chat had signed up for the night. Again.

She walked to Chat’s room to ask him to just let her have patrols tonight or at least take her with him.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes when she opened the door and found him curled up in a tiny patch of sunlight, asleep.

Wait… asleep…

She smiled at her kwami. Pollen never talked -- and she was pretty sure she’d never heard any of the others’ talk either -- but that didn’t mean that Chloe couldn’t tell that Pollen was disapproving of what Chloe was thinking.

“Oh, shut up --.” The kwami frowned and Chloe gave a little huff. “I didn’t mean -- whatever. Sorry. Buzz on.”

Chloe flew over to where Chat was sleeping and considered him for a minute. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep…

Well, who was she to disturb that peace?

She picked up his phone and turned off the alarm to wake him up for patrols. A finger pointed at him, she mumbled the embarrassing call for her powers (“Don’twakeupdon’twakeup ‘Sticky Situation’ stayasleeeeep -- nice.”) and smiled when he was almost instantly coated with honey. She hardened the honey around him to make sure he was properly stuck.

(The honey stopped at his shoulders, a good distance away from his face and hair -- she was pretty sure he’d kill her if she did that and, with his power, that wouldn’t be hard.)

She stepped back and admired her handiwork.

She loved her power.

She snapped a picture and left the room.

Chloe hummed as she flew down the stairs to the main room. She crossed Chat’s name off of the list and replaced it with her own.

She made her way over to the couch and laid across it on her stomach to wait for patrols to start. She scrolled through TikTok absently, looking for ideas on what to do…

“WAIT WHAT’S GOING ON --?!” She heard Chat’s voice yell, confused, but it cut itself off. There was a beat and she heard him yell again: “PLAGG, CLAWS OUT! CATACLYSM!”

Ah. Dang. She’d been hoping that she’d already be gone when he woke up...

“CHLOE! WHAT THE HECK?!”

Did he really need to figure out it was her so quickly? Sure, she was the only one that could use honey, but come on!

She looked back at her phone for the time.

One more hour…

She saw Chat’s red face at the top of the stairs and tensed.

Well, there really is no harm in going early.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen

#a miraculous tiktok account #chloe bourgeois #queen bee #rena rouge #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #chat noir #miraculous team #rewriting miraculous #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #nino lahiffe #carapace #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

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otaku553 · 5 years ago

Text

Dreamy Gear Waddle Dee and Dedede are here! I’ll do Daroach and Magolor next :D If you’re looking for Kirby and Meta Knight, they’re over here.

Design process under the cut again!

So with Dee, I knew I wanted them to be young, but still older than Kirby since they seem to explain stuff to Kirby. I settled on the age of 14, which would make them young but still old enough to work as a mechanic (sort of) and knowledgable enough about the world to explain things to Kirby (but still having the naivety of a child). You can see that I kept making Dee taller and taller in every iteration XD

I wanted to keep the bandana in there somewhere, so I made it a scarf under the collar of their shirt. Dee’s design was sort of difficult because I still wanted to keep a somewhat gender-neutral design. A lot of the fashions I saw either leaned towards masculine or feminine, and nothing much in between. I settled on more masculine clothes because it would make more sense for a mechanic at the time, but tried to keep some of the gender-neutral aspect through their coat.

The hair turned out shorter than I would usually draw their hair, but much longer than Kirby’s anyways, since short hair was much more popular at the time. I wanted it to fit nicely with the cap, and I’m pretty happy with it!

I think at first I was thinking that Waddle Dee would be sort of middle class, which is why I had that vest. It looked too formal though. Since they were a mechanic, but still young, I reconsidered. They were probably lower-middle class or so, especially considering the sewn in patch on their hat. I tried to include the sewn patch motif in several places, since it would really drive home that they didn’t really have the money to replace their coat. I like to think that they’re reasonable and would’ve saved up enough for one by now, but they also always buy food for Kirby, so they’re sort of giving up some luxuries to make sure Kirby is alright.

The discovery of overalls was amazing. It fits them so well! I was a bit worried that they wouldn’t maintain as much of their color pallette without the coat though, so I made the suspenders colored, to keep some of that orange. Overall, I’m pretty proud of this design!

Dedede’s design is where I realized I sort of screwed up?? Aviator hats didn’t become a thing until early 20th century which yeah is pretty close to what I had of like the 1890s, but not quite there. Oh well. Anyways, I saw this really nice image of a vintage pilot, and I thought that suited Dedede perfectly. Not only did it keep that nice formal looking suit that a president of a factory would have, it had fur!! which is a must in any Dedede design. So there wasn’t as much research into the styles for this. I ended up hiding the inner jacket layer so that the vest would be more visible. I also made the zigzag pattern a vest instead of a sash because I thought it made more sense that way. I wanted to keep it as close to the official render as possible so I kept the belt buckles on the vest, but I personally don’t think the buckles are really accurate for the time period-- I’m not sure though.

It’s subtle but there’s also pockets on the coat, which I think he stores his gloves in. Hmm, I thought I should maybe put the goggles on the aviator hat in one ref image, but the big ornate bulb thing at the front would probably impede that. There’s also the black fur on the coat! Just to give a more classy look. The collar can also be flipped up for a high collar to protect him from the wind. My priority with the coat was to make it practical while looking classy, so it can close all the way.

That’s most of it! Thanks for reading, if you did. I love seeing people appreciate the thought I put into these because I really try my best.

In other news, I started a fic! It’s just about cute interactions between Dreamy Gear Meta and Kirby, which is a dynamic I really want to see. It’s also got a summary of the Dreamy Gear novel in it, but I am not going to link it because my account is cringe. I’m not hard to find at all, so if you do go looking for it, you won’t really need any hints.

#kirby #kirby gijinka #king dedede #dedede gijinka #waddle dee #waddle dee gijinka #bandana dee gijinka #bandana waddle dee gijinka #bandana dee #bandana waddle dee #kirby dreamy gear

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

Note

Another one hehe, it's ok to take time 😅 Dell made some time traveling machine then he called Mundy to try it, Mundy decide to go back in in the day 1942 in France where Lucien was in a 20s-30years old. Mundy tried to talk the young Lucien 😁

Alright, this took the life and floof out of me. At first I didn’t like it but then I just couldn’t stop! Here it is, and I hope you enjoy it!! Also, I changed the year to be in the fifties or so ^^ Be warned, it’s more than 5k words ^^!

"You sure it works?" Sniper scratched his brow.

"Yeah." Engie answered confidently.

"And there's no danger?"

"Yeah, I saw Edison himself yesterday and Medic had a check-up on me. Nothing's wrong."

Sniper and Engineer were in the Texan's garage, in front of a tall box that looked like an old time telephone booth.

"So, where d'you wanna go? Or rather, when and where?" Engie asked with a proud smile. That telephone box was a time machine.

Sniper frowned and tilted his head thinking hard. He could go back a decade or so, even a few decades, to see his parents again. Hell, he could go back and see real dinosaurs if he wanted to!

"Paris, 1953." Was his answer. Engie raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, Christmas day, wherever the French Ministry of Defense is."

"Why?"

Sniper looked away.

"There's a monument I want to see."

Engie half guessed where it was all going.

"Alrighty then, get in, when you hear a beep, count to twenty and then open the door. Wherever you end up with that machine, you need to remember where it was, cause that's your only ticket back."

"Anything I shouldn't do?" Sniper asked.

"Like what?" Engie chuckled.

"I don't know, to not change the past and stuff like that?"

"Nah, it's fine. Unless you kill someone… Yeah, don't get your hands on a rifle and kill someone. And don't meet yourself. God knows what would happen… I guess that should do."

"Right, kill no one and don't see any family, got it." Sniper repeated to himself and Engie opened the door for him to jump in.

"And how long do I have?" Sniper asked.

"Here, take this watch."

"Looks like Spy's."

"Yeah, but it doesn't just turn you invisible. Press the button on the side three times and I'll know you're back in the machine and ready to make it back."

"Okay, I think I got it." Sniper took the watch and put it on. Then he stepped in the machine. Oddly enough, it looked slightly bigger on the inside than what it seemed at first. There wasn't much inside, its walls were all blue, the ceiling was white and there was a chair and a coat hanger. Sniper removed his hat and sleeveless jacket to put himself at ease before sitting on the chair. Engie gave him a smile and a thumbs up before shutting the door. Soon, Sniper heard a beep.

"Right, here we go. One, two, three, four, five…"

When he reached twenty, he stood up and went to the door again.

"Paris, 1953. He should be about thirty-odd years old now."

Mundy put his hand on the door handle and pulled on it a bit. The door creaked slightly and he took a peek. Wherever he had landed was very dark. After making sure there was no one around he got out.

"Ouch!"

He bumped on something and heard wooden things tumble and fall on the floor.

"Where the hell am I…?"

He walked trying to grope for his way to any source of light while his back was hunched slightly. Sniper soon found the wall in front of him. His hands roamed on it until -

"Ah! Gotcha!" He flipped the switch and the lightbulb above his head lit up.

"What the…? Engie, I think you got it wrong, mate…" He said, as if Englie could hear him. He realised he had landed in a broom closet. The wooden clinking sounds he had heard were the broomsticks falling to the floor.

"Let's see." He pushed the door and looked left and right. "Bloody hell, he might have got it right after all."

The walls were very tall and wooden. Portraits and oil paintings were hung there with elegant lamps with golden handles, that were decorated with tinsel and Christmas ornaments. The floor was wooden as well and as he looked at the ceiling, Sniper saw intricate white mouldings.

"That's one hell of a posh building." Sniper exited the broom closet and walked around. His heels resonated on the wooden floor. Soon, he could hear the distant noise of incomprehensible chattering.

"Where are you all…?" He followed the noises until he could see that he clearly was standing somewhere he shouldn't be. All the guests to the Christmas party were at the end of the corridor he was walking through.

"Monsieur?"

[Sir?]

A voice made him freeze. He turned and faced a waiter elegantly dressed in black and white.

"Aucun invité n'est autorisé ici."

Bloody hell they speak real French… Sniper thought. He blushed.

"Uh, you speak English?"

"Yes, I was saying that no guests were allowed here." The waiter answered with an accent that made Spy look like he had none.

"Ah, well, I-I uh… I was watching the paintings and I got carried away, my bad, really. Could you show me where the rest of the guests are? I'm afraid I got lost a bit."

"But of course, pray follow me."

Mundy stayed on the waiter's heels and soon entered a wide room with possibly more than a hundred people impeccably dressed, the sound of their chats rising in the air. There was a stage with some musicians playing in the background too, adding to the audible and visible Christmas atmosphere.

"There you are, Sir."

"Ah, thanks."

Mundy looked at his attire and rolled his eyes. His Mann Co. red polo shirt and brown trousers wouldn't do. He looked right and left and quickly found the restroom. He headed there and slipped in.

Sniper saw a man who happened to be roughly his height and build. He seemed already quite drunk judging by the way he struggled to maintain his balance, trying to redo his bowtie. Mundy made sure there was no one else in the cubicles before acting.

"Bonjour." He tried his best to hide his accent but could almost hear Spy laugh at him for it…

"Bonsoir." The man answered before squinting at his reflection on the mirror again.

[Good evening]

Mundy went to the restroom's main door and looked through the window. No one was immediately coming. He went for the poor drunk man trying to adjust his bowtie and knocked him unconscious before dragging him to one of the cubicles. He then swapped their clothes. Of course he kept his aviator glasses.

When he emerged from the restroom again, he was wearing a black suit and bowtie with a white shirt. He even had kept the handkerchief in the jacket pocket. Now he could face it all and look for the man he had gone through all that trouble for.

The main room with the guests was swarming with people. Men dressed sharp and ladies wearing colourful and elegant - albeit for him quite old-fashioned - dresses.

"Right, now, time to hunt for him… Where are you?" He said to himself as he walked through people. He didn't know where to find him but Sniper knew he was wearing a black suit and tie… which didn't help at all because that was the case for most if not all of the male guests.

"Argh, bugger, how the hell am I going to find you… If you were a panther, I'd know where to start but - oh, wait… You're a panther, you are a panther! I just need to hunt the same thing as you do and I'll find you. Pff, what the hell d'you hunt for…?"

Mundy pondered for a minute when he heard a group of women laugh on his right. He looked there and smiled to himself.

"Of course, sheilas!"

He headed in their direction and stopped walking when his eyes fell on a man, about a foot shorter than him, in a black suit and tie, a cigarette between his lips and his ice blue, almost grey eyes shining like he had rarely seen them before. His pitch black, silk hair was elegantly combed back except for a rebel front tuft that elegantly fell between his eyes.

Mundy smiled. He had found him. He had found young Spy!

He stayed there and watched him from a safe distance, with half-lidded eyes and a dreamy smile on his lips. A waiter passed by and offered him some drinks but Mundy didn't even see him. All he could see was that elegant man, being what defined him best, the best womanizer on the face of Earth.

Sometimes, a man would come and take a lady away from him but the man with the piercing eyes would wink at her and even if Mundy wasn't the one that this wink was destined to, he would blush.

"Almost fifteen years before and you still can't make the first step, hm?"

Mundy's blood froze. He recognised the suave voice with the French accent. But how? He had his eyes on Spy right now, it couldn't be him talking and at the same time being five metres away, busy seducing any woman who happened to meet his gaze!

Mundy felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head.

"What the hell are you doin' here?!"

Spy, the real one - well, the old one - was standing next to him as elegantly dressed as his younger self.

"I could ask you the same question, you early stalker."

"Pff…" Mundy chuckled.

"So, what are you up to, Sniper? And what is that suit? Does it belong to the unconscious man in the restroom?"

"Well…"

"Next time, knock out someone who actually is the same size as you."

"What are you talkin' about?" Sniper looked down at himself. "It's my size!"

"Mon Dieu, the keenest and quickest eyes I have seen and yet you cannot spot a man that is built like you…"

[My God]

"Oi, I could, I just didn't have much choice, alright?"

"Of course, blame it on fate."

They both chuckled at their own banter.

"But you didn't tell me," Spy turned his piercing eyes to his friend. "What brings the man in a van in Paris in the year of our Lord 1953, hm?"

"I don't know really… I just… I wanted to see it with my own eyes."

"The photograph I showed you wasn't enough?"

"N-no, that's not what I meant. I mean… It's better with colours, and for real."

Spy smiled and handed him a glass of champagne, which he gladly accepted. But Sniper's eyes never left Spy, the young one.

"What do you see?"

"I… The picture didn't lie, you really looked like that."

Spy raised a confused eyebrow.

"Did you think I tampered with the picture to look different?"

"N-no, I… Argh, I can't speak sometimes, I just sound stupid."

Spy smirked. He knew why Sniper was losing his words.

"Ah, look at me… Black hair, no lines on my face yet, and as proud as a peacock." Spy felt nostalgic.

"Not really different from you now, eh."

"Very poor lie." Spy snickered.

"Not for the proud bit." Sniper teased.

"Tsk…"

They chuckled and tipped their glasses before taking a sip.

"Ah, the champagne from the Ministry's receptions…"

"Takes you back, eh?" Sniper asked.

"You have no idea." Spy answered, a bittersweet smile on his lips. "But tell me."

"What?"

"Why here and now?" Spy asked. "You could have chosen any destination, any time. You could have seen wonderful things, met legendary people, and yet, you chose Paris in the winter of the year 1953."

Sniper stared at the champagne glass in his hand.

"It's that picture you showed me the other day when we were chattin'."

"What about it?"

"I don't know… It stayed stuck to my head and I kept wondering."

"What would it look like with colours?" Spy asked.

"Yeah, well, that and, uh… I wanted to know how you were before. If you've always been like that."

"Like what?"

"Like the spooky bastard you are, obviously!"

They chuckled.

"Well, why don't you go and see for yourself?" Spy suggested. "Go on then, go and talk to me."

"W-what should I say?"

"This is entirely up to you, but I cannot talk to myself so go ahead, I will just stay here and hope I can remember the content of that conversation, as I cannot partake in it or watch it from close enough.

"B-but I don't know what to say…"

"Do it like I would." Spy smirked. "Improvise."

"Thanks for the shit advice, eh."

"Fine, then a true piece of advice from me to you, to go and talk to the younger me - Mon Dieu, how strange this sounds - is go and seduce me."

"What?!"

Spy couldn't hold back his giggle.

"Stop messin' with me."

"That look on your face was worth it, mon ami."

[My friend.]

"Screw you, Spook."

Spy laughed further. Mundy took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs.

"R-right, I'll try something."

Spy smiled maliciously and followed Sniper with his eyes. When he saw Mundy started speaking, he clicked on his watch and turned invisible before getting closer. He wasn't going to miss Sniper taking the first step on him for anything in the world. Also, now that he thought about it, he had just acted like the wingman to… his younger self?

"H-hey there." Mundy said, his back slightly hunched and his cheeks pink already.

"Bonsoir." The younger Spy turned to face him.

[Good evening.]

Spy's eyes had always been that impressive then, eh?

"Gosh, even your voice is the same…"

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow.

"The same as what?"

"And the accent! Bloody hell, it's really you!"

"Do I know you, perhaps?"

"Ah, uh, n-not yet."

"Obviously." The younger Spy answered. "What is your name?"

"Mundy, you?"

"Lucien."

"Really? Is that your name? Not one of those Jean-Pierre or other names like a train with loads of carts?"

The man with the black hair chuckled and Mundy saw his pearly white teeth.

"Oui, I can assure you that Lucien is my name. Does it not suit me?" He asked jokingly.

"Yeah, nah, sorry, I'm just a bit… confused." Mundy answered.

"I can see that."

Mundy looked around. Only a few ladies were orbiting around Lucien now but it was still too much for him and he didn't seem comfortable talking in front of them.

"D'you… D'you mind if we go somewhere a bit more calm?"

Lucien looked around him and smiled. There was something he liked about the strange man with the sideburns talking to him, something strangely attractive, or attractively strange.

"Follow me."

Mundy nodded and after crossing the room and taking some stairs, they found an empty smoking room.

"Do you smoke?"

"Sometimes."

"Here," Lucien flipped his cigarette case open, "Help yourself."

"Good Lord, even the case is the same… and the cigs too…!" Mundy said as he took a cigarette.

Lucien smiled and lit them both before they took a seat.

"You seem to compare me to someone else a lot."

"Yeah, well, there's this bloke I know." Mundy started. "He uh… He looks like you quite a bit. He's just a bit older."

"Mundy?"

Mundy's heart skipped a beat. Hearing his name uttered by that man, in that voice, that accent… It was surreal.

"Yeah?"

"Who are you? No doubt you know me, but I don't think I have ever seen you before."

"Y-yeah, well, uhm…" Mundy scratched the back of his head.

"And you clearly are not on the guest list either. I know every single one of the guests today. None of them are called Mundy. Besides, you clearly didn't make much effort to prepare for this reception."

Mundy's jaw dropped and Lucien puffed on his cigarette.

"H-how d'you know?"

"Your beard resembles more a messy stubble than anything else. It is clearly not taken care of, your hair either. And this suit…" Lucien's eyes were as piercing as Spy's. "You have never worn a proper suit before. You didn't adjust the bowtie or the cuffs properly and I think it is slightly too large for you, even though the fashion nowadays leans towards larger cuts, this is too much."

"Bloody hell, it's really you…" Mundy muttered under his breath.

"If you are talking about the man who is the best intelligence agent France has ever seen, oui, c'est moi."

[Yes, it is me.]

Lucien put a proud hand on his chest and bowed his head with the most smug grin.

"And still arrogant at that!"

"Still?"

"Yeah, well, uh… Nevermind."

"But please, tell me." Lucien insisted.

"What?"

"Who are you?" Lucien repeated.

"You don't wanna know how a bloke like me ended up in the French Ministry of Defense's Christmas party?"

"I'll find it out soon enough." Lucien said confidently. "Besides, you don't seem to be a threat."

"Nah, I'm not."

"If you didn't come here to threaten the security of my country, then it is none of my concern. I am more intrigued by who you really are."

"I'm…" Mundy closed his eyes for a minute, just to gather his thoughts. "You don't know it but uh… You've changed my life. You've changed my life, my days and my nights."

Lucien frowned.

"You've… Argh… Remember I told you you look like someone I know?"

Lucien chuckled.

"You never really stopped saying so."

"Yeah, sorry, it's just… Anyway, that bloke who really looks like you… He uh… You taught him everything and if he is my friend now, it's because of you. Bloody hell, I hope he is my friend. I see him like a friend but…"

Lucien puffed on his cigarette and listened carefully. Mundy shook his head as if to shoo away his thoughts.

"Anyway, he's just a friend, eh. But, uh…"

"You clearly have fallen for him." Lucien calmly said and Mundy bit his lip in embarrassment. "There is no shame to have."

"How d'you know?" Mundy asked. "How d'you know I…"

"It's the way you can't find your words. And trust me, I have seen more people possessed by love than my age lets you guess."

Mundy rolled up his eyes.

Oh I know… He thought.

"But please, come back to the tale you were telling me."

"Yeah, well, that bloke, he, uh… I really like him b-but he doesn't know it, nah."

"Can't you tell him?"

"No! Oh God, no… He's a magnet for sheilas, that bloke, a bit like you."

Lucien smiled proudly.

"That doesn't automatically prevent him from appreciating the company of men." He answered.

"You think so?"

"But of course. Personally, I don't mind much. Well, to be nearer the truth, I should say that I couldn't care less. Man, woman… Bah, same difference as you say in English."

Mundy opened wide eyes.

"Y-you like blokes?"

"I can, oui."

"Oh my God…" Mundy slapped his forehead.

"What does it have to do with me, though?" Lucien asked.

"Everything! I mean, no, I mean… See, I know the ladies run after you like bees after honey, I saw them back there. So I'm thinking that it's maybe the same for my friend, eh?"

"Maybe, but to each their own."

"C-can I ask you something?" Mundy hesitantly asked.

"You just did." Lucien calmly answered. "But go ahead."

"If I told you that uh, ahem, somewhere, or sometime, you'd meet an Aussie and uh… He'd be about my height, he wouldn't have a clue how to dress up or do anything fancy, and uh… H-he'd be a hunter, he'd live in a van, going through the desert and hunting."

"Hunting what?"

"Depends, he'd take contracts. Most of the time it's just pest control but occasionally, he'd take down a man… N-not because he wants to but because he's just good with a rifle and… And some people you can't let live like… Like some of the Nazis you caught."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped.

"Hm, I see."

"What would you think of that man?" Mundy asked, fumbling with his fingers on the dark brown leather armchair.

Lucien smirked.

"I would want to know him." Mundy's eyebrows jumped. "I've always had a weakness for the exotic and foreign. An Australian man, you say? That sounds exciting. Besides, if he is as shy and clumsy as you are, then I would definitely go and talk to him."

"Really?"

"Oui. You seem to doubt my words a lot, but I am sincere." Lucien smiled. "What profit would I get to not be honest?"

"Y-yeah, I guess you're right."

"May I ask, this man your heart is worried about, he is here, in this reception, non?"

"S-sort of, yeah." Mundy frowned. "But how did you guess?"

Lucien gave him that trademarked smile of his, the one where his eyes read him as if he was naked.

"For a man as shy as you seem to be, to manage to burst in a reception such as this, with a suit that you 'borrowed' and talking to a stranger like me, well, it's either a lot of money that you are after, or something utterly priceless."

Mundy was flabbergasted. Spy's mind had always been that sharp then, it was insane.

"And when I say something utterly priceless, I mean someone that you attached yourself so deeply that you cannot possibly think of anyone else. You, Monsieur Mundy, are quite the romantic type, despite the lack of self-care. Oui, romantic and very faithful."

"How the hell can you guess all that?"

"It is no guess. As I said, despite your timid personality, you didn't hesitate to breach these extremely protected walls for just a glimpse maybe, of the man your heart is now racing for. That is for the romantic side. The faithful one I get from your glasses."

"My glasses?"

"You went to the trouble of stealing this suit from someone, but you insist on wearing your own glasses, which could not match less well with the whole attire. Shy and romantic makes you as faithful in love as you are to your glasses." Lucien crushed his cigarette butt in the ashtray as a professor would end the demonstration of a mathematical theorem.

"Bloody hell…"

"Do I know him?" Lucien asked.

"Who?"

"The man you love."

"Yeah… Yeah you know him very well actually."

"May I know who it is?"

"N-nah, not yet… Not in the next fifteen-odd years, heh…" Mundy chuckled slightly. "Maybe one day I'll tell you."

"Should I then wait for a decade and a half?"

"I'm afraid so." Mundy answered smiling.

"I am way too impatient for that."

"Oh I know…"

"And if I really am like that friend of yours, then he surely knows that you love him."

Mundy's smile vanished.

"What?"

"Mundy, you are atrociously easy to read."

"So you know who-?"

"Oui." Lucien stood up and went to the impressive dark wooden door. He looked back at Mundy who had lowered his head and was staring at his boots. They didn't match with the black suit trousers. "Mundy?"

He raised his head.

"See you in fifteen years." And Lucien exited the room, leaving Mundy alone. He looked down at his boots again, trying to understand what he should take from that conversation.

"So, how did you find me?"

Mundy got startled and put a hand on his chest as a silhouette emerged from a thin cloud.

"Bloody hell, Spook! I thought you were still downstairs!"

"You heard me say it here and now, I have always been awfully impatient." Spy joked as he sat down on the armchair that his younger self had used a minute ago.

"Yeah, well… Were you here all along?"

"Oui."

"You heard everything?"

"And saw it too."

Mundy winced and looked away. He leaned back on his armchair and averted his gaze from Spy at all cost.

"And now I have a vague memory of it as well. After all, you were talking to me. But tell me, how did you find me?"

"Same as now." Mundy said.

Spy felt his embarrassment.

"So were you." He answered before silence fell.

"Spook?"

"Oui?"

"What he said about… The bloke I talked about. Is it true?"

"Oui."

"So you know?"

"Oui."

"Have you - have you known for a long time?"

"Quite a while." Spy answered simply.

"How long?"

"A few weeks now, roughly, but it strangely feels like decades." Spy scratched his head.

"Bugger…" Mundy hid his face in his hands.

"Sniper?"

"What?"

"Don't feel angry."

"I'm not, I'm just… I'm confused, alright? I don't know what to do, what to think anymore!"

"Why?" Spy asked calmly.

"Because you know!" Sniper stood up and headed away. He left the room and went down the stairs, rushing past people. He pushed them out of his way without apologising. He crossed the room when a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned and was about to roar at whoever dared stop him but his rage just vanished.

"Mundy."

He looked at his feet.

"Look at me."

"Nah, mate, I-I can't."

"Look at him." A voice whispered in his ear and Mundy yielded.

"Mundy," The young Lucien continued. "When I meet you again, in fifteen years, please remind me."

"Of what?"

"Remind me of the chat we had today."

"You think you'll forget it?"

"Non. I won't ever forget the man who broke into the reception under the highest security just to have a chat with me." The younger Lucien tapped his shoulder. "Goodbye."

Mundy nodded and left. When he got in the time machine again, he clicked three times on his watch and counted to twenty...

That night, he spent it thinking in utter silence, in his van. Mundy needed to calm his racing brain but he couldn't help it, it was running as fast as a hamster in a wheel.

Spy knew the truth. More than that, he had been knowing for the past fifteen-odd years now…

A knock broke his train of thought.

"Bugger off."

The door opened against his expectations and his will. It revealed the silhouette of a man in a suit. Mundy sighed as Lucien entered and shut the door after him. He sat down on his worn out couch, next to him.

"Mundy, we need to talk."

"I think I said everything already. You need to talk."

"Correct. I need to talk to you and ask you if you are upset or angry against me."

"No."

"But you still lock yourself up here because…?"

"Because I don't know what else to do."

"Ah, I see." Lucien nodded. "May I tell you what I think?"

Mundy nodded, albeit still not looking at Lucien, who swiftly removed his mask.

"We both know your side of the story. Aren't you curious to know mine?"

Mundy shrugged.

"Really? You don't want to know?" Lucien insisted.

"What would it change?"

"You can't know if you don't know my version of the story." Lucien answered calmly and Mundy sighed.

"Alright, go ahead."

Lucien cleared his throat. They were both sitting in the dark in the van and the small windows of it only let a very little amount of moonlight through.

"You have impressed me today. Of all the places you could have gone to, of all the people… You could have chosen to visit your grandparents, your parents! And yet you chose Paris, 1953."

Lucien paused.

"I can only imagine how often you think of me, then; how obsessed you are with me. I don't take it strangely, countless people have before you. But you stand out, Mundy. There is one thing that that cohort of people do not share with you."

Mundy turned his head to ask why.

"Ever since I saw you at this reception, in 1953, your image never left me."

Mundy frowned.

"The more I think about it, the more I think that in fact, you said it all in your first few words to me, in that smoking room. You said 'You have changed my life'. Did I? How so? Is it that I'm the first man you fall for?"

Lucien looked at Mundy's eyes.

"Non, it's not that, I can see it in your eyes. What is it then?"

Mundy didn't answer.

"Usually when I change people's lives, it is because I end it. But I didn't kill you and I never will, I can't. How did I change your life? Did you just mean that your mind was constantly busy with me? Was that it?"

Again, Lucien looked for the answer in Mundy's eyes.

"Non, it's not that." He sighed. "Whatever you meant by that is entirely up to you. I can but wonder. But I think you should know that I didn't tell you everything I thought back then, because I didn't know you as I do today."

Mundy raised a curious eyebrow.

"When you asked me what I would think about an Australian man like you, I didn't tell you the entire truth. But it isn't because I wanted to lie. It is because back then, I didn't have all the truth. However, today, I do. Shall I tell you?"

Mundy nodded slightly.

"Bien." Lucien took a deep breath. "If I were to meet a man like you, I would first be curious as I naturally am. I would get to know you, through asking you directly, or digging around, on my own. But I confirm what I said fifteen years ago. I would definitely come and talk to you."

Mundy was listening, his eyes riveted on the bit of sky through the window opposite them.

"And what would I discover? I would confirm what I had guessed fifteen years ago already. You are shy and very faithful, but also passionate. And, growing older, I would realise that what lasts in life is what you have inside of you, not the shell outside. I would learn to accept the stubble and the sideburns, the hat and the glasses, the rifle and the van."

Lucien paused and smiled to himself.

"More than that, I would fall for them all."

Mundy's heart jumped and his blood froze.

"The van? I would try to spend more time there, if you are in. The rifle? Seeing it means that you are close by. The hat? Underneath it is a good man. The glasses? They hide beautiful, if shy, eyes. The sideburns? They are you as much as you are them. The hair? I would give a lot to feel it between my fingers."

Mundy's jaw had dropped as he stared at Lucien now, the shock of what he just said painted on his face. Lucien was still looking through the window.

"I have fallen for you as much as you have for me. That is the difference between all these people who fell for me before you, and you. You, Mundy, and to put it bluntly... I find myself in love you."

Mundy put a hand on his mouth to cover his bewilderment. Silence fell. The Aussie was incapable of speech.

"What you did today, or shall I say fifteen years ago, that is quite unlike you, Mundy. You behaved very bravely. Not to say that you are not courageous, non, I have seen you at work and you are remarkable. I mean for a man as shy as you to choose to tell me that you love me, even if it's fifteen years in advance… It takes some courage. Especially as I am sure that deep down you knew that however twisted you would make your story sound to me, I would understand that the message in its most essential form was 'I love you'."

Mundy sighed and Lucien wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"I love you too, Mundy. You don't have to feel strange about it. You don't have to hold yourself back or think that whatever you feel for me is at best a dream or at worse, wasted."

Lucien smiled before continuing.

"And if you can accept the same man that you saw today but with fifteen more years, grey hair and lines on his face, then that poor old man would be delighted."

Mundy looked at Lucien.

"I…" He finally broke his silence. "I love you."

"Thus fulfilling your promise." Lucien answered.

"What promise?"

"You had said that in fifteen years you would tell me who was that man you kept in your heart." Lucien smiled.

"Yeah, well… It's you."

"Likewise."

"But wait," Mundy frowned. "You knew I loved you and you waited fifteen years like that?"

"I didn't know if I would love you back. Even though, your clumsiness that night was absolutely charming and I did wish that I could find someone like you, someone spontaneous, almost naive, very raw in your emotions, very true to yourself."

"Your complete opposite, eh?"

"Oui, indeed." They both chuckled.

"But someone who is passionate, faithful and honest, someone who would be the reason I want to open my eyes every morning, if it is to spend the day with them."

"You're romantic too, eh?"

"Overly so. It is almost a curse." Lucien answered with a smile before looking back in Mundy's eyes.

"I… I love that about you." Mundy said before leaning his head on Lucien's shoulder. "That, and all the rest actually."

"I am glad you do…"

Mundy felt that the sentence was left hanging, as if Lucien wasn't sure how to end it.

"...mon amour."

[...my love.]

Mundy closed his eyes and smiled. He blushed when he felt and heard Lucien kiss him on his hair.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #request 70

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chiauve · 5 years ago

Text

Day 5: Change

So I wanted to do Willsker Week but I got busy, so I’ll try to backtrack the other days but I’m probably going to fail. There’s gonna be a lot of teen Birkin and Wesker if I do. So jumping right to today’s theme and it’s rushed so very...rough.

Birkin knew something was wrong as soon as he walked into the lab. Wesker was already there, alone, which by itself wasn’t rare, sitting with his head in his hands in a state of tragedy. But that wasn’t what set off Birkin’s internal warning klaxons.

Wesker looked wrong.

Glancing up at the sound of Birkin’s entrance, he actually whined, “Birkin...”

And the true horror of what had happened stared Birkin in the face. The proof of it lay in chunks and swaths on the floor, golden and dead.

“You,” Birkin choked out, unable to stop staring, “you cut your hair.”

Understatement. Wesker's hair, always at least down to his shoulders since the day Birkin met him, had been horribly hacked, haphazardly cut with lab scissors by what could have only been a desperate, amateur hand. Worse still, Wesker’s wild hair had been kept in some form of control by the weight of its own length, but now, freed, it stuck up and out in all directions. He looked like he’d skinned a yellow, long-haired kitten and glued its coat on his head.

Birkin held the laughter in as best he could, well aware Wesker would murder him and experiment on the body if he let it go. But god he wanted to, he wanted to so bad it physically hurt.

He coughed into the back of his hand instead. “Why did you...?”

“I was told to...” Wesker sounded so pathetic and lost, like he didn’t know. Birkin rankled at that sound.

“So? That never bothered you before!” The director had in fact outright ordered Wesker to cut his hair several times, and yet Wesker either ignored him or pointed out that as long as they tied their hair back in the lab, their female co-workers were permitted long hair, ergo he was as well.

“A bit different when it’s the damn CEO, isn’t it?” Wesker snapped.

“Is that what he said to you?”

There had been no warning, no fanfare, but suddenly Spencer himself was at the training facility, taking a look around. The director went into Igor mode, practically hopping about in trying to please his master as he guided Spencer around the mansion. His stop through the labs was brief, and the memory of it still made Birkin burn with fury.

He was the best here, the youngest, the smartest, even Wesker agreed on that! But no, Spencer barely gave Birkin a glance as he passed through, going straight to Wesker when the director pointed him out.

The CEO hadn’t looked pleased about something, and spoke shortly to Wesker but Birkin couldn’t make it out, taking minor relief in Wesker’s berating.

Wesker sighed, his hand flicking back, expecting to toss his hair over his shoulder, but redirected to run his hand over the shortened strands instead. “He told me to start ‘looking like a damned professional’.”

Well, Birkin couldn’t ague with that, Wesker still looked like he’d been buying drugs from behind a 7-11 some days.

“So...?”

“So I was going to ignore him, like he’d ever know! But I came to finish up and start shutting down the lab for the night when next thing I knew...” He picked up the scissors and gestured to the blond hair scattered across the floor.

“You just...cut your hair.”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember doing it?”

“I remember it happened but...” he trailed off, his brows furrowed in blatant worry. He wasn’t going to finish, he’d never admit to it, but Birkin knew the rest: it wasn’t me doing it.

That happened a lot back in school. And like those days, Wesker would forget about it by tomorrow. He remembered doing it and therefore he meant to do it.

Birkin shrugged. Wesker’s stupid amnesia problems or whatever they were were his problems; Birkin wasn’t going to be slowed down or drawn away from his work, not even by Wesker.

“You did a bad job.”

Wesker glared.

“Give them here,” Birkin walked over to Wesker, hand out for the scissors.

Reluctantly, Wesker gave them up. Birkin directed him to turn the chair and stood behind him, sifting through the blond hair and snipping at the worst of the uneven tufts. Wesker’s hair was unfairly soft, and Birkin gently kneaded fingers over his scalp, for his own enjoyment as well as an attempt to calm Wesker, vibrating and tense in his seat.

He knew he was the only person Wesker ever let touch him like this.

“Since when did you become a barber?” Wesker said, voice still sharp but he sounded less distressed.

“You doubt my ability to do whatever I set my mind to?”

“I doubt your ability to care about anything outside your goals, and my appearance is nowhere near there.”

“Like you’re any different,” Birkin muttered, running the pad of his thumb behind Wesker’s ear. The teen before him shuddered a little, then eased.

While Birkin would never consider himself a professional, or even particularly good at it, he’d been trimming his own hair for years. It started when he was young and whenever his hair had grown to “unseemly” lengths, his mother would give him a genuine bowl cut, with a bowl and everything. He loathed it. The look, his mother’s clumsy work, the heavy bowl on his head, all of it. So in a desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable, young William used everyday scissors from the drawer to snip at his own hair, keeping it from getting too long. Over the years he got better at it and could manage a decent enough trim that we went bowl free for months.

But a trim couldn’t save Wesker’s mess. Birkin evened it out best he could but the hair was so wild and unmanageable that no matter how he combed his fingers through it or where he tried to part it it just fluffed up like a pissed-off cat again.

The worst part was while the hair was still long enough to grip, he wouldn’t be able to get a good handful and yank anymore, and there was no faster way to make Wesker a writhing, panting…

“What’s the verdict, Doctor Birkin?”

“You messed up.” He passed Wesker one of the concave mirrors they used when dealing with Lisa Trevor so she couldn’t sneak up on them while their backs were turned. An addition after the second researcher got her face ripped off.

Wesker slumped, staring forlornly at his reflection. He would always state otherwise, claim he was above such things, but his appearance was very important to him. Sometimes he would even be beholden to the current fashion, as Birkin learned the day he walked in on Wesker altering a pair of jeans into bell-bottoms. He claimed it was for when he was out on the road; people were more willing to pick up a generic hitchhiking youth out finding himself, supposedly. Birkin didn’t know enough about the subject or care to argue the matter and let Wesker distract himself with stupid, mundane things.

Whatever gave Birkin the edge.

Not to say he never paid attention to Wesker’s looks, obviously, but his colleague’s penchant to look like a bargain-bin rocker had never been part of the appeal. The first time he’d actually looked at Wesker had been in school when he’d invited his roommate back home with him during Christmas, because he couldn’t let Wesker spend his break studying in peace and getting ahead.

Birkin’s father was a traditionalist who viewed family dinners as events that required everyone to be in their Sunday best, and Wesker, even in the black turtleneck that was the nicest thing he owned, wasn't going to cut it. If he wanted to eat, he needed to look a proper man, which also meant the shaggy hair was out. Fortunately, Birkin’s older brother, Caleb, was amused by the whole thing and loaned Wesker some clothes and showed him how to gel his hair back into a ponytail they hid under the collar of his shirt.

Without his stupid aviator sunglasses and the hair out of his face, Birkin got a good look at Wesker and for the first time noticed…

Wait. Wait wait wait. Of course!

“Come on, finish up and we’ll go back to the dormitory.”

Wesker glared at him through the mirror. “I’m not letting everyone see me like this.”

“Nobody likes you anyway,” Birkin said, shoving him out of the chair, “and you can just say it’s the new efficient look and they’ll be all ‘ah, right, Practical Al at it again!’”

“I hate that name.”

“At least yours is vaguely you. The fact that I’m the ‘scholarly’ one among researchers says what kind of people we work with.”

They went out the back to the residence just so Birkin didn’t have to listen to Wesker bitch all night and returned to their room. Once there he kicked out the chair to the desk and motioned Wesker to it while he rooted through his things. He knew he had some somewhere…

“What are you doing?” Wesker sighed, but he sat anyway.

With a victorious “ah-ha!” Birkin found his tin of never-used pomade. He was supposed to use it for when he went to church because his mother assumed he was still doing that, for some reason. He tossed the tin to Wesker.

“Oh,” was all Wesker said, turning it in his hands. He then stood up and headed for the door.

“Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom.”

“You’re putting it in now?”

“This,” he hissed, referencing his hair, “is unacceptable,” and then left.

Birkin shrugged, grabbed his most recent notes and necessary reference books, and flopped onto his bed. He didn’t notice Wesker come back until the older boy was standing in front of his bed, the band shirt changed out for the turtleneck.

“Well?”

Birkin sat up to get a good look at him. Wesker’s hair was completely slicked back, looking almost too stiff for all the fluff the gel had to pin down. It wasn’t a good job, too many lumps and gaps, and the back stuck out a bit. Wesker needed to get to town to get a proper cut. And yet…

“That…looks good,” Birkin said, and meant it, “You look older.”

Wesker only nodded and disappeared again, and Birkin went back to his studies, problem solved.

He expected Wesker to grow his hair out again, especially after they left the training facility and were given free rein under Marcus, but it never happened. Wesker continued to flaunt the dress codes where he could but for the most part one could never argue that he wasn’t professional.

Birkin liked the look, at first, but the constant use of hair gel meant that Wesker wouldn’t let anyone, even Birkin, touch his hair anymore.

#resident evil #william birkin #albert wesker #willsker ship week #the eternal return #kinda #but more willskery #fanfic

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bastillewolf · 5 years ago

Text

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (VII)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Two chapters in one day because I had a lot of inspiration. Make sure you didn’t miss chapter six!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter VII - Batphone

It was an early morning for her, and perhaps it was because of the renewed feeling of tranquility she’d gotten after speaking with mister Turner. She felt as if she’d taken big steps forwards with him, especially when it came to gaining his delicate trust, and though she didn’t want to admit it, she was looking forward to spending more time with him soon.

She’d thrown on a floral dress for no particular occasion, and her brown shoes tapped down the stairs in search of the way to the dining hall. However, when she heard the distinct sound of voices coming from the lobby, she took a detour.

She was greeted with the sight of the hotel owner himself, joined not only by his staff, but by Miles as well. A smaller suitcase stood next to him on the floor and he was wearing a dark trench coat with its collar lifted. His eyes, covered by his aviator shades, finally noticed her figure in the doorway and he motioned for her to come closer. Miles gave her a quick kiss on the cheek to greet her before Alex stepped her aside. “I’m afraid your novel research is going to be delayed for a bit,” he explained, “Miles and I have some unforeseen business to attend to. However, I’ll ask Matthew to keep you entertained with a few of his notorious tales about the hotel. I won’t be gone for longer than a day.”

“Oh, alright,” she replied stumblingly, “Why are you so suddenly keen on helping me write this novel? It appears as if you’re really going out of your way to provide me with all the details. Don’t bother Matthew with it though, I’m sure he’ll have enough to do as it is while you’re gone, mister Turner.” She saw a glint of something she couldn’t place flash across his eyes. “Who’s seeing ulterior motives behind everything now, writer?” he asked in amusement. She narrowed his eyes at him, to which he only gave a smirk.

“Matthew, I’m leaving you in charge,” Alex proclaimed, handing him the main set of keys. “Don’t set anything on fire, please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Matt replied innocently. Alex snorted and Matt smiled, but as the hotel owner turned his back to him she noticed him tucked the keys in his pocket with a shaking hand. What was going on? His eyes were darting to the doors and as they walked to the car to wave the two men off, he kept his gaze searching across the yard.

As soon as they were inside, she turned to the man at hand. “Matthew, you’re acting strange and I can tell it’s not because of mister Turner’s absence. What’s happening?”

“It’s nothing, miss,” Matt replied, trying, but very much failing, at sounding casual. “I was just checking if the gardener had already finished his job.” She hummed, “Sure you have.” He raised his brow at her. “There’s no need for concern, miss, truly. And after all, you already have mister Turner to worry about. No need to add fuel to the fire.” Her mouth dropped open as a pink colour dusted her cheeks. He’d ran out the front entrance before she was able to smack him.

“Is there anything I can help you with today, Nick? I get awfully bored these days,” she mused. Nick gave her a meek smile. “Glad we’re such good entertainment for you, miss. Do you have any experience with accountancy?” “Loads,” she replied, “Used to do the taxes for my mother, too.” “Great. It’s the box in the back office, the newer files need to be taken care of and sorted, if you have the patience for it.” “Only for you, Nicholas.”

Taking her seat at the desk behind the television screens, she was reminded of the incessant static noise filling the room. She decided to try to refrain from ripping the plugs out of their sockets and focused on the heaping box in front of her. It was a disorganized mess, but having experienced the way her mother used to sort things, she knew she’d do fine.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was only when reading the last file that needed to be sorted, did she notice something strange. It led her to reach for older transcriptions that she’d previously sorted, and the non-matching data only confused her more.

When Nick finally showed up again, looking like a dishevelled mess, he asked her if she could go and help Matt outside for a moment, instead.

“Uh, sure,” she replied half-heartedly, her eyes still glued to the papers, “By the way, I was just going through your accounts and I found a returning bank account you’ve been transferring money to for a while. It’s cashed under ‘taxes’, I think?” She said, handing him one of the invoices. “Oh, that’s just what we pay Miles as additional taxes to the rent,” Nick explained. “Yeah, I thought that was the case, but when I checked the credit numbers they didn’t match with the ones you’ve been sending the actual rent to. Just thought you might want to look into it, just in case.”

Nick furrowed his brow in worry. “Uh, I’ll take a look at it. You better go and help Matt and Jamie, though. I think they’re right outside.” “Sure.” As she stepped out, she heard Nick hurriedly dial a number on the office’s phone.

She eventually managed to find them at the stables, and only then did she realize what had caused Matt to look so stressed and Jamie so upset. “What the fuck happened?” she sputtered.

The door was open, and Mardy’s box was empty.

“I couldn’t tell Alex, miss,” Matt explained sadly, “You’ve gotten him in such a good mood since yesterday, I didn’t want to see him pissed again.” She raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry to elaborate. “I-I think I remember locking the door…” She groaned, “Matthew.” “Alex put me in charge not knowing I lost his fucking horse, I know.” He rubbed his hands over his face tiredly, “I’ve been up all morning and I’ve searched the entire terrain, but I couldn’t find her.”

“Give me your car keys.”

“What?”

“I said, give me your car keys. I’m going to look for her myself. Go call the cops and inform them of a missing horse.”

It took her a while to convince Matt to stay, though he insisted Jamie tagging along, to which she begrudgingly agreed. However, when Jamie was about to step into the driver’s seat, she told him she’d throw him out of the car while they were driving if he didn’t hand her the keys. Jamie didn’t question her again after that and silently let her be behind the wheel.

The black Cadillac wasn’t exactly meant to cross over the countryside, but she surely wasn’t going to start looking in the city for a horse. Stopping when she came across cyclers, playing children and farmers ploughing their fields, she asked each and every single one of them if they’d seen their stallion, but to no avail.

Her last hope turned out to be her saviour, because the old man at the train station told her of travellers who’d mentioned a beautiful brown beast close to the tracks.

It was where she found Mardy, stuck in a barbwire fence.

“It’s good to come back to find my hotel not having been burnt down,” Alex breathed, setting down his suitcase, “I presume everything was fine?”

“Uh, of course,” Nick grumbled, his eyes turning back to the nonsense he’d been scribbling down to appear busy.

“Alright. I think I’ll clock out for the night then-“ The ringing of the phone interrupted his sentence. Nick’s hand shot out across the desk, but it was already too late.

“The Grand Tranquility Hotel, this is Alex Turner speaking. How may I direct your call?”

…

“Is that so?”

…

“I’m not sure, I’ll ask him. Please hold.”

Alex glanced up at Nick with raised brows and said in an overly interested voice, “Officer James Ford wants to know if our horse has been found. What should I tell him, Nicholas?” But it was the look in his eyes that made the employee aware of how much trouble he was really in.

She’d managed to scrub off all the grime Mardy had transferred onto her while cleaning her cuts. They weren’t deep, and it relieved her and Matt incredibly that they didn’t have to call the vet in the end. She had shifted back into her comfortable nightwear, and had only just opened up the page of the book she’d left off in when a knock came from her door.

“How was business?” she asked, being greeted with a familiar set of intense brown orbs. He didn’t answer her, instead opting to just invite himself into her room, to which she threw her arms up at. He took a moment to glance out of the window onto the dark yard, before he took a seat at the edge of her bed. He flipped through the pages of the worn book.

“I’ve been gone for a day,” he said, “And my staff has managed to lose my horse. And my guest took the task upon herself to go and find it.” He glanced up at her. She shrugged, taking a seat next to him and folding her legs underneath her. “I couldn’t just leave her out there, all by herself.”

His intense gaze didn’t wander away from her for a moment. “And not only did she save my horse, she made me aware of the fact that an anonymous party has been stealing money from me.”

Her brows raised in surprise. “So, it wasn’t going to Miles?” He shook his head. “Nick called me immediately after you went out to help Matthew and Jamie. When I confronted Miles about it, he said he’d never added any extra taxes to our rent. We’ve informed the authorities about it.” “I’m glad,” she replied, “You’ll have one less financial thing to worry about.”

He nodded, fumbling with something in his pocket, before revealing the item to her. It was some sort of business card, but it felt more personal than that. He placed it in her hand and wrapped his around hers.

“It’s come to my closer attention that I can trust you more than my own staff,” he murmured, “Which is why I want you to have this number. I’m asking you to hold it to yourself, as it’s the only number you can reach me directly through, at all times.”

She looked down at the text on the card. “The Batphone?” she laughed, “You’ve named your personal number ‘The Batphone?” He smirked. “If you ever need me, in whatever situation you find yourself to be in, you can dial this number, and I’ll be there.”

She blinked at him, feeling at a loss for words. “I- I don’t know what to say, mister Turner. Thank you.”

He hummed, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly, but his eyes holding something undoubtedly more serious. He shifted and leaned over to her, until his hand held her cheek and his warm lips were pressed softly against the other. Her breath hitched in her throat as he moved back. “I’m the only one who has to say thank you. I owe you my deepest gratitude, miss.”

The tingling sensation on her face didn’t stop for long after he’d left.

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner x Reader #Alex Turner #Nick O'Malley #Jamie Cook #Matt Helders #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #TBHC #AM #Wpsiatwin #Humbug #Suck it and see #Reader Insert #Romance #Fanfiction

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illfoandillfie · 6 years ago

Text

Thief

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Female Reader

Summery: Roger wants his shirt back

Warnings: Smut (but nothing especially kinky)

Words: 2327

A/N: Most of this was written between midnight an 2am on my birthday when it was sad lonely bitch hours so it’s self indulgent as heck. Just some soft fluff with a little soft smut at the end.

(the shirt in question, i love it so much)

Taglist: @idontbelievethiss

Roger’s walk-in wardrobe was your guilty pleasure. You loved exploring it. Could happily spend hours running your fingers over all the different fabrics in there. Most of the clothing that was hung up or folded neatly in the draws was stuff he used regularly – every day shirts, jeans, a section for stuff he’d take on tour – but towards the back of the wardrobe was a collection of his older stuff, split between a row of hangers and a number of boxes. That was the stuff you really loved rummaging through. He’d been collecting it for years. Most of it was stuff he kept for sentimental reasons, he’d worn it at such and such show or so and so and given it to him. Some of it was stuff he’d had for so long it felt wrong to get rid of it. A lot of it was still in good condition too, just out of style. A relic from his youth, bold and bright and totally him. That was the stuff you loved best and whenever the opportunity arose to go digging for treasure you took it.

You took the treasure too, sometimes. One time, while Rog was away on tour, you’d been having a particularly rough day and hadn’t been able to contact him. Desperate to be wrapped up in his arms, you’d taken a large glass of wine and started going through his clothes. You’d found an old beaten up hoodie which you couldn’t believe he’d held on to. It must have held some significance for him because it was faded and frayed and nothing particularly special next to everything else in there. But it was warm and soft and still smelt faintly of Roger even though it must have been years since he’d worn it. You’d slipped it on over your head, breathing deeply, trying to control your emotions but had ended up crying yourself to sleep right there on the floor of the wardrobe. Since then you’d pulled it out whenever Rog was away for an extended amount of time. It was comforting and reminded you of one of his hugs and you loved it.

Another time you’d been throwing together a last minute costume for a party Freddie was hosting. Roger pulled you into the cupboard exclaiming he had something perfect to finish off your costume if he could only find it. In the second box he opened was a pair of rainbow suspenders which he handed to you with a giant grin on his face. They were just what you needed, though you did make fun of Rog a little for owning them in the first place. At the party a few people had commented on them, asking you if they were the same ones Rog had owned, and when you said yes, they told you stories, reminiscing about a time before you knew him. Freddie managed to find a few photos of Rog wearing the suspenders and told you how they’d called him Rainbow. It led to you being shown a bunch of photos of Rog as a young man and you’d laughed in disbelief at how long his hair was while he insisted it had been very fashionable. You loved hearing those stories from the people who knew him best and when you’d finally got home you put the suspenders back in the box carefully, feeling a little closer to the man you loved.

Sometimes you felt a little like a magpie, stealing things from him. Big things like an old fur coat you’d worn around the house constantly one winter, or a gorgeous velvet jacket which you couldn’t stop running your hands over when you’d first found it. Small things like a pair of aviator sunglasses, one of what seemed to be a hundred different pairs of sunnies, which made you feel like a rockstar even though they were prescriptions and turned your vision wavy. Or the necklace you hadn’t taken off since its discovery, a simple silver band which, you knew from photos, Roger had worn tight like a choker, but you preferred a little looser. For Christmas last year Rog had surprised you with a delicate circle charm to add to it, the back engraved with both your initials.

Your interest in his old clothes was something that bemused Roger. On more than one occasion he’d found you on your knees digging through a box and had rolled his eyes at you. But whenever he saw you wearing one of your stolen items his eyes lit up and he’d give you a soft smile that made your knees weak. Sometimes he’d remark that he’d completely forgotten he still had said item and then proceed to tell you why he’d kept it. Sometimes you’d convince him to try whatever it was on himself. If it still fit enough that he could put it on he’d pretend he was on a catwalk as he strutted away from you before turning around and posing, and if it didn’t, he’d pull it on as best he could and ask you how he looked. Either way you’d both end up on the floor laughing, sometimes with Roger half stuck in a too small pair of jeans or jacket.

Your most recent acquisition from your magpie habit was one of his newer shirts. It was blue with an orange check pattern and Roger hadn’t noticed you’d stolen it yet. Not that you’d stolen this in the same way you’d stolen everything else. This one was a complete accident. You’d gotten out of bed early one morning and felt around in the dark for the shirt Roger had so kindly discarded for you the night before. You’d slipped on the first shirt you found and made your way to the bathroom, not worrying about pants since the shirt fell down over your thighs. That should have been a clue that it wasn’t yours but it was much too early for your brain to be working. You didn’t notice it was Roger’s shirt until you were washing your hands and caught your reflection. Any trace of sleepiness left you as you examined your reflection, admiring the way the shirt fell around you. You spent a few minutes undoing and redoing buttons, comparing how much cleavage was shown off each way and wondering what it’d look like if you were wearing your favourite bra underneath. It felt so soft and light against your skin and it was warm even as you stood on cold tiles. You could understand why Rog wore it so often. When you got back to your room you pulled it off again, catching a whiff of Roger’s aftershave as you brought it over your head, before snuggling back into Roger’s arms, hoping to squeeze in round two before either of you had to be up for real. Since then you’d worn it whenever the chance arose, mostly just around the house when Roger was out. You knew he really liked the shirt and wore it fairly frequently so it wasn’t really one you could steal but you couldn’t help yourself, it just felt so nice to wear.

This morning you’d woken to find Rog already gone. The band were deep in Live Aid rehearsals and today was their last before the big day so you weren’t expecting him home till much later. You got up and straight away switched your own shirt for his, your new favourite, rubbing your hand up and down the sleeve a couple of times just to feel the fabric. You you’d wear it until you had a shower and then you’d put your own clothes on. You headed to the kitchen to make coffee and find something to eat. You were examining the contents of the fridge when a voice in the hallway made you jump. “Hey, hon, you up?” “In the kitchen!” You called out over your shoulder, “How come you’re back so early?” “We did a couple of run throughs which went well enough that we decided to take the rest of the day off. Don’t wanna overwork ourselves,” his voice trailed off towards the end as he caught sight of you bent over as you looked in the fridge, “is that my shirt?” You looked down, the shirt having slipped your mind in favour of food. “Oh, yeah it is. Wanted something comfy and this was the first thing I found,” you shrugged, turning and shutting the fridge behind you. “How was a shirt that was hanging in my wardrobe the first thing you found? I was gonna wear that tomorrow.” “Busted,” You’re a little thief,” his tone was playful but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Am not,” you pouted “Fur coat. Necklace. Hoodie,” he started counting on his fingers, “should I keep going?” “No, you’ve made your point, but I prefer the term pilferer.” You rocked back on your heels, “Can’t you wear something else tomorrow? This shirt is ridiculously comfy,” “I could, but I don’t want to.” “Well, I s’pose you can have it back. Gonna have to catch me first though,” And with that you took off, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Roger’s legs were longer than yours and he took the stairs three at a time, catching up to you fast. You squealed as he caught you around the waist, pulling you into him as he entered the bedroom backwards. “Gotcha. Now can I have my shirt back?” he said softly, his breath tickling your ear. “Only if you take it.” Roger turned you around to face him. He began to unbutton the shirt slowly, your skin breaking out in goose bumps whenever his fingers brushed against it. “As incredibly attractive as you look in it,” he said, his warm breath ghosting over your face as his finger continued their descent, “I really have to insist.” His touch was torturously light and slow, and his lips so close to yours, but you were frozen, completely unable to close the distance between you. All you could do was look into his eyes, occasionally shifting your focus to his lips, and try to remember how to breath properly.

When he’d finally gotten all of the buttons undone, he traced his finger up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and up your neck until he was able to press his fingers to the underside of your chin and tilt your head up. He pressed his lips to yours, softly, and you melted into him. You opened your mouth willingly, inviting him to deepen the kiss. As he did so, he pushed his shirt off your shoulders and down your arms till it was a puddle on the floor. He kept kissing you, sighing into your mouth as he walked you backwards towards the bed, only breaking the kiss to push you onto it. You scooted back to be more comfortable and he followed until he was hovering over you. His fingers brushed over the necklace lightly, the cool metal contrasted against your warm skin. You looped your arm around his neck, pulling him back to your lips, as his hand ran down your side, coming to rest on your waist.

Every brush of his fingers, every swipe of his tongue had your stomach tightening with anticipation and need, until you couldn’t bear it any longer. “Rog, please.” you breathed out against his lips. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to your jaw, then to your neck. He crawled down your body, leaving a trail over your chest and stomach, your skin burning with desire in his wake. When he reached your hips, he slowly peeled your underpants down your legs, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh, making you whine. When he’d finally freed you of your underwear, he began removing his own clothes, much faster than he had yours. Without his hands on you, your skin felt bare and cold. You sighed as he crawled back over you, his touch restoring peace to your world, his lips finding their rightful place against yours. He slipped a finger into your wet core, followed by a second making your back arch into him. “Ready love?” He asked softly withdrawing his fingers from you. “Rog, y’know when I said please earlier? Yeah, I’ve been ready since then. Hurry up and fuck me already.” “Christ, I love you Y/N,” You could feel his body shaking with laughter as he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours. “I’ll love you a whole lot more when you let me cum,” “Whatever my little thief wants,” he replied, lining himself up and pushing into you. You would have rolled your eyes at him but you were distracted by how full you felt, squeezing his hand as he began slowly rocking his hips against you. He kept a steady rhythm, drawing soft ‘oh’s and gasps from you with every thrust. His voice was low and raspy as he told you how good you felt around him, how irresistible you looked wearing nothing but his old necklace, how much he loved you. You felt your orgasm approaching and could tell Roger was close from the way he was panting against you. You chanted Roger’s name like a prayer as you clenched around him, pulling him into his own release.

Roger rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You pushed some hair, damp with sweat, out of his face and traced your finger down his nose. “What’re you doing?” “Admiring you,” you pushed the end of his nose like it was a button, “boop.” He stuck out his tongue, making you giggle. “I do love you Rog,” “I know.” You hummed happily, content to stay like this forever. “I’m going to have to buy you your own shirt, aren’t I?” “Only if you want to keep yours.”

#roger taylor smut #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #kinda wanna cry since i cant raid roger's wardrobe and steal his clothes tbh #kinda just wanna cry #im feeling soft and sappy today so have fun with this #my fics

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rogerblackwolf · 4 years ago

Text

The Jungle Dragon

-Year 1967-

The alarm rung loudly as the clock reached the morning hour, it's ringing silenced when the one sleeping slammed his hand on it followed by a tired groan. The man laid on his back looking at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the low morning rays piercing through the crack between the curtains. The next thing he saw was the face of his wife who was asleep next to him, her face towards him as she laid on her side. Gently he brushed her hair from her face enjoying how beautiful she is, finally she stirred opening her eyes a bit and smiling at his touch.

"Morning." She said quietly.

"Morning hon." He responded before gently kissing her.

"We should get up. Can't waste the day after all." She said as she sat up in the bed, slipping out from under the covers to don her robe.

"You're right I guess." The man responded as he sat up and rubbed his eyes before getting up. The couple went about their morning routine as was normal; the wife began cooking their breakfast as her husband went outside to fetch the paper and take in the sight of their suburban neighborhood. He waved to a couple of his neighbors as they passed by before he returned inside to the smell of bacon and toast. He turned on the radio, tuning it to the station they enjoyed before getting a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table. He unrolled the paper and browsed through the many stories, there had been a few focused on riots in cities about the ongoing war in Vietnam, as well as other issues.

"Anything new in the paper, dear?" His wife asked as she fixed two plates of pancakes, bacon, and buttered toast along with her morning tea.

"Not in particular." He said sitting the paper to the side to dig in. As he did he couldn't help but look at his wife from across the table. She was Korean with shoulder length dark brown hair, her eyes were a dull grey, and her body was slender with some defining curves. Her name was Su Yoon, they had met at an Army hospital in Seoul where he had been treated for shrapnel to his left leg and minor frostbite in his fingers. Seeing her face was the one thing that made the stay bearable and her agreeing to marry him was the single greatest day of his life, one of very few.

"Daniel, is something wrong?" Su asks noticing his stare.

"Hmm? Oh no I'm fine." Daniel responded before returning to eating. She continued to watch him for a moment before he spoke again.

"I was thinking we could go to the park, maybe have a picnic."

"I would like that. The garden's flowers will be in full bloom." She said.

"I remembered you do enjoy the sight." He added as he cracked a smile.

They soon wrapped up breakfast and finished getting dressed when a knock at the door caught Daniel's attention. He went towards it, noticing a black four door sedan park in front, once opening the door he was met with two men dressed in black suits. The two also wore black aviator style sunglasses with reflective black lens.

"Daniel Braxton?" One asked

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Daniel responded

"Yes, sir you can. We need to bring you in. Your expertise is needed." The second man said

It was then the two men showed their badges, to the untrained eye they looked like official CIA Agent IDs. But he knew that they weren't from the CIA.

"Give me a minute." Daniel said before closing the door and checking on his wife. Without saying a word she knew what he was about to do as he got his coat and gave her a kiss goodbye before leaving.

A couple hours afterwards they arrived at a private airfield, where he was then escorted to a waiting SH-3 helicopter, also known as a Sea King. Once he was seated and strapped in he definitely was out of his element, the occasional shaking made him nervous but he put it out of his mind as they neared their destination. Daniel looked out of the window next to his seat and immediately noticed the shape of the building, the Pentagon. Daniel was escorted off the helicopter and into another motorcade, where he met a familiar face. He was an older man around the age of 60 and dressed in a black suit.

"Director Webber, pleasure to meet you again." Daniel said as they shook hands.

"Pleasure's all mine Agent Braxton." He replied.

The motorcade then drove into a secure parking structure, from there the Director escorted him into the Pentagon through several checkpoints before finally arriving in a secure room with the director and another person who was watching several closed circuit televisions. When the man turned around, Daniel immediately stood at attention, for he was in the presence of the President of the United States Lyndon B. Johnson.

"At ease son, there is little time for that now." He said taking a seat at the head of the table.

"It's an honor Mr. President." Daniel said as he took his seat.

"So you're probably wondering why you're here. The answer is we need someone of your particular expertise. Show him." President Johnson said to the general closest to him.

"This radio transmission was isolated from last night by our technicians in Saigon. At 0400 hours a patrol of 15 men from Whiskey Company engaged with what they believed to be NVA soldiers at this position here 20 miles northwest of their Firebase." Webber said revealing a recording device and a tactical map of South Vietnam along with troop movements from various units. He then played the recording, the first sound Daniel could identify readily was the sound of gunfire followed by orders to pull back. What he didn't expect was the sound of trees being crushed and something large letting out a hissing roar before it cuts out to static.

"Two patrols went out at approximately 0600 hours to investigate the site only to find that no bodies were left. Just the weapons and the equipment like the radio and backpacks were recovered." Webber adds

"And why was I selected?" Daniel asked

"The attack happened close to another Firebase that is controlled by our allies, the Republic of Korea's Tiger Division. They have expressed some concern of this thing because not a week earlier their firebase suffered a loss of 7 men from whatever it is. We know you speak Korean, and Tiger Division wants to volunteer six of it's best to your hunt." Director Webber says

"When do I begin?" Daniel asks

"Immediately. The Bureau said you were the best they had. Mr. Braxton...Get it done." President Johnson said.

Braxton nodded before the meeting adjourned and Director Webber escorted Braxton to the bowels of the Pentagon where he met another man, roughly in his late 20s or early 30s and wearing a blue shirt with light colored dress pants.

"Braxton this is one of our researchers, he's going with you to help on your hunt." Webber said.

"Colin Wyman, pleasure sir." Colin said extending his hand.

"Likewise. Can you use a gun?" Daniel asked him.

"Yes I've been trained." Colin said.

"Then stay close." Daniel responded.

Director Webber led the two men to an armory where some rifles were being loaded into weapon crates. He'd noticed the rifles a few times when he was on base in Virginia, it was called the M16 but it seemed different from the ones he'd seen before.

"Mr. Mason, ensure these two men are geared up and ready. They ship out at 0300. Good luck Agents, may your hunt be a success." Director Webber said before leaving. Mason shows them to the armory and told them to get what they needed.

Daniel browsed over the new M16 rifles before holding one in his hand, it was lighter than the M1 Garand he was issued in the Marines.

"That's the new XM16E1, or M16 if you prefer, don't let its lightweight design fool ya this puppy is due to replace the M14 pretty soon. It's got a forward assist and a twenty round magazine, it's also chambered in the new 5.56 round. More control and accuracy due to less recoil." Mason explained.

"Impressive. I'll take the M14, the 1911A1, and this knife." Daniel said taking a kabar knife whilst putting the M16 back on it's rack. Colin settled for a 12 gauge shotgun, an Ithaca Model 37, and grabbed his satchel of scientific gear. Finally the two men were suited up for the jungles of Vietnam. After several grueling flights the duo arrive at their destination the next morning, meeting their contact who takes them to the Firebase. Here they met with the Korean volunteers, six men who had been trained by hardened vets of the Korean War. Daniel briefs the men with help from Colin whilst also ensuring they get to know their new M16 rifles. Once everyone was brought up to speed, the team boarded a Huey and took to the sky. Once they were high enough Colin took out a device resembling a geiger counter. He waved it side to side as they flew, when the device started beeping everyone looked at Colin as the pilot flew towards the signal's origin. The signal held steady as Daniel spotted a open field for them to land. Once the landing zone had been secured the team ventured into the jungle whilst keeping an eye out for any NVA Forces, who had been active in the region for some time. Daniel had two men take point whilst he protected Colin, the remaining four kept their eyes and ears open to any sign, anything that shouldn't be there. One of the pointmen crouched down slowly finding a speck of blood Daniel noticed as well as he scanned the area, the group carefully steps into the foliage finding scattered AK-47s, a few mutilated corpses, and even a pair of legs under a toppled tree with no torso, Colin resisted gagging.

"These are NVA." Daniel says

"A patrol?" Colin asks

"No, too many weapons, more like a whole platoon." Daniel said seeing the blood is still fresh so their quarry was nearby. As they investigate the site Colin photographs a set of tracks whilst also trying his device, Daniel tapped his shoulder making him see a clear trail of crushed foliage and several toppled trees. Daniel had him stay close as the group followed the trail, reaching a low river splitting the jungle, Daniel crouched next to one of several big boulders. Colin heard his device as the beeping intensified to a long tone, Daniel and the others already saw the source.

Easily 45 ft long from nose to tail covered in a spiky leathery skin, a pair of horns extended from the back of it's head and it's orange eyes stared at the group as it stood in the sunlight. One flick of its tongue made it reveal it's row of meat hook like teeth, it looked like a dragon with its front legs propped on a log, the claws digging into the bark. Daniel noticed the twinges of fear in the young men, looks he had seen many times before.

Without warning the beast charged with lightning speed, everyone only managed to get a burst of fire from their rifles as it slammed right in the middle of them. Somehow it missed the group and Colin rolled out from under it whilst firing his shotgun into it's belly. The beast let out a screech of pain as it swiped and bit wildly as it was set upon by the soldiers. One of the team even managed to stab the beast with his knife, the small blade stabbing deep into the underside of the leg. The beast let out another screech as it retaliated with a swipe of it's clawed feet sending blood and body flying into a tree.

Daniel fired his M14 taking out an eye, which made him it's new focus. The beast turned and charged Daniel with it's mouth open, at the last second Daniel dodged making the beast slam its head against a boulder with such a crack he was surprised it was only stunned. He quickly drew his kabar knife throwing his body into the neck of the beast, his knife stabbing and slicing a gaping wound that poured blood all over the surrounding area. The injury sent the beast thrashing in pain before it finally collapsed in a heap, Colin was in awe that it was still breathing albeit with great effort. Braxton pulled his 1911A1 from his holster, emptying his magazine into the beast's head.

The team then tended to their wounded man, whose injuries were shallow and a bad concussion to top it off, Daniel knew he'd survive which gave him some relief. Once Daniel made sure his team was all good and Colin had the photos along with some samples, they followed protocol by destroying the beast with thermate grenades. Colin noticed a few of the men talking among themselves and a couple in particular were animated in their gestures.

"What're they saying?" He asked Daniel.

"They can't believe what just happened." He replied.

Colin had similar thoughts but he knew that for other Agents this was just another day, if they came back.

Daniel radioed an extraction which arrived once they made it back to the field. The trip back to the Firebase felt shorter somehow but he didn't mind, once they arrived Daniel and Colin had received thanks from the Base commander for avenging their fallen. The duo were then taken back to the airport where they took several more flights back to D.C. and delivered their report personally to Director Webber and President Johnson.

Colin and Daniel then got back into civilian clothes before they finally parted ways

"If you're ever in Virginia, my door is open, me and my wife will receive you gladly." Daniel said to Colin.

"I just might do that. See you around Braxton." Colin said before leaving him to be escorted to his transport home.

When Daniel finally arrived home it was late at night, but his house's light was still on. He took a breath before entering, and is surprised by his wife waiting for him.

"Welcome home dear." She said with a smile.

Daniel couldn't help but return the smile before embracing her. The couple then went straight to bed as both were glad that Daniel was finally home again.

#BSRC #Story 3

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dogbearinggifts · 5 years ago

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Little Tyrants, Chapter Two: Worth the Whiskey

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: When Vanya was four, Reginald Hargreeves visited her cell. But not to take her powers away. Just to let her know he could. Just to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her powers were a privilege he could rescind should she ever choose not to fall in line.

Years later, the old man is dead—and the last sibling Vanya wants to see has reappeared in the Academy courtyard.

This work is also available on AO3.

Prologue Chapter One

Author’s note: Sorry this chapter took so long, everyone. I’d hoped to update more frequently, but life intervened and…well, here we are. If you’d like to read the asks that inspired this story, you can find them here and here, as well as under the tags “vanya keeps her powers au” and “five returns as a kid au.”

This chapter title is adapted from Cole Swindell’s song “Ain’t Worth the Whiskey.”

***********

“You okay here?”

“Yeah.”

Luther opened his arms slightly, and Five slid to the floor. Klaus had never considered, in the sixteen years he’d been missing, just how small Five was. Not that the fact itself had eluded him—old pictures resurfaced in tabloids or narrative magazines from time to time, proving they’d all been a hell of a lot shorter back when they were still in Dad’s clutches—but it hadn’t struck him as something worth noticing when he’d stumbled into the courtyard. Now, watching him glance around in bewilderment beside a twin nearly twice his height, Klaus couldn’t think about much else.

“Where’s Mom?” Luther asked. “Thought you were gonna get her.”

“I—” The rest of Diego’s retort collapsed when he saw who was—and wasn’t—in the kitchen. “Shit. Mom!”

They’d lost Allison somewhere between the courtyard and the kitchen, when she’d announced her intent to get some towels. Luther had carried Five in, cradled in his arms lest walking worsen whatever condition led him to collapse in the courtyard. Diego jogged out of the kitchen, retracing their steps through the corridor in search of the one who could provide some guidance. Klaus stood by the sink and racked his brain for something, anything he could say.

Five wasn’t wearing his Academy uniform. Not unexpected—he’d never been fond of those starched collars and plaid sweater vests—but he’d always joked about replacing that uniform with everything from jeans and a T-shirt to a tuxedo paired with evening gloves and a billowing cape. Maybe it was the leftover high or the cognac haze clouding his thoughts, but Klaus couldn’t conjure a single reason why Five might have paired scuffed boots and a heavy jacket with sturdy jeans and a pair of aviator-style goggles around his neck.

“You, uh, you need anything?” Luther asked.

Five shrugged. To say he had always smiled before his disappearance would be a misstatement. He’d frowned. He’d grouched. He’d cried for the minute or two it took to realize he’d been seen, the second or two it took for his face to twist and for him to slink off down the hall. But there had always been a glimmer of mischief behind those eyes, a flicker within his expression. Whether harsh with fury or gentle with laughter, Klaus couldn’t recall a time when that light had gone out.

Until now.

“Klaus, could you get him some water?”

Somewhere toward the back of his mind, a flicker of irritation sparked to life. Luther had come up with the idea. Luther knew what he wanted done. Luther could get the damn water himself. But the annoyance was dim to begin with, and died with another glance at Five dripping rainwater onto the tile. Without a word, Klaus went to the cupboard and retrieved a glass.

Allison brushed past before the glass was completely full; and by the time he turned around, Five was reaching for a towel from the stack Allison carried. She plucked one and shook it out as though to dry him off herself; then, with a small and apologetic smile, she placed it in Five’s hands. Klaus set the glass on the table, fought again for something to say, gave up and snagged a towel instead.

He needed another drink.

He couldn’t carry Five up to his room or calm him with four small words. He couldn’t run a few tests and determine what had happened and what Five needed to recover, and he wasn’t the one headed off to corral the one who could chart a course for the healing process. Getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water was about the extent of Klaus’ contributions, and he’d done that already. No one would notice if he headed upstairs and went to town on the liquor cabinet. Allison might say something if he popped a pill or two right then and there, but she wouldn’t cause a scene. It would be expected from him.

The longer he watched Five sip from the glass he’d poured, the more he needed to leave. The longer he watched, the less he wanted to leave.

“Where’s Vanya?”

That was from Luther, naturally. Klaus couldn’t say when or how he’d forgotten Vanya’s feelings toward her family, but maybe the Moon erased memories. “Where do you think she is?”

“I don’t know, Klaus. That’s why I asked.”

Klaus hadn’t seen her separate from their group, wasn’t sure if she’d split off before or after Allison had gone off for towels, but the relative peace in the kitchen should have been enough to let Luther know her absence was not to be questioned. “Well, if we’re lucky, maybe she’ll just stay…wherever the hell she is. Oh! You think we could camp out down here? Roast some marshmallows, sing a couple songs? O Vanya, please stay away from us….”

Impromptu performances like that tended to earn flat looks and rolled eyes from most of his siblings, and threats from Vanya, but he’d hoped it might raise at least a small smile from Five. No dice. Five looked down into his glass, holding it in both hands, without so much as a hint of a smile or a chuckle.

Nice going. Allison didn’t say it. She didn’t need to, with the amount of impatience and contempt she crammed into that one glance. He’d messed up, said exactly the wrong thing at just the wrong time, and there was no recovering, no going back.

Of course, he’d known as much before that look of hers. No need to drive it home with the glare of death.

“Well, fine.” Klaus stepped forward, opening a cupboard. A canister of rolled oats was the first thing he saw, and so a canister of rolled oats was what he grabbed. “If you fine folks don’t appreciate good performance art like an audience with sense, I shall take my leave.”

Giving his coat the most dramatic swish he could manage, Klaus strode out the door.

*********

If liquor preference was a personality trait, then Dad’s taste was one of his few redeeming qualities.

Like most objects in the Academy, Dad’s alcohol supply was less an amassing of ingredients and more of a collection. Port and sherry shared a shelf with more varieties of red wine than Vanya cared to count, more types of white than she wanted to taste. Not that she opposed wine on principle, but the sight of so many bottles and so many shades, each promising a different flavor and composition and all the other things wine junkies raved about, brought a twinge of embarrassment when she remembered the five-gallon box she’d purchased because it was red and she’d bought white last time.

But then, nobody could tell the difference between cheap and expensive wine anyway. She wasn’t unrefined. Just honest.

Vanya turned from the wines and toward those promising a shorter path toward inebriation. A half-empty bottle of tequila and a nearly full bottle of mezcal sat a few inches from peppermint schnapps and two different types of rum. Closer to her sat scotches and bourbons nestled beside the whiskeys.

Every label bore the name of a place she knew. Scotland. Jalisco. Kentucky. Each name conjured up a different image, borrowed from a different mission with a different objective and outcome. Dad had sent her and she’d gone in, done what the situation demanded of her, and left with snatches of scenery she liked and memories she didn’t. Each city had its own personality, but there came a point when they blended into each other, leaving her uncertain whether El Paso or Tucson had the hotel with a mosaic tile entrance, or if it was Paris or Amsterdam with the houses she liked. Glances through the sort of books ordinary people kept on their coffee tables cleared a few things up, but there were better things to do than relive what only Dad would call the glory days.

Behind the Canadian whiskeys, and between those boasting an origin in Tennessee, was a single bottle announcing itself as Wyoming Whiskey in no-nonsense letters. After a moment’s study, Vanya poured herself a glass. If she was going to try and erode unwanted memories old and new, a drink from a place she’d never visited seemed the best way to start.

Footsteps approached sometime after the end of the first drink and the beginning of the second. Vanya downed the rest in a few quick swallows. If it was Diego coming to tell her off for not being there for Five, she’d need to steel herself; if it was Five himself, she’d need to clear her glass for another pour.

Klaus rounded a corner, skirt swishing about his ankles as he came to a halt. It had been some months since she’d seen him, and then out in the open and at a distance. Perhaps that was why he seemed thinner than she remembered, collarbone protruding above his bare chest, feathered cuffs dangling over too-slender wrists. He’d tucked an open canister of rolled oats into the crook of one arm; a few oats slipped from his clenched fist and fluttered to the floor. He let out a laugh when he saw her, as though she’d made a joke. As though he were happy to see her.

Vanya added twice the recommended amount to her glass.

“Well, well, well.” He let his handful of oats fall back into the canister and sauntered forward—she couldn’t tell if he was staggering or not—and set the oats on the counter. “And here I thought I was the only one breaking into Dear Old Dad’s liquor cabinet.”

Vanya sniffed. Klaus’ presence demanded she down the whole glass in one swallow, pain be damned, but she settled for a sip. “I’m not breaking into anything. It’s right out in the open.”

Klaus had a way of moving like a slinky, swaying one direction only to fold himself around a corner and past whatever obstructed his path. In one stride, maybe two, he was behind the bar, hand on a bottle of bourbon. “Amazing there’s anything left.”

“Yeah, with you around.”

Within seconds, Klaus’ glass held more bourbon than it should have. Not quite as much as hers—but if he’d had to cope with someone like him, he’d have ditched the glass and drank straight from the bottle. “Oh, right, ‘cause I’m the one who ran up here to get drunk soon as everybody was in the house.”

“And you were completely sober when I got here.”

There was that laugh again, the infuriating giggle that made her want to send a bottle of vodka crashing onto his head. “You really think I’m gonna do a family reunion without a little help?” He took a swallow of bourbon. “Figured you’d get it.”

Vanya’s fingers tightened on the glass. She wasn’t like him. This world he’d constructed in his head, where she was just a shadow of what he was—it was a fantasy. He spent his days wandering the streets or bouncing from rehab to rehab. She worked, and the money she brought in went toward her apartment, her clothes, her food. She spent her days coaching kids through basic chords, cooking and cleaning, playing in the city’s orchestra. She wouldn’t have earned first chair if she’d devoted what remained of her life to the next fix.

A high, sharp noise commanded her attention. Looking took only a second, but by the time she did, the glass had cracked beneath her fingers, webs of spindly lines spreading out and up. Another side effect of Klaus’ presence.

“I think you should leave now.”

Klaus downed half his liquor in one swallow, planting the glass firmly on the counter. A few drops came close to splashing out, but the counter remained dry. “I think you need another drink, if you’re just gonna get your panties in a twist over everything.”

He was needling her, poking her skin over and over until he found what caused the most pain. For what, she couldn't say. Perhaps he was so enamored with Five’s return that he simply could not comprehend why she hadn’t followed to the kitchen to wait on him hand and foot. Perhaps he was still angry over her last refusal to let him crash at her place. That had been years ago, but Klaus was just the sort to hold a grudge for that long.

She could lash back, with words or force. A few sharp retorts already came to mind, but they might not land the way they should. Klaus’ quest to rid himself of powers Dad had never thought to take from him had apparently robbed him of his faculties, if his incessant giggling was any indication, and there was little point in an insult that slid off like water from a tarp. The Academy had never been a noisy place, but what few sounds there were—air rushing through the vents, the creaking of old boards—already tempted her.

And Klaus remained, with no trace of fear.

“I’ve had kind of a rough day,” she said, setting the cracked glass in the sink slowly and deliberately, so as not to throw it the way she longed to.

Klaus’s mouth formed a round O of mock surprise and he clapped his hands to his cheeks. “Me too! Weird, huh? Us both having the worst day ever at the same time?”

Vanya clenched her teeth. He was like the cockroaches at a place she’d lived, one of the few complexes she was grateful to be blacklisted from. Lay out traps and they’d skirt around them. Stomp on them and they’d avoid your boot. Spray them with Raid and they’d roll onto their backs long enough, only long enough, to make you think you’d won. Long enough to make their swift return all the more infuriating. “I don’t want to break anything worse than a glass, is all I’m saying.”

“Why? Afraid the cops might come? Afraid they might send you to—” He put a hand to his mouth, covering a gasp too melodramatic to be genuine, and looked to left and right before continuing in a stage whisper. “Therapy?”

Vanya felt the cracks in her discarded glass spread and splinter before she ever heard it. She wanted to let it shatter—no, she wanted to make it shatter, send a hundred jagged shards exploding out from the sink to embed themselves in the wall, the counter, Klaus’ skin; to strike other bottles like bullets and send their contents cascading.

“You don’t understand.”

“No! I mean, Sitting on a comfy couch for a whole hour while some lady in an ugly-ass pantsuit listens to your problems?” He shook his head in mock amazement, adding more bourbon to his glass. “It’s a miracle we’re at Dad’s funeral. You should’ve just—”

He blew a raspberry, pointing his thumb to the floor.

Another crack spread through the glass, and another. He didn’t see. Didn’t know the humiliation of walking into that office, week after week. Couldn’t comprehend the misery of hearing mistakes inflated and exaggerated, balled up and thrown back in her face whenever she tried to explain herself. He couldn’t know the recurring sting of walking past her favorite coffee shop—a place that had once pulled her into an embrace of scents both earthy and sweet—knowing that the police would be called if she so much as crossed the street to reminisce from the wrong side of the window. If anyone under the Academy roof spared an ounce of sympathy for her, it should have been him. He, at least, knew what it was to have his faults paraded before police and judges and dismissed with no regard for what it was to be in his shoes.

She should have known that was too much to ask of him.

The glass was all but destroyed now; there was little point in leaving it whole. The sink would absorb most of the damage, and while a few shards would fly out, Klaus had learned to dodge. He knew what he faced if he failed to. He couldn’t call the police without risking his own skin.

Yet a part of her, a small part of her, whispered that he just might be insane enough to try.

The canister flew across the room to smack against a formation of bottles, knocking them over with a crash. Liquor spilled over the counter and onto the floor, sweeping up oats in the flow. Vanya turned on her heel, not giving Klaus the satisfaction of one last grin.

********

“That could’ve gone better.”

“Yeah, you think?” Klaus downed the rest of his bourbon and regarded the bottles still standing. The accidental cocktail Vanya had created with her little tantrum wouldn’t be tasty—especially not with oats floating in it and faint remnants of floor cleaner offering a different kind of intoxication—but all of those liquors together would get him drunk faster than anything he could mix on his own.

Well. Drunker.

Klaus didn’t sway as he straightened and headed for the tequila. He wasn’t quite to that point, though he sensed its approach.

“Seriously?”

“Hey, you try dealing with Vanya sober.” He opened the bottle, raising his voice in a mocking imitation of Vanya’s. “Oh, look at me, I wreck some coffee shop and have to not go to prison, everyone needs to be sad for me.”

“Oh, you mean like my entire life? And afterlife, so far?”

“So far?” Klaus grinned, raising both eyebrows. “What are you not telling me, Ben?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” He poured a shot of tequila and tossed it down. “If there’s drunkenness after death, you really need to tell me. This could change everything.”

“You really think I’d tell you something like that?”

“Some brother you are.”

“Said the guy who left Five to come get shitfaced.”

The sting was sharp, as if Ben had slapped him across the cheek. Klaus poured another shot and downed it without breaking eye contact, but when he set the glass down he had to look away. He tried for some remark glib enough to set Ben on a different course, but nothing came to mind in time.

“Bet you can still catch up with him.”

It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to Klaus, but he hadn’t allowed it to take root in his mind with this level of clarity. Go back to the kitchen, or track Five to wherever the others had brought him. Apologize for whatever it was he’d said wrong—more than one thing, probably, though he could only think of the one. See if Five wanted to go flip off Dad’s urn for a while. Let Five watch him stagger down the stairs, sway in the door, smell the alcohol on his breath. The others, Diego and Luther and Allison—they might not understand, but they expected it. They’d seen it before.

A part of him whispered that Five would see it sooner or later, that maybe he’d already extrapolated from those moments he’d caught Klaus at the bar when they were kids, those times he’d given Klaus the cover he needed to sneak out for his next fix. It didn’t matter, or wouldn’t matter. Sobriety was little more than a punchline around him, and it was only a matter of time before Five saw the joke.

He straightened, swallowed the last of the tequila in his glass, fished for a cigarette in his pocket and lit it. He took a long drag, closing his eyes as he exhaled. It wasn’t’ the first time he’d smoked in the Academy, not by far, but usually Dad or Pogo would come barreling around the corner seconds after his lighter clicked on. This time, there was only silence. Blissful, smoke-filled silence. He leaned against the island, allowing each breath to carry off more of Vanya’s lingering presence.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before the edge of the counter began digging into his back, before the floor began to press against his feet through the thin soles of his shoes, before the weight of the items in his coat reminded him of where he could be and what he could be getting. A pang of guilt accompanied the last thought, regardless of the facts. He wasn’t needed at the Academy. He’d probably sent Five into a tailspin with whatever it was he’d said. The memorial service seemed to have been forgotten for the time being; even if he were missing when it began, his absence wouldn’t be lamented or questioned too heavily. The more he considered it, the more he itched for what those items would buy him.

He’d be leaving Five again. Leaving him not in the kitchen, but there in the Academy while he was off elsewhere in the city; but Five wouldn’t be alone. Might not even notice he was gone.

“Klaus?”

Five’s voice was too soft, too uncertain, but it still gave Klaus a start and he nearly dropped his cigarette.

“Christ on a cracker,” he breathed, glancing down at the floor. Still a safe enough distance from the spilled alcohol that a lit cigarette wouldn’t send a puddle of flame racing up the cabinets, but closer than he would have liked. He sucked in a breath and turned to Five, plastering on a smile. “What’re you doing up here?”

Five didn’t answer. He’d changed into his pajamas—which were drier than what he’d been wearing, and in better shape, but Klaus could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen any of his siblings wearing pajamas in the middle of the day. In each instance, they’d been sick enough to get out of training, sick enough to remain in their rooms instead of joining the rest of the family for silent meals and Dad’s droning records. Five was still walking on his own two feet, his skin lacking the pallor it had held on those days; but Klaus didn’t recall him being so thin when he’d left.

How long had he stood just out of sight?

“Dad’s not here, is he.”

There were two answers: the tactful one, and the direct one. The tactful one was more up Allison’s alley, requiring more gentle words and roundabout phrasings than Klaus had in his arsenal. It was probably more akin to what Five needed, closer to what he’d like to hear, but Klaus had already stalled long enough.

“Died a little over a week ago.”

Five nodded slowly. If there was any surprise in his expression, Klaus couldn’t see it. “He…he probably would’ve walked out when I showed up, huh?”

And done a lot more than that, Klaus thought, but didn’t say as much. Five must have known he’d have been hauled off to one of those rooms everyone hated, held there until he’d divulged every secret he’d brought back with him, had Dad occupied the Academy. “We can go flip off his urn for a while, if you want.”

Five didn’t smile, or even meet Klaus’ gaze. He’d said the wrong thing again. Made a joke when Five needed something else, something Allison or Luther or even Diego would be better suited to offer. Something Klaus couldn’t muster, not even when it was needed. Especially not when it was needed.

“Where’s Ben?”

If Ben’s remark had been a slap, Five’s question was like a punch to the gut. He had to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t form and he couldn’t muster even an I don’t know or a Why do you ask? He could only struggle, through the fog and the emotions that one question dredged up, to say anything at all.

Five dropped his gaze, biting his lip. He didn’t sink to the floor or look for a place to sit down. He didn’t let out a cry or suck in a breath. Klaus watched him crumple all the same.

“Hey, it—” He started forward, barely remembering to put out his cigarette before Five fell into his arms.

Maybe he should have expected it. Over a decade stood between him and Ben’s death. No one would say he’d used them well, and if pressed he wouldn’t disagree; but he’d still had them. Ten years to let the dust settle and the blood dry. Ten years to accept that Ben’s clothes no longer occupied the closet, that no one would set a place for him whenever they were allowed back into the Academy. Ten years of hearing his voice, watching him roll his eyes and try in vain to block access to his stash, of being the only one to know he would never really go away. For all Five knew, Ben’s face should have been among those who greeted him upon his return.

He returned the hug awkwardly, too awkwardly, running a hand along Five’s back. Tears shook his bony frame, and Klaus wanted to kick himself for not hunting down Allison to answer that question. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

“How?”

Ben no longer leaned against the bar. He had a way of doing that, of stepping around while your back was turned to show up in the last place you wanted to see him. This time, though, Klaus didn’t mind the sight of him, the look he got—or the clear instructions it carried.

“I mean, it’s not like he’s gone.”

Five pulled away, and the hope in his eyes made Klaus want to shrivel up and disappear.

Ben smiled a bit, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey, Five.”

“He says hi.”

*******

Vanya should have brought the whiskey along.

Her anger hadn’t quite burned away when she reached the top of the stairs, but it had calmed enough for her thoughts to turn to things other than Klaus’ exaggerated smiles and mocking words; and they turned to that bottle on the counter. She should have grabbed it before storming off—or if not that bottle specifically, then another close to it. Something strong, something she could keep all to herself. Something that would get her to the memorial service in one piece.

If her siblings still planned on holding a service.

She found her old bedroom less by intent and more by muscle memory, and it hadn’t changed much from the day she’d left. The furniture was gone, shuttled off to her first apartment and then the next; as were her clothes, which had been added to over the years. It would have been an empty room, devoid of the personality she’d lent it, but there were small signs, little memories here and there. A length of blue ribbon she’d once worn to a press briefing snaked across the floor. The green hair tie she’d thought had been lost in the move lay in one corner, grey with dust. Along the wall adjacent to her window Vanya could just make out little patches where the drywall was ever so slightly uneven, marking the places where, in retaliation for being sent to her room, she’d driven holes into her wall to spell out an obscene message. Dad had barged in before she’d finished the first word.

She ran a hand along the windowsill, catching dust on her fingertips. It wasn’t surprising that Dad’s memorial service had stalled—in the back of her mind, she’d expected Diego or Klaus to delay it somehow, though she hadn’t written off Allison as a potential culprit—but she hadn’t thought it would stall indefinitely. Yet here she was, waiting for her siblings to stop doting on Five long enough to put their dead father to rest.

Vanya looked to the wall again. For a moment she considered finishing the word, leaving it as a parting gift for whenever she was allowed to walk out of the Academy without Dad’s unread will hanging over her head. But then, it would’ve been just like Dad to turn something about willful destruction of childhood bedroom into a condition.

She closed the door behind her and stepped into the hall, seeing no one, but Five’s room stood open. Maybe someone had been there in minutes past; maybe Mom had left it open for whatever reason. Vanya couldn’t say and couldn’t bring herself to care. He’d be moving back into it soon—but then, once the memorial service was over and done with, she’d be back in her own apartment, away from that room and its occupant.

A short walk took her back down to the entryway and then the common room, but that wasn’t where the voices led her. One she recognized as Klaus, the other as Five—but the cheer in Klaus’ voice seemed more genuine now, the simmering resentment she’d caught now missing.

“So I’m just there in my book fort, minding my own business, and the librarian walks over and she’s all ‘Sir, you need to put these on a cart.’ And I’m all ‘Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to just build a new one instead of putting this whole thing on a cart?’”

“Maybe she just wanted you to put the books away?”

“That’s what Ben said, but I dunno. That fort was awesome.”

Ben. Her breath caught. Asking her to name a favorite sibling was like asking her to name a favorite toothache, but some toothaches hurt less than others. Some could be almost pleasant, when they wanted to be.

And some left a different sort of pain when they went away.

“What books did you use?”

“What books did I—Five. I built a fort. Out of books. Had turrets, a moat and everything. That’s all you need to know.”

Rather than pressing Klaus for more details, Five turned his gaze to the armchair. “What’d he use, Ben? You remember?”

Klaus rolled his eyes and began listing off titles, but Vanya barely heard them past the pounding of her own heart. Ben wasn’t there—or at least, he wasn’t where Klaus could see him, and that was by design. The ghosts he alone could see, the ghosts he alone could command, were evidently far more frightening than the poisons he forced into his system and the people and laws he trampled to get them. The substances he favored were still there. His powers were gone—and here he was, playing the medium. Speaking for the dead when the dead no longer spoke to him. Using Ben as a prop to tell an asinine story about himself.

“Don’t.”

Allison’s voice was soft, but Vanya stopped in her tracks. Her sister sat on the stairs, just out of the light cast from the sitting room.

“Are you hearing this?”

Allison bowed her head for a few seconds. When she raised it, there was sorrow in her eyes—but also a glint of steel Vanya had rarely seen outside of particularly nasty missions.

“Don’t take this from him.”

“Take what? A lie?”

Allison stood, mouth tight. She took a few steps forward, but didn’t come close to bridging the gap between them.

“I don’t care what it is.” Her voice had grown softer, scarcely rising above a whisper, but no less stern for it. “You’re going to let him have this.”

A stab of fear went through her. Allison hadn’t referenced those four words, but the threat was there, carried on a tone addressing her as a child. A child who needed to be put in her place. “Or what?”

She didn’t answer, but the glare she leveled on her way into the common room was enough.

************

Chapter One

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy fanfic #tua fanfic #vanya keeps her powers au #five returns as a kid au #little tyrants #vanya hargreeves #five hargreeves #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #alcoholism #implied/referenced alcohol abuse #implied/referenced drug abuse

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