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highwaymanstories · 2 years ago

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Highwayman. Part One

Pearls Before Swine

It’s their honeymoon, I think. The couple stands, hand in hand in hand in hand, at the front of their luxury cruiser, staring off at the gleaming, distant stars of the cosmic Elsewhere. The cruiser’s a rental. At least, I hope it’s a rental. This sort of two-crew personal ship, with Ley capacity no less, cost about as much as a matched pair of human kidneys on the Githem gray market. But based on our quarry, they can afford it.

They were Perchlor in the FIS, which made them easy targets. Not too many four-armed humanoids in these parts, save the more insectoid chimeras. Bring a bottle of Itoan hooch to the customs guy who works nights out of the Githem North-Central travel depot, and ze’d give out a goddamn Com-Pop star’s hotel room number. Easy enough to get the travel path of Lucy and Reggie Proper. They were taking the scenic route to Vybes in the Appenzell Canton, heading to one of those coastal resorts by the planet’s South Pole. Fancy. Expensive. And they were bringing their wedding presents along with them.

From my perch inside the Nickel, I activate remote access and refocus the security camera on Lucy’s face. Handsome Perchlor, not our type — my type— but a strong jawline can make anyone look good. I’d been told Lucy Proper was the child of an old nightclub crooner and a picture star, and I could tell. Ve has on those wraparound shades that the Perchlor all wear, but had lowered them enough that ver top eye is visible. Vivid blue, blue that almost makes me think ve can see me when ve glances up at the camera.

But then Reggie takes Lucy’s hand in zirs. The couple turns, looks at each other. I can’t read their expressions behind those glasses, but that doesn’t make the thoughts behind that glance any less obvious. Hominids are so oozy.

But, they are distracted. So I tap a few keys on the retrofitted QWERTY and deactivate the shields on the cruiser. Neither lovebird notices the tiny blinking light on the console. So far, so good. I take another look at the real-time map simulation. The program takes a few minutes to process the information, but it’s running off a processor ripped from and old ‘167 Soviet gaming console, so I try not to be too harsh with it. As the CRT prints the model, I thank the old motherboard. It does good work, best it can at least. I relate to that.

I examine the render: a wireframe of the ship, with spots of density shaped out in dark colors. The cruiser’s light on security, shields deactivated, cargo kept in a compartment under the sleeping suite. That should be where we’ll find the target. Client told us it’s a pearl, gifted to the newlyweds as a present, but taken from them without rights. So, we’re getting it back for them. At a fair price, of course.

The sleeping suite’s a bit cluttered, but static on the render, with no security system, not even cameras. Probably smart to take the cameras out of the honeymoon suite. I trace the path from the airlock into the suite; it starts in the cockpit, where the locking couple had intertwined the fingers on both sets of hands and were pressing close together. Physical proximity indicates romantic relationship and emotional intimacy for nearly every sapient species in the Somewhere; it’s one of the few things they all have in common. Except the Gyo. I have — we have — they have, on the homeworld, no concept of intimacy, the same way fish don’t have a concept of water.

But a clean path, just a couple cameras. I do a visual check on the hallways, cycling through the cams. No turrets, no tripwires, not even a smoke alarm. Almost too easy. I start up a second scan, just in case the first missed something, but I think we’re good to go.

I run the tip of an arm over the QWERTY, settling on the J. I love the little bumps humans leave on the QWERTYs, to remind themselves where their fingers are supposed to go. I could have replaced the interface with a touchscreen, but the QWERTY is so tactile, so physical, so extant. It feels like I’m doing something when I press those keys.

The J is my favorite key, so I mapped my favorite control to it. I feel the nub under my arm and press down, activating comms.

“Path’s clear,” I say. “Lovebirds in the cockpit. I got eyes on everything except the suite. Get ‘em, cowboy.” Then I switch cameras back to the cockpit and watch the show.

Dime hisses as it hooks onto the airlock, pirate screws overriding the latches with a satisfying clunk. Reggie’s too lost in lust to notice, but Lucy looks over at the airlock, surprise plain on vir face. Ve can almost get out the words, “What was —“

Then the airlock opens, and you step inside, guns drawn. You grin, like a madman, like you always do, and tell them, “Reach for the sky, friendos.”

Wyatt Hobb, you are my favorite person. You say those words every single time. “Reach for the sky.” We are in space. The sky is everywhere. It’s stupid. Everything about you is stupid: your stupid hat and your stupid boots and your stupid long jacket and your stupid little face that folds into a perfect pout when I don’t laugh at your jokes and just — I have never met another person like you, and that thrills me like you cannot believe.

Reggie and Lucy freeze. Reggie looks about ready to vomit. The sight is almost comical; the two Perchlor must each be nearly seven feet tall, and here’s little five-foot-nothing you, and they’re piss-terrified. But these two have never been in a fight, probably never even thrown a punch. I can see that clean across their faces. They definitely have never had pair of Colt six-shooters pointed in their faces, not least because that gun hasn’t existed in a usable state for two, three hundred years now. And these aren’t antiques. These guns kill people.

But you don’t like to kill people. So you cock your head to one side and give them that little smirk, the same smirk you gave me two years ago, the first time we met. And you say the same thing to them you said to me, too.

“Now empty your pockets, nice and easy. Don’t want no one to get hurt. I certainly don’t, and I doubt you kind folks want that either. So no funny moves.”

Reggie glances at Lucy, looking for confirmation. Lucy’s steelier than vir spouse, I can see that on the monitor clear as day. But ve still nods and pulls a wallet out of vir jacket pocket. Reggie follows suit, and the two of them toss down wallets, keys, the little CommSlabs the Perchlor use for wireless communication. No weapons, of course. You give them an easy smile, tip the brim of your hat.

“Thank you kindly,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. I’ve never heard you lie. You say things that aren’t true, sure, say things that aren’t true all the time. But out of your mouth, they don’t feel like lies, just truths from another timeline. Like I all I would need is your perspective, and I’d get it, bones and all. You have a voice that begs people to see things your way. “Now,” you add, holstering one gun and pocketing the wallets and CommSlabs, “I’m just gonna ease on past you, get what I came here for. You don’t make any business for me, I’ll have no business with you. Sound amenable?” Reggie looks at Lucy again, and Lucy nods. “Y’all on your honeymoon?” you ask.

Lucy speaks up now. “Yes,” ve says, and damn, if you weren’t you, you’d probably fall in love with just that word out of vir mouth. Parents were a crooner and a picture star, no fucking kidding. “We don’t want any trouble,” Lucy adds, and I believe vir. “We’ll do what you say.”

That just makes you smile wider. “Got a feeling we’re gonna be real amigos, then. I trust y’all, which you should wear as a badge of honor. Now, I just want one thing from y’all, and then we can part ways, never the twain shall meet again. Sound clean?”

I can tell Lucy has no idea what you’re saying. I don’t either, usually. But ve just nods vir head.

“Neato.” You move past them, cool as cream, and into the hallway. I switch cameras, follow you through, and turn on comms again.

“Starfish to Cowboy, can you hear me?”

“Cowboy to Starfish, nearly home and clear. Now, where’s that pearl?”

“Should be in the sleeping suite. Render tells me there’s a cargo space loaded with goods under the floorboards. Those are probably the gifts, and if so, the pearl will be among them.”

You look up at the camera and grin and I just about melt. “Damn, Mai. You’re a goddamn treat. Don’t know how I did this before you.” I can feel my core flush, my arms twitch a little.

“You did it well, Wyatt. Now let’s finish this job and hit the Lines. Door on your left.”

Just as I say that, the second scan finishes, and the render prints out on my monitor.

Something’s wrong. I see it immediately. Inside the suite there’s an innocuous little lump, I thought it was piled blanket maybe. But it’s moved.

I jam my arm back onto the J.

“Wyatt, stop, something’s wrong.”

But it’s too late. You opened the door already. Still you touch your ear, activate your comm.

“What —“

Then a tiny, fluffy ball of rage flies out of the room and knocks you to the floor.

It can’t be more than thirty pounds and two feet long, but this little monster digs its claws into your chest and you scream like your soul’s been ripped out by the devil himself. The gun drops from your hand, clattering on the floor.

The creature is dark gray, four-legged, with tiny, pointed ears and a long, thin snout with tiny razor teeth. Its claws don’t look sharp, but they’re long and ragged and carve a gash across your arm as you lift your hands to protect your face.

“Shit.” I hit the J. “Wyatt, what’s happening? What is this?”

“Fucking dog!”

I have no idea that what means. Judging by the tone in your voice, though, you don’t like it. And it doesn’t seem like you’re making any progress at removing it from your limbs. I grab my nullSuit, slipping my arms into the nine sleeves and closing the zipper around my core. The helmet fogs up around my eye before I turn on the systems manager, which floods the suit with oxygen and clears the glass.

Before I jet off the Nickel, I glance at the security feed again. You’ve managed to stand up, though this… dog… is latched around one of your ankles now. You’re shaking your leg, trying to fling it loose, and I’m momentarily reminded of the “square-dance” you showed me that night we found a half-full bottle of Soviet Kentucky Whiskey on a junker.

Then something glints around the dog’s neck. I bring my arms back to the QWERTY, zoom in the camera, run and artificial enhancement filter.

It’s a collar, and a tag. There, engraved in cursive lettering, is a word, a name.

“Shit,” I say, again, and hurry to the back of the ship, pull myself through the zero-gravity and into the airlock. I double-check the seal, then jet out into the void.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do field work, but still, I get a little chill each time I head into the fray. My job is dangerous, you won’t let me forget that, but even so, my perch in the Nickel feels removed, shielded from the violence, and the elegance, of the work. On site, with the targets, it feels like I’m in the mud. Most of me hates it, wants to get back to the Nickel as quickly as possible. But there’s a little sliver of me, a tingle in one of my arms, that loves it.

And the journey across the gap between our ships is something else entirely. Out here, floating past the endless lengths of the Somewhere, the distant Elsewhere stars twinkling faintly, I truly feel alone. It’s the greatest feeling in the world.

I land on the Dime, a little jet pod hooked on the cruiser’s airlock like a tick. I pop the access hatch, wriggle inside, shut it behind me. Instantly, the raiding ship pressurizes. I hurry through the airlock and into the cruiser.

Reggie and Lucy still haven’t moved. But then they see me scramble onto their ship and I can see Reggie flinch. It still bothers me. It shouldn’t. But, even though the Gyo have been around longer than almost any other spacefaring sapients, I guess it’s hardwired in the hominids to recoil at the sight of a four-foot-tall, nine-armed starfish. Evolutionary design. Doesn’t make it sting any less. But that’s something I love about you, I guess. You didn’t even flinch the first time you robbed me.

At least they don’t try to stop me as I roll into the hallway. You’re on the ground again, dog latched onto your arm, biting through the coat. You look up and see me, and the relief on your face almost knocks me flat.

“Mai!” You say. “Thank heaven. Get this feller off me ‘fore he rips off my goddamn hand!”

I’m honored you think I can do that. But I’d like to keep all my limbs today, thank you, so I hurl myself into the sleeping suite to search for something to help. It’s a big, round, pink room, with a seven-sided bed I recognize as the symbol of love on Perchlorate. I find the spot in the floor where the cargo showed up on the render and pry the hatch up.

Goddamn decadent. The gifts in this compartment must be worth more collectively than I’ll make in my lifetime. Platinum necklaces. Massive, raw gemstones. Kitchen gadgetry that could run half of Mars’s computing needs.

And a small plastic cage, just the right size for the dog-creature.

I grab the cage and drag it back out into the hall. You’re on your stomach now, the murder-fluff trying to tear though the small of your back.

“Wyatt!” I say, “I found a cage.”

“Great,” you say, through gritted teeth. “Now grab the little shit, lock him up, and throw away the key.”

I set the cage down and open it. I look at the fuzzy little animal and say, “Dog, go into the cage.”

The dog does not go into the cage. It doesn’t seem to notice the cage is even there.

You stand up now, the dog scaling your leg, claws digging into your skin. I can see tears of pain welling in your eyes.

“Mai. Please. Just grab the dog, and put it in the cage.”

I creep forward, reach toward the dog. Then it turns, and snaps at me, and it looks in my eye and I look in its eyes and I know this miniature demon could rip through my nullSuit like tissue paper and would do so without a first thought, let alone a second. So I retreat back into the sleeping suite.

“Maiiiiiiiiiii.” Your voice whines after me, but I’m not abandoning you. I’m regrouping. I dig back into the cargo hold, searching for something to distract the dog. But I still barely know what a dog is, let alone what it might like. Maybe shiny things? I grab a few gemstones and fling them into the hallway. Nothing. So I grab everything: electronics, jewelry, statues, antique books, every last gift, and fling them at your flailing form.

But the dog doesn’t seem to care about anything except getting to your throat. And it’s getting close, and you’re getting tired, and the dog isn’t.

There’s one thing left. I lift the chunk of solid rubber out of the hold. It has an odd shape, a long cylinder with two lumps on either end. As I cradle it in my hand, the center compresses slightly, and it lets out a squeak.

The dog suddenly stops growling. I turn and see the dog staring at the chunk of rubber. I hold it up, and the dog’s eyes follow it. I squeeze it again, and suddenly the dog has its tongue sticking out, its tail wagging as it hops off of your arm and to the floor.

You collapse back against the wall, gasping, exhausted.

“Looks like you found its toy,” you say.

I slowly approach the dog, then squeak the toy again. Suddenly, the dog sprints at me, mouth wide, slobber dripping from its fangs.

I want to flee. I want to drop the toy and jet out into space. Instead, I stand my ground, and wait. And just as the dog is about to leap at me, I toss the toy into the cage, and the dog follows it inside.

I slam the door shut, close the latch. The dog doesn’t seem to notice as it curls up in the back, gnawing on the toy.

You stumble over next to me. “Thanks, Mai. Saved my hide there.” I try to act nonchalant, but inside I’m brimming with pride. You look around at the smashed and scattered presents. “Well,” you say, “there doesn’t seem to be a pearl here. Hope we don’t have to take off one of Reggie’s toes to get its location out of those two.” I laugh, and you give me a look. “What’s so funny?”

“Check the collar,” I say. You crouch down, peering into the cage.

There, glinting in a sliver of light, is the dog’s name written on the tag: “Pearl.”

You chuckle and step back, then put your hands on your stomach and let out a deep, guttural laugh. I love your laugh, so much. You don’t laugh like a Gyo, or like any sapient I’ve met, other humans included. You laugh like you want the whole entire Somewhere to know how pleased you are. It’s contagious, so I start laughing too, and now we’re laughing together, until a voice calls out from the cockpit.

“Can we move now?” asks Reggie.

You scoop up the cage and I follow you back into the cockpit. You grin at the loving couple, tip your hat.

“We’ll just get out of your hair,” you say, “and take this with us. Honestly, we’re doing y’all a favor. Congratulations on the matrimony, and here’s to a long and happy union.” You bow low, taking off your hat and sweeping the floor with it. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, and it drives me mad. But I stay quiet and follow back into the Dime. Reggie and Lucy stare at us as we leave, and I wonder how long they’ll stay together, now that they’ve met you. You tend to break hearts without even trying.

Back on the Nickel, we crash in the lounge. Pearl sits in its cage on the table, still gnawing at that bone. You stare at the dog, brow furrowed. “Funny,” you say, “Client could’ve made things a hell of a lot easier, they clarified what kinda pearl we was searching for. Still, if they had, I might not have taken the gig. Not really a dog person, always preferred cats.”

“I don’t think I’m a dog person either,” I say, and you laugh like you know a secret I’ll never understand.

“Guess not.” You stand and stretch. The hem of your shirt rises up, exposes a thin strip of skin along your midsection. I don’t know why, but I’m fascinated by this part of your body. Is it a human thing, or a Gyo thing? Maybe it’s just a Mai thing. I’d be happy if that’s the case. I like having my own things. You give me a look and a smile. “Ready to jet?”

“Sure.” I swing up onto my perch, rest my arms across the controls. I don’t know how anyone does this with just two hands. I turn off the gravity anchor and set the thrusters.

You take a seat in the cockpit and lower the light shields so you can see through the windows. No matter how many times we shift into the Ley Lines, you love to watch it happen. “We’ve got to see Ramos to get our pay, so mark out for Skelter. Ready?”

I punch in the coordinates, then open the protective case around the deactualizer and wrap an arm around the switch. “Ready.”

You lean back and grin. “Then hit it.” I pull the switch.

Outside the windows, we can see the stars of the Somewhere, mapped space. And beyond them, the stars of the Elsewhere, the rest of universe, home to the great mysteries of the cosmos. And then the lights double, as if layering a semi-transparent image of space over itself. Then space doubles again, and again, until the black between the stars is blotted out by light, until the deep dark void is gone and all that’s left is blinding white and we shift from reality to unreality, from physics to philosophy, from the universe into the Ley Lines. And we’re here, and we’re together, and we’re free.

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fictionkinfessions · 2 years ago

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@ https://www.tumblr.com/fictionkinfessions/716603002786594816/its-so-strange-to-kin-characters-that-are

WOAH WOAH WOAH woah dude. You’re totally wrong! At least on the Wade Wilson part! Evidence: I’m literally Deadpool and love Evan with my whole half dead heart. If I had a nickel for every super powered child I took under my wing and basically raised as my kid, I’d have two nickels. One of which if you buddy! Miss ya kiddo! Never let them (evil thoughts) get you down!! ❤️🖤❤️🖤

#fictionkinfessions #ask response #mod party cat!

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pastelpaperplanes · 3 years ago

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Big Ol Ask Post Pt. 5

Crusade goes by they/them! And you’re right it is a very well loved plushie :D

The buttons for eyes are both gone and it’s missing a leg or two, but Stuffie the hand-made scraplet plush still lives!!! Like most childhood toys that even make it to their keeper’s adulthood—it’s hardly recognizable but again it’s a priceless item.

Crusade has it tucked away in their habsuite, they’re a bit to old to cuddle with it now so they claim so Stuffie just kinda sits on a shelf with some other mementos! It will need some serious TLC should anyone hope to put it to good use for someone again

Yep! Most if not all of the TFA helmets are detachable. I fuckin CHOKED when Bee got scalped. good lord my boy I’m sorry but it’s an UGLY look

We’ve seen two different times w comic Megs without that helmet—both versions had sensory crowns/panels/crests, whatever you wanna call them, so why not continue the trend:

not too sure which version I like better 🤔🤔 those big flat panels look wonky but almost make him look like a frilly lizard, not too sure how I feel about that akskaksjka but!! you can TUG ON EM!!! what a plus. be still my beating heart

now version two I’m digging. not,,because,,it looks eerily similar to osmosis jones thrax or anything,,not that it’s my sole reason for liking it,,why would say smth like that. Definitely looks a more ‘composed’ look despite this obviously being a very vulnerable and sensitive part of Megatron

and to answer your last question: yes Optimus has seen Megatron without it—but it was by total accident and both very quickly shut up about it,,,especially after Meg’s voice reached an unholy octave when Op got a bit too curious and gutsy and touched one of those crests

The panels are unique to say the least—it’s not often Megs willingly removes his helmet so only a few know about them or have even seen the odd panels. Seeing truly ‘exposed’ bits of a mecha’s general protoform (where the bio lights are visible) is a bit taboo—not unmodest per say, but the vulnerability would definitely cause a double take outside of a medbay

Pseudo Gma and Gpa vibes I’d bet >:3 Megs is in denial but the titles do kinda fit—they’re respectable enough Nickel more than Hook LMFAOO and Crusade could use a few friendly faces in the faction :’( so he allows the (occasional) coddling

Even though Megs—being as high-strung and difficult of a patient and a parent as he was, made their checkups a bit frustrating, they got to play with the sweet little byte every now and then :D More than worth it despite the overly dramatic Warzone Megs often made the Medbay.

Kiss received!!

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

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Wooed

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Warnings: Cursing; Fluff Notes: I watched a supercut of Marcus Pike’s scenes and uh... Yeah. I’m in love? also i’ve never written for this man before so i’m sorry if this is awful Summary: You hadn’t been on a date since you’d started working for the bureau; truth be told, you’d been nursing a crush on Marcus for the last few months.

When you told him, he seemed… Horrified. You couldn’t believe you were even having this discussion, but, hell, when you’re on a stakeout with someone, you run out of other things to talk about (even after you’d grilled him for the details of the band that he used to be in). Frankly, it was a wonder that it had taken you that long to reach relationships - the two of you had been in that car for nearly three hours. You’d known that Marcus had been married and divorced once; you hadn’t known about his most recent relationship, before he’d moved to DC, though. And after he’d spilled his guts, it was only fair that you do the same.

To you, it wasn’t that odd. The relationships that you’d been in had mostly started as friendships, and had grown to more. They weren’t whirlwind romances.

“So?” Marcus had asked, frowning, shaking his head. “So… So what you’re describing wasn’t, like… Part of the package,” You shrugged. “They didn’t even try?” “Try what?” You laughed. “You know, taking you out, buying you flowers, introducing you to their friends--” “I usually knew their friends already.” “Flowers?” “Allergic.” “Taking you out.” “I mean, sometimes, sure. That’s par for the course no matter who you’re dating, right?” Marcus leaned back in the driver’s seat, watching you, and you turned to eye the house that you guys had been watching. There had been no change; no car had pulled up, no one had come outside. “You’re allergic to all flowers?” You rolled your eyes. “I haven’t given every single flower in the world an individual whiff to make sure, but pollen makes me sneeze, yeah.”

The two of you settled into quiet again; Marcus’ focus returned to the house, but you could tell that his mind was still elsewhere. “Okay, tell me something,” He said after a few minutes. “Hm?” “Your last relationship.” “Mhm?” “Started as a friend and… Became more?” “Mhm.”

“Once that happened, you guys just, what, flipped a switch?” You considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “Things were the way they had been, just with a...Physical component. Why are you so hung up on this?” You added, turning to look at him.

“Cause, everyone oughta be… I don’t know… Wooed-- at least once.” Your brows rose. “Wooed?” You repeated, amused. “Yes. Wooed,” Marcus doubled down, nodding.

“When was the last time you were wooed?” “It’s been a while.” “So you’re overdue and projecting,” You decided, turning back to the house. “I am not--! I am not projecting. Would I mind it? Of course not, but I’ve been wooed before. You’ve never had the experience, and that is a shame.” You rolled your eyes as the two of you settled back into an easy quiet. “... I bet you’d like it.” “Hm?” “Being wooed.” “You realize if I had a nickel for every single time you’ve said ‘wooed’ in the last ten minutes, I’d have twenty cents?” You retorted. If you had just a touch less composure, you were pretty sure you’d combust. Your very attractive, very available, very nice-smelling boss was talking about wooing in close-quarters. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him again; you could hardly stand the wide-eyed puppy-like way he’d blinked at you before when you’d told him that your ex-boyfriends had never been particularly romantic. But Marcus just chuckled despite your prickly tone. The sound was cut off by his cell phone ringing. You glanced down at it before turning back to the house. “Pike,” Marcus answered. You waited, listening for a few moments. “Uh huh… Thanks, Wallace.” You glanced over at Pike as he hung up. “Did they get a hit?” You asked. “Yeah, Wallace and Fernandez are tailing him now, so we’re clear,” Pike said, setting his phone aside and starting the car up. “Sweet,” You sat up, refastening your seatbelt. You and Pike chatted idly as he drove back to your apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” You pushed down a yawn as you undid your seatbelt and reached back to grab your jacket from the backseat. “Yeah… Hey.” You stopped at Marcus’ voice, turning to look at him again. And damnit, there were those wide brown eyes again. “Yes?” You asked. “Are you busy tomorrow night?” “No, why?” “Lemme show you what you’ve been missing.” If it were anyone else, you’d be convinced that he was putting you on, and you’d shrug it off and laugh. But there was something just a little too soft, a little too sincere in the way he spoke. “...Pike, you don’t have to do this because you feel bad about my supposed lack of wooing--” “Well, maybe my reason is a little more selfish than that,” He shrugged a shoulder, a bashful smile tugging at his lips, “Whaddaya say? No pressure, either way.”

You believed Marcus when he said that there was no pressure; he didn’t seem the type to make your life hell if you turned him down. Thing was, you didn’t want to turn him down. “Alright, Pike,” You nodded, adding, “Woo me,” Before getting out of the car. -- You wound up out of the office and tailing the suspect with Wallace for most of the following day, so you didn’t need to worry about keeping a cool head in the office around Pike. That was a relief-- you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so antsy. You hadn’t been on a date since you’d started working for the bureau; truth be told, you’d been nursing a crush on Marcus for the last few months.

The man was sweet and incredibly considerate. He seemed to take notice of the little things about you - how you took your coffee, when you’d gotten your hair trimmed, the fact that you preferred french toast to pancakes (which he told you was just weird). Your time chatting during the stakeout had only confirmed the feeling you’d had since meeting the man: you wanted to get to know him better. You and Wallace were able to pick up the suspect and bring him in for questioning. By the time you’d filled out your report, it was nearly time for you to leave for the night. You knocked on the half-open door to Marcus’ office, holding up your report. He waved you inside. “Wallace said everything went fine,” He said. “No complaints. Guy’s in holding for now.” “Good.” Marcus took your report, but instead of looking over it like he typically did, he looked up at you. “You still up for later?” He asked. “Mhm.” “You sure?” “Uh-huh.” “Positive?” “You trying to talk me out of it?” “Nope. Just checking.” “Where are we going?” “Oh, no. It’s a surprise,” Marcus chuckled, “But I’ll pick you up at seven?” “Seven,” You nodded. -- Somehow you’d thought you’d be less nervous the closer it got to seven. You couldn’t imagine where Marcus was taking you, and you had spent way too long worrying that what you were going to wear wasn’t going to be nice enough, or would be too nice. You didn’t want to look like you’d tried too hard, or like you hadn’t tried at all.

You’d wound up in one of your favorite dresses, a quilted black leather jacket, and a pair of booties. Depending on what you saw Marcus wearing when he answered the door, you could either ask him to fasten a necklace you were considering (which would dress the outfit up a little more), or leave it. You jumped a little at the sound of your doorbell. You took a deep breath, walking over to the door and opening it. Marcus was standing outside in a plum button down, with a dark tie and a dark blazer. He was not subtle in looking you over, but you didn’t take much note of that. You were too distracted by the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Your brows rose. “First of all, you look beautiful. Second of all, before you worry about sniffling,” He raised a single finger to stop you, “I did some research. These are low-pollen, least likely to cause reactions to people that are allergic: Sunflowers, lilies, roses,” he pointed to one of each. You took in the sight of them, the delicate petals of the white roses and lilies, and the splashes of yellow from the sunflowers, and you felt an odd warmth in your chest - one that you were certain wasn’t the result of an allergic reaction. You reached out, taking them from Marcus and looking down at them. You hesitated, before screwing your face up, taking in two breaths and going, “Ah-- Ah--!” You met Marcus’ eye, quickly adding, “Kidding,” and giving Martcus a wide smile, “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

Marcus put his hand on his chest, laughing shakily. “Okay, you-- scared the crap out of me, jeez.” “I couldn’t help myself,” You teased, grinning up at him, “And you look gorgeous, too.” “Thank you. Now come on, joker,” He chuckled, taking a step back. You grabbed your purse from where you’d hung it on the coat hook by the door, following Marcus to his car. You reached for the door handle, but heard, “Ah-ah.” You raised a brow, taking a step back as Marcus held the door open for you. “Thank you,” You said. “Of course,” He winked before shutting the door behind you. -- You held the flowers in your lap the entire ride, idly running your fingers over the petals. You really couldn’t understand what Marcus had been fussing about during the stakeout, but you had to admit, you were already feeling… Slightly wooed. Not that you’d tell Marcus that... ...Not that you needed to tell Marcus that, you were pretty sure he could tell. Especially when he parked the car. You were hesitant to put the flowers in the backseat, and he’d chuckled. “They’ll be here when we get back, sweetheart,” He’d teased, “Promise. Go on-- And don’t you dare reach for that door handle.” “Better move fast, I’m pretty quick on the draw.”

“So I’ve seen.” -- Marcus had picked an upscale American Bistro - somewhere neither of you had been before. You’d been a little worried that all you’d have to talk about was work. And work did come up, sure, but it was hardly the only thing that was discussed. The time that you’d spent together on the stakeout had gotten a lot of the awkward first date getting-to-know-you questions out of the way.

-- You found out that there was more to Marcus’ wooing game than a bouquet of flowers and some dinner. After the two of you ate (and he paid, though you’d heavily protested and insisted on paying “next time”; you’d gotten a smile from him that was wider than the Potomac), you went on a walk. Your hands had brushed together a handful of times before Marcus had caught hold of yours. It had been a loose hold at first, giving you a chance to pull your hand away. You’d tightened your grip on Marcus’ hand, and his smile had widened, gentle and generous. -- “Okay, this technically doesn’t count toward the wooing, since you paid,” Marcus argued as the two of you stepped out of an ice cream shop with cups in hand. “Maybe I’m wooing you a little,” You retorted, bumping Marcus’ hip with your own, “Thought we agreed you were past due, too. How’s the blueberry?” “Here,” Marcus held his spoon out to you. You leaned up, taking the offered treat and humming, leaning away and licking your lips. “Good?” “Tasty.” “How’s the cinnamon?” You held your spoon up to Marcus, smiling as he took his time taking a taste. He hummed. “I like blueberry better,” He said honestly. “Figures. Weirdos that prefer pancakes sure do have odd opinions.” “Alright, you’re cute, but you will not get away with insulting pancakes, sweetheart.” “Just saying, I’ve never met a pancake that I’ve liked.” “We should fix that.” “You’re just out to fix every single wrong in my life, huh?” “If you’ll let me.” “I’ve got a wobbly coffee table, you gonna fix that next?” “I’ve got a newspaper in my car that’s a couple of days old, I’m sure we could balance it out.” --

He walked you to your door, too. Dating wasn’t new to you, and what Marcus was doing may’ve been a bunch of… Seemingly little things, but you could feel the difference. “So?” Marcus asked as the two of you neared your front door. You looked up from your bouquet (you were still stunned it hadn’t made you sneeze yet) and raised a brow. “So?” You returned, stopping on your doorstep. “Was I right?” He raised a brow. “...You were not wrong. Wooing is severely underrated… And you’re freaky good at it, dude, I mean-- You should be teaching a course.” Marcus laughed, head ducking bashfully. You smiled, biting your lip a little. “I am glad you enjoyed it. And I appreciated the fact that it wasn’t one-sided,” He peered down at you from under his lashes, stepping a little closer, “Though there is… Typically one more component to wooing.” “Oh? Something you managed to forget or something we just didn’t get to?”

“Just didn’t get to,” Marcus backed you up against your door frame, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “And what exactly would that--” You started to tease. You didn’t get to finish asking, which was fine - you kind of already knew the answer, had kinda gotten the hint already, but it kinda didn’t matter. Marcus had been generous all night - with his time, his touches, his smiles, his winks. He was just as generous with kisses. It felt like just a whisper at first - a caress, barely. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes falling closed as Marcus tipped his head to the side, brushing his lips more firmly against yours. You leaned up, chasing the touch, and heard yourself sigh as his lips pressed to yours. You raised a hand from his bouquet, sliding it around the back of his neck. You melted a little as you felt Marcus hum against your lips. You opened your eyes as Marcus leaned away. You licked your lips, tipping your head back against the door frame as Marcus looked down at you with dark, hazy eyes. “Would you, um… Would you like to come inside?” You offered. “Was my wooing that effective, or is this still about your coffee table?” Marcus asked, sliding his hands down your shoulders. “Well, you did leave that old newspaper in the car.” “Oh, I can go grab it,” Marcus offered, taking a step back. “Get back here!” You laughed, gripping him by the collar and drawing him back in for another kiss.

#Wooed #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike/Reader #Marcus Pike/You #Marcus Pike imagine #planning for this to be a oneshot #but that's... always the plan isn't it

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hrina · 4 years ago

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1923, Pt. I - The Day

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: PG (for now) WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: nope

hi everyone! here is PART 1 of my historical AU featuring harry as a groundskeeper/farmhand (i know that those two professions are slightly different but just let me have this ok snfjsjfnsdsf)

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

this series will be composed of three parts altogether, so i hope u all enjoy this first one! as always, please reblog the fics that you like! and don’t hesitate to send in feedback, i promise that we, as writers, always love to witness your reactions :) anywayyyy now that we’ve covered all the bases, go stupid with 1920s harry! can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💌💌💌

~*~

July 5th, 1923

“What if he comes back with a beard that goes all the way down to his knees?”

You snort and shake your head. “He’s only been gone for a few months, Dee. I don’t think it’s possible for one’s whiskers to grow that quickly.”

Lydia shrugs, toying with the hem of her pale blue dress. “What if he met an evil witch in New York who cast a spell on him? And now he’s doomed to live out the rest of his life with horrifying facial hair!”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. I don’t think that there are any witches in New York, you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut. Believing in magic is an integral part of childhood—you don’t want to be the one who takes that away from her. Soon enough, she’ll figure it out for herself.

You wind an elastic around your fingers, securing the end of her braid so that it doesn’t unravel. “That’s one,” you say, sighing quietly. “Turn to the side so that I can start on the other.”

She obeys, angling her head to the left. You gather her dark curls in a loose fist, skimming your nails against her scalp to collect every last strand.

Her hair has grown hot, absorbing the heat of the sun. It’s a beautiful day—there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The two of you are sitting on the front steps of your home, looking out over the paved circular driveway and waiting excitedly for Andrew’s car to pull up to the iron gate. Realistically, you know that he won’t be here for at least another few hours, but Lydia insisted that you unwind outside to pass the time.

Somehow, she persuaded you to fashion her hair into twin braids. And though you had groaned at the initial request, here you are.

“He’s bringing a friend, you know,” your sister suddenly pipes up. “He told me in his letter.”

“Oh, really,” you say wryly. “And who exactly is this friend of his?”

“Martin Russell,” Lydia says, as though she’s reciting lines for a play. “He graduated from Harvard and then built his own company with nothing but a nickel to his name. Drew says that they’re trying to merge and become an empire.”

“An empire,” you echo, humouring her. “That sounds awfully intimidating, don’t you think?”

“Not to me,” she boasts, lacing her fingers together in her lap and squaring her shoulders. “Drew told me that I’m a businesswoman in the making.”

“That, you are,” you agree. You tie your remaining elastic around her second braid, fastening it in place. “All done.”

Lydia jumps to her feet, tugging down the material of her dress and turning to face you. She strikes a pose, placing one hand on her waist and lifting the other above her head. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” you say, smiling up at her softly. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.”

At that, she frowns.

“I’m not little!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m thirteen and a half!”

“That’s little,” you say, laughing quietly. “Trust me. Once you get to my age, you’ll understand.”

“I’d rather be little than ancient,” she shoots back, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly. You scoff, bringing your fingers up to your forehead so that you can shield your eyes from the sun.

“Twenty-three is not ancient!” you say, baffled.

Lydia just giggles, twirling around a few times and watching the skirt of her dress fan out handsomely. Once she looks up, however, she freezes in her tracks. Your eyebrows knit together as she extends her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hi, Harry!”

You stiffen, reflexively following her gaze.

Harry is about thirty feet from the steps, crossing the driveway with a heavy bag of soil slung over his shoulder. In his other hand, he’s carrying a bucket filled with rusted gardening tools. You had been so caught up in your conversation with your sister that you failed to notice him. He’s making his way toward the pretty garden that separates the entry and exit of the driveway, tucked between the two strips of road and outlined with smooth grey stones.

You swallow forcefully when he pauses at the sound of Lydia’s voice. He turns, and you get a full view of his broad chest, tanned skin peeking out from underneath his white shirt. Brown trousers cover his legs, held up by matching suspenders. His black boots are speckled with dried mud—you guess that he’s just come from the stables in the back.

Upon catching sight of your sister, he smiles and begins to walk over. You shift quickly, trying to focus on something—anything—else.

“Good afternoon, little bug.” Harry’s tone is deep, slow, rough. It sends a shiver down your spine. “You alright?”

“Very much so,” Lydia replies, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Harry, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” he replies.

Your sister glances over at you, her brows arched high on her forehead. “He’s practically primeval.”

“Dee!” Her name leaves your lips as an admonishment, but you can’t stifle your laugh.

She just giggles and turns back to Harry; he’s smirking slightly, watching your interaction unfold. “Are you going to be planting more roses?” Lydia asks, changing the subject.

“Yes.” He nods. He sets the bucket down and uses his free hand to realign the bag of soil on his shoulder. “Would you like to help?”

Lydia spins around to face you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“You’re supposed to take Artemis out for a ride,” you tell her, pursing your lips. “You know how antsy she gets when she’s cooped up all day.”

“Can’t you take her out?” Lydia asks, clasping her fingers together and bringing them up to her chest.

“Dee,” you start, shaking your head, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Harry,” she says suddenly, glancing down at him from over her shoulder. “Have you been in the stables today? Did you see Artemis?”

Harry hums dutifully. His eyes fall to you—you look away.

“And did she seem anxious at all?” Lydia presses expectantly, placing her hands on her hips.

He hesitates. “Well…no. But if you need to take her out, please do. I’m perfectly capable of planting by myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving away his words. She turns back to you, jutting her bottom lip out into an imploring pout. “Can’t you ask someone else to do it? What about Penelope? Or Beth?”

“Beth’s preparing lunch,” you say, scoffing quietly. “Besides, she refuses to work in a messy environment. What makes you think that she’ll willingly go down to the stables, of all places?”

Lydia frowns, blowing out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine,” she acquiesces at last, rolling her eyes. She spins around, hopping down the remaining steps and fixing Harry with an accusatory glare. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes! Don’t you dare start without me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little bug,” he replies, his lips twitching. You watch as Lydia takes off, her braids whipping in the wind as she sprints toward the side of the house. Once she disappears around the corner and out of your sight, you press your palms to your face, sighing loudly.

“She’s too much,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Harry chuckles quietly from the bottom of the stairs; you freeze suddenly, remembering that he’s still there.

“I should—” You clear your throat, climbing to your feet. The light material of your dress tickles the skin just below your knees. “I should probably go. There’s still so much to do before Drew returns.”

You’re lying, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sure there is.” Harry nods, running his fingers through his hair. The dark strands curl beautifully behind his ears. You allow yourself to study them for only a moment before diverting your gaze up to the sky.

“It’s hot—are you thirsty?” you ask, squinted eyes trained on miles of cerulean blue. “I can get Beth to bring you some water, if you’d like.”

“That’d be lovely,” he says. “Thank you.”

You simply hum in response. Your hands are abnormally clammy when you wipe them across the thin petticoat covering your thighs.

“Right,” you say, chancing a glance back down at him. “Well…have a nice day.”

“You too, miss.”

You pause, fiddling with the satin bow tied at the small of your back. “You—you don’t have to call me that, Harry,” you remind him, shaking your head. “How many times must I tell you?”

“My apologies,” he says, shrugging. “Force of habit.”

“It’s alright,” you say, intent on avoiding his gaze. “It just—it makes me feel as though I’m your—your—”

You break off, uncertain of how to proceed. Thankfully, though, Harry seems to understand. He chuckles softly, bowing his chin in agreement. “I know.”

Embarrassment festers in your chest, creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks. You straighten, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat and retreating toward the door. “Lydia will be back soon, I’m sure. Good day.”

When Harry lifts his head again, his green eyes teem with an emotion that is somehow unrecognizable yet familiar all at once. The gruff timbre of his response makes your stomach churn nervously, flipping your breakfast of fresh fruits and toast. You hate it more than anything else in the world.

You don’t hate him, though.

No…you could never hate him.

“Good day, miss. Ah, I mean—” His face collapses into a grimace. He grunts at the thoughtless error, shaking his head. “—good day.”

~*~

It’s just past three in the afternoon when a car horn honks from outside. Lydia’s shrill squeal of excitement follows soon thereafter.

“Drew!” she cries. She rushes into the front foyer, white shoes squeaking against the polished floor. The bottom of her dress is dotted with faded spots of mud, a testament to her time spent in the garden earlier today.

“Dee,” you scold her, frowning. “I told you to change once you had finished planting.”

“Sorry!” she says, though her tone suggests that she isn’t sorry at all—not in the slightest. “Got distracted!”

She grabs your hand, and you yelp when she gives a mighty tug, towing you outside. You dust off the skirt of your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears and staring at the iron gate in the distance—it’s closing back up, metal spines glinting alluringly in the sunlight. On one side of the driveway, a bright red car rolls along the pavement, tires bumping merrily against the ground. Two silhouettes sit in the front; the man behind the wheel honks the horn again and extends his arm through the window, sweeping it upward in a triumphant greeting.

“Drew!” Lydia repeats. She charges down the front steps, her hands outstretched.

“Be careful!” you call after her, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip.

The sun is still high in the sky. You crane your neck, surveying your surroundings. Heat rises from the driveway in murky waves, blurring the scenery. The large portico that spans nearly the entire width of your home is lined with bushels of potted plants—roses and peonies and daffodils. The lawn is bright and healthy, spearmint-green grass trimmed to perfection.

Something shifts in the periphery of your vision. Your head snaps to the left.

Harry is there, leaning against the corner of the house. He’s still sporting the same outfit as before, except it’s even more sullied, now. You’re not surprised. Gardening is grubby work, but gardening with Lydia…it’s a miracle that he’s not caked in mud, soiled from head to toe.

On cue, Harry reaches for a dirty rag dangling over his shoulder. He grasps the material with strong fingers, lifting it to his face and wiping down his forehead and his cheeks. You watch him closely, fascinated by the thin sheen of sweat sparkling on his skin.

As though sensing your stare, his eyes dart over, locking squarely with yours.

A soft gasp falls from your lips. You clench your jaw, incontrovertibly caught, and quickly look away.

As soon as Andrew steps out of the car, Lydia launches herself into his arms. He laughs gleefully, catching her with ease and spinning her around. He’s dressed in a cream-coloured suit, the collar of his periwinkle button-up peeking out beneath the lapels. His loafers are shiny and brown; a matching hat is perched atop his head, hiding his dark hair from view. The cap makes his ears stick out even more than usual—upon realising this, you smile.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Andrew grunts, setting Lydia back down on the ground. He puts his hand next to her shoulder, as though measuring her against an invisible wall. “The last time I saw you, I could’ve sworn you were only this tall.”

She beams before standing on her tiptoes and poking at his chest. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be gone for so long next time!”

“Touché,” he chuckles, nodding in assent. His fingers find the ends of her braids, fiddling with them absentmindedly. “And who’s responsible for these pretty things, hm?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question,” you interject, making your way down the steps.

Andrew looks up at you and grins widely. You hold out your arms as you approach, and he accepts your invitation with a happy call of your name. He’s tall—a few inches over six feet, if you had to guess. You hug him tightly, burying your face into his shoulder and flattening your palms against his back.

“You look very handsome,” you tell him when you break apart. “I like this colour on you.”

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Do you? I was on the fence about it, truthfully.”

“You shouldn’t have been—it looks good,” you assure him, smoothing your knuckles over his collar. “What took you so long? You’re late.”

“Stopped off at the cemetery to visit mum and dad,” he explains. “Changed their flowers, too—calla lilies, this time.”

You nod grimly, pursing your lips. “Mum’s favourite. Excellent choice.”

One of the car’s doors slams shut; the noise pulls your attention away from your brother. You peer past him, eyes landing on the man who has just exited the passenger side of the vehicle. His skin is a fair shade of olive, complimented beautifully by the beige jacket slung over his shoulders. Checkered brown pants cover his legs, and he’s clutching a sturdy briefcase in one hand. Andrew retreats, keeping a palm on the small of your back as he leads you over to his companion.

“Girls,” he says, tipping his cap, “this is my business partner, Martin Russell. Martin, these are my sisters.”

Martin bows his head. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“Are you tired, Mister Russell?” you ask. “It’s been a long journey, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite alright, miss, thank you,” he replies.

You don’t miss the way his amber eyes trail along your figure as he straightens up. You step back before you even have the chance to register what you’re doing.

“Hello!” Lydia—much to your relief—butts in, grabbing Martin’s hand and shaking it frantically. “I’m Lydia. Say, how would you describe your time at Harvard? Did you enjoy it? Was it a lot of work?”

Martin chuckles nervously, taken aback by your sister’s blathering. “Er,” he starts, “I—”

“Dee,” Andrew says, snickering quietly. “At least let the man get settled in before you begin interrogating him.”

“Sorry,” Lydia mumbles, shrinking away.

“That’s alright,” Andrew says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to chat with him over dinner tonight, won’t you? Is it true that Beth is preparing my favourite?”

Your sister beams and nods. “I asked her to!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Andrew smiles. He looks up at the house, his forlorn gaze running over the plethora of pale bricks and clear windows. Abruptly, he pauses, squinting and lifting his fingers to shield his face from the sun. “Is that…?”

Your blood runs cold.

Andrew raises an arm high above his head. “Harry!”

And suddenly, staring down at the ground becomes your most pressing concern of the day. Harry makes his way over, a mountain of handsome grime. It’s unfair, really, you think. How does he manage to look so fetching, even beneath a thin layer of soot?

“How have you been?” Andrew asks, surging forward and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Harry replies, grinning. “I’ve been alright. Keeping the garden tame, keeping the stables clean.” He tosses a pointed look in Lydia’s direction. “Keeping this little bug out of trouble.”

“Hey!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry just chuckles.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Andrew says, nodding in satisfaction. “It’s nice knowing that there’s still a man around the house to take care of these two.”

You bristle at his words, scowling in mock-offense. “We are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Your brother shoots you a mischievous wink, and only then do you realise that he’s merely trying to get a rise out of you. You roll your eyes, though you can’t quell the fond smile that creeps onto your face.

“Let’s go in,” you suggest. “You can say hello to the rest of the staff, and then we can all wash up before dinner.”

Andrew hums in agreement. He tilts his head to the side, attention fixed almost exclusively on Harry. “You should come, H,” he says swiftly. “It’s been too long; we need to catch up.”

“Drew—” Your shoulders tense, and your nostrils flare. “I don’t think—”

“I’d love to,” Harry interrupts. He hooks his thumbs beneath the straps of his suspenders. “Thank you for the invite, Drew.”

“Of course.” Your brother nods before turning back to Lydia and Martin. “Shall we, then?”

The three of them push between you and Harry, climbing up the steps and disappearing through the front door. Inside, your sister unleashes a stream of fleeting questions: What’s it like in New York? Are the people nice? How was the food? Did you see the Statue of Liberty?

Gradually, her inquiries fade away. You stand there, chest inflated with a held breath and fingers fidgeting anxiously with the skirt of your dress. The sun beats down against the crown of your head, triggering a mild fit of dizziness.

Or maybe that’s just Harry.

“So…,” he begins, blowing out an awkward sigh. “What shall we be eating tonight?”

You scoff, unable to help yourself. “You accepted the offer without knowing exactly what it was?”

“Should I know?”

You swallow heavily, pinning your gaze on the scarlet vehicle still parked only a few feet away. “Minestrone,” you say. The word is clipped. “Drew loves it.”

“I’ve had it,” he tells you. “Beth always saves me a bit if there’s some left over.”

You nod wordlessly.

“Are you upset with me?” Harry asks, digging his hands into his pockets. You’re so taken aback by his question that your head snaps toward him, brows cinched together in confusion.

“What?” The question falls from your lips before you can blink. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You won’t even look at me,” he hums, shrugging casually.

“I’m looking at you right now.”

“Not before, you weren’t.”

“I—” you break off, pursing your lips and squeezing your eyes shut. You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, trying to keep yourself composed. “I have to go.”

“As do I.”

“Right.” You avoid his gaze. “Goodbye, then.” You whip around, hurrying up the steps.

“Goodbye,” Harry replies from behind you. The smile in his voice is painfully conspicuous. “See you at dinner.”

~*~

You’ve just pinned a final clip into your hair when Lydia comes barrelling through your bedroom door with no warning whatsoever. You’ve long since given up on reprimanding her for it. She always forgets to knock.

“Can you button me up?” she requests, spinning around and exposing her bare back.

“Did you run down the hall like that?” you ask, laughing at her eccentricity.

“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry—I made sure that the coast was clear.”

“Brilliant. Your reconnaissance skills are truly a sight to behold.”

She scoffs, smiling at you from over her shoulder. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

“Patience, Dee,” you say. You turn back to your own reflection, twirling your finger through a loose strand of hair and letting it fall picturesquely against your temple. “There.”

Her feet scuffle absentmindedly against the floor as you approach her. She’s wearing a pastel pink dress with short, puffy sleeves that cinch at her skinny biceps. The bottom hem of her petticoat tickles her knees, which strain against transparent white tights. You remember wearing something nearly identical when you were her age. The outfit isn’t a hand-me-down, though. The stitching is brand-new, and the fabric is crisp and fresh, like it’s never once seen the inside of a washtub.

“It’s nice having Drew back home, wouldn’t you agree?” you ask your sister. She squeals when the nail of your index finger ghosts playfully up her spine.

“It is,” she concurs as you begin to fasten the clasps at the small of her back. “I’ve missed him terribly.”

“So have I,” you hum, pressing your mouth into a thin line. “There are some things that I could do without, though. Like that comment he made about us not being able to take care of ourselves.”

“He was only teasing,” Lydia says. “You know that. Besides—” She shrugs, puckering her lips idly. “—he was right. Harry does take care of us, even though we may not always need it.”

At that, you pause.

“‘Harry takes care of us’?” you parrot, your brows knitting together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” she starts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who trims the lawn and tends to the flowers early in the morning? And who cleans out the stables when they get messy?”

“We pay him to do those things, Dee,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “It’s his job.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But he does so much more, don’t you think?”

You say nothing. She takes your silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“For example,” she says—declares, “he never gets irritated with me whenever I prattle on about my day.”

“Oh.” You smirk. “So you are aware of your tendency to talk too much.”

“Not funny,” she deadpans. You giggle.

“He always lets me follow him around whenever I get bored,” she adds, her eyes glazing over. “And he likes to make sure that you’re alright, too.”

Your fingers fumble with the last button at the top of her dress. You pray that she doesn’t detect the sudden blunder. “How so?” you probe, trying to keep your voice level.

“You know,” she indicates, even though you most certainly do not. “Like today, as we were planting the roses. He asked me how you were doing—if you were eating well, if you were getting enough sleep. Those are fairly standard inquiries regarding one’s wellbeing, I’d say. Do you disagree?”

“No,” you murmur, gnawing on your painted bottom lip. “I don’t.”

You finish your task, fastening the final clasp on her dress and smoothing your fingers down her sides. “There you go,” you say softly, your throat dry. “All done.”

“Thank you,” she singsongs, twirling around to face you. She studies you closely, soaking in the black floor-length gown cascading down your figure. “You look beautiful,” she says, her tone sincere. “Martin’s going to be utterly speechless when he sees you!”

A weak chuckle falls from your mouth. “Shall we go down?” you suggest, wrapping a loose arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she replies. She places a palm over her stomach, features crumpling into a theatrical scowl. “I’m famished.”

You smile.

And as you exit your bedroom with your sister in tow, you realise that she may have been wrong about which man you’re hoping to impress.

~*~

Dinner is full of surprises, many of which present themselves in the form of Martin Russell. It’s astonishing, you think, because the man who had barely spoken ten words upon first meeting you is now commanding the table at which you’re sat. Andrew is perched at the head, with Martin just off to his right. Lydia is next to him, and you’re directly across from him. And that means that Harry…

Harry is right next to you.

You do everything in your power to avoid looking in his direction. Thankfully, it proves to be easier than expected, considering the fact that Martin has been droning on about his company for the past fifteen minutes. You don’t believe that anyone else has managed to squeeze in a single word.

There’s wine, candles, and the finest china your family owns. But all of that pales in comparison to the man sitting beside you.

Harry cleans up exquisitely. Upon first entering the dining room, you were shocked to find him in a black tuxedo with a white bowtie resting just below his throat. It appears that he even combed and gelled his hair, though some strands have fallen free from the style and now hang down over his forehead. You don’t mind it, though—if anything, it’s a hint of the man you know peeking through. And the man you know is handsome—alarmingly so.

Drew had whistled as you descended the stairs. He then offered you his arm, patting your hand and telling you that you looked wonderful. Martin hadn’t been able to control his reaction, his eyes raking up and down your figure like you were a lavish meal on a silver platter. It had taken everything in you to hide your distaste.

But Harry…

Harry hadn’t said a word. He’d fixed his face perfectly, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. You’d been hoping for something—anything—indicative of his opinion toward your outfit, but you observed no such consequence. He’d only acknowledged you with a curt nod before settling into his chair and pointedly looking away.

And now, here you are—a bowl of minestrone in front of you, a wineglass inches away from your lips, and an irritated groan simmering on the back of your tongue. Martin’s voice is growing more and more irksome by the minute.

“And then, it was as though they couldn’t get enough—”

“I had assured them that I would bring in at least twice the revenue—”

“It was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it—”

You polish off the rest of your wine, reaching across the table for the half-empty bottle. No one notices as you pour a bit more of the alcohol into your glass, sneakily surpassing what would be considered appropriate for a lady to consume. You set the bottle back down with a silent huff, lifting the goblet to your lips and letting your attention wander.

You freeze when you catch Harry staring at you out of the corner of his eye. The edges of his mouth are curled up ever-so-slightly, nearly imperceptible. Heat rushes to your cheeks; you gulp down a large sip of wine, averting your gaze.

You deposit your drink onto the pristine white tablecloth, glaring intently at your food. You can feel Harry’s playful stare burning a hole into the side of your head; you suspect that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

Your soup has cooled substantially. You shovel a spoonful past your lips, swallowing it with a considerable amount of difficulty. Everyone else has nearly finished their dinner, save for Martin. You want to thrust his face into his bowl—maybe then, he’ll finally shut up.

You lift your wine back up to your mouth. The action draws Martin’s focus. His eyes flit down to your minestrone, and then jump to the other empty dishes around the table. At last, he seems to realise the disparity between your meals, because a small, sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“Lord,” he chuckles, settling into the cushion of his chair. “You all must’ve been ravenous. I’ve hardly touched my food.”

“It’s hard to eat whilst boasting, I’d imagine,” you mutter into your glass.

A loud, hacking cough breaks you out of your little bubble. Your head snaps to the left. Harry is choking on his own wine, chiseled cheeks growing red with exertion. He curls his fingers into a firm fist, pounding a few times on his chest to dislodge the liquid stuck in his windpipe. Reflexively, you place a hand on his arm, your forehead wrinkling in concern.

“You alright, H?” Andrew asks, leaning forward over his plate.

“Fine!” Harry croaks. He makes an indiscernible gesture with his hand, waving your brother’s worries away. “I’m fine, thanks. Just went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

He coughs again, burying the sound into the crook of his elbow.

You watch him with troubled eyes. When your gazes lock, only then do you realise that your palm is still splayed out over his bicep. You pull away quickly, recoiling as though you’ve just passed your knuckles through an open flame. Harry’s body rumbles as he clears his throat. He hooks two fingers into the collar of his button-up, loosening it from where it’s secured tightly around his neck.

Lydia is talking, now, but her declarations fade into the background. You wish that you could concentrate on them—you really do—but you have more far more pressing matters at hand.

Like Harry shooting you a swift, secretive smile, and every piece of the puzzle clicking perfectly into place.

His unassuming sip…your quiet quip…

He’d heard you.

You sit back in your seat, your ears ringing. Harry places one of his hands on the wooden arm of his chair; his knuckles flex painstakingly. Across the table, Andrew and Lydia have resumed their lively conversation. Martin scarfs down the rest of his soup, trying to catch up. The candlesticks perched between your plates melt slowly, a mess of waxy dribbles and drops.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you become aware that—for the first time tonight—no one is paying you any attention. The realisation makes you feel giddy, drunk on power and anonymity.

Or maybe that’s just the wine.

You peer down at Harry’s nails, studying them absentmindedly—they’ve been scrubbed clean.

And before you can even begin to register what on earth you’re doing, you reach out, tracing the veins on the back of his hand with one finger. Harry tenses; his concentration immediately falls to where you’re touching him. When you finally muster enough confidence to meet his gaze, you find him watching you with wide, awestruck eyes.

A small part of you is smug—that’s the reaction you’d been searching for at the beginning of the evening. That’s how you’d wanted him to look at you when you made your entrance, wrapped up in a pretty black gown and layers of opaque red lipstick.

You cease your movements and retract your arm, tucking it back against your side as you turn your interest elsewhere. In the periphery of your vision, Harry has pinned you with an unwavering, stunned expression, his body rooted in place. Despite the rapid thumping of your heart, you keep your gaze trained ahead and your chin held high, pride swelling in your abdomen like a hot-air balloon.

Lydia laughs at something that Andrew says. Martin tugs haughtily at the lapels of his suit. You release a heavy exhale and nudge your bowl a few inches away from your chest, completely sated.

~*~

Once everyone retires to their rooms for the evening, you wait approximately an hour before slipping out. You’re light on your feet, sneaking past Lydia’s quarters and the guestroom that was given to Martin for the duration of his stay. He snores—quite loudly, too. You can hear him as though he’s right next to you, even from where you’re hovering out in the hall.

You make your way down the spiral staircase, heading toward the large double doors leading to the backyard. You quickly tug on a delicate pair of slippers before sneaking out into darkness’ cool embrace. Midnight is only a few minutes away.

You pull your wool cardigan a bit tighter around your torso. The hem of your silk nightgown is shorter than that of a standard dress. The wind nips teasingly at your knees, making you shiver. Blades of grass tickle your ankles as you march toward the stables. There’s a single light hanging above the entrance, bathing the wooden panes in a faint yellow glow. Green grass gives way to dry soil and the odd piece of straw littered across the dirt.

Inside the stables, only two of the six pens are occupied. The first one houses Apollo, Andrew’s stallion. His skin is like chestnuts, his mane the colour of the sun. You’re sure that your brother will take him out early tomorrow morning—you doubt that he was able to find many docile steeds in the bustling streets of New York.

You bypass Apollo completely, stopping in front of your horse—Artemis.

She’s a sight to behold, white skin and jet-black hair. She reminds you of the first snowfall of the season: crisp and pure, untainted by footprints and pollution and everything else in between. She’s been your partner in crime for the past decade, even though you’ve spent the last few years simply guiding her along with your feet on the ground and a hand tangled in her reins.

Somewhere beneath the rational layer of your brain, you like to think that she sympathizes with your hesitation to get back on the saddle.

“Psst!” you hiss, leaning against the wooden gate of her pen. “Artemis! Come here, my love.”

She lifts her head up from the floor, chewing on a handful of hay. You dig your fingers into the material of your cardigan, producing a sugar cube from the depths of your left pocket. Artemis’ nostrils flare as you hold it out in your palm; she trots over happily, drawn to the sweet treat.

“Haven’t come to visit you in a few days,” you murmur as she dips her mouth against your hand. You stroke your knuckles down the side of her neck, petting her softly. “I’m sorry about that. Things have been so chaotic back at the house. I’ve barely gotten a moment to breathe.”

She whinnies quietly.

“Did you miss me?” you ask. When she nuzzles her nose into your arm, you smile. “I missed you, too. I thought that maybe you were developing a preference for Lydia. But that’s not possible, is it? I’m your favourite.”

Someone clears their throat from behind you. You gasp and whip around, hands flying to your chest. Your gaze locks onto an amused smirk and a pair of impish green eyes, and your stomach lurches uneasily.

“Hello,” you stammer, air caught in your lungs.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

He’s still dressed in his attire from dinner, though his appearance is significantly more relaxed. He’s abandoned the white bowtie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, allowing his collarbones to peek out from beneath the pallid fabric. The cuffs of his suit have been rolled up, and his hair has completely fallen from its acute coif. Glossy strands tumble down around his temples, curling in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch them.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You hope that he doesn’t hear the twinge of embarrassment in your voice. He caught you in the middle of a one-sided conversation with your horse, after all.

Harry holds up his hand. There’s a pale pink envelope clutched between his fingers.

“Post,” he says, like it’s the only reasonable explanation. It is, you suppose. “I was on my way home when I spotted you.”

Home. The little cottage just down the trail—the groundskeeper’s residence. It was built years ago, only a few acres away from the main house. You pass it sometimes when you take Artemis out for a walk. More often than not, you’ve found yourself studying its red bricks and white windowsills, yearning for a peek inside.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, wrenching you from your thoughts.

“Yes.” You nod, blinking twice. “Your letter—,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “—who is it from?”

And you immediately want to sink into the earth, because it’s none of your bloody business, is it? You have no right to be poking around and questioning him about his personal life. A slight grimace tugs at the corners of your lips, smearing a pained expression across your features.

But Harry just hums, unperturbed by your inquiry.

“My sister,” he tells you, shrugging. “She writes to me from Paris.”

He has a sister?

“Paris,” you echo dumbly. “France?”

His lips twitch. You want to set yourself on fire.

“Does she like it?”

“I think so,” he says, watching you with twinkling eyes. “She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m—” He hesitates, looking away. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

And though he hadn’t let the words slip out, you know exactly what he meant to say.

She wants me to visit her soon, but I’m stuck here.

A pang of guilt ricochets through your chest. Blood thunders in your ears as you direct your attention to the ground, kicking at the dirt below your slippers. You suddenly realise that whilst Harry is fully clothed, you’re dressed in nothing but a flimsy silk nightgown. You wrap your arms around your torso, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your knuckles.

“Er—”

You glance up at Harry when the awkward noise falls from his mouth. “Yes?”

He lifts his chin and gestures toward Artemis, who has returned to her tasty pile of hay. “She belongs to Lydia, does she not?”

“No, actually,” you reply. “Lydia takes her out, typically, but…she’s mine.”

“I see.” His face renders an innocent type of curiosity, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead. “Do you ride?”

You balk, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I beg your pardon?”

And just like that, the innocence is gone. Harry’s features melt into a portrait of wicked mirth. His irises glint roguishly as he fixes you with a shrewd, crafty smirk.

“The horse,” he says slowly, his tone ripe with amusement. “Do you ride?”

“Oh,” you croak. “Sorry, I—”

Your nostrils flare as you avert your eyes, too humiliated to meet his gaze. He’s aware of the way in which you interpreted his question. He understands why you were so appalled. He knows exactly where your mind went.

“No,” you answer quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, confused.

“How long has it been?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mount.”

“I stopped a few months before you came to work for us,” you say, playing with a loose thread hanging from your cardigan. After a beat of silence, you add, “There was…an incident. I fell.”

“Oh.” He recoils slightly, taken aback by your revelation. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Your feet scuffle against the dusty ground. “Sometimes, I catch myself longing for it, but I just—” You shrug. “I can never seem to get back on.”

“I understand.” His response is excruciatingly sincere.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye. He takes an experimental step forward, gauging your reaction. When you don’t make a move to retreat, he does it again. You chew on the inside of your cheek as he draws nearer, and your heart stutters beneath your ribs when he angles his body to the side, offering you his arm.

“May I walk you back?”

Is there a hint of fondness in his voice, or is it merely your imagination?

“You may,” you concede weakly.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and bid Artemis goodnight. The two of you stroll back up to the estate in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the evening. The wind whistles through the thicket of trees lining the edge of the property. Crickets chirp loudly, seeking shelter between blades of grass. Harry’s body is unbelievably warm, radiating heat despite the slight chill carried by nightfall.

You release his arm once you reach the steps of the back porch. He studies you carefully as you climb the first two stairs, a divot digging into the space between his brows.

All of a sudden, you pause, brought to a standstill by an invisible string. You spin back around, looking down and finding a pair of bright jade eyes in the dark.

“Goodnight, Harry,” you say softly, hands dropping to your sides.

Quicker than a bolt of lightning, he seizes your fingers between his. A faint gasp leaves your mouth when he bows forward and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. Harry peers up at you innocuously, pulling his lips away from your skin after a long moment of stillness.

“Goodnight, miss,” he says. The words flow over you like molasses, viscous and warm and inconceivably sweet. “Sleep tight.”

~*~

PART II: The Week

PART III: The Month

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #there's not a single curse word in this fic holy shit.............i think this is a first for me snfsjsdnsfsjfsn #ANYWAY i hope u like it!!!!! i'll be here if yall wanna chat after lol #farmhandrry #harry writing

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cyclone-rachel · 2 years ago

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2022 Omniverse Rewatch + Episode Ranking

Part 3: Arc 3

assorted thoughts/observations:

Is that what the Chupacabra looks like, really

Oh, so they changed the intro, but Feedback isn’t on either young Ben’s side or older Ben’s side, he’s just in the beginning

Magic is his cousin’s business, not his.

Ben *shaking hands emoji* Zak: having a nemesis voiced by Corey Burton that they fuckin’ murdered

But he still watched TV, or at least listened to the alien equivalent of the radio.

Is Mr. Baumann’s shop the only alien grocery store in town?

If I had a nickel for every time Corey Burton and Dwight Schultz played two supervillains who teamed up with each other and argued a lot in a children’s cartoon from the early-mid 2010s, I’d have two nickels. That’s not a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice within the span of 5 months.

Man. He’s still got it. I love his voice so much.

Which is exactly how long it took for this crossover to happen after the end of Secret Saturdays.

Welp, you failed at that.

That’s not exactly what he was asking.

Yeah, it is rad, thank you Ben.

So what exactly are your grades for your villains?

Ben’s destroyed a lot of those transmogrifiers.

Repeat that nickel meme, but with “if I had a nickel for every time a Corey Burton villain got murdered by Feedback”. And two in a row too, god.

I can’t believe this is how this episode starts.

I mean, how many of his villains aren’t gimmicky?

You’re really gonna put her in the Null Void? Isn’t she not enough of a threat for that?

I do appreciate the literary references, but also Gwen did make that one in I think Alien Force.

Revonnahganders *shaking hands emoji* Tamaraneans: being cat-like

Road trip!!!

Okay, this subspecies and swarm gastronomy thing is very cool actually.

I don’t think Aggregor ever did that

That was funny, I will say.

Can you really not see the difference between them, Ben?

It’s wild that he has access to them both

They both have points.

So when were you last on the ship? Was it when you were Alien X

Not that much older. Although I guess they could age faster than others.

I love that they both admit that they should’ve listened to each other.

YEAH, Rook doing the Captain America move

Did he say the Revonnahgander equivalent of “motherfucker”

Oh man, those machines look like the ones Thanos and his army used in Infinity War.

Is that the equivalent of “tough titties”

Okay, that is smart

Not going to say the V-word, but it’s the V-word.

Oh yeah that’s definitely Earth, isn’t it.

I like that we see a Pax poster in this episode, given who shows up later

Just Vaxasaurian?

I don’t think the Omnivoracious looks like a goose.

So what exactly is a roach coach?

Wait, so did Ben get a new hoodie? I thought it was ripped by Khyber in the season 1 finale.

This is a cool idea, one place that rotates through different alternate universes.

Why “take a deep breath”? Also, I miss Tetrax.

Does 23 not realize that he’s turning into aliens, just as he’s fighting “evil hater aliens”?

23 still has the original Omnitrix, too. Interesting.

He’s famous, but not rich, which is important.

I still wonder if this “Frank” is Gwen’s dad.

That was really funny (although maybe this Vilgax just hasn’t been to Earth yet?)

So I guess Ben took over Billions tower here? Or was it Nemesis tower?

I really like the sound effects used for his electricity powers.

Also, it makes complete sense as to why the Plumbers don’t seem to be a thing here, both because they don’t like aliens and because Max didn’t live long enough to be Magister and establish a Plumber presence on Earth. Although maybe Azmuth, Tetrax, and Sevenseven Twentythreetwentythree could do that eventually.

So were they just living at the end of this one street?

Is it really a nest? There’s only 3 of them.

How many Bens have lost their Maxes?

You sure about that?

Azmuth can be his substitute Grandpa, I guess. Which is a very nice concept.

Hell yeah they can explore that.

I’ve seen this episode so many times, but I still love it a lot.

Okay never mind, I’m stupid, I forgot Incarcecon wasn’t in the Null Void

So I guess they do know who they’re emptying the prison for?

His voice is still so good!

Did he have that title before this series?

Also I just realized, insert that nickel meme again but “for every time Steve Blum has played a character titled “insert name here” The Conqueror”, because he later played Kang the Conqueror in Avengers Assemble

Ben, are you okay.

Was that an attack?

He doesn’t look like a shrimp.

I don’t know, why don’t you kiss her yourself and find out?

How hard will you try?

Is it really why he has it? I mean, I guess, he did shoot Xylene’s ship

I love this so much, they’re having an actual conversation

I can’t believe Vilgax just threw him at Attea

The Incurseans have grades?

That height difference there is so good

Glad Rook didn’t Gwen Stacy him

No, seriously, what came over him?

Wait, is Gravattack magnetic?

I would have liked to see a Milleous/Max fight

Eon being a Ben does explain why he likes time puns so much

Also this is probably my favorite version of Eon, if only because the others are not terribly memorable to me

What a smooth transition

So did they just bring Rob Paulsen in to play Ditto, or is Patelliday also in this episode

What were you going for, Eon?

I still think it would’ve been very good/sad if young Ben found out teen Ben had Feedback re-acquired

Man, I’d love to see more of Paradox. But then again, I guess I could just watch more Doctor Who for something like that.

So was Eon already planning the thing he’s going to do in like 25 episodes?

I like that Paradox’s hand itself is ticking like a clock

Ah, you can see Gwen standing in the background before she first talks

I was wondering what exactly it did, and now I have the answer, thank you

So where is this?

Okay, that’s still funny

I can’t believe Paradox and Eon have never interacted before this episode I’m pretty sure. It’s a very interesting dynamic

Has anyone looked up those coordinates in real life?

This is a really good sequence, the Bens and Gwens working together

How would young Ben know what Clockwork looks like?

Also young Clockwork looks adorable

“Good seeing you… me… again.” Hmmm. Is that about Showdown part 2, even if young Ben wouldn’t remember that for obvious reasons

Is this a different version of the time war than the one we saw later?

I still wonder how the OV character design team reacted when they found out Peter Capaldi was the Doctor and looked like Paradox

Also did we ever get the first meeting between Ben and Paradox from Paradox’s point of view? Like what he was talking about when he said “you’re a lot smarter than you were when I met you later”

Again, I love this episode a lot, it’s just great

This opening is just weird

Also who prefers turkey bacon anyway? I guess people who can’t have regular bacon, but I assumed Ben could. Maybe that’s just a thing Yuri added?

“beef”, ha, nice one. Also, I guess they would make alien bacon

Well, now you jinxed it, Ben.

If there’s any time Baumann sounds like Malware a bit, it’s when he’s mad. Although he mostly sounds like Ratchet.

I do like the UAF jacket and T-shirt look in the OV style, is this the only time we get to see that?

Also skeptical that hot chocolate would be able to do that.

Are people eating these tube socks, or smelling them?

I love that people know he wrecks Baumann’s car so much

I also love that there’s just a normal-looking guy who happens to be green here

You’re auctioning her off. Okay.

So why is Psychobos there? I thought he was still on Galvan Prime.

Uh hey what’s Darkstar doing there also

Don’t you want to make sure the packages are safe?

Does Ben have a flip phone?

Ester really should have been in more episodes

That’s not that many guys, though.

I highly doubt anyone would let you near children

Man, Psyphon is kind of cool now.

So where are you going to take the dwarf star?

Well, you asked for him not to wreck your car. You said nothing about your house.

That’s… really sad.

Those are some familiar sunglasses.

So what’s the most toxic?

That’s a very cool sign

I feel like he was inspired by Rocket Raccoon. Except, you know, a duck.

Okay, that’s very cool, as well.

Not this guy again!

Uh hey, isn’t that the same design as the Null Void projector in the Ben 10K episode

Was it defenseless, really?

Well obviously, you need to get out of there

What does that even mean, man?

I’m really glad that Rook gets to go off in this episode

Did it just eat one of the Incurseans?

He means wait for it.

Okay, that was a smart plan, actually.

Could’ve at least let him have his pie

That’s not against the law

You were saying, about nothing happening on Revonnah?

Ben, what are you doing, honestly

“do you even have to ask” Aww, I love that.

So like. How do you suppose Attea got onto Galvan Prime and broke him out of jail?

He did a lot of things while Rook was away, apparently.

Rook’s dad sounds so sinister.

Okay, now you gotta know something is wrong.

So why haven’t the Plumbers asked the Cerebrocrustaceans for help at all?

Yeah, why do they need so much?

Well that’s not good.

It kind of did, they probably should’ve recognized that earlier.

Did Ben have a dinosaur phase when he was a kid

Astrodactyl’s powers do look cool.

That’s not a lot of formula.

Is that really a Plumber philosophy?

This is very nice!

I mean, he’s worked with other villains before.

He literally said last season that when he’s bored, he fiddles with the Omnitrix.

That’s a pretty good reason for traffic to be held up.

And how do they know that exactly, before anyone else does?

Uh, lady, they’ve been living among you for a while now.

Fucking Harangue is back

I really don’t want to make a certain comparison

Maybe this is a job for an alternate Ben who did think aliens were all evil before he learned otherwise.

“do I detect a hint of daddy issues” yeah, he worked with someone who had exactly that for like 5 years, he knows what that’s like

I guess Ben just has really bad luck

Is “hot buttered biscuits” an actual phrase

I’ve always thought the mummy was cool.

“he’s mine” in what way, Attea?

Rook has a point

Are you really sure about that?

Have you tried turning it off and then back on again

Oh right, he did break into the Plumber base that one time

Ben you idiot

It’s a good suggestion.

They’re just standing there.

You think?

Okay, that was funny

A classic sky-portal situation.

Goddamn there’s a lot of them.

Man. Poor Max, and Ben, and everyone in this situation

They don’t sound like they’re rejoicing at all.

Ha, goodbye and good riddance.

And right on time, things get worse.

How does he think that’s any better than what things were like before?

What exactly would he have loved?

I also love that Argit is with the team, for some reason. Also that Rook is carrying him.

What is that car, though.

Of course it’s a watch repair shop.

Gwen has anime glasses, love it.

So, after this episode, are they going to change those monuments to be back to normal?

Once again, chad Incursean right there.

I mean, Gwen is really good at tracking Ben’s mana, after all. Even probably while in other alien forms.

He’d tell you who he was, if you let him talk.

Did Ben pull that out of his ass or something?

I mean, it could be a romance.

I still really like the design for the Plumber base.

Wait, so how did Attea get there so fast?

This is just weird.

Incredibly nice of Azmuth, to do all that.

How many times has Psychobos augmented himself?

Damn, Ben.

“glorious Incursean news network”, oh boy

Is that really true?

That probably should have killed him.

Gosh that looks cool.

Holy shit, go Attea.

That’s nice, at least.

Ben’s hair looks really nice in that shot.

And of course he wants a smoothie.

Arc 3 rankings: 1. Ben Again 2. Vilgax Must Croak 3. Store 23 4. The Frogs of War part 1 5. While You Were Away 6. The Frogs of War part 2 7. Tummy Trouble 8. Special Delivery 9. TGIS 10. Rad

Original rankings: 1. Ben Again 2. Store 23 3. Vilgax Must Croak 4. While You Were Away 5. The Frogs of War part 1 6. The Frogs of War part 2 7. Special Delivery 8. TGIS 9. Tummy Trouble 10. Rad

Basic thoughts: So this is a really good arc? I do like Malware and his team more as antagonists, but Attea is also good, and we also get a fantastic re-introduction to Vilgax in this season as well as two of the best stand-alone episodes of the series which become more important later on. Even the lower-ranked episodes are at least fun and entertaining, and I found things to like about them. And I know that the crossover isn’t great, but I still enjoyed that too.

#ben 10 #ben 10 omniverse #rachel talks about stuff

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smilesthroughfandoms · 4 years ago

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Every single episode of Ducktales (2017) Summarized in Roughly in One Sentence or Less!

Thank you Frank and team so much for introducing this family to a new generation of kids while remaining faithful to your source material. I hope you all enjoy my attempts at humor!

Woo-oo!: We don’t really know what’s going on yet but let’s do this!

Escape To/From Atlantis!: “Well I’m wearing a kilt McDuck! A kiiiilt!”

Daytrip of Doom!: They’re all siblings now and I love them all.

The Great Dime Chase!: “Shut up, everyone! I’ve done something brilliant!” (Also: Guess’s who my favorite character is?)

The Beagle Birthday Breakout!: Lena and Webby are best girls, fight me on this

Terror of the Terra-firmians!: This is the Spoopiest episode and also the most heartwarming.

The House of the Lucky Gander!: He’s an asshole but I love him.

The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks!: He’s an even bigger asshole but I love him.

The Living Mummies of Toth-Ra!: I too would do anything for a good burrito.

The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest!: “If I had a nickel for every person who cursed me with their dying breath, I’d be twice as rich as I already am.”

The Spear of Selene!: Of course Scrooge showed up freaking Zeus.

Beware the B.U.D.D.Y System!: The fusion of Iron Man and Sailor Moon I never knew I always wanted.

The Missing Links of Moorshire!: I always knew My Little Pony had a deadly fandom but this is ridiculous…

Mystery at McDuck Manor!: Took you long enough, Duckworth, welcome back.

Jaw$!: In this house, we love and respect Tiffany. (Also: Whoever came up with this episode title is the coolest person ever)

The Golden Lagoon of White Agony Plains!: Scrooge and Glomgold are in love with Allison Janney, and honestly, same.

Day of the Only Child!: Doofus is even creepier than Lil’ Gideon, and that is saying something.

From the Confidential Casefiles of Agent 22!: *hums James Bond theme intensely to myself*

Who is Gizmoduck?!: He’s not throwing away his shot! (I’m sorry, I had to)

The Other Bin of Scrooge McDuck!: I love Louie in this episode, he’s such a mood.

Sky Pirates… in the Sky!: The Pirates of the Caribbean meets High School Music crossover starring evil Panchito I never knew I needed.

The Secret(s) of Castle McDuck!: We’re all Webby in this episode.

The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!: *ugly sobbing*

The Shadow War, Part 1: Night of De Spell!: Donald finally gets the love he deserves.

The Shadow War Part 2: Day of the Ducks!: *spoiler warning* How is she still alive?!?!?!

The Most Dangerous Game… Night!: David screaming “GAME NIGHT!” is the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.

The Depths of Cousin Fethry!: I love Cousin Spongebob!

The Ballad of Duke Baloney!: Dammit, Frank.

The Town Where Everyone Was Nice!: They’re boyfriends mates, sorry I don’t make the rules.

Storkules in Duckburg!: Storkules is the ultimate Donald Duck fan, we cannot comepete.

Last Christmas!: Somehow the Ghost of Christmas McBrayer is the least surprising thing I’ve ever seen in this show.

Whatever Happened to Della Duck?!: Oh, so that’s how she survived.

Treasure of the Found Lamp!: Dijin is the best character.

The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck!: Yee–and I cannot stress this enough–haw.

The 87 Cent Solution!: *wheezing* Dammit, Frank…

The Golden Spear!: Oh my god, they were roommates!

Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!: Dammit, Frank!

Raiders of the Doomsday Vault!: “So stand out, above the crowd! Even if I gotta shout it out loud!”

Friendship Hates Magic!: Webby gets two friends for the price of one seance!

The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee!: BEAKS SMASH… THAT LIKE BUTTON! (I’m so sorry)

The Duck Knight Returns!: *spoilers* The single best superhero, origin story-based episode ever!

Whatever Happened To Donald Duck?!: *sobbing* He’s a good dad!

Happy Birthday, Doofus Drake!: This entire episode is creepier than most indie horror games.

A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!: All the kids’ dreams are moods… except Huey’s, his dream can go jump off a microwave.

The Golden Army of Cornelius Coot!: Della is just pulling a Donald and adopting any and all kids within arms reach at this point.

Timephoon!: “I’m on it!” *gets struck by lightning* “I’ve immediately failed you!”

Glomtales!: I don’t know what’s more surprising, the fact that Louie won the bet or that they used Glomgold’s theme song takeover as the intro.

The Richest Duck in the World!: Drag them, Owlson. Drag them all…

Moonvasion! Part 1: *deep inhale* D A M M I T F R A N K!

Moonvasion! Part 2: Glomgold is my new favorite villain character.

Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!: Huey and Violet fight for the right to be crowned the squarest of squares.

Quack Pack!: Radical dude! *insert cheesy 90s riff here*

Double-O Duck in You Only Crash Twice!: We were all simping SO HARD this episode don’t think I forgot!!!

The Lost Harp of Mervana!: Scrooge fails a vibe check.

Louie’s Eleven!: Is it really a heist movie if something doesn’t go completely wrong?

Astro B.O.Y.D.!: So much ANIME!!!!!!

The Rumble for Ragnarok!: Eh, the MCU did it better

The Phantom and the Sorceress!: Seeing Gladstone suffer brings me an odd amount of joy

They Put a Moonlander on Earth!: They’re lesbians, Harold!

The Trickening!: Did… did no one really tell Launchpad how Halloween works?

The Forbidden Fountain of the Foreverglades!: If I had a nickel for every time a cartoon version of Ponce de Leon died a gruesome death on screen, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

Let’s Get Dangerous!: *spoilers* THEY ARE A SUPERHERO FAMILY!!!!

Escape from the ImpossiBin!: Scrooge and Beakley are a little too excited to traumatize their family because of their trauma.

The Split Sword of Swanstantine!: Dewey and Webby literally walk in blind, Violet spices things up, and Huey unleashes the Rage™

New Gods on the Block!: The most accurate representation of Zeus ever.

The First Adventure!: Young Donald is one heck of a mood.

The Fight for Castle McDuck!: The sibling culture episode.

How Santa Stole Christmas!: Charles Dickens would approve, probably.

Beaks in the Shell!: Huey ships Fendra and Gyro needs to stop hiding in the closet.

The Lost Cargo of Kit Cloudkicker!: The Battle of Theatre Kids... in the Sky!

The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck!: All the emotional weight was nearly overshadowed by One (1) attractive goth twink.

The Last Adventure Part 1; A Tale of Three Webbys!: They’re so cute! I love them!

The Last Adventure Part 2; The Lost Library of Isabella Finch!: Letting the kids on the plane is the single smartest decision Scrooge has ever made in his life.

The Last Adventure Part 3; Tale’s End!: *ugly, happy, heartbreaking sobbing* Woo-oo!

#ducktales 2017 #ducktales season 1 #ducktales season 2 #ducktales season 3 #dt 17 #ducktales spoilers #dt 17 spoilers #frank angones #don't repost #smilesthroughfandoms

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pallasperilous · 4 years ago

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Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.”

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.” He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade.

“So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod.

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…” and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

#spn fanfiction #spn 15x20 #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #bless you all for your sexy and angsty coda fics please enjoy this massive wodge of angel lore wankery dating back 11 seasons

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lonelier-version-of-you · 3 years ago

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Every time I watch old Holby eps, which I’ve been doing a lot recently because my mom wanted to watch the whole Gaskell storyline, I miss the old theme music even more.

I still can’t fucking believe they didn’t even use the original theme for the finale, but then I guess that goes to show how much Holby disregarded its own history by the end. :(

Edit: Anyway, Sacha predicting the entire outcome of the Gaskell SL, basically - “Gaskell is potentially dealing in a fantasy off the back of a miracle.”

Edit 2: Also, I don’t think I’ve mentioned it recently, but I LOVE the way John’s body language is so reminiscent of Henrik’s. Still markedly different, but yet you can really see similarities too. I’m sure it was deliberate on Paul McGann’s part and I love it.

Also also, a line from John about picking candidates for the trial - “Emotion can play no part in the selection process.” That’s very early!Henrik.

Edit 3: Ooh. Ollie mixing up pronouns regarding a patient - “He’s... she’s waiting on an abdominal CT?”. Of course, Henrik goes on to do the same thing 10 episodes later right before his meltdown: “Right, he’s nearly... she’s... forgive me.” (And Ollie laughs at him for the mixup!)

Ollie also saying “here endeth the lesson” - I can’t recall the exact scene but I know Henrik’s said that before.

Just thought those little things were interesting.

Edit 4: I think this episode was one of the last times Fletch was worth watching - the subplot with Raf’s record collection is actually really emotional. Raf was Fletch’s soulmate and I’ll never stop believing that, sorry not sorry.

Edit 5: Not to be sappy but the kid patients on this show always get to me.

Edit 6: I’d forgotten they did actually did give an explanation for why Henrik wasn’t in the first few episodes of this series - he was pretty much isolating himself in his office and avoiding as much social contact as possible. (From John - “Hanssen’s locked himself away. I’m the next best thing, right?”)

Edit 7: Really interesting dialogue from John about removing a patient as a trial candidate because the risk would be too great. “[The patient’s father] will blame himself for making the wrong call. Believe me, it’s better the decision is taken away from him. Give him someone else to blame.”

Edit 8: The thing about alternating between watching early Henrik episodes (as I am in my personal Henrik and Sahira rewatch) and Gaskell episodes (which I’m watching with my mom) is that it REALLY makes you realise how similar Henrik and John actually are. The whole “I am you and you are me” didn’t come from nothing. John’s simply willing to take disregard for morality to a greater level than Henrik is.

Edit 9: Fletch REALLY should have left in early series 20, shouldn’t he? It was just the most natural point to bring Fletch’s time on the show to a close. He shouldn’t have stayed an additional 4 years and still been there when Holby ended.

Edit 10: I’d forgotten Jac and Essie shared all these scenes together.

Edit 11: Roxanna really had basically no personality but at least she was hot. (Seriously, if only she’d had things to do other than be a plot device for men. Hermione Gulliford was perfectly capable of playing an actual character, we saw that when Roxanna showed glimmers of personality.)

Edit 12: If I had a nickel for every time Donna treated a lesbian couple but Donna’s own bisexuality wasn’t mentioned, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that Holby did it twice.

Edit: Guess who said it: “Didn’t I make it clear that emotion has no place in this room?” Gaskell, or early Henrik?

(It was Gaskell but it could SO easily have been early Henrik.)

#i'm watching s20e03 now #gaskell rewatch liveblog

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randomoranges · 4 years ago

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we’re halfway there??? does that make anyone feel better? lamao

more warning for another minor character death lamao!

The Five Times Étienne Fell in Love

PART III

It takes Étienne a while before he starts again once the storm of emotions has come and gone really. Edward nearly insists they stop for now, but just as he’s about to, Étienne picks up the conversation again.

“It was decades – hell almost a century later, when I ran into Nicolas, quite by accident really. He was missing a nickel for the tramway fare and I happened to be right behind him. On top of that, he didn’t really speak French and I could tell the driver was getting irritated, so I stepped in and paid for him. Everyone seemed appeased and I didn’t think much of it, but we ended up sitting besides each other and he started chatting to me – I didn’t mind; he was very cute and his accents was utterly endearing.”

“It turned out that his parents had immigrated after the first war. A relative of theirs had settled here and so his parents had followed afterwards. Nicolas was born shortly after they arrived, and he’d always considered himself British. He hadn’t really taken to the French vibe of the city, but at the time, it didn’t really bother me. He was handsome and cute with his deep blue eyes and charming smile, and he could have spoken a completely different language and it would have been fine!” Étienne laughs at that, amused by his own tale.

“We ended up talking throughout the entire ride and both realised we had missed our stops when we got to the end of it. The driver had to tell us to get off. We were in a part of town he was unfamiliar with, and I volunteered to show him around – maybe to show him how nice the city was, maybe to stay with him a little longer – maybe even both. Whether out of genuine curiosity or growing interest, he agreed and so we spent the better part of that afternoon walking around town.”

Edward can easily imagine Étienne coming to the aid of a cute stranger and then playing tour guide for them. Hell, Étienne’s played tour guide with him a number of times and it’s a role that suits him quite well. Étienne has a knack for making the city come alive as he weaves tales about it and he’s very skilled in finding all the right places one ought to see.

“I was fascinated by him – his accent, his upbringing and his view of the world. He wasn’t like the usual people I hung around with and maybe that’s what pulled me to him initially. He was into different things, he played different sports, he read different books – everything about him was borderline exotic. By the end of the evening, we were famished, so we went to one of my favourite restaurants for dinner. He was so funny – the way his nose crinkled when I suggested some items on the menu or how he laughed when I purposely mispronounced things in English.”

“What was most surprising though, was at the end of the night, when we were headed back towards our respective places, he asked me if I wanted to come over – for a night cap or some other bogus excuse. I wasn’t exactly sure I was reading him correctly, but I thought that was extremely bold of him – to ask so openly and shortly after meeting me, even if it was just for a drink. I obviously said yes. I had enjoyed our time together and even if he would have been straight, he was easy on the eyes and interesting to listen to, so it was an easy decision to make.”

“He actually did go through the motions when we got to his place; a charming little apartment that was the perfect size for a single guy. He did offer me a drink, which I accepted, but once the it was served and we were seated, I don’t have to paint you a picture of what happened next. He was very forward, which was surprising, considering, and also a nice change of pace. It was still risky of him – I could have gone to the police about his advances and he could have been prosecuted, but he flat out sat close, placed an arm around my shoulders and then leaned in to kiss me.”

Edward too is surprised by the forwardness of Nicholas, considering the time period and the location, but then again, Montreal had always had a bubble of exceptions that had managed to thrive, one way or another, despite the catholic stronghold that had overseen the province for decades. One thing is for sure, he envies the ease at which Nicholas seemed to have conducted his life and nearly envies him that.

“I was shocked! Surprised! But also extremely pleased by this turn of events. This, already, was so much different from the other men I had been with up until then. This wasn’t some brave soul in a brothel, or some anonymous jacking off in a bush with some man filled with shame and self-disgust. Nicholas was self-assured and okay with who he was. He left the lights on when we kissed and he didn’t kick me out of his bed after our first time together. He kept me close and even asked me if I wanted to spend the night. I was enchanted. This felt surreal. Needless to say, I stayed that night, the one after that and we started spending a lot of time together. In fact, it almost felt as though I had moved in with him within weeks of our first meeting.”

“Being with Nicolas was exhilarating in ways I hadn’t experienced in years, at that point, and even though we were quite different, our differences made us work. There weren’t those usual franco-anglo tensions and as much as I took delight in his expressions and ways of being, he genuinely seemed to like my own quirks. For the first time since Charlotte had passed, I felt like I was at the top of my game; the sex was good, the company better and with time, I did come to love him – a lot.”

“It was exhilarating to be with a man and even more so with Nicholas. He was – alive. Intelligent and – oh, he was flirty to boot! I loved being with him. It was easy being with him, which is saying something considering the fact that he wasn’t necessarily out, but he didn’t exactly hide it either. It helped that his parents lived far and that he wasn’t particularly close to them. In a way, he was carefree and I loved that about him. He managed to make every shitty situation better; it was just the way he was – very positive about life. What was even greater still was that at least, this time around, there’d be no pregnancy scares – I didn’t have to worry about that and losing both him and a baby all over again. We could simply be and it felt like opportunities I had never experienced before. He made it feel as though this could be a long-term thing and that maybe, one day soon, same sex relationships could be accepted. That we could be fully out in public beyond the underground meet up places.”

“That sounds quite euphoric,” Edward says, disbelief evident in his voice. The 1930s weren’t exactly the most forward thinking of times, but hearing Étienne go about this part of his tale, it almost sounds as if he’s talking of some far away future.

“I know, but that was part of Nicholas’ charm. He made you think that anything was possible. It was like a magic power he had; even when the news was terrible, he’d manage to find something positive to focus on and get my mind off of it and I loved that about him. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I had a lover. We were together in ways I had never thought I’d want to be ever again and I loved him. Fully and truly and so did he. It felt wonderful and it felt like a dream. We were together for a few years and they were spectacular years. I honestly thoughts I had found the one and that I could spend the rest of his lifetime with him. That I could wake up next to him for many more years to come and I looked forward to that...” He trails off again and once more, Edward knows that this is the part of the story that shifts and goes from good to bad.

Étienne takes a deep breath and sighs sadly.

“And then came the stupid war.”

There had been many people in Québec who hadn’t wanted to participate in the war effort. This wasn’t their conflict, but one happening across the ocean. They felt bad for the people who died, sure, but it wasn’t up to them to be cannon fodder. The divide and tensions had been mighty and if anything, it had only made Quebecers even angrier – more resentful.

“Of course, Nicolas wanted to join. He was British. He felt compelled to help the motherland or whatever. I tried to dissuade him from it. I didn’t want him to die, and it wasn’t up to him to save the world. Others could do that great sacrifice. He could stay here, with me, where he’d be loved and looked after and where we could be – happy. At first, he resisted and I managed to keep him safe, but I could tell that it bothered him that he was here, when he could be out there fighting.”

“D’you know what he did in the war?” Edward asks softly, out of genuine curiosity. The letters had never mentioned and he’d always wondered.

“He flew those goddamned planes.” Étienne answers him with an annoyed sort of sigh.

Edward nearly laughs and tries to disguise it as a cough, but his boyfriend notices and gives him a sharp look. “Sorry, sorry – it’s just ironic,” At the questioning look he receives, he goes on, “I wanted to join as well – to fly planes more than anything.” He twiddles his thumbs nervously and avoids looking at Étienne, as if afraid he’d get angry or that for some reason he’d be hurt by the admission.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’m certainly glad you didn’t – would’ve worried sick over you had I known.”

He’s touched by Étienne’s comment and gives his hand another squeeze to help him calm down. Nothing had happened in the end. He’d chickened out, in a way. There would have been too much paperwork, he would have been away from home for too long of a stretch and it could have negatively impacted him. Then, there was obviously the fact that he couldn’t really die, which would have been a strange thing to explain during a war and too much of a headache to bother with. In the end, he’d stayed back and had found other ways to contribute.

“Anyways; Nicolas waited out as long as he could, but in the end, he signed up regardless and promised to write as often as possible. I hated that I couldn’t be enough and keep him here where it was safe. It felt as though I was second best to some stupid war where the casualties kept climbing day after day and I came to resent him for it.”

“I still remember the morning he left, clear as day. I hoped and prayed that as he headed out, he’d have a change of heart and come back to me, but after one last quick kiss behind the door, he left and never even looked back… It hurt. So much. I hadn’t cried that hard since Charlotte’s funeral. Still, I must have written to him every single day, hoping and praying that he was safe and sound – that he’d come back to me soon. We’d even decided to use Élyse as our middle-woman. It would be less strange for a “love-struck” woman to write to the front to her sweetheart, than for me to do the same. It worked, for a while. She’d get the letters and bring them over, and I would give her mine to mail out.”

“Obviously, I didn’t hear from him as often, since he was on the front, but every letter I got from him was like a lifeline – assuring me that he was still alive. I heard horror stories back here, from wounded soldiers who returned and part of me wanted him to get hurt enough to be dispatched back home. Where I could take care of him. I wanted our old life back. I wanted its simplicity and I wanted to hold him close. I missed him, and every time they put up the list of new fallen soldiers, I checked, heart racing, hoping I wouldn’t see his name. When I didn’t, I would be relieved for a moment, until the anxiety would settle back it and I would worry until the next posting would be made.”

“There were those few who were proud of their sons and men who’d gone off to fight – the proud widows who’d wear their grief as an honour badge, but I wanted none of that. I wanted a coward who had weaseled his way out of the war and who could stay with me. I didn’t want some war hero. I didn’t care about that.”

He fidgets with his lighter, forcefully flicking it on and off with more force than necessary. Edward lets him and remains quiet, but keeps an eye on him in case Étienne was to accidentally set something on fire. Even Mercury looks up at him, concerned but Étienne ignores them both and takes a shaky breath to try and settle his nerves.

“It would have been easier not to love him.” He says through gritted teeth. “It would have been easier to simply bed him and move on, but instead I went ahead and fell for him hard. The time we had together was too short and I hoped he’d come back to me – that we could resume our lives together.”

“Of course, the universe had other plans. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to have any prolonged happiness. They went to my sister with the news, after they found the letters addressed to her in his bag. They assumed Élyse was his girlfriend and went to her with the news – telling her of the terrible accident – of the bravery the men in the plane had faced – of the great sacrifice they had done for our country. The usual bullshit they’d told so many others. There was no body found in the wreckage and so they pronounced him missing in action.”

“The minute they were gone, she came to see me to tell me the news. The moment I saw her face – the moment I saw her walk up to my door, I knew she had news of Nicolas and that it wasn’t good. I think I would have preferred him to be dead for good, instead of the ugly false hope that lived in me for years after – that he might show up one day, out of the blue. Instead, I was stuck unable to mourn properly. There was no body to burry, no marker to go to, and no way for me to find closure. Until the war ended and every soldier was returned, I was left waiting and hoping. And even then. Years after, I was still looking for him. Sometimes, I’d think I’d hear his laugh. A person with similar hair would trick me into believing it was him. He was gone and yet, I saw his ghost everywhere.”

Despite knowing all of this, Edward stills at the mention. He wonders how he would have reacted had he been in a similar situation and knows he would have been as much of a wreck as Étienne had.

“On top of that, I couldn’t even find comfort or solace with his family. His parents didn’t know of us and neither did his other siblings. The only one I could turn to was Élyse and she did her best – really, but she wasn’t Nicolas, and what I wanted above all else was him.”

“Eventually, years later, I bought a little spot at the cemetery and buried the last of his belongings that I had. I needed to put him to rest in my own way to move on. I still couldn’t cope and I needed to – do something. I took the clothes he had left at my place and the bag they had brought back to my sister and buried them in that little plot. There was no big fanfare about it and only a small headstone to mark the place, but it was some type of closure, even if the body wasn’t there.” Étienne tries not to draw parallels between Charlotte and Nicholas – of graves that have been more or less lost to time and that no one has visited in years. He knows where both are and has, on occasion, purposely passed by to reflect and commemorate. Time has done its due course and has healed some of his aches, yet there have still been times when he’s yearned for one more chance to see them again.

Edward gives the necessary space to the words that Étienne has just said. He thinks about how unlucky his boyfriend has been in love, but keeps the comment to himself, convinced Étienne is properly aware. He’s buried his own fare share of friends he’d been close to; brothers and sisters lost in one way or another and he supposes that to a certain point, he can related. Yet knowing how close Étienne keeps his pains and how much he internalises everything, he wonders just how deep his wounds really run.

“I asked Emma, later, to look into him – to use her contacts to see if she could find out anything. She told me there wasn’t anything else – what I knew was what was out there and I left it at that. Still, there were times when I felt as though she had found out more – some terrible truth, or maybe just something more emotionally painful. I didn’t pursue it. I didn’t want to re-open old wounds that had barely started to scab over. I chose to believe her that he’d died just like they’d said – he’d died in his plane and his body had been lost over the sea. The other possibilities were too painful to consider and I chose to remember our time together as one of love instead of having it tainted by something ugly.”

“After Nicolas, I felt like I had been left to the side of the road to die. I felt empty – as if my heart had been ripped out of my ribcage. It was easier to return to the previous status-quo – to go on with everyday life and forget I had ever felt anything for them. Charlotte and Nicholas were gone and I was still here. That’s always been our curse – we can’t die and we don’t really change, while everyone else around us does. We notice them grow older until they’re gone and no matter how hard we try to remember, eventually even that’s taken away... But I’d get over it – with time. I’d had my fun and I had been reminded why I had found the whole thing pointless. Why it was best to stay away from love.”

Edward agrees to a point. It is hard, certainly, but in his opinion, there is also beauty in love and in falling in love. He knows Étienne means it from a point of hurt, so he keeps the thought to himself and listens on.

Part II

Part IV

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #fic #projocanondoko

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96harmony96 · 4 years ago

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Chapter one.

“We should head to a bar and celebrate.”

I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic pronouncement. Cary Taylor found excuses to celebrate, no matter how small and inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of his charm. “I’m sure drinking the night before starting a new job is a bad idea.”

“Come on, camila.” Cary sat on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking for days, yet he still looked amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary was a man who rarely looked anything less than absolutely gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have resented that if he hadn’t been the dearest person on earth to me.

“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight.”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I gestured at my yoga pants and fitted workout tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the gym.”

“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly executed arched brow made me laugh. I fully expected his million-dollar face to appear on billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter his expression, he was a knockout.

“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a substitute. “If I make it through the day, that’ll be worth celebrating.”

“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”

“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it wasn’t one of his talents. “Great.”

Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face, he grinned at me. “We’ve got a kitchen most restaurants would kill for. There’s no way to screw up a meal in there.”

Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation about cooking. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I stepped outside, the smells and sounds of Manhattan embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the country from my former home in San Diego, but seemingly worlds away. Two major metropolises—one endlessly temperate and sensually lazy, the other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my dreams, I’d imagining living in a walkup in Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found myself on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Cary living with me, I would’ve been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month than most people made in a year.

The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Cabello. Will you need a cab this evening?”

“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my fitness shoes. “I’ll be walking.”

He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice.”

“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather before it gets wicked hot.”

“Very good advice, Miss Cabello.”

Stepping out from under the modern glass entrance overhang that somehow meshed with the age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but for now I still felt like a fraudulent New Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I was still wary of the subway and had trouble hailing cabs. I tried not to walk around wide-eyed and distracted, but it was hard. There was just so much to see and experience.

The sensory input was astonishing—the smell of vehicle exhaust mixed with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of

faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus Christ. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I’d ever seen anywhere.

There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part the flood of yellow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruised right through it all, their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the steam billowing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic delight and they didn’t blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath their feet as the subway roared by below, while I grinned like an idiot and flexed my toes. New York was a brand new love affair for me. I was starry-eyed and it showed.

So I had to really work at playing it cool as I made my way over to the building where I would be working. As far as my job went, at least, I’d gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on my own merits and that meant an entry-level position. Starting the next morning, I would be the assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard Stanton, had been annoyed when I took the job, pointing out that if I’d been less prideful I could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and reaped the benefits of that connection.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said. “It’ll take him forever to pay off your student loans on a cop’s salary.”

That had been a major fight, with my dad unwilling to back down. “Hell if another man’s gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Alejandro Cabello had said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that. I suspected Stanton did, too, although he would never admit it. I understood both men’s sides, because I’d fought to pay off the loans myself…and lost. It was a point of pride for my father.

My mother had refused to marry him, but he’d never wavered from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock the short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased when I reached the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in less than thirty minutes.

I tipped my head back and followed the line of the building all the way up to the slender ribbon of sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds. I knew from my previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper-framed revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.

I pulled my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and held it up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stopped me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door. Score.

I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautifully groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spilling a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rolled merrily away, and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman collect her money, as did one of the guards.

“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.”

I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I ran into a pair of luxurious black oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited for a beat for the person to move out of my way and when they didn’t, I arched my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise. The custom three-piece suit hit more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the tall, powerfully lean body inside it that made it sensational. Still, as hot as all that magnificent maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the person's face that I went down for the count.

Wow. Just…wow. She sank into an elegant crouch directly in front of me. Hit with all that exquisite femininity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned.

Then something shifted in the air between us.

As she stared back, she altered…as if a shield slid away from her eyes, revealing a scorching force of will that sucked the air from my lungs. The intense magnetism she exuded grew in strength, becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant and unrelenting power.

Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward. And sprawled flat on my ass.

My elbows throbbed from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely registered the pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted by the woman in front of me. Inky black hair shoulder length framed a breathtaking face. Her bone structure would make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely Emerald green eyes made her savagely gorgeous. Those eyes narrowed slightly, her features otherwise schooled into impassivity.

Her dress shirt and suit were both black, but her tie perfectly matched those brilliant irises. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted to accommodate faster breaths. she smelled sinfully good. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering, as was she.

she held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cufflinks and a very expensive-looking watch.

With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in hers. My pulse leaped when her grip tightened. Her touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm that raised the hairs on my nape. she didn’t move for a moment, a frown line marrying the space between arrogantly slashed brows.

“Are you all right?”

Her voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to mind. Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment that she might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.

My lips were dry, so I licked them before answering. “I’m fine.”

she stood with economical grace, pulling me up with her. We maintained eye contact because I was unable to look away. she was younger than I’d assumed at first. Younger than thirty would be my guess, but her eyes were much worldlier. Hard and sharply intelligent.

I felt drawn to her, as if a rope bound my waist and she was slowly, inexorably pulling it.

Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released her. she wasn’t just beautiful; she was…enthralling. she was the kind of woman that made a person want to rip her shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I looked at her in her civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.

she bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t realized I’d dropped, freeing me from that provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into gear.

I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while she was so completely self-possessed. And why? Because I was dazzled, damn it.

she glanced up at me and the pose—she's nearly kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium again. she held my gaze as she rose. “Are you sure you’re alright? You should sit down for a minute.”

My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful woman I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance. I’m okay.”

Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of coins I’d collected, but her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the woman again, finding her watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To her. Not to me, of course, the one who’d actually helped.

I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?”

she offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without touching her, her fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness into me all over again.

“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting her and pushing out to the street through the revolving door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a breath of New York air redolent with a million different things, some good and some toxic.

There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my brown eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-to-fuck look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.

Christ. Get a grip.

Five minutes with Miss. Dark and Dangerous, and I was filled with an edgy, restless energy. I could still feel the pull of her, the inexplicable urge to go back inside where she was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day?

“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath. “Moving on.”

Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the intersection seconds before the light changed. Shouting ensued, a barrage of expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real anger behind them. In seconds all the parties would forget the exchange, which was just one beat in the natural tempo of the city.

As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah, New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You rock.

I’d planned on warming up on a treadmill, then capping off the hour with a few of the machines, but when I saw that a beginners’ kickboxing class was about to start, I followed the mass of waiting students into that instead. By the time it was over, I felt more like myself. My muscles quivered with the perfect amount of fatigue and I knew I’d sleep hard when I crashed later.

“You did really well.”

I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky and sleekly muscular, he had keen brown eyes and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were enviably thick and long, while his head was shaved bald.

“Thank you.” My mouth twisted ruefully. “Pretty obvious it was my first time, huh?”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Parker Smith.”

“Camila Cabello.”

“You have a natural grace, camila. With a little training you could be a literal knockout. In a city like New York, knowing self-defense is imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard hung on the wall. It was covered in thumbtacked business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he held it out to me. “Ever heard of Krav Maga?”

“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”

“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my website and the number to the studio.”

I admired his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. I’d wondered if he was angling toward a pickup, but he was cool enough about it that I couldn’t be sure.

Parker crossed his arms, which showed off cut biceps. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and long shorts. His Converse sneakers looked comfortably beat up and tribal tattoos peeked up from his collar. “My website has the hours. You should come by and watch, see if it’s for you.”

“I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.”

The apartment smelled fabulous when I got back home and Adele was crooning soulfully through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I looked across the open floor plan into the kitchen and saw Cary swaying to the music while stirring something on the range. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter and two goblets, one of which was half-filled with red wine.

“Hey,” I called out as I got closer. “Whatcha cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?”

He poured wine into the other goblet and slid it across the breakfast bar to me, his movements practiced and elegant. No one would know from looking at him that he’d spent his childhood bouncing between his drug-addicted mother and foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s ready. Have fun?”

“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pulled out one of the teakwood barstools and sat. I told him about the kickboxing class and Parker Smith. “Wanna go with me?”

“Krav Maga?” Cary shook his head. “That’s hardcore. I’d get all bruised up and that would cost me jobs. But I’ll go with you to check it out, just in case this guy’s a wack.”

I watched him dump the pasta into a waiting colander. “A wack, huh?”

My dad had taught me to read guys pretty well, which was how I’d known the god in the suit was trouble. Regular people offered token smiles when they helped someone, just to make a momentary connection that smoothed the way.

Then again, I hadn’t smiled at him either.

“Baby girl,” Cary said, pulling bowls out of the cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I question any man who doesn’t have the balls to ask you outright for a date.”

I wrinkled my nose at him.

He set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and peas. “You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”

Hmm…I caught the handle of the spoon sticking out of the bowl and decided not to comment on the food. “I think I ran into the hottest person on the planet today. Maybe the hottest woman in the history of the world.”

“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tell me more.” Cary stayed on the other side of the counter, preferring to stand and eat.

I watched him take a couple bites of his own concoction before I felt brave enough to try it myself. “Not much to tell, really. I ended up sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Crossfire and she gave me a hand up.”

“Tall or short? Blond or dark? Built or lean? Eye color?”

I washed down my second bite with some wine. “Tall. Dark. Lean and built. green eyes. Filthy rich, judging by her clothes and accessories. And she was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot people don’t make your hormones go crazy, while some unattractive people have massive sex appeal. This woman had it all.”

My belly fluttered as it had when Dark and Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I remembered her breathtaking face with crystal clarity. It should be illegal for a woman to be that mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying of my brain cells.

Cary set his elbow on the counter and leaned in, his long bangs covering one vibrant green eye. “So what happened after she helped you up?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I left.”

“What? You didn’t flirt with her?”

I took another bite. Really, the meal wasn’t bad. Or else I was just starving. “she wasn’t the kind of girl you flirt with, Cary.”

“There is no such thing as a girl you can’t flirt with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then.”

“There was nothing harmless about this girl,” I said dryly.

“Ah, one of those.” Cary nodded sagely. “Bad boys and girls can be fun, if you don’t get too close.”

Of course he would know; men and women of all ages fell at his feet. Still, he somehow managed to pick the wrong partner every time. He’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who threatened to kill themselves over him, and lovers with significant others they didn’t tell him about…Name it, he’d been through it.

“I can’t see this woman ever being fun,” I said. “she was way too intense. Still, I bet she'd be awesome in the sack with all that intensity.”

“Now you’re talking. Forget the real person. Just use ther face in your fantasies and make them perfect there.”

Preferring to get the girl out of my head altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any go-sees tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Cary launched into the details of his schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement, self-tanner, underwear, and cologne.

I shoved everything else out of my mind and focused on him and his growing success. The demand for Cary Taylor was increasing by the day, and he was building a reputation with photographers and accounts for being both professional and prompt. I was thrilled for him and so proud. He’d come a long way and been through so much.

It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sectional sofa.

“What are those?”

“Those,” Cary said, joining me in the living room, “are the ultimate.”

I knew immediately they were from Stanton and my mom. Money was something my mother needed to be happy and I was glad Stanton, husband #3, was not only able to fill that need for her but all her many others as well. I often wished that could be the end of it, but my mom had a difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the same way she did. “What now?”

He threw his arm around my shoulders, easy enough for him to do because he was taller by five inches. “Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”

Sighing, I conceded his point. “What are they?”

“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch.”

“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”

“Of course he knows. Stanton wouldn’t be a bazillionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Cary caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on. Take a look.”

I pushed through the revolving door of the Crossfire into the lobby ten minutes before nine the next morning. Wanting to make the best impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid on in replacement of my walking shoes on the elevator ride up. My brown hair was twisted up in an artful chignon that resembled a figure eight, courtesy of Cary. I was hair-inept, but he could create styles that were glamorous masterpieces. I wore the small pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Stanton and my mother.

I had begun to think I’d put too much care into my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I remembered being sprawled across the floor in my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look anything like that graceless girl. The two security guards didn’t seem to put two and two together when I flashed them my ID card on the way to the turnstiles.

Twenty floors later, I was exiting into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. Before me was a wall of bulletproof glass that framed the double-door entrance to the reception area. The receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button that unlocked the doors as I put my ID away.

“Hi, Megumi,” I greeted her when I stepped inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse. She was mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and very pretty. Her hair was dark and thick, and cut into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown and warm, and her lips were full and naturally pink.

“camila, hi. Mark’s not in yet, but you know where you’re going, right?”

“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hallway to the left of the reception desk all the way to the end, where I made another left turn and ended up in a formerly open space now partitioned into cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it.

I dropped my purse and the bag holding my walking flats into the bottom drawer of my utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my computer. I’d brought a couple of things to personalize my space and I pulled them out. One was a framed collage of three photos—me and Cary on Coronado beach, my mom and Stanton on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement of glass flowers that Cary had given me just that morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the small grouping of photos, and sat back to take in the effect.

“Good morning, Camila.”

I pushed to my feet to face my boss. “Good morning, Mr. Garrity.”

“Call me Mark, please. Come on over to my office.”

I followed him across the strip of hallway, once again thinking that my new boss was very easy to look at with his gleaming dark skin, trim goatee, and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise that inspired trust and respect.

He gestured at one of the two seats in front of his glass and chrome desk, and waited until I sat to settle into his Aeron chair. Against the backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Mark looked accomplished and powerful. He was, in fact, just a junior account manager and his office was a closet compared to the ones occupied by the directors and executives, but no one could fault the view.

He leaned back and smiled. “Did you get settled into your new apartment?”

I was surprised he remembered, but I appreciated it, too. I’d met him during my second interview and liked him right away.

“For the most part,” I answered. “Still a few stray boxes here and there.”

“You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city, but very different from New York. Do you miss the palm trees?”

“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking some getting used to.”

“Wait ’til summer hits.” He smiled. “So…it’s your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’ll have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to delegating, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.”

I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be delegated to.”

“Having you around is a big step up for me, Camila. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?”

“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”

“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” His smile widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put in the break rooms.”

I grinned. “No problem.”

“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on and we’ll go from there?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mark touched bases with two clients and had a long meeting with the creative team working on concept ideas for a trade school. It was a fascinating process seeing firsthand how the various departments picked up the baton from each other to carry a campaign from proposition to fruition. I might’ve stayed late just to get a better feel of the layout of the offices, but my phone rang at ten minutes to five.

“Mark Garrity’s office. Camila Cabello speaking.”

“Get your ass home so we can go out for the drink you rain-checked on yesterday.”

Cary’s mock sternness made me smile. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”

Shutting down my computer, I cleared out. When I reached the bank of elevators, I pulled out my cell to text a quick “on my way” note to Cary. A ding alerted me to which car was stopping on my floor and I moved over to stand in front of it, briefly returning my attention to hitting the send button. When the doors opened, I took a step forward. I glanced up to watch where I was going and green eyes met mine. My breath caught.

The sex god was the lone occupant.

#camren #lauren jauregay #lauren jauregui #fantasy #fanfic #camila coelho

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buckyscrystalqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Meant To Be: Part 1

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drug use, descriptions of an overdose

Word Count: 2876

A/N: Y’all can thank @wings-of-a-raven for this one....

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

‘I wish that I loved you

Or that I cared

Or that I'd even give a damn if you were here

But you're gone so it's fuck you

I'm a player

I am everything that you wanted but you're scared’

Smoke curled in slow wisps in front of your face from the joint between your fingertips as you sat on the patio of your empty apartment and listened to that song on repeat. Each syllable cut you deep the first hundred times you listened to it but after a few hours, it barely phased you anymore. You knew you were only torturing yourself by listening to the song he wrote and dropped about your relationship, titled, ‘The Break Up’ but you couldn’t help yourself at the same time. A small, squeaked, cry from behind you made you turn around to look at the innocent and thankfully perfect two month old baby boy in his car seat, waiting with you for your Uber driver for your ride to the airport. You put out the last bit of the joint and left it for someone else to find and grab your cell phone from the rail of the screen.

“You ready to go, baby boy?” You cooed to your son as you shoved your phone in your back pocket and grabbed your diaper bag. “Ready to get the fuck out of this hell hole and far, far away from your shitty Daddy, hmm?” You received a small squeak in response as Gage Michael Baker stirred in his sleep when you picked up his car seat. With one final glance around the bare apartment, you pulled up the handle of your carry on at the same moment your phone let you know your ride was there.

“You’re (Y/N), right?” A woman about your age asked as you headed down the stairs carefully. You nodded your head as she quickly stepped forward and took your bag from your hand. “Two stops? A house and the airport.”

“Just have to drop something off to an old friend.” You said as you set your diaper bag on the floorboard of the back seat and grabbed the seatbelt to strap Gage in.

“He’s beautiful.” The driver said as you got in the car behind her and put on your seatbelt. You couldn’t help but smirk at her.

“Grew him all by myself.” She pulled away from your old home with a giggle and started to tell you about her daughter and you took one last glance out the back window at the place you had lived in for the last ten years of your life. The home that you met him in… the home where your entire life changed countless amounts of times in different ways…

“Stop number one.” The woman said with a smile before you knew it as she pulled up in front of his house; a house you hadn’t been in in a long time. You grabbed a Ziplock bag filled with 10 dollars in nickels from your diaper bag and unbuckled the car seat.

“I’ll only be a minute.” You sighed as you got out of the car. You made sure to drop the blanket over the front of the seat so that he wouldn’t see his son, and weaved through the cars in the driveway toward the house. You heard the whispers start the second you walked through the door, but you forced yourself to keep your head held high despite the fact that you were absolutely mortified thanks to the stupid newest single he had wrote. You found him easily, surrounded by women and in the middle of a cloud of smoke, always the center of attention. You kept your steady pace and set the car seat down behind the couch as you ripped open the bag with your teeth. You dumped the entire contents on his head, which made him leap to his feet and yelp in pain.

“What the fuck!?” Colson roared as he turned around to look at you as you dropped the Ziplock and picked up the carseat.

“Pay back…” You said evenly as you searched his blue eyes and forced yourself to keep your heart and tears in check. “From the nickel thot.” You could see his stomach drop when he saw the car seat in your hand, but you turned and walked away before he could even come up with the words to say. You heard Dre, who had introduced you to the ‘great MGK’ in the first place, ‘ooo’ behind your back, but you didn’t turn around to look at him. Hell, he’d turned his back on you when you fucked up, too, so what was the point of pretending you were still friends, right?

“(Y/N)!” Colson shouted as you walked down the steps and headed down the driveway toward your Uber. “Hey, hold up! Wait, talk to me!” You shook your head as you slid into the back of the car and set the carseat down beside you.

“You can go to the airport now.” You said as you locked the back door with tears in your eyes. She looked back at you and then over at Kels as he pulled on the door handle and knocked on the window to get your attention.

“Are you sure? I mean he looks like he wants to talk…”

“I’m sure.” You said as you buckled the seatbelt for the carseat and looked up at her with a small, teary nod. “Please go. Please.” With a nod of her head, she put her car in drive and inched away from the curb while your ex started to knock harder and faster on the window to get your attention. Colson shouted your name louder, and took off at a run to get around to the other side, but your driver put her foot down on the gas and left him chasing after the car.

“You’re doing the right thing.” She said after a few moments as your phone started to vibrate in your back pocket. She glanced up at you as you hit ignore and turned your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ before dropping it in the diaper bag. “Leaving someone you care about if it’s for the best? It’s not easy…”

“Yea, he walked away from me exactly one year ago.” You said as you swiped at your tears and pulled the blanket off Gage’s car seat so you could see his cherub face that always made you smile. “He didn’t care then and he made damn sure I knew he still doesn’t care now. But I agree, it’s still not easy.”

——

You knew the second you pushed the plunger in, you had made a grave mistake. Your heavily tattooed arm fell to your side and you felt the all to familiar ‘crunch’ in your chest that heroin always gave you but it was too much. It was way to much. You took as deep of breath as you possibly could as your eyes landed on the counter in front of you but you weren’t really seeing it through your constricted pupils.

‘I fucked up.’ You thought for a half second as you tried to get more air, but it wasn’t working. Each breath burned in your chest. But for a few moments, you finally felt free- free of the bullshit, and the pain. Free of the fears and the voices that plagued your mind. Free of the hate and the drama that seemed to surround you every moment of the day… it was so peaceful.

As your breathing got more and more shallow, and your mind started to shut down, you realized you wanted to live in that moment forever. To die in that blanket of safety the heroin gave you but that wasn’t the plan…

“(Y/N)?” Your mom, Marie said for the third time, snapping you out of your own memory. “Are you obsessing about that song again?”

“No.” You sighed as you looked down at your son, who had long since fallen asleep on your chest after his meal. “Just… thinking.” She nodded her head slowly and sat down on the opposite end of the L-shaped couch so that her two dogs still had all the room they wanted between you. She put her feet up on the coffee table for a break from unpacking her groceries, and looked over at you with a sigh.

“Did you at least tell him?”

“He got the message.” You said as you picked up your cellphone and hit the side button to illuminate the screen. “Two hundred and thirteen texts and forty-nine missed calls since I left last night.” You nodded your head and turned off the screen again so that your phone went back into Do Not Disturb mode. “Yea, he got the message.”

“Serves him right.” She said with a single nod. “He’s a piece of bull poo.”

“Oh, such a potty mouth.” You teased as you brushed your fingertips down Gage’s back. Your mother, who was raised Catholic and never swore, rolled her eyes at you.

“Well, I’m glad you finally came home. You didn’t need to be out in California any longer than you already have been. It’s just so toxic…”

“Hence the reason I left California.” You interrupted before she could go on her ‘anti-California’ spiel yet again. “I came back home to you, covered in tattoos, recovering from a heroin addiction, and as a single mother that almost killed her son…”

“I’m gunna make dinner.” Marie said quickly as she jumped to her feet because she despised talking about your life on the west coast. “Spaghetti sounds good, right?”

“Sounds great, mama.” You placated with a nod as you got up to lay your son down in his pack and play so you could go out on the back porch and smoke a cigarette. “Sounds just great.”

——

“You should take her to court, man.” JP said as he sat across from Colson on the bus on their way to their first city for their latest tour. Kels barely shook his head as he slowly spun a large blunt between his fingers, while his friends continued to toss out ideas.

“It is your kid, yo.” Ace chimed in as he rolled a second blunt since Kels had been holding on to the one he rolled for the past ten minutes without even moving to pick up a lighter. “You got rights.”

“It’s kidnapping, bro. Simple as that.” Baze added as Dre walked out of the small bus bathroom.

“So what, you guys gunnin’ ta put his baby mama in jail?” He asked as he sat down beside the artist. “Shit’s fucked up.”

“She took off with his kid! And she’s a fucking gutter trash junkie. Kid’s better off without her…”

“Can y’all just shut the fuck up about it?” MGK asked as he stood up quickly and stepped around the already cluttered table. “Fuck, man. All you do is fuckin’ talk.” With an aggravated huff, he snatched his phone, his lighter, and his pack of cigarettes off the table and headed to the back of the bus for a little alone time. “Out.” He barked at Slim and the girl on his lap. He flopped down on the couch and unlocked the screen for what felt like the millionth time that day alone.

“Fucking crazy ass bitch.” He grumbled as he pulled up his Instagram and hit the search button at the bottom. His thumb danced across the screen to spell out your name as he finally lit the joint with his other hand. He clicked on your screen name, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything since he had long since unfollowed you and your personal page was private, but he was still able to see your profile photo.

There was no doubt in his mind that the little boy that was smiling at the camera beside you was his. He had the same bright blue eyes, same sharp jaw line, same slightly squared off face, and the same nose. Shit, he had your smile though, the same smile that Kels wished would stop haunting his dreams. No matter how many times he had said he was over you, he wasn’t. But he knew what being with you meant- the insanity and chaos. The fights and the fucking mind blowing make up sex. But he couldn’t get the sight of you on his bathroom floor out of his mind. And putting two and two together to realize that you were pregnant that night?

He exhaled sharply and sat up as he switched from Instagram to the one app you wouldn’t have thought to block him on. He had to wrack his brain for his account password and he took a deep breath when it finally loaded on his phone. He looked at your screen name for only a moment before clicking the call button to see if, after two weeks of ignoring his calls, texts, and emails, you would finally answer.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You snapped when you actually answered the call, looking half asleep but still gorgeous in a pitch black room. “Will you give it the fuck up already? Thought you didn’t fucking care…”

“He’s mine, ain’t he?”

“Fuck’s it to ya anyways?” You barked as you sat up in bed. “You don’t care, remember? Wrote a whole fucking song about it and blasted it so the whole fucking world could hear how fucking crazy I am and how the only thing you fucking appreciated was my ability to fucking blow you.”

“(Y/N), that’s just…”

“That’s just what, Colson?” You interrupted with a shake of your head. “Just a song? Sorry, boo. You made your fucking bed and with some other fucking bitch in it, too. Didn’t even wait a fucking day…”

“I had a fucking tour.” He tried to counter as he shot forward on the couch in aggravation. “And I wasn’t with some bitch…”

“Bitch… bitches… it’s all the fucking same.” You huffed and shook your head. “So, I’m gunna hang up now because unlike you, I can never get high enough to deal with you…”

“Babe, wait.” He said quickly as he shifted in his seat, anxiously. “Stop, let’s just fucking talk about it…”

“I’m sick of this shit, Kels.” You sighed as you got out of bed. “I wanted to talk about it for six months. Six fucking months I called you and texted you and emailed you but you just called me crazy and dragged me through the fucking dirt. And you know what really fucking gets me?” He hummed as you turned on a small lamp wherever you were. “At the end of the day, you’re getting everything you wanted from that song because of it and you’re still bitchin’. No calls, no stories told about you, not even your name on your son’s birth certificate.” He choked on air as you maliciously flipped the camera around so he got to see his sleeping baby boy for the first and last time. “So good bye, Colson. Just let me go already because you will never see my little boy again.”

“Don’t!” He shouted before the video call ended. He scrambled to call back but by the time he hit the button, you had already blocked him on the video call app. “Fucking bitch!” He roared as he threw his phone against the bus wall, shattering it to pieces. His fist followed a half dozen times in rapid secession before he flopped back down on the couch, momentarily defeated.

“You good, dog?” Dre asked as Kels ran his hands through his hair.

“That fucking cunt, man.” He muttered with a shake of his head as he sat up and grabbed the joint he hadn’t realized he had dropped and forgotten on the floor. “Fuck her.” Dre sighed and stepped into the room with a small notebook in his hand.

“I know you don’t wanna fucking hear it.” He said as he flipped open to a page in the middle and held the notebook out toward his friend. “But look at the list, bro.” Kels glanced over at his friend as he took a long pull off the blunt before trading it for the notebook. “You’ve been lost without that bitch.” Without another word, Dre walked out of the back room as Colson’s eyes slowly slid down the list of his songs that were written about and for you in the last four years you had been off and on.

“Fuck…” He groaned as he fell back against the back of the couch; hating himself for loving you and hating that he still really cared about you. He hated that he dropped that song, and that he even wrote it in the first place in a Hennessy fueled rage. But most of all, he hated himself for pushing you away when you needed him the most when you had stayed by his side through so much worse than an overdose. “Yo, someone get me a fucking phone!” He yelled out as he got up from the back couch, determined to at least try to work shit out with you.

Part 2

#Machine Gun Kelly x Reader #MGK x Reader #Meant To Be #Colson Baker x Reader

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 4 years ago

Text

Why So Jaded Chapter 8

FFN AO3

Enjoy.

Chapter 8

Violet was all too happy to get Buddy out of SEB and even let him drive her SUV to where they needed to go on her first official "Raid Day". Where all the "spiders" would be "sleeping" and it would give Buddy and Violet some breathing room.

"Oh my God, may the heavens themselves bless you, I almost forgot how nice it is to drive and not be driven around everywhere." Buddy thanked her gratefully as he drove her very nice SUV around Metroville, surprisingly remembering his way around here as he marveled at how the city had grown and developed since he drove around in it last.

"So are we clear?" Buddy breathed.

"Yes, all the "spiders" are sleeping. They're not gone but they're sleeping. And I've been practicing turning some that Phillip doesn't control and isn't keeping track of off and on again along with every other one I can get my hands on so I can turn them on and off on my own." Violet divulged.

"You do realize that you are officially the coolest person I know right? Like that is mind blowing cool." Buddy told her which got her to giggle as he drove them to their first destination because Buddy had surprised Violet with breakfast in his apartment.

"Thanks, I try, I just needed to witness them being put to sleep in order to figure out how to do it. Because all I've been able to do before is just know that they're on and where they are. But that's it, I mean there have been a few that I've purposefully overpowered and fried. Like turning a burner on its highest setting. But I hadn't been able to figure out how to turn it down." Violet continued.

"That's a really good metaphor." Buddy realized.

"Thanks." Violet grinned and Buddy looked over to see her hand resting on her arm rest and resisted the urge to just reach over and hold her hand before they went to a butcher shop to get their main course as Buddy was all too happy to give her some pointers and how to pick out a great steak or chop, and then it was onto a Merry Cherry to order a good cake for dessert that Violet would be picking up Saturday morning and then to a big box store to get all kinds of things, from a playpen and toys for the kids to other ingredients and then they stopped for lunch at one of Violet's favorite places to get lunch on her days off when she wasn't in a suit, which was a 'FUBU' Mexican place which she explained was a "For Us, By Us" Mexican place and Buddy was impressed when she spoke flawless Spanish in ordering for them.

"How many languages do you speak?" Buddy asked.

"A lot." Violet answered.

"How many is 'a lot'." Buddy posed curiously.

"Take a guess." Violet prompted.

"Obviously, at least two." Buddy guessed as he dug into the chips and salsa.

"Higher." Violet gestured for him to up his guess as she helped him decimate the delicious chips and salsa because both were super fresh and delicious.

"Five?" Buddy blinked and his eyebrows rose in surprise when she gestured to go higher.

"Ten?" Buddy pressed.

"Close, 12, complete fluent languages."

"What are they? Can you tell me?" Buddy prodded.

"English, Latin- and it's the Latin that made learning Italian and Spanish a breeze but I learned Mexican Spanish first and then Spain Spanish second. Let's see- I know French, Turkish, Arabic, Chinese Mandarin, Japanese, Korean, Russian and lastly Portuguese, I know bits and pieces of Swedish, German, Hindi and Greek. So technically more like 16. But I have to because Phillip is a world traveler and businessman and wants to make sure that he understands what everyone around him is saying, because again, paranoid." Violet explained.

"That and I already knew most of those before I ever worked for him because of my other work." Violet shrugged nonchalantly.

"And that's why you're the best at what you do." Buddy realized.

"It's one of the things, yes." Violet agreed before their tacos and other ingredients were brought out.

"Ok, these tacos are already amazing but to make them better, squeeze the lime to cut the fat, a spoonful of rice, a scoop of refried beans, a dash of mole, cover in queso, and just a dab of the green salsa unless you love really spicy then add the red and viola, the perfect taco." Violet urged as she did what she preferred to her own tacos as Buddy copied her pattern as they lifted their tacos and bumped them together.

"Cheers," they both smiled at each other before they each took their first bites before Buddy outright moaned and Violet giggled again and hummed in agreement.

"Oh, oh this is amazing." Buddy praised between mouthfuls.

"Now you see why I like to come here. FUBU anything is always better than the "mainstream" version and these are handmade, hand pressed corn tortillas that were being made as we were ordering and you always double up on the tortillas." Violet appraised.

"How many other little gems like this have you found in the city?" Buddy asked.

"Oh, dozens. Any and every kind of ethnic food you can think of, all of them 'FUBU's' . A year ago, in an effort to get a break from all the spiders, I would take myself out to lunch all on my own, I'd leave all the electronics in the car and park it like down the street and sometimes over a street from where I was really going and take like an hour and a half lunches, trying to find all these little hole in the wall places where there wasn't so many watching eyes and listening ears. And along the way, I found some amazing food and then I never showed any of them to him. Because I didn't want him to invade what little spaces of freedom and breathing room I had found. Not that he would be caught dead in any eatery that didn't have a five star rating and at least one Michelin star."

"So why are you bringing me to a place like this?" Buddy asked.

"Because I have a very good feeling you won't invade them. That you'll appreciate sharing them with me, and if anything happens and I disappear, it'll be one of the few places I'll reappear in." Violet answered softly.

"Well, count me honored and privileged then and if I'm ever in a position that I think I'm being tailed, I won't come anywhere near here or anywhere else you would take me, cause I would hate for an invasion, much less an infestation to take place." Buddy vowed.

"Good." Violet smiled appreciatively.

Once they finished lunch, which ended up taking a few hours because they got lost in conversation, they went to Violet's favorite wine and liquor store that was huge because they had everything under the sun where Buddy felt like a kid in a candy store as Violet showed him all her favorites and made suggestions based on his chosen menu and Buddy noticed that the more the day progressed, the closer to him she came, to the point that she was always taking his arm when they were walking side by side or simply standing looking at wines and other spirits and he was all too happy to get her doors for her and did his best to be a perfect gentleman which Violet appreciated and it was there in the cold room of the liquor store where Violet and Buddy were staring at one of many walls of floor to ceiling craft beer before none other than Keith and Greg showed up since they just got off of work and stopped in their tracks and stared when they saw Buddy in there with Violet as they huddled together in the cold room, trying to pick out beers but Violet didn't really drink beer and Buddy didn't either so they weren't sure what exactly they were looking at.

"Bud?" They called out before Buddy turned his head.

"Hey guys." Buddy greeted happily as Violet put on a friendly smile since she had already been running background checks on them and recognized them from meeting them in Vegas when Buddy had introduced them to her formally at the casino.

"Are you out on a walk?" They teased Buddy.

"He is, I figured if I held his hand, he wouldn't have to be on a leash." Violet answered with a shit eating grin which got them all to laugh as she slipped her hand into Buddy's and held it for emphasis but wouldn't let it go and Buddy was unbelievably pleased about that and gently squeezed it a little in appreciation.

"It would look a little strange." Greg allowed.

"Especially when he has to wear a shock collar to go with it." Violet clicked her teeth with a wink that got all of them to erupt into further laughter as Buddy's cheeks were beet red along with his ears and suddenly the cold room wasn't so cold anymore.

"So you're into that kind of thing?" Keith teased Violet.

"No, it was just a dig." Violet answered with a shake of her head.

"Damn." Buddy sarcastically snapped his fingers in his other hand in mock disappointment as Violet raised a challenging brow at him.

"I mean, whew, am I glad you're not." Buddy re-answered with a cheesy grin which earned some snickers from his friends as Violet just chuckled and shook her head.

"I'm gonna go back out and check out the cordials with the cart and warm back up, you guys can stay and pick out beer, help him pick out something you guys will like and enjoy on Saturday." Violet offered sweetly before she excused herself and Buddy immediately missed her by his side.

"Dude!" Keith quietly congratulated as he came and did the handshake hug with Buddy.

"Bud, be careful, you're playing with fire." Greg warned as he did the same.

"I know there's a risk for both of us, that's why we're just friends." Buddy reassured Greg.

"You didn't look "just friends" when we came in, you guys looked like 'cute couple' and even 'wow what's a dime like her doing with a nickel like him'." Keith murmured as he got to work getting some really good beers for Buddy to take to Violet which earned a humph from Buddy.

"Really? I'm a five." Buddy deadpanned.

"Four, five was generous." Greg added with a playful punch to the shoulder as Buddy gave him an unimpressed look.

"Sad part is I agree. So what beers should we get?" Buddy asked.

"Oh Dragon's Milk for sure. We need to cover the bases, we need to get a good stout or two, perhaps a porter, maybe a couple of lagers and pilsners and IPA's to round it out." Keith urged as he started pulling out what looked good.

"You and craft beers." Greg just shook his head at Keith who started handing him six packs and four packs before he handed the others to Buddy to hold.

"Yeah, but I'm grateful because anything other than whiskey or vodka and I'm lost." Buddy shrugged.

"Speaking of how are you doing with that?" Greg asked.

"Doing good, surprisingly." Buddy answered honestly.

"Well with a tall glass of water like the one you're with. I'd think you'd want to stay sober so you don't miss a second of her." Keith answered before he snagged two dessert beers himself.

"This is true." Buddy agreed with a fond grin.

"You know, even though she's kind of off limits. She did look pretty happy with you and vice versa. Whenever I see her with Phillip, she looks so serious and looks like she's just always on and always working and can't relax. With you it's like she's just hanging out and it's a lot more casual." Keith appraised.

"And you would be absolutely right and that's why she likes hanging out with me more than him." Buddy grinned victoriously.

"Just don't screw the pooch by screwing the boss' pet." Greg warned.

"Like I said, just friends...so far." Buddy admitted as he tried to keep his smile in check because the thought of anything more was too much to hope for yet strangely well within reach.

"So you've thought about it." Greg prodded.

"Yeah, I mean I'm still alive and have a pulse don't I?" Buddy returned as his friends hummed and murmured their agreement to that sentiment.

"Yeah I thought I saw your smile grow a little brighter when she held your hand and teased you like a proper girlfriend." Keith grinned.

"Ok, I don't know about you guys but I'm freezing my ass off in here, can we be done? Please?" Buddy requested before Keith grabbed one more.

"Yes, now we're done." Keith assured him as the three managed to get out and look through the store for Violet who was perusing the cheeses because the liquor store had a couture snack market to go with all the wine and spirits and had a really good selection and was putting some cheeses and crackers together and was getting hit on by some guy who was trying to lean into her personal space while he spit his best game at her and judging by her own body language, she was doing what she could to ignore him.

"Here's your chance, play her boyfriend and scare off the creeper, do it, do it, do it!" Keith urged in an excited whisper to Buddy who was already picking up his steps to come to her rescue.

"Honey? You pick out the cheeses you wanted?" Buddy took a chance and asked as he slipped the beer into the cart next to her and the smile Violet gave him was pure magic.

"Almost, I can't decide between the brie and the camembert. Did you guys get enough beer?" Violet giggled as Keith and Greg unloaded their beers into the cart too as she held up the cheeses in question to Buddy.

"I think we should get both." Buddy decided.

"Very smart decision Dear. I knew there was a reason I married you." Violet cooed as she stole into his side after she slipped them into the basket of the cart with the others.

"Oh, I..I didn't see a…" the guy tried to say as he started backing up at the sight of Buddy and his friends around him and knew he was outmanned and outgunned.

"Oh it's at the jewelers, one of the accent diamonds was coming loose." Violet waived off. "You ready to check out Handsome?" Violet urged Buddy as she practically moved Buddy into place pushing the cart so she could still wrap her hand around the crook of his elbow as he pushed it.

"If you are Darlin." Buddy answered as he followed her lead.

"Then let's go." Violet agreed as they walked to the check out as Violet let her head fall on Buddy's shoulder as they waited in line before she kissed his shoulder.

"Thanks for the save." Violet thanked him as she let her lips linger there and the utter delight in her eyes had Buddy hoping and praying and wishing on every lucky star he had that one day he'd make that a reality.

"You're welcome." Buddy answered before he took a chance and kissed her forehead sweetly which practically made her beam a happy smile at him as Keith and Greg knew then, that there were serious sparks there and were torn between being happy for their friend yet terrified for them both.

"You guys are gonna help us load all this up right?" Violet put to Keith and Greg who were buying their own packs of beer as they stood in line behind Violet and Buddy.

"Yeah, of course." They agreed from their place behind them and once through the line, the guys did their best "Tetris" it all into the back of Violet's SUV with everything else they had bought.

"Guys, it would be appreciated if not a word is breathed about what happened in there." Buddy reminded his friends as Violet was happy and relieved that he said something instead of her having to.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Greg answered.

"I didn't even know anything even happened." Keith shrugged.

"Thanks guys." Violet answered appreciatively as Buddy smiled proudly.

"Well, say hi to the missus' from us. See you Saturday guys." Buddy bid them before he opened the door for Violet to get in the SUV before going around and getting in it himself and was pleasantly surprised when Violet laced her fingers in his after he got the SUV in gear.

"Thank you for saying something to them, it meant that I didn't have to slip back into Ms. Parr and could just stay Violet." Violet thanked him in a soft murmur but her adoring smile was utterly divine.

"I didn't want that to happen either, if there's anything I can say or do to keep you as Violet, doesn't matter who I'm with, just let me know." Buddy returned as he chanced a gentle squeeze to her hand and was happy when she squeezed back but made no move to remove her hand from his.

"So where did you want to go out to dinner?" Buddy asked.

"Ok, I know another really good place." Violet answered as he gave him directions on where to go where she brought him to a dim sum/tapas place that was run by a couple where the wife was Chinese and her husband was from Spain and it worked beautifully as Violet once again ordered off both menus in both languages since their server was the couple's daughter and was herself trilingual, flipping from one to the other flawlessly to get all her favorites and Buddy was utterly enchanted to see her smile so excitedly and once all the food came out and soon covered every surface of the table and the dim sum had to be triple stacked because the tapas couldn't be, Buddy just beamed a proud smile to see her do a happy dance as she uncovered everything before she went around and identified everything that she ordered before she got her own plate and began getting one of everything, using her chopsticks like a pro before going for the soup dumplings first and walked Buddy through trying to eat them without burning his mouth before they alternated between the tapas and dim sum, slowly but surely getting through most of it, and making sure to at least try one of everything and Buddy felt he would have to loosen his belt and ate until he was just about stuffed.

"Ok, we have to get one more, it's a dessert dumpling." Violet said as she waived down the waitress and ordered what she wanted before she nodded and left again.

"I don't know if I could eat much more Vi." Buddy admitted as he took a breath, and tried not to belch too loudly.

"Just one more bite, find that extra pocket everyone keeps for dessert and get it ready to receive amazingness." Violet urged as she organized what they would be taking home in leftovers in the to-go boxes and in a few moments one last steamer box was brought out and Buddy could smell chocolate.

"Behold, chocolate soup dumplings, with chocolate, Nutella and bananas." Violet revealed as she took the top off as Buddy oohed. Then he carefully got the little pillow of mochi dough surrounding the gooey center and Buddy melted in his seat when he bit into it.

"See? Best last bite." Violet urged as she began to bire into one of her own.

"Do you know how to make this?" Buddy asked.

"Yes I do. The mochi dough is hard but the filling is easy." Violet answered as she finished hers just about the same time Buddy did.

"Do you want another or are you good?" Violet asked.

"I'm good, now if I take another bite, I'll pop." Buddy admitted.

"Wouldn't want that to happen." Violet replied with a fond smile before she checked the time.

"Well, we have two hours before our 12 hours of freedom is up. How do you want to spend it?" Violet asked.

"I don't care. However you want to spend it." Buddy returned.

"Could you do me a favor?" Violet asked thoughtfully as she tilted her head curiously.

"Name it." Buddy furthered.

"As sad and shallow as this is going to sound, I have not hung out socially with anyone except for other "gifted" individuals. In...well in years and being from a "gifted" family, all they know are other "gifted" people too and with other gifted people, you don't worry about hiding your gifts cause everyone has them and we always play and try to one up each other. So to try to be "normal" yet feel comfortable is going to be especially hard for me. It's going to be a challenge for me to stay Violet especially when I'm around anyone and everyone, but you, as Ms. Parr or simply "Vi" with my family. So...would you help me pick something to wear? Like set the tone, something actually casual but nice but not...intimidating. Because Ms. Parr is always commanding and intimidating wherever she goes and I don't want to be like that with your friends cause they'll never feel comfortable around me and if they're not comfortable, it's going to ruin it and this is your first social visit and I want it to go well and I don't want to ruin it for you. And I would ask Jack but he would see to it that I come in head to toe designer labels." Violet confessed lowly as they once again leaned across the table so they could drop their voices and have a private conversation despite the very busy restaurant.

"Of course." Buddy agreed.

"Awesome, then let me pay for dinner and we'll go." Violet offered and once they got their things, Violet directed Buddy to one of the high rise apartment buildings in town. Not the most luxurious, but close.

"Ok, now go to the tenth floor of the parking garage and park in parking space 10245." Violet directed as Buddy did as she asked, still not letting go of her hand as he drove his way up the parking garage. Not surprised when he saw a sea of Mercedes Benz, BMW's, Land Rovers and even some classic cars and sports cars before he found the right spot and parked her SUV into it before they got out and walked into the building where a doorman let them in from behind tinted glass of the entry way.

"Good evening Ms. Parr."

"Good evening James, how's Linda faring today?" Violet returned politely.

"She's doing better, thanks for asking." He answered before he looked questioningly from Violet to Buddy.

"Awesome, this is my guest Mr. Bartholomew Pine, This is Mr. James Conner. " Violet introduced before the two shook hands inside the entryway.

"Welcome to Sky Way, Mr. Pine." James said as he opened the door both of them as Violet came into the building and into the lobby of the floor.

"Good evening Ms. Parr." The receptionist greeted cheerfully.

"Good evening Samantha, how are you this evening?" Violet politely greeted.

"I'm doing great, thanks for asking, you have three packages today. Let me go get those for you from cold storage." She said as she quickly left and went into the office behind the desk and promptly returned with three packages, which were chilled before Buddy offered to carry them for Violet which Violet was grateful for before Buddy went with Violet to her apartment where she opened the door for him so he could get in and Violet blew out a breath of relief when she could tell that the "spiders" were still sleeping in her apartment.

"You can put them on the island." Violet directed as she got her actual mail that had been scattered on the floor since it overflowed the little mail basket and threw a small forcefield around all of it and pulled it back to her hand.

"That's a neat trick." Buddy commented as he passed her in the little hallway.

"Thanks, Jack calls it my 'yo-yo' powers. It comes in pretty handy so I don't have to bend over and pick anything up off the floor." Violet murmured a little distractedly as she looked over her mail and sighed as she began to look through it and started to organize it according to what it was before she used her powers to yo-yo two letter openers into her hand once they both came to stand at her kitchen island.

"You get the packages, I get the mail." Violet offered as she handed him one of them.

"Ok." Buddy agreed and took it and started opening her boxes which were all meal kits, which was why they were in cold storage to keep the contents fresh before he put all the food away for her as Violet opened her mail as she opened her bills first and looked those over before she opened all her other mail, ignoring the junk mail and going straight to the checks and opened those before she got a pen from a drawer in the island and signed the checks then got her phone out and took pictures of her checks to deposit them into her accounts directly before she put the checks into an envelope with the date written on the envelope to signify which checks she got which days before she put the envelope into a filing cabinet under the month folder.

Buddy couldn't help but notice that her income was far exceeding her expenses but kept his observations to herself as he realized her apartment was just as nice, if not nicer than his own apartment space. Quite luxurious and modern actually.

"You have a nice apartment." Buddy praised.

"Thanks, I'm never here enough to enjoy it, I only sleep here and eat about two meals a week here. Phillip insisted that I stay at a "safe, protected and respectable" place, so that left either here or a place at Green Gardens or Garden Square where he owns the penthouse there and that was way too close to comfort for me. Besides it has a spider and a mole problem and in two years when I'm not working for Phillip, I'll very happily be walking away from it." Violet answered as she took off her jacket and put it into the closet.

"I can take your jacket." Violet offered before Buddy took off his jacket and handed it to her.

"A mole problem?" Buddy repeated.

"Yeah not only does this place have thirty something "spiders" but the door men at both the ground level and this floor and half the reception staff and every single one of my neighbors on all sides are on Phillip's payroll to keep tabs on me and if I had to guess Phillip just got either two calls or texts or whatever saying that I've taken you to my place and so the spiders are about to wake up here, any minute." Violet predicted as she closed her eyes and focused on them around the place.

"Jeeze. Yeah, gilded cage." Buddy realized as he looked around and suddenly frowned at all of it, wondering where the spiders had their webs.

"Yup. So, let's go to my closet." Violet urged as Buddy followed her to her frankly gorgeous bedroom before she opened up a door that led to the most amazing walk in closet that was practically full of gorgeous dressy business clothes, handbags and heels before Buddy noticed that Violet stopped and stared at a little sliver of regular looking clothes before she took them all off the rack and then laid them over the bed before she decided to try to pull just a few of her more flattering blouses.

"Too much?" Violet asked as she held them out for Buddy as she held them in front of herself.

"No, like if you were to pair that with a pair of jeans it would be just fine. Granted Tammy, Lisa and Beth are probably going to dress up just a little bit too. You don't have to compete with them and you don't have to be the most beautiful woman in the room, I mean you will be no matter what, but that's just my opinion, but this isn't a competition. Just be Violet. Wear what you would if you were hosting a get together at your place with people you're comfortable with. Wear what you would be comfortable in. Remember almost all of them have kids and kids are messy so don't wear anything that won't be the end of the world if Beth's baby throws up on you or the kids decide to finger paint you with ketchup or something." Buddy explained as Violet just smiled appreciatively at him.

"Well, these are dry clean only, so something washable." Violet decided as she put them back and went through her other blouses before she came across one of her favorites that would 1. Make her look beautiful. 2. Was machine washable. 3. Not too dressy and it would go with the necklace Buddy had gotten for her that she had yet to take off.

"This." Violet decided before she held it up to her jeans before she found a nice pair of jeans to go with it.

"Perfect." Buddy nodded in approval.

"Are you sure it's not too dressy?" Violet questioned.

"You'll be fine. Honestly you could show up in just a plain t shirt and jeans and be fine." Buddy reassured her.

"Well, ok, well how about I pack, this and...this. Just in case Beth's baby practically leaks out of every orifice." Violet decided as she gathered what she wanted and put them into a small duffle bag before throwing in some unmentionables quickly from her dresser as Buddy simply sat on the bench at the foot of her bed and contentedly watched as she got what she wanted from around the room as he fantasized about how she would pack if they were actually together and he had told her that he was taking them away on vacation as he thought of all the places he would like to take her as he started to fidget with the skin around his left ring finger, wondering what kind of wedding ring she would get him if they ever did or could get married. He remembered fantasizing the same thing with Tali. But part of him was grateful that she had turned him down, because if she hadn't he would have never grown out of his obsession. And would have she been truly happy with him? Especially the person he was back then? Or would she have felt the way Violet felt about Phillip? Grin and bear it and then bolt at the first opportunity as he realized what had been Tali's breaking point. When he had shot down the plane that had them all on it. He had been so hell bent on revenge on Mr. Incredible that he hadn't even felt the slightest bit of guilt or shame in ordering to kill kids. He had no respect for the sanctity of life, especially young and innocent life and how much he deserved what he had gotten. He had earned it. That was for sure.

"You ok?" Violet asked as she noticed Buddy get withdrawn as he seemed to stare off into space before she settled next to him and reached out and held his hand again and brought him out of it.

"Yeah." Buddy took a deep breath and tried to clear his head of his accusing thoughts.

"Just deep in thought." Buddy tried to brush off.

"About what?" Violet asked curiously.

"The spiders are still sleeping." Violet whispered as she decided to rest her chin on his shoulder again and give him a curious look.

"Just wondering how close the parallels are between Tali and I and you and Phillip." Buddy confessed and Violet took a deep breath through her nose.

"Would you be surprised to learn not a lot?" Violet returned.

"I was an asshole, how could she stand me?" Buddy questioned, almost rhetorically before Violet lifted her head and just shook her head with a fond grin of her lips.

"Because of who she was at the time herself. You were strong and powerful and knew how to throw your weight around and she felt that you were simply misunderstood and she was genuinely attracted to all of that, especially when you treated her like a goddess and catered to her every need, want and whim and she was bound and determined to turn the two of you into a powerhouse couple. Be the next Beyoncé and Jay-Z but of the tech world. She appreciated your genius and knew it would just be a matter of time before the rest of the world recognized and appreciated it too and she was in it for the long haul. And if you hadn't tried to blow me and my family up and then when we survived how you treated us when you captured us, even as kids. Those were the steps too far and really bothered her conscience as they should have anyone. Otherwise she would have stayed. But messing with kids was her line in the sand as is mine. And when you stomped on it, that shook her hard enough to really see you for who you really were in that moment and it made her question if her genuine attraction was to you or to everything around you and question if it was worth it and she decided it wasn't. So she acted accordingly." Violet explained, not sugar coating it but telling him the truth, but still trying to be tactful.

"She made the right choice." Buddy concluded.

"She did." Violet nodded, proud of him for seeing that too.

"But the biggest difference is, her relationship with you was built on genuine, mutual respect that grew from there. Phil's relationship with me isn't. It's built off of power and control and manipulation and secrets and lies on both sides and Phillip adores Invisigirl and Ms. Parr -which is what his own fantasy of who I am is- that I have to live up to whether it's real or not and it doesn't matter how much I like it or hate it, it's part of the performance and he's happy with the act and buys the performance over and over again and he's never bothered to get to know Violet, the real Violet anyway. But you have, so our relationship is built off of um, let's see…." Violet took a deep breath and sighed as she brought his hand into her lap to consider how nicely their fingers interlaced together as she once again was drawn to all the scars on his hand as she couldn't help but trace them as she searched her thoughts and feelings for a moment.

"I feel ours is built on genuine mutual respect, honesty, understanding, sympathy and empathy and kindness. Which all good relationships should have and be built on to begin with, no matter what kind of relationship it is. And it's why it works as well as it does. Even with our shared history." Violet honestly appraised as Buddy carefully considered her words and was elated that it was even that much.

"What do you think?" Violet posed as she turned to him and looked at him curiously.

"I agree. Even though I'm not all that respectable, I'm a…"

"Don't. Don't start down that self deprecating pity party of a path. You're better than that and it's not fair to the guy you are now. In the past you were misguided and self righteous and vengeful. And then Karma handed you your ass and you humbly took the beating. And it's what you did after and since- that's mattered and it's what you're doing now that matters the most and who you are in this moment that matters too. Especially to me. Forgive yourself for the rest. I know I have." Violet appraised as the two shared a meaningful look and just as Violet gave his lips a glance as Buddy did the same and was seriously considering kissing her, her eyes went wide and she withdrew and bolted a few steps from him.

"Spiders are waking up." Violet whispered as she did her best to look and act "natural" again but even Buddy could see, the Violet he adored, shrunk back and Ms. Parr stepped back into the fore, he saw it in her posture and body language and Buddy was once again filled with anger and resentment towards Phillip, for doing such a thing to her. She deserved better than to live in fear, even in her own private space. Which should be sacred.

"Well, it's about that time Mr. Pine, we should be heading back, thanks for all your help." Violet thanked him as she put the bag over her shoulder and held onto it tightly as Buddy got up and left with her again and even in her SUV, Violet stayed withdrawn and eerily quiet as Buddy drove them back to SEB and the whole way over Buddy just got more and more angry and resentful to Phillip.

Violet stowed her bag of clothes in Buddy's room, in the closet before she helped Buddy unload everything else from her SUV and it was almost enjoyable to see and feel them slipping back into such domestic tasks in an effortless tandem. Even as mundane as putting away groceries was. But even Buddy could tell that Violet stayed withdrawn as Ms. Parr had taken over fully again because there was a surgical precision to her movements. She was trying to get things done as quickly and thoroughly as she could. Just a step below rushing before Buddy simply stopped and held her hands.

"The spiders won't always be around." Buddy breathed.

"I know. It's hard to know when they'll go to sleep again." Violet answered, her words barely a whisper before she reluctantly pulled her hands from his with an apologetic look as she finished what she needed to.

"Thanks for today though, I'll see you in the morning Mr. Pine." Violet said as she put her shoes back on before she left and drove home and finished putting her mail away and broke down her boxes and put them in a closet where she kept spare boxes to ship things out and was grateful that the "spiders" in her own apartment had been put back to sleep before she got ready for bed, brushing her hair and braiding it so it wouldn't tangle in her sleep and when she went to bed, she thought over all the events of the day in her head and actually smiled softly in the darkness. Buddy had been amazing, all day, and for him to slip into 'boyfriend/husband' at the liquor store had been so natural for both of them. Had her wishing maybe someday...because she couldn't deny or dismiss the feelings she had started to develop for him. It had started off as just two birds in side by side cages, sharing a toy or two. And it developed and bloomed from there. Natalia had even said that she had always been surprised when her attachment to Buddy had seemingly grown overnight and how one day she was his employee, and the next, she was his everything in all things. And how that seemed for her to be the same. One day, he was an an enemy, the next- an obligation and objective, the day after, an acquaintance, the next day he was a friend, and the day after that it felt like he was so much more but she was so scared of putting any names or labels on any of it because she didn't want to try to force it into anything or cut it into shape before it could fully sprout. She was genuinely curious to see how much more this would develop and bloom, like a growing vine despite the concrete around it.

But there was the issue of his name. Buddy wasn't exactly the most romantic name to call out during the throws of passion, Bud was informal but not quite right, although all his friends called him Bud. Buddy was a little infantilizing. Buddy is what you called other little boys on the playground when you didn't know their names. Bart was too old. Barret could possibly work before she got her phone and looked up common nicknames for Bartholomew. Barty was ridiculous. Tolly was too much like Tali. So that left...Barly, possible, but maybe too similar to barley, the grain, Barret, kind of like the gun, but it was the only good alternative she could like. But she needed something other than dead give away pet names, like Honey, Darling, Baby, Sweetie, Handsome that kind of thing that Phillip would immediately flag and get jealous and suspicious over, but still something a little more intimate than 'Bud' . Something she could use that was special but not something that would make others look at her strangely if she started to use it. It would be good on Raid days to call him something to go with Violet or Vi. Violet still came to the conclusion that Barret was as good as it was going to get because Barret and Violet did go together. Maybe he had something he preferred? Maybe something to do with his middle name. Maybe. But for now, she just needed sleep.

Violet found herself walking through another very luxurious home like space, normally, such a thing would make her a little nervous but she wasn't because Buddy was with her and held her hand as he excitedly showed her everything and explained what was what. And she was dressed casually and happily walked around barefoot as the windows were open and there was a warm breeze and bright sunshine coming in from all the windows, most of which were open and she could almost hear the ocean and to see him so animated and excited as she showed it off made her happy that he was happy. And that's all that mattered.

"And this is the bedroom, it has the best views." Buddy insisted as he opened the double doors for her before he brought her into the space as Violet softly gasped. It was even prettier than any bedroom she had ever seen in any magazine.

"We need to check out the bed." Buddy immediately hopped up on the bed, his own bare feet sinking into the softness of the mattress and the covers as he held out his hand to beckon her before she stood up on it with him before he started to bounce which got her to laugh as she started bouncing too before the two of them were outright jumping and bouncing all over the bed, laughing their asses off before they happily fell down and crashed into the bed on their backs next to each other as their laughter eventually died down.

"So what do you think of the house?" Buddy asked as they rolled to face each other.

"I love it. Even if you had not designed and practically built it yourself, and even if we had just bought it, I would still love it." Violet insisted as the two scooted closer to each other until they were chest to chest with Buddy's hand softly stroking down her back and her side as Violet reached around him and scratched his back, dipping her hands under his shirt to scratch at his bare skin, which earned her an appreciative keen from him as he rolled over her slightly to one- pin her to the bed, two- give her more access to his back.

"Really? You're not just saying that?" Buddy asked.

"I mean every word of it. Honest. It's perfect, you did so good, I'm so proud of you." Violet cooed before he dipped her head and kissed her happily as she kissed him back with all she was worth as the two of them seemed to follow a familiar pattern and chain of events as they pulled down the covers down as they tried to bare the other before they were finally rejoined.

"I'm not hurting you or the baby am I?" Buddy asked as he palmed her belly which had barely bulged as he positioned himself over her and began stroking himself into her.

"No, you're not, you're fine, I'm just happy the house is done before they come." Violet reassured him as she pulled him to herself so she could feel more of his body weight anchoring her in all the ways she needed it to before he continued.

"Me too." Buddy cooed in her ear before he playfully bit it before blazing a trail from her ear down her neck to her shoulder as Violet keened and sighed happily, letting him do as he pleased as she was all too happy to receive his affections as he poured all the love he possessed into her as she did the same.

#Why So Jaded #Why So Jaded Chapter 8 #Synlet #Buddy Pine #Violet Parr

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teacup-crow · 4 years ago

Text

Next Friday

*this is a repost because Tumblr broke on me earlier! I was ill for two days and could only really lie in bed and wrote this. Set after S5M15, based more around M17, warnings for requisite Season 5 sadness, effects of hunger and Australian levels of swearing.

Summary: Nadia, Owen and Veronica plan next week’s movie night.

Owen is an idiot, Veronica has always thought. But lately, he’s their idiot. Popping up in the lab asking her opinions on irrigation techniques - not her area, of course, but the science behind some of it is fascinating. Appearing during Friday movie nights with Nadia, which had always been their thing, but still respecting that. Appreciating whatever they chose. Never pushing things too far. He’s really good at cooking, too, eking out the most flavour possible from their smaller and smaller ration packs - and always making sure they eat before he does. Maybe there isn’t too much going on upstairs, but he’s nice. He doesn’t judge her, or set her off, or sit too close, or try and make eye contact like Ian does.

“Only liars don’t look people in the eye, Veronica,” Ian had hissed earlier that afternoon. He’d asked some inane question about Sigrid’s taste in wine, and she’d tried to brush him off but he was having none of it. “I know you’re the Minister’s precious little poppet, but I don’t trust you. Nobody likes creepy children who hover around where they’re not wanted. You and your nasty, sneaky girl guide friends… although they don’t really like you either, do they? Not really one for friends your own age, are you?”

She’d stared right ahead, still avoiding his face. “I need to get on with my work, Ian. Haven’t you got things to be doing for Sigrid too?”

He got a tad frostier. “Watch your tone. It’s the Minister to you. And she isn’t here right now, sweetheart, is she?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Say one more thing to me in that tone of voice, Miss McShell, one more thing, and you won’t see your Nadia for a very, very long time.”

The beaker in Veronica’s hand cracked around the base as she squeezed it. What tone? She’d tried to be polite. She could feel his stinking breath on her neck, knew his flat grey eyes would be right there if she looked at them, full of blazing jealousy and spite. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t follow through on that threat, could he? She was here of her own volition.

“Hey, Ronnie! And - oh, hello, I- Commander. We were just going to lunch?” Owen hurried into the lab, his voice bright and giving nothing away, but Veronica noticed from years of analysing it that his posture was stiff for a trained Runner. Beaten, perhaps, or anxious? Ian sneered a little at the sight of him, but backed off, probably appeased by the honorific, and she let Runner Six take her by the hand and pull her away. He’d sat her between himself and Runner Thirteen, and tried to get them engaged in a silly story about the time a koala attempted to steal his mum’s van. She’d ended up explaining to them the high rates of chlamydia among koalas, getting a bit confused when Cameo and Owen found the facts so funny. And the day passed safely - at least until he made a run for it.

The sweat is pouring off Owen’s face now as she attempts to dig the bullet out of his leg, swearing profusely even for an Australian. “Jesus FUCK!”

“I’ve not done this before! I'm trying my best.”

“Fucking Ian, the mangy bastard cu-”

Nadia clamps her hands over Veronica’s ears as if she’s never heard the word before. “Please, just keep it down before someone tips him off!”

Ian hadn’t seen the need to let a ‘traitorous, stupid boy’ use ‘limited medical resources’. Owen is supposed to be back on punishment detail, 5am sharp, or face the consequences. The only thing keeping him from the box is the fact that Cameo is already occupying it. So here they are in the lab, after hours, with a sixteen year old girl trying to stop him bleeding out with very little time, experience or painkillers.

“Ya know, I’ve been through a fair amount of utter bollocking bollocks this apocalypse but really-“

“Runner Six, will you shut it!” And then, closer to his ear, out of Veronica’s earshot: “Did it work?”

He gives the slightest of nods. She smiles, broad and genuine, though her face is thin. They’re all getting a little more haggard, day by day. Veronica glances at the two of them, lovingly gazing at each other, and resolves that she’ll find some clever way to bring their lack of food up to the Minister. Sigrid is a smart woman; if she had any inkling that her top scientist keeps finding hair on her pillow each morning, that her fingernails are brittle, that three people collapsed in the fields last week, that for the first time since meeting Nadia she can count each and every rib, she’d surely do something to curb Ian’s ridiculous power trip.

She yanks at the bullet. Owen screams blue murder. Nadia shoves a balled up tea towel into his mouth, and deadpans: “So much for movie night.”

“I wasn’t really looking forward to The Green Mile,” Veronica admits. “I don’t know what you have against Planet Earth.”

“The fact that I have seen the same episode of the same documentary a thousand times in the last three years may play a part, Ronnie.”

“...only thirty-three.”

“What?”

“I pick the movie every other week. Because of many changes in circumstance, we’ve only had a hundred and nine movie nights. I pick Planet Earth approximately sixty percent of the time. We’ve seen it thirty-three times in the last two and a half years.”

Nadia sighs, and removes the cloth from Owen’s mouth. “You holding up?”

“I’m sorry for ruining your plans, ladies. Next time I try to escape from budget bloody Percy Wetmore, I promise not to do it on a Friday,” Owen pants, but the pain seems to be receding. “Ya know, if I had a nickel for every time I got shot in this calf, I’d have two nickels.”

“Which isn’t a lot, but insane that it happened twice, right?” Nadia responds with a short laugh.

“Did you both spend all your time watching children’s shows pre-apocalypse?”

“Hey, I was a kid pre-apocalypse! She has no excuse.”

“Um, ATC work was stressful and I make no excuses for how I enjoyed my free time.”

“But if you’re twenty-four now, you were eighteen on Z-day, Owen,” Veronica points out.

“Eighteen year olds are still kids, Ronnie.” His voice is suddenly quite tired. He squeezes Nadia’s hand as Veronica pulls the first stitch, hissing between his teeth a little.

She juts out her chin. “I’m younger than that and I’m not a child.”

Neither of them dispute that, though she still cuts a tiny figure in a too-large lab coat, sleeves rolled up three times to make it fit.

“How do you know it’s from a children’s show, anyway, Miss-never-watched-Disney-Channel?”

“...I don’t have to answer that if I’m not comfortable.”

Nadia shoots her an expressing your boundaries thumbs-up. She feels the worry in her chest loosen a little. Everything will be fine. She’ll get Owen’s leg stitched, and today’s drama will force Sigrid’s hand. The Minister will come to Abel and fix things, and she can get back to working on the cure, and Owen and Nadia will be safe and look after each other.

“I’m going to head back to my bunk, I think,” Nadia says, a tinge of fear in her voice as she glances through the darkening window. “Better not to be missed too long, and I should check on Cameo. She… she distracted Ian from you for a bit. It didn’t look pretty.”

“We’ll be all right, Naddi, you go on,” Owen squeezes her hand one last time, and lies back on the lab table. Veronica nods, absorbed in her task. They hear her wheels clatter down the ramp and fade across the square, quiet as footsteps.

“So, you like Planet Earth a lot?”

“I used to watch it with Dad.”

“Oh. Makes sense. My mum’s a big Tom Hanks fan. I’ve probably seen every movie he’s been in… well, about thirty-three times as well.”

“You know there’s a video of Castaway in the rec room, right?”

“I brought it back, actually. Years ago, now. But I don’t know if I can watch it, yeah? I’m scared it might make me think about her too much.”

“Owen,” Veronica finishes the stitches, and starts to clean up some of the blood. She’s watched Kefilwe do this dozens of times. Antiseptic. Dabbing rather than smearing. Keep the patient’s mind off the sting. “Do you remember what your mum looks like?”

The silence that follows makes her wonder if this is a faux pas. He eventually responds: “No, not quite.”

“No, me neither. I have a photo, but I can’t picture them as actual living people. Memories are really interesting that way, actually. We’re not as visual as-“

“Ronnie. Can we talk about something else?”

“Okay.” She racks her brains for small talk. “Do you… like it here at Abel?”

“What, now?” He snorts. “With that pinstripe suit cu-”

Veronica clamps her hands over her own ears, knowing Nadia wouldn’t want her to hear it. He smiles, and raises his hands in apology.

“No, not now. Before.”

“It was all right. Home. Safe. You knew Janine was looking out for ya. There was always enough food to go round.”

“But did you feel like you fit in?” she presses.

“...can’t say I did.”

“Me neither,” she says, a little relieved.

“Runners are quite a superstitious bunch. And I’m unlucky.”

Her brow scrunches in confusion. “Bad luck isn’t a very scientific reason to dislike someone.”

“Can you tell that to getting tied to train tracks, set on fire and repeatedly shot at?”

“Actually, Dad was working on a statistical model of danger to Runners in his spare time. I found it a while ago, me and Nadia were repurposing it to make missions safer. When I include Five in the sample, you actually fall under the average for number of dangerous situations encountered.”

“Uh, I think Five is an outlier.”

“You’re probably right.” She wraps the wound in bandages, and tucks them in. “Done!”

“I owe you one, Ronnie.”

“Just… stay safe. Both of you. I haven’t got time to worry about you two as well as curing the zombie plague.”

“You’re only a… you shouldn’t be worried about us at all, squirt.”

She shrugs. “It’s not my fault you do worrying things. If he puts you in a cell and you can’t change the dressings frequently just do your best to keep it clean.”

“Will do!” He swings off the table, avoiding putting weight on his leg as much as possible. “Whatever he does, I’ll try to make next Friday, all right?”

She nods. Next Friday, she’ll pick out Castaway, and they’ll watch it together, and maybe movie night can be Owen’s thing too.

#zrs5 spoilers #zombies run #zr #owen landis #veronica mcshell #nadia al hanaki #please work this time!

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