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rocicrew · 1 year ago

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wip/draft i never posted number idk continuation of the anthology of caring

There are things that come in between. Like ‘tell me you're okay’ and those lonely nights in her bunk that stop being lonely. But now the roles are reversed and the auto-doc is around her arm.

“You're fussing,” she says exasperatedly even though she can still smell the stench of blood coating her nose.

He only gives her one look in return, with furrowed brows and pained eyes, before pressing the same buttons again as if that'll make the machine work faster. It'd be endearing if it weren't so damn annoying.

She has trouble associating this man with the asshole second officer, she remembers him being on the Cant.

“I'm fine. Stop acting like this is my first high g burn,” completely ignoring how 15 gs isn’t their daily burn.

“Naomi…” he begins but whatever he’s going to say falls on his lips.

Because he made the call because the high burn would kill them all but her first, while they almost futilely chased after Eros. Now with the catastrophe averted, everything becomes clearer.

He fails to remember though, that she called him Captain. That was the very first time she did. A part of her is scared at how she gave up control and gave him permission to make that call for her. It's not trust yet. Not the fundamental, unconditional trust they'd have to have for Naomi to feel safe for that. If she ever will be.

But it's not about him either. It's solely the fact that she couldn't let any more people die after the number of souls she carries in her conscience. She'd be okay with dying if it meant Eros wouldn't take more souls with it. If it meant the echoes of her people still inside the asteroid would get some peace.

They didn't have to though. Eros crashed into Venus and the check-up after is just to be cautious.

“Go. Open the bottle with the guys in the galley. I only have a few more minutes left.”

He doesn’t object, which is a surprise. He does, however, brush his lips on her forehead before exiting the med bay.

He might not know it yet, but giving her space is one way, perhaps the most important way, to take care of her.

It’s much later that he holds her close, getting lost in the lingering taste of ganymede gin and each other.

The next time is far more short-lived.

It’s Amos that helps her move Holden into the med bay, and her heart nearly stops when she sees the even more profound paleness of his face and the contrast of his now purple leg.

She’s securing the auto-doc around his arm, making sure the small machine filters out his blood and supplies him with painkillers as Amos attaches the cuff around his leg.

Naomi’s only noticing Alex’s entered the room and Prax is hovering by the door when she’s picking up a cloth to wipe away the residue of sweat that’s pooled on his forehead.

“He’ll be alright,” she forces herself to speak past the lump in her throat to inform the group and shushing him gently when he unconsciously whimpers from the pain.

From this, he will. From the words, she needs to say to him after, she’s not as sure. But despite the fear sitting like a stone in her stomach, he deserves the truth. They all deserve the truth. Even if she loses them for good.

It feels like an eternity since they’re back on the ship together.

Naomi finds him in their cabin, taking off the excess jacket while the harness and additional gear were already discarded in a corner when he stumbles. Badly.

She crosses her distance fast, gripping his forearms to steady him.

“Are you okay?” She can’t help the worry coating her voice. She wasn’t down there, couldn’t be down there to help him, and despite how much he said he felt better that she wasn’t, it doesn’t make her feel any better about it.

All she gets is a sheepish smile in return, looking at her with the same loving expression she’s grown to love even when it feels like too much.

“Mhmm, I’m just tired. I’ve been awake for something like three, maybe more, days now. I’m not entirely sure.”

“Jim-” she exclaims. “You need a shower and to lay down as soon as possible,” Naomi continues with a tone that doesn’t leave much room for arguing. “And to take care of this cut on your neck, wherever it is from.”

“A bullet. ‘M lucky Murtry missed,” He speaks, describing it as if it was just a paper cut.

“A bul- Jim!”

Pashang, this man will be the death of her.

“I’m okay. Besides, I don’t think I can stay standing long enough for a shower without a cup of coffee. And Avasarala will want a report…”

So much for not arguing. He was lucky she was so relieved that he was back on the ship, in mostly one piece, that she was willing to compromise.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to sit right here and let me clean your wound. And then, we’re going to get you a cup of coffee, some food, and as soon as you’re done with your report, shower, and bed.”

He doesn’t seem to argue with that, content to be led to the chair they had by the desk and finish shrugging off his jacket in the time it takes her to get the first aid kit from one of their cabinets. Naomi takes a hold of his jaw, tilting it slightly to the side to inspect the damage. The area the bullet graced is long but not deep even though it has coated his neck with blood. She tries not to think about what could have happened if the bullet had caught but her movements falter as she cleans the area.

Jim notices. Sleep-deprived, exhausted, hurt Jim notices. And it’s times like this that make her even angrier he’s not extending the same worry to himself. She doesn’t have the time to comment on it because his hands settling on her waist and his thumbs move back and forth on her skin. “I’m okay,” he repeats and tugs her closer, pulling her on his lap. She can’t resend the closeness after spending so much time separated, talking only briefly through their hand terminals.

Her hold on his face remains as she continues to clean his neck only now taking brief glances at his face. His eyes are shut, face relaxed, trusting her completely. Or he’s really tired which still has the same effect. He only winces when she sprays antiseptic over the wound.

“Sorry, I’m nearly done,” Naomi whispers and brushes his jaw in consolation.

“‘S alright,” he sighs deeply but doesn’t make any further complaints.

Thankfully, the desk is close enough that she can reach the first aid kit without moving from their position.

“There, all done,” she says after spraying the final spray over the wound and watching it form an almost transparent bandage over it.

At that moment, Holden pulls her even closer, burying his head in her chest. She knows she should be urging him to get up because the faster he finishes with the report, the faster he's going to get some rest. But she can’t bring herself to pull away from him. Not after spending so much time apart and not after he nearly wasn't able to make his promise of coming back to her true.

Instead, she also wraps her arms around his shoulders and lets her head fall, her nose brushing at his hairline. She can feel him huffing at the contact, and exhale a breath on her skin as a protest.

“No, don’t do that honey. I really need that shower you mentioned,” Jim whines, slightly dragging the vowel of no and scrunching up his nose.

“Really? I couldn't tell,” she teases, pulling slightly at the hair on the base of his neck.

And then suddenly, she yelpes squirming on his lap, “Jim!”

He'd used his hands on her side to tickle her as a rebuttal for her jest.

“Hey, play nice,” she says and although she tries to be serious, she speaks in the midst of laughter.

“Always,” Jim whispers and presses a kiss on her sternum, right in the middle of her tattoo, as an apology.

“I think it's time we go get that coffee and food I promised, now that you're feeling more… awake.”

And to show she accepts his apology, she leans down capturing his lips in an open kiss, caring only that he was now back in her arms finally, after all that time.

“Mhmm, that sounds great right now.”

She’s not sure if she’s ever felt this bad. A few times come close, but her entire body feels uncharacteristically weak.

The sounds that escape her feel distant as if they’re coming from someone else and she has no energy to locate the source.

It’s her, her whines and whimpers every time the synthetic fabric touches one of her burns, or she has to raise one of her limbs to help take it off as Holden attempts to peel the suit off her hurt body.

Naomi manages to focus only after she’s been put into one of the Roci’s medical gowns and her arm is hooked on an auto doc. Holden’s attention is absorbed by the readings of the machine and making sure she’s comfortable with the addition of a blanket now stretched over her.

“Hi,” she whispers with a rasp in her voice.

Holden’s eyes widen and then crinkle at the corner as he exhales. In relief or concern, she’s not quite sure. Usually, she could distinguish between the two, but she can’t spare the energy for that. Maybe there’s a percentage of both.

“Hey…” he greets back leaning forward and just the familiar timber is enough to bring her comfort. The hand he reaches to stroke her hair gets a satisfied sigh from her this time. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

It’s not an adequate response. Everything is better than what she’d just been through. But there’s something else she means. Better now that I’m on the Roci. Better now that you’re here.

She ignores the guilt that comes with that. Because Alex is far far away from better and it’s all on her. She can deal with that when even keeping her eyelids open won’t require such a tremendous effort.

There’s so much to say between them. About everything that happened, how much she missed him, how much she loves him. Everything becomes clearer when you come so close to losing something for good.

But what stretches between them is silence. Not the uncomfortable kind though, quite the opposite. It’s the one where you gain so much from the other’s presence that you don’t need words. They’ll be time for talking later.

Simply being in the same room again is a comfort. After they nearly lost this on too many occasions.

“I think I prefer it when I’m the one hooked up to the auto-doc,” Holden mumbles.

Naomi huffs, as close to laughter as she can get in her state.

“I don’t.”

She’s not sure why that gets a smile out of him but Naomi won’t question it. It’s a welcomed change in the grim atmosphere.

“Yeah… okay, that’s fair.”

The smile is gone as quickly as it appeared, but he’s regarding her with a deep expression. Maybe it’s now he realizes what she feels every time their roles are reversed or maybe he’s just worried, trying to take in how she looks and how she feels. Either way, she’s too tired to make a distinction.

“Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stay right here,” Holden suggests as he takes a seat next to her, picking up the hand that’s not connected to the auto-doc and bringing it to his lips.

Her head rolls towards him as her eyelids start to droop again, letting the barely-there touch on her swollen hand and feather-light kiss lull her to sleep. Her exhaustion and the meds being pumped into her body speeding up the process.

It’s enough to make her feel safe. Safer in a way that she hadn’t felt still she left Tycho, maybe even longer.

#mine : fics.#nolden #the expanse #Need to write some more naomi focused too #i have something written for post s5/s6 but it's a tricky emotional state & i wanna get it right

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marvelslut16 · 4 years ago

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Idiots in love

Pairing: William ‘Bill’ Weasley x reader

Synopsis: (Y/N) has been in love with Bill ever since she met him their first year at Hogwarts. Will she finally tell Bill how she feels, like Mrs. Weasley hopes she will, or will Fleur and Ginny’s assumptions about (Y/N)’s love life get in the way.

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: Angst. Dumb asses pining after each other. Fleur, if she counts lmao. Brief mentions of death.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for months, I wrote it as a self indulgent piece since I can’t date Bill in Hogwarts Mystery and I wasn’t sure if anyone would actually read it. It's cannon divergent. Also, tell me if you want a part 2!

My first fic of the new year! Hopefully I'll be way more consistent and inspired this year. Thank you to everyone reading any of the fics I write, I love you all!

“Molly, he’s happy with her,” you roll your eyes at the older woman who had become like a mother to you over the years.

You met her at Kings Cross Station the morning of your first year, she helped you cross the barrier, your parents are muggles who are afraid of anything different. You were in Bill’s year, the two of you becoming fast friends on the train ride. Through your years at Hogwarts you two became inseparable, both becoming Head Girl and Head Boy together. You two always studied together, explored the castle together, went to Hogsmeade together, you did everything together. Well, except one thing, you didn’t fall in love together; you fell for him, and he fell for that foul, loathsome Emily Tyler and now Fleur Delacour.

You spent almost every Christmas Holiday under the burrow’s roof, along with most of your summers. The burrow was your real home, and the Weasley’s were your family. After you and Bill had graduated Molly and Arthur insisted you use their first names, both convinced you and Bill would finally get together. But that didn’t happen, you both went separate ways, barely even owling over the years. He went on to be this fantastic cursebreaker for Gringotts, getting sent all the way to Egypt. And you, you became the astronomy professor at Hogwarts, you thrived in the subject and Professor Sinistra transferred to Uagadou.

“But you’re perfect for him,” Molly nags. You loved the women with your whole heart, but she really needed to learn when to drop matters of the heart. Especially when the topic of discussion was set to arrive soon.

“Not everything works out how we want it to,” you sigh as you hand her a clean dish to dry, you had wanted to clean the dishes the muggle way. “Especially when it involves one's heart.”

The two of you are waiting for everyone to arrive, Arthur is picking the kids up from the train now that it’s summer holiday. You had apparated to the burrow after the students boarded the train, now officially a part of the Order. Dumbledore and Sirius are dead, but that just means that everyone needs to fight harder.

“I just want you to be happy,” Molly’s eyes are soft and sad as she looks at you.

“I am,” you smile through the lie. There’s a pop from the living room, assuming it’s just Charlie you continue. “I don’t need a man Molly, my students make me happy.”

“Mum,” the unmistakable voice of William Weasley calls as he walks towards the kitchen. “I have great news, Fleur and I are engaged! We want to get married this summer!”

You accidentally drop the plate you're washing back into the soapy water, causing some to splash your shirt. For a split second you see Molly’s face fall before she puts on a bright fake smile as she turns to her eldest. You refuse to turn and see him, you thought you had enough time to prepare yourself to see him again, but you didn’t. He refused to see you after he got hurt during the battle of the astronomy tower when he was in the hospital wing and ignored you in the few weeks following.

“Oh, wow,” Molly tries to come up with a response that won’t upset him. “This quickly?”

“I can’t take the chance, not now,” his mood is hard to read from his voice. He almost seems too defensive when he responds. “Not with everything happening.”

Your heart stops its thumping for a second, you didn’t realize it would hurt this much to see him happy. You want more than anything for him to be happy, but you also know that his mother and sister will never approve of Fleur. And he’ll never be fully happy because of that. But maybe you're wrong, maybe you don’t really know him. Maybe you never did.

��I can’t believe I signed up for bloody astronomy again,” you can hear Ron complain through the open window before Molly can respond.

“You know you love me,” you holler out the window as Ron and Ginny get closer to the house. They’re the only two at Hogwarts now, they’re growing up so fast.

“Yeah, yeah professor,” he mutters as he walks through the door before grinning widely at you.

Even though you had seen Ginny hours ago, the younger girl runs up to you and throws her arms around you. You laugh as she pulls back and makes a face as some of the soap suds transferred to her shirt.

“You just saw (Y/N),” Ron rolls his eyes at Ginny’s actions.

“Yeah but that’s different,” Ginny defends. “At Hogwarts I can’t talk to her about boys, or eat dinner with her, or ask for Quidditch tips.”

“I’m always up for talking about boys,” you grin down at the red headed girl. You laugh and apologize to Molly as Ginny pulls you from the kitchen and up to her room.

You don’t glance at Bill, you can’t. You’re too scared that all of the feeling you have bottled up will resurface with just one glance. You miss the way his eyes soften at your interaction with his sister, and how they trail after you as you get pulled past him. You sit with Ginny as she fawns over Harry for close to an hour, interjecting occasionally when she asks for your opinion. This is what you always imagined having a younger sister would feel like.

“What about you?” she asks with a teasing tone in her voice.

“What about me?” you laugh lightly as your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You and professor Snape,” she’s smirking.

“Severus?” you laugh before your face pulls into a disgusted look only Ginny can see. “We’re coworkers. Dare I say friends. And he’s a part of the Order, we have to at least tolerate each other.”

“Mhm,” she sounds unconvinced. “He smiled at you the other day! In the Great Hall, where people could see! He never smiles!”

“Ginny, we’re friends,” you try to get through to the stubborn teen. “Plus he’s known me since I was eleven, that would be gross.”

Before Ginny can respond there’s a knock on the open door, you turn around and see Bill for this first time in years. His red hair still falls to his shoulders, and he still has that fang hanging from his ear. There are scars down his cheek now, those and the fang make him look bad ass. Your heart stutters as your eyes meet his, the heartache that disappeared when you were gossiping with Ginny resurfaces with just one look.

“Dinners ready,” he says before turning and walking back down the stairs.

Dinner is loads of fun, the two eldest Weasley’s joining the group since there’s a small Order meeting afterwards. Dinner is full of Charlie joking with you, something you're happy about since Ginny wouldn’t be able to bring up Severus again. You ignore the giggles and the French accent that poke holes in your heart as Bill only pays attention to Fleur, who showed up at the Burrow when you were upstairs.

After dinner you agree to show Ron and Ginny some Quidditch moves you had picked up over the years, borrowing an old broom left behind by one of the other boys. Remus and Tonks appear in the front yard, signaling that the meeting would start momentarily. Ron thanks you as he continues to practice the moves as you fly to the ground. Ginny follows you, wanting to get a drink from the kitchen before it's closed off to the youngest two.

“Are you going to take his last name, or is he going to take yours?” she teases.

“Ginny, not now,” you sigh, not sure how to get it through her head that you have no feeling for the potions master without revealing that you’re in love with her oldest brother. You aren’t sure who’s worse, her or Molly.

“Alright, whatever you say Mrs. Snape,” Ginny wiggles her brows in your direction as you head for the kitchen.

“Mrs. Snape?” Severus’s monotonous voice comes from behind you two. Ginny’s eyes widen before she takes off running, and a strangled sound leaves your lips.

“Ginevra Molly Weasley, that’s a month of detention next year!” you yell after her. You take a breath before turning to stare into Snape’s obsidian eyes. “Ginny saw you laugh at my stupid joke in the Great Hall a few weaks ago and now she’s convinced you have feelings for me.” Severus raises his eyebrows at you before looking in the direction Ginny ran off in. “She’s just a kid Sev, don’t hold her delusions against her.”

“Weasley’s,” he mutters before heading to the kitchen himself. Dumbledore had told a select few in the Order the plans for Severus to kill him so Draco didn’t have to, and since the Headmaster was already dying nobody was as mad as expected. “Don’t you have feelings for the oldest one?”

“Be quiet!” you hiss, as look to make sure no one heard. He smirks before walking into the room where the meeting is to be held, leaving you standing confused in the hallway.

The meeting is small tonight; Remus, Tonks, Charlie, Molly, Arthur, Sev, yourself, Bill, and Fleur. The rest had prior engagements unfortunately, so it was essentially just family and Severus.

Molly uses her magic to pour you a glass of tea as you sit beside Sev, the only open seat. You smile a quick thanks before lifting the cup to your lips. The warm liquid soothing your tired throat, students liked to talk over you during the last week of school so your throat was a little raw.

“Do you want a cookie with that, love?” Snape’s monotonous voice is slightly louder than it normally is. The term of endearment comes as such a shock that you spit out the tea that's in your mouth, landing across the table on Fleur.

There was no denying that Severus’s question was directed at you, he’s holding the plate full of Molly’s cookies right next to your face. The room goes deathly silent as the seconds pass by. Ginny, who was getting herself some pumpkin juice, drops the glass she was holding, it shatters when it hits the ground. Molly, Arthur, and Charlie abruptly stop their conversation to stare at you and Sev in shock. Remus furrows his eyebrows as he looks between you two, Tonks looks like she's holding back a laugh. A flash of pain seems to cross Bill’s face before it goes blank, and horror crosses Fleur’s when your tea lands on her.

“I’m so sorry!” you cover your mouth, thankful the liquid wasn’t warm enough to burn. Bill doesn’t even turn to look at his fiancee, just stares at you.

“Are you alright?” Snape has a small smile only you can see. You aren’t sure how to respond, especially as you stare at the amusement dancing in his onyx eyes.

“I knew it!” Ginny yells, finally breaking the few seconds of silence, seconds that felt like years. You flick Sev’s leg under the table, and he has the audacity to grin larger.

“Thanks honey,” your eyes narrow slightly as you grab a cookie off the plate, passing it to Bill without looking away from the man in all black.

The rest of the meeting is awkward, and as soon as it’s over you pull Sev out of his chair and outside. The cool night air cools your burning cheeks and he lets out a laugh that he had been holding in.

“What was that?” you pull at the ends of your hair.

“We made your precious Weasley jealous,” even though he’s smirking, there’s no change in his inflection.

“And now they all think we’re together!” your voice is high pitched and squeaky.

“Good luck with that,” he disapparates before you can respond.

“I hate you!” you yell at the spot where Severus was just standing.

“You and Snape, huh?” Charlie’s voice cuts through the silent night.

“Not bloody likely,” you roll your eyes, before plopping onto the ground. Charlie joins you as you lay and stare up at the stars. “He heard Ginny saying she thought he liked me, and he knows who I like, so he decided to run with it. He’s actually fun when you break through his cold exterior.”

“You still love Bill,” it isn’t a question. No matter how many times you denied it while you three went to school together, Charlie never believed you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, turning to look at him. He’s already facing you so you continue, “your mum kept going on about how I should be the one with him this afternoon. She won’t drop it.”

“I love my brother,” Charlie makes sure you keep eye contact with him as he continues. “But he’s being stupid. I agree with mum, you should be the one marrying him.”

“He’s happy without me,” your voice comes out sadder than you thought it would, guard finally down. “We’ve barely talked in years, and he wouldn’t even let me see him after the attack. He doesn’t need me, nor does he want me in his life anymore.”

Charlie just sighs, annoyed that neither you nor Bill could see the truth starring you both in the face. You love each other. Charlie just lies next to you in comforting silence, staring at the night sky until he has to head back to Romania and you off to bed.

A single tear slips down your cheek as you lay down in the bed that once belonged to Charlie. Ginny enters the room without knocking, and you quickly wipe away the tear.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” she practically screams.

“There’s nothing to tell, he was messing with you, Gin,” you look her directly in the eyes so she knows you aren’t lying.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she sits beside you on the mattress.

“I’m in love with Bill,” you whisper, finally saying the words out loud. Sure you had agreed with Charlie earlier, but you had never said the five words out loud before. It feels like a weight is lifted off your chest, until a new wave of heartache hits you. “I have been since we were in school, and it hurts Ginny. Fleur, she’s perfect, I couldn’t possibly compete with her.”

“You’re so much better than her, (Y/N),” Ginny grabs your hand, causing you to look up at her. “And he’s a fool if he doesn’t see that.”

“Thanks Gin,” you smile sadly, squeezing her hand before she heads off to her room.

“Zank you,” Fleur’s French accent is the first thing you hear in the morning. Ginny comes up behind you as you stand in the hallway, and puts her hand on your shoulder. Today is the day you forget about all of this foolish childish love you have for Bill.

Molly watches you closely as you sit down at the breakfast table, Ginny plopping down beside you. As you talk to the young girl about Quidditch over breakfast, a black owl flies through an open window. You roll your eyes as it plops a letter beside you, you give the owl some of your toast before it flies out of the window again. Ginny looks over your shoulder as you open the letter, the rest of the Weasley’s not-so-secretly watch you read it.

The letter isn’t anything special, just Severus letting you know that you had left a book at Hogwarts. You know full well he’s being his dramatic self, going out of his way to send an owl, just so he can say he was right. He even added a p.s, asking if Bill had gotten jealous yet. You laugh at the ridiculous question, causing Bill to excuse himself and walk outside. Fleur doesn’t move from her seat, causing you and Ginny to make a face at each other.

A few moments pass before you decide to follow your old best friend against your better judgment, but someone should check on him. He’s in the backyard pacing like a madman, running his hands through his long hair and pulling on the tips.

“Bill?” you ask softly. He whips around and looks at you, once again his face is hard to read. Your eyes, however, soften as soon as they see what Fenrier Greyback did to him. “What’s wrong?”

“You and Snape?” his voice is hard and cold. “He hated us growing up, and you just pretended that never happened and you're with him? He hated you!”

“It’s none of your business William!” your voice is high pitched, you’re angry. He doesn’t talk to you in ages and now all of a sudden he thinks it’s okay to judge your relationships. “We were annoying kids back then, of course he hated us.”

“You could do better than him!” his anger seems to rise at the use of his full first name.

“We’re just friends!” your voice is shrill, and you're sure everyone inside can hear you two clearly. “Not that it’s any of your business anyway! Severus was letting me know I forgot some of my belongings at Hogwarts. You have no right to judge who I choose to spend my time with and who I befriend, not when you haven’t tried to talk to me in years Bill!”

With that you turn and head away from the burrow, not wanting to face anyone right now. Especially any of the Weasley's, and most of all, Molly. Bill calls your name as you walk away from him, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. William Weasley has broken your heart multiple times since you met him, and you aren’t about to give him the satisfaction of watching himself break your heart all over again.

Part 2

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#bill weasley x reader #bill weasley #bill weasley x y/n #bill weasley x mc #william weasley #william bill weasley #harry potter fanfiction #bill weasley x you #harry potter #harry potter imagine #bill weasley one shot #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley fanfiction

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justoneday-namjoonii · 4 years ago

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Don’t Breathe | 4.5

»Genre: hitman!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is pure fiction ok, kidnappers and stalkers DON’T love you.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was paid to get rid of everyone who witnessed the exchange between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month later, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3 - pt. 3.5 - pt. 4.0 - pt. 4.5 - pt. 5.0 - pt. 5.5 - pt.6.0

a/n: hello!~ thank you for reading and i hope u enjoy!! will most def edit later💖

taglist: @tangledsparkles @just-another-fangurl21 @impartoftoomanyfandoms @komorebi-unnie @tangledsparkles @yes-sol-not-soul (sorry :( tumblr won’t let me tag you) @sarzkh31

The sun is setting like a dream, you can’t say you’ve ever seen it shine so beautiful. The sky looks like a peach painting that shyly fades into a heavenly deep-blue. It’s a perfect evening, the air smells of the flowers growing on the porch and it delights your senses. He’s chasing you barefooted across the grassy yard, like two children playing tag at the peak of spring. Out of breath, he finally catches you and you fall back into the checkered blanket, too tired to run off again.

After seeing you enjoy the balcony so much, he introduced you to his lavish backyard. Aside from the large stone patio and pool attached to it, the yard expands at least an acre and it’s well-groomed. Early in the evening, you moved to spend some time on the patio, a pencil, and paper in hand. Taehyung had some work to do so you had a few hours to yourself, you used that time to think and write. After a few hours, you could no longer resist the urge to take a dip in the crystal clear oasis.

With a t-shirt and underwear, you eased into the cool water and breathed a sigh of relief. For what could have been an hour or two, you weren’t counting, you swam on your back, staring up at the clear sky, wondering if you’ll ever feel peace like this again. When your eyes shut, your thoughts seem to align, and for the first time since you’ve been here, you felt like you were where you were supposed to be. As much as you cherish your life alone, your independence, and innate desire to prove that you can make it on your own—it seems Taehyung is worth giving that up.

That would have sounded crazy weeks ago, but it’s how you feel. That night that you confessed that you wanted to be with him, you meant it. You don’t know when it happened, maybe when you kissed him and he picked you up when you woke up to him fast asleep with a pillow in his arms. Or maybe it was when he suggested you help him bake since he knew you wrote so much about food in your articles, you’re not sure. But somehow, sometime after learning his name, you think you fell in love.

When you were with Jin, you had similar feelings to this. You knew you were in love when you had the urge to smile even when you were hurting just to make him smile. That feeling of unexplained self-sacrifice, something as small as a smile, you’d force it out if you knew it would help him. With Taehyung, it seems like he will do anything to make you smile sometimes, even when you know he’s keeping stressful things from you. Is that love? You think so.

You sigh, still feeling a bit wet from your swim a while ago but you’ve dried mostly. He fussed at you for not showering straight away but you said the sun would dry you well enough until your shower tonight. It’s dusk now, and your out in the grass, laying happily on the blanket with him. A few minutes ago you found out that he had pretty lights adorning the patio. He said he’s had them for a while but hadn’t turned them on until today. It casts a warm light out into the grass, you tell him he should turn it on more often.

”You should shower before you catch a cold,” He stresses for the second time. You find his worry endearing but negotiate five more minutes, and he caves. It’s been a while since you’ve been outside like this. He knows this, that’s why he’s laying shoulder to shoulder with you as you gaze up at the night sky. “Sorry I had so much work I had to do today, hope you weren’t too bored out here,”

”It’s fine, I was writing anyway...”

”You were writing?” He turns on his side, curiosity piqued. You nod, hands searching for the pencil and pad you had on the blanket.

”Mhm, I used to write poetry when I was in high school. I wasn’t very good and some of it is kind of cringe now that I look back at it, but I enjoyed it. I haven’t written in so long, I thought I’d give it a shot,” You grab the notepad and look up at it, eyes skimming over the gray hue from all the erasing. You catch him trying to peek over and you hold it to your test.

“Don’t look, it’s not good,”

He pouts, hand moving to intertwine with yours with puppy-dog eyes.

“Come on, you’ve never shared your personal writings with me before,” He pouts, leaning closer to you in hopes that you might succumb to the allure of his gaze. “Pleeease?”

”Fine,” You sigh, “but you have to read it yourself,” You lift the notepad in surrender, handing it to him.

He sits up and the feeling of anxiousness comes to a halt when you realize one important fact; it’s Taehyung. Not a supervisor critiquing your rough draft or a teacher judging your ability to recite your understanding of the class’s latest assignment. It’s him.

I’ve been given a universe, all for me. My very own stars in your eyes, I can stare at you forever. The remnants of your every gaze births a galaxy and I draw up the constellations by the reminisce of the pattern of your touch on my skin. I, too, have given my universe to you. Though I’m innocent to the stars in my eyes, the constellations I paint on your skin, all for you. No event is there more beautiful than the moment our eyes meet, our nebulae collide. A merging occurs, giving life to new stars that are our own, creating a galaxy that holds a shape that can only be defined by fate. In that sweet moment, we create an intertwined constellation, a design filled with millions of our old and new stars, shining brighter than ever,

“In your universe, my universe...” He reads the last lines softly. Setting the pad down with an expression that you can’t quite read, he just looks at you and you start to feel nervous.

“I just,” You bite at your lip and look up at the night sky that’s beginning to show the stars, “I had this idea about space, it’s a little different but it took me hours to come up with...I’m rusty.”

He props himself up and leans over you, gazes searching for yours with a tender close-lipped smile. He holds his hand to his heart, “That was so beautiful.”

You cringe, pushing his chest so he can roll back on his back. “Oh stop, now I wish I wouldn’t have shown you,” It’s hard to tell if he’s praising you or teasing, it seems like it’s one in the same sometimes.

“I’m being serious, I can feel the emotions you’re conveying in your words, I really get it…” He looks a bit surprised that you’d think he was teasing you about this, he leans back over you.

“You mean it?” You look into his eyes, wondering how anyone could be capable of making you feel so special like you’re the only person in the world. Without a word, he presses a firm kiss to your lips and you sigh, he means it.

He gets you to go inside and shower before it’s too dark outside, you both shower and the warmth calms you. Dressed in a matching pair of gray and green pajamas that he recently purchased, long-sleeves but breathable. For the first time, you two lay in bed and watch movies together. You had debated over watching either Whisper of The Heart or My Neighbor Totoro, you settled on My Neighbor Totoro.

You’re comfortably propped on your pillow and curled slightly on your side. Taehyung is laying on his side as well, one leg was thrown over you and one hand holding yours. He’s like a big teddy bear, soft and comforting in every way. He’s so warm, his fingers are so long and he engulfs your hand, his leg is pinning you down but you find it comforting.

He’s laying on the pillow beside yours, eyes lingering more on you than the movie, but he glances at it every so often. Ever since that moment on the blanket in the yard with you, your poem had been on his mind in the best way. The thought of you writing that with him in mind, it makes his heart flutter.

“Baby, I can’t stop thinking about your poem,” He grabs your attention from the enthralling scene on the TV, “I know you think I’m messing with you but I’m not, it’s touching,” He admits with a little laugh, “what is it about?”

“It was my expression of platonic love and physical love, the love I’ve experienced in my life, what I think is love, our love...” You shyly say that last part, gripping his hand a little tighter.

He hums, thumb rubbing your knuckles gently. ”Our love? I knew it,” He smiles, a sweet smile on his face as he scoots closer to you if that was possible. “I had my suspicions that it was about us,” He cups your jaw, leaning over you.

“The part where it says, when our nebulae collide, giving life to new stars, creating a constellation that can only be defined by fate,” His mouth gapes a bit, tongue moving absentmindedly, the usual look when he’s thinking.

“That part, that part is my favorite I think,” He gently kisses your forehead and you let out a little laugh that makes him smile in adoration, “it sounds like us,”

“It’s about us, but it’s about you more than anything,” You mumble, moving your hand up to tussle his hair softly, “you’re a bit more poetic than I am, I think.”

The movie is nice white noise to his low breathing, the sound of his mouth meeting your skin. His lips graze under your ear and his hand goes to the underside of your other ear, messing with your senses. He abruptly moves, causing your hand to fall from his hair as he moves to make space for his thigh between your thighs.

“When we lay together like this,” He smirks to himself, leaning his face just centimeters over yours, “enjoying each other's company and smiling, I feel so lucky,” He kisses down your jaw to your neck, praising you—you blush.

You’ve come to love this.

The barriers you once had have crumbled down a long time ago. Taehyung has shown you what love is, what it feels like. He keeps you safe, he wants to protect you at all costs and that means keeping you here.

“Wait,” You whine, the butterflies in your stomach were swarming happily, you push him away. “l- let me see your face,” Taking the hand that was once in his, you lift his face to meet yours. “I love your face, you have the best face.”

“Oh, you think so?” He let’s a little abashed laugh, “Thank you.” With a tender smile, he gives you a nice long look, nothing but adoration in those big round eyes.

“It’s true,” You grin, still in awe that he doesn’t understand his own beauty. It’s sweet looking at you, seeing your dreamy eyes, those pouty lips, makes him want to eat you. But he settles for breaking the eye-contact and kissing you. Mouth wide open, giving way to his oral fixation. You’ve had very few relationships, but from what you can compare him to, Taehyung knocks the competition out of the water in terms of affection. How he manages to cloud your senses till you’re raw with love amazes you. The rush from it is something you’ve never experienced before.

You’re pushed and pulled, but there’s no hostile battle, no attempt to coax the other into a preferred position, everything sets naturally, as it should. It’s how it’s meant to be, everything fits just right, and he aches to stay this way. He pulls away from the kiss, leaving you breathless and a bit confused. You lean up to try to get him back, but he moves his head away, cooing when you let out a disappointed mewl. “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?...”

“Oh no, sweetheart, you could never,” He thumbs at your cheek, “I just want to talk for a second.”

“Oh,” You purse your lips in thought, “okay, about what?”

“I’ve never had a reason to be anything for anyone before, until you, isn’t that crazy? I’ve never been this close to anyone like I am to you. I look at you and it makes me realize how lucky I am. I get to see your beautiful face,” He pecks your cheek, causing our face to flush, “how your beautiful mind works,” He pushes your hair back, staring at you sparkling eyes, “your body that just fits me so well, like a glove,” He drags a hand down your clothed abdomen and to your hip, resting his hand there with a gentle press with his fingers, “you’re perfect...”

“I’m not perfect,” You swallow, turning your head, which apparently meant to him that you wanted some more attention because he kisses at your skin again, “Tae,” You gasp, tears pricking at your eyes for a quarter of a second, you’re just excited, “don’t paint me out to have no flaws, the last person who did that was terribly disappointed,”

“You mean Jin,” He scoffs when you nod. This is not the ideal time to talk about your Ex, but leave it to you two to turn every conversation in a weird direction, “That doesn’t seem like reason enough to leave anyone,” His brows furrow deeply, obviously offended.

“It was a mutual disappointment, we wanted too much from each other. I wasn’t willing to give anymore, and he just didn’t see the point anymore, it was for the best but I don’t think it was easy for either of us.”

“Well,” He breathes against you, “I don’t know the guy but I know you, and that tells me one thing, it was his loss,” You squint, breath stalling when he leaves a particularly lazy kiss to your lips before pulling away with a smack, “he had to be out of his mind to want to leave you, to leave this...”

“Or to stay,” You clear your throat, “it could have gone both ways,”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me, I don’t want to leave you, I want you with me always,” He lets himself drop on his side behind you, hand on your side, voice just a whisper, “I gotta have you, I love you that much, I need you that much...”

“Tae,” You try to sit up but he moves to get behind you, spooning you like a pillow to his chest while taking your hand. You look back so you can see his face and he moves over you so you don’t have to stretch too much, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something...”

“What is it?” He nuzzles his face against yours almost like a cat would, he’s a complete softy, ugh, it’s so cute. “Ask me anything,”

“What’s the one thing you want out of life?... I mean, if you didn’t have your job or you had the chance to make one wish come true, what would it be, what do you really want?”

Grinning ear-to-ear, he boops your nose with his finger, “You.”

“I’m flattered, but besides me,” You gaze down at his hand, “I’m being serious, there has to be something out there that you want...”

“There is,” His eyes drift to your twiddling fingers, “Years ago I built up the courage to look for my birth mother, found out she lives in a different country, she’s married and has two little boys...My half brothers. I used to think about what it would be like to meet them, how they’d like me,” The thought of Taehyung having a relationship with them warms your heart, “it’s a scary thought, but I want to see them one day.”

“Aw, you have little brothers...That’s really sweet, I hope that happens for you one day, I really do...Is there anything else?”

“I’ve always wanted a family, it’s something I used to dream about a lot, but now I have you,” He props his head upon his hand, his other hand still in yours, “we’re like a tiny family, the two of us.”

“Yeah, we are, it’s nice,” When you and Taehyung have pillow-talks like this, he becomes so pure and honest, it makes your heart melt. Just thinking of what he’s gone through in his life, and who he’s become over the time you’ve been together, it might sound cliche but he’s a miracle.

“There’s another thing,” He rubs his thumb against your hand, “I want a baby one day in the future, maybe after I’m married, or just whenever the time is right.”

“Really? I could see that, I know you really love kids and babies.”

“I’d love a kid of my own, maybe a few,” He can’t contain his little grin at the thought, “that would be so nice...”

To be a dad. That’s definitely a wish Taehyung would have, and you hope with all your heart that he gets that one day. You just lean further back into his chest, breathing in tandem with him.

“Love you,” You mutter, squeezing his hand tighter, praying that the walls that once kept you apart would never return. You’ve realized that there are some connections so strong, so meant to be, that no matter the circumstance, those two individuals will meet.

A merging occurs, giving life to new stars that are our own, creating a galaxy that holds a shape that can only be defined by fate. In that sweet moment, we create an intertwined constellation, a design filled with millions of our old and new stars, shining brighter than ever, in our universe.

“How’s the investigation going? Jin told me you reached out the other day,”

The busy lawyer sets his freshly ordered coffee in his cup holder as he drives off to his highly-decorated firm.

“I did, the case is more complicated than I initially thought,” Yoongi poured the subpar coffee in the Styrofoam cup, it’s 6am and he’s trying not to be grumpy, “if I’m right about my suspicions, it’s a fucked-up situation.”

“What’re you thinking?”

Yoongi looks around, seeing that the only person around was the woman at the desk. “The girl, along with the other individuals at that conference, was targeted. I got the names of the parties at the conference, they’re politicians of course but the details of the meeting were never released. I have a theory,”

He lowers his voice, looking around one more time before sipping his coffee, “I think someone at that conference had the other journalist killed. I went over each autopsy file and those people died from unusual things, but not unusual enough to suspect at first glance. Most of them died from too much of a medication that they were already taking, things like that. But this girl was abducted and I don’t know why,”

Jungkook makes a thoughtful noise. “What’s different about her that not like the others?”

“She went missing a little over a month after the others were found dead. It looks like a mistake to me,” He paces, “I don’t know if I’m being too outlandish, but I have a feeling she’s alive, we just need to find her,”

Jungkook responds with how he feels about it but Yoongi has to cut him short when Eunwoo walks into the station.

“You’re here early, Min,” Eunwoo smiles, beckoning Yoongi to follow him to his office, “I have some good news and some bad news, which do you want first?” Eunwoo leads Yoongi into his office and sets his briefcase down so he can pull what he needs out.

“Surprise me.”

“No luck on finding any leads for you on the Hwan group,” He takes a seat, opening one of the Manila folders, “they’ve been under the radar for years, I hope you can find something on them.

“And the good news?”

“It took a lot to pin him, but we’re bringing in Senator Leu for questioning.”

“Good, I think they know something that they’ve been trying to keep under the rug.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

Yoongi gets up, hand tight on the flimsy cup, “If you could give me a call before the questioning so I can come by, I’d appreciate it. I’m going to do a little digging into this Hwan Group, see if I can get some info that’ll help,”

Yoongi leaves the building with a to-do list but little does he know, detective Na Jaemin, knocking on on Eunwoo’s door.

“Come in,”

“Hi,” Jaemin slips into the room, an unusual grin on his face, “how are you?”

“Um,” Eunwoo looks around, confused as to why he’s approaching him like this but he shrugs, “good, is everything okay, detective?”

“Everything's fine,” Lies, “I just had a question about that PI, Min Yoongi,”

“Shoot,” Eunwoo awaits his question.

“Why is he so adamant about keeping this case open? I mean, I’m a detective on the case and I think we should start searching for the body,” His tone sounds innocent but he’s trying to sneakily plant this idea in Eunwoo’s mind, “we could be wasting precious time, the family deserves closure and we’re just dragging it on.”

“Detective Na,” Eunwoo stops looking through the folder, “given the other related cases, we have reason to believe she might be alive. Not every abductee is killed, even if that tends to be the case.”

Jeamin swallows, trying to think of how to save himself, “I know, I’m not saying that we should be pessimistic but realistic, rather.”

“I get what you’re saying, but on what prescient you’re saying it, I don’t know. I, and many of the others in this case, have reviewed the evidence and compared it to the other cases, it doesn’t add up. After the questioning today, we’ll talk, until then, your efforts need to go towards finding her alive and well,” Eunwoo walks past Jaemin and the detective gets the memo to get out of the office.

“Absolutely, sir,” With a feigned grin, he watches Cha Eunwoo go off to do his job while he fights the urge to scream.

It’s way too close now. They’re so intent on finding you. The Hwan Group has never been found out, it hasn’t happened in the history of the group's existence. Minho’s not gonna like this.

⇢ 1 year ago ⇠

“Girl, your deadline is in three days, why don’t you head home? You have time to finish it tomorrow.”

Suzy looks over your shoulder, eyeing your computer and the thousand words you were trying to edit. You’ve been at the desk since 8 this morning, it’s almost 6 o’clock at night and it’s kicking your butt. The flow isn’t coming to you anymore, your mind is too “This is terrible, I suck at this crime stuff...” You face plant on your desk, “Like, this is sad.”

“Boss thinks you’ll do a great job,” She leans against your desk, her keys jingling in her hands, “plus, Angela is on maternity leave, you were the easiest replacement.”

“I just, I’m not in a good mindset right now,” You shut your laptop, eyes lowering to our desk, “I’m having problems with my love life, it’s, uh, – not doing so well. I’m sorry, I think I just need to sleep it off,” You take your laptop and tuck it in your tote bag, eager to get away so you don’t cry in front of her, “or drink it off, whichever I get to first.”

“Y/n,” She places a hand on your shoulder, “do you want to talk about it?” That’s the one thing about Suzy, she’s more than a nice supervisor, she’s a friend. But you can’t imagine putting your relationship issues on her, she’s got a fiance to go home to, you don’t want to send your problem with her.

“No, no, I’m okay, you- You know how it is,” You feign a smile, hoping she’ll be convinced enough to let it go, “it’s just your usual boyfriend-girlfriend stuff,”

“Okay,” You mentally sigh in relief because she looks convinced, “well I’m here if you ever need to talk, see you tomorrow!”

The drive home was good, it helped clear your mind, it’s what you needed. When you walked into your empty apartment, you resented its vacancy. What you told Suzy was a half-truth, it’s more than boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, you’re dealing with the sudden absence of a boyfriend. For lack of a better term, you got dumped. But you saw it coming, you two weren’t seeing eye-to-eye, it would have been a disservice to you both if you kept dragging it on. Yesterday, you and Jin met at your favorite Italian restaurant and he said what he had to say.

“We can’t keep doing this,”

“I know.”

You remember moving your fork through your salad, trying not to look him in the eye.

“I still care about you, okay? We should still be friends,” He was letting you down easy, it needed to happen like this.

“Of- of course, I agree...” You looked up at him, forcing a small smile. That’s how that went. The waiter had pity on you and kept coming back to refill your salad when Jin left, he had an early shift at the clinic the next morning.

The pasta didn’t taste the same anymore and your salad became very sad to your taste-buds.

Now it’s just you and your trustworthy friends, Mr. Couch and Mrs. TV. An old movie flickers on the screen and you can’t follow it, maybe that’s just the wine talking.

* *

He told himself he wouldn’t do it, he swore he’d never do it. But he found himself on the internet searching her name, his mother's name. And after hours of looking, he found her. From what he could tell, she was still living, but her last name had changed. Not only that, but she had two little boys with her in a picture on one of her social media. She doesn’t live in the country anymore, she’s off in some foreign country, living a life quite contrary to the one she was living when she had him. To see her smile, to see her living a life without him, completely unaware of the man he is now – it hurts.

He shuts the laptop and stares at the TV in front of him, watching the old movie with blank eyes. On nights like this, he realizes how lonely he is. He lays on the couch, feeling as if he was cheated of an alternative life. He could have been the smiling boy in that photo, he would’ve been a good son, right? She could have smiled the same way if it were him next to her, with his half little brother.

At times like this, he finds himself wondering what his name would sound like on her tongue, she did name him after all. But his name is the only thing she left him with. Kim Taehyung.

This is bad, this is all bad.

The PI made contact with one of their middlemen last night. It’s likely that the payment and agreement form was leaked. Minho was pissed, if he ever finds the guy he’ll kill him. As far as the case goes, the feds aren’t backing away from the case either, not at all.

During his morning jog around the stately mansions neighboring his own, the thoughts that come to his mind are more than unpleasant. He’s never doubted Taehyung before, but he’s getting pushed into a corner here. The thought that Taehyung might not have gotten rid of you plagues his thoughts. However, Taehyung is the best, he’s never screwed up a job before. However, the only way he can get the truth is if he calls Taehyung. He has to tell him to release the whereabouts of the body so they can cover it up.

Taehyung glances at his phone from the shower, it’s Minho. His heart drops into the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he thinks about ignoring it, but that would only delay the inevitable. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stumbles out of the shower to grab the phone.

“Hello?” Taehyung answers calmly.

“Kim,” Minho chirps, “how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Taehyung furrows his brows in suspicion, “you?”

“To be honest with you,” He breathes and out, “not good. I don’t know if you know, but that case is blowing up. The damn PI is on to us and he’s egging the guy over the case on. The contract was leaked. They’re bringing people into questioning- This doesn’t look good for either of us,”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It was your job, Taehyung – it has everything do with you.”

“But what do you want me to do? I can’t stop the investigation, I did the job, what happens after I get my pay is no longer in my hands.”

“Do you not remember what you did? She was the only target you took, you didn’t leave the body to make it look like an overdose or a typical homicide, you kidnapped her. I don’t care what you’ve done with her, that’s your business, but reveal the body, then we’ll arrange a cover-up and this will all be over,”

“I can’t do that.” He replies simply.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Give it up, Kim! Is she at the bottom of a lake? Did you burn her to ashes? Bury her? Look, I’ve been patient, but if I don’t get the location of the body, your job is on the line, and the reputation of the organization,”

Taehyung doesn’t say a word.

“Is she dead, Taehyung?”

Continuous silence pangs over the phone.

“If you wanted to start this whole rogue thing, you could’ve waited until your contract expires next year-”

“That’s not what it is.”

“Then what is it? Is she dead or alive? Answer the question.

Taehyung looks up at the mirror, for the first time feeling like things are truly crumbling around him. “I did the job.”

“Okay, y ‘know what? Fine. I tried to do this the easy way, but you leave me no choice. Reveal the body in the next 24 hours, or I’m sending a team to make you reveal it. I’m sorry it has to come to this, Taehyung. There are more important things in life than some girl-”

Taehyung hangs up the phone, slamming it on the bathroom counter, nearly cracking the screen. Some girl – just the way you’re being referred to makes him upset, you’re not just some girl. Had you two met in a different life, in a different way, things would be so much easier. But this is how you two met, he took you and somehow, he was shown incredible mercy. You fell into his arms and he into yours, it was just love, simple as that.

The patio is lined with Taehyung’s art and yours, the most recent ones. Some canvases are messy, art-pieces born of pure-play. Others are more deliberate, like the one you’re painting now. It’s a flower, the jasmine flower in the pot in front of you. It’s been a few hours and even though it doesn’t look that great, you’re trying.

The door creeks but you don’t hear it, you’re too focused and it makes him smile. Only when he wraps his arms around your waist do you acknowledge his presence. He rests his head on your shoulder, “That looks beautiful,” You smile, too caught up in what you’re doing to verbally respond.

"Hey, can we talk for a second?” He gently grabs your wrist to stop your continuous stroking.

“Sure,” You turn around, already anxious. Your eyes waver, hand dropping the paintbrush into the jar.

“We might have to leave for a little while," He steps away, hand massaging the back of his neck.

“The investigation is getting bigger, the police aren’t messing around anymore, they're looking for you. My boss called me, he wants me to give you up because he suspects that you’re still alive. The man who hired me to have you killed got busted, he’s probably being questioned as we speak. If I don’t reveal you in the next 24 hours, they’re going for come for me...For you.”

“Oh...”

That’s the only response that comes to mind.

“So-...So what does that mean for us?”

He takes a seat in one of the couches, elbows propped on his knees, head resting into his hands. He stays like that for at least 30 seconds before lifting his face to see your expression.

“I’m sorry,” He drags his hands down his face, “I don’t know exactly, I’m just trying to figure it out but this PI, he’s not letting up. And Minho, he’s not going to sacrifice his business covering for me all because I fell in love.”

You've been living in a pool of ignorant bliss.

Your family is probably a mess worried about you, especially your mother, your poor mother. You may be in perfect health, but she doesn’t know that. When she watches the news, she hears stories of girls being kidnapped and murdered, unspeakable things done to them. Thank God that’s not your situation, but she doesn’t know that.

Your job, you miss your job more than you realize. Writing day and night, learning new things, meeting new people, you actually miss it. But you’re torn. Taehyung is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. If it’s possible, you’ve become so relaxed, so at peace with your life. Stress used to be a daily feeling for you, but you don’t feel it here, with him. He looks at you like an angel, like a celestial being sent to save his soul—you don’t deserve that. Throwing all caution to the wind, he spared your life. He kept you safe and hidden from those who wanted you dead. He may not believe it, but he’s a good person, he’s your angel.

“Taehyung,” You take a seat next to him, placing your hand on his thigh so he’ll look at you, “if I wanted to, would you let me leave?”

No, no, no. His heart sinks, eyes building with tears that he quickly wipes away.

“If Minho wasn’t looking for you, and it didn’t put your life at risk...” He trails off.

”It would be hard, but if- If that’s what you wanted, I would...I would let you go.” His nose burns red and he quickly loses the ability to keep the tears from rolling.

“Shit, I- I’m sorry, I’m just- I’m not trying to be so emotional...I just, I put you in a bad situation, and I know you miss your old life,” He turns from you, hiding his face so he can wipe the stray tears, “I’m so sorry I took that away...”

You embrace him, bringing his head to rest on your chest, a few tears rolling down your cheeks when he laments into your shirt. Heaving, breathing hitched, it hurts your heart to see him like this, you feel his pain.

Taehyung struggles with abandonment, loss. He’s shared his past, his childhood, if you can even call it that. The lack of paternal love, isolation and depression, it all shaped him in a way that he can’t shake. It’s apart of him, he didn’t think anyone would ever be able to deal with all of that so he’s pushed it down all this time. But then you came along, and you looked at him with kind eyes, like he wasn’t bad. And he tried to stop it, he tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t anymore, he was in love. He fell so deeply in love so fast, it was scary. He was obsessive at first, he had to be for the job. But even after the job, he kept wanting to know about you, he became enthralled with your existence, it was inevitable, it was fate.

“I want to go home,” He makes grabby hands to your waist as if you’d slip away if he didn’t. “Tae,” He responds with a small sob, “please, look at me.”

Reluctantly, with a blushed nose and gritted teeth, he looks up at you. The once large man, the man who engulfs you in both size and presence has diminished to someone so small.

“My home is wherever you are,” You smile, tears already streaming down your cheeks, “when I’m with you, I’m home...I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“Y/n, you have to understand,” He sniffles, breathing deeply, thumb rubbing a tear from your supple cheek, “If you go with me, I don’t know if we’ll ever come back here, we’ll have to make a new life for ourselves, somewhere far from what we know. I’ve already taken so much from you...Are you sure this is what you want?”

“This is what I want, for us to be together. So it doesn’t matter where I am,” You cup his jaw with teary eyes, “as long as I’m with you.”

“I’m not talking until I have my attorney.”

The politician sits comfortably in the chair, hands crossed tightly, and posture perfect. After about fifteen minutes, his attorney comes in, pant-suit just as expensive as his suit and aura looking as if she had already gotten her client out of this.

“Lana Garza,” She shakes Eunwoo’s hand and takes a seat, “let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Alright,” Eunwoo sits at the table alongside another detective, “the conference you held a few months ago, what were you there talking about?”

“Urban housing development, social and civil issues in the community.”

“And are you aware of the 5 journalists found dead just a week after the conference?”

“I heard it on the news, yes.”

“Mr. Leu,” Eunwoo stands up, walking across the one-way mirror that Min Yoongi and a few other detectives are behind, “has it ever occurred to you that the conference got little to no press coverage, that’s unusual for a man of your status.”

“My client has no control over the amount of media coverage he gets on an event, that’s a question you should ask the owner of the venue.” She interjects, causing Yoongi to furrow his brows at her defense, she’s gonna fight tooth and nail for that man, he can already tell. It doesn’t matter though, they have evidence against him. That’s the man that wanted you dead,

“Detective, if you don’t have any better questions for him, I think we’ll be leaving.”

“Okay, I’ll be a little more straight-forward. Did you have any involvement with the death of these five people and the disappearance of this woman,” He opens a folder and they see the picture.

Leu glances down at the photo. There’s a shift in his eyes.

“The woman, her name is Y/F/N, she’s a writer at The Autumn Times. For about a month, she was working on an article about you. On the day of publication, she went missing and the article was nowhere to be found.”

The lawyer glances at the photo. “Are you implying my client had something to do with the disappearance of this woman?”

“Did he?” He glances at Leu. “Did you?”

“Why on earth would I do something like that? If you think I’d even dream of doing something like that, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Suddenly, Yoongi barges in, walk right up to the man in question. “Cut the bullshit, we know you weren’t happy about the article, you didn’t want it to get out that you’re a damn fraud. For whatever sick reason, you thought having innocent people murdered would somehow keep you clean.” He takes out a thin folder, holding it up to his face. “This is the copy of the contract and payment to The Hwan Group with your signature on it.”

Leu exchanges look with the attorney.

“Mr. Cha, can you give Mr. Leu and me a moment?”

Yoongi and Eunwoo leave the room, giving her time to probably compile some type of plead deal.

“We have him right where we want him, couldn’t have done this without you,” Eunwoo stands with crossed arms

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m not sure who did the abduction, they keep those details encrypted. The jobs not done until we find her alive.” Yoongi bites his lip, muttering to himself,

Please be alive...

“Tae, Stop! There won’t be any left if you keep eating it al!”

It’s been a day since Taehyung got that call from Minho, you’re running out of time. But he’s been trying to keep your mind off of it, he made a cake and asked you to decorate it.

You swat at his hand but he gets the strawberry and cream in his mouth anyway. There’s a large mixing bowl of whipped cream frosting for the strawberry cream cake.

“Yes Ma’am, I’m sorry,” He laughs, fleeing the kitchen so you don’t get him with the spoon again, “it’s just so good.” You shake your head, trying to count the strawberries for the second time, hoping you have enough.

“Remember the friend I told you about, who couldn’t come that weekend,” He goes back to his computer on the kitchen island just a few feet away from you, “Yeosang,” You nod.

“Well, he’s back in town and wants to come over.”

You swallow, wondering what that has to do with you, “Okay,”

“I told him about you, he’s a trusted friend and he’d never do anything to hurt me. I think he could help us, wipe us off the grid and get us to a safe place. I invited him to talk about it today, he should be here soon.”

You give up on counting the strawberries and stare at him. “Why are you just now telling me this?”

“I didn’t want you to have anxiety about meeting him,” His tone softens because he knows you’re upset, “I know this entire situation is stressful.”

“Well, I feel even more stressed now!” You cross your arms, the change in your mood catching him off guard. “Why would you do that!? You know I haven’t been in contact with anyone besides you in months, how can I trust that he’s not gonna turn me in or- I don’t know, anything could happen.”

“Hey, I didn’t know it would bother you this much, I’m sorry,” He walks over to you, reaching for your arms but you make your way to the sink to wash your hands, “I wasn’t trying to upset you, you know that wasn’t my intention at all,” He tries to pull ou in to kiss your forehead but you slip away,

“You should have asked me anyway.”

“Y/n, this is hard for both of us, I know you’re scared, I am too. But trust me, Yeosang is a good guy-”

“Forget it, invite over whoever you want, it’s your house,” Cutting his sentence short, you walk to the other side of the island, taking off your apron, “I’ll finish this later, go back to whatever you were doing.”

If a trail of fire could follow you on your way upstairs, the stairs would be set ablaze. The 48-hour count down if nearing the 24-hour mark, it’s getting closer and closer, he’s scared for you and himself. You left the cake half-finished so he calmly gathered the ingredients and put them in the fridge for when you might come back for it. When he hears the sound of the tub faucet he realizes you’re going to take a bubble bath, he forgets about seeing you for the next two hours.

He’s learned to let you have your time, you’re owed at least that. Even though you two are together now and you love each other dearly, he’s been feeling guilty. That’s why if you have a little outburst or mood swings from stress, he dismisses it without judgment—you’re just scared.

Ding dong. Yeosang is finally here. From his lonely spot on the couch, he thinks about asking you to come down for a moment, but he decides against it, you’ll come down when you’re ready. With a small smile, he goes to the front door.

“Hyung!” Yeosang throws his arms around a smiling Taehyung. “Sorry I’m late, lost track of time at my folk's place,” Taehyung closes the door and when Yeosang enters the house further, he sees the bowl of fruit on the center table and helps himself.

“You’re good, I’m just glad you could make it,” Taehyung takes a seat on his previous spot on the couch and his friends sits in the recliner beside his, “you don’t know how much help this is for me.”

He smiles, popping a green grape in his mouth. “Anything for my brother, I always told you if you wanted to leave the group, I could help you, I’m surprised you’re deciding so soon,” He gives him a knowing look, “she must really be something, huh?”

“Yeah...At first, I wanted to save her because I just- I couldn’t kill her, and over time she started to trust me,” He sighs, thinking of the bond you two have now and how much he treasures it, “we just fell in love.”

“I knew it!” He giggles, crossing one of his legs under him. “I knew you’d be the first to settle down, you’re such a softy,”

“I know,” Tae leans back, “she’s just- She’s everything to me, she means a lot to me.”

You’ve been soaking in the tub for about an hour now, your face is warm and your body is relaxed. The friend he invited is over and you can hear them talking, but you can’t really make out exactly what they’re saying. Some part of you wishes you didn’t react that way with him, you know he’s doing what’s best for you two. After a few minutes, you build up the courage to drain the bathwater and get dressed in a comfy pair of pajamas.

You can do this, go downstairs, he’s doing this for you two. Letting your hair fall on your shoulders, hands tucked in your sleeves to make sweater-paws. Opening the bathroom door, you peek out and you hear a movie on and a low conversation. She’s just a little shy—you hear Taehyung mumble, and you smile at the fact that he’s not trying to force you to come out. With a brave face, you make your way to the staircase and hold the stairwell all the way down.

“There’s a nice little house there, the farm culture is great, you’d like it-” Yeosang pauses right when you reach the last step on the staircase. With anxious eyes, you stand at the end of the stairway, that’s when Taehyung finally looks back to see why he stopped.

“Hi there, you must be Y/n,” Yeosang beams a friendly smile.

Taehyung stands up, hand extended for you to take. Your silences pangs in the room and Taehyung speaks up, “This is Yeosang, the friend I told you about.”

“Hi...” You walk over and take Taehyung’s hand, feeling more secure now that you’re sitting next to him.

”Taehyung told me everything,” He sits on the edge of the recliner, “this must be scary for you, huh?”

You nod, “A little...” Tae gives your hand a comforting squeeze.

“You guys will be alright, there’s a new life waiting for you beyond the next 24 hours.”

“How can you be so sure?...”

”Don’t worry, it’s his job to get people to other countries, wipe them off the grid and give them different lives. You can trust him because I trust him,” You glance up at Taehyung, finding it hard to form a response, to truly believe what he’s saying. He plants a kiss on your forehead with a sight, “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Yeosang went home that night and you laid on the couch with Taehyung, trying not to cry. Tonight will probably be the last night you spend on this comfy couch. Tonight will be the beginning of a new life and despite how in love you are, there’s no guarantee that this won’t go sideways. Tonight, the moon is full and bright, you can see it clearly through the patio window. The stars around it are also just as beautiful, and it makes you feel peace. The same moon and the same constellations shine for you, they’re always there, adding life to the deep-blue sky. When you look up and see the still beauty of the night and its moon and stars, you breathe in contentment. As long as the moon glows and the stars kiss the dark of night, it’ll be okay – you’ll be okay.

#taehyung #taehyung stalker au #kim taehyung #taehyung assassin #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung mafia au #taehyung smut #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #bts stalker au #bts scenarios #bts mafia au #don't breathe

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

Text

As it Was

Summary: Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound, returned to the timeline he ran from: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same. Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader A/N: ANGST. Re-written Post-endgame kinda thing because I’m bitter. 3.3k word count. Very inspired by Hozier’s “As it Was” :^)

As it Was Masterpost

There is a roadway.

The tires crunch over rock and gravel as Steve drives down the familiar path. Flanked by overgrown grass and wildflowers in full bloom, insects flutter around the petals, sunlight glistening on waxy blades of green. He can smell it, even inside the car, ignited in his nose and blazing into his chest.

The smell of summer. The crushed earth beneath muddied boots.

He can taste the watermelon sugar, tingling on the sweet tongue encased in an even sweeter mouth.

Your bright pink lips wet with cold bites of fruit. He loved the way you would collect the smooth seeds and pinch them between your teeth. He loved the way you’d spit them into his face—silly with joy under the shade of a tree. Too slow, baby!

He can hear your laughter in the dead air-conditioned chamber of one of many compound cars. If he could bottle it up into a music box and wind it up just to hear now, he would.

He would.

Steve’s heart twists tighter as the road continues its winding way deeper through the thicket of verdant trees. Sunlight pours through in golden rays, slipping past the cracks of parted leaves. A pathway the two of you walked many times over, hand-in-hand.

There’s a separation of the blades to the left, a well-worn spot leading into an open space where you would spread the picnic blanket, stuff him full of cold cut sandwiches and fruit pie. Iced lemonade, tart. Then, under the light of the sun, or moon, or any time or season in-between, you would wrap yourself over him, love him so sweetly he could weep now.

But then is not now.

For the past three years of your time, then had been now.

But now that he’s back... now is something else.

His phone rings, echoing through the car with its shrill tittering. Sam’s number appears, as it has been every five minutes for the past two hours of his journey. Sam calling. Sam leaving messages. Sam texting.

Don’t, Cap. Don’t go there. It’s changed, Cap. Things have changed. Trust me, man. It’s better if you don’t go.

But Steve has to. He has to change your mind. Make you forgive him because he loves you so much. He has to make it all go back to as it was.

Back then, on the platform, he had been sure. In the sepia-colored minutes of his wayward past, he had been sure. That unreachable possibility had become so nearly tangible he could grab it in his hands. He was inches from her—from Peggy, and it took him decades away from you.

So, he leapt. He followed his foolish boyish heart to its dream. He told you the night before under the awning in front of the cabin, windchimes striking in the draft, fireflies all around. He’s never been a part of this world, not truly. He’s got to go back to where he belongs.

With Peggy, you mean?

You cried and cried then, wrapping your arms around your middle, refusing to say anything else, and he had never seen you so shattered. But he had been sure.

And then, only four weeks into the returned years of Steve Rogers, suddenly, like a cold hand tugging him awake, the dream slipped.

He wasn’t sure after all.

Sam calls again, but Steve is obstinate. The cabin peeks over the hill, sunken in the distance of the field just as he remembered—the little cobblestoned well in the field, string lights around the perimeter, mailbox at the edge of the road, rainbow pinwheels you’d planted in the ground because they’re cute, Steve.

From the thick branch of the oak tree you have hung a tire swing-- endearing, and so like you. Next to it is a picnic table where a single copper watering can sits in the middle, bunches of wildflowers sticking out. A tangle of yellow and green. Like your arms wrapped around his waist, linked fingers squeezing him tightly, playfully, pretending you could crush him.

Gonna kill you! Crack ya ribs!

He would grunt dramatically behind a muffled chuckle, Yes, baby. I’ve died! You’re so—ugh! Strong! B-Bucky! Avenge me!

Bucky would roll his eyes with a smirk, You two are nauseating.

You would stick your tongue out, turn it back around to Steve and lick a stripe from his throat to his chin, making him shudder all over as he watched your pretty pink mouth curl into a grin, and growl. Steven Grant Rogers, growled, and Bucky‘d throw his hands up and abscond before his eyes might see Captain America do something indecent.

He didn’t have that with Peggy. He didn’t have the twinkling of your mischievous eyes, the flame of your passion. He only had the bitter chill of your absence and the stark realization that a first love and a true love are two different things.

Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same.

How long would you wait for me?

Steve pulls the car into the patch of trodden grass he once parked in, steps out, and closes the door quietly. There’s a clattering inside before the wooden door creaks open— as it always has, even after he loosened and tightened all its hinges— it still creaks, same as ever.

Your shape in the doorway.

One leg at a time, you emerge.

A weightless gauze dress hangs from your frame as you linger in the opening, back turned to him. In one hand is a small twine basket lined with gingham fabric. A pair of garden shears sit nestled inside. He remembers this— the walks to clip flowers and pick berries. You would put the berries in the pies, place the blossoms and leaves in mason jars all over the countertops until it looked wild in the house, too.

Your hair is longer, he smiles as he continues to watch, gazing at the loose braid you’ve fashioned your locks into. You used to complain about how fast it would grow, annoyed at how the buzzed side with the sharp chevron pattern needed to be maintained closely.

He supposes you’ve grown tired of the upkeep. You’ve let it grow out now.

The braid is new. The dress is new. But the way you lean into the house, so relaxed and carefree, that is familiar.

Steve is unsure how to approach. He doesn’t want to startle you, even though his very presence is startling. He knows your capabilities, and with those razor-sharp shears next to your elbow he wouldn’t try it. No, you couldn’t crush his ribs, but you could slice him gullet to belly in a second.

He opens his mouth to call your name, but the door creaks louder as you lean down and push it further back into the house, urging faintly. You turn, duck your torso behind the wall, leaving a deliberate space by your legs.

And then he sees it. The change Sam warned him about. The life.

His heart drops. And trembles. And feels like it could burst entirely.

Two tiny bare feet tap forward, kicking with each step. A happy, shrill, cry leaps into the air as the boy clumsily jumps one foot at a time, and lands past your dress.

The child.

“Wait for me, baby,” you call, still tucked halfway inside, “Wait for mama.”

“Mama!” He sputters and giggles, “Mama!” Mama.

God. The boy is beautiful. He is barefoot and his face is eclipsed by a canvas bucket hat, shielding the plump, pale skin of him from the summer sun. Even if Steve can’t see his face yet, he knows, because of you, any child would be perfect. A cherub. A little cherub that could have been his.

“I’m coming, just… let me get my hat. And sunscreen for you. Ah, mama has been so bad with that sunscreen.” There is more fumbling as you drop the basket on your arm into the dark house and briefly slip inside.

The boy stops at the step leading down, pondering his own confidence to tread forward. He sits, instead, letting his bottom save any potential fall before he scoots his legs over. After braving the first step, he looks up. He blinks slowly, and Steve catches sight of his enormous blue eyes, and long lashes, button nose, rosy red cheeks, slightly open mouth slack with surprise and a little bit of wonder.

“Mama.” He says, before tilting his head, “Mama, Mama. Body! Some here.”

“Someone’s here?”

You quickly emerge, hand fisting a wide-brimmed straw hat, arm reaching forward to scoop your child up and away. He is plopped firmly on your jutting left hip before you tear the hat off your head, stare into the tall and broad figure of a man you have known too well. A surprised breath tears itself from your throat.

“Steve?”

His mouth jerks into a careful smile. Nothing he had practiced during the car ride feels right in this moment; all his words have been tossed into the yard by the hands of a three-year-old boy. The hat drops from your hand, quietly slides on the dusty wooden patio, speckles of it catching light and blowing away in the easy wind. You blink, eyes shifting side to side as if questioning your reality.

“Steve?”

His name slips off your tongue so sweetly and he can’t help but close his eyes to memorize you again. That voice, his name, the years have passed, and he hasn’t forgotten it. He is so goddamn sorry to have left it at all.

From the first time you called it, to the first time you whispered it, promised your allegiance to it, to the first time you sobbed it, following him into the unknown and the darkness for five years. No matter how black the night, he had you.

Your love was unmoved.

“Sweetheart,” He pleas, stepping forward with a shaky outstretched hand.

You stand frozen like a statue, everything stiff and still except for the fluttering of your creamy dress and the boy on your hip, babbling freely. His little fingers and their little fingernails prod and poke at your neck, grabbing onto the strands that frame your face—too short to stay in the braid.

God. You’re beautiful. You glow, softened by the years without fighting and training, tanned by the sunlight, kissed by the breeze and rain and butterfly wings, and everything else but him.

“Mama, mama. Want down, down!”

The boy squeezes and releases his soft fists, reaching out and kicking your back with his foot. He begins to grunt and whine, head thrown behind and lolling over at Steve. “Down!”

“Hey,” Steve smiles, taking a finger to caress the boy’s palm, calming his motions, “What’s your name?”

You slowly turn to look at your child, eyes beginning to focus on him, as if suddenly remembering his weight perched on your side. A quick breath is sucked into your lungs as he blinks and grins, laughing. “Jams! This is mama an’ this is Jams.”

“J-James.” You correct with a broken, wet, laugh, “H-he’s.. his name—it’s James.”

Steve watches him continue to thrash against your side out of joy, now, as if being held by you is a game in itself. He brings your hair to his mouth, blubbering into it, giggling when it tickles his face. He taps on your collar with a finger, gnaws impishly on your shoulder until a line of drool trickles down. Then, he laughs again, and pushes his cheeks into it, hugging your bicep tightly.

The boy—the angel—James. Steve feels himself clench up with the new knowledge. His name is James.

“James?” There is betrayal in the way he questions it. As much as he tries to steel it, a tiny rupture creeps through the single syllable.

You pull the boy close to your body, maneuvering until you’re holding him with both arms, one slanted over his back, the other under his bottom. He sighs and leans his head onto your shoulder, makes soft noises of contentment. “Mama… walk? Go for a walk, mama.”

Between your overcast eyes and Steve’s inspecting blue ones, James is tucked like a pebble in a cobblestone wall, desperately holding back the torrent from both sides. You grip him unwaveringly, shush him now for the time being.

“Is he—Bucky? He’s Bucky’s?”

Steve inspects the front yard, the blindingly hopeful curtain finally lifting from his eyes—there are three seats on the porch, three flowers painted on the mailbox, three little stumps further away surrounding an extinguished fire.

A home—his home, his place, now filled in with the bulk of someone else. And not just anyone else, he thinks bitterly, but Bucky. His best friend, now his old lover’s new lover. It spins him out of control.

Your face scrunches up with disdain, mouth twisting into a scowl he’s known rarely, but still—he knows it.

“Yes, Steve.” You spit, nostrils flaring with anger, “He’s named after his father. He’s named after his real father.”

Steve frowns, broken-hearted, apologetic, confused. Your eyes have welled up with unshed tears, your lips pinched tightly together, as if holding back your words will keep the tears at bay, too. He doesn’t know what you mean as he stares vacantly at your protective stance.

But then he sees it.

He sees it when James grunts, bored now of a conversation that is years beyond his interest and comprehension. He beats his fists on your chest and leans back in agony.

His hat tumbles from his crown. Down, down, it falls noiselessly and when Steve looks back up to where his perfect little head is—returned to your collar, he sees brilliant flaxen curls, catching sunbeams.

Blindingly gold—almost white.

James twists his little body around and stares at Steve with some mysterious indulgence now that they are both wholly revealed to each other.

“He was there for me, you know.” You whisper, heavy teardrops running down to your chin, pooling until they barely hang on. “He was there the entire time. Nine whole agonizing months, knowing that I was growing something that was yours. I had nobody but Bucky.”

You press your lips to James’ head, inhaling the sweet scent of his skin, “I was out of my mind with grief. Th-thought, I couldn’t—I couldn’t have it. Couldn’t have a baby that was yours—you’d left me. You left what we had for something that was barely a dream, Steve.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I didn’t.”

“Bucky was there.” You continue, ignoring Steve’s confession. He bites his tongue, hopes it draws blood, hopes in secret you might take his very life from him. He can’t stand to be alive anymore, staring now at two people he left behind.

“Bucky was there, and he loved me through it. And when this little… when this sweet boy—” you press your eyes to his forehead, “When this boy came, we held each other and wept.”

A little laugh is muffled in James’ hair.

“So, yeah. He’s named after his real father, not his biological one.”

James leans his face towards yours, places his palms onto your cheek and pats the wetness away, “Mama. No more rain, mama. Mama, sunny outside.”

You burst apart, crumbling into tears against his little palm, pressing kisses to his fingertips, and Steve crumbles too. The boy, the precious boy, who is both his and not his, turns and looks at him earnestly. You whisper to him, kiss him on the cheek, Mama’s okay, baby. Mama’s got you with her now. Sunshine boy.

And then you turn your eyes to him. Those once doting eyes he always found gazing longingly, even after he was yours. Now they cut him, sharp and cold, holding him in their deep, dark light.

“You need to leave, before he comes home.” You whisper over the sound of insect wings and birds in the distance. The trees rustle and sway, as if egging your words on.

Home. Your home is with Bucky. Not Steve, not anymore.

“He’ll want to see you, but not like this.”

He wouldn’t even know what to say to Bucky. He wouldn’t know what to expect to hear, either. You and Bucky, and his son—your son, Steve’s son, Bucky’s son. All strung up together in a terrible web, waiting for the spider.

Somehow, he feels like the spider.

“Steve,” you call, and for a second, he hears it lovingly. Like how you might have called his name in front of the fireplace, nestled in his arms, snow settling in sheets outside. Steve, I love you.

“Steve.” It’s firm again, hard and cutting, ice chips crunched through your teeth, “When you left, you left Bucky, too. In your absence, we found each other. You didn’t just break me, Steve; you broke him. And you need to go, because I won’t let you do that to him again.”

You don’t have to say it, but he can parse it from your clenched jaw and the way you aim your words at him. You love Bucky.

The trajectory of the truth burns straight through his guts. It churns and twists and drugs his entire being until it leaves every last cell numb.

Once upon a time, you loved him, too.

But that was before he knew the darkness, before he knew the possibility and lost himself in the what if, the then, burning away the now and the love he already had.

You set James down softly in the dirt after landing soft kisses to his cheeks, watch his toes flex and grip the grass. He places the hat back over his head, lopsided, but on, regardless. He bounces on his feet, bending his knees and getting a feel for the ground beneath him. The silly ritual completes when he pads away, chasing a hovering dragonfly. Every few seconds, he looks back and laughs.

Steve’s heart cracks open with every inch of the boy’s smile.

The two of you stand for what seems like an eternity, trying to find something to end it on. He can’t do anything more than laugh resentfully, because if he doesn’t, he’ll cry, and he’ll never stop. It comes out as two clipped scoffs before he splinters anyway.

So, he nods, accepts the defeat he’s given himself and lets the tears trickle down his face to match you. Blinking the sea from your eyes, you sniffle loudly and turn, splitting the grass with your feet to follow the trail James has made into the field.

Pulling out of the driveway, Steve watches you next to your son, his son, Bucky’s son— that beautiful boy, blue-eyed like both of them. You bend and lift him, toss him gently, nuzzle him and smile before you take him down into the grass and continue the walk away from the house. He plucks flowers and raises them up and you let him tuck them inelegantly into your braid, still lovely.

Steve closes his eyes one last time to sear the image into his mind. He interjects himself into the scene, walking hand-in-hand down that habitual path. He imagines James on his hip, stares into the phantom face of that boy of his, your laughter ringing next to him like the wind. He laughs and laughs, and cries and cries. And then, he drives until the house is gone from the rearview mirror.

No, it will never be as it was again.

The dream, honeyed, sweet, as beautiful as it may be, it would only be half as beautiful as the truth could have been. Half as beautiful as the boy. Half as beautiful as you.

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader x bucky #steve x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #stucky x reader #post endgame #fanfiction #reader insert #as it was heli0s

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mira--mira · 4 years ago

Note

One obvious for the ask game. The main protagonist; Naruto Uzumaki and Izuku Midoriya.

@shiryusamarkanda it’s so nice to hear from you again! <3

I totally didn’t forget to post this and had it fully finished in my drafts for days...totally.

Naruto

What I love about them:

Naruto's a bratty kid who’s not afraid to speak up and challenge something he thinks is "wrong". This, of course, is part 1 Naruto. I actually like when he's a bit insensitive without being explicitly malicious bc its very fitting for his background/how he grew up but also gives him a clear path forward as he learns how to work as a team/starts to grow. It wasn’t exactly a smart move, but I really liked how he continued to challenge Zabuza in the Wave Arc saying “he’s still my enemy” after Kakashi told him to back off. This is all good and strong characterization that, to me, was more often endearing than it wasn’t. Naruto had goals and a purpose and in early Naruto that was still clear.

What I hate about them:

Part 2 (Shippuden) Naruto. There’s a lot that goes into this but the core deviation is getting away from the underdog story. In Shippuden Naruto is the son of the 4th, the Child of Prophecy, a reincarnation of the Sage of Six Path’s kid, makes friends with Kurama, and has the most OP power of the them all: Talk no Jutsu. What makes all of this even worse is Naruto went from a loveable bratty kid to an insufferable messiah figure. To be “perfect” his natural personality is shorn down until he’s only allowed occasional “stupid” mistakes rather than mistakes that emerge from his characterization. This also makes his ideological “wins” with villains...completely meaningless. Shippuden Naruto doesn’t really...have beliefs. He wants to be hokage and bring Sasuke back to the village. “Being hokage” was fine as a kid but I expected the progression into shippuden to be “what kind of hokage do I want to be?” This seemed natural bc we get in the Wave arc Naruto pushing against “what a shinobi is supposed to be: a tool” from Haku and declaring he’d make his own ninja way. Flashforward to the chunin arcs: hates Orochimaru for messing with Sasuke (esp when he eventually leaves to join him) and Neji for treating Hinata the way he did until he learned more about the Hyuga before declaring it wasn’t fair and you had to fight against fate and destiny. Tsunade’s arc was more about reemphasizing the village was something worth protecting and the Sasuke retrieval arc, while focused on Sasuke, at least kept up this theme. But these moments of growth are only alluded to in shippuden and by the time the war arc and ending come around...nothing changes. Naruto didn’t upset the status quo, he only maintained it. And once that ending was established it was a lot easier to go back and pick out exactly when his characterization started to fall through and the weird messiah figure took over instead. Part of this, imo, is the focus of his ultimate goal being “bring Sasuke back to the village” rather than understand what Sasuke is doing/why he’s doing it and then deciding to help him or stop him.

Favorite Moment/Quote:

“You’re cute when you’re chubby” [in reference to the frog purse]

I really love the quiet moments Naruto has and watching him live out his daily life. The frog purse is absolutely adorable and I love seeing it crop up time and time again. A close second is when Gai kicks Jiraiya in the face and, a short time later, offers Naruto the green tracksuit which he’s appreciative of.

What I would like to see more focus on:

In Part 2 Naruto having a long-term goal alongside bringing Sasuke back to the village or trying to seriously think about why Sasuke does what he does and how that would potentially affect the plot. If I could go back to the very start, keeping the actual heart and intent of an underdog ninja story rather than everything turning into superpowered mecha/kaiju battles and aliens from space this is the big point that I’d want to address. In general, I really like fics that focus on training and give him a range of jutsu besides spamming shadow clones and rasengan variants. I’ve said this before, but if Naruto really wants to keep the “number 1 unpredictable ninja” moniker, learning a variety of small, diverse jutsu and using them in interesting/creative ways would be the way to go rather than spamming the aforementioned two. I also really like fics that buckle down and just go ham and create their own variety of jutsu, especially if it’s small practical jutsu rather than the latest and greatest OP Power #839281 kind of jutsu.

What I would like to see less focus on:

The messiah figure. Talk no Jutsu. The obsession with having a morally pure hero in a world that routinely employed child soldiers and put them in war. I understand Naruto was a shonen manga first and foremost but like...this was the setting/world Kishimoto decided on having. However, I will say some fics take it to far on the other extreme for my taste, creating a edgy nihilistic Naruto that hates everyone and everything.

Favorite pairing with:

Uhh...I don’t actually have a strong feeling for this one LOL. The most I’ve read has been SasuNaru (Sasuke x Naruto) because I’ve found really interesting set-ups. I like the ship and it does have a decent amount of backing in canon but it’s the little moments (or my ability to see possible little moments) that really make or break a ship for me. SasuNaru is all Big Declarations and I struggle to see how they’d actually settle down post Shippuden time into something sustainable. My favorite iterations of the ship is focused when they’re genin age and have a better relationship...but then I recognize that this is getting closer and closer to Hashimada. The other big things I run into with shipping Naruto with Sasuke is 1. Sasuke needs a shit ton of therapy/willingness to process his family related trauma and 2. Naruto needs a good support network/family outside of a romantic partner because it personally makes me uncomfortable to read ‘you’re my one and only’ (here being: I have no other friends, family, loved ones outside of you). It’s a ship that can work but it’s not my personal OTP.

Favorite friendship:

Canon/OoT - Naruto & Sakura

I do have a softspot for fics where Naruto realizes his crush on Sakura is actually a desire to have friends/someone to care about him and then they do become close. In canon Sasuke was clearly the favorite of Kakashi (if chunin arc is kept the same/similar and he takes him away for the month to train) I really like Naruto and Sakura sticking together and trying to help each other. They’re both loud and can wind each other up but Naruto can help Sakura relax a bit from her rigid view of herself and she can help keep him on track/encourage him.

NOTP:

Again, no real strong opinions here. Probably harems? I remember seeing a lot of those a couple years ago and I fundamentally dislike the harem so it will never be ‘done well’ to my personal taste.

Favorite headcanon:

Naruto is smart, he just needs things to be explained in a way he can understand.

I’m not a fan of ‘he’s the smartest person in the entire world’ trope but Naruto is creative, he created the oiroke jutsu before he graduated to genin and has a lot of stubborn determination. He’s just really bad at typical ‘book learning’ and traditional testing and he’s not a genius/prodigy like Sasuke or Neji.

Read line for BNHA manga spoilers

Izuku

What I love about them:

He’s such a smart kid and while he’s unsure/insecure about himself he still does his best. Honestly the premise of BNHA is amazing and I was so excited to watch this little quirky (heh) boy do his best and outthink heroes, utilizing his intelligence and knowledge of quirks. I really love early Izuku and how he has to approach situations from a different angle bc he grew up quirkless/can’t properly handle OFA. The sports festival arc remains one of my personal favorites and really showed his ingenuity. I also really love that Izuku is openly emotional, he cries, he gets super happy about things, he’s angry, he’s sad, etc.

What I hate about them:

Why do stories insist on calling themselves “underdogs” when for a majority of the time, they’re not? Or not as much as they would be from the original premise? Look, TDP came about exactly bc BNHA was billed as ‘quirkless boy becomes number 1 hero’ it changed rapidly into ‘Izuku gets the strongest quirk but can’t control it’ and while I was...disappointed with that, it happened so quickly I wasn’t really upset. Fast forward to apparently OFA has...what seven(?) quirks inside it and I just...it’s frustrating. Even more the longer we go the more Izuku strays away from a character that is forced to use his intelligence and creatively outthink his opponents and instead becomes...I just have to hit him harder! The Muscular fight already inched towards this but the Overhaul fight just felt like Super Shonen Smack-down 728329. Which, isn’t an inherent problem, it just doesn’t match up to the expectations I had about BNHA I had at the start and how I hoped the series would go. For a character trait that I hate: Izuku is stupidly self-sacrificing. It makes sense with his character but he shoots beyond what is safe and reasonable and I wish there would be more internal emphasis on the question “is it better to save one person today if it meant I couldn’t save ten people tomorrow?” I think he’d choose the former or forsake the question altogether (we touched briefly on this during the overhaul arc with Eri) but I think it’s a serious question needs to be touched on (or I just need to go back and rewatch things again LOL)

Favorite Moment/Quote:

See entire sports festival arc. I don’t really have a favorite moment because I love the entire arc and we get so much out of it.

What I would like to see more focus on:

Quirkless Izuku. There’s already a lot of fics, but I really do love them. It deviates a bit, but I do like the creativity of giving Izuku his own unique quirk and then exploring what he can do with that/how it changes canon. Really I want Izuku to keep his original characterization and not trade his smarts for more punching power or deus ex machinas for quirks hidden inside of OFA. If OFA!Izuku is kept, I like story ideas where he still has to rely on means outside of his quirk. Preferably this is isn’t because he injuries himself so much, but I like toying with the idea that Izuku never gets OFA to All Might’s level so he really does have to make the quirk his own and still rely heavily on his intelligence and quirk journals to become the number 1.

What I would like to see less focus on:

Quirks hidden inside OFA. Strength should have been enough, it was already billed as the most powerful quirk of all. I know this is a common theme for shonen stories, and I don’t mean to harp specifically on Izuku, but again the premise of BNHA was an underdog story.

Favorite pairing with:

Tododeku (Todoroki Shouto x Midoriya Izuku)

Friends to lover and battle couples lads, I am weak to them. I like the contrast between their personalities as well as origins (Shouto being the number 2′s (now 1) kid and Izuku from a quiet civilian background). At the end of the sports festival arc both of them are extremely well characterized and it’s easy for me to imagine how their relationship progresses from there and how they can support each other and help each other grow. It’s a very sweet and wholesome ship the way I write and read it and it’s v cute.

Favorite friendship:

Canon- Midoriya Izuku & Uraraka Ochaco & Iida Tenya

I really like the core trio and think their interactions are really sweet. They balance each other out well and their friendship was immediately believable to me. I also like later when Tsuyu and Shouto start to get included in the group and out of the “main” core friends I’m endlessly entertained whenever Izuku and Tokoyami interact with one another. (This is also because I love my bird son, but you know.)

TDP - Midoriya Izuku & Ashido Mina or Midoriya Izuku & Hatsume Mei

Really, I love all of TDP’s kiddos interactions. Their chemistry is one of my favorite things about the fic and all the villain school kiddos meshed really well and had hilarious interactions. Mina and Mei are my faves but just barely. Mina came out of left field for the fic but she plays a similar role that Ochaco does in canon as a usual source of positivity (but unlike Ochaco with additional chaos). She’s Izuku’s first real friend even before starting HIVVE and wouldn’t hesitate to call Izuku her cousin as she views him as family. In return, Mina’s someone Izuku can completely count and depend on if necessary. Mei is...Mei. Izuku is her best “useful customer” and it’s actually terrifying how similar their thoughts are, just Mei has an (un)healthy dose of Hazmat’s insanity and her own business acumen added into the mix. They have slightly different fields of interest but are intellectual equals that work well together and that’s something new to both of them.

NOTP:

Bakudeku (Bakugo Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku)

It’s unhealthy. Unless it’s an AU that changes what the start of their relationship is like, Bakugo and Izuku will always have a toxic friendship to me and I can’t ever see them in a healthy relationship. Both of them have a lot to learn and I am of the opinion that Bakugo should get the opportunity to grow and become a good person and leave behind his past as a bully. However, I’m also of the opinion that no matter how good of a person a bully becomes their victim is never required to absolve them of past wrongdoings. Izuku and Bakugo were friends once, their relationship turned toxic, and now it’s in the interest of both of them to grow apart from one another. I even hesitate to really say they’ll be friends again because the early characterization of their relationship was so imbalanced to me, but for the right author and the right work I may see them being on good terms. It’s still a romantic relationship that I dislike.

Favorite headcanon:

Crack headcanon? Izuku does have a natural quirk, the force of his tears is clearly superpowered 😂 Regular headcanon, (that is canon in TDP and kindaaa in regular canon(?)) when Izuku gets really engrossed in a super stressful fight he focuses on what will work rather than what is moral. It has...mixed results.

For the ask game.

#shiryusamarkanda #naruto #bnha #mha #naruto uzumaki #izuku midoriya #my fics #the diverging path #out of time #spoliers #bnha manga spoliers #asks

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ships-n-giggles · 5 years ago

Text

Paperback Prophets: Platonic Aziraphale/Reader

Summary: Aziraphale forms a symbiotic relationship with you. Platonic Aziraphale x Reader, friendship fic. Nerds bonding over books.

Author’s Note; Thanks so much to those who liked my previous work. I like these platonic stories since I think it’s underestimated how interesting and enigmatic these characters can be when you don’t have all the facts about them. In a lot of ways, Aziraphale and Crowley are like people you can’t exactly put your finger on, but know there’s something special about them. I know a lot of reader-fiction likes the drama of the big reveal, but I think the subtlety of secrets never revealed lends its own flavor to fiction.

Just a heads up, this Reader-insert is not defined as male or female in comparison to my previous work, which was more directed towards a female character. Some of the works described do not exist, but were rather made up by me based on historical events or people whom I think would lend to the eclectic tastes of Aziraphale.

Again, if I owned Good Omens, there would be real dinosaurs and I would live in a castle by the sea. Thou shalt not sue.

____

Your family based their business on the martyrdom of your great grandfather….a victim of the Nazi Party when he refused to surrender his bookshop in Krakow, Poland. He was no stranger to the fascist movement and threw out the first attempts by the police to seize his books. He chased them out with a club, and was joined by his neighbors, and stood his ground.

There was no rude interruption in broad daylight next time. The next time, they burned him, and his books, and the entire block for his defiance.

“He was burned for protecting the language of the Jews, of Poland. Of the world.” Your grandmother told you, sitting in her lap as a small child. You knew this story by heart, but your grandparents told it so well. “His books disavowed the reign of dictators and terrorists, and they could not stand for it.”

Defiance ran in the family. And for the next three generations your family rescued more books by taking up that noblest of crimes…the theft of books.

_______

Your grandfather had founded the idea, when the ashes of his father’s shop left only a ledger of the books that were destroyed, kept in the safe along with the family tree and a Star of David that had belonged to him. The books he had kept in his shop were very old, and came from all across Europe. Some of them were even brought over from imperial Russia, before the fall of the czar. Not many copies of them were left in the world.

But your grandfather knew where the copies were.

He fled to England with his wife and opened a restoration firm to spit in the face of the war. It was only partially a cover for his real business. He did have the knowledge to restore books back to their original state, with tricks passed down from generation to generation. But with each restoration, he also meticulously copied the contents of the book, using a special trick involving wax, glue and cheesecloth to make a print of the papers and their imagery onto a fresh book. Then he would return the original book unscathed back to the owner, none the wiser. Your grandfather’s real job had been in building up the secret archives of the British National Library and making copies of the great universities works. No book was too rare or obscure for him. Even the controversial Hammer of Witches was copied, though your grandfather noted that the pictures were better than the instructions.

Your grandfather also had a long memory. When he saw a bookseller that dared have Mein Kampf, he would have to be held back by friends to avoid from brutally beating the clerk and smashing the windows of the establishment. In time, he has a son and his temper cools. He tended to conveniently not notice your father’s mischief, such as when your father writes rude words on the glass window of an offending bookshop.

He’s almost too cheeky to be real, and often was chased by your grandfather for his jokes and pranks. But it only endears him to others, making it easy to divert shipments of banned books.

A Clockwork Orange turns your grandfather’s stomach, but your father takes a shipment meant to be burned, creates a nonsense excuse of recycling the materials for book repair, and the publisher believes him right away. When your father first reads a nicked copy of Ulysses, he is so enchanted he actually dupes a government official into paying for the family to dispose of an intercepted shipment of the book. Your parent’s basement, your uncle’s basement, and your older cousin’s basement is full of copies of material banned by the government. But under the family firm is the treasure trove. The books copied from some of the rarest material on earth. Some of their original material have been destroyed since then.

But you save sacred trips to the secret basement for when life hits you hardest. It’s important those copies survive in the world to come.

_____

You receive the call on a Monday morning. You can hardly believe who it is before passing the phone to your grandfather. He is less involved with the business, but he might have been tempted into throttling you if you hadn’t let him talk to Mr. Fell.

A.Z. Fell and Co. was notorious among the antiquarian community. Not only was his collection as eclectic as they come, but it was also a gold mine of rare books, out of print bibles and religious texts, and treasures of the literary world that likely had no equal. How he stayed in business was the subject of fervent gossip, as he kept odd hours and was very passive-aggressive…and successful….in discouraging would be buyers. Your father’s joke was that he might let you read a few books if you caught him at the right time. But even those rare moments were tinged with a lot of rules.

Your grandfather enjoys the conversation immensely, and when he hangs up he calls for a family meeting over dinner.

“He asked for you. By name!” Your grandfather is just as in shock as you are. Though it is clear that he reveres Mr. Fell with the same kind of respect one would give a saint, he can’t help but sound a little jealous. “He wants to discuss the restoration of his collection this week. As soon as possible.”

You meet on a rainy Wednesday, scampering in the side door per his instructions at teatime.

The smell is just like the private archive below the firm, though lightly tinged with the scent of hot cocoa. More than just books are on the shelves. Reprints of paintings and illustrations, framed tapestries and busts sitting on the tables, even a tarnished suit of armor with chainmail, dressing up a half sculpture of a Greek youth.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Mr. Fell looks like many other retired antiquarians, except he didn’t have the same strain of arthritis or suffer from a draft in his bookshop. He was in fact, far more rosy, lively, and brighter than most other people, even in occupations that were arguably more pleasing or easy. His coat is perfectly straight and tidy, though the velvet buttonholes in his vest have since lost their color.

The two of you shake hands, and you accept a mug of cocoa seasoned with a dollop of vanilla paste. In time he pulls out a ledger twenty pages thick, with tidy handwriting scribbled on a hand drawn spreadsheet.

“Given the state they’ve been in, I think it’s time the books got a bit of a good pick-me-up.” He giggles as if he’s told a private joke, and continues. “Most of my collection is in tip top shape, but I’ve put the ones worse for wear on the list. What do you think?”

The list of books makes your jaw drop. He has a Nostradamus original…never been copied! And a rare copy of a controversial Gnostic bible, one on the golden list of books not yet copied by the family. These were books that had been floating unknown, with a cringing fear they were decaying in an attic or hoarded in a bookshop with someone unaware of their value.

However, Mr. Fell was only too aware of their value.

“My only request is that you do your work here.” It’s a condition that leaves you a little nervous. Does he know your family’s secret business? “Not to be the suspicious type, but I have had attempts on these books, in both the legal and the far less legal.” He huffs into his drink. “I can set up a cozy little corner for you and give you as much room as you need. Fair enough?”

“I think so.” You empty your cup. “I’d have to ask Grandfather first. Our preservation techniques are also something of a trade secret.”

There’s a bit of a silent visual exchange. If Mr. Fell’s eyes said “what do you think you’re doing”, yours are replying with a certain “I don’t know, what do you think you’re doing” right back. But he did not invite you in to get a prime list of his collection, drink cocoa, and discuss business just to end rudely. The two of you shake hands and promise to get in touch later, and you urge the cabbie that picks you up to drive you as fast as physically possible back home.

You hesitate to show your grandfather the list of books to repair. You’re certain he’ll have a heart attack. Instead he only faints into his fussing wife’s arms.

“An original print of Goethe’s work!” He gasps, the rest of you scrambling to pass him an inhaler as he takes a breath and regains his composure. “The things I would do just to look!”

“I’d have to work in his shop. That’s his condition.” You remind him. “It would be easy in our workshop but under his nose-”

Your grandfather isn’t a pushover however. He knows that with great gambles often come great rewards. If you throw the dice right. All of you exchange looks of unease when he asks your grandmother to set an extra seat for dinner and goes to make a phone call. You’re hanging in anticipation when he asks you very calmly to work on the normal restorations.

Mr. Fell arrives very eagerly for dinner, like a schoolboy just released for summer break.

He is almost unusually excited. He is very complimentary to your grandmother’s special lamb stew, exchanging culinary stories from a visit to Rome. He and your grandfather get along like a house on fire, swapping admiring rhetoric on the evolution of Romantic-period literature and emptying out a bottle of wine on their own. Your grandfather gets to the point over a dessert of strawberry mess.

“Mr. Fell, I am unashamed to say it.” He leans back in his chair, and makes a boastful confession that puts you in shock. “I am, very proudly I may say, a most excellent thief.”

Even Mr. Fell is unable to recover his expression. “I beg your pardon?”

“What pardon? I am not ashamed!” He untucks his napkin, wiping his mouth. “I am an extraordinary thief in the meaning that I steal for a generation that has not yet been born. And I steal a medium that never loses its value, no matter how long the years may toll.”

“I see.” Mr. Fell is unsure of whether to be impressed or concerned, and you wonder if your grandfather has lost his mind. There is an entire collection of rare works waiting to be copied and he seems to be throwing out all pretenses of pretending not to want to take it! “Is this in regards to the private collection you mentioned?”

“Yes. Moreover, I stole all of those books without ever taking the original copy.”

“…forgive me but I don’t understand.”

Your grandfather stands up and hobbles to the workshop in the back. Awkward looks are exchanged at the table and you try to busy your face with scooping some of the strawberry mash into your mouth when your grandfather comes out with a yellowed manuscript. “Here. See for yourself.”

Mr. Fell hesitates, his fingers doing an odd wiggle as if to insure they do not smudge the paper. But as soon as he glosses over the title on the cover it’s his turn to gape with his jaw ajar. “But this is the Constitution of Freemasons! Those were stolen by the Nazis years ago!”

“Who do you think stole this copy eh?” Your grandfather boasts. “I insured a friend of mine who owned a copy kept it hidden long enough for me to copy it. When it was stolen, I already had this! And that is only one of many.” He crosses his arms. “I am trusting you with this family secret because you appreciate the kind of effort put into preserving the history of literature.”

Mr. Fell takes a moment to whip out a pair of spectacles, looking over the contents very intently. He must be convinced it is a real copy, because a few pages it he closes the manuscript, whipping his glasses back off and letting out a ‘whoosh’ of air through his teeth.

“I think I’m in the mood to negotiate.”

______

The Setup is arranged.

The number of books that needed repair were quite extensive. It would doubtless be a three year work involving many, many hours a day of repair. However you are only too happy to report to A.Z. Fell and Co from eight to three, everyday. Your workstation is a restored folding desk of fine cherry wood, with an engraving from the carpenter dating back to the 1700s. You have your case of tools, which you decide to leave there each day. No point in covering up anything to Mr. Fell anymore, now that your grandfather has whipped the curtain open on your family secret.

“Aziraphale please.” He insists. “Mr. Fell is so terribly formal.”

Your family’s fee for repairing the books is remarkably cheap, a cover of course to lure in potential owners of rare books not yet copied. But the real payment comes with the copies you make while you mend. Books to be saved for the future.

Aziraphale gets free access to your family’s private library and once he’s permitted a list of what’s actually in the vault, you have several copies brought for his enjoyment and to join the collection as manuscripts. You know it’s not the full list, according to your knowledge of the library, but Aziraphale is hiding a few of his own rarities, you’re sure.

You find that mending old books is a bit like surgery. You have to wear latex gloves (no powder), and pick away rotting fibers with a set of tweezers, painstakingly removing the dry rot and mending it with new thread and leather. The pages that are withering are given a careful coating of your family’s recipe for “magic paper maiche”, which is more of a joke than an accurate description of the goopy liquid. Patience is the key, and when some pages dry, you work on the bindings, resewing and completing the methodical process of putting books that are falling apart back together. Luckily these books were well loved and kept away from arid attics and damp cellars. Aziraphale locks them in their cabinets with care in-between visits, and though you do not see an alphabetical order that makes sense, you’re keenly aware he could pick the right book off the shelf with his eyes closed.

You’re not used to people hanging over your shoulder while you work. In fact your grandfather was tested severely when you crouched over him to learn how to do it, and his fitful temper sometimes made him very annoyed when you didn’t get it quite right. However Aziraphale has a way of making his presence very welcome. You attribute it to his boyishly eager expression, fascinated with the process. It’s quite flattering after all, to hold an audience so interested in the nitty, gritty details of book mending.

“This isn’t so bad.” You tell him over lunch. Your grandmother packed you both sandwiches, perhaps to continue earning Aziraphale’s good graces, and the cold cuts are served with chilled gazpacho while your host makes tea. “Father had a very graphic encounter with an unusual medium when he found out a book had been bound with human skin.”

Aziraphale is short of spitting into his cup at that, and you can’t help but admire his restraint. “Animals. Human skin? What on earth kind of book was that?” He is aghast, but clearly intrigued.

“A historic account describing the execution of the Yorkshire Witch, Mary Bateman. It had details of her life, trial, and the subsequent catastrophes that were left in the wake of her execution. It’s her own skin they bound the book in.” You shiver. “Father was glad to return it after copying it, but when he spritzed the leather and saw what it was made of, he jumped out of his seat and near gave up.” The book hadn’t sold at all, but had been more or less a memento from the court official who had recorded the trial.

Macabre stories aside, the bookshop was a temple to the things that mattered to you.

-----

“Your grandfather is quite the hot-blooded trickster isn’t he?” Aziraphale noted with a strange fondness. He had been invited for dinner on multiple occasions to talk the better half of the night about books, history, and debating the quality of culinary publishers based on their country. You knew exactly what he meant by having attended last night’s dinner. Your grandfather was so old, but he still went to work, banging his fist on the table when he laughed, and arguing his point to the bitter end. Only your grandmother could soothe his hot temper with a bit of dessert or by humbling him with a pinch to the ear and a playful reprimand. “He would have been an absolute hoodlum if not for books.”

“No, I think he’s a hoodlum even with the influence of books.” You joke. “He and his friends used to hold bridge parties until the chief organizer died, and those were some wild parties. Nowadays they like to visit for a drink at a bar and talk about their hobbies, but I think grandmother might have been a little more than relieved to know they got canceled.”

“Oh how bad could bridge be?”

He himself has never played it, so propping up the extra cards against a pair of busts, you teach him the ropes. You sometimes play with your family at big events, holidays, and birthdays, and with your grandfather as your teacher, you also are a rapacious cheat. You teach it fairly the first time, both you and Aziraphale sharing a pair of cards for the others, but the second time you destroy him completely.

He has a good sense of humor about it and concedes defeat, promising to get more friends over and try again.

The first book that is finished is Aziraphale’s first edition copy of a biography dictating the life of Oscar Wilde…written by a friend of the famous poet. You think you see Aziraphale’s name scribbled in the cover, but the name is faded out and could very easily spell Azekiel if you squint. The cover had been rotting (from what he claims was a freak incident with a cold cup of tea) and the pages were badly stained and threatening to crumble. It did look as though it were brought back to life by a miracle, and Aziraphale tells you so.

“Oh it’s just like when I got it!” He says with glee. Though it’s strange how he feels the need to cover for himself. “Not from the author of course! No, no, that’d be silly! From a friend. Bought it from a friend.”

It strikes you as bad manners to pry, so you don’t. Fortunately, you are the restorer in this case and follow certain etiquette. Your grandfather would have wheedled him for hours to get the full story.

___

You only miss one day of work when a family emergency happens. Something you and your family have been dreading.

It’s been over a year. Aziraphale’s books were resurrected from the brink of decay, you enjoyed the lunches and the visits for dinner, and the conversation. He had even let you (to the shock of all family) borrow his copy of Book Trails: Through the Wildwood. It is not a particularly well known or rare find, and he confesses with eagerness how it was a personal favorite found completely by accident. But you do not take advantage of his generosity. You read it in one night, and return the next day with a tin of cookies as a thank you. The saffron and orange shortbreads go over extremely well at tea time, and you promise to bring a favorite book of yours to read. In due time, you have loaned him all of your Walter Moers books to read, and he sometimes giggles in his chair at the antics of Thirteen and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear. He probably can view himself as the intrepid hero in that case, who had an equal fondness for food.

It should not have come as a surprise. But you were hoping maybe your grandfather was too tough to actually fall sick.

He had been complaining of a wheezy cough after opening up a chest of books he’d procured from a friend, though he complained more of their condition…with pages that had to be replaced outright. He had labored hard with your father over the books, squawking about how normal people need to be educated in the care of antique belongings.

When you come home from the bookshop, he has already gone to the hospital.

You hurry over to take your grandmother with you, who has been whimpering softly into her hanky ever since your father caught him in midfall, choking on a breath. He didn’t wait for an ambulance, but bodily carried him to the car and likely broke half a dozen traffic violations hurrying him to the hospital. Soon the whole family is informed, and crowds into the hospital waiting room. Taking turns.

You miss your turn when visiting hours are over and are so tired that you send your father and grandmother home to take care of things while you made phone calls to his friends. Before you can finish however, you fall asleep in the drivers seat of your grandfather’s car, and remain there until late in the afternoon the next day. You’re awoken by a phone call from your father, but decide to wait to return later. A quick wash in the bathroom and satisfying your hunger from the vending machine, you take your turn at last.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your grandfather grumbles. But he is not speaking in his big voice, energetic and impassioned. He sounds too soft, like a kitten and can’t even sit up straight. “Neither of us should. We should be working.”

“You worked for sixty years. More than that.” You remind him. “Life has a way of hitting the brakes on you.”

“Bah. You know what I mean. Our kind were meant to work.” He runs a hand over his face, though it is made awkward as he avoids the clip in his nose keeping him breathing. “How many hundreds of thousands of millions of books are there in the world? How many have been written and swallowed up by time?” It’s clear the hospital is getting to him very deeply. You don’t think he would be happy to die in this place, all clean, white, and too new. He wants to be with his wife, sleeping in his big old bed with the antiques on the wall, the cheap carpet he got on a bargain when he was still young, and his books. He wants to peer up from his desk at the family photos and eat what your grandmother cooks.

“You’ve got to take me home. A couple extra months in this place is no way to live.”

You’re planning his escape when Aziraphale calls, sounding worried. “You didn’t come in so I thought I’d check. Is everything alright?”

It isn’t. And you say it as it is.

Aziraphale arrives in a cab soon after, squeaking in a short visit with your grandfather alone. There is some form of healing presence you must miss, because when you dip back in, your grandfather is asleep and looking much more healthy and at ease. “You said you were planning a hospital escape?”

____

One of the rumors in the literary circle of friends your family keeps is that Aziraphale’s father was a British secret agent stealing books from the Nazis. You think this is more or less an endearment to your grandfather, but there were additional claims that he had gold hidden under his shop from recovering treasures and reclaiming wealth from the Germany treasure vaults.

You think it’s a little more than true when, miracle of miracles, the three of you are all in the car, driving home.

Aziraphale asks very little of you. Put this on, and don’t look suspicious. Please take the patient from his room to the examination area. Whoops. There’s been a mixup, he’s transferring to another hospital. Thank you, we’ll take him there right away! He shucks off a doctor’s coat and giddily climbs into the passenger seat as you all take off, your grandfather snoring in the backseat.

“Well that was very exciting. Hope you all don’t get into too much trouble.” He seems to be bouncing in his seat at the “heist” of sorts.

“Grandfather would likely curse me on his deathbed if I kept him in there.” You remark, pulling into the driveway. “Besides, the doctor can come see us, and he wants to be with his family.” There’s a lump in your throat, and you know where it’s coming from. “When…when his time comes.”

The silence that hangs is very sad, and you’re not sorry to get your grandfather into his wheelchair and take him in. Your father is a little more than shocked that you achieved, or would even do, all of this, but laughs anyway and puts his father to bed.

You drive Aziraphale home and thank him for his efforts.

“Anything for a friend.” He smiles brightly, but there’s a cloud over his face.

It is not easy waiting for a friend to die.

____

It’s clear that the clock is ticking for your grandfather. Aziraphale makes the most of his time and hosts a bridge game.

Your father passes it up to take up the bulk of restoration, catching up where the old man left off. But your grandmother does not fuss at the idea of her husband playing, with so little time left for him, and sends you with a wheelchair and a stockpot of soup, fresh bread, meringues and a couple bottles of wine.

The fourth player is a friend of Aziraphale, who looks as different from the portly, chipper bookkeeper as a house wren does from a vulture. “S’ alright. I know how to play.” Mr. Crowley promises, grinning as he opens the first bottle of wine while the table is set up. In spite of promises to your grandmother not to gamble, you don’t think the game is quite the same betting over cookies or candy like you do for family events and you bring a few wads of cash from the bank.

You knew your grandfather would cheat, but Aziraphale and Crowley are so rampant in their sleight of hand, round after round, that you’re certain all four of you have your own games you are playing. The rules of bridge aren’t just flouted, they are flipped upside down as each of you take turns calling the others out, sometimes failing. Crowley groans aloud when Aziraphale “magically” reveals a card hidden under your collar, and you snort with laughter when your grandfather states you all had seen it peeking from the cuff of his jacket for the past five minutes. The money switches hands so frequently that there is no clear winner by the time the food is eaten and the wine is drunk. Your grandfather had far more glasses than he needs, but he has regained his fire for the night and Aziraphale plays his collection of records in the background.

The Glenn Miller Orchestra is still playing in the background as everyone’s energy slows. Dirty dishes are stacked next to a set of books, and you absently hope they don’t join the list of books to restore when Aziraphale holds up his glass, with barely any wine left, tipsy and flushed with enjoyment. “Well that was a wonderful fiasco. Absolutely tickety-boo.”

“Tickety-boo?” You and your grandfather say at once. It is just so inherently British that it doesn’t occur to you that it might be a real word. Crowley rolls his eyes and finishes off the wine straight from the bottle, stumbling to stand up. “Right, that’s the end of the night for me. ‘M off.”

There is clear endearment as Aziraphale walks him to the door, and you see the drowsiness in your grandfather’s eyes as you help clean up and wheel his chair to the car. “This really was fun. Grandmother would be livid at all the cheating.” You remark, rubbing your eyes. It isn’t a long drive home, and your bed beckons. “But it isn’t really bridge without cheating.”

“No, I suppose not.” Aziraphale chuckles. “Do you…need some time off?”

You’re confused. But it’s clarified that he wants you to spend some time with the old man dozing off in the backseat.

“No.” You turn down the offer. “He’ll let me know when he needs me. But right now he needs these books to be alright.” You climb into the drivers seat, and wave goodbye as you pull from the curb.

_____

It’s all very normal until one afternoon when you get the call from home. To your surprise, he asks you to bring Aziraphale along.

“This house used to be a cooper workshop. For casks and things like that. They rented out the space to wineries to store their vintages.” Your grandfather explains as you push him along a familiar route away from the workshop to a back room saved for storage. “The levels go very deep, and on paper it’s supposed to be full of ducts for heating and conditioning and all that. Me and my friends worked years to get it sealed up and safe. Before we all had to collectively hide our books under our beds or in fake book covers.”

He fishes out a key hidden under his bed-shirt and unlocks a hidden door behind an old, old bookshelf.

The elevator is noisy, but it’s brief. When Aziraphale catches sight of the dark room, you can see him taking in what is decades of work. Everything organized and sorted, and packed in rows of shelves listed by author, print date, and title. “There must be at least half a million books in here at least. I could do that much.” Your grandfather muses. “I keep the ledgers secret to know for sure, but I’ve spent more money on this room than I have on my own wellbeing.”

There is a safe in the back he shows to Aziraphale. No one outside of the family has ever seen its contents before…not even his closest friends. It is the same one rescued from the smoldering wreckage of his father’s bookshop, still somewhat melted on one side. But the lock still works and your grandfather turns the well memorized combination and the safe clicks open.

Inside there is no rare book. Instead, it is the family tree, hand written with photographs leading up to the present. Marking the page with your birthday is the Star of David, still on its gold chain and kept safe all these years.

“No one else can have this.” Your grandfather states. “This is something that cannot be bought or sold. Our memories.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “Our legacy. Criminal as it may be, I’m not ashamed of how I lived my life.” Inside there is a picture of your great-grandfather before he died, in front of that little corner shop in Poland. A boy is sitting on the stoop by him, with a glimmer in his eye. Neither of them know their fate, and are frozen in a past vision of joy.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” Aziraphale says, very softly. It’s strange. He seems to recognize the figures in the photo. “Life is meant to be enjoyed.”

That is the last time your grandfather ever sets foot in the secret library. You all share books, stories, memories, times when life and limb were at risk, and books that changed you. Two nights later, your grandfather falls asleep in his chair after lunch and does not wake up.

____

The funeral is crowded. Even though most of the attendees are very old, your grandfather’s death draws a mass of friends, colleagues, and all of the family. Former officers of the British Secret Service, librarians and antiquarians, the entire staff from the Oxford Literary Club. You haven’t really started crying yet, though it seems your grandmother and father can’t stop.

Aziraphale shows up, with flowers, and catches you after the service is done, rubbing at your eyes and trying to regain your composure. As soon as he rubs your back and gives you comfort, there is an ethereal presence you can’t quite name that dries your eyes and lifts your spirits.

“I imagine my great-grandfather will have a laugh when he sees him.” You still have red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose, but your heart is on the mend. “His naughty son, stealing books for a living.”

Aziraphale is close by when the procession goes to a cemetery outside of London, and your grandfather is buried on the coast that he first stepped foot on when he escaped to England. Your grandmother may never fully mend from this, the love of her life, but you know she will remember him well.

When the rest of the guests depart with their condolences, Aziraphale waits longer until your father gives him leave to go, and even then he watches in worry on the sidewalk while waiting for his cab.

____

Life is quieter. But little changes, except now the key to the family secret hangs on your neck.

Aziraphale surprises you with another treasure, first edition of Treasure Island with fantastic illustrations. When you try to return it after reading, he shakes his head and pushes it back. It was a gift to keep. Not for the vault below the firm, but something that is well looked after on your shelf, with a scribbled note from Aziraphale inside the cover. It’s the kind of compliment that would make your grandfather blush with pride.

A story for the rebels and thieves. A.Z. Fell

In two more years the work is done. You have more copies in the vault than you started out with, and Aziraphale has more manuscripts for works he had not had before. Sometimes you break up work to play cards, with the enigmatic Crowley passing through just when Aziraphale mentions the idea of playing, and sometimes you both just sit in silence to read your new copies or something else on the shelf. You’ve tried to extend the lease of work to do, offering to put new covers on the manuscripts for Aziraphale to enjoy and to keep them alive for longer, and the two of you deeply enjoy the fine art of tartan printed covers. There are so many conversations. So many books.

But you cross the last book off your list and pack the dusty suitcase with your tools. There’s a fine ring of dust from where they have been removed, and you wait even longer to dust it off and give it a good polish.

“You don’t need an excuse to visit, I promise.” Aziraphale states. “And I expect you around for tea, as often as you can.”

“Same.” You smile brightly. You’re a little rosier now too after all. Who wouldn’t be with a place like this? “Grandmother wants you around for dinner more often. Don’t worry about calling ahead, she always makes enough.” You two are still shaking hands goodbye and do so until finally you know to break it off. He follows you outside to the side of the car before you finally ask.

“When we broke Grandfather out of the hospital-“ You finally express your curiosity. “-how did you get them to do it?”

Aziraphale wiggles his finger. “Just a miracle or two.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes.

You suppose he will always be something of a mystery.

The car starts up and you wave out the window as you drive away from Soho. Back home, where you have your family and your bed with all your books. Home where you keep your secrets close and remember them well.

And in his shop, an angel opens a chapter on a new book and begins to read.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens aziraphale #good omens crowley #aziraphale/reader #aziraphale x reader

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ninjakasuga · 4 years ago

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Sonally Headcanon Prompt Masterpost.

Before the Sonsal Celebration Week, Year 2 hosted by @gojira007 for their @boundforfreedomsonsal blog, I began posting a series of Sonsal/Sonally headcanon prompts to help get folks stoked as well as just have some fun. Here is a master post showcasing all three series of prompts with my answers being under the cut. Since this is tied to the blog, I’ve nixed the NSFW prompts in the first set and will make a second post for those by themselves without tagging in the blog.

I can’t wait to see what others respond, while some of y’all did, it seemed like my third series of prompts flew under the radar as nobody replied to them. Oh well, I probably didn’t tag them right XD. In any case, enjoy the goodness! My answers will be below the cut.

1: Pet Names? 2: Habits as a couple they develop together? 3: Favorite ways their significant other shows their affection for them? 4: Their least favorite trait about the other that often causes occasional friction? 5: The moment they fully realized they were in love with the other?

6: How the marriage proposal goes and who asks first? 7: Kids, if yes how many? 8: What would a normal non-eventful evening at home for the two be like? 9: Adoption! Yes/No, Why? 10: Their Anniversary approaches! What would each do?

11: Favorite Vacation they took as a couple? 12: A special gift they gave the other that really touched their heart. 13: Sally’s pregnant, how do they handle the pregnancy ups and downs? 14: Parenting, how do they tackle it together? 15: Which of them is the parent to freak out most when their kid/s get into the dating age? 16: Who starfishes the most? 17: Oh no, one of them is sick, how do they handle tending to their loved one? 18: What do each of them do to ‘cool off’ when they have an argument they can’t seem to reach a compromise over? 19: The Wedding, big, small, or do they just elope? 20: Speaking of weddings, time for one of their kids (or their only child) to get married! How do they handle it?

21: GRANDCHILDREN!! Their kid(s) just made them Grandparents, what kind do you see them as? 22: The years come and go, as they leave their youth and start to get into the years between 50-70, what are they up too, where do you see them in their retirement years? 23: Time to host a family reunion (including extended family like the FF crew) 24: Awwww they’re having their 50th wedding anniversary, how do you see it going? 25: As with every life, there is death. One of them has passed, how does the other handle it? (for context this is under the assumption old age or something related did them in versus a sudden death by accident)

1: Aside from the ‘Sal’ nickname Sonic has always given our favorite Princess; I personally see a few unique nicknames between the two crop up over time as their romance blossoms. Sonic being the quip-meister he is mixes affection with a bit of humor giving us ‘Honey-Munk’ or ‘Fiery Red’. Sally naturally isn’t one to not give her own spin in kind with titles such as ‘Greeny Eyes’ or ‘Hunky-Hog’. Both aiming for endearing but also teasing the other with cheese when not using more ‘traditional’ romantic pet names like honey or darling. Keep them both on their toes.

2: When sitting together and they have a free hand, they instantly go for a hand-hold on reflex. Another one I see them developing is little touches or pets of affection; another ingrained reflex after a time. Say Sonic is about to walk away, he gives Sally’s hair a little playful pet and flick. Another instance is either of them giving the other a quick peck be it greeting, leaving or they have a mutual eureka moment.

3: Sally finds that as much as Sonic’s spontaneous behavior can be exasperating, it can also be endearing when applied in certain ways. Like a back or shoulder rub here and there, when she’s stressed. Pick-me ups when she’s down in the dumps and as corny or awful some of his ballads are, the effort is endearing for Sally. On Sonic’s end, he enjoys Sally just going on runs with him. No mission, no need for any ceremony, he just pops over, asks if she wants to hang, she agrees and they run off and just, enjoy the day. Probably make out somewhere in private too XD.

4: Stubbornness is something both suffer from and their own unique flavors of it can be the force that drives them up a wall. Be it Sonic’s impulsive behavior, or Sally being too cautious, if they don’t see eye to eye, sometimes it takes a while before they reach a compromise. Sometimes it comes fast, others, not so much and when it doesn’t both need space to cool off.

5: This varies from continuity to continuity, but ultimately I feel the mutual feelings of love blossomed naturally and so organically neither truly grasped it until something just happened to push their feelings from the back of their mind, and into the foreground. Whatever this catalyst was it shakes them up into realizing their lives could easily snuff out one day and the regret of not saying the deep-down feelings they have to one another, causes one or both into a confession and it spills from there into ‘daaw’ territory.

6: I myself see Sonic being the one to ask. Not so much out of a traditional romantic gesture; but it’s his nature to grab life by the horns and juice and jam onward. Once he sets his mind to it; he goes for it. Whether he actually plans a nice romantic moment or something more subtle is up in the air. Whatever and however it goes, Sonic is the first to ask.

7: Assuming they want kids (and I believe they do), I honestly see them being happy having however many they wish. In terms of planned children, they’d aim for one and go from there. Given they would only think to have children would be after the war, depending on how busy they are with any rebuilding efforts or in Sally’s case, running a Kingdom, would probably factor into their mindset of however many kids. I could see Sonic envisioning a big family, but happy to settle for one, to two or three once the ‘new baby shine’ wears off. Sally would want to be sure she could actually spend time and help raise the children so I see her being practical about the number of potential kids from the get-go.

8: I honestly envision the two just, vegging to some degree. They could lie on the couch together and cuddle all night and call it a win, or the bed if they wanted to fall to sleep afterward. Whatever the status of the world, and their part in it; they just enjoy being home together and doing something together, mostly to relax. Cuddles, reading books together, bathing, cooking, sex, exercising, playing with their kids if they have any. So long as they (and any family they may have) can spend it together; that’s all that matters.

9: Yes, even if they do have kids of their own, I can see them adopting, either before or after marriage even. Heck especially in story settings where Tails’ parents are not around; he’s instantly adopted as the first kid.

10: Both of them are actually very good at remembering Anniversaries, and both have equally cut it close due to forgetfulness or busy schedules but they never outright forgot and had nothing to show for it. Sonic likes to make Sally breakfast in bed, given she’s often the busiest of the two and could use some TLC. Sally in turn usually wants to handle lunch and for dinner, they pick a mutual haunt and eat out. They often do a small gift exchange, be it something homemade or an item that caught their eye that screamed ‘this belongs to my beloved’. If and when kids come into the picture, usually they’re drafted into helping with surprises by one or both parents.

11: Having lived in the Great Forest for most of their lives; the two have always had an affinity for nature. While some would love a ritzy stay at the swankiest hotel at Casino Night (they did that once and did enjoy themselves), in terms of vacation they truly enjoyed? Their world-tour camping Honeymoon; short and sweet they traveled around finding locals to enjoy Mobius’s natural beauty and spend a few days or a week in said locations. Just them the wilderness and, well all the stuff Honeymooners do ^_~.

12: Sonic found Sally’s picture album during a raid on Robotropolis early in his active FF career. He stumbled across a warehouse where Robotnik kept mementos taken from the Royal Family as ‘gloat trophies’ and so Sonic liberated what he could carry. For the first time since the coup, Sally had pictures of her Father again as well as memories from their childhood she thought lost forever. She never forgot this. In return, Sally on a whim had Nicole stealth hack the Robotropolis network for misc files and found Uncle Chuck’s entries from when he was Minister of Science. The gem of this was, among his work files, was his special chili-dog techniques and recipes saved on file. While the actual science files went to Freedom Fighter use, the personal entries were given to Sonic who could once again recreate the magic his Uncle used to treat him too. Suffice to say in both cases, kisses were had even if in my mind this all happened before they got together.

13: Pregnant Sally is both downright amusing, terrifying, and full of aw and d’aw. To Sonic, it’s a balancing act as he is trying so, very hard to do right by Sally. She needs rubs, he does it however long she needs. Cravings, he cooks them or rushes out to get it if she’s craving a particular take-out item. He hugs her when she has crying fits; tries to keep a cool head when she’s upset for no reason. Mainly, Sonic just tries, and yes he will put his foot in his mouth from time to time; but this is one of those events in his life where he focused on the nth degree. Sometimes to Sally’s annoyance and speaking of whom; it’s well a roller-coaster for her. Her body is changing and her hormones wreak havoc on some days. While never as vain as Sonic can be, Sally feels her self-esteem for her appearance dwindle at times, and she especially hates her mood swings. Most notably the ones where she snaps at Sonic, which often takes her back into the same kind of depression she felt when Sonic was assumed to have died and usually ends up crying and apologizing to him profusely. Thankfully Sonic’s presence and support help her weather everything and the end result to her makes the pitfalls ‘worth it’.

14: Sonic is the ‘fun stay at home Dad’ while Sally’s doing her Queenly duties. That said, Sonic isn’t a slacker at keeping their child(ren) in line. He’s permissible to degrees, but even he’s matured enough to know there’s a fine to tow between being ‘friends’ with your kid and ‘being a parent’. Sometimes he can get over his head, but usually, he can either remedy the issue or he thankfully has Sally to back him up. On Sally’s end, taking cues from her Julayla and Rosie’s book on childcare, she tends to miss lessons with free-form playtime. Letting her children grow and figure things out, while always being within reach to help, and impart advice willingly whether she’s asked too or not. While often tired, Sally adores playtime with her child(red), and however many they have, she never wants to miss out on anything if she can help it. This is a factor both she and Sonic share as they desperately want any child or children they have to know they’re loved and have the security of their parents and loved ones around at all times. While each has their own path in parenting, they both prefer to work together than at odds as neither like arguing in front of the kids (even if it does happen from time to time but they try to avoid it).

15: Both to a degree, each has their own hang-ups of concern whether the child is male, female or they have kids of both genders. Given some of their own romantic miseries during their teen years; they worry about any child of theirs going through anything of the same or really any heartache even if it may be inevitable. However they both don’t want to be overbearing; BUT, both insist on meeting the girlfriend/boyfriend post-haste once they know that’s on the table.

Also yes, they are the types who will discreetly threaten the significant other with bodily harm (even if it’s in pure jest) if they cause their child any grief.

16: They share this one, sometimes one, the other, or both the same night. Depends on who’s the most exhausted. XD

17: Sonic HATES being sick and waited on; so he tries very hard to play it off and handle himself. Sally will have none of that and threatens often to tie him to the bed if he resists too much. After a spell, Sonic begins to accept and even enjoy some of the pamperings. Sally accepts when she’s ill she needs to rest, but she still tries to get work done. Sonic has often caught her with Nicole’s hand-held or some kind of paperwork in bed to his displeasure. Sonic is instantly into caregiving when she’s sick and at times can be overbearing in pampering Sally. Something she has a love/hate thing about.

If they’re BOTH sick, they compromise and lie together in bed, finding cuddling the other to be it’s own soothing balm to whatever is afflicting them.

18: Sonic falls back to his go-to-thing; running. He goes on a run, however long to cool off and think in private as he ponders on the source of their friction. Sally tries to distract herself with some sort of brain-focusing tasks like a puzzle or a good book while mulling over the argument in her head to try and draw conclusions on why it went south and if she or Sonic were in the right or wrong. Eventually, Sonic returns from his run, and Sally puts away whatever she used to cool off and they both sit down and talk it over, eventually working things out and making up for any hurt feelings.

19: No matter how they slice it, given Sally is a Princess, there’s gonna be some sort of big deal ceremony. I do see both Sonic and Sally wanting just a small wedding for their friends and family; especially if they opt to marry before the war ends. Then they’ll save the BIG SHOWY ceremony for after the war. Mostly if they can get away with postponing it that long. XD

On the flip-side, if the story has Max still being a pill about Sonic being Sally’s squeeze; elope, no questions asked. ^_~

20: Assuming the future-in-law is worthy of their child; they will jump for joy and be happy for their kid. Sure they will have some ‘giving away our baby’ jitters, but ultimately their child’s happiness trumps all discomfort they may have. There will be some crying but it will be tears of joy, and if anything their child having a wedding and moving on in their own life would be a great joy in of itself. It would be another symbol that whatever they suffered in the war was worth it. If just so their child could have a safe and peaceful world to grow up and live within; to find their own life and love. No greater joy can a parent hold for their child, especially these two.

21: Once the two stop joy-spazzing over the news, you can expect them to be front and center Grandparents. The parents may have to pry the newborn away from them for the first couple of visits. Knowing how to take care of a newborn can be stressful they along with their in-law’s parents will help split babysitting duties and just enjoy being able to spoil the kid rotten and playfully hand them back to the parents when the going gets rough. Not that they won’t step up, but I feel every new Grandparent doesn’t have that moment of ‘now you see what I went through, ha!’. In any case, they are the type who will be as available and active in their grandchild(rens) life as much as they can be.

22: Age does not slow them down much; maybe in the physical (despite what Sonic says), but these two will be firecrackers even as their fur dulls and greys. Some aspects of old-age will hit them hard, not just in that both are usually very active people, but some genetic ticking time bombs or perhaps past physical trauma from the war years have caught up with them. Sonic will take getting ‘slow’ the most, as running has been his ultimate expression of freedom. Sally will take bouts of forgetfulness hard given how organized and reliant on her mind she is. In this they will lean on each other more, their devotion and love pouring through ever stronger. Sally forgets something, Sonic has it written down and encourages her to keep a pen and paper on hand to jot thoughts down. While Sonic can’t run forever, what running he still can do, Sally encourages. If he’s truly not able to run, then they’ll walk together hand in hand and ‘pretend’ they’re zipping around the city. There will be a lot of sitting together, hand in hand, and since their kid (or one of them) has assumed the throne; they have a lot of freedom to do whatever fancy comes their way. They simply relish the fact they lived long enough to enjoy this stage of life when living to be an adult seemed like such a far off dream.

23: I envision sometime over the years as a Memorium for its role in giving the survivors of Robotnik’s coup, and serving as base and home for the Freedom Fighters and a second home for the people of Mobotropolis; Knothole is rebuilt in its original state. Feeling both nostalgic as well as the importance of Knothole to their history and that of the planet after the war; Sonic and Sally opt to host reunions there. Something about walking through the old village (even if it’s a recreation) just feels nice and getting to show their kids and grandkids where they came from feels right. I can see them alternating on Angel Island as well given its importance in the grand scheme of events as well. Plus who doesn’t love the view from the island?

24: If anyone insists on a big party, they nix it. Only their family and closest of friends that are still around are invited. Being in their 70’s by this point, they prefer simple, and so there’s food and cake, and all the videos and photo albums out to reminisce, tell stories and enjoy life while they still can. Sonic being Sonic will at some point call attention and, with some effort, get on one knee and recite his proposal and marriage vows to Sally again, reaffirming his love which still burns ever brighter. Touched and while happy-crying, Sally will take his hand and affirm her vows as well as her own affirmation that her love for him still burns the same as ever. As they go to bed after the party, both Sally and Sonic cry joyfully as they hold one another. Feeling blessed at having lived the lives they have, and looking forward to however many they still have.:

25: There are a few ways I see this happening. If one of them expectedly passes before the other; the grief will be monumental. Having lived together as long as they have, experienced what they have, and enjoying a deep bong of love few can, losing their significant other will be a blow that they probably won’t recover from. I would expect within one or two years’ time, a combination of the grief and just not wanting to live on without their beloved will see whoever survived won’t make their sweetheart await them long in the here-after. Another scenario is if one of them catches a terminal illness, and they can prepare for it; Sonic and Sally will both make the best of what time they have. With the deadline closing in, whoever is not ill, I can see making arrangements so that once their beloved is about to pass, they will be given a legally approved injection to end their own life. While some of their family may not fully approve, for the most part, such a thing is understood and nobody objects.

One way or another, they will be together, in the next life as they were in this one

[The last one was admittedly a tad sad, but well as they say life ends eventually, and I felt like making the prompts feel like an evolution of their relationship like I did in the fanfics for the celebration week prompts.]

#Sonsa #Sonally #boundingforfreedom #Sonic the Hedgehog #Sally Acorn #Archie-Sonic #romance #headcanons #prompts #Sonsal Celebration Year 2 #life and times

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frizz22 · 5 years ago

Text

Heavy is the Head

Hilda doesn’t let Zelda go back under the pretense of the Caligari spell.

Notes: This has been half finished in my drafts for ages, so sorry if it's an old idea. But it always bothered me that no one objected to Zelda going back after saying it was torture... anyway, hope you enjoy! Read on ao3

Zelda sniffed in distaste as she picked up the bag with what remained of Leviathan. Steeling herself against the nausea roiling through her, Zelda forced her mask back into place.

Going back was the only way. Pretending, pretending to still be under the Caligari spell was the only way to keep them all safe and alive.

Deftly flipping her hair over her shoulder, Zelda sighed. “The things I do for this family.” She quipped, doing her best to sound unaffected by this decision.

As she made to leave, though, Hilda caught her arm. “I can’t.” She shook her head, lips pressed tightly together. “I can’t let you go back, Zelds.”

Touched by her sister’s concern, Zelda gave her a small smile. “Hildie, I appreciate it, but there’s really no other—"

“We’ll find one.” Her sister interrupted, looking at her earnestly. “You said it was torture. This would be no different, or, or maybe it’d be even worse. I’m not letting you go back there either way.”

Forcing back tears of gratitude, Zelda swallowed hard. “Then what do you suggest we do? Faustus is expecting me back, if I don’t return, he’ll know, and Hell knows what would happen to Ambrose.”

A wicked smile curled her sister’s lips. “Oh, I have just the thing.” Eyes gleaming with rare malice, Hilda took her hand and led Zelda into the greenhouse.

Frowning, Zelda set the bag of mouse remains down and let herself be ushered deeper into the house. “Hilda...” she hedged. As much as she wanted an alternative, if they took too long Faustus would deduce something; he wasn’t an idiot, though he played the part convincingly enough at times.

Hilda held up a finger and flicked her free wrist to gather the supplies she needed. After everything floated to her worktable, Hilda arched a brow at Zelda. “A poppet.” She added, a little unnecessarily, given Zelda had recognized everything from when they made one for Shirley.

She huffed in disbelief. “Well, if it’s not broke...” she mumbled, joining her sister at the table. And it really was quite brilliant. Faustus would never be entrapped by a Caligari spell; he’d be too wary of any musical device after what he’d done to her.

They worked together in near silence, only occasionally asking to be handed an item. When the poppet was done, Hilda held up the tin of ear worms once more. “Take two, just to increase the strength.” She murmured, scowling at the miniature Faustus doll Zelda was holding. “Can’t chance the bastard wriggling his way out somehow.”

Only too happy to comply, Zelda slipped two worms inside the poppet’s head and sewed it shut as she and Hilda sang the spell.

Once finished, Hilda looked up at her. “And now, we kill him.” She murmured darkly, likely picturing all the gruesome ways they could make Faustus kill himself.

Smiling cruelly, Zelda weighed the poppet in her hand. “No.” She breathed, possibilities flashing through her mind of how else they could approach this. While she wanted to punish Faustus, killing him was too easy, too final. “I have much better plans for him than death.” Feeling lighter than she had since that cursed spell was forced on her, Zelda winked at her sister, picked up the bag full of Leviathan, and teleported away.

~~~

Faustus looked up from his book when she reappeared. Arching a brow, he marked his spot. “Run into trouble, dearest? It took you some time.”

Daintily placing the bag on his book, smothering a smile at how he sneered at how it leaked onto the pages, Zelda clasped her hands together. “They cloaked the mouse, husband, thinking they were being clever. I found it and dealt with it as you instructed.”

“Of course you did, Zelda.” He stood and rounded the table to stand in front of her. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” Faustus stroked the back of his fingers along her cheek before slipping his hand into her hair.

And oh, how such an action would have made her feel, even just a week ago, before the spell. Now it took all her self-control not to shred him for daring to touch her.

Carefully keeping her face blank except an empty smile, Zelda nodded despite the nausea growing in her stomach.

“I have something else for you, your Excellency.” Zelda added as Faustus turned to pick up his drink. He hummed and reached for the decanter to refill his glass without looking at her. Letting the Caligari demeanor drop, Zelda stepped up behind him and started to sing into his ear.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout. They eat your eyes, they eat your nose, they eat the jelly between your toes.

The drink fell from Faustus’ hand and he stiffened. Pleased with herself, Zelda rounded her husband and gave him and assessing look.... he was fully bound by her spell.

Lifting her chin, Zelda smirked and moved to settle in his chair, propping her feet up on his desk. “Faustus, dearest,” she mocked the endearment, “pour me a drink.”

Face blank, Faustus moved automatically to fulfill her order.

As the warmth of victory and revenge spread through her, Zelda lit a cigarette, taking a long, satisfying drag and blowing the smoke into Faustus’ face before she took the drink from him.

“Very good, husband.” She huffed in amusement at the title. “Now, sit and listen like a good little Antipope.” When he complied, Zelda continued. “I entered this marriage for power. And sex,” she admitted, “the sex was incredible and why would I have denied myself? It seemed such a simple marriage, both of us enjoying power and sex so why not get more of each by working together. But you had to go and reach beyond yourself. Tried to turn that power on me.” She tsked and knocked some ash off her cigarette. “You should have known better. Should have known you couldn’t control me, not for long at least. So now, as your punishment, I’ll control you.”

She took a sip and watched Faustus carefully, ensuring no facial tics indicating he wasn’t fully under her spell. Satisfied, she continued. “Only I did it better. Nothing to smash to end my spell... seems I’ve bested you again, Faustus, just like in our academy days.” Zelda arched a brow and took another drag of nicotine. “Sadly, I still need you. Don’t go convincing yourself it’s sentimental, it’s that you’re too powerful to waste. I’d have killed you by now otherwise. No,” she sighed and knocked back the rest of her drink and held out the glass to him, Faustus immediately stood to fill it. “I have to keep you if I want to rule. The witching realm isn’t ready for a witch leader, misogynistic as most warlocks are. So, I’ll rule through you, make sweeping reforms, raise up witches...” she looked off to the side, a small smile tugging her lips as she envisioned the future. Refocusing on the warlock in front of her, Zelda dropped her feet to the ground and stood. “I suppose all your conniving paid off in the end, I’d never be able to make such a difference with a mere High Priest for a husband, an Antipope though...” she lifted a brow and stubbed out her cigarette. “Clean up this mess, Faustus,” she indicated to the bag still leaking mouse fluids on the book, “and then come find me, we have a lot of work to do.”

~~~

The following years passed smoothly.

Her reforms were questioned at first, but with Antipope Faustus as her mouthpiece the witching realm accepted them as the Dark Lord’s will and adopted them with alacrity and enthusiasm.

Sometimes, to toy with Faustus and gloat, rub his face in how well the witching realm was doing with her as the ruler, Zelda would let him surface—with a number of restrictive spells, of course.

Tonight was one of those times. Zelda had just passed a law stating witches could hold positions of power within their covens and the Churches of Darkness.

Lounging on the couch in what was technically Faustus’ office, Zelda watched as the warlock struggled against his bounds. “I won’t need you much longer, dear husband.” She informed him, eyes gleaming cruelly. “As I’m sure you’re aware, you’ve praised me highly to both the High Council and the witching realm as the inspiration for all these popular reforms, for the peace we’ve been enjoying. With this new law, I will be the logical choice to become the next Antipope when you meet a sudden and unfortunate end. I’ll mourn you publicly, of course, but then I’ll bravely rally to carry the cause my late husband and I worked so hard to further. The High Council will fall over themselves in their haste to appoint me.”

“You won’t get away with it.” Faustus forced through clenched teeth, eyes a little manic. “You’ll crumble under the power and pressure.”

She smirked and continued to paint her nails. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, dearest. You’d know, you crumbled pathetically fast under the weight when you got your hands on it. Fortunately for the witching realm, I wear and bear the crown so much better.”

Before he could argue further, Zelda cocked her head. “The worm crawls in...” she sang, inspecting her now finished manicure, and Faustus was back under.

Muttering a quick spell to dry her nails, Zelda teleported home, perhaps Hilda would have some creative ideas for murdering her husband and making it look an accident when the time came.

#caos #caos fanfiction #caos fic #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #Zelda Spellman #hilda spellman #faustus blackwood #anti-spellwood #netflix #ao3 #AO3 fanfic #ao3fic #mentions of #ambrose spellman #shirley jackson #fanfiction #fanfic

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winchester-with-wings · 5 years ago

Text

Your Dark Secret

Sam Winchester x Reader / Patron Benefit Fanfic!

Author’s Notes: This fic took an interesting turn when I made it a Sam fic. It seems like it has a little of everything, fluff, comfort, a lil angst... This is for @abbessolute

Summary/Request: Anything for insomnia? I didn't fall asleep this morning til 8 am because my mind was telling me to be afraid of the dark

Word Count: 1800ish

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The new semester at Stanford brought with it a chill to the air and the crisp smell of autumn and falling leaves. Sam Winchester comes to class in a sweater and scarf, looking like something out of a hallmark movie or an episode of Gilmore Girls. His thick brown hair sits on his head like a mop, swept to the side by the wind and a nervous tick. You love it when he tucks his hair behind his ear. It’s not long enough for that, yet.

Sam has taken to a routine of meeting you outside of your last class of the day on Fridays. He walks with you to your car--a long walk...you know how bad parking at college is.

“So get this,” he says, “My roommate is gonna be gone for the weekend and, um, I thought maybe if you want, we could study at my place tonight?” Study, on a Friday night? Surely this was Sam’s attempt at asking you out. Finally. “And maybe after, we could watch some movies.”

“Sure! I’ll bring the beer,” you respond.

“Great! I’ll make you dinner,” he said with that sweet smile. There was a hint of promise hanging in the air, suspending the falling leaves for only a moment.

It was going to be the first time you stayed the night at Sam’s apartment. You didn’t know that yet. If you did, you might not have gone.

You’d spent many nights together, watching movies, studying and staying up until the crack of dawn, but tonight was the night that Sam had insisted on making you dinner. It wasn’t a total deviation from your routine with your *sigh* friend. It’s just that instead of ordering Chinese or picking up burgers, this time Sam did as promised, cooking dinner in that rinky dink kitchen of his. You didn’t have the heart to tell him how particular you were with your food, but somehow he made something with all the right ingredients and you’d actually enjoyed the meal.

There was no studying to be done on a Friday night. Sam kept up that ruse for maybe five minutes. After dinner, you watched a movie: a rom-com that he had finally relented to watch. What’s crazy is that he’d seemed more interested in it than you! You nearly dozed off once or twice.

“Is there a sequel?” he asked when it was over, getting up to get more popcorn and grab two more beers.

“Yeah, it’s called My Big Fat Greek Wedding...2.”

He found it online and hit play.

Apparently it was a double-feature night.

The romance of the film was endearing, no doubt, but it seemed like the part Sam enjoyed the most was the depiction of the crazy family. How involved they were, how much they cared for each other, and how much of their life revolves around the family. He couldn’t exactly relate the characters to his own family, from what little he’d mentioned of them. Though he did say they played the ‘We’re family, family is the most important thing’ card hard and often. You’d only heard him mention his brother Dean, that his mom had passed when he was a baby, and that his relationship with his dad had been tense when he went to college. It was a brief family history and maybe you wondered if there was more to it, but then sometimes it seemed like that was all there was. You didn’t press him on that. You were friends but you didn’t want to ask too many questions.

Everyone was entitled to their secrets.

“My family isn’t exactly like this...but it has its own brand of crazy.”

“Don’t we all,” Sam chuckled. He let you steal the bowl of popcorn, plopping it in your lap and readjusting the blanket you were sharing. Then, oh-so-casually...he stretched out until one of his arms rested on the back of the couch, around your shoulders.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. Sending a cheeky smile in his direction, Sam pretended not to notice your attention on him, but the corner of that perfect mouth was tilted up just slightly.

“Sam...middle name...Winchester,” you said teasingly in a whisper. He snorted at your omission of the name you didn’t know. “Are...are you making a move? On me?” He turned to look down at you; even sitting down he was a head taller than you, the perfect height for you to snuggle into his side. His hand on your shoulder pulled you in for exactly that.

“And if I was?” he asked in a hushed tone. His hazel eyes seemed to turn dark in an instant, the sudden change sent a thrill through your entire being.

“I’d say it was about time,” you smiled as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. He responded instantly, pulling you into his lap so that he could wrap his arms around you and deepen the kiss.

The movie was forgotten, cast aside for your own little moment of romance.

You didn’t go any farther than kissing and maybe a little groping. A few words between kisses established that your friendship was too important to risk right away.

“I could kiss you all night,” Sam hummed and you indicate your agreement by holding onto his shirt. You’d been lusting after the man ever since he’d walking into your sociology class. The man took notes and contributed to the lectures like a pro. He was almost as smart as you. Almost.

Sam tried to lay back on the couch but his body is far too long for it to be comfortable.

“Wanna go to my bedroom? I won’t go any further if you don’t want to,” he reassures you, slightly breathless between kisses.

“O-okay,” you say with nervous energy, the good kind.

Once on his bed--which still didn’t seem big enough for his frame--he made no other moves to do more than touch your body and explore your mouth. When the kisses turned to slow, lazy, and sweet, the two of you snuggled deeper into the bed.

“Stay the night?” he asked, his arms around your waist and his lips pressed to your hair.

“Okay,” you said, without much thought. Until a few minutes later…

When the movie was turned off and the lights went out.

He’d offered you one of his soft cotton t-shirts and there may have been a shy moment as you’d exited his bathroom and crawled into bed. But as Sam drifted off to sleep...you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You couldn’t sleep. And you couldn’t figure out how to tell Sam.

You were in an unfamiliar room, with no sound other than the soft snores of the man beside you. There wasn’t a single light on in the whole apartment, not even the dim glow of an alarm clock.

The longer you lay there, awake, the more you start to hear things. The floor creaking like someone was walking in the kitchen. The moments when you thought you could no longer hear Sam breathing, so maybe he wasn’t? The door to the bedroom was left open to the living room. Did you see something in the shadows? You imagined whispers and silhouettes.

You were right back in your childhood room. Scared and afraid of the dark. And alone.

With a man like Sam sleeping by your side, you still felt alone. How could he sleep through this? Could he not hear the footsteps outside his window? Didn’t he feel the sudden drafts passing between rooms?

You rolled over and buried your face in Sam’s chest, trying to drown out all of your senses, overwhelm them with the sound of Sam’s heart, the feel of his chest rising and falling with every breath, the way he smelled and the soft fabric of his own shirt.

The shirt soon became wet with a few of your escaped tears. You were shaking, but maybe it was the damp fabric that woke Sam up.

“Hey,” he whispered, groggily. “Y/N, you okay?” You didn’t answer, only burrowed deeper into his embrace. He stretched out one arm to turn on his bedside lamp and the change was almost immediate. You looked around the room, clocking all the things that could’ve tricked your senses. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” Sam asked once more.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I’m so sorry.”

“About what? What’s wrong?” He kissed the top of your head and propped himself up on one arm to see you better.

“It’s just...I can’t...I don’t usually tell people. You’ll think I’m stupid.” Your tears fell easily but you were actually proud that your voice wasn’t shaking.

“Y/N, I could never think that. Tell me what’s going on? What can I do to make you feel better?”

He didn’t even know what the problem was and he was willing to help.

You looked at the clock on his nightstand. In the light, you could see that it was 4 am. You’d been lying awake for over three hours.

“It’s never been a problem before. We were pulling all-nighters, staying up late, sleeping in our own beds.”

“Did I move to fast? Do you want me to take you home?”

“No, no it’s not that. It’s just…” You closed your eyes, wincing. “I’m afraid of the dark,” you said rapidly, “so sometimes I don’t sleep at night or I sleep with all the lights on. And I know it’s silly and maybe a little childish but when I was a kid, I swore I saw something in my room and no one believed me but...” You were working yourself up, breathing quickly and lips trembling. Sam pulled you into his arms.

“Hey, shhh-shhh. It’s gonna be okay. It’s okay. I understand. You don’t have to say anymore if you don’t want to. I’m here for you. Okay, I’ll keep you safe. We can stay up for now and sleep in the morning or I can leave the light on. Whatever you need. I want you to feel safe. And I want you to sleep.” He kissed the top of your head, speaking words of reassurance. “I’m here. I’m here for you. No one can hurt you,” he muttered as you started to calm down, focusing once more on the heart pounding in his chest until it, too, slowed down to a steady beat.

You didn’t get a chance to tell him which solution you preferred. A few minutes later, in the warm glow of his bedside lamp, you’d fallen asleep with your cheek pressed against his chest.

Sam settled down as well, ready to drift off and consciously reminding himself to leave the light on. If that’s all you needed to feel safe, it was the least he could do. He reassured himself even further by recalling the placement of a knife in the drawer next to him.

Because of course, how could he possibly tell you the truth? How could he tell you that the dark was something worth fearing? That the ghosts and monsters were real?

He couldn’t. He hoped he’d never have to tell you. And if the day ever came, he knew that he would do everything in his power to protect you.

—————————

Tagging: @abbessolute @autoblocked @book-loving--anime-chick @karazoiel @overlyobsethed @therealcap @whoopxd @bookworm4ever99 @geeksareunique @pottxrwolff @barry-writes @ravenhaviland @clockblobber @softdudebro @melaninspice11 @parkerschurros @woaahkelsey @montytheravenclaw @sanya-gryff @smutfornerds @fabinapercabeth4179 @faithtrustandpixiedust95 @thinkwritexpress-official @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @percyjackson886 @mrswhozeewhatsis @saxxxology

#my writing #patron fanfic #patreon #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #spn #spn fanfic #spn imagine #angst #fluff #comfort #patreon fanfic #patron fic

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causeiwanttoandican · 5 years ago

Text

I think I hear he sound of shattering glass coming from Vancouver.

The Telegraph

Kate steps up: The making of a future Queen

Revealed: The crack team building and shaping the Duchess of Cambridge's royal future

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor

7 February 2020 • 9:00pm

It has been exactly a month since Harry and Meghan announced that they were stepping back as senior members of the Royal Family. For the past eight weeks, column inches have racked up about the ‘Megxit’ bombshell and its impact on the institution of monarchy.

Yet amid all the hysteria and hullabaloo, one of its most important members has been serenely going about the business of keeping calm and carrying on.

Until now this kind of understated behaviour may have been most closely associated with the Queen, but it is her modern day equivalent, the Duchess of Cambridge, who has been quietly putting duty first with increasing visibility.

A recent UK tour to launch her landmark survey on early childhood, combined with well-received visits to Bradford and Mumbles, may at first look like Kate making a conscious effort to fill the void left by her brother and sister in law.

Yet as has ever been the case with the middle class girl from Bucklebury who married into the Firm almost a decade ago, that would be to underestimate a woman who has never made a show of her royal role.

Motherhood to monarch

Having discreetly spent the past eight years beavering away on the causes closest to her heart, Kate has finally found her voice and is determined to use it. No longer willing to be seen but not heard, sources say she is now ready to commit the rest of her working life to raising awareness of the importance of childhood - and its impact on adult life.

Although she never took the credit for being the inspiration behind the Heads Together mental health campaign spearheaded by William and Harry - having witnessed its extraordinary impact, there is a sense that the Duchess has finally realised just how much she is capable of.

“The Duchess has worked quietly away in the background for years,” said one well-placed royal insider, “And now she knows that people want to hear from her”. No longer as fearful of public speaking, and fast carving her own path out of the shadows, Kate’s landmark online survey '5 Big Questions on the Under Fives’, will mark the start of decades more work on the subject, according to aides.

“It’s much easier to speak out when you know what you’re talking about and passionate about your subject,” added the insider. “She has become an expert in early years learning, she understands the science and is respected in the sector because she has spent the past eight years working it out. But she also wants to find answers. This is about evidence based research.” The first results of the childhood survey are due next month.

Kate’s gentle yet inquisitive manner was never more on display than when she met wheelchair-bound Harvey Bentley, 90, in Mumbles on Tuesday. The warm exchange was filmed by Mr Bentley’s son-in-law Mike Sutton-Smith

This kind of reaction is certainly welcome after arguably the most testing period for the monarchy since Diana’s death. With two of the so-called ‘Fab Four’ poised to set up their own projects in North America, the focus for the Cambridges will not only be on putting duty first but in a non-partisan, but an extremely effective way.

As one observer noted: “It is a bit of a paradox, having such a naturally introverted person in such a high-profile position. I think that’s what people find endearing about the Duchess. She’s not a showy person. It’s a deeply British trait.”

And one which she certainly shares with Her Majesty who also has a quiet confidence and sense of reserve when interacting with the public.

Of course, accession may still be decades away, but preparations for the royal couple to become the next Prince and Princess of Wales were already well underway before Harry and Meghan’s move to Canada.

Yet while efforts had previously been ploughed into elevating the status of the man who would be king - there is a new, and arguably even more compelling project now fully in progress at the palace: the advent of Queen Catherine.

So much so in fact that team of academics have been drafted in to help the mother-of-three shape her royal future, with input from the highest echelons of government and even the security services.

Likened to a modern-day version of the Way Ahead Group, set up to rebuild the monarchy in the aftermath of the Queen’s ‘annus horribilis’ of 1992, the Duchess’s steering group of experts has informed her focus on early years learning and helped her to grow in confidence in her royal role.

Working royals putting duty first

As the royal couple prepare to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary next year, 2020 is set to be momentous for the Cambridges.

Projecting themselves as a family unit - and a relatable one too - has become a priority and was behind them agreeing to the prime time Christmas TV special with national treasure Mary Berry, which saw the royal couple cooking souffles while discussing the work of their Royal Foundation, the philanthropic vehicle for all their charitable endeavours.

With talk of trips to Ireland, Chile and Columbia already in the offing, and both having recently launched major charitable initiatives - including William’s Earthshot Prize - a multimillion pound project to ‘repair the planet’, the next 12 months will see the pair try to bring what one palace insider describes as the ‘calm after the storm’.

The source added: “What you are going to see with the Cambridges is a couple carved very much out of the Queen’s mould: Duty first.”

Having had three children in swift succession and with Prince George, six and Princess Charlotte, four, now in school and Prince Louis turning two in April, Kate’s priorities have shifted.

According to one well-placed source: “Over the last 12 months they have realised the potential power of their platform. They understand that by launching these long term projects they can genuinely make a big difference. They’ve been told clearly by people the impact that they can have if they pick the right spaces - things they care passionately about.”

Just this week we have seen William discuss diversity at the Baftas and his mental health initiative Heads Up, tackling the issue through football, has been well received. As with Earthshot, described by one aide as “the biggest thing the Duke has ever undertaken”, it’s about saying ‘we can do this’, rather than ‘this is too daunting’”, said a source.

“The Royal Foundation has been going for 10 years now. What they want to do is a smaller number of things on a bigger scale. For the Duchess, the early years work is something she will lead for the rest of her life. It's easy to dismiss it as nice and cuddly, but the focus is going to shift from how much childhood issues affect adult mental health and on the social side, it's as significant as climate change.”

While both projects and their recent visits to Yorkshire and South Wales had been in the diary for months, there is no doubt the ‘Sussex situation’ has escalated matters. “A hell of a lot of responsibility rests on their shoulders and they’ve just got to get on with it,” said royal author Phil Dampier. “I think they are both resigned to spending the next 30, 40, 50 years as heavyweight royals.”

A formidable asset

Government hopes are also being pinned on William and Kate flying the flag for post-Brexit Britain. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) was “delighted” with their highly successful visit to Pakistan last year, which helped to demonstrate the Cambridges’ worth to UK Plc. There emphasis will be on ‘youthful yet dependable royalty’ - demonstrating the power of the Royal Family both home and abroad as a formidable ambassadorial asset.

This was certainly on show last month as William hosted his first major state occasion - a reception for the UK-Africa Investment Summit - on behalf of the Queen at Buckingham Palace.

Standing alongside his wife, many royal watchers noted how much more publicly demonstrative William had become towards Kate. During the reception he was uncharacterstically nostalgic, saying: “The African continent holds a very special place in my heart. It is the place my father took my brother and me shortly after our mother died. And when deciding where best to propose to Catherine, I could think of no more fitting place than Kenya to get down on one knee.” When a wellwisher in Mumbles complimented William on Charlotte, he replied: "Yes, she is lovely - just like my wife."

And it is this kind of gentle encouragement and support which is intended to propel his wife to the next level - where her dependability turns into the kind of ‘soft power’ which can affect real change.

Or as one insider put it: "They are going to be doing what politicians can't do, with such a comparatively shorter shelf life. Only royals can think about this scale of change on a generational basis - and that is what the Cambridges are determined to bring about."

A crucial appointment for Kate will be her next private secretary following the departure of Catherine Quinn, the Oxford-educated right hand woman who has helped to chart the past two years. The Telegraph understands a replacement is yet to be found and the Duchess is continuing to be supported by her assistant private secretary and Simon Case, the former civil servant who has been William’s closest adviser since July 2018. Case previously worked for former Prime Ministers David Cameron and Theresa May and that they are taking their time, searching for someone of Case's calibre for Kate is certainly telling.

The couple arguably have another, equally pressing legacy project: the future survival of the monarchy. William has certainly been working in ‘lock step’ with his father and grandmother to find a solution to his brother and sister-in-law’s desire to leave the Firm.

The Telegraph can reveal that the second-in-line was also much more involved in the decision for the Duke of York to step back from public life last November than has previously been reported.

When Prince Andrew travelled to Sandringham to hold talks with Prince Philip and Charles - he also held a meeting with his nephew, believed to be at Anmer Hall, the Cambridge’s Georgian country house on the Queen’s estate in Norfolk. According to a source: “William spoke to Andrew for about an hour. They met separately. The Queen and Prince of Wales both agreed he should be fully involved in the discussions - he is very much a part of what has become a triumvirate of decision-making these days.”

No Fab Four Anymore

As Joe Little, editor-of-chief of Majesty magazine points out, there needs to be a shift in focus now that Harry and Meghan have handed in their notice. “Prince Charles had hoped to have a slimmed down monarchy with his own children and grandchildren as the major players, but he has had to revise that masterplan in light of recent events.

“The House of Windsor was riding high for such a long time with weddings, babies and jubilees, William and Kate have got to restore some of that magic.”

Agreeing that the Duchess’s role will be key to ensuring a modern-day monarchy is fit for purpose, he added: “There’s a mystique about Kate like there has always been about the Queen.”

While Harry and Meghan appear intent on politicising their future role, for William and Kate it is going to be all about the three S’s: stature, strength, and stability

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smolbeandrabbles · 5 years ago

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Back on Love (Relentless pt.2) - Vince Kovac x Reader (Tangle)

The Honey

Author’s Note: I’m back on Vince Kovac TBH he never left, he’s just been kicking around. He knows when I need him, and gosh, do I sometimes need him. ANYWAYS. You’ve been waiting on part 2. So here we go! Disclaimer: I own no characters from Tangle, nor any plot lines / lyrics not mine. Premise: The only way to keep Vince Kovac is to keep him guessing, and that’s exactly what you aim to do... But there’s shots coming at you from all sides, and if you want this one to last, you might just have to give in... Words: 4202 Warnings: Swearing / more sexual banter

________ I am so confused, I don't know what's up or down Should I leave or stick around? Am I lost or am I found? He's throwin' wisdom like a poet, Throwin' tantrums like a child But when he holds my hand, My pulse runs red and wild I was a fighter for my freedom, Now a fool for his touch He is a nightcap, a brunch buzz... Next to the nightstand I'm taking every pill he's got My head, my heart, my throat, my lungs, My stomach all in a knot I swore off suitors and the never-ending, needless drug I learned my lesson and I thought, "Yeah, I've had enough" But I'm back on love Back on love ...I'm a loser for this man I've been lost since our first date He is a tight-rope talker, I can't balance at all He says it's fascinating watching me tip-toe and crawl... My best friend made a list of ways his love is off-track But I don't give a shit, and I refuse to call that bitch back He might be messin' in New York He might be messin' with my head But I'll do anything to keep him messin' in my bed

---

And so the work on your house continued. Only Vince seemed much more intent on simply checking you out rather than continuing anything verbally suggestive. And you would watch him too. Any conversation was kept professional and for once he didn’t hover, or tell you anything was wrong with your design. But it was bothering you... What had you said or done wrong? Heck, you missed his constant banter, it made work worth going to. On the eve of completion, Vince stood against the same door frame he always had, to watch you. You were packing everything away, looking at least a little forlorn. “You know, if you wanna change your mind this is the last evening...” you slung your bag over your shoulder. He raised an eyebrow; “Who said I’d changed my mind?” “Well. If you wanna have a celebratory one-night stand... which, is how I thought this was all going.” You stopped at the look on his face “... Why do you want a relationship out of me?” “Who said I did!?” He folded his arms “You didn’t have to. If you wanted to f**k me Vince, you would have done it that evening - or you’d still be shamelessly flirting with me every day.” “Problem is I’m too curious.” “About what?” “You...” He stepped forward; “The way you come off in your professionalism, versus the woman you might very well be underneath but wouldn’t let on to. See I want her... but I also want you. And I figure even a good amount of casual f***ing wouldn’t get me both.” You tipped your head “No. You have to earn me.” “Exactly. And I figure I’d been going the wrong way about it.” Folding your arms you weren’t exactly sure where this was heading; “... Why are you still here?” “Because I want... this...” Vince pointed from your feet and drew a line up to your face “...hanging out with me at the weekend, shotgun in my car, working on her drawings when I get home, coming home late from all her big meetings and just chilling with me and a glass of wine. But I also want whoever you are hiding under that - that you keep giving me flashes off - in my bed every night, and in the back of my truck on occasion. Y’know?” You couldn’t resist the chuckle; “That was endearing for half a second there...” “No but, do you understand... if this remains professional I will never truly know you and if all I get is to f**k you, then it’s just as bad. And when you meet someone else, and move on and settle down then what am I?” You let the pause hang for him to answer, “No one. F**king no one.” Literally and figuratively you’ll reckoned. Though with a face and attitude like his, you weren’t sure it’d take him long to get over it. “...But why are you here, now?” There was a silent oh! Before he smiled, “To ask you on a date... Saturday?” You were shocked, and for a minute you stepped back “You’re... serious!?” “Yeah!” “A date? Vince Kovac...?!” “Yeah. I’m open to what - but lunch or dinner is cool with me and if you don’t want candle lit, we can do this as casual as you like...” Vince gave a shrug “I know some good places - not near Kew mind! We’ll take you somewhere else...” He scratched his head awkwardly, and bit his lip; “...I just, think I wanna get to know ya...” *** You accepted his offer, not even pretending to do it begrudgingly, and you went out on Saturday for lunch to a cafe. You weren’t about to fall into this, and you were still weary of his attitude. But you were just as interested in him as he was you. Sure, he wanted to go on dates with you; but what was he doing when he wasn’t here? Was he simply taking his one night stands elsewhere until he got you in bed? And then what about when he managed that - would a taste be all he needed before he did move on to other things? You really wanted to be sure of this before he so much as got to kiss you again. And yet, part of you craved an ending to that evening... But his date suggestions were never bad, and it was him chasing you. Sitting at work drafting houses for others was extremely fun when every so often your phone would alert you to yet another text from Vince. And you wouldn’t even have to look at it; just smirk. Because you knew. Who else was going to text you? Most of your friends were here - or simply wouldn’t have the gall to bother you at work. And they would always read similar: I can’t stop thinking about you... Can we go out again this weekend? When are you gonna let me take you to dinner? To which you would often respond with - Shouldn’t you be working!? ;) Weeks passed and Manuel noticed something was up. But never directly addressed it - until one day he swung by your desk with a massive smirk on his face. “What?” You looked up from your computer. He leant on his hand, still smirking; “What!?” “I just ran into Vince Kovac in town.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. Was telling me all about this architect he’s seeing. Says it’s going pretty well... forgot to mention a name but from what he’s saying...” You tipped back on your chair, daring him to say it. “It’s you isn’t it.” “I’m sure he bigged it up.” “Ffffff... unbelievable! Vince Kovac?! I thought you had taste!” You threw your pencil at him, to which he laughed “You coulda given me any card. Any card - there’s a reason you gave me his, and you know it.” “He’s your type.” “Oh, divorcee and known cheater - my type? Thanks!” “Well it’s clearly NOT stopping you!” You bit you lip and conceded that point; “I like him, yes.” “Is it serious?” “He wants it to be...” you shrugged “with his stats I’m being careful.” “Vince the kinda man you can be careful with?” “Meaning?” “Well, off to the next one...” Your phone pinged as if on queue, and you grinned “ He’s the one chasing me, Manuel...” you picked it up. “Vince Kovac with a girl like you... I believe that’s what we would call a travesty...” he shook his head “Alas I must call myself responsible!” “You must...!” You smiled back “Guess I should be weary he’s telling everyone!” “Not your name though..! For which I would be grateful! Or the press will get hold of it.” “Thanks!” You responded dryly, then tapped away a text to Vince expressing your horror at the new found information. Shit! You work with him?! Yeah, how do you think I got YOUR card!? I’ve been on projects with Manuel for ages-! Damn! Look I’m not telling everyone! I should hope not! If you wanna see me again! Aw c’mon, you’re not serious! Just to make him squirm in his head a little you left him on read, and looked back to Manuel who was waiting patiently for you to finish. “He does know who you are, doesn’t he?” You scoffed “I doubt it!” “Why cuz then he really would be telling everyone?” Manuel nudged your arm “Vince Kovac just got to build a house for a big shot architect - how many awards have you won??! How many times have you been featured in something-!? That blue in your hair is literally your signature! You gotta let Kovac Construction brag about that somewhere...!!!” “And they can, eventually! Just not yet! It’s better he doesn’t know!” Suddenly your mobile was buzzing; “See! Now he’s calling me!” *** Truth was you realised just how hard you were falling for him and that you couldn’t stop yourself. So you let him take you to dinner, and fell as deep as you possibly could into this crush while he sat across from you in his best attempt to dress up, and waxed lyrical about anything and everything he could put his mind to. You just liked hearing him talk, it didn’t exactly matter to you what the words were. But he listened too, because he wanted to know more about you - and he’d said such when he’d asked you out in the first place, so you figured you might as well let him. But you liked the way he would smile – and when Vince asked questions he didn’t keep them on the surface; yet at much as he wanted to dig into your life, not one of them was disrespectful and if you happened not to want to answer him, he didn’t push the issue… And so your relationship became that little bit more real, and before you knew it he was staying over for much longer than just one night... But you were still holding back, and you knew it was driving him crazy. “Good things come to those who wait, you know that right?” Though sometimes you doubted Vince Kovac had waited for anything he wanted in his life. “But great things happen really fast also!” He grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up, walking towards your bedroom - you were giggling; “Oh no! Not to this girl!” “Nonsense!” “Vin! You can drag me back – it ain’t happening!” *** Your decision to discuss Vince with your friends was a bad move. You thought perhaps detailing nearly every little thing would help you figure it out... or... help them to help you. Apparently not. Instead you got a long string of complaints - that usually began with a sigh and the word “Men!!!” Some were a little more understanding, and would nod and listen before giving their two cents. But, others just wanted to lay into him for all they were worth. And that included your best friend… which was a little more awkward, so say the least. Because she was the one you wanted on side most. “Sounds like you should shift him before it gets to late!” “What-!? Why?!” “Isn’t it obvious-!? It doesn’t sound like he wants a real relationship, Y/N, just that he gets off on cheap thrills!!” “The guy practically lives with me - you’d think if he was like that he’d have given up. Surely they want it to be easy??” “Thrill of the chase, probably.” Well that wasn’t exactly the most helpful thing you’d ever been told. “So the answer is dump him?” “Before he uses you and you get hurt!!” “What if he’s not using me...” “You wanted advice-!” “Yeah, But I think asking me to get rid of him is a little extreme-!!” She huffed, folding her arms and looking you dead in the eye; “Is it, though?” When you couldn’t hold her eyes, with a sigh of your own she decided to be a little more brutal; “That man wants one thing and once you give him it, gurl, he will drop you and go f**k something else. He sounds God awful - give him the boot.” You shook your head. “Why do you want my advice if you’re not gonna listen!? Are you really gonna stay with this guy-!?” “I don’t know! Maybe I just want to prove you all wrong—!!! Maybe I just wanna prove myself wrong!!” “Babe…” She lent forward in her chair and took your hands in hers; “I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m just looking out for you... you do know that, at least?” “I do. But I don’t know what to do!” *** Today as he walked around getting ready and you sat up in bed, arms huddled around your knees – he decided that whining was his last-ditch option. Is it ever gonna happen-!? Like seriously what do I have to do?! You wanted to be careful about this, because whilst you didn’t want to lose him, not now, he still didn’t know who you really were. And you couldn’t give yourself to him when he didn’t. It wasn’t fair on either of you. Vince Kovac had to know you… and evidently that time was now. You took a breath, like delivering an ultimatum. “You don’t get to sleep with me until you google me...” He stopped wander and turned back to you with a raised an eyebrow; “What?” “You seriously mean you haven’t??” You ran a hand through your hair - Vince was up early to jog before work, and he was meant to be on the site just as early today. It wasn’t like to hadn’t chucked his name into a search engine to look at his company. You would have done it before you met him, if you’d have thought about doing so before you were half way out the door. “No, why would I...?” You shook your head at him, you were surprised, because he seemed like the type... but now he was curious. And he picked up his phone.You held your hands out; “Woah-! No! Do it when you’re at work or something!” not in front of me, anyway! He laughed “if I do it now, I can sleep with you now.” “Before work? Huh?” You raised an eyebrow in near enough disgust at his suggestion, “Can skip the run and just burn calories here...” Vince smirked, making you throw a pillow at him, “Shut up! Check it at work, after your run...!” “Why?!” “Not in front of me!!” He placed it down and leant across the bed; “Why should I do what you say?” You couldn’t help yourself, and grinned as you pulled him to your lips, “…You do pretty good job of it so far…” *** Vince did wait, because hell, he’d already waited this long. What was another work shift… Typing your name in he wondered exactly what he was expected to find. Then stopped dead and almost dropped his coffee. The first was a website - your name - extremely professional. Too professional. And the Instagram and Twitter to go with it. Both with the blue check mark. And then; F/N L/N to join ATD conference as key note speaker “ATD-!?” He clicked it “Holy shit!” That was a US based conference. And apparently you were going to be flying out to be a key note speaker along with two people he’d actually heard of. International superstars… Who the hell were you-!? He skipped back, and it was news story after news story about projects you working on, accolades you’d won and interviews you’d given. “She’s not just any f**kin’ architect, is she...?” He took a deep breath and exhaled. Damn, Kovac, you’ve really done it... When he got home you were sitting preparing for a client meeting tomorrow. It was drawn up, you just had to make sure to condense your proposal presentation. He trudged into the room slowly, and you looked up expectantly. “Just... who are you?” He got a little closer “You’re not... just an architect... are you?! Heck - you’ve worked with people that people not even in industry have heard of-! Y/N...! Just--!!” He laughed a little nervously “How out of my league am I here?!” You scoffed at that notion “YOU-!? Out of your league-!? Sorry, Vince Kovac, but no!” “But, I-! You’re making headlines around the world-!! Forget just Australia and I... I’m... I’m doing okay in Melbourne sometimes, I guess.” He ran his hands through his hair “You even have a signature that means people can tell when a building was drawn and then realised by you - there’s a whole damn article I read about that... and let me tell ya something, those buildings are gorgeous.” You leant on your hands with a smirk “Baby... you just built my design. You just built a house for me. And what’s more, you can now say that with context. How many people get to say that that ‘do alright in Melbourne sometimes they guess’!?” But you blushed a little “Thank you... though. I worked hard, but, part of me thinks I was just fortunate...” He sat opposite you, looking like that was the last word he would use; “You created a movie theatre that looks like a film reel.” “Oh-! In my home town?! Yeah that was my first one!” You beamed “it’s been a good while since then.” “That’s genius.” “It was stupid. And I tested a lot of limits, and many more nerves!” You grinned “That’s all we wanna do - bend physics to our will and defy gravity.” You pointed to him, “You’re the level headed ones that keep us firmly on the ground - preferably with cement.” You shrugged “But like I said before - you realise our vision too. And sometimes better than we could ever hope to draw it.” He leant on his hand and stared at you for a minute “…Your height and your hair… That’s the other one.” “Oh, tabloid headlines about the miniature blue-haired architect who likes doing weird things with glass and metal?” You’d read enough of your own with great dramatic effect to friends of yours. “…What’s the dream, Y/N… Surely you’ve… what are you doing in Melbourne?!” “…Well I preferred Sydney, but my company moved me down here… As for why I’m with a company, because I assume that’s the next question, I’m not quite Frank Gehry just yet… I like it in Australia… it’s home…” He took another breath; “Why me.” “Why not you?” You folded your arms and leant over your drawing; “…Who should I be dating? Who better than someone who owns a construction company – I already said you’re meant to keep my feet on the ground – you understand my industry, and you’re from home. Believe me – whoever you think is in my league, I’ve been there and done that, and honey… none of them are you.” You tipped your head, because his expression was still nearly unfathomable, “So… What are you thinking?” Vince sat back for a moment, and mulled it over in his mind, before his blue eyes came back to yours; “…Like I haven’t earned you…” and then quieter “…I’m not the kind of man who deserves this yet.” *** There was some kind of weird element to your relationship for a few days after that. And Vince continued to be a little awestruck, even if he pretended it didn’t phase him. You didn’t really mind too much, but it was a little strange to think his attitude would change just because he knew who you were. Maybe he felt like now he had to prove to you he was worth it; but then why just because you were a little more well known than you’d ever let on did that instantly mean you should demand respect. Vince should be displaying that outlook no matter who you were... That didn’t mean it wasn’t sweet to have him act like this with you. And suddenly everything was a little more delicate and he toned down his more vulgar forms of flirting. Which was funny because you basically just toned them up, and that seemed to confuse him that little bit more - but had him smirking at every sentence you would say. And you knew that secretly, though he might not say tt at the moment, he was loving every single second. This playful tone you were running with let him know that you trusted him enough now - that whatever he wanted to do to you you’d most certainly let him do. But he still gave you that I gotta earn you look. This morning when his alarm went off he wound his arms around you; “Come running with me...” “No...! It’s too early...” You groaned, you weren’t due into work until after 10, and you were expecting a lie in… apparently no such luck. You knew Vince wasn’t about to leave you alone. “Come running with me...” His voice was more persistent as he kissed your shoulders, your neck, along your collar bone and when you giggled and tried to hide your face in your pillow he kissed that too; “Vin! No!!” “C’mon...” you weren’t deterring him from his trail of kisses; “I thought you liked running before work...” “On my own terms...” you peaked at your own clock “Not at this ungodly hour..!” “Y/N...” he kissed you again, sighing your name in a way that made your skin prickle. Oh. You felt him grin; “C’mon...” the run of his hands was dangerous and you caught them in yours “...you can’t tell me you don’t wanna...” “This early..?” You grumbled; face still in your pillow “Mmm...” he pulled his body warmth from yours, which made you groan again in discontent as he pulled you up. Why is he such a morning person on the days I don’t wanna be-!? “Vin....” You whined, as he placed his hands either side of you this time kissing you into silence “Come on. What are you afraid of? You won’t beat me?” “I believe the word partner doesn’t mean it’s a race!” “Dunno. It’s kinda a race...” You smacked his arm and allowed him to drag you the rest of the way out of bed; “See!” He coaxed half in mocking “Then you can be back in bed before you know it... orrrr...” he smirked “you could come shower with me.” “F**k off!” You stretched, with a yawn, “...I’ll be way too awake to fall back to sleep and you’re for sure earning the shower thing-! You WISH that thought would cross my mind.” “Though it clearly does...” he smirked again, but then sighed; “And I know… I’m well aware now of exactly who I’m earning…” You scoffed and proceeded to push past him to get ready, “Feisty this mornin’ are we-!?” “Blame yourself-!! You woke me up!” As he predicted, you were running circles around him by the time you were half a mile up the road... you ran ahead and then tracked back, looped around him - ran off again and did the same.“Vinnnn—!” elongated pause “Hurry uuuupppp—!!” Vince sighed, frustrated “This isn’t exactly partnering with me now, is it!!” He heard you laugh but you didn’t respond until you wheeled back; “I told you before, you gotta keep pace with me babe.” “Definitely did not think that conversation was really about running!” “And maybe it wasn’t!” You gave a wink, “Are you asking me to slow down-!?” “Yeah then I can actually, y’know - talk to ya!” That made you laugh again - and you sprinted another tight loop before slowing down to match his pace and rhythm. “Better.” There was a slight growl of approval to his voice that made you raise an eyebrow, “Geez, how do you run this slow.” “F**k off!” Again your laughter filled the quiet morning air; “I’m kidding this is like a good distance pace, babe, I like it! I got no problems!” “Oh yeah-! Sure you don’t!” You laughed again, nudging his shoulder playfully with your own – as you made sure to keep within brushing distance of him. “Not with your running anyhow.” “Oh, for F-” *** Given to who you were, sometimes you had days where clients would contact you from your website – rather than going through the company – and wanted to talk with you about drawing houses, or offices, or the like… These calls had a habit of being at odd times, with you in Australia and them /almost anywhere else/ in the world. And that left you always looking for something to do on the days they rolled around. And huffing to yourself about why they couldn’t be Australian millionaires; because if it all went smoothly, you supposed you’d likely have to travel to their country of origin. Today was such a day, and you weren’t about to sit around at home all day waiting… So you drove yourself into Melbourne. “Excuse me… Are you… Y/N...?” you were in town, doing some shopping of your own when you heard your name. It was said almost a little uncertainly; the type of thing you were used to hearing from a fan. A student who was about to tell you that some of your impossible architecture was inspiring their final project... Or anyone who was just a fan of your work. Calm and timid and looking to do anything but inconvenience you. You glanced over your shoulder towards the origin of the voice and froze. Hoping that panic didn’t simultaneously cross your face. Not a student, probably also not here to talk to you about your architecture either - you would highly doubt it. You’d seen pictures, Vince wasn’t attempting to keep his life hidden from you - if he was going to make this work he probably wanted you to meet his kids... But, this was something a little bit different even than that. You turned to her and swallowed hard - unsure of what the correct thing to say even was. But you knew her name well enough... “Ally…” ---

@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby

#MendoTagSquad.

#Lyric #Ben Mendelsohn #Vince Kovac #Tangle #Emily Kinney lyrics!#Tbh I just needed this one at the right time - and OH!#Stick around Vince you're another one on the Spain list.#I always pick up the most random songs for you...#Anyways now we have Ally in the mix #Which is exciting!#Where to now! What will she tell or not tell Reader!#...Wait for Em. That's a cat fight coming if ever there was one.#Fuck her up Lyric that's why I made you.#Is this slightly OOC?#maybe I just want him to be a better person...#88 #Team 2009

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hzcleski · 6 years ago

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hello friends! you probs know who i am already but if not hello! i’m sam aaand this is my newish muse! i played hal here for a minute one time but i’ve decided to give him a huuuuge revamp so character info is under the cut! lmk if you wanna plot! messaging me @ellvie is probably easiest!

╰☆╮ DYLAN O'BRIEN ─ HAL ZALESKI identifies as CIS MALE and uses HE/HIM pronouns. they’re a FORMER OLYMPIAN/NHL PLAYER, and they’re only TWENTY THREE ! they’re said to be CAPABLE, but also TURBULENT. i guess that’s why they’re known as THE LEGACY in the tabloids.

quick disclaimer that this is a sideblog so i might post to the wrong account sometimes

other disclaimer a lot of my hockey information is from google ok

nathan harold zaleski jr was practically born with a pair of skates on, which makes sense considering his family is hockey royalty. his father is nathan harold zaleski sr, aka a legend and one of the biggest names in sports to this very day. olympic gold medalist several times over, beloved longtime defenseman for the toronto maple leafs, at the very peak of his career and married to a beautiful wealthy socialite when his only child was born.

listen...this is an au where the maple leafs are good or like, had one genuinely good star player in nathan sr. okay thanks for coming to my ted talk!

he’s got dual citizenship because he was born in canada even though he hasn’t lived there since he was ten, but his parents were us citizens, which doesn’t seem important but WAIT FOR IT

nathan jr, who would begin going by the nickname of hal early on in life, probably learned how to skate before he even learned how to walk because of course he did. his father’s intention was always to have another him. i mean for fuck’s sake they have the exact same name. hal’s purpose in life has never been in question, not by him or anyone who’s ever seen him play.

his natural talent for hockey became apparent from a very young age, which didn’t surprise anyone ofc. his father saw it as a sign and began pushing him even harder, hiring the very best trainers and coaches to help perfect his game while nathan sr focused on his own career.

except that he was running out of steam and fast. nothing happened like there was no huge scandal or career ending injury. nathan sr was just...getting old. fans were simply losing interest in him as newer and younger players joined the league and there was nothing he could really do about it except make sure his legacy lived on.

hal was ten years old when everything seemed to finally fall apart. his dad was hanging on to the very last threads of his career, let go from the maple leafs and almost certainly picked up by the new york rangers purely out of pity. meanwhile, hal’s parents finally divorced which he took almost alarmingly well for a ten year old, but it’s not like his parents were ever a shining example of a deep, loving marriage. they spent years settling the divorce, fighting back and forth while suing the shit out of each other across whole fuckin countries. lowkey they almost wound up being more famous for the legal drama than they were for hockey.

hal’s dad finally retired when he was twelve, won sole custody of him when he was fourteen, and pulled enough strings to get him a spot on the canadian hockey team dual citizenship! going to the 2010 vancouver winter olympics when he was just a teenager, making him one of the youngest players to ever compete in the games.

and canada won gold that year so hal was making history again in no time, being one of the youngest players to ever become a gold medalist in the winter olympics. now he didn’t actually see a lot of playing time that year. his skill was undeniable, but no one seemed to think that he was ready for the big time rush. tbh they probably weren’t wrong, but nevertheless his name and his win made an impression on everyone.

up until that point hal was homeschooled bc ofc education came second to hockey, but he always wanted to attend an actual school and he did! after his first olympics his dad finally sent him to the same private school in the city as all the other rich kids and it was...weird! he started in the middle of the year and was instantly an outsider among his classmates. everyone else had known each other all their lives so hal immediately at a disadvantage. it didn’t help that he’d never really...had a single friend before. tbh his peers were probably intimidated by him. he was just a high schooler and already an olympic gold medalist like...ofc no one wanted to be the person to go approach him and say hi.

played for canada again dual citizenship! at the 2014 winter olympics in sochi when he was eighteen and this time HE WAS THE STAR. absolutely at the top of his game. anyone who still thought that he was a joke before the games started shut up real quick when he won his second gold medal.

he got home and was eventually drafted into the nhl, so he sorta ditched school oops. technically he finished but like...barely since he went back to being tutored for the last few months.

several teams wanted him and tried to throw a shit ton of money at him, but hal settled on the new york rangers with a huge multi million dollar deal

he quickly stole hearts on and off the ice. whether fans admired his skill or followed him during the olympics or remembered his father, for one reason or another he was winning people over left and right. unsurprisingly he’d go on to win the 2014-2015 rookie of the year award, presented to him by the president of the nhl and everything.

he did not attend the 2018 winter olympics in pyeongchang as the nhl famously refused to release their players. hal himself was a major part of the uproar. the whole country of canada dual citizenship! practically threw a fucking fit bc the nhl was disqualifying their star player from winning them their third gold medal in a row and hey big surprise...canada didn’t win gold in 2018 :)

hal’s in the middle of his fifth i think? year of pro hockey rn and so far his career has been solid. his dad is really pushing him to sign with a “better team” and he has gotten offers, but he isn’t really interested. he likes playing for new york & he likes living in new york. maybe someday....maybeeee....but for right now he’s happy with where he is.

okay now for some fast facts!

literally always looks like he just got into a fight, probably bc he just did during his last game. is usually sporting some injury like a black eye or split lip or cut cheek. fortunately hasn’t completely given in to the hockey player stereotype by getting all of his fuckin teeth knocked out...yet

notice that i hardly mentioned his mom? that about sums up their relationship tbh. hal was practically raised by nannies and trainers. his mom always had some brunch or gala or public appearance she was far more invested in. literally she didn’t even really...want custody of him when she divorced his dad, but she claimed to just to be petty and give nathan sr an even more difficult time. yeah they kinda hate each other now and since hal has always been closer to his dad, his mom isn’t even really that interested in seeing him lmao. she’ll call like once a month and invites him to brunch if she happens to be in the city, but ngl hal probably hasn’t seen her in like...a couple years at the least. he’s not really broken up about it either.

right so...walking talking endless pit of daddy issues? you bet! just because hal prefers his dad doesn’t mean that they get along or that his dad is a good person. he still has his perfect public image and he isn’t complete garbage but...yeah their relationship is extremely toxic. he’s always been very harsh with hal, pushing him and pushing him to be the best bc nothing he accomplishes is ever good enough.

so what if he's won two olympic gold medals? so what if he was rookie of the year? so what if he’s considered one of the best and most beloved players in the nhl? he can do more, he can be even better. his dad is a constant voice in his head even though he’s always around anyway. he never misses a game or an opportunity to point out hal’s every flaw.

ofc as a result hal’s always been very hard on himself. every single day of his entire life has been spent basing his self worth off what his father thinks of him. it was awful for his self esteem bc no fucking duh.

HOWEVER. it isn’t public knowledge at this time, but as of right now? hal’s relationship with his father is falling apart faster and faster by the moment. they’re a ticking time bomb & it’s literally only a matter of time before they explode yikes!

fortunately hal could sorta sense the direction things were heading and did something about it. he finally moved out when the hockey season started back in october and he’s been feeling better ever since. like he has more control over his life even though his dad is still WAY too involved.

personality: a douchebag who means no harm, mostly because he's never really trying to be a jerk. tends to come across as a typical meathead jock for good reason bc that’s exactly who he is. in conversation he's usually very blunt and a little awkward bc he’s still learning how to socialize with others. hockey is basically his whole life so it’s all he knows how to talk about, which can either be endearing or annoying. a genius hockey player, but a ditz in every other area. very short - tempered and impulsive. always means well and wants the best for those he cares about, but might go about expressing those feelings in a weird way bc he was never taught how to properly deal with his emotions.

CONNECTIONS

family

step sibling he grew up with - sabrina miller

paternal cousins - warren daily and wren daily

cousin by marriage - rosalind cox

maternal cousin - open. his mom is polish for reference!

romantic

girlfriend - genesis iver

ex fiancée - ginny baker

ex on good terms - margo massey

ex who cheated on him - isla thompson

former fwb - amethyst armenta, open to more.

former toxic on / off relationship - reese monroe

exes, open to more.

hal has a ton of other exes and i don’t feel like listing them tbh all so i’m just gonna assume that y’all know who you are ok

platonic

best friend 5ever - marialena goldstein

confidant - open.

family friends - sullivan ramsey, open to more.

childhood friends - open to more.

close friends - open to more.

friends - mia kauri, chance kauri, theo cannon, angel almeida, open to more.

bickering friends - open to more.

workout buddy - open.

negative

on bad terms - kennedy drakos, jay weston, open to more.

these are just a few plot ideas! i’m most definitely open to other stuff so if you have any ideas please free to share! i think that’s enough from me soooo yeah! mssg me if you wanna plot & as always i’m super excited to write with everyone!

#excessintro #toxic people tw #i'm not sure if that's tag buuuut yeah!#hope you enjoy feel free to message for plots!

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