#its been floatin around in my head for a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lu-undy · 4 years ago

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Valentine’s Day 6 - Confession/Heart

I had two ideas so here you go! First one is Heart + Confession, read it here on AO3!

Or under the cut!

"Would you like more wine?"

"If you still don't charge for it, yeah."

"I might start doing it."

"No, you won't…!"

Spy chuckled and filled Sniper's glass again.

"Oi, no, Hootsy, wine's not for you, mate." Sniper gently pushed his pet owl away from the glass. "You got water with Spy's kitty."

"Hoo!"

"What's this talkin' back now, eh? Who taught you that?"

"Meow!" Spy's long haired, white cat jumped on the coffee table and supported her feathery friend.

"Course, Spy's kitty taught you that, eh?"

"How dare you?" Spy answered and his cat hopped on his lap. She purred as the man in the mask ran his fingers through her luscious fur. "Perle's manners are irreprochable, Bushman."

Sniper chuckled. Spy looked like a Bond villain stroking his cat like that, one leg on the other, sitting on the sofa next to him. The light from the fireplace added to the theatrics of it.

"Yeah, as much as yours, eh, you thief."

"Are you talking about the cigarette from the other day, again? It was not theft."

"What was it, then? Robbery?"

"Non, a magic trick."

"Oh, right, yeah, a magic trick where you steal my cigarette off my very lips never to be seen again?"

"Besides, how could you possibly know it was me?" Spy asked with a playful smirk.

"Cause the cig started floatin' on its own. Not a lot of people can cloak and do that, Spook."

"It could have been the enemy Spy, non?" Spy teased further.

"Nah, it was you."

"Again, how could you know?"

"The other Spy would've just backstabbed me and gone away. You're the constant pain in the neck!"

Spy chuckled and took a sip of his wine.

"So if I understand correctly, the pain he inflicts is in your back, while the one I do is on your neck?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that." Sniper answered his friend's chuckles.

"Well then, no wonder why you keep complaining about your back, hm? And look at your posture… Straighten your back, Bushman."

"Can't. Hurts too much." Sniper tried but the pain stopped his motion.

"Has it always been hurting like that? Perhaps you should see Medic about it?"

"Nah, it's just the rifle's weight. I used to be doin' a few contracts here and there so I didn't really have to hold it and strain m'self for days on end. Now in Mann Co., things are quite different."

"Hm. I see. Still, maybe it is worth having it checked by Medic if it is indeed that painful?"

"Nah, the guy's a freak. Chances are he'll open me up and put a brain or something in my back, ugh!" Sniper winced.

"As much as he is a freak, he is the medical expert here and knows his trade."

"Meow…" Perle went to Sniper's lap and he scratched her jaw. She purred.

"Yeah, I know… Still, the idea of goin' to him gets me more tense." Sniper answered.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Sniper looked at Spy. He expected to see mischievous eyes with a hint of mockery in his voice. He found none of that. Spy seemed genuinely in the mood to help him.

"Nah. I just don't like goin' there unless I really have to. But uh, thanks, eh?"

They exchanged a gaze and a grin.

"May I then suggest something else?" Spy asked.

"What?"

"Give me your back."

"What? No, you're a Spook!"

"Bushman, I am not the one who stabs you in the back. Apparently, I only weigh on your neck…!"

Sniper was still hesitant.

"And who have you shared most of your evenings with as of late? And who are you getting drunk with today, on a Friday night, hm?" Spy raised a playful eyebrow.

"You…"

"Getting yourself drunk with me is way more dangerous than facing the other way and giving me your back. Now, please…" Spy gently pushed his cat aside and scooted closer to the Aussie. "Your back." He gestured to Sniper to turn.

"Right…" Sniper sighed and turned on the sofa. "But I swear, if you put one of your butter knives there…!"

"Breathe." Spy put his hands on Sniper's shoulders. "And let your shoulders fall."

"Mph…" Sniper grumbled.

"Silence and follow my instructions, Bushman. To think that you normally are the least sociable… And now, when you would benefit from remaining quiet, that is when you decide to speak…! Good. Now…"

Sniper didn't see it but Spy removed his gloves before putting his hands on the Aussie's polo shirt again, on his shoulders.

"Here is your spine…" Spy let his fingers slither down slowly, gently tapping Sniper's vertebrae.

"Playin' the drums on my back now?"

"Shush! I am counting!"

"What the hell are you counting? The places to put a knife?"

"Non, you fool…" Spy chuckled. "I am counting your vertebrae. And to answer your worries, if I were to put a blade in your back, I would put it here." Spy gently pressed his index and middle finger slightly left from Sniper's spine. "Hm. I can feel the stab scars left by my counterpart through your shirt."

"Yeah, you both stab where it hurts, eh?"

"Namely, straight to the heart." Spy said and Sniper chuckled.

"Almost romantic, eh?"

"It is absolutely so!" Spy answered as his palms slid to Sniper's shoulder blades. He started pressing harder.

"Oh, is it now - ouch?! That hurt…!"

"Oui, I can feel the knots." Spy confirmed. "Take a deep breath, I will work on them."

"Right… Be gentle, ok? It hurts when you press it down…"

"Never has anyone complained about my massages in the past. Relax."

Sniper thanked the Lord Spy was behind him and couldn't see the pink on his cheeks.

"Here… Do you feel this…? This is one knot… It is a bundle of muscles that has decided to stay tense because you are making it work too much…"

"Spook?"

"What now, Bushman? A witty remark about how muscular your back is? Oui, it is more muscular than what I thought, now, please, remain silent and continue breathing deep and slowly."

"N-no, Spook…" Sniper's cheeks turned a shade more pink. "Shouldn't I be lying down for this?"

Spy stopped sharp and his eyebrows jumped.

"Oui, you should. But seeing how reluctant you were to give me your back, I did not want to suggest anything more."

"It's ok. If you think it's better for me to lie down, then I'll do it." Sniper answered.

"You can't lie on this sofa, you are too tall and wouldn't be comfortable. I am afraid the only piece of equipment that might work is my bed."

"Uh…"

"I have no issue with this but will understand if you would rather sit here."

"No, it's fine. Let's get there. My back's been killing me for long enough." Sniper answered.

"Are you sure?" Spy's hand sank down and Sniper turned to him.

"Well, if you wanted to stab me with your tiny knife, you'd have done it by now, right?" He smiled.

"I would have indeed." Spy nodded and returned the grin. "Follow me."

Both stood up and Spy led the way to his bedroom right next door from his smoking room.

"Jesus, that's the biggest bed I've seen in my life, d'you never drown in there?"

Spy rolled his eyes and gave a small chuckle.

"Lie down on your stomach."

"D'you need my shirt off?"

"Almost romantic, eh?" Spy quoted Sniper.

"Alright, Spook, don't make it weird…!"

"You are the one who suggested removing your shirt as you entered my bedroom." Spy answered.

"Yeah but not like that…!"

Both chuckled.

"If you so wish, you may, it would indeed be more practical for me. In that case, let me get more comfortable too." Spy removed his tie and undid his cufflinks before rolling his sleeves up along his forearms.

"Wooh, Spy with no tie? You alright? Not feelin' too naked?" Sniper snickered.

"Barely." Spy answered with a smirk. "Now, if I am to work on your bare back let me bring some oil." He walked to his night table and opened the small cupboard door. Sniper saw multiple bottles there.

"Oil? What're you gonna do? Season me and cook me? I knew you Frenchies ate weird stuff but come on…!"

Spy retrieved a small glass bottle.

"Says the man who can eat whatever crosses his scope in this God forsaken desert."

"Yeah well… It's good if you know how to grill it. Should come around one day and try. I'm good with a barbie." Sniper removed his top, giving his back to Spy before turning to him. "So, want me on my belly?"

Spy raised one interested eyebrow. It might have been because of Sniper's invitation, or his physique, perhaps even both.

"Oui, please. And you are inviting me to play with dolls? I did not take you for one with such interests, Bushman."

"What?"

"You said, and I quote, 'I'm good with a barbie.' Barbies are dolls for little girls." Spy motioned his colleague to lie and Sniper did, on his stomach and laughed.

"I'm not talkin' about Barbie dolls, you genius. A barbie for us is a barbeque!"

"Ah…" Spy smiled. "It would make more sense than a feral Bushman playing with little girls' toys." He spread just a splash oil in the palm of his hands and rubbed them together.

"Oof, your hands are cold, Spook…!" Sniper's body tensed at the first touch with Spy's hands.

"Like my blood, if I believe your words…"

Sniper smiled.

"Right, I'm sorry. I don't think you're that cold."

Spy rolled his eyes with a sweet grin.

"I know, Sniper, I know." Spy rubbed his hands slowly on Sniper's back. "Are you comfortable here?"

"Your bed's the best thing I've ever laid on in my life… You must fall asleep in the blink of an eye…"

"Believe it or not, I rarely do."

"Really…?"

"Mh-hm." Spy let his hands explore Sniper's back. Slow circles, pushing his palms between the shoulder blades, kneading the skin and soft muscles underneath.

"That's where you get yer beauty sleep from, eh?"

"What? You make no sense, mon ami. The wine is getting to you." Spy softly chuckled.

[My friend]

"No… It's yer hands… And yeah, I'm as comfy as I could ever be…"

"That, I am not sure of. Here, lay your head on my pillow." Spy pushed it and Sniper obeyed.

"Christ, what is it made of? Angel wings' feathers…? That's gotta be the softest thing ever…" Sniper felt his head delicately sink on his colleague's pillow, and took a deep breath. Gosh, it smelt of a mix of Spy's perfume and the scent of his shampoo, it smelt expensive, subtle and minty...

"Almost, almost… But oui, now you are comfortable. And please, relax." Spy started running his fingers around the Aussie’s spine again.

"It's hard…"

"Why?" Spy was now whispering.

"Cause… I don't know."

"Let me help… Please." Spy went on whispering, and between the slow waves of his menthol-tinted whispers whirling in the air and the movements of his hands, sliding on the Aussie's back, pushing the muscles to surrender, Sniper gently closed his eyes.

"Spook…?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

"You are more than welcome." Spy was on his knees, next to Sniper's body.

"No… Really…"

"And oui, really, you are welcome." Spy didn't realise it but the smile he had lingered on his lips for a long while, while silence fell in the room. The smell of the oil rose and filled the air. It was pinetrees, a fresh forest under Spy's skilled and warm fingers.

"Sniper, please, I can feel you are tense…"

"Sorry… Havin' a spy behind my back isn't easy to accept."

"Hm. Let me try something." Spy stepped off of the bed and behind his shut eyelids, Sniper saw the lights in the room drop. He opened his eyes and saw that Spy had indeed switched the lights off.

"Spook?"

"Shh, now," Spy hopped on the bed to resume his position next to Sniper's body. "Close your eyes again."

"Spy, it's worse, now I can't see you."

"You couldn't see me before either, your eyes were closed."

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

"Close your eyes again and breathe in long and slow breaths, from your lower stomach preferably." Spy started the massage again.

"Why?" Sniper asked yet obeyed anyway.

"Because this is how newborns breathe, from their lower stomachs, not filling their chests with air. Carefree, baby breaths are from your diaphragm, not your lungs."

"Really…?"

"Oui."

"How d'you know that…?" Sniper's words were slower and Spy smiled.

"Contrary to you, I live in the city where I experience these wild exchanges called social interactions…"

"Spook…?" Sniper's lips pursed up in a smile.

"What that means is that I use my vocal chords to communicate with other human beings." Spy went on with his teasing, as well as with the massage. He could feel the knots below his hand.

"Spook, I know what you mean…"

"Oh, my apologies. I assumed a feral Bushman like you would hardly understand."

"Pfff, you and your big words…"

Spy smiled.

"But you like my big words, as you call them, and you don't want me to stop talking."

Sniper's lips retracted and his smile slowly vanished.

"W-what…?"

"I have never heard you ask me that many things or question me that much for as long as I know you."

"It's the wine, Spook…"

"Non, it is not. We have been drunk before, together, and more than just this. Non, there is something else." Sniper fell silent. "Something that annoys you, I can feel you tense again under my hands."

"Mmh…" Sniper grumbled.

"You may speak it out if you so wish."

"I just… I like your voice. It's calm. That's it."

Spy smiled.

"And I, your sense of humour." He answered.

"Hm, that's just cause you're a posh snob but deep down… You're just a simple bloke…" Sniper's voice was different. He sounded almost sleepy. It made Spy's smile widen.

"I might be." He simply replied as he moved on to the next knot. Now, he applied pressure to specific points, circling around firmly yet not too much, just what was needed to slowly bring the tension down. "Since you seem to like hearing me, may I tell you a story?"

"Sure…"

"This is a classic French poem. It was written to educate Louis the 15th as a young boy."

"Mmh…" Sniper smiled. He didn't have the energy to mock his friend.

"It is called Le corbeau et le renard, the crow and the fox." Spy started and then recited it in French.

To Sniper, it was gibberish. God only knew what Spy was reciting. But it rhymed, the rhythm was soothing, it rocked Mundy almost to sleep and what a velvet voice… He could listen to it for hours without tiring.

As he recited the poem from memory, Spy untied the remaining knots on Sniper's shoulders. When he finished, he did not stop massaging. He went on, because he liked hearing Sniper's soft mumbles, his groans as the tension exited his body and dissolved away.

Sniper was somewhere between asleep and awake, in that limbo where nothing was exactly real or a dream. His body had completely sunk in Spy's mattress and pillow, and everything felt heavy now, so heavy…

The Frenchman finished the poem but went on, seamlessly. He jumped from one poem written more than a hundred years before for a prince, to one he was improvising for a friend.

"Et je n'oserais jamais t'avouer,

[And I would never admit]

Ce secret qui me hante, qui me fait rêver,

[This secret that haunts me, that dream,]

Sentir ta peau, glisser sous mes doigts curieux,

[To feel your skin slide under my curious fingers,]

Sentir ton repos, et te voir aussi heureux.

[To feel you rest and to see you so peaceful.]

Si j'étais un homme de grand courage,

[If I was a man of great courage,]

Je te le dirais.

[I would tell you]

Qu'avant de dormir je vois une image,

[That before falling asleep I see one image,]

Celle de tes yeux sur moi pour l'éternité."

[That of your eyes on me for eternity.]

Spy stopped and sighed. The whole room now smelt like a forest in winter, yet the air was warm. He winced and started regretting it. Even though it was in French, declaring his love for his colleague was… odd. Arh, he shouldn't have. Such words don't need a translation to be understood.

"Spook…?"

"Oui?"

"That prince's poem…"

"What about it?"

"Longest poem I've ever heard in my life." Sniper answered, his mouth half in the pillow, and his voice slightly muffled. Spy grinned.

"Well, I do apologise. I did not want to bore you."

"Nah… It's fine. But uh… The end…"

"Oui?"

"Rhythm's different…"

Spy raised an eyebrow but then shook his head.

"Indeed."

"Why…?"

"Because it is not part of the poem."

"What d'you mean?"

"I… took the liberty to add a few verses, which by the way have nothing to do with the poem itself." Spy admitted.

"Oh…? What did you add…? I mean, what's it mean?"

Spy smiled, albeit sadly. He fell silent, thinking of the best way to answer. Meanwhile, Sniper sat up and turned to him.

"Spook…? What is it?" He sat cross-legged in front of Spy who was sitting on his knees, his head lowered.

"Sniper?"

"Yeah?"

"If… If you were to put an arrow through me," Spy started, and Sniper listened carefully. They felt alone in the world in the intimacy of Spy's bedroom, in total darkness. "Where would you put it?"

Sniper raised his index and poked Spy on his chest. "Like you with your knife, through your heart."

Spy nodded and lowered his head again. He sat on his behind and raised his knees in front of him before wrapping his arms around his legs.

"Why are you askin' this?"

"Because you did exactly that, thus answering your own question better than I could have."

"What…?" Sniper took a moment to think. He had asked Spy what were those words that he improvised at the end of his poem, and the Frenchman had made him say that he put an arrow through his heart? "But I'd never shoot you, you're a teammate." Sniper answered.

"I am a teammate?" Spy answered and Sniper clearly heard distress, maybe even disappointment.

"Yeah, and a good mate." Sniper put his hand on Spy's shoulder and the Frenchman sighed. "What is it, Spy? Tell me?"

"And I would never admit

This secret that haunts me, that dream,

To feel your skin slide under my curious fingers,

To feel you rest and to see you so peaceful.

If I was a man of great courage,

I would tell you

That before falling asleep I see one image,

That of your eyes on me for eternity."

Sniper's jaw dropped.

"These are the few verses that I added." Spy sighed and put a hand over his eyes. "Of course, it rhymes in French."

Sniper opened round eyes of surprise.

"Spook…"

"Non. You don't need to say anything." Spy wiggled his shoulder to move Sniper's hand away and stood off of the bed. He headed for the bedroom's door. "You may dress back up and leave. I apologise and will understand if you wish to not spend more time with me."

Sniper was about to answer but Spy left the bedroom and shut the door. He leaned his back on it and sank to the floor, hiding his face in his hands.

What a moment of weakness…! Bravo, Spy, bravo. Four decades of existence and romantic adventures to ruin this. Remarkable! One would think that with more than forty years of existence and more than twice that number of romantic conquests, Spy would know better. But non. Or at least, not when it counted.

If the seduction was part of the mission, then yes, of course, it would be a piece of cake. Spy would just be himself and chances are the person would fall.

But Sniper was not part of any mission. He just happened to be the kind of company that Spy so rarely experienced. Witty remarks, banter, teasing… Everything was perfect with him, it flowed naturally and he didn't have to hide his job to the Aussie!

There was close to no lies between them. Well, apart from Spy's feelings for his colleague.

"Spook?"

Spy removed his hands off his face. Sniper was right on the other side of the door.

"Spook, I know you're here… Uh… Can I open the door?"

Spy pushed his heavy self back on his feet and adjusted his shirt.

"Oui, you may. My apologies." He turned and went back to the sofa where he saw the bottle of wine, the glasses on the coffee table. Next to them, Hootsy was sleeping, wrapped in Perle's fur.

Sniper pushed the door and entered the smoking room.

"Uh… Spy?" He approached the sofa from behind.

Spy raised his hand to cut him short. He didn't want to drag this situation and make it more awkward.

Sniper sighed. He stayed there, planted behind the sofa for a second. But then he frowned and walked around to sit next to the Frenchman.

"Spy?"

"What now? I told you, you may leave."

"Where would you put your knife if you wanted to stab me from the front?"

"What?" Spy finally turned to Sniper.

"Show me."

"Sniper-"

"Where?" He insisted.

"You know where."

"Spook, just show it to me."

"There." Spy nodded to Sniper's chest.

"With your finger…"

Spy sighed and pointed at Sniper's heart.

"There, are you satisfied, now?'

"No." Sniper wrapped his palm around Spy's finger and kept it hanging in the air in front of his chest. "Open your hand."

"What?"

"Open your hand, c'mon."

Spy obeyed and opened his palm.

"Now close your eyes."

"Sniper, where is this going?" Spy asked, irritated.

"Nowhere if you don't do what I'm sayin'. Now, eyes, shut."

Spy sighed and frowned but obeyed.

"Here…" Sniper pulled Spy's entire hand to his chest. "Now tell me what you said again."

"What? Why? You want to humiliate me now?" Spy opened his eyes.

"Shut up and bloody do it!"

They locked eyes and stared madly at each other until Spy's eyebrows relaxed. If those were his last moments of friendship with Sniper, he would do anything the Aussie asked him. He closed his eyes again.

"And do it in French, please."

Spy rolled his eyes behind his shut eyelids. Oui, Sniper, anything you want, he thought.

And so he repeated the few verses of his improvised poem. Spy knew how to appreciate poetry, not only in words but in any situation. Yet, he wasn't as good when it comes to making some of his own.

As he recited the lines that he started to know by heart now, he felt Sniper's chest bumping against his palm harder and faster. Spy opened his eyes and looked down at Sniper's chest, then back up at his collar that he saw was trembling. He frowned, not understanding why Sniper’s heart would wake up while hearing gibberish…

Soon enough, he finished.

“D’you feel it?” Sniper asked and Spy frowned, lowering his eyes.

“I feel your heart, oui.”

“No, you felt it. Stop lyin’, Spook, be clear!”

“I am!”

“No!” Sniper answered and Spy looked away. “Please… You’re not making it easy for either of us. Just say what you think.”

“Fine. Oui, I felt your heart beat faster as I spoke. Why? Were you holding back laughter?”

“Why d’you always have to think that I’m mocking you? No! It’s the opposite, you idiot, I was bein’ moved!” Spy’s eyebrows jumped. “Yeah, I was bein’ moved! I… Look I have no idea what you just said meant, but I can feel it, ok? Listen to you when you speak French, you sound completely different! You don’t sound like a cold-blooded snake and you don’t sound like you’re just a mate, you sound so… so… sensitive!”

Spy’s blush was visible, even with his mask on. He was thankful the lights were off. Sniper tightened his grip on Spy’s hand.

“C’mere…” He pulled Spy from behind his neck and stuck his head on his chest. “Listen… D’you hear that?” Sniper whispered and Spy nodded against his chest. “What is it?”

“Your heart.”

“Yeah, now sit up, let me listen…” Sniper pushed his head against Spy’s chest and the Frenchman blushed beyond his ears. He started sweating under his mask. “I can hear yours. It does the same thing as mine.”

“What do you mean?” Spy asked.

“Gosh, you’re thick sometimes! Well, I love you too, you idiot! There, I said it, is that clearer? It’s gotta be, can’t make it more clear than that, eh?”

Spy slowly grinned, and his smile transformed in a smirk.

“Why’re you smug now?”

Spy poked Sniper’s heart.

“Boom, stabbed right in the heart, and you confessed before I did.”

“Wha-Spook!”

Spy chuckled.

“I love you too, Bushman. Viens ici…”

[Come here...]

Spy pulled Sniper from his collar and kissed him passionately. When the surprise passed, and it soon did, Sniper wrapped his arms around Spy, one hand around his waist, the other on his back, pulling him to himself equally strongly. When their lips parted, both chuckled.

“I hate you when you play me like that, Spook.”

“Non, you don’t.”

“Shut up...” Sniper chuckled.

“Not a chance.”

“Pfff…”

Their embrace lasted and they clung to each other, Spy’s head beneath Sniper’s jaw.

“Sniper?”

“Yeah?”

“Straighten your back.”

“Not my fault, you’re small.”

“It is your fault. You are too tall.”

“Tiny snake.”

“Giant kangaroo.”

“I love you.” Sniper tightened the hug.

“So do I, and I don’t intend to massage you everyday, so please, straighten your posture.”

“Nah.” Sniper answered.

“Why? Is it just to annoy me?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“What is the other part?” Spy asked, his eyes closed in the safety of the Aussie’s arms.

“The other part in me thinks that it wants more massages from you. You got amazing hands.” Sniper answered.

“Mh, you have seen nothing of what my hands are able to do, Bushman.”

Spy smirked as he heard Sniper’s heartbeat jump under his masked ear.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #dontneedavalentine2021

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jubilantwriter · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Bit of Sweetness in a Bitter World

(They Got the Year Wrong, 2012 was Actually Supposed to be 2020) (AO3)

Summary: It’s been the end of the world, so to speak, and time is meaningless, but actions mean everything. And every action they take must be taken towards their survival.

...So to speak.

But even when surviving in a post-apocalyptic world, they’re allowed to indulge in a little bit of sweetness, right? David thinks so, at the very least.

Word Count: 4919

////

"You think calendars are still a hot commodity in this day and age?" Jasper tosses over a damp, wrinkly mess of paper that looks to be the remains of a calendar. David catches it easily and flips through the pages. The year proudly states "2021", likely made in the last year before the natural disasters struck all at once. Each page displays a different picture of nature, with scenes varying from mountains to the ocean to forest and even to jungles. It's almost ironic, he thinks, these images of peace and tranquility.

"Probably not. I don't remember the last time I kept track of the days." He remembers days where he would eagerly mark off each day, always happy to welcome the next with a smile. Each date was important. Each day was worth remembering. Now, he's just happy to wake up and still find Jasper laying next to him.

But those are only on the good days.

"I was thinking..." Jasper trails off, wandering the shelves of the long abandoned store. "You think we missed out on a bunch of holidays?"

"Probably." David lets out a hum as he places the calendar down on an empty shelf and examines the remaining oddities left behind by scavengers. "It's been cold for a while, so we probably missed Christmas."

"And New Years. Davey, look!" Jasper grabs his attention to hold up a chipped mug. Between the spaces of the empty shelves, David can't help the chuckle that escapes him when he reads the words. "Coffee Helps Me Poop." The brunet sighs languidly as he looks over the mug with a look of nostalgia. "God, I miss coffee."

"Maybe we'll find a bag of beans somewhere in one of those houses." Though they both know his words are more of an empty comfort than ones of hope. Still, Jasper brightens at the idea of it, and it's enough to make David smile.

"Yeah, maybe. Oh, but I could make due with leftover grinds."

"Gross."

"Hey man, beggars can't be choosers, and we can always just give them a good wash in the river!"

"No!" Despite his protests, David laughs anyways. "I'm sure we can find a bag of something for you. I think we can try that um, dandelion coffee?"

"Gross." This time Jasper's the one pulling a face. "That stuff's made of dandelion roots! Fucking gnarly as hell, man."

"Beggars can't be choosers," he teases lightly. "And anyways, dandelions are everywhere! I'm sure we can roast some roots and make something good."

"If you make it for me, I guess I have no choice." Jasper sighs dramatically as he puts the mug down. With a giggle, David leaves his spot by the empty shelves and rejoins him. Jasper leans over to kiss his cheek, lips pressing gently over now familiar scars. A warm smile crosses his features as he cups Jasper's cheek.

"So I guess this place was no good either, huh?"

"Nah." Jasper shrugs and leans into David's touch. "But it's not like we're surprised."

Which is true. The two of them happened upon this empty town much like someone else before them. The houses were already looted, stores emptied, and bodies either half buried or left to rot. They'd taken care of the few that were left forgotten, placing plucked dandelions on the makeshift mounds in remembrance. David always found it sad how there were so many bodies still left over from the disasters. So many lives, so many stories left to rot in the open air as survivors walked over them without a second thought.

He remembers the early days, when he and Jasper had no choice but to loot the bodies as well. It was sickening, but they had to survive. He remembers when they walked over bodies, leaving them to rot in the open air, never daring to spare another glance in fear of getting sick.

Now they never get sick. The sight of bodies no longer made them terrified of their own mortality, but rather, they now placed it upon themselves to treat these lost lives with more respect as they continue to tread this ground alone and alive together. It's the least they can do.

"Hey, man." Jasper's soft voice breaks his thoughts, and David blinks back to the present. "Let's say we try a few more places before bouncing, yeah?"

"...Yeah." David pulls his hand away just to take Jasper's instead. "Sounds like a good plan."

The two of them leave the store and walk down the strip. Broken windows and doors hanging from a hinge are passed by with an ease they've grown accustomed to, allowing a lingering glance to see what the stores used to promise to sell. Clothes, shoes, things that would have been useful had they stumbled upon this strip mall months in advance. Now all that remain are empty shelves and splashes of blood that neither want to entertain wondering about. They continue past more empty stores, still glancing inside in hopes of finding something accidentally left behind. Instead, they stumble upon a novelty store, similar to the one that used to house calendars. Jasper jabs his thumb at it.

"Wanna give it a shot?"

"Sure."

They're not sure what they're looking for in a novelty store. The knick knacks they once sold are either broken or long gone. David lets go of Jasper's hand to continue perusing the shelves. A few toys are scattered here and there in pieces, perhaps stepped on in a mad rush to find things of use, otherwise ignored in pursuit of other items. There was probably someone out there who would have liked these toys.

...And maybe, not anymore. He leans down and picks up a dirtied plushie. Turning it back and forth in his hands, the thought of children enters his mind, and he quietly stores it into his backpack. They've come across a child or two in their journeys. It was always surprising, stumbling across a kid on their lonesome. They'd always try and offer help, but the children are always much more suspicious of them than they are of the children.

It makes sense, doesn't it?

The children always ran away before they could do anything to help. He would always want to chase after them but...

He shakes his head. That would just scare them away, he knows this. They've come across settlements where kids still live with their parents in a promised safety, only to have to watch as it goes up in flames (it always goes up in flames, fitting that it's something man made that manages to extinguish the rest of them instead of nature itself) as they either perished or ran off, never to be seen again.

He knows a kid will never accept this gift from him. He knows it's a stupid thought.

But.

He'll keep it. Just in case.

He's sure the dead ones would prefer a plushie over a dandelion anyways.

"Found anything?" He turns at Jasper's voice, a tired smile on his face.

"Not really. Just this stuffed toy."

"Ah." Jasper doesn't question him, instead bending down and picking up a little car. "Always liked these little dudes."

"I remember you collected them when they were popular." David watches as he rolls the wheels against his palm, letting it run in the air before turning it this way and that.

"Hot Wheels will always be popular in my heart." Jasper's smile turns lighthearted as he pockets it. David doesn't question it. "I saw a door to the backroom earlier. Tried opening it, but it was locked up good." He pauses for a moment before giving David a look. "Real good."

David's heart jumps at the implications, as well as sinks. There's no telling what they will find behind a locked door. "We'll just have to be careful."

"Right." Jasper reaches behind him and pulls out his trusty pipe. "I'll kick it down."

"Okay." David reaches inside his jacket to pull out his knife. "I'll keep you covered."

Jasper simply nods as they walk towards the back room's door. The brunet lifts his leg up and positions it right by the doorknob. A quick nod to David is followed up with a powerful kick and a curse. The door remains intact and unbudged with only a boot print to show Jasper’s efforts.

Of course.

"It's metal." Jasper grumbles as he hops around on his good foot.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, don't sweat it." With a final hop, he settles down and jostles the handle. Locked. "No wonder it's untouched. No one's been able to open it. Unless..." Jasper turns to David with a playful smirk.

"...Unless?"

"Unless we lockpick it open."

"Jasp." David sighs as he crosses his arms. "For the last time, we don't know how to do that."

"C'mooon!" He looks towards David with big, round, pleading eyes. David turns away to avoid his stare. "I know you know how. You were a rebel as a kid! You got into places no one else could!"

"But that was ages ago!"

"Maybe it's still floatin' around in there!" Jasper creeps closer to David and nudges him. "C'mon, please? At least try? For wittle ol' me?"

Only a few seconds pass before David lets out a defeated groan. "...Fine! But I'd need something to try and unlock it.”

"Jammin'. What kinda stuff do you need?"

"Paperclips. Just two." David kneels down closer to the door to look at the lock. There's some damage around the keyhole area, but it shouldn't be a problem for him. "Um, I don't know if there's any stores around here that have some but-"

"Don't sweat it. I'll go sniff some out for ya." Jasper's gone in that instant, and that just leaves David alone with this lock and his thoughts. What could be in there, he wonders? Supplies? He looks around the store with its toys and novelty items. Maybe not. Probably just products or cleaning supplies.

Maybe a body.

The thought dampens his mood a bit. But if there truly is a body in there, then it wouldn't hurt for him and Jasper to take it out and lay it to rest. Just like the other bodies they've come across. They've been lucky thus far to never have encountered anyone familiar.

But then again...

It wasn't like they originally came from the West Coast. Both their homes actually lie somewhere in the East, and now that they were still slowly making their way across the States, it'd only be a matter of time before they start recognizing familiar faces. The thought of it makes his heart sink.

"Found some!" Jasper pops right over to interrupt his thoughts, and David smiles in relief as his boyfriend kneels down besides him. If it weren't for Jasper, who knows how many times he'd be lost to his thoughts like this?

"Thanks."

"Anytime, doll." He presses another kiss to David's cheek as David giggles. "So how's this work?"

"Well..." He takes a paperclip and straightens the whole thing out. Once it's straight, he bends the pliable metal in half until both sides are flush against the other. From where the paperclip is bent in half, he takes the end of it and carefully bends it at a right angle. He then takes the loose ends of the paperclip and twists them together, keeping it whole and stable. The little L shape he makes out of it is presented to Jasper. "This is what I'm going to put at the bottom of the lock, right here." He puts the L shaped paperclip at the bottom of the lock, leaving it hanging as he starts working on the next paperclip. "This one is gonna be tricky, since it's got smaller uh, details to it."

"Maybe we can try bending it against a shelf or something?"

"Mm, something thinner."

"Hmm." Jasper looks around before his eyes brighten as he picks up David's discarded knife. "How's this for thinner?"

"My hero," he teases lightly, kissing Jasper's cheek in thanks. He takes the next paperclip and only unbends it twice. Taking the edge of his knife, he carefully bends the very end of it into a W-like shape. He runs his finger over the shape of it, the W no longer than the tip of his finger. "This is what I'm gonna use to try and get the lock to unlock."

"Very descriptive." Jasper nods along as David sets to work with his improvised tools.

He pushes the W tool in above the L as he holds the bottom tool down, and starts to wiggle the W up and down, jostling it every once in a while until he hears the familiar click. He turns both tools at the same time successfully and turns to Jasper with a big grin.

"Still got it."

"I knew you did!" Jasper whoops as he pulls David into a hug. "I love you so much, my lock picking little nerd!"

"Jasp!" David laughs as Jasper starts rubbing their cheeks together. "You know I wasn't a nerd when I learned how to do this."

"Fine." The brunet rolls his eyes as he hugs David tighter. "My little bad boy."

"And I'm taller."

"My BIG bad boy."

"Thank you," he says sweetly, rubbing their noses together. "I do like the sound of that."

"Anything for you, babe." Jasper chuckles as they both turn their attention back to the unlocked door. "What do you think is behind there?"

"Dunno." He parts from Jasper a bit unwillingly to pocket the tools and pick up his knife. "But only one way to find out, right?"

"Right." Jasper takes out his pipe once more and holds it at the ready, his other hand on the handle as David stands prepared by his side. "1, 2..."

Three never gets spoken out loud as Jasper slams the door open, barreling in with his pipe raised high above him. What greets them is...

No one.

"Damn, did all that for nothing, huh?" He puts his pipe back into its little spot as David keeps his knife out.

"Better it be nothing than someone with a working gun, dear."

"True that." Jasper takes a gander around the room, noting the modestly sized storage room and the shelving unit that works almost as a divide. He jabs his thumb at the other side of the unit. "I'll take that half of the room."

"Then I'll take this half." They nod towards each other and start their search.

It's been a while since David's seen full shelves of anything. Or, well, more occupied shelves. There are boxes scattered here and there, mostly of the same things that linger outside still. He takes a few more stuffed animals, storing them in his pack for a later burial. As he searches through another box, he blinks at his odd little discovery. Digging out from under the rest of the merchandise, he chuckles to himself as he holds up a little gimmicky keychain.

A little heart-shaped character is holding a card that reads, "My heart belongs to you!" in cheesy cursive. The strap looks like the usual beady sort that can easily snap off. David digs around some more, hoping to find others. Jasper used to love these things when they were kids, opting to spend quarters trying to get quirky little keychains of popular cartoon characters rather than something sensible, like a gumball or candy. David quickly finds another one wrapped in plastic packaging and swiftly removes it. This one is apple shaped, but the face and posture are exactly the same. The words for this one read instead, "You're the apple of my eye!" in the same cheesy cursive. He's about to search for more when he hears an excited gasp coming from Jasper.

"What did you find?"

"No-don't-come-over-here!" Normally, words like that coming from Jasper would alarm him, but he could recognize that giddy tone anywhere.

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

David smiles as he pockets the matching keychains. "Alright. Call out if you need me for anything."

"You got it, dudeski."

David returns to searching through more boxes and finds nothing particularly useful in any of them. There's some loose paper clips that he finds however, and he decides that taking those won't be such a bad idea. He looks around the shelves and finds a screwdriver lying forgotten on one of the shelves. He takes that as well, noting the shape of the head.

Flat.

He never could find one of these back in the day. They were surprisingly easy to misplace when he really needed one.

More searching yields less results, although he does find something even more delightful than the matching keychains. After a bit of fiddling, he quickly stuffs it into his pack before Jasper can even notice and takes a quick lookover his half of the room.

All the boxes have been searched, and nothing of use was left behind. He's tempted to peek his head over to Jasper's side, but he knows better than to spoil a surprise that Jasper has planned. Instead, he calls out, "You finished yet?"

"Yeah, just about." There's some grunting and thumping as Jasper puts something aside. "Couldn't find anything useful except for some rubber bands. And- oh!" There's some more scuffling as Jasper makes a pleased sound. "Holy shit, dude- come over here!"

David makes his way over and finds Jasper holding up a white box with a red plus sign on it. Quickly, he rushes over and holds it as well. "...No way."

"I'm gonna open it." Jasper grins as he undoes the clasps. "It's been a goddamn while since we came across one of these guys!"

"In pristine condition too," David mumbles as the top pops off. Inside are bunches of unused band-aids, gauze, alcohol wipes, little packets of various ointments, painkillers-

"Jackpot! Literally the jackpot!" They set the first-aid kit down gently as they go through the supplies. "There's even some peroxide in here, holy shit-"

"These pills haven't expired yet either."

"All good things come in first-aid kits." They carefully pack everything back up into the kit and store it in Jasper's pack. "We can sort things out once we get back to the campsite."

"Agreed." They both stand up and take another gander around the room. Though the back room didn't hold much, it did hold a few things they could make use of. Jasper flashes David a smile and holds out his hand.

"Ready to boogie?"

David laughs as he takes Jasper's hand. "I couldn't have phrased it better myself."

The two of them exit the store, shielding their eyes as the sun reflects off the melting snow around them. Jasper sighs as they look around the abandoned strip mall once more.

"Sucks none of them had any food."

"I'm not really surprised. But there were a couple of granola bars."

Jasper flinches. "Yeah, but the Nature Valley kind. I bet those fuckers got left behind for a reason, Davey."

David flashes him an innocent grin. "Beggars can't be choosers!"

"And soon we'll be beggars without any working teeth. And not a dentist in sight!"

"We'll be fine. You ate a bathtub twinkie before."

"Yeah, but at least it was soft." They begin to walk off the path, snow crunching under their boots as they walk across the roads littered with abandoned cars. Some look broken into, others burnt from explosions or fires that could have resulted right at the start of the panic, or perhaps even after. A breeze brushes past them, taking a loose flyer along with it. They cross more roads and streets, ignoring the stretch of houses that loom in the distance before them and opting for the bordering forest instead. A familiar clearing opens up to them as they look around carefully to make sure no one else has stumbled across it. David looks about for tracks that aren't their own in the snow.

Nothing.

Jasper makes a noise to indicate that they're both safe, and together, they start setting up their camp. An old tent is pitched carefully, now so thoroughly used and battered that David fears he may need to find or scavenge a replacement somewhere. Jasper goes about gathering what branches and kindling he can. "Hey Davey," he calls out, out of sight but still a quick jog away. "You think I can punch this tree to pieces for firewood?"

"We've had this discussion so many times before- no. And you've already tried doing that, remember?"

"Bummer." Still, David waits and hears the familiar sound of a thump and a resounding, "Ow!" before shaking his head and getting the campfire set up for Jasper. By the time Jasper returns to the site, David's already begun going though his pack and taking out what little food they have. He picks up a can of beans and sighs. It would be nice if they could stumble upon some wild vegetables right about now, but alas, maybe it was still too early to hope for such miracles. Well, they can share this can of beans for dinner tonight. Maybe they'll have better luck finding more food tomorrow.

"Guess who bears gifts of warmth!" For now, however, worrying over their food rations can wait. David smiles up at his boyfriend and watches as he dumps his whole collection of wood onto the makeshift campfire.

"You do!"

"Damn straight." Jasper plops down next to him and starts rearranging the wood to a more suitable placement, taking out their old flint and broken knife to get the fire going. They sit in silence as the sparks catch on the driest wood that Jasper could find, and as they warm up, Jasper makes a thoughtful hum. "Wonder what today is."

"A cold day," David answers, huddling closer to Jasper as the brunet chuckles. Jasper wraps an arm around him and draws the ginger in close.

"Nah, I meant date wise."

"The calendar got you thinking?" Flashes of those peaceful, serene shots of nature echo in his mind, and David wonders how many of those places are still intact. Are still as serene as they once were before.

The woods are as quiet as they've ever been for the past months or so. He closes his eyes, remembering the nights in which he could hear the crickets singing their songs, when there were things to worry about in the woods, when he could go to bed and hear the call of the coyotes, when there was life in all the houses, and the most he had to worry about was what he needed to prepare for dinner the next day.

"A little bit." Jasper leans against him, no doubt lost in his own head as well. "I was just thinking, y'know, if time is meaningless and so are dates then technically... any day can be a holiday."

"What are you saying?"

Instead of an answer, Jasper leans over to his pack and starts digging through it. He grins as he finds what he's looking for, and pulls out an old box of chocolates. "Tadaaaah!"

"...How old are these?"

"Dunno, dude." Jasper drops the chocolates on his lap before pulling out a card or three. The first one features an old fisherman comedically fishing up a big, red heart, with the words on it reading, "You're quite the catch, Valentine!" With a soft smile, David opens the card to find the inner message reading, "As the kids would say, you're off the hook!" David laughs as he reads those words. The next two cards read just as cheesy, he finds.

A card with a puppy dog with huge eyes stares at him with a message reading, "Cute puppies aren't the only things melting hearts this year..." Opening it, he finds a message that reads, "The icebergs are melting too! Oh, and you melt my heart as well, Valentine :)" He can't help but sigh at that message. Oddly on point, that one.

The last card is more beautifully crafted, with roses adorning the page and a cursive font decorating the front of it. "Dozens of roses cannot compare to the beauty of our love." David opens it up to find two messages written in, one typed in the same font as the cover, and one scrawled in haphazardly with what looks to be a pen that gave out more than once. The card’s message reads: "Here's to another year with you, my dear love."

His eyes drift down to the handwritten one, a handwriting so familiar to him that he’s surprised how little he’s seen of it lately. "Heya Davey,” it starts out, “I know these past months or so have been super wack, but I'm grateful that you've been here with me this entire time. I don't know what the future holds for us or the world, but as long as I'm with you, I think I can bite through whatever curveballs the world throws at us. Thanks for always being off the heezy and super fly. With all my love, Jasper."

David wipes a tear away before turning to give Jasper a kiss. They melt into each other, arms wrapped tight as though the fear of a breeze tearing them apart is more life-threatening than the danger they walk through every day. Pulling apart is difficult when all David wants to do is kiss Jasper again and feel him against him. But then, he'd never get to see those blue eyes stare at him lovingly, now would he?

"Happy Valentine's Day, Davey." Jasper speaks softly as he gently brushes David's tears away with a smile. "I know it ain't much but, it was all I could find in that store."

"No, Jasp, this is all- this is wonderful. I love all of this." David hugs the cards to his chest and laughs, before remembering his own gifts. "Oh! Hold on a minute." David pulls out the two keychains and hands them to Jasper. "They aren't much, but they were all I could find in those boxes."

"Aww, Davey!" Jasper takes them both and holds them up against the backlight of the setting sun. "Wouldja look at that - they're matching!"

"Yeah," he responds shyly, kicking at the earth under their feet. "I-I figured I'd let you choose which one you like the most, and then I can take the other one, and then it's like, even if we're apart for a little bit, we'll still have something that'll keep us together, even if it's spiritually?"

Jasper turns his attention to David, a bright smile on his face as he cups David's cheek with his free hand. "You big goof, nothing's gonna be able to keep us apart at this rate, huh?"

"You're right- oh! Before I forget." David giggles and digs through his bag one last time. He pulls out a stuffed animal- or rather, a stuffed Pokemon. To find one of these little guys hiding in the backroom, surely, an employee had meant to keep it for themselves as a gift for their own significant other. He hopes they didn't mind that he took the cute little Pikachu and added an embellishment of his own. With the same shyness from before, David presents the plush to Jasper, watching his eyes light up when he catches sight of the fake rose that David had haphazardly affixed to its paw with a stray rubber band he'd found lying around.

"No. Way." Jasper takes it from his hands and looks it over. "...Davey!"

"I found it while we were looking for supplies." He scratches the back of his head, no doubt the blush already forming on his cheeks is getting redder as Jasper stares at him with his big, round eyes tearing up like that. "And I know how much you still love Pokemon to this day, so I thought maybe you'd like this too? A-and I figured I'd make it, you know! A little more personal with the um, with that rose I found." Technically, he'd torn it off a different stuffed animal, but Jasper didn't need to know that.

"I love it," Jasper whispers, already cuddling it close to his chest. "Fuck, I love you so much, Davey."

"I love you too, Jasp."

Jasper quickly plants another kiss on David, pulling a part just for a moment to press another, more lingering one on his lips. By the time the two of them part again, they sit together breathless, a warmth spreading from their chest as they cuddle close together.

“Hey,” Jasper speaks softly, taking the chocolates in one hand while keeping his arm wrapped around his little stuffed toy. “Let’s say we eat this for dinner instead? I don’t think chocolate can go bad that quickly.”

There’s nutrition to take into account in a survival situation, David thinks. But his fingers move anyways, tugging the plastic cling wrap off as they open the little box of delights open. They can worry about nutrition later. It’s not like they were looking forward to another night of beans anyways.

It’s an indulgence, but one they so rightly deserve.

For that moment, the two of them simply bask in the light of their love, happily going over their gifts and idly talking to each other over the light of the campfire. Even if it was for a moment, for once, the woods felt alive again with the noise of the chatter.

And in that moment, it felt as though everything was alright in the world.

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angeltrapz · 4 years ago

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helo beloved mutual connor, im sorry ur goin thru it rn but i come bearing asks n a heart emoji (💗): bcuz i have had this thought floatin around for a lil bit, wld love 2 hear ur takes on an Adam/Eric/Mallick (+ Art too if u want!) road trip vacation! how long wld they go, do they get motels or camp or just sleep in th car? whats everyone's favorite road trip snack? what sorta shit do they like 2 stop for? (weird tourist traps like giant balls of yarn etc, small town main street stores, cool looking restaurants, nature sites, Actual Destinations, so on n so forth!)

fjkdsd thank u beloved mutual adam,,, <3

ohhh I love tht idea!! road trip fics/hcs are one of my weaknesses,,

but um!! I rly like the idea of th four of them going camping a few hours up north!! (we... don't rly know where. SAW is set so just. imagine a vaguely rural campground lmao. I'm used to camping in th upper peninsula of MI so) it's smth tht Art did a lot w his family when he was growing up, so he's th most familiar w it - Eric went a few times as a kid too, Mallick went Once, n Adam has never rly been camping, w his family or otherwise (he's slept on a trampoline at one of his friends' houses once tho). Art is p excited abt it tbh, it's not exactly smth he gets 2 do often so he's got this whole list planned of things he wants 2 show them!!

it's easiest 2 just take a week in late August, bc they can head back home on a Friday n have the weekend to settle n readjust b4 th coming week + they have to go back 2 work. so they head out around ten on a Monday morning 2 kind of get ahead of th traffic (or at least try to). Art drives both bc he insists and bc he knows they can switch if he needs to, which he does later w Eric. it's a good couple hours (at least 3) b4 they get 2 th campground Art wants to take them to, so clearly it is Music Time + Adam made sure 2 bring CDs! a lot of that time is just spent vibing 2 th music and singing very, very loudly (ESP on Adam + Mallick's end). Art's up front like u three are so fucking goofy (affectionate), but eventually he starts singing too lmao.

Mallick starts th Colour Game, where they try 2 find a car fr every colour of th rainbow. it's smth Eric is familiar w as well bc he used 2 play it w Daniel sometimes, and it's good until they come to purple bc how often do u see purple cars??? so Adam's just like "we're not gonna find pink either" n tht's when this fucking pink pickup truck (noticeably spray-painted, + not done well) passes them n Adam just groans n thumps his head against th window. Mallick is like, trying rly hard not to laugh by pressing a hand over his mouth + Art is biting his lip, but Eric is very openly cackling bc "u see what happens when u assume???" (he gets a very light slap 2 th shoulder but it's still very gentle)

ANYWAY. favourite snacks!! Adam can eat Way Too Many Sour Patch Kids. sour anything, actually, as long as it's candy. yes his tongue hurts and no he doesn't regret it. Eric just gets goldfish bc he tends 2 get a lil carsick + bc it's a food tht's familiar n comforting, n he doesn't rly want 2 be eating anything Too heavy (he's up front w Art, so he can sit by a window in case he needs some fresh air at any point). Mallick likes m&m's, but he switches fr cheez-its every once in a while bc he can only eat so much chocolate. Art likes those peanut-butter filled pretzel bites! he's also partial 2 animal crackers tho. they also bring a good amount of snacks/things they can b sure th four of them like, bc yeah there's a lil store abt a half hour away frm their campsite + they can go there to pick up things if they need 2, but it's easier 2 bring things they like, too. (there's also a mcdonald's in tht town n. they do go there at LEAST twice.)

th campsite they stay at has a lake + a beach, n one of Art + Adam's fave things 2 do is walk along it to see if they can find anything interesting! Mallick goes sometimes too, but mostly he stays w Eric bc Eric can't do tht fr as long as Adam + Art can (not tht he's resentful of it tho). he n Mallick chill on th beach w a blanket (it's kind of like. not necessarily sandy?) n just kinda sit against/lay on each other n read sometimes. Adam + Art come back 2 where they're set up to find them sleeping n Adam has never been more thankful he thought 2 bring his camera!!

on th second day Art + Mallick want 2 go swimming, so th four of them come back out to th beach, but Adam stays out of th water + Eric stays w him. they both know th water will be cold, even if it's late summer, n Adam rly doesn't like being in cold water ESP if it's over his head/he can't touch th bottom. fr Eric th cold can b kind of painful, so they chill n walk along th beach fr a little bit n just talk. Adam gets some good pictures n even gets some of Eric! he also does take a selfie of them, he can't help it. he gets a couple of Mallick + Art too. it's honestly such a nice thing fr them n it just feels like they can breathe easy, not having 2 worry abt looking over their shoulders constantly (tho they're all getting better abt that).

th third day they spend around th campsite to kind of unwind n relax. they might walk th beach a little bit again, but mostly they just sorta chill n walk some of th trails around the campground itself. when night falls they light a small bonfire (Mallick is still iffy around fire, understandably) n they sit around it in their folding chairs w th cupholders (Adam gets red, Eric has green, Art gets blue, + Mallick gets dark green) n make s'mores. they talk abt anything n everything until they're barely able 2 keep their eyes open, n then after making sure th fire is pretty much out they kinda just stumble into th tent n none of them r awake for very long after (they specifically got one tht cld comfortably hold th four of them).

fourth day!! they pack up n head into another little town about 45 minutes away; it's bigger than th one around th campgrounds. after they get situated in a motel room w two beds, they do some window shopping + going into lil stores that interest them! Adam def buys some niche graphic tees tht aren't going 2 make sense to anyone other than th four of them n he's delighted abt it. I like 2 think Eric gets a worry stone, specifically made out of rose quartz. Mallick too, but his is made of amethyst! he also gets a rly cool multicoloured jacket in a thrift store they duck into. Art gets a hoodie w th town's name on it n he's pretty happy w that. they get a few more lil things, just little knick-knacks while they're there, n then they have dinner in this lil diner they'd walked past earlier bc it's inexpensive + the atmosphere is very lowkey n honestly just Nice. there's not a bunch of ppl, the servers r rly kind n the lights aren't too bright, which Eric rly appreciates. it's such a tender moment bc they're squeezed into a booth, Adam + Mallick on one side n Art + Eric on th other, n they're talking n laughing n stealing bites of each other's food n it's Comfortable.

then they head back to th motel n channel surf while unpacking enough 2 get to their sleep clothes. Adam + Eric r sharing a bed n Art + Mallick r sharing th other one, tho Adam is very tempted 2 just push them together so they're all close by (th distance btwn th beds isn't tht big to begin with, but it's the principle of th thing). mostly tho, until they go to bed, they're pretty much just all stretched out Everywhere. Adam is only discouraged frm jumping across th divide btwn th beds bc Art breaks out his Lawyer Voice, despite trying rly hard not to laugh, to say Yr Going To Hurt Yrself, Don't Do That. he grumbles n whines abt it but Adam knows he's right jdhjks (th way he sees it is like. he can b silly sometimes. he's Earned It, but he also trusts Art + wasn't super serious abt tht idea). eventually tho Eric can hardly keep his eyes open n Mallick is just straight up asleep while he's still sitting up so tht's when they all go to bed after making sure every1 is comfortable. they leave a lamp on.

fifth day they pack everything up again n stop 2 walk th trails of this lil park b4 they head home! there's a lil shop near th parking lot so they spend a lil bit of time looking around in there first. they probably pick up a few lil things, souvenirs, n Adam walks around 2 get some pictures. he gets this rly cool one while they're on a bridge, th sun peeking thru the clouds a lil bit n shining down on th water. he's super excited to develop tht one (but he's excited to develop All of them, bc this is his family!!!) + he n Art discuss whether or not they're gonna need another cork board lol. eventually tho they round back to th parking lot n on th way home, they stop at another lil hole-in-th-wall kind of place, but it's just as nice as the first one they'd been to. after tht Eric switches spots w Art n he drives them home!!

they're all exhausted when they get back but they have room to crash w each other while they nap so tht's what they do. they fall asleep all tangled together, Art stretched out w Eric's head on his chest, Adam curled against Eric's back, n Mallick w his head on Art's stomach. there r arms n legs everywhere n tht is okay. they're happy. they love each other. they had a lot of fun on their trip n they're tired, but they're comfortable!! tht's what it's all abt!!! it's just such a good n relaxing experience fr them after all th shit they've been thru.

#can u tell I. love camping jdkfks #saw #art #adam #eric #mallick #ty ty!!! I rly appreciate it #I'm doing okay now mostly I think. pretty much always open fr saw asks tho djhfkjsd ESP if they're abt the polycule!!#I literally Do Not get sick of talking abt them dkjdskd #asks #gotta update th masterpost later!! I remembered yesterday but I was up fr too long lmao #real talk tho. thank u fr sending me asks they're my fave <3

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idealistsinc · 5 years ago

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19 // where the heart is

wc: 1,338 content warning: fluff, but some sexually suggestive themes because...it’s vhox

Afterward, they lay with their limbs tangled under the sheets. The brackish smell of seaweed stirred the air through the open window, making the candle gutter. Rin thought without much conviction at all that he should get up to close it, but the warm and steady weight of Vhox’s arm about his waist was enough persuasion not to, and he listened instead to the sea’s rhythmic, gentle froth against the rocks far below, lulled.

“Comfortable?” said Vhox, trailing kisses along the ridge of Rin’s spine.

“How on Hydaelyn could I be comfortable?” said Rin. He stretched languidly and looked about for something to complain over, as was customary; his eye settled on a suspicious stain on the mattress that he was almost sure they hadn’t put there. “I dread to think what’s on these sheets.”

“Cum. Prob’ly piss.” Vhox, unbothered, continued his slow exploration to the space between Rin’s shoulderblades. Rin shivered theatrically—and not at all because of the way Vhox’s warm breath sighed against bare skin.

“And here I am paying perfectly good gil for the privilege of using this establishment’s bed. Highway robbery. I ought to stop paying them.”

He felt Vhox smile. “Goin’ to join me on the wrong side o’th’ law?” he said, flicking his tongue very deliberately at the nape of Rin’s neck and nearly making Rin lose his train of thought altogether.

“No.” Rin took a breath, forcibly railroading his mind back on track. “I was rather thinking my gil could be better spent. On—on a room of my own, perhaps.”

Truthfully, Rin had been measuring the idea in his head for some moons, at least since he had thrown out the package that was Senan’s final fuck-you correspondence to his errant sons; he had been living a vagrant, bounced between Walcher’s sofa and the straw-stuffed mattress on Luma’s floor, for the better part of a turn. Perhaps one day, he always told himself. He didn’t necessarily mind his living arrangement, and he might have continued on as he was if not for the table orchestrion he had seen in Hawkers’ Alley a fortnight past.

It was beautiful, all stained birch finishing and aurum regis inlay. Rin daydreamed for days about it, about an oak gateleg table he might have it on, about an etagere of his own where he might display the meager collection of orchestrion rolls he had managed to save and his much-abused violin, currently housed on one of Walcher’s leaning shelves among the miscellany. He was by no means rich, but he had gil enough for a few things here and there; and he had spent three bells counting up his savings before he realized that, in the space of an instant, perhaps one day had become why not now?

The change in Rin’s tone caught Vhox’s attention. Rin felt his tail twitch against his calf. “Here in Limsa?” he said, craning his head over Rin’s shoulder as though to try to see his face. “I thought you wanted to stay o’er with your brother in Ul’dah.”

“In the city proper or in Eastern La Noscea, yes,” Rin said. “Isha’a and Walcher will do just fine without me, and—well, Kallu is nearly old enough for schooling. If I live here, I can work full-time at Maelvaan’s Gate and contribute to his tuition.”

That was certainly reason enough…but it wasn’t the real one, truly, because when Rin imagined what life might be like in Limsa Lominsa, he didn’t imagine the arcanists’ guild. He imagined the fresh green of Kallu’s eyes on those hazy afternoons they’d spent on the beach among the saltspray and seagulls, watching passing vessels while his nephew announced their proper names with all the gravitas of a true captain (“That one’s a barque! You can tell ‘cus it has three masts and they’re all squareish. Do y’see it?”). He imagined Luma reclined on that overstuffed and threadbare sofa after a long day, her hair tied up, laughing so hard and helplessly she flushed. He imagined…

Well. Vhox was not irrelevant to his desire to stay in Limsa, to put it one way.

“So it’d be a…permanent thing,” said Vhox, unreadably.

Rin had told Isha’a first, to check himself against someone who was not so deeply involved or easily swayed. Isha’a asked him only one question: “Why do you want to move there?”

And Rin had confessed, finally, “I’m…I’m happy there, I think.”

Limsa Lominsa was a seedy, seedy town. He had hated it at first, this city infested with pirates, beset by mold, and wracked by storms so violent they shook the nails from the docks—but it was after the storms passed that the sun always shone its brightest. Limsa Lominsa, its food so spicy it scalded his tongue and evacuated his sinuses, its ale so rich he could nearly taste the soil in which the barley had grown, its music so lively it made his heart thrum, and its people…

Rough about the edges, yes. Liars and thieves and rogues, certainly. A people with crooked teeth and too many scars, a people who ate well, drank well, fought well, and laughed well, a people so spirited and interesting and painfully, blissfully alive—

Rin was not just happy; he was entirely in love.

“Yes,” said Rin. “Yes, I expect it would be permanent.”

He and Vhox’s relationship felt still in its infancy at times, their steps uncertain in new, intimate territory. But Rin would not have himself fail to say what he wanted, not anymore. He turned over in his arms to face him, more for Vhox’s benefit than his own, and added very clearly so that there could be no doubt at all of his intention, “You would be welcome to live with me, if you’d like to.”

Vhox tensed at once, with the wild, hunted eyes of a cornered animal. Rin forced himself not to react. It was a knee-jerk reflex, nothing more; and indeed, after a few long heartbeats, Vhox let out a breath and released Rin to roll over on his back. Thinking—considering. It was a good sign that he hadn’t refused out of hand, but Rin’s heart still thudded a little unevenly, worrying.

“‘s not such a good idea,” said Vhox, “y’know, with sailin’. I’d be floatin’ all over creation, showin’ up all ‘ours o’th’ night in all kinds o’states—an’ I can’t pay half th’ rent.”

All the while, Vhox couldn’t seem to look straight at him. If Rin actually thought he meant it, he would have let it be, but…Rin knew that wariness. Vhox was giving him excuses, giving Rin avenues to back out of the offer he’d made. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to live with me, really.

Of course, Rin very much did. It wasn’t only the city he was hopelessly in love with, after all.

“Then think of it as a harbor,” said Rin, “for when you are in town. I have a vested interest in keeping your arse off the street—at all hours, in all states.” His lips quirked. “As a wise man once told me, ‘Cleaning up after drunk guys is my kink.’”

That was not the kind of state Vhox meant, and Rin knew it. But it got Vhox to snort, got him to stop looking for the scar that ran the length of Rin’s forearm, got him to say, finally, “I’ll ‘elp you get a place. I might know of somethin’ over in Bloodshore, if you’re in’erested.” His gaze flickered to Rin’s face, searching. “An’ I’ll…I’ll be around.”

Not a yes…but not a no, either. Something bubbly as foam rose in Rin’s chest, and he leaned over to kiss him, humming when Vhox relaxed at his touch and—

Vhox pulled away a little, blinking. “You’re purring,” he said.

Rin sat up rigidly. I haven’t done that in— “No, I’m not,” said Rin, flushing, and then flushing more when Vhox raised his eyebrows at him and grinned.

But he was.

And actually, once he’d started, there wasn’t a reason to stop.

vhox belongs to @mimiorzea

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv rin weise #ffxiv vhox tia #my writing #take this as my apology for yesterday's #and have a very happy rin who is out here living his best life ;___;

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onwardintolight · 6 years ago

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Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue

Soundtrack

~~~

Author’s note 10/2019: My take on the first “I love you.”

Warnings for Chapter 13: reference to suicide/suicidal ideation

~~~

Leia stared at her datapad, and it stared right back. The blankness of the new journal entry she’d opened called to her—or taunted her; she wasn’t quite sure which. She twirled a finger in one of the tendrils of her hair that had escaped from its braid.

It had been two weeks since they’d left Hoth. Two weeks since that crazy, horrible, wonderful day—wonderful, eventually, thanks to Han’s return, her decision to leave with him, their conversations, the kisses they’d finally shared. Horrible, because before that, the Empire had found their base… and she’d finally given in to despair. The past two weeks had been a welcome distraction, a healing balm for her soul. She hadn’t spent much time looking back. But as she sat curled up on her (their) bunk in the crew quarters, alone, datapad in hand, she sensed that she needed to confront what had happened that day, now that there was some time and distance.

Writing it out would help, she knew. Sometimes, that was the only way she could bring any sort of sense or order to the tangled thicket of feelings inside. She’d kept a journal for years; first it had been reluctantly, as a child following her mother’s strong suggestion, but as the years went on she had clung more and more to the release that came from setting free the jumble of words caged in her mind.

She had left behind the datapad she normally used as a journal. At the time, she had assumed she’d never need it again. It wasn’t gone forever, thankfully—dear old Threepio had seen to that—but for now, she’d have to make do with the single datapad she had on hand.

It would help if she could figure out where to start. Twenty minutes ago she’d dated the top of her new entry; since then, she’d begun a sentence only to delete it again multiple times. The more she thought about that day, the more jumbled up she felt.

Well, perhaps not all that jumbled—one feeling rose to the top of the writhing heap, threatening to overpower everything else, including her will to write.

Shame.

A sick feeling rose in her stomach. Absentmindedly, she drew out the amulet her mother had given her from the pocket she’d been keeping it in. Turning it end on end, she ran her thumb over the smooth silver metal, the rough, sea-toned jewels, the delicate chain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

There was a knock at the door, and Han came in. She closed her fist around the necklace.

“Hey sweetheart," he said cheerily. "Just going to use the ‘fresher.” A minute later he emerged. He paused on his way to the door, taking her in. “You okay?”

Leia sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, come on, it’s never nothin’.” He crossed over to the bunk and sat down across from her. “Now look, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but—”

“No, I’ll talk,” she said, though she didn’t offer up anything else in the pause that followed. As it was with her journal, she wasn’t sure where to begin.

Han broke the silence. “So, uh, what’s that?” He gave a pointed glance at the bit of chain hanging out of her closed fist. She opened to let him see.

“My mother gave it to me,” she said. “It’s… it’s one of the few things I didn’t leave behind.”

Han cradled her hand with his own, leaning over to get a good look at the amulet. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured. He looked back up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Bringin’ up memories?”

“Always.” She smiled wistfully. “But it’s more than that.” She looked down at the amulet, her smile fading. “I… I was just thinking about what happened on Hoth. How I let them down.”

“Your parents?”

“My parents, my planet, everyone. I let them all down.” She shook her head. “I abdicated my duty.”

Han frowned. “What do you mean, sweetheart? We were just tryin’ to escape—we didn’t know we’d end up floatin’ out here all by ourselves, crawlin’ towards the nearest friendly system. That’s not your fault.”

“Oh, that’s not—that’s fine—I mean, it’s not fine, but that’s the way it is. No, the problem is what happened before that. I gave up, Han. I… I was going to let myself die.” She paused, then caught his eyes, trying to steady herself in them. “I wanted to die.”

Pain flickered in Han’s eyes as they held her own. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then he changed his mind and began stroking the side of her palm instead. Leia was vaguely relieved; she already felt ashamed enough without him piling on the worry and pity.

“Do you know what my father’s last words to me were?” she continued. “He told me he trusted me, more than anyone. He said there wasn’t anything I couldn’t deal with. At the time, he was sending me on a mission, charging me with taking the Death Star plans to Obi-Wan. But ever since… ever since, I’ve felt like his words were a charge for life. He trusted me to be the person I needed to be for my people, for the Rebellion, for the galaxy. He trusted me to not give up. On Hoth, I failed that trust. I proved him wrong.”

She swallowed down the lump that was rising in her throat. “I justified it by telling myself I wasn’t going to run away anymore. That I was facing my guilt, facing my fear. But really I was just giving into those things. Surrendering to my despair. Abandoning my duty. Letting Va—the Empire—win.” Her voice broke, and she stared down at the blankets, fighting back angry tears.

“Leia.” Han spoke her name softly, searching her face until her eyes rose to meet his. “Sweetheart.” He shook his head, his thumb continuing to outline small circles on her palm. “You’re actin’ like you wanted to die out of selfishness, like you went off and abandoned the galaxy on purpose. That’s not the truth and you know it. You said it yourself; you thought you were confrontin’ things you needed to.”

“Honestly, I thought I deserved to die,” Leia muttered. “That I should. That the galaxy would be better off without me.”

“See? I’m right. Sometimes, y’know, we all get lopsided and start thinkin’ things are one way when they’re really the other. And with what you’ve been through, I’d be surprised if you didn’t get a little lopsided sometimes. Look, I know you haven’t talked about it, but I’ve heard: the suicide rate among Alderaanian survivors is somethin’ else. Losing your whole planet… kriff, Leia, that kind of thing gets to your head, even if you aren’t a princess. You know what I think?” He caught her eyes again, and flashed a disarming grin. “I think you’re really strong for holding on for so long.”

Leia huffed, looking away. The sentiment was nice, but it rung hollow. “Strong or not, I had a duty, and I failed.” She blinked back tears. “Sometimes I wonder if my parents see everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become, and regret adopting me. If being the cause of their deaths and the death of our planet wasn’t enough for them to despise me from beyond the grave, then this ought to be.”

Han rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in mock exasperation. “Okay, so you briefly tried to get yourself killed. You were lopsided and felt like you were doin’ the galaxy a favor. You know how much that changes how I feel about you? Zip. Zilch. Nada. Nothin’ like that could ever change the fact that I love you. And nothin’ like that could ever make your parents quit lovin’ you, either, not from what I know about ‘em.”

Leia’s breath caught. Her mouth hung open, speechless. Had he really just said those three words?

Han went on as if nothing monumental had happened. “You carry so much guilt, Leia, and you don’t have to. You’ve always done the best you could. You’ve fought through hell like nobody I’ve ever seen, and helped a million people while you’re at it. Believe me, Princess, you’re one of the best damn things to happen to the galaxy. Your parents would be kriffin’ proud.”

Leia sat frozen. Her arguments were being eclipsed, one by one. Finally she found her voice, quiet and shaky, but clear:

“You love me?”

In answer, Han gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Yes, your worshipfulness,” he murmured in her ear, chuckling. “I’ve been doin’ a terrible job of it, but I’ve been tryin’ to tell you that for years.” Tears sprung fresh to Leia’s eyes as he lowered her down on the bunk. With every ounce of passion and strength she possessed, she did her best to respond without words, and all she knew for a long time was the feeling of his lips on hers.

~~~

They rolled onto their sides, and Han kissed a line down the side of her neck, his fingers wound tight in her hair. Leia’s breath hitched at the sensation, and she pulled him closer, running her fingers down his spine, catching his lips again. When they came up for air Han murmured it again: “I love you.”

He looked so vulnerable, lying there beside her, saying those words over and over as if making up for lost time. She could sense his longing to hear her say them back, and she wished desperately that she could.

Because she did love him. She knew it in every fiber of her being: a love so immense it seemed like it would explode from her in a neverending fountain of light and color. A passion so deep she could fall into it forever and never return.

And that, precisely, was the danger.

Han’s face, betraying a flicker of hurt, relaxed at her expression of consternation. “Sshhh,” he whispered, and he kissed her again, more gentle this time. Tears welling once more, she leaned into him harder, trying to pour into him everything she couldn’t say, everything she hoped he’d understand. But he pulled back and searched her eyes, fingers brushing loose hair from her face. Then, tenderly, deliberately, he planted one last kiss on her forehead and rolled out of bed. It felt cold and empty without him. “Only as far as you’re ready for, sweetheart,” he murmured. He turned and left the room.

Leia wasn’t sure how it was possible for her to feel all at once so happy and so very wretched.

~~~

Han seemed glum the rest of afternoon; Leia was certain she wasn’t imagining it, despite the fact that he always flashed her a grin whenever she was near. She ached knowing that she was the source of his hurt and there was little she could do to make it better.

At first she had given him some space. She tried to write down a few words about everything on her datapad, but that was soon tossed, once again, to the side. She attempted to bury herself in another illegally-downloaded novel, but she couldn’t focus on it.

He doesn’t want space, she realized. He wants you.

Sighing, she wandered out of the crew quarters and down the corridor. The sound of welding beckoned her to the circuitry bay.

“Hey, Princess,” said Han all-too-cheerily, lifting up his goggles as he turned to greet her.

“Hey there, hot shot. Can I help?” She watched as several different emotions warred on his face, and she would have laughed if she weren’t so heart-stricken. He was never as good at hiding them as he thought he was. Affection—and the desire to have her as close as possible—soon triumphed.

“Uh, sure,” he said. “You can calibrate some of the sensors I just got back online.”

“All right.” She picked up the holo-probe from where it was lying on the floor. Han went back to his welding, sparks flying, and she went to work on the sensors.

The silence between them lay heavy. The memory of their first kiss, right here in this cramped space, made Leia ache for more despite herself.

She swallowed. Stop it, she told herself. That won’t help anything. For the first time, the thought occurred to her that she might end up being the one to break Han’s heart, rather than the other way around. He had laid his heart on the line, and if she never told him she loved him, if she were never willing to jump all the way in, if she just kept stringing him along…. I can’t tell him, she reminded herself. He’s going to leave. I can’t take another loss.

But… she didn’t want him to have to bear that pain, either. Her heart sunk.

Maybe she needed to back off. For his sake, as well as her own.

She tried to focus on her work. Too often, though, she found herself stealing sideways glances, studying him, committing each feature to memory: that mop of brown hair, as scruffy and enticing as always. His muscular arms, rippling beneath his shirt. His rough hands, so careful and precise as he set down the welder, peeled off his gloves, and sank wrist-deep into a tangle of wiring. His face, frowning in concentration, a thin mask guarding over the vulnerability that was as always hidden just beneath the surface.

Taking off his goggles with a toss of his head, Han reached up past her to activate the panel he had just finished working on. Leia closed her eyes, willing herself not to focus on the nearness of his chest.

“You havin’ trouble?”

“What?” She opened her eyes, focusing them back on her work.

“The holo-probe actin’ up?” He hadn’t moved away.

“I—”

Reluctantly, inevitably, her eyes flickered up to find his. Yes, there was the hurt she was dreading to see, and the fear, and the… fiery determination? Her lips parted in surprise. Without another word, he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately, pushing her back against the wall like he had done two weeks before. Leia sunk into it at first, desperate to close the gap between them, until she recovered her senses. She jerked her head to the side.

“Han, wait, I—”

He held a finger up to her lips. “Don’t,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”

“But I—”

“I knew when I said it that you wouldn’t—that you couldn’t say it back. Not yet. It’s okay, Leia.”

“No, it’s not. You’re—”

“Sure it is. We’re goin’ at your pace, remember, sweetheart?”

“Stop interrupting me!” Leia lashed out, frustrated. “Listen: you’ll be leaving soon. I don’t know how I’d live with myself if… if I never… but I can’t… Han, can’t you see we’re flying straight into our own graves? We’re going to lose each other. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t—”

“Leia, I’m gonna try and come back—”

“I’m sorry, Han, but maybe we should just… stop this.”

Han froze. Leia looked away, trembling. The future once more was winding down into bleakness; she’d just have to face it and find the strength to move on, somehow.

Then slowly, Han let out a breath. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, catching her eyes again, “there are worse things out there than havin’ something great and then losin’ it. One of those is never havin’ anything to begin with. That’s the whole damn reason we decided to try this out in the first place.”

She blinked, forcing back the edge of the familiar panic, focusing in on his words.

“Now, I’m not ready to back down yet, and I don’t think you are either—and no, you don’t have to say or do anything to prove it to me. I get it. You can’t. But as for me…” he brought his hand up to caress the side of her head, tracing his thumb along her hairline. He shook his head. “…Blast it, Leia, I love you. You’re worth it to me, no matter what happens. All of the consequences, all of the whatever afters—as far as I’m concerned, they can all go straight to hell.”

She looked up into his eyes, searching. Finally, she raised a tremulous eyebrow. “You really mean that, don’t you?” she whispered.

He nodded gravely.

She exhaled, feeling a mixture of sadness and relief. Reaching up her hand, she gently brushed the hair off his brow. “You always were a reckless one, flyboy,” she murmured.

“That’s why you like me.” He grinned roguishly, resting his arm back on the bulkhead above her and leaning in closer. “Now, where were we?”

The bleakness was dissipating, replaced by cautious hope; replaced by him. While a part of her heart still smoldered with fear, she clung to the truth of his words and the sincerity with which he had spoken them.

There are worse things than having something great and then losing it.

You’re worth it to me, no matter what happens.

Somehow, she felt as if a great weight were lifting off of her, slowly fading through the walls of the ship to disperse, free, in the aether.

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saxonspud · 5 years ago

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The Outlaw and the Treasure Hunter - Chapter 18 - Arthur

As the light filtered into Dutch's cabin, he swung his legs over the side of the cot, and lit a cigar.

He hadn't slept, he'd just lay there. Thinking about the problems he currently had, and struggling to find a solution. Everything was out of his control, and he didn't like it.

He opened the tent flap. The camp was already a hive of activity. As he walked towards the campfire, he overheard snippets of conversation.

Micah Bell, stood there, with his hands on his hips.

"Well I reckon he should've let the cowpoke kill the whore. Would have been one less bit of dead weight. Then when the cowpoke's time was up, that would another less thing to worry about," he scoffed.

Javier and John, stared at Micah. Or rather past him, as they saw Dutch, storming towards him.

Dutch grabbed Micah, by the back of his collar, and threw him onto the ground. Normally, Micah wouldn't have gone down, quite so easily, but he was caught off guard.

Dutch drew his pistol, and pointed it at Micah's head.

"If you don't shut your foul mouth, the only dead weight will be you, floatin' down the river. Now get out of my sight, before I blow your fucking brains out!" He growled, his face flushed with anger.

Micah, shocked at the outburst, scuttled backwards, stood up, and rushed away towards the treeline.

Dutch took a deep breath, "can a man not get a cup of coffee around here!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking to a croak.

Abigail, rushed over with a cup.

"Here Dutch, drink this. I'm sure everything will be ok," she comforted.

Dutch sighed, "Thank you, Miss Roberts."

He quickly drank the coffee, then looked over at John.

"I need you to come with me to Valentine, John." he said, as he through the dregs of the coffee in the fire. He dropped the cup, and headed towards where the horses were hitched.

John, quickly followed him. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"I need you to take me to Izzy's house," he stated.

John nodded, and mounted his horse. Not pressing Dutch for any further information. He felt that his mood was bad enough already, without trying to make it worse.

Dutch was in no mood for idle chitchat, and pushed The Count into a gallop. He really hoped that Izzy was there, and that they could talk things through. As they neared the town, Dutch slowed down, and let John take the lead.

Once they reached the other side of town, John pointed to a house. The door was broken off its hinges, and there were a number of horses, hitched out side.

Dutch recognised the Sheriff, standing outside the house, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Is everything ok, Sheriff." Dutch asked.

"What's it to you Mister?" the Sheriff growled.

Dutch took a deep breath, trying to keep his anger in check. "I'm looking for Isabella Pickett. Is she ok?"

The Sheriff rolled his eyes, "Well let me know if you find her, because I'm looking for her too!"

Dutch frowned, "Is she missing?" he asked, trying to sound surprised.

The Sheriff, narrowed his eyes, "Who are you, and why are you looking?"

John cast a warning glance at Dutch.

"My name is Tacitus Kilgore, I'm visiting from up North. Isabella is my niece, on her mothers side."

The Sheriff sighed, "Well I'm real sorry to have to tell you this, Mr Kilgore. But Miss Pickett is wanted for Murder. We believe she killed her parents, a local boy and a war veteran. She was with another man, we don't know his name, or if they were in it together. There's a bounty of five hundred dollars, dead or alive. We also want to talk to a Mexican man, who she was at the hotel with, yesterday."

Dutch swallowed hard. "Thank you Sheriff, I sure hope its a mistake. If you hear anything, can you leave word at the post office."

The sheriff shrugged, "I don't think it is, but sure, I'll let you know. But if they bring her in alive, she ain't gonna be stayin' that way for long." he added.

Dutch nodded, and he turned his horse around, and he headed back the way they had come, followed by John.

Once they were out of earshot, of the sheriff, John stared at Dutch.

"What are we gonna do, we know she didn't do it!"

Dutch sighed, "I don't know, what d'ya expect me to do, tell the sheriff that it ain't her 'cos Arthur did it!"

John shook his head, "of course not, but we can't let her hang!"

Dutch scowled, "I've no intention of letting her hang. But they've gotta find her first. She's smart, she'll figure out what to do."

"What about if she don't know, that they're looking for her." John retorted.

Dutch's face turned red, with anger, " I don't know John, Alright!" he growled. "I got a lot on my plate right now, I have to make sure Arthur is ok!"

John sighed, "I'm sorry. I'm worried about him too."

They rode in silence for a little while.

"Listen son." Dutch spoke quietly. "I need you to go back, and warn Javier not to go into Valentine. Let him know what happened. Also, ask Herr Strauss, to go into Valentine every day, and check the mail. I need to get back to St. Denis, to check on Arthur."

John hesitated, "Please Dutch, let me come with you. Arthur...I know sometimes we haven't always got along, but he's like my brother...he is my brother."

Dutch glanced at John, seeing the look on his face, he couldn't deny him the request. He didn't know whether Arthur was going to survive. The least he could do, was let John see him.

Dutch nodded. "We'll go back to camp first, and tell Javier, and Herr Strauss. Then we'll both go to St. Denis."

John Nodded. "Thank you Dutch, I really appreciate this."

Dutch true to his word, rode back to camp with John.

He pulled Javier, Charles and Herr Strauss to one side. Telling them all that had occurred in Valentine.

Javier, was visibly shocked. He had got to know Izzy quite well on their trip to O'Creagh's run. How they could possibly think she was capable of murder, he would never know.

Herr Strauss, promised to go into town, each day and check the post.

He asked both Charles and Javier, to keep an eye on the camp, whilst they were gone. Especially to keep an eye on Micah, after that mornings outburst.

"How long will you be gone?" Javier asked.

Dutch shook his head, "I honestly don't know. It will depend on the Doctor, and also whether the treatment has been successful. We'll be back as soon as we can," he added.

John and Dutch mounted up, and headed towards St. Denis. It was going to be a difficult few days, that they knew.

When they arrived in St. Denis, they went straight to the doctors office.

Before they walked in, Dutch put his hand on John's shoulder.

"Just remember, he's probably still gonna be unconcious, and even when he does come around, he may be different."

John frowned, "different how?"

Dutch shook his head, "I don't know, son. Its just what the doctor told me. Just trying to prepare you, just in case..." he added.

John nodded, and they walked into the room.

Arthur lay in the chair. He didn't look a great deal different to when Dutch had left him a couple of days before. Hosea sat next to him. Looking tired, and worried.

"Did you get any sleep, Hosea?" he asked.

Hosea looked up, and shook his head. He looked surprised to see John.

"I wanted to see him," John whispered.

Dutch looked around, as he heard the door open, and Nathaniel walked in.

He went over to Arthur, and lifted, the gauze pad from his head.

It was the first time, any of the men, had seen the wound. If you could call it a wound. There was no blood. Just a perfectly circular hole. Both Dutch and Hosea, where surprised at how clean it was. John, who wasn't aware of what had gone on, in this room, was visably shocked.

"What the hell have you done to him!" he mumbled.

Dutch put his hand on John's shoulder, "Its ok, son. Really it is," he comforted.

Nathaniel took out his stethoscope, and attached the ear pieces, putting the circular end, to Arthur's chest.

He nodded to himself, as he pulled a small box from his pocket.

"Gentlemen, If you would like to wait outside. I think, we can bring Arthur round, in a few minutes. Before we do, I need to close this hole." he smiled, and opened the box.

Dutch stared at the contents. "That's going to replace the missing bone?" he asked.

Nathaniel nodded. "The swelling had gone down sufficiently, It will be easier for Arthur, if I fit this now." He added.

The three men, left the room.

John looked slightly pale.

"Are you ok, John?" Hosea asked.

John nodded, "not sure what I was expecting, It wasn't that!"

"He's gonna be fine, John. I'm sure of it," Dutch said, convincingly.

"I god damn hope so!" John replied, looking back towards the door.

They didn't have to wait long for the door to open. Nathaniel beckoned the three men, back into the room.

Arthur, was still unconscious. The hole in his head, now replaced, my a metal cover. Hosea, took a closer look, at Arthur's skull.

"What is it made of?" he asked, glancing at his brother.

"Silver," Nathaniel replied, smiling. "I had it made specially. Its a perfect fit, for the bone which was removed."

Nathaniel hesitated, "are you gentlemen ready?"

Dutch nodded, "lets get on with it, we need to know, if your as good as Hosea thinks you are."

Nathaniel, pulled out a small bottle from his pocket, and took off the lid. He put the bottle, under Arthur's nose for a few seconds, until he started to stir.

Arthur opened his eyes. He immediately started to pull at the leather straps which held him to the seat.

"Please try and remain calm, Mr Morgan." Nathaniel commanded.

Arthur stared at the Doctor. "Calm!" He shouted, "would you be calm, if you were strapped to a god-damn chair!"

Dutch walked over, "Arthur, son. You've been ill."

Arthur stared at Dutch, "Dutch, what the hell is goin' on?"

"The doctor here, needs to ask you some questions."

Arthur sighed, "ok, then will he unstrap me from this god-damn chair?"

Dutch nodded.

Nathaniel, stood in front of Arthur. "Mr Morgan, can you see me ok? No blurred vision?"

Arthur sighed, "of course I can god-damn see ya! Will someone please tell me, what the hell is goin' on!"

"Mr Morgan, Arthur. What is the last thing you remember, before waking up here?"

Arthur, furrowed his brow, then squeezed his eyes shut, before opening them again.

"I was in Valentine, having a drink, with Charles, and Javier." He rolled his eyes, "Then there was a fight, some big guy, threw me outta the window." He sighed, then smirked, "guess I lost the fight."

"How do you feel, Arthur. Its ok for me to call you Arthur?" Nathaniel asked.

"Sure," Arthur replied, "I got a bit of a headache," he added.

"Well doc?" Dutch asked, "what do you think."

Nathaniel smiled. "I think Arthur Morgan, you are a very lucky man." He leant over and released the straps from Arthur's wrists and ankles.

"I'd like to see you in the morning. For now, just go to bed, and rest." Nathaniel added.

"What happened to me? How long have I been her for?" Arthur asked frowning.

Nathaniel took a deep breath, "I need to show you something, Mr Morgan. I don't want you to be alarmed."

He handed Arthur a mirror.

Dutch put his hand on Arthur's arm. "We'll explain everything, son. It might be a bit of a shock."

Arthur, tentatively picked up the mirror, and looked.

"What the fuck! what happened to me?" he screeched.

"Arthur, son. Just try and stay calm. I'll take you back to the hotel, and explain everything." Dutch stated.

Arthur stood up, and staggered. He felt light headed, and dizzy. Dutch caught hold of his arm, and steadied him.

"You've been real sick, son. But you're gonna be ok. You have Nathaniel to thank for that. He's Hosea's brother."

Arthur stared at Nathaniel, wide eyed. He then looked at Hosea. "I never knew you had a brother!" he exclaimed.

Dutch laughed, "none of us did. Just glad he was a doctor, and not a train driver."

Arthur frowned at Dutch, and shook his head.

"Thank you Nathaniel. We owe you so much." Dutch gushed.

Nathaniel smiled, "You have helped me, more than you know. Just promise me you'll look after Hosea."

Hosea rolled his eyes, "It usually me that has to do the looking after, keeping these reprobates in check," he chuckled.

The four men left the doctors. John helped Arthur onto the back of his horse,

"You gonna be ok Arthur?" he asked. He couldnt take his eyes off the metal plate, on Arthur's now shaved head.

Arthur shrugged, "I guess." he paused, "if you stop keep staring at me!"

John looked away, "sorry," he mumbled. "It's gonna take a bit of getting used to, is all."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "ya think!" he exclaimed.

They took a leisurely ride to the hotel. It was going to be a long night, whilst they explained to Arthur, what he had done, since the bar fight, in Valentine.

#rdr2 fanfic #original female character #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #original male character #john marston #abigail roberts #micah bell #wattpad #a03

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ruvikkin-art · 6 years ago

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“Well now Arthur, I heard some rumor floatin around about you. Wanna tell me if its true or not? You really hackin up flowers?” Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose and turned to Karen. “You can trust me, I ain’t here to judge. But everyone who knows- and people are knowin now- we all want to know who you’re coughing for. Mary-beth thought it might be her, I saw you two dancin when Sean came back.” “Karen-” “Or you coughin for Tilly? Unless you’re doin it for me which is sweet Arthur but you know that Sean and I… Well… He’d put up a fight though I don’t think it’d be much of one for you.”

“Why you act so sour all the time?” Arthur gripped the reins in his hands and wiped some mud from his face, glaring over at Micah. They had just shot up half a town, Micah making a house call in the middle of all of it for some guns, and had killed good people and lawmen just trying to get out of there. He wished he had let Micah hang, he should really drag Micah back and throw him to the lawmen and high tail out of there but he knew that Dutch would be very unhappy if Micah got out again and told him what Arthur had done.

“Yeah well you ain’t funny at all so why you gotta act like the court jester?” Micah shook his head and turned his horse around.

“Well I’m sorry cowpoke but you and me, were family now. Sons of Dutch, makes us brothers… and sometimes brothers make mistakes. Now I’m headin’ back to my camp round back of Strawberry. Come see me, maybe I can make things up to you.” Arthur gave Micah a confused look, wondering what he’d be doing going back to his own camp- and wondering when he MADE a camp since he’d been with Lenny and then in jail as far as he knew.

“You ain’t headin’ back to Dutch?”

“No, I’ve been a bad boy Arthur. I ain’t going back to Dutch til I can get him a peace offering.” Micah clicked his tongue, signaling his horse to go while before waving goodbye to Arthur.

Arthur scowled and rode off, eager to get back to camp and tell Strauss now what had happened at the Downes farm.

Pulling the bow off his horse Arthur decided to take a bit of time to hunt and practice with the bow. If he didn’t catch anything at least he could tell Charles he’d been practicing with it, maybe even convince the man to go out hunting with him sometime soon. They’d both been so busy it felt like Arthur hadn’t spoken to him since they got Sean home safe. Now with Micah out of jail and the possibility he’ll be coming back to the gang soon looming over Arthurs head he figured he may as well go all in with it. Just hoping at least he didn’t get killed by a bunch of flowers.

Arthur rode into the woods, tracking down a deer that he could tell would be good for a stew. He jumped off his horse and crouched down to follow the trail quietly. Finally when he saw the deer, Arthur lifted the bow up and aimed.

“Aim for the head or the neck, we want a good clean kill.” Arthur took in a deep breath as he thought about Charles words, trying to keep his hands steady and his mind clear but the damage was already done. Just as he pulled back to let the arrow fly his lungs ached and his throat tightened, causing him to start hacking and of course scare the deer. Hacking out a fist full of petals, Arthur cussed loudly and made his way back to his horse, climbing onto her and clicking his tongue to ride off. If he couldn’t even catch a god damn deer without being distracted and coughing then he knew it was about time for a long talk with Charles.

The rest of the ride went almost smooth, only stopping once when he got hit by another wave of petals creeping up out of his lungs so he’d almost choke. He didn’t catch anything so when he returned to camp he made a beeline for Strauss, still angry the man had taken out a loan with someone who was so ill they probably wouldn’t make it the next month and made sure to tell him so. Strauss waved it off and told him they’d get it at a later date which was fine by Arthur.

Trying to keep any attention from coming to himself Arthur decided to do some chores around the camp while he kept his eyes out for Charles around. Either Charles was actively avoiding him or was truly busy because it seemed like whenever Arthur would look for him the man was never around the camp. With a sigh Arthur picked up a bail of hay, carrying it almost halfway across camp- whoever decided to put the horses so far off had made an incredibly dumb choice, before Karen walked over with a grin on her face.

“Karen-”

“Or you coughin for Tilly? Unless you’re doin it for me which is sweet Arthur but you know that Sean and I… Well… He’d put up a fight though I don’t think it’d be much of one for you.”

“Karen.” Arthur snapped her name and that seemed to get her to quiet down. “I don’t want to talk about it. Whole damn camp knows I’m coughin, fine, but I don’t need that person knowing until I’m ready.” Karen raised her brow, taking a long drag of the cigarette in her fingers.

“Lighten up would ya? It ain’t a death sentence.” She dropped the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it to put it out before smiling to Arthur. “But you know I don’t tell any secrets, I got plenty of em. I just want to know, maybe I can help.”

Arthur looked around the camp and gently put his hand on Karens shoulder, tugging her over gently. “I trust you with my life. Trust most of the people here with my life, but believe me when I say this isn’t something I want help with. You’ll find out eventually, and you’ll find out with the rest of the camp.” With a smile Arthur pat her shoulder and walked off before she could snap at him.

It was getting dark and Arthur was getting tired now, with no sign of Charles in the camp he decided to make his way over to his tent. Before he could even sit down he heard Dutch call out his name. With a sigh Arthur turned to him, ready to hear out whatever he had to say this time.

“Arthur, son I know you’re tired but I need you to do one last thing tonight.” Arthur rubbed his eyes and nodded to Dutch to tell him to continue. “Hosea thinks he has a job down in Emerald Ranch, and needs you down there tonight. It shouldn’t take long, you know Hosea is an in and out kind of guy, and you can sleep when you’re back.” Arthur reluctantly agreed to head down and see what Hosea needed. “Thank you son.”

Dutch turned and left him, so Arthur made his way back across the camp to the horses, climbing up onto his own to ride out. On the way out he almost rode into Charles, who looked like he just returned from a very good hunting trip, which made Arthur feel good since he hadn’t been able to catch anything earlier. Arthur smiled and tipped his hat to Charles and felt his heart flutter when Charles smiled back at him before the two of them rode past each other. He rode a bit quicker as he felt his chest tighten again before he began hacking up flower petals once more, spitting them out onto the ground.

``````````

Arthur finally arrived at Emerald Ranch, more tired now than before and running on the fact that Hosea wouldn’t let a simple job take too long and he’d be in his cot and sleeping hopefully before the sun rose. Hosea seemed happy to see Arthur, quickly introducing him to the man he was dealing with- Seamus. Arthur was not in the mood to deal with him if he was honest, the man looked like he didn’t want to deal with them either and it seemed like Hosea had probably pulled a hell of a stunt to even get the man to sit down and talk to him. Seamus obviously didn’t trust them and Arthur didn’t care, but Hosea seemed pushy.

After a quick conversation and a promise that it’d be all hushed and nobody would find out, Seamus gave Hosea and Arthur a job and sent them on their way. He was having them rob his cousin, didn’t give them any reason to be worried though since both of them knew that family matters would stay in the family and this was purely business.

Once they were away from the barn Hosea was quick to question him. “You couldn’t have played that any better?”

“Thought you wanted me to show some strong arm? Thats usually how it goes.”

“Yes but you know how this goes.” Hosea rode next to Arthur and gave him a worried look. “Are you still angry about those flowers? Gotta take it out on people we’re tryin’ to get money from is that it?” “Hosea…” Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That ain’t it. This guy is a joke and you know it.”

“Thats why hes perfect. He won’t cause us any problems. A safe spot to fence wagons and coaches, well thats easy money for us.” Hosea leaned over and pat Arthur on the back. “But, really Arthur; Dutch and I are worried about you. We haven’t seen you do much talking to Charles lately and those petals don’t go away naturally, avoiding him isn’t going to work.”

Arthur could almost laugh at that. “Avoiding him? I’ve been tryin’ to talk to him. Feels like everytime I get up the courage to talk to him he’s nowhere to be found. Either he’s leaving camp when I show up or I’m leavin when he rides back in. I ran into him on the way out to come ‘n see you but I didn’t really have the time to say anything.”

“Now now, don’t put the blame on me. He was in camp when I left to come down here. So you haven’t been avoiding him at all? You sure about that?” No, Arthur wasn’t sure. As much as it was frustrating that they never seemed to be in camp at the same time, he also knew somewhere he was almost relieved they weren’t bumping into each other. It didn’t help the feelings and the petals at all, but it seemed to give Arthur an excuse for not talking to him. Arthur knew he could easily find Charles or wait around if he really wanted to, doing chores around the camp or what not until Charles rode back in.

“Hosea I ain’t sure its gonna work. I’m not sure hes… Well…” Arthur trailed off and waved his hand in the air like that was an explanation. Hosea had his horse trot out in front of Arthurs so Arthur would have to stop, and Hosea just raised his brow at Arthur to have him continue. “I ain’t sure hes into guys Hosea. I seen him around bars and he’s always tryin’ to hook up with a woman, never catch him glancin at a man the same way or- hell he barely glances at me when I’m around.” Arthur closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “I’m scared Hosea. You know how fast the disease can progress with rejection, we’ve seen it happen. Not to anyone important but we’ve seen it. Those people, they die in less than a week, sometimes they’re dead by the next morning.”

“You know if that happens doctors can remove it, sure it progresses quickly but we can always find you a doctor. I’m sure Dutch wouldn’t mind spending some money to get you healthy. Might be awkward as hell around Charles for awhile, but you could still survive. I don’t want to see you wither away because you can’t pull yourself to talk to someone, and I won’t watch you sink into a bottle again because you’re in love with someone.” Again. The word made Arthur flinch, made him remember back to when he was ‘in love’ with Mary and when they’d broken up, how he’d come back to camp and drank himself to the point of a blackout until Hosea hid away everything and made sure someone was with Arthur to keep him away from bars.

“I’ll… I’ll talk to him Hosea. When I get time I will. Tomorrow, maybe if Dutch doesn’t have me runnin’ around again and I can actually find Charles.” Hosea nodded, seeming a little happy with that answer.

“I’ll hold you to that one. Now, lets go rob this cousin by marriage before the sun comes up shall we?”

`````````

Arthur rode back into camp with Hosea, dead tired now from the very long day he had and his cot just seemed to be screaming his name. He hitched up his horse, giving her a carrot and a sugar cube before he finally made his way over to his tent. Noticing a letter on the table he had, Arthur picked it up and felt bile rise in the back of his throat as he immediately recognized the handwriting. Mary, of course it was Mary, writing a letter to him about meeting up. It made his heart jump as he read about her being in town and that she needed some sort of help, god damn of course she did. He set the letter down and sat on the edge of his cot, running his hands over his face as he thought about going to see her. Arthur knew they were long past every making up and getting back together, especially with flowers trying to grow in his lungs for someone else, but Arthur figured the least he could do is see what she needed help with.

Finally Arthur was able to lay down, he threw his arm over his eyes before closing them so he could sleep better- hopefully at least that was the plan.

#Red Dead Redemption #charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith #fic #my fic #fanfic #sorry for the DELAY #i had writers block #im trying to get rid of it slowly dfhkdfshfds

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dainty-baneberry · 6 years ago

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Prompt #26: Slosh

“Feo Ul. I need you.” For a moment Dainty had though the King of the Pixie's too busy to heed her call but after a moment an otherwordly, pale face with impossibly large eyes, long, elfin ears and topped by a shock of flaming red hair came into Dainty's vision. “I've not a spell t'prevent wrinkly fingers, dear sapling.” Feo Ul explained, joyful yet patient. Her massive wings beating gently as she hovered in place above the drahn who was floating among the lotus blossoms. Feo Ul regarded the mortal fondly, framed by the the clouds moving lazily across the Il Mehg's perfect blue skies. “N'why are ye floatin' in the water feature?” “Hot temperatures didn't make me feel any better, I thought something cool might and if I ever see another Fuath ever again I can't be held liable for separating their heads from their necks.” A large river, the home of the Fuath, ran close by. It would have been a better location for Dainty's improptu bath were it not full of a kind of fae-kin that she strongly wished to commit genocide upon. It was only her bond with Feo Ul, the King of the Fae, that prevented Dainty from visiting wholesale upon the Fuath the sins they had attempted against her. “Now, now my dearest mortal. I assure ye they've forgotten all about trying t'drown ye.” Feo Ul explained very kindly, hovering a little closer. “I haven't.” Dainty made an annoyed gesture that sloshed the water in the pond in which she floated, making all the flowers around dance in the ripples. “Foolish mortals, always holding a grudge. Life would be so much easier f'r ye if ye'd let things go once in a while.” “Eeeeeeeh.” Dainty looked unconvinced by this. “Would I lie to my darling sapling?” Feo Ul coaxed, her voice full of rich humor. “Its true. You might even get back t'normal.” The currently chalk white skinned woman shot her bonded branch a filthy look at that. She didn't know why she resembled a Forgiven Obscenity. No one did. Not the Crystal Exarch. Not Y'Shtola. Not Ryne or Urianger and not Feo Ul either. “I'm stuck like this forever.” Dainty sulked with a melodramatic flops of her head that made the water in the pond slosh once more.

“Of course you aren't, precious mortal. Ye kind don't live forever.”

“I'm starting to wonder why I called you.” Dainty snarked, relaxing from her floating position and swimming to the side of the decorative water feature. “I were startin' t'wonder that meself.” Feo Ul admitted, watching the white skinned drahn climbing out castle decorations.

“Oh. I remember. I wanted to ask if the Pixie's have any special alcohol.” Dainty recalled, flipping her head upside down and ringing out her hair with her hands ungracefully. Feo Ul shook her head, then tutted. “Heavens, let me my adorable sapling.” It was but a moments work for her to cast a couple quick charms and spells to left Dainty completely dry once more. “My thanks. So... booze?”

She fancied getting royally sloshed and there was very few places where she could do it without upsetting the locals thanks to her current appearance understandably upsetting them. She did strongly resemble a nightmare that wished to turn them into mindless monsters. The fairyfolk of Il Mheg cared little for what Dainty looked like, however. They only cared if she would play with them. “I'm afraid not. We're not fond o'the stuff.”

“Pity.” Dainty murmured, making as if to walk away. “The Voeburtites left a whole cellar full of wine. Perhaps some of thatedo?” A grin split Dainty's white features and she turned back to look at the King over her shoulder. “It might.”

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

#ffxivwrite2019 #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv

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softspaceboibrian · 6 years ago

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Bad Habit (Roger Taylor)

Summary: Roger hasn’t been a loyal boyfriend, and the girl decides to leave him. But bad habits make them find their way to each other, over and over. But at some point it might al be too much.

Warnings: angst, ANGST, swearing, a little fluff at one point, ANGST

Notes: it was my first time writing both a song fic and an angst fic. Hope you’ll like. And, please, give a listen to the song it’s based on (Bad Habit by Ben Platt).

Wc: 3791 (it’s long, I know)

(he looks kinda sad in this gif. don’t ask)

You always said that I'd come back to you again

'Cause everybody needs a friend, it's true

Someone to quiet the voices in my head

Make ‘em sing to me instead, it’s you

It was the third time she had come home only to find Roger, her boyfriend of two years, drunk and in bed with another woman. The first time she let it slide, falling for his excuses, really believing he did it just because he was drunk. But then he did it again. He used the same excuses, that he had had one too many drinks, that he couldn’t control his action. And it was probably because she loved him too much that he couldn’t bring herself to leave him. But this time, the third time, that was the straw that broke her back. Not only did she find him in bed with yet another woman, but that woman was her best friend. She walked into the room and saw the two of them, the man of her life and her best friend, someone she considered a sister up until that moment, in their bed, where she shared with him her biggest secrets, where they planned their future together, where he told her he told her, and she said it back. They were tangled between the sheet, she was screaming his name while he had his head between her legs. At that sight, her heart broke in her chest, her eyes filled with tears, she felt numb. She stood there, in silence, unable to talk, until they noticed her presence.

“Baby… Baby, I’m so sorry! Please, don’t” He got up, ordering the girl in their bed to go away immediately, while trying to stop her from taking all of her clothes out of the dresser and wardrobe. “I made a mistake, I know. Please, don’t go” His eyes were a little glassy at the idea of actually losing her. She kept avoiding to meet his gaze, moving quickly her stuff into the suitcase, needing to leave that place as soon as possible. “Bunny, don’t-”

“Don’t call me that.” The tears finally started rolling down her cheeks, hearing him call her with the nickname he always used for her. “You no longer get to call me that.” She closed the suitcase and walked out of the room, towards the front door, tears uncontrollably falling from her eyes.

Suddenly she felt Roger’s hand snake around her wrist, pulling her back, trying to stop her. “Don’t go. I can’t… I can’t lose you.” He took a step closer to her, cupping her face and pressing his forehead against hers. “You know we’re meant for each other. You know me better than anyone else, and I know you too well. I’m the only that knows how to help you through your down moments, how to make you feel better.”

“I can’t stay, Roger. I- you keep hurting me” And with that she moved away from the blonde, taking the suitcase and walking out.

“We both know you’ll come back. We always find a way to stay together.” He ran after her, walking out of the house shirtless, trying to stop her from getting into the car. “You’ll come back to me”. She threw the suitcase in the trunk, before getting into the car, slamming the door, then driving away, tears streaming down her face, a knot in her throat.

Hate to say that I love you

Hate to say that I need you

Hate to say that I want you

But I do

It had been a couple weeks since she had left their home, since she had wordlessly broken up with the man of the life. And, somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him completely, she couldn’t stop going through their polaroids and the stupid videos he took on Christmas day or on holiday. She tried, but she couldn’t forget him. “You still love him, don’t you?” Asked Brian, sitting in front of her at the table, a cup of hot tea in their hand. He had been visiting her every other day, trying to keep an eye on her. She knew Roger had asked him to, and Brian had too big of a heart to not do that for his best friends.

“I’ll always love him, Brian” she whispered, her eyes set on the cup in her hands, trying to hide from the man in front of her the tears that had started to fill her eyes and threatened to fall down her cheeks. “I’ll always need him, he’s the only one that really knows me, that knows my deepest secrets, that knows how to help me to overcome my anxiety, how to help me and cheer me up on the days I’m down. I’ll always want him to be next to me in those days. And I hate it. I hate to say all of this. I hate it so much. He hurt me, why do I keep thinking about going back to him?”

Brian kept quiet while she spoke, feeling the pain in every word she said, hearing her voice crack while she tried to keep her tears in. “Darling, you know Roger does stupid things. He can’t keep his mouth shout and his dick in his pants.” He said, hoping to make her smile a little, but that didn’t help at all. It only made things worse, and now he wanted to facepalm himself. “But, listen, I talked with him. He’s ready to change for you. It’s going to take time, you’ll have to keep up with him. But he really wants to be a better man for you”

“What if he doesn’t change? Am I supposed to stay there, let him hurt me over and over again, hoping one day he’ll understand what he’s doing wrong?” She raised her head, meeting the man’s gaze, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I love him, but I don’t know for how long I can keep up with that”

“If he keeps doing that, you can just leave him again.”

“You know I won’t be able too.”

“You’ll have to. I know you love him with all of yourself, you see the good in him, you know the real him and know there’s more beneath that rockstar persona he wears when he’s out and about. But if he can’t love you back with all of himself, then you’ll have to leave him and move on.” He moved next to her, placing a hand on her back, rubbing it gently, trying to comfort her a little. And she tried to keep herself together, but she couldn’t, not anymore. She simply melt down, letting the tears fall, turning toward Brian and burring her face in his chest. “You deserve so much better.”

“I don’t want better. I want him”

Bad habit, I know

But I'm needin' you right now

Can you help me out?

Can I lean on you?

Been one of those days

Sun don’t wanna come out

Can you help me out?

Can I lean on you?

It had been one of those days when she couldn’t bring herself to do anything. She was supposed to do some work, go to the post office and send some letters and packages, she was supposed to do the grocery shopping, otherwise her friend was going to kick her out of the house for real. But she couldn’t. All she felt like doing was laying in bed, only the sound of cars passing by filling the silence of the room. She had been staying at her friend’s apartment for the last few weeks, not wanting to go back to her parents and admit they were right all along, that Roger wasn’t as good as she thought. She rolled between the sheets a few more times, wanting to crying, wanting to scream, but not being able to, just feeling numb.

It was like this until she had a panic attack. At that point, out of breath, with tears in her eyes, she picked up the phone and dialled the only number she could remember in that moment in which her mind was clouded. And she didn’t expect the man on the other side to pick up. “I need your help” She whispered between sobs. “Please” Her voice cracked, and the phone went silent. She went to the door, unlocked it, before walking to the couch and sitting there, pulling her knees close to her chest, trying to calm herself down. Not even twenty minutes later, someone walked in and ran to her, immediately pulling her in a tight hug, placing a soft kiss on her head.

“Focus on my voice, bunny” he whispered, starting to count, knowing that always helped her breathing to go back to its normal pace. “Good, like this” he ran his fingers through her hair, not letting her go, slightly rocking with her, trying to calm her down.

“I can’t feel anything” She sobbed into the crook of his neck, her arms sliding around his torso, pulling him even closer, breathing in his smell of cigarettes and cologne. She missed it, like hell. So much that she started crying, really crying. Real tears falling from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, wetting the blonde’s neck.

“Why are you crying?” He rubbed his hands on her back, so gently, so delicately, as if he feared she might break under his touch.

“I need you”

“Come back home”

She pulled away a little, meeting his gaze for the first time after weeks of being apart, of not seeing each other. She didn’t forget how much he hurt her, she could never forget it. But she could try to forgive him, give him yet another chance to try and make it better, to make up to her for hurting her. He raised a hand, moving out of the way a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face and tucking it behind her ear. That was the moment she let her heart win over her mind. She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his, whispering “You are my home”.

You make me feel like I'm floatin' off the ground

Above this little town, you do

Look at me smile with tears in my eyes

I love the way you lie, I do

Things settled. She moved back in with him, she let him try and win her trust back. She started joining him at the recording studio, smiling at Freddie when he sat next to her, telling her how much happier Roger was since she had started to hang out with them again. And sitting there, on the couch of the small recording studio, seeing him walk over to her was the best feeling ever. Those were the moments she preferred the most, when they could just be themselves, when Roger was hers.

“Me and the boys are going to have a few drinks after we’re done, you know, to celebrate the new album.” His arm snaked around her small figure, pulling her close to his chest, pressing a soft, gentle kiss on top of her head.

“I think I’ll pass, I have to get some work done” She replied, placing her head on his shoulder, letting their fingers intertwin.

He looked down at her and pouted, a rather sad expression on his face. “I’ll miss you” He whispered, leaning in to catch her lips in a slow, gentle kiss. She moved her free hand behind his head, pulling him further down, before giggling in the kiss when John commented with a gag sound, making everyone burst into laughter.

That night she was sitting alone on the sofa at home, the light on the side table turned on, providing just enough lighting for her not to go blind while reading. It was 2am and she had said Roger she was going to wait for him before going to bed, and she did. But it wasn’t until 2:30 that Roger finally started fidgeting with the key, obviously too drunk to find the keyhole. She got up from the couch, walking to the front door and opening it for him. As soon as he realised the door was finally open and the girl was standing in front of him, he stopped mumbling and a big smile formed on his lips, causing her to smile back, cupping his face and bringing him down to meet her lips in a soft kiss. “Hey, bunny” He whispered, while she took his hand and guided him inside the house and into the bedroom, where she started helping him get undress. Everything was fine, until she saw a red smudge on the collar of the shirt he was wearing.

Her heart dropped. But she pulled on a fake smile and took the shirt off. “So, did you have fun?” She asked, holding back the tears that started forming in her eyes. And luckily he was too drunk to notice her shaky voice.

“Yes! Brian kept ordering new rounds of beers and now I’m wasted” He giggled, placing his hands on her waists, pulling her closer, so that she was standing between his legs. “But I missed you. If you had been there, it would have probably a lot more fun” He rested his forehead on her stomach, pressing a long kiss on there. “I love you, bunny”

She moved her hands from his shoulders, gently running her fingers through his hair, trying to calm herself down. “I love you, Rog” She whispered, a tear rolling down a cheek, while she felt as if someone was tearing her heart apart.

Hate to say that I'm lonely

Hate to say that I miss you

Hate to say that it's dark in here

But it's true, oh

She had held on for a few more months, watching the man of her life come home late at night with new marks and scratches on his body, smelling of cheap perfume, lying to her face. She had tried to have faith, she really wanted him to change. But one day she couldn’t handle it anymore. While Roger was out doing interviews all day, she packed everything and simply left, leaving her keys on the kitchen counter. She crashed at her friend place for a week, before finally finding a house she could rent. She moved in and told no one except for Brian where the apartment was located.

It had been two months, but she still couldn’t seem to bring herself to forget those big blue eyes, his smile, the way his lips felt, his hands, the way he held her, the way he touched her, the soft tone he used to use to talk to her, how he never actually raised his voice with her. There was good in him, but not enough for her to keep putting up with him.

“You have at least to go out with your friends, have fun, get back on the dating scene” The curly haired man sat across from her on the small sofa, a sad look in his eyes at the sight of her with dark circles under her eyes from not being able to get enough sleep.

“I can’t, Bri.” She whispered, choking on her own voice. She had cried so much in the last period that she was almost sure she had no more tears left to cry. She simply held her knees close to her chest, her gaze low, too afraid she might crack if she met the man’s eyes.

“How can you be so sure if you d-”

“I miss him, Brian. I fucking miss him. I miss the way he was around me when it was just the two of us. I miss him and I hate it. I fucking hate the feeling of loneliness that takes over me whenever I realise he’s not coming home to me at the end of the day. I hate that my heart breaks at the mere thought of him being happy with yet another woman. I hate that everything has gone grey without him.” She threw herself into Brian’s arms, wordlessly asking him to hold her. He was no Roger, but he was her friend. He was the only one who she wanted around in that period, the only one that knew her enough to try and comfort her.

“I know you do” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, running his fingers through her hair. “Listen, Roger is changing. For real, this time. He knows he has hurt you, and he misses you too.” His voice was shooting, calming, while he gently rocked her. “But I won’t tell you that you have to give him yet another chance. The life is yours and you are the one that has to choose if you want to follow your heart or you mind”.

And she knew he was right. She just couldn’t make up her mind yet.

Bad habit, I know

But I'm needin' you right now

Can you help me out?

Can I lean on you?

Been one of those days

Sun don’t wanna come out

Can you help me out?

Can I lean on you?

It had been almost four months now since the girl had left him, and Roger couldn’t bear her absence anymore. He knew it was his fault if she had left without notice, if she didn’t tell anyone where she was staying now, if he had lost her. At first he held on, pretty confident he was going to move on from her; but the weeks went on and all he could think about was her being in someone else’s arms. He was distracted during the recording sessions, he started writing sad songs, he went down pretty hard on his drums during the concerts. And Brian had noticed. John and Freddie had noticed. It was written all over his face. He was no longer the old Roger, always ready to party, go out for drinks and hook up with girls in the bathroom. He was missing something, that little spark that used to push him through everything.

“Darling, you can’t keep doing like that. Face the fact that you fucked things up.” Said Freddie, sitting across from him in the studio. That day had been the worse so far. Roger had actual tears in his eyes while recording that song, realising she was gone.

“Fred, don’t be so harsh.” John said, sitting down next to the drummer on the couch, looking at him. “You know it’s your fault. But, listen to me, if she really means so much to you, do something. Go to her and tell her, tell her that you love her.”

“No one knows where she lives now” Roger’s gaze was low on the scribbled papers in front of him, glassy eyes, his stomach tied in knots.

It was in that moment that Brian broke. Roger was his best friend, almost like a brother to him, and to see him like that made something click in him. “I know where she lives” He whispered. Immediately he felt all their eyes on himself, as he expected.

“You know where she is, and you never fucking told me?! What the fuck, man?” Roger was shouting, his voice echoing in the small room. He was angry and for obvious reasons.

“She made me promise not to tell anyone…” He said, taking a step back. They all knew how Roger got when he was that angry, and Brian feared what might happen. “But I’ll tell you. Just, please, calm down”

Brian did tell the blonde where she lived and told him when he could find her at home. He had learned her routine by then. Roger immediately sprinted out of the studio, not caring to say goodbye to anyone. He simply got into the car and drove to the exact opposite side of town. The girl was home, and she was sitting on her small couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, a warm cup of tea in her hand, while she went through some paperwork she had to prepare for the next day. When she heard a knock on the door, she got up with a confused look on her face. She wasn’t waiting anyone. But it was only when she opened the door and saw the man standing in front of her that she understood what was going on.

“What are you doing here, Roger?” She was distant, her tone cold, a hurt expression appeared on her face. He looked at her and his eyes filled with tears.

He took a step forward, stopping when he realised she had moved back, away from him. “Please, bunny, let me talk to you.”

She took a step back, letting him in. She was feeling everything in that moment. She felt her heart break at the sight of the man of her life hurt, she wanted to cry, she wanted to run into his arms and stay there till they fell asleep on the couch, without talking, just laying there in silence. But she didn’t do anything. She closed the door and walked him into the living room, signing him to take a seat.

He nodded, sitting on one end of the sofa, watching her sit down opposite to him. “I know I hurt you. I hate myself for it. I really do.” His gaze was low on his own hands. “I’ve changed. I think I am a better man now. I did it for you.” He looked up, meeting her eyes and felt as if a hand had closed around his heart, squeezing it tight. Her eyes started filling with tears and it was hard for her to keep herself from letting herself go. “I love you. I need you back. Please, bunny, I don’t long how much longer I can go without you by my side. Come back.”

“I can’t” She whispered, trying really hard to keep her tears in.

Roger looked at her, reaching out for her hand. “But, why? I- Please, I need you to help me. The boys, they don’t know how to take me when I have a meltdown. You are the only one who can help me, who knows me well enough to calm me down.” She didn’t reply, she looked away, trying to hide the tears that had started falling from her eyes. “Did you find someone new? Is this why?”

“No.” She was quick to respond, turning her face to him, tears streaming down her face. “How could I, Rog? I love you. I will always love you”

“Then come back. Come back home with me”

“I can’t”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I can’t trust you again”

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #queen #bohemian rapsody movie #Roger!Ben #roger taylor!ben hardy #ben platt

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hysterialevi · 6 years ago

Text

When the Devil Cries pt. 25

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

Author’s note: ***Small spoilers about Arthur’s past in this chapter!***

From Arthur’s POV

THE NEXT MORNING

Sliding the pencil across the paper, I drew a simple sketch of Eddie while he continued to sleep, his entire body submerged under the thick layers of blankets as he got some well-deserved rest. The boy looked perfectly content at the moment and didn’t have a single hint of worry clouding his expression. Instead, he simply drifted away in whatever dream was floatin’ around his head at the moment and held onto the pillow as if it was another person, squishin’ his face into the cushion.

I chuckled softly at the sight and added some details to his portrait, tryin’ to make it more than just a mess of scrawls and doodles like I normally did.

It had been a long time since I last sat down and drew something. With all the mayhem goin’ on recently, I almost forgot what it felt like to lose myself in my journal. But being back in Saint Denis, and preparing for this riverboat robbery -- it all got me itchin’ to sketch something again. And, I figured, who better to draw than the person I enjoyed being around the most?

Lightly scratching the pencil’s tip in a series of short strokes, I scribbled down Eddie’s ruffled hair and added some shadows around the sliver of sunlight runnin’ across his face, trying to make it as gentle as possible. He appeared to be in a complete state of solace right now, and I wanted to capture it as best I could. After all, I doubted it’d be a long while before he’d be this calm again, considerin’ what was coming up in the near-future...and I couldn’t deny that I was scared, too.

I mean, with the direction Dutch was headed in and the way our gang was slowly fallin’ apart, it made me question just how much longer this whole thing was actually gonna last. Civilization was storming through the country at a rate we couldn’t keep up with, and the more we ran from it, the more it seemed to close its walls around us.

We was only delaying the inevitable, s’far as I was concerned. Sooner or later, America was gonna throw us out like it did everything else, and we’d have to be ready for it. Whether we wanted to or not.

Catchin’ my attention with the soft sound of rustling, a gentle sniff reached my ears as I stopped drawing for a second and put down my journal, only to find Eddie sleepily looking back at me from the bed. His eyes were half-open just as I expected, and a lazy smile radiated on his face as he rose from slumber.

I smirked at him, placin’ the journal on my lap.

“There he is,” I teased. “Thought you was never gonna wake up.”

Eddie chuckled at that and glanced at my journal, causin’ him to raise a brow outta curiosity.

“...Are you drawing me?” He asked.

I nodded and carefully began to tear the sketch out, handing it to him.

“You mentioned Rodrick burned the other portrait. I, ah...figured I could make a replacement.”

The pianist sat up and took the sketch in his grasp, admiring it in a fond manner before beaming at me.

“Thank you, Arthur,” he said, his expression dimming with sadness. “I mean it. ...I truly thought I’d never see you again when I was stuck in that cellar with Rodrick. I know I wasn’t there for very long, but...he certainly made it feel like an eternity. I’m just glad you showed up before anything else could happen. If you hadn’t...I...I don’t even want to think about that.”

I let out a guilt-ridden sigh, starin’ at the numerous scars Rodrick had left on Eddie’s body.

“You and me both. I’m just sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

Eddie’s sorrowful mood was quickly replaced with a sense of vengeance and he firmly shook his head in response, starin’ outside the window.

“I swear, Arthur...before all this comes to an end, I’m killing everyone in that bloody gang. Atticus, Rodrick, and anyone else who laid a finger on you or my family. They all deserve to die. They need to be wiped out.”

I suddenly thought back to what Hosea had warned me about and finally decided to bring up the subject, scootin’ my chair closer to the boy as Hosea’s final words rang in my head like a distant bell.

“...Actually, Eddie,” I said lowly, shutting my journal closed, “I’ve been meanin’ to talk to you about that.”

Eddie perked his head up, softening his tone slightly. “About what?”

I hesitated for a second and leaned forward, tryin’ to get my thoughts straight as the pianist waited for an explanation.

“I know this might sound strange at first, but...if my years as an outlaw have taught me anything, it’s that revenge...ain’t worth the sacrifice.”

The pianist gave me a puzzled look. “...I-I don’t understand. How can wanting to kill Atticus be a bad thing? Don’t you think he deserves death?”

“Of course I think he deserves death,” I replied. “But we may not be the ones to deliver it, and we’d be fools to hunt him down. I mean...just look at Dutch. He’s obsessed with takin’ revenge. It’s the only thing he lives for now. Sadie, too. Their want for revenge has consumed the both of them, and it’s turned ‘em into killers.”

I paused for a second, lookin’ at Eddie with a caring expression. “...But you ain’t no killer, Eddie. And I don’t wanna see you become one. You’re still young. You still have the potential to live a normal life, once all this is over. Atticus has already stolen your past from you. Don’t throw away your future for that bastard, too.”

The boy fell silent at that and thought to himself, clearly experiencing some sorta inner conflict now that I was sayin’ these things. He seemed to see my point and I could tell he knew where I was coming from, but there was still a reluctance to agree.

Tryin’ to make my point more understandable for him, I decided to tell Eddie a story that I hadn’t told anyone else aside from Dutch and Hosea, and took a deep breath, hoping that this would be able to change his mind.

“...Lemme put it this way,” I began, gaining the pianist’s attention. “I was once in the same position as you, Eddie. I know how temptin’ revenge is...and I’ve seen what happens if you give in to it. I lost my family too. Many years ago. Just like you did.”

That piqued his interest. “...Really?”

A mournful breath escaped me. “Yeah. I...I used to have a son, actually. His name was Isaac. He was...such a good kid. And so was his mother, I guess. Just a nineteen-year-old girl named Eliza. They was the closest thing to a real family I ever had. I wasn’t able to stay with them all the time ‘cause of my work with Dutch, but every few months or so, I’d go back home and stay with ‘em for a couple of days. Try to give Isaac some sort of father figure. And for a while, it worked. But...just like everything else, it eventually failed.”

I brought my gaze to the floor, admittedly findin’ this a lot harder to talk about than I first anticipated.

“I came back home one day...and saw two crosses outside. I knew right away what happened. I just didn’t know how. It turned out -- they was robbed. And killed. All for ten bucks.”

I swallowed out of grief and bit my lip, thinking back to that god-awful day as Eddie listened intently.

“Their deaths...” I continued, trying keep it together, “they changed somethin’ inside me. I spent so long tracking down their killers. It was all I cared about for the next few months. I didn’t care about Dutch, or Hosea, or the gang...the only thing I wanted was to find the people who had killed them, and make them pay for it.”

I repainted the killers’ faces in my mind, gesturin’ to an invisible scene as I carried on with the story.

“...One night, I found their camp while I was searching along a river bank. They were all there, huddled ‘round a campfire and sharin’ drinks. Having a good ol’ time. They almost reminded me of our gang...but that didn’t matter to me. Without saying a word, I stormed in there like an absolute madman and shot the whole lot of them. Set their stuff on fire. Did everything I could to make sure they was sufferin’ in their last moments. And I sure as shit did.”

I glanced down at my hands. “When it was over, though...I felt...strange. I remember I was sittin’ there in the middle of their camp, kneeling on the ground with bodies lying all around me and blood staining my hands. The peace I had been looking for was nowhere to be found. Instead...I just felt empty. Like I no longer had a reason to live now that my family’s killers were dead. I had sacrificed everything for these bastards, and forgotten the man I once was in the process.”

I turned back to Eddie, resting a hand on top of his.

“You’re the only person I’ve found ever since then who’s...who’s made me care again. Who’s made me feel like this ain’t a waste of time. So please, Eddie. Don’t do what I did. Don’t become the man I am. You’ll never find peace otherwise, and there ain’t no goin’ back. Can you promise me you won’t?”

The boy was quiet for a while, evidently taken aback by the story I just told him and surprised about my past while he considered everything I said. There was still a fire in his eyes that told me his desire to kill Atticus hadn’t gone anywhere -- and that it probably wouldn’t anytime soon -- but against all better judgement, Eddie eventually gave in and sighed out of defeat, agreeing to promise this one thing.

“...Okay,” he whispered vehemently. “It’s...going to take me some time to understand all this completely, but if you think this is what’s best for me...then I’ll do it. I promise.”

I nodded in approval. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Having had enough of this melancholic mood, I cleared my throat and stood up from the chair, gettin’ ready to head outside the saloon as I brought my mind back to the robbery at hand.

“Anyways,” I said, “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me outside when you’re finished cleanin’ up, and then we’ll head back to camp and...let Dutch know what’s what.”

“Alright,” the pianist replied. “You sure we can rob this riverboat?”

I shrugged, makin’ my way out the door.

“I ain’t sure of nothin’ just yet. All I know is there’s money on that boat, and Dutch wants it. So long as he’s got his eyes on that cash, we ain’t going nowhere. The best we can do is be prepared, and keep our eyes peeled. Other than that...” I opened the door, scoffing in an amused tone, “we’ll just pray, I guess. But at this point, pfft...I doubt even God would bother savin’ us.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #eddie ryan #arthur morgan x male oc #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 story

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icannott · 7 years ago

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Knock Knock (Stanley Uris x Reader)

Requested: nopee

Pairing(s): Stan Uris x Reader, Benverly (Ben x Bev)

Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes

A/N: i pinky promise i’ll stop writing so much stan gee

gif cred belongs to @staunris

The losers were gathered in the TV room of their dorm around eleven PM, minus Ben and Stan, who insisted on getting proper sleep after studying. Luckily, they shared a room, so no harm done. You were all missing, saying simply that you needed sleep. They didn’t question it, for you’ve been swamped for a while, yet still managed to make time for them. They didn’t blame you for taking the night off.

They were all stretched out on the couches and chairs in the room, playing a simple, (currently) innocent game of truth or dare. And then, Beverly got an idea.

“Bill,” she smiled, attempting to look innocent. Bill turned to her and only saw the look a predator gives to its prey as she tilted her head and continued, “Truth or dare?”

Bill gulped. “D-Dare?”

Her Cheshire grin grew. “I dare you to knock on [name]’s door and then run away before she answers.”

His face heated up. “Wh-Why [name]?”

“Dude, don’t ask questions,” Richie snorted. “Come on, feel lucky. I bet [name] looks smoking in her pajamas.” He held his hand up for a high five, but Eddie just rolled his eyes and Mike shook his head with an amused chuckle.

“Actually,” Bev mused, “[name] usually only wears a nightgown to bed.”

Bill’s face got redder, if even possible. “O-Only?”

Bev attempted another innocent grin.

“Dude,” Richie laughed, “I wish I was you.”

Bill just gulped and stood, albeit a little shakily. “Guess it’s n-now or never.” He made his way to the hallway leading to your and Bev’s room.

They all watched him walk down the hall with his head held high with his remaining pride.

“Holy shit, he’s actually doing it?” Richie whispered frantically. Bev shushed him.

Bill stopped in front of your door and took a breath. He looked back at them and nodded before knocking on your door and sprinting back to the TV room. He hid around the corner, and Mike quickly jumped from the couch he was onto the arm of Bev’s chair as to not be spotted. Luckily, they could see you, but you could not see them.

Your door opened, and you peeked out. You were in your nightgown, as promised, but it wasn’t too showy. Your hair wasn’t too much of a mess, but it was obvious you had been laying for a bit. You looked up and down the hall, before shaking your head and closing the door again.

They waited a minute before speaking again.

“Damn,” Richie spoke first. “I was right.”

The rest just kept staring at the door you were previously standing at.

“My turn!” Bev declared, hopping off of her chair. No one commented, but shot each other amused, cautious glances as she quietly made her way down the carpeted hallway.

Beverly looked back at them and knocked quickly before sprinting around the corner and hopping back onto the chair where Mike was shaking his head with a grin.

This time, it took you a little longer to open the door. You looked out again and sighed, closing it.

“Okay, okay, Mike,” Bev whispered, pushing his shoulder. He shook his head.

“No, thanks,” he chuckled softly. “I don’t want to get butchered by an angry, sleep-deprived [name].”

Eddie shrugged and stood, to everyone’s surprise. “Guess it’s my turn, then.” He walked cautiously down the hallway. When he finally reached your door, he took a breath. Then he knocked on the door and stepped to the side. They all silently panicked. Was he giving them away? But then you opened the door, and it shielded Eddie from sight. You looked up and down the hall once more before closing it quickly. Eddie put a hand on his heart and grinned with relief.

They all quietly clapped for him as he trekked back to the TV room.

“She was quick that time,” Bev commented. “Whoever’s next better be able to run fast. I have a feeling she’s not gonna go lightly with that door.”

“Alright, guys,” Richie sighed, hopping up from the couch. “It’s time for the master to work.” He walked down the hall with his usual swagger, everyone staring after him in anticipation. He smirked back at them when he reached the door, and then quickly rapped his knuckles against the hard wood. But before Richie cold even move toward the others, a pissed Stanley Uris swung the door open and snatched his wrist. They all immediately held their breath.

He muttered something harshly to a frozen Richie, who chuckled stiffly and said, “W-We were just having fun.”

“Piss. Off,” Stan said unmercifully and let go of Richie’s wrist, shutting the door forcefully. Richie walked stiffly back over to the TV room. He sat quietly next to Eddie.

“Woah,” Richie said, snapping the tight silence.

“So... so..,” Eddie trailed. “They’re... dating?”

“Ben must’ve known,” Bev said feverishly, rising from her seat with her scheming grin. “Ben had to have known, or else he would’ve told me about Stan not being there and-and those nights where [name] said she would be studying elsewhere and left the room, she-she must’ve...” She sat back down and seemed to snap out of her stupor as Mike laughed. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. “But you guys really didn’t know?”

tags

forever tags

@itaddict @wynne-likes-floatin @mewstriker

stan tags

@911whatsthedeal

#it fanfiction #it 2017 #IT FANDOM #it movie #stan uris #beverly marsh #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #stan uris x reader #losers club

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themanicmagician · 8 years ago

Text

The Hand that Feeds - Chapter 2

Summary:

“Sans, please. I’ll do anything. Whatever you want me to do, just say it and I’ll do it.” Sans considers him. “Anything, huh?”

Contains stray dog adoption, lasagna, and bad times for Papyrus.

When Grillby returns from the kitchen with a plate of steaming food balanced on a tray, there’s a new customer by the bar counter: Sans’ younger brother. He hasn’t hopped up on a barstool; instead, Papyrus hovers by the edge of the counter, nervous and out of place. He rarely visits without Sans.

Hopkins—a regular—leers at him from her stool. “Hiya, cutie.”

Papyrus’ smile is stiff.

Grillby delivers the order to an eager, salivating customer before returning behind the bar. Papyrus eyes him. His mouth half-opens and closes, but he’s evidently unable to summon the courage to speak.

Hopkins, not quite drunk yet but getting there, waves her glass in the bartender’s direction. He refills her drink, and she mumbles her thanks.

“Can I help you with something?” Grillby asks Papyrus.

Despite his gentle tone, the skeleton flinches at being addressed.

“Um…” He consults a scrap of paper. “C-Can I get a burger and fries, with extra ketchup and n-no onions? To go, please?”

Sans’ usual, then.

“So Sans was too busy to fetch his own meal today?” Grillby jokes.

The lights in Papyrus’ eyes shrink. “Oh—no. It’s just, it’s not like I was doing anything important anyway, so…” He trails off, shrugging.

“Give me five minutes.”

Grillby tightens the strings of his apron as he heads back into the kitchen. He can hear Hopkins heckling Papyrus as he leaves, dragging brief but polite responses from him.

They become inaudible once Grillby is inside the kitchen. He retrieves a patty from the fridge. As it sizzles on the grill, he collects the other ingredients. He manipulates the food with a practiced ease, and as the burger cooks he allows his mind to wander.

The one speck of unrest in their bucolic town is the enmity between the skeleton brothers. Sans is all smiles, jokes, and good company at the bar, right up until Papyrus shows to bring him home. His mood sours instantly, and Papyrus is all too easily cut open by barbed words. It’s uncomfortable for everyone present, but who are they to interfere? The brothers’ constant fight is an open secret in Snowdin, but none of them are close enough to either of them to really intrude on the family matter. They’re all just hoping the brothers will be able to work whatever it is out themselves, eventually.

The burger cooked—medium rare, as Sans likes it—Grillby adds the additions, piling on ingredients before enclosing them all in lightly-toasted buns. He sinks a toothpick into the finished burger to keep its structure secure. It drips with grease, ketchup, and flavor. After wrapping the burger up neatly along with fresh-cut fries, Grillby rejoins his customers.

Hopkins, who has already finished her refreshed drink, is slurring advice to Papyrus. The skeleton is listening intently to her drunken knowledge, like a student before a sage. “…takes it all right off. Like floatin’ on a cloud. Too far to care about whatever. You know?”

Grillby sets the to-go bag on the counter as Papyrus mulls her advice over. Hopkins, looking woozy, rests her chin on her folded arms.

“Right.” Papyrus nods. He turns to Grillby, a spark of excitement about him. “Mr. Grillby. I’d like one alcohol, please.”

Hopkins snorts into her sleeve.

“…Right.” Grillby says. “Have you ever drank before?”

“No. But I…” Papyrus puffs up, just a little. “I’m an adult. I can drink if I want to.”

“Give him a shot of fireball. On me.” Hopkins nudges her empty shot glass over to Grillby. “And while you’re at it…”

Grillby pours out the cinnamon whiskey and slides the glasses back over the bar counter.

Papyrus picks up his glass like he doesn’t know the proper way to hold it. He sniffs it, dubious. A disgusted look flits across his features before he schools his expression into one more neutral.

“Down it in one.” Hopkins instructs, before doing just that herself.

“Don’t—” Before Grillby can finish warning him, Papyrus knocks it back.

As soon as it’s down Papyrus is coughing, sputtering. He not-so-subtly wipes away tears from his eye sockets. “That was…great?” Papyrus’ enthusiasm is as weak as his voice.

Hopkins laughs. Grillby glares until she gets the hint and quiets.

“Wait here.” He tells Papyrus.

“Oh,” Papyrus shifts his weight uneasily. Angling himself for the door. “I think I’ve had enough for today—”

“It’ll just take a minute.”

Grillby heads back into the kitchen. He prepares a different beverage, one he’s fairly sure Papyrus will actually enjoy. He adds more milk than the recipe demands—but Papyrus could use it. As a monster who’s made his livelihood feeding others, he’s always been bothered by the brittle, pale look of the skeleton’s bones. He needs to eat more.

Grillby returns to the bar with a tall glass. The frosty drink is already melting from his ambient heat, so he sets it down in front of Papyrus and backs off.

“What is this?” Papyrus eyes it, curious.

“A chocolate milkshake. I think you’ll enjoy the taste of this better.”

Papyrus reaches for it, but then snatches his hand back, contrite. “I’m sorry, but I just have enough for Sans’ food.”

“It’s on the house,” Grillby dismisses. “Think of it as an apology for the fireball.”

“You’re sure?”

Grillby nods, but Papyrus hesitates still.

“Really, Papyrus. It’s fine.”

Finally assuaged, Papyrus takes a cautious sip from the shake.

It’s like a flip has been switched. Papyrus’ face flushes with healthy color, and his eyelights sparkle.

“Wowie! It’s delicious!”

Papyrus finally takes a seat at the counter, and happily drinks the shake. It’s amazing how his demeanor has perked up in such a short span of time. Grillby feels a curl of satisfaction; that’s what good food will do for you.

Hopkins signals Grillby for another glass. She grumbles when he serves her water, but doesn’t insist on more whiskey.

The Dogi enter the bar, woofing hellos to the room. Papyrus startles at the sudden noise. His gaze finds the clock on the wall, and he’s galvanized into action.

“I need to get going.” Papyrus rummages through his pockets and pulls out several gold coins. He counts them out with shaking fingers and hands them over to Grillby.

The milkshake glass is still half full. “Do you want me to get you a cup for this?”

‘”No, no. It’s fine. Thank you. I have to go.”

Papyrus grabs Sans’ food and hurries from the bar.

Grillby circles around the bar counter, making his way over to the dog couple to take their order.

Papyrus is certainly an odd one. Shy, skittish, awkward. But still, there is something about him that’s endearing.

~*~

When the clock nears one in the morning, Grillby shoos his remaining customers out, and, from beneath the bar, pulls out an old beat up radio that doubles as a cassette player. He salvaged it from the Dump years ago, and has slowly but surely amassed a modest cassette collection. The cassette he slots into the radio today has old tracks, from early 19XX. The gentle swing tunes drift through the bar. One day he’ll shell out and get a real jukebox, but for now, he makes due with his scavenged prize.

While the music plays, he gets to work. He pulls on thick waterproof dishwashing gloves, before filling a bucket with water and soap. He dunks a cloth into the water, and wipes down the bar counter, the tables. Checks the undersides of both for trash and stubborn gum. As he straightens up from bending under each table, a stabbing ache develops in the small of his back. He rubs at the spot of pain and wills it to ebb.

Once the bar is spick and span, it’s approaching two and he’s feeling weary, but there’s more still to be done. He heads into the kitchen and thoroughly scrubs every used dish and utensil, before taking out the trash for the day in the alley behind the bar.

Exhaustion weighing heavily upon him, he heads home after locking up. His house is one in a row of quaint, quiet homes.

When at last inside he yanks off his apron, tugs off his tie, and lets them both drop haphazardly on the floor. He checks his phone; there’s a missed call and a message from Fuku.

“Hi, Uncle Grillby!” She sounds like a teenager now. When had that happened? Grillby feels a stab of guilt. “Dad wanted to know if you’d be coming to the Gyftmas party.” Then, hushed: “Mom doesn’t think you’ll show up. She says she’s not even putting out a place setting. Think how funny the look on her face would be if you did come!” Fuku laughs, tinny through the speaker. “But, yeah. Let me or Dad know if you can make it. Later!”

The message ends with a click. Grillby’s finger hovers over the redial—he’s seen her Undernet posts at odd hours of the night, she’d still be awake despite the late hour—but he ends up powering the phone down. He’ll deal with it later.

Not bothering to change, Grillby collapses onto his bed. A soreness pulls at his back. Grimacing, he grasps for the bedside table. He snatches up the half-full bottle of pain pills, and dry swallows down two of them.

He seals the bottle and tosses it off the bed.

He curls on his side. For so long he’s been content in his decision, fueled by his passion. But lately, every day folds into the next, near-seamless copies. The usual, the regulars. He’s tired.

~*~

Grillby imports most of his ingredients wholesale from New Home, but today he’s run out of coffee creamer. So before opening up shop for the day, he has to make a quick stop at the General Store for this dire necessity.

Usagi’s floppy ears point upwards as he enters.

“Well hello there!” She chimes, cheerful as ever. “What can I do for you today, hun? Come for one of my cinnamon bunnies?”

“Not today, I’m afraid.”

She’s always heavy on the cinnamon. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her. He finds the creamer and brings it to the register.

“2G.” Usagi says, punching the item into the register. After a moment of thought, Grillby grabs a bottle of pain pills and places it on the counter as well.

“7G, now.” Usagi frowns. “You’re not taking out your back at that bar of yours?”

“It’s fine.” Grillby hands over the gold.

“I had the same problem before my sister’s kids started coming in to help with closing.” Usagi’s fingers drum on the counter. “You know, that skeleton has been asking for work lately.”

“Sans?” The idea that his slovenly regular is willfully looking for extra work seems unbelievable. Besides, he’s seen his house—it’s not like he’s strapped for cash.

“No, no. His brother! The tall one. He’s been buying kibble lately. Got himself a dog, he says. Been begging all over for work to help care for it.”

Grillby frowns. From what he knows of Sans’ jobs, he could easily afford Papyrus’ pet. Well, he is the older brother. Maybe he wants to teach Papyrus responsibility.

“Why not throw him a bone?” Usagi suggests. “Hire him as a waiter or something.”

Usagi is always nagging him to hire on more staff, but for once he’s actually considering it. His back has been bothering him lately, moreso than usual. And someone who could clean dishes without layers of protection would be useful.

Grillby leaves the General Store with coffee creamer, pills, and an emerging idea.

~*~

He has his chance when Papyrus returns to his bar a few days later, asking for Sans’ usual once again.

“Papyrus.”

The skeleton jumps at the sound of his name.

“Usagi told me you were looking for work. Would you be interested in a position here?”

Papyrus’ eyes brighten with interest, but then the twin lights are abruptly snuffed.

“O-Oh, I shouldn’t. I’m not good at crowds, and people and…”

“You can stay in the back.” Grillby assures him. “Really I just need someone to help with dishes, prep work. Keeping an eye on the fryer. Things like that.”

“I…I don’t know,” Papyrus mumbles. He hunches, trying to look small. “I probably wouldn’t be any good at it.”

“I’m not trying to force you into anything. I just wanted to let you know the offer’s available.”

Papyrus looks at the floor. Grillby feels befuddled, and admittedly put out. He’d thought Papyrus would leap on the opportunity, and was looking forward to another set of hands.

“If….If I said yes.” Papyrus rubs his arm. “Do you think you could keep my job a secret from everyone? Especially Sans.”

“Why?”

“Because. I—I’m trying to save up. For a gift for my brother. I don’t want him to know. And if his friends knew, they’d tell him I work here.”

A flicker of surprise runs through Grillby. If Papyrus wants to go to such lengths, it’s possible he’s trying to patch up his relationship with Sans.

“Very well. If it means that much to you, I won’t say a thing. You can work in the kitchen exclusively, and leave out the back if you want.”

“Then in that case, I accept!” Grillby is bemused as Papyrus clasps his hands in his own, his eyes gathering with tears. Above grateful, he’s acting like Grillby just saved his life. “Thank you, Mr. Grillby. Thank you.”

“…Sure.” He certainly is odd. “Can you start tomorrow?”

Papyrus nods so hard he rattles.

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”

~*~

Snowdin is dark in the early morning. The festive lights strung up around the town are set on a timer, not meant to go off for hours yet. Smothering a yawn with his hand, Grillby reaches for his keys as he nears his bar. He stops short near the entrance.

Papyrus is already on the front stoop, shivering in his short-sleeved shirt.

“You’re here early.”

His new hire looks at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Oh! Did y-you want me to come later? I’m sorry, I should’ve known to—”

“It’s okay.” Grillby assures him, before he can lather himself into a panic. He’d told Papyrus to come in the morning. Thinking of Sans, he’d assumed Papyrus wouldn’t appear until much later. “I can show you my set up procedures, since you’re already here.”

Grillby lets them both inside. He raises his body temperature a fraction, to heat the room faster for his companion.

“Let me show you around the back.”

He leads his new employee past the door by the bar, into the kitchen. Grillby gestures around the space.

“This is where you’ll be doing most of your work.”

The appliances aren’t top of the line, but Grillby has taken pains to treat them well and clean them frequently. The kitchen is broken down into sections: a space for the grill and fryer, another for the oven, a long counter to prepare cold meals, and a dishwashing station. Various cooking utensils line the walls, and a well-stocked fridge sits in one corner of the room.

Grillby waves a hand in the direction of the sink, several dishes from the previous night piled in it. “That’s mostly where I’ll have you working. I’ll also start training you on daily prep lists, once you get used to the washing.”

Papyrus nods, listening so raptly Grillby’s almost surprised he isn’t writing this all down.

In addition to the door they entered in from the bar, there’s a second near the back of the kitchen. Grillby opens it for them, showing Papyrus inside. “This is the back room. Think of it as a break room.” It’s furnished with an old but cozy couch, and another radio.

“And past that door at the back there, that leads to behind the bar. If I ever need you to take out trash, you’d go through here.”

The tour concluded, Grillby brings Papyrus back to the kitchen, to get started on the dishes. He grabs an apron from his inventory, as well as gloves.

“Put these on.”

Papyrus’ petite frame is swamped in Grillby’s clothes. The apron’s width is more than enough to wrap around Papyrus’ body and then some. The gloves creep up near his shoulders.

Grillby walks his new employee through the basics; which tools are best depending on the food residue and cookware, the level of cleanliness that’s expected of him. Grillby then hands him one of the dishes to start. Papyrus takes to the task eagerly, scrubbing with enthusiasm.

Grillby leaves him to it. He gets to work on his own task, prepping vegetables for the day’s orders. He glances Papyrus’ way occasionally as he crosses out items on his prep list.

He’s dicing green peppers for the daily special when he hears a crash.

He looks up, alarmed. Papyrus’ soapy gloves are outstretched, and there’s a pile of broken porcelain at his feet.

“Are you hurt?” Grillby asks, looking him over for any nicks or scrapes. Papyrus seems fine, merely rattled.

“I’m—I’m so sorry.” Papyrus’ expression is as shattered as the plate.

“It’s alright, Papyrus. Really.” Grillby emphasizes to his flappable employee. “Just try to be more careful, alright?”

Papyrus nods fervently. He bends down and reaches for the shards. “I’ll clean it up right away.”

“Hold on.” This skeleton has no sense of self-preservation. Grillby fetches him a broom and dustpan. “Use these. Don’t cut yourself on anything.”

Papyrus starts cleaning up the mess. Grillby can tell his presence makes Papyrus anxious, so he makes himself busy in the front. He buffs at stubborn stains on the bar counter with an old rag.

The skeleton brothers had shown up in town one day, over a year ago now it has to be. Sans fit right in at once. He has a charming air about him that makes it easy to carry on pleasant conversation. The type you always look forward to seeing again, knowing he’d have more crazy tales to spin the next time.

Papyrus, on the other hand, seemed more ghost than skeleton, with how easily he blended in to the surroundings. Thinking back now, Grillby doesn’t recall seeing him about town often. Maybe a few times, in passing, they’d brush by each other. Grillby, on his way to work, and Papyrus heading for the forest that bordered Snowdin’s western edge. A group of children frequent the woods, but he couldn’t see them mingling with Papyrus. What does he do out there, all alone?

Grillby can’t help a swell of pity. With just a few hours of working with him, it’s clear Papyrus is painfully shy. It’s no doubt kept him from reaching out to other members of the community and making friends.

When he gave Papyrus the milkshake, when Papyrus allowed himself to relax, it was like his true personality peeped out of its shell. Papyrus had been goofy, in an endearing way. A lightness of spirit.

Grillby wants to see that part of Papyrus again.

~*~

As the month progresses, Papyrus proves to be an unexpected blessing. After a few bumps in the beginning, Papyrus’ nerves settle, and he becomes more comfortable in his position. He’s a model worker, always on time, always pouring 110% into everything he does. Grillby has to urge him to take breaks, sometimes going as far as to shepherd him into the back room himself to make sure he stays there.

With Papyrus’ quick and efficient work, Grillby is able to close up the bar and retire to bed much earlier than he used to, with a lot less aches and pains accompanying him.

As Papyrus masters tasks, Grillby introduces additional ones. This morning, they’re working side by side, preparing vegetables for a stew. They’re close enough that their elbows brush as they work. Soft jazz plays from the radio, and Grillby hums along gently.

He glances sidelong over to Papyrus to assess his progress. He’s dicing vegetables with a manic precision.

“You’re good at this. You cut very evenly.” While Papyrus is like a kicked puppy when criticized, he lights up at the simplest praise.

“Thank you,” Papyrus murmurs, a pleased smile on his face.

“Do you cook often in your spare time?”

Papyrus shakes his head.

“You have a very steady hand, then.”

Papyrus doubles down on his work. Grillby thinks it might be the end of their short conversation, when Papyrus pipes up again.

“…Sometimes, I like to make dioramas. Layouts of puzzles and traps on different terrain. I have to cut a lot of small pieces.”

Papyrus is a history buff? Grillby wouldn’t have guessed he enjoyed something so traditional.

“Have you built any traps? The dogs would probably let you set one up in the forest.”

“Oh, they’re not that good, really. I’m sure if I put up a trap a human would walk right past it.”

Grillby frowns. He tries to engage him from another avenue. “Usagi mentioned a while back that you have a pet. A dog, right?”

That perks him up. “Yes! A small white one, just two years old. Although sometimes I wonder if it’s not a dog at all, but a demon!”

“Oh?”

Papyrus reaches for another pepper. It’s more prep then they’ll need, but Grillby says nothing. Papyrus chops away.

“Yes!” He scowls, but his tone is fond. “The pesky canine stole all the socks from my drawer the other day. Every. Single. One! I was looking everywhere! And guess where the dog stashed them all!”

“Behind the couch?” Grillby guesses.

“Beneath the kitchen sink. It built a nest from my socks. Now there’s dog hair on everything.”

“So, what did you do when you found the dog?”

“Well, I meant to scold it. But then it licked my hand in apology. So, being the better monster, I let bybones be bybones.”

Grillby laughs at the mental image of Papyrus chasing a tiny dog around.

“Nyeh heh heh.” Papyrus giggles with him.

Grillby’s soul warms at the sound.

“What?” Papyrus asks, and Grillby realizes he’s been staring.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard your laugh before. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” Papyrus’ cheekbones flush a pretty orange. He’s suddenly very interested in the prep work, scooping vegetables into plastic bins.

Despite Papyrus’ embarrassment, he leans a bit closer to Grillby. They work with arms nearly touching, Grillby’s flames licking harmlessly against Papyrus’ sleeve.

~*~

Grillby frowns at the clock on the wall. Papyrus is normally idling at the bar before Grillby even gets there, but ten minutes have passed since he got in and there’s no sign yet of his employee. Maybe he’s sick, but Grillby has no way of knowing. Grillby asked before if he had a cellphone, to keep in contact with about his work schedule, but Papyrus said he didn’t. Maybe he could call Sans, instead?

Grillby is halfway through a text to the skeleton brother when he stalls. Papyrus wanted to keep his job a secret. Asking Sans where Papyrus was would arouse suspicion.

Right as he finishes deleting the half-formed message, the front door opens.

“Welcome, Papyrus.” Grillby greets him.

Papyrus’ body language is oddly stiff. He’s keeping his gaze down, angling himself away from Grillby.

“Hi, Mr. Grillby.” He sounds subdued. “Sorry I’m late.”

Papyrus tries to brush past him and into the kitchen, but he’s not quick enough—Grillby sees what he’s trying to hide.

He sucks in a sharp breath and follows him into the kitchen.

“Papyrus, are you alright?”

“It’s nothing.”

Papyrus heads to his work station. Fiddling around and trying to look busy.

“It’s not nothing.” Grillby grabs Papyrus’ chin, angling his face to better see the bruising around his mandible.

“It looks worse than it is.” Papyrus says, but winces when Grillby’s fingers probe closer to the injured area.

“What happened?”

“Oh, it…” Papyrus colors. “I was just being stupid. As usual. I tripped.”

“You tripped?” Grillby reiterates, skeptical. That’s significant bruising for a fall.

“I was carrying laundry downstairs and I fell. I hit my face at a bad angle. It’s fine, really.”

Papyrus tries to back away, but Grillby keeps hold of him. “Hold still for a minute.”

The flames of his hand flicker green. Grillby transfers healing magic over until the pain leaves Papyrus’ face.

“That should speed along the healing process.” The bruises are still present, but will disappear faster.

“Um…” Papyrus croaks, face aflame, and Grillby realizes he’s just been mindlessly stroking Papyrus’ cheek with his thumb.

Grillby snatches his hand back. He clears his throat.

“I should get back to work.”

Once Grillby moves past his embarrassment, he offers to let Papyrus go home early, but he declines.

A slow afternoon becomes a busy evening as regulars pack the bar to spend their paychecks for the week. The bar may not have a jukebox yet, but it’s plenty loud enough with all the chatter from the bar’s patrons. The royal guard pack crowd around one table, playing their weekly poker match. Big Mouth slurps a milkshake. Hopkins sits with Scarlet at the bar, the two chatting about their love lives, or rather, lack thereof. Greymane sits in his usual corner with his leather jacket on despite the bar’s warmth, taking pains to look the part of an enigmatic bad boy.

The front bell jingles as another enters their midst. The patrons all turn to look, and cry out in joy.

“Sans!”

“Hey, Sansy!”

Sans gives the crowd a cheeky grin and a half-wave.

Grillby watches him weave through the bar, going from group to group. He tosses bone attacks to the dogs, tells jokes that make even Greymane crack a grin.

Finally, he hops up on his customary bar stool. He winks over at the girls, sending them into fits of tipsy giggles.

“Where’ve you been lately? We’ve been lonely without you, Sansy.” Hopkins pouts.

“Oh, you know. Just up to one of my usual hare-brained schemes.”

Hopkins guffaws. With the objectivity of sobriety, Grillby thinks that was far from his best pun.

Sans props his head in his hand.

“Heya Grillbz. Lookin’ hot today.” The same joke as always. Grillby finds he has less patience to humor Sans since Papyrus started working for him. Papyrus is sweet, gentle—what cause does Sans have to be so cruel to him?

“Burg and fries, if ya would.” Sans slides a stack of bills over. “And just keep the beers coming.”

Grillby pockets the money before entering the kitchen. Papyrus has heard Sans’ arrival, that much is apparent in the stiffness of his posture. He keeps his head bowed as he scrubs furiously at phantom stains on a bowl.

“If he’s bothering you, you can go home early, if you’d like.”

“I’m fine.” Papyrus flashes him a wan smile. “But thank you.”

Grillby returns to the bar before too long with Sans’ order. The skeleton dives into his burger, smearing ketchup on his face with a greedy bite.

He frowns. “You feelin’ ok, Grillbz?” Sans shows Grillby the burger. It’s past well done, blackened. “Little charred today.”

Grillby reaches for the plate, apologetic.

“Nah, it’s fine. Kinda smokey.” Sans takes another bite, more content now that he’s expecting the taste.

It’s odd of him to mess up an order like that. When he first started cooking as a cinder, he had many a misfire. His fluctuating magic levels produced dishes anywhere from tepid to molten. One night he attempted to cook dinner for his family, and emerged from the kitchen with a heap of ashes. Oh, how his sister had laughed.

Grillby learned to control his flames and to leave any negative thoughts from his mind when he worked. Evidently he’d been too careless tonight.

Sans doesn’t mind too much, and his mood mellows further when he gets a few beers in him.

As the hours go by, slowly the crowd disperses until the only one left is Sans. Fast asleep, his head pillowed in his arms. No doubt there’s a puddle of drool forming on the counter.

Usually when Sans does this, Papyrus comes by to pick him up. Occasionally, Papyrus would poke his head in and Sans wouldn’t be at the bar, meaning he’d left his brother alone without telling him where he’d be and when he’d be back, leaving Papyrus to worry. Grillby had always thought it rude Sans would force his brother to guess his location.

Sans snores gently. Maybe Grillby’s being unfair to him. He doesn’t know Sans’ situation—for a talkative guy he’s surprisingly secretive—but he always had the feeling Sans is grappling with a heavy personal issue. Once he gets one too many beers in him, there’s a weariness to him. Maybe Sans is doing the best he can under his circumstances.

Grillby meets Papyrus as he returns from taking out the trash.

“I think your brother is ready to go home.”

“Oh. I’m sorry he’s always so…” Papyrus trails off, embarrassed on his brother’s behalf.

Grillby shrugs. “It comes with the territory.”

They return to the bar together, after Papyrus stashes his work apron into his inventory.

Papyrus’ frame is too slight to carry Sans home without waking him. He shakes Sans’ shoulder.

“It’s time to go home, brother.” Papyrus says, softly.

“Shut up, Papyrus.” Sans groans. His eyes open to a squint. “Why are you always so fuckin’ loud?”

Papyrus slings Sans’ arm over his shoulders and pulls him from his bar stool. Grillby wants to help, but he doubts Papyrus would let him take over, so he does what he can and gets the door for the two of them.

Some nights Sans goes quietly along, but tonight he’s belligerent. He’s struggling with Papyrus, trying to grope at his hip.

“Sans, knock it off.” Papyrus scolds him with a hushed whisper.

“C’mon, give me a beej.” Sans slurs. “Fuckin’ cocksucker.”

Well, that was a new one.

Papyrus’ flustered gaze snaps up to Grillby.

“I’m so sorry. S-Sans is just—he’s been through a lot lately.” Papyrus says in a rush. “It’s stress from work. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.”

“Do you need help getting him home?” Maybe he’s more drunk than Grillby thought, if he can’t recognize his own brother.

“No, no, I can do this. Goodnight.”

Papyrus all but drags Sans from the bar. Grillby watches them go from the doorjamb. Sans tries to paw at Papyrus, who knocks his hand away.

Grillby resolves to be firmer with Sans’ alcohol limits. He hadn’t been paying attention tonight, and it wasn’t fair that Papyrus is stuck dealing with the fallout.

Once the brothers are out of sight, he returns inside.

~*~

With a dollop of whipped cream, Grillby finishes off his newest milkshake. He wanted to branch out in flavors, and try something more unique than the standard vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. Slowly he’s been introducing new desserts to his menu. For this shake, he blended scoops of ice cream with frozen bananas, crumbled walnuts, and caramel made from scratch.

Grillby can’t really enjoy frozen treats himself; the food melts before it even reaches his mouth. Papyrus has become his taste-tester in his stead, before the dishes make their way out to the public.

He’d prepared the milkshake in time for Papyrus’ arrival (a sugary breakfast, but he’s sure Papyrus won’t mind) but his employee is running late today. He sets the finished milkshake in the fridge to await his arrival.

Grillby takes a seat on the couch in the back room, waiting for Papyrus to arrive. His leg jiggles as he watches the door. Today’s the day, he’s decided. Well, yesterday was the day, and so was the day before that. But today. Today for sure will be the day that he finally asks if Papyrus would like to go out with him. On a date.

He’s been working with Papyrus nearly every day for the past two months. He has no delusions that if he asks Papyrus out they’ll be swept up in a passionate whirlwind romance. He’s a simple enough monster. Papyrus is shy, quirky—but he’s kind, caring, and adorable, too. Grillby looks forward to spending time with him at work, and when he’s home he finds himself thinking over things Papyrus said, or replaying the sound of his laugh in his mind. Grillby thinks it’s worth a shot, to explore if they could mean something more to each other than employee and employer.

When Papyrus enters, Grillby dismisses his apology and explanation for his tardiness (his dog thought it’d be fun to run away with one of his shoes) and brings him into the bar.

“I wanted you to try this.”

Grillby sets the shake before him, and Papyrus’ eyes light up. He scoops up a mouthful with a spoon and eats it.

“Do you like the taste?”

Papyrus nods.

“Everything you make tastes wonderful.” Papyrus compliments him, shyly.

It’s now or never. Grillby leans across the bar counter, trying to broadcast confidence.

“Papyrus, I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Something important.”

“…Yes?” Papyrus asks, when Grillby doesn’t follow that up. He’s trying to think of the best way to articulate this—why didn’t he write it down? Why didn’t he actually prepare something instead of just thinking about it?

“I—”

The front door rattles. Someone’s trying to get in, but Grillby hasn’t unlocked the front door yet. Papyrus just about leaps out of his metaphorical skin, and scurries into the kitchen before he can be spotted.

His chance has closed. Grillby clears away the milkshake before letting the customer inside.

It turns out to be a slow morning. Papyrus shoots him curious looks every time he reenters the kitchen to grab something, but Grillby holds off on providing an explanation. He still wants to ask Papyrus out properly, like he deserves.

At noon, the quiet mood of the bar is shattered as a herd of children rush inside, two beleaguered schoolteachers trailing after them. A New Home school insignia is on their uniforms.

“You serve food here, don’t you?” Asks one weary teacher.

“Of course.” Grillby brings out the menus he’d recently had laminated at the library, updated to include dessert options. He also taps into his rarely used stash of crayons and puzzle sheets, which the children take to with enthusiasm. Some fill out the puzzles, but most just scribble all over the page.

One of the schoolteachers reads out menu items to the children. They raise their hands when they hear something they like, and Grillby jots it all down. The teachers give him their orders as well, bringing the total to fifteen.

Grillby steps into the kitchen. Papyrus is idling by the empty dishwasher.

“There’s a class field trip in town from New Home.” Grillby explains as he shows Papyrus the long order. “Let’s get these orders out fast before the kids get antsy.”

Being children, they’re drawn to sweets. Many ordered shakes and ice creams. Papyrus works on the cold treats while Grillby fires up a bunch of sliders.

They work quickly; Grillby is soon back out the door with a tray of food, with Papyrus following behind him, balancing his own plate of sweets. Normally Papyrus remains in the kitchen, but the children need to be served simultaneously or they’ll liable to have a riot on their hands.

As soon as the food is set down the children set upon it like ravenous animals. The teachers look relieved for some peace from the commotion, and dig into their own meals.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

The front door bell jingles.

Grillby looks up. “Welcome to Grillby’s—”

The greeting dies halfway out.

“Hey Grillbz, just figured I’d stop by for a quick bite.” Sans winks at him. “But jeez. Don’t think I’ll be getting fast food with this crowd in here.”

Papyrus tries to sneak back out into the kitchen; Sans follows Grillby’s line of sight and spots his brother. Something in Sans’ expression shifts.

“Papyrus?” Any emotion, good or bad, is squeezed from his voice. But his eyelights are snuffed out.

Papyrus, face pale, flees into the kitchen. Grillby feels compelled to explain for him in his wake.

“He’d said that he’d wanted to surprise you with a present.” Grillby says, trying to mask how Sans’ hollow eye sockets unnerve him. “So he’d asked me to keep his employment a secret.”

Sans has no cause to be angry with his brother. Grillby won’t stand for it; Papyrus had been trying to do something nice for him.

The fires reignite in Sans’ sockets. The grin returns to his face. “He really shouldn’t have.”

Grillby wants to ask him more—finally press about their fight, something—but before he can get a word out, one of the teachers is sidling up to him with a rather sticky-looking child.

“Excuse me,” She’s breathless. “Our table could use some napkins.”

“I’ll find lunch somewhere less popular.” Sans heads for the door. “Have a good one, Grillbz.”

And he’s gone.

~*~

Color doesn’t return to Papyrus’ cheeks despite the rigorous cleanup in the aftermath of lunch. Grillby offers twice to let him go home, but Papyrus remains obstinate. Once the dinner rush ends, it’s just the two of them in the bar.

“I can handle the rest of this.” Grillby gestures to the remaining cleanup. He really would appreciate Papyrus’ help, but the skeleton looks dead on his feet. He can’t in good conscience keep him any later.

“Mr. Grillby, what had you wanted to ask me? Earlier.”

“I don’t think now is the best time—”

“Please.” Papyrus is right in front of him. This close, he can see the slight flecks of amber in his eyelights.

Well. Guess it’s now or never, then. Grillby squares his shoulders.

“As we’ve spent time together, I’ve found that I…enjoy your company. I wanted to know if you’d be interested in going a date. With me.”

“I…” Papyrus swallows. “Why?”

“Why what?” Grillby asks, bewildered.

“I don’t understand. Why would you like me? You—You can’t.”

Before Grillby can say anything, though, Papyrus heads for the door.

“Wait—”

Papyrus leaves, shutting the bar door behind him. The cheery jingle of the bells mocks him. Grillby urges himself to move. He can catch up to Papyrus and…do what?

Papyrus isn’t interested. Grillby clearly made him uncomfortable. The signs he thought he saw—the furtive glances, brushes of contact—had been embellished in memory. Wishful thinking on his part spoiled his friendship with the skittish skeleton.

Feeling like dirt on the bottom of a boot, Grillby finishes cleaning up the bar by himself.

The following morning, Papyrus doesn’t show up to work.

#dear god this chapter did not want to get written #shout out to crawly and sesu for giving this an extra lookover #papby #bad bro au #papyrus #grillby #sans #my fic

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westywrites · 7 years ago

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The Orphan Experiments

Chapter 9

"No. Why won't it go? Why won't it go? It can't be stuck!" Willow was slamming into the wall repeatedly.

"Willow calm down." Jacob stepped into one of the alcoves and inspected the walls. "I think that's the end of the hall."

"We must have to get on the other side of the wall," Rosa said, smiling at the thought of escape.

First - Previous - Next

"Here goes nothin'." Willow took a deep breath and prepared to push the heavy wall. She was surprised and somewhat saddened to find that she moved it with ease. The hallway she pushed the wall through seemed to go on forever. The walls stayed the same dark cement and the floor stayed tilted up on its slight incline. Despite the wall not feeling heavy, Willow began to get tired.

"This is ridiculous." Tanner's complaint echoed down the hall. "And I'm freezing."

"We've gotta be almost to the end of this hall." Jacob was determined to stay determined.

"I think you're probably right," Rosa said. "I also think you should pull me lower; I keep almost hitting my head."

"Oh sorry." Jacob wrapped and tied to rope a couple more times around his waist. After a while more of walking, the hall suddenly changed. On either side were alcoves, probably the size of an average broom closet. Just after these plain closet things, the wall stopped.

"No. Why won't it go? Why won't it go? It can't be stuck!" Willow was slamming into the wall repeatedly.

"Willow calm down." Jacob stepped into one of the alcoves and inspected the walls. "I think that's the end of the hall."

"We must have to get on the other side of the wall," Rosa said, smiling at the thought of escape.

"How the hell are we supposed to do that?" Willow was leaning against the wall to stop it from rolling back.

"These holes," Rosa and Jacob said at the same time. He looked up at her and they both grinned.

"We stand in ‘em and let go of the wall and let it roll past us," Jacob said.

"Won't that seal us in here?" Tanner looked back down the hall.

"We're already sealed in, we have to do it." Rosa looked so serious that it made Willow start laughing. "What are you laughing at?"

"You just look so serious but, like, you're floatin' above someone's head and you kinda look like a weird puppet or something and it's funny." Willow's laughter broke up her explanation and made Tanner and Jacob start laughing too.

"Hey." Rosa tried to kick Jacob, but the force of her movement in the air just made her bob backwards. This made the others laugh more. Mr. Kleary was about to intervene when Rosa started giggling a little too. "I guess I do look pretty silly."

"That's ok, you're our silly balloon girl." Jacob squeezed her foot and made her squeal. Then he sighed. "We have to get goin'." Everyone nodded and Tanner went into the hole with Jacob and Rosa. After a quick discussion, they agreed that Mr. Kleary would grab Willow once she let go and run to the empty hole. On a count of three Willow stepped back and let Mr. Kleary carry her. To the others watching it was like they disappeared, Mr. Kleary moved so fast. The wall slid by and rolled thunderously down the hall.

"Well that worked," Tanner said.

"Oh my neck," Willow complained. "I think you gave me whiplash."

"Oh, so sorry." Mr. Kleary started buzzing about her, seeing if there was anything he could do. After Willow insisting she was fine about twenty times, the group continued into the new section of hallway. It was a fair bit shorter and Jacob had to pull Rosa down some more. The hall continued to get shorter and thinner as they went along and soon they had to crouch to pass through.

"We can't go much further." Willow had Rosa tucked gently under her arm. "This is really awkward."

"I think I can see up the end up ahead though." Jacob pointed. "There's a flashing green light or switch of some sort."

"Dude that hole is way too tiny for any of us to fit in." Tanner was trying hard not to touch anyone. The effort of keeping that distance was making him nervous and the others could feel the heat coming off of him.

"Jacob could do it." Rosa looked at him. "I think Jacob's supposed to do it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jacob twisted his head around to look at her. No one pointed out that his head twisted much farther than any human naturally could.

"The wall thing seemed pretty designed to Willow's power and this really seems like it's designed for your power." Rosa tilted her head. "There will probably be one designed for each of us."

"This isn't some lame comic book, Rosa," Willow groaned. Jacob raised his eyebrows at her.

"Rosa’s probably right." Jacob gulped as he crawled into the tunnel. He slid down onto his stomach and army crawled as the tunnel closed in. He could feel his shoulders and ribs fold in as the space became too small for his natural body, he easily squeezed on. The ease of it bothered him immensely. Once he was close enough, he paused to try to dispel that nausea that washed over him in waves. The green switch at the end flashed at him and he reached his arm forward to flick the switch. Nothing happened. Then the floor dropped and the walls flew apart, opening to the size of a normal hallway. Jacob flicked like an elastic back to normal size and laid there groaning for a moment.

"Are you ok?" Willow ran up to him, dragging Rosa along by her rope.

"Hmm, just peachy," Jacob grumbled. His lungs felt like deflated balloons and he was sure he was going to lose his lunch.

"There's a door here! By the switch," Tanner exclaimed.

"We need to keep going." Mr. Kleary helped Jacob to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Yea." Jacob took a few shaky steps and collapsed. "No..." He felt like an old and overused rubber band. He felt like his limbs body wasn’t made of flesh at all. Mr. Kleary scooped him up and carried him.

On the other side of the door was a short hallway that ended abruptly in a T. The ceiling was ridiculously high for the size of the hall, much taller than the ceiling of the room, and at the top, there was a small gap and some rungs along the ceiling. There seemed to be no other way out.

"No." Rosa shook her head, bobbing above Willow's shoulders. "I am not going that high, no way."

"You have to though." Willow glared at Rosa. "We all have to do our part so we can get out of this place." Rosa shook her head again.

"We don't even know what's on the other side." Her voice was panicked. "It could be dangerous."

"Have they wanted to hurt us so far?" Tanner shrugged. "Willow's right, you have to."

"Can't you knock the wall down or something?" Rosa pleaded Willow.

"I guess I can try." Willow handed Rosa off the Mr. Kleary, who struggled to hold both the rope and Jacob.

Willow slammed into the wall as hard as she could, she bounced back and fell hard. A sharp squeak escaped her throat. "I think I hurt myself,” she gasped, "like really, really hurt myself." There was a slight dent in the wall in the shape of her shoulder. Willow's eyes were bulging. She was holding that shoulder and trying not to scream as slicing pain cut through her.

"I think you broke somethin'." Tanner examined her. He frowned. "This isn't good."

"I'm so sorry," Rosa whispered. "I shouldn't have got you to, it's my fault..." She was sobbing.

"Hey it's ok, you couldn't have known that would happen," Jacob said. "But now you know you have to do it. C'mon, so we can get Willow help." Rosa nodded and Mr. Kleary let go of the rope. She shot up to the ceiling and grabbed onto one of the rungs. From there she was able to pull herself along and to the other side of the wall, where there was another switch. She pressed it and the wall slid slowly into the floor.

"Hey it's ok, you couldn't have known that would happen," Jacob said. "But now you know you have to do it. C'mon, so we can get Willow help." Rosa nodded hesitantly and Mr. Kleary let go of the rope. She screamed as she shot up to the ceiling and grabbed onto one of the rungs. Below her, she could hear Jacob and Tanner yelling at Mr. Kleary for letting go so suddenly. Focusing on the task at hand, she was able to pull herself along from rung to rung to the other side of the wall. There she found another switch. She pressed it with a trembling hand and the wall slid slowly into the floor.

"Rosa," Mr. Kleary shouted up at her. "Are you alright?" She stared at the ceiling trying to settle her pounding heart. She couldn't respond. She couldn't think of anything other than how high she was. "We are going to try to reach the rope and pull you down. You'll be ok." His words were nearly drowned out by the beating of her heart. She felt something hit the rope. Again. Then finally they got it and pulled her down. Her chest was tight and her face was wet with tears, but she could hardly feel it. She was hastily tied around Jacob again and they set off through the next door. The gentle smile Jacob gave her helped begin to settle her nerves. And, in a way, the bobbing sensation as she pulled along by Jacob’s unsteady steps helped her sort out her thoughts. She tried to smile reassuringly when Jacob looked back at her, but she probably just grimaced. The heavy way Jacob leaned into Mr. Kleary as they walked worried her. It was like he was hardly holding himself together. Even Rosa didn’t know exactly what she meant by that.

"Be careful," Mr. Kleary said, sticking an arm out to hold back the children. He could feel that something was weird about the long hallway that stretched before them.

"There's another switch at the end." Tanner pointed next to the far door.

"It's either you or Mr. Kleary." Jacob leaned against the wall, a queasy look flashed across his face. "And it doesn't look like something for flames so..."

"It doesn't look like anythin'," Willow complained and sat down. The motion made her wince. She cursed quietly and dug her nails into her palms to distract herself from the pain.

"Well, there's one way to find out." Mr. Kleary stepped into the hall and quickly leapt back out. The ceiling slammed down where he had been.

"Holy shit." Tanner was wide-eyed. "It's like a video game." The ceiling pulled back up with a groan.

"I have to run faster than the ceiling can fall." Mr. Kleary gulped and said something too quickly for anyone to understand. He got into a running position at the door. "Wish me luck." He took off in a blur of motion and all the children could do was listen to the pieces of ceiling slam down one after the other. Then nothing.

#west's words #writeblr #original story #ya fiction #super powers #The Orphan Experiments #apparently writeblr is a tag people use?#I'll try that and see what happens

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runicpurplepanda · 8 years ago

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Updates are Coming, I swear

Long Post Incoming.

I know it’s been ages since I updated things on AO3, and even longer since I updated things here, but it’s not because I haven’t been writing. I have been, it’s just not all been for one story and I don’t post anything until it’s complete.

That said, to tide you guys over until I actually get something ready to post, I’ve got some previews for you, starting with Leggo My Lego Harry Potter, then Word Hunter, and ending with stories that will most likely end up posted under Runic Purple Panda eventually.

I’m writing every day, eventually something will be completely written and posted, I promise. Until then, enjoy your previews:

Leggo My Lego Harry Potter

Old Ideas From Fanfiction.net

Idea 3: 2nd Year - The Polyjuice Potion - Hermione is confronted by Custom Character 1 (Hermione Head with Slytherin Quidditch Body - Pet, time turner, Magic) - alternate older her from another dimension. (Hermione and Granger, Harry and Potter, not yet completed so I can post it.)

Idea 6: 3rd Year - Patronus Charm - Harry goes up to office to get Key, and Death Eater Goyle Sr. comes back down. (This did happen. I kept yelling at the screen "It's a Death Eater, Lupin! Attack!") (currently untitled, not yet completed for me to post.)

Idea 7:1st Year - Privet Drive - Death Eater (Any) shows up at Privet Drive. (poss. while Harry and Hagrid are shopping.) (currently untitled, not yet completed for me to post.)

Idea 9: 3rd Year - The Shrieking Shack/The Time Turner/Freeing Sirius - 'Hermione' turns out to be McGonagall. (This is one of the inspired ones.) (currently untitled, not yet completed for me to post.)

Hermione and Granger, Harry and Potter

(The Alternate Universe versions of Harry and Hermione are referred to as Potter and Granger.)

A sour faced McGonagall led the two Hermiones, two Harrys, and one Ron back to Dumbledore’s office. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed even more delighted to find a new double with them.

“Well now, I see I’ll be needing to do some more paperwork for our newest dimensional traveler,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Do you foresee anymore students from your universe arriving?”

“Absolutely not!” McGonagall said. “It’s bad enough she cast an erroneous spell at Mr. Potter!”

Dumbledore continued staring at Granger, expecting her to answer. McGonagall scowled at being ignored.

“Well, maybe Ginny,” Granger said. “Your Harry and Hermione have a third friend, and Ginny’s our closest friend outside each other.”

“What about me?” Ron said. “Aren’t I your friend in your universe?”

“You’ve been expelled, actually,” Potter said.

“What!?” McGonagall demanded, giving Ron a glare as if he were the one to be expelled. “And what exactly did my Gryffindor do to be expelled?”

“Well, actually, he was sorted into Hufflepuff,” Granger said.

“Along with Draco Malfoy,” Potter added.

“Ah,” Hermione and Harry said together.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Your temper when Malfoy is concerned is pretty bad,” Hermione told him.

“The first time Malfoy said something about your mother, and you probably hit him,” Harry said.

“Repeatedly,” Granger said, gleefully. “The whole time he was whining about his father hearing about it. You actually broke his face.”

“Which parts?” Hermione asked.

“All of them,” Potter answered. “He spent three weeks at St. Mungo’s getting it fixed. His parents managed to arrange for your expulsion, but they weren’t able to make any charges stick. The rest of your dormmates backed you up on what Malfoy had said, and then told Malfoy later that if he said anything of the sorts about any of their mothers that Malfoy’s parents would never be able to find the body.”

“When Malfoy admitted to what he said at the hearing, his father agreed with his views and your father almost broke his face in retaliation. Would have succeeded too if Mrs. Malfoy hadn’t gotten there first,” Granger said.

“How do you know all of this? A hearing like that would have been closed to the public,” McGonagall said.

“Ginny was at the hearing,” Potter said. “Told us all about it. Now anytime a Slytherin hears the words ‘When my father’ out of him, we punch him in the face.”

“You’re going to be punching our Malfoy a lot then,” Ron said.

“You’re not going to be punching anyone,” McGonagall said.

“So much,” Harry mouthed at them, careful not to let McGonagall see. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Currently Untitled Idea 6 (I’ve been calling it: It’s A Death Eater Lupin, Attack! but that won’t be the actual title.)

Severus Snape was sitting at the desk in his office, sipping at a seventy-year-old firewhisky when Dumbledore’s patronus, a silvery phoenix, came flying in.

“Bring Veritaserum to the Defense classroom. There has been an attempted murder and Harry Potter is missing,” Dumbledore’s voice came from the phoenix.

Snape sneered at the patronus as it disappeared. It appeared that what he had been telling Dumbledore would happen all along had finally happened. Clearly Lupin had let his old friend Black into the castle and then attempted to kill Dumbledore while Black had scurried away with Potter in hand.

Perhaps if he were lucky, all three would wind up dead by the end of the week.

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

Snape was disappointed when he got to the Defense classroom and found that Lupin was clearly free, pacing back and forth and giving dark looks to the man tied to the chair – Crabbe senior by the looks of it.

“I presume this is who we will be using Veritaserum on?” Snape asked, gesturing to Crabbe.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said.

“Pity,” Snape muttered. “I had hoped to dose Lupin.”

“Enough, Severus. The Veritaserum, now.”

Snape administered the proper dose, three drops, to Crabbe and then stepped back and waved his wand, “Enervate.”

Crabbe struggled in his binds, “What’s going on!? How did-!?” Crabbe stopped short as he saw the angry look Dumbledore was glaring at him.

“Where. Is. Harry. Potter,” Dumbledore said calmly, despite the anger he was obviously feeling.

Crabbe gulped before replying, “The dungeon! I took him through the cabinet and put him in the dungeon!”

“What cabinet?” Lupin asked.

“The one in your office!”

“That old thing? I could never get it open. I was planning to toss it out, but…I’m not even sure why I haven’t yet.”

“It’s obviously bespelled to insure you didn’t throw it out or open it and find that it led somewhere else,” Snape said.

“Yes, yes, by the Dark Lord!” Crabbe said. He’d give them all the information they wanted; he didn’t want to find out why the Dark Lord feared Dumbledore so much, and judging by the dark look on Dumbledore’s face, he was getting close to seeing why for himself.

“Since Quirrell, I imagine,” Dumbledore said. “Severus, secure Mr. Crabbe in one of our dungeon cells, won’t you. I need to contact Amelia and get some Aurors to search the dungeon through the cabinet. Remus, stay here and guard the cabinet until we return.”

Lupin and Snape nodded. Snape levitated Crabbe, chair and all, and floated him out of the room.

Currently Untitled Idea 7 (This is literally all I have written for this one, so it’s going to be a while before it’s ever ready to be posted.)

Harry was disappointed that the day had ended. He had seen tons of magical things, quite literally in fact, and had absolutely no doubt that the Dursleys would destroy everything that he had bought today and lock him away so he couldn’t attend Hogwarts. Still it had been a nice reprieve from his usual day.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry didn’t notice when Hagrid stopped and ran into his back. “Hagrid? Is something the matter?”

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Hagrid said. “Very, very sorry.”

“About what?” Harry asked. He peeked around Hagrid’s side and saw a large crowd standing around Number 4 Privet Drive. Many of them were pointing up into the air with confused looks on their faces. Harry looked up. There, floating above the house, was a green, smoky skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth.

“Hagrid, what is that?” Harry asked.

“It’s the Dark Mark,” Hagrid answered. “You-Know-Who’s symbol. He and his followers would shoot it into the sky when they had finished an attack. I’m sorry, Harry, but the Dursleys…muggles couldn’t defend themselves against those types of magic.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He was sad, of course – the Dursleys had been the last of his family, as far as he knew (and they definitely would have sent him to another family member if one was available) – but mostly, he felt relief and hope – relief that the Dursleys wouldn’t be able to destroy his things and hope that he could actually go to Hogwarts. Those emotions were immediately followed by guilt for feeling them when his only relatives were dead.

Harry looked up to Hagrid, “What do I do now? Where am I supposed to go?”

“I’ll take you to Dumbledore. Great man, Dumbledore. He’ll know what to do.”

Harry nodded and remained quiet. Hagrid picked him up and summoned the Knight Bus with his umbrella.

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

“Hagrid!” Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully. “How was young Harry’s trip to Diagon Alley?”

“Could’ja conjure up a couch Headmaster?”

Dumbledore nodded and did so, and then was surprised when Hagrid placed a sleeping Harry Potter on the couch.

“He fell asleep on the ride here. We took the Knight Bus.”

“Why did you bring him here?” Dumbledore asked. “Is everything alright?”

“The Dark Mark was floatin’ above his house sir.”

Currently Untitled Idea 9 (This is the one I’ve got the most written for, but I’ve still got a few chapters left to write.)

After chasing away the dementors, Dumbledore returned to his office, where an irritated McGonagall sat holding a rat in a cage while she glared at Snape, still tied in ropes and struggling, propped up in a corner of the office.

“Now that the unpleasantness is dealt with,” Dumbledore said regally. “Is it really necessary for Severus to be tied up?”

“Should he be let loose and make any moves at all, sudden or otherwise, I am likely to curse him.”

Dumbledore glanced between Snape squirming furiously and McGonagall’s eye twitching, and decided Snape was safer where he was, and moved on, “What’s been going on tonight?”

“Earlier in the day, Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger came to me and told me about Severus sentencing Remus to death along with Mr. Black, refusing to listen to the truth.”

“And what is the truth, Minerva?”

Minerva sat the cage on Dumbledore’s desk, “This is Peter Pettigrew.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore asked, but McGonagall could see the wheels turning in his head. “They became animagi to help Remus didn’t they? And of course they switched Secret Keepers but let Mr. Black take the heat. Mr. Pettigrew always was the cowardly type, but to join Voldemort.”

Dumbledore leaned down to peer at the rat, “Don’t bother trying to escape, Mr. Pettigrew. Or you shall find out exactly why Voldemort feared me.” Dumbledore unlocked the cage and floated the rat into a chair, before casting the spell to transform him back into his human form.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore said, not taking his eyes off of Pettigrew, “please summon Amelia Bones. And tell her to please bring some Veritaserum as well. We will certainly find out the truth tonight, and if Sirius Black really is innocent.”

Pettigrew whimpered as McGonagall moved to do as Dumbledore asked.

“Tripsy,” Dumbledore said. A house elf appeared. “Please place Severus in my quarters for now.” The house elf disappeared with Snape, just in time for Amelia Bones to spin out of his fireplace.

Her eyes went directly to the man in the chair and she gasped, “Peter Pettigrew!”

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

There is an entire chapter of stuff happening between these two due to time travel events, as well as pettigrew’s questioning.

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

Thud.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

Thud. Thud.

“That! Coming from the other side of that wall!”

“In my private quarters you mean?” Dumbledore said.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Amelia stared at Dumbledore with an unimpressed look.

“Oh, I’m not sure. It certainly isn’t the hippogryph that Lucius Malfoy tried to have killed because his idiot son can’t pay attention in class.”

“Oh, well then, I see no reason to investigate. I mean, clearly, it’s not a hippogryph. Why would a hippogryph be in your private quarters, anyway?”

“Exactly. I’m so glad we agree.”

“Would you mind keeping Pettigrew in with, what is clearly not a hippogryph? None of our cells can hold an animagus that small.”

“Of course. I shall insure he doesn’t escape. Tripsy?”

A house elf appeared.

“This is Peter Pettigrew, please place him in my quarters and keep a close eye on him. Don’t allow him to escape.”

Tripsy nodded determinedly and snapped her fingers. Pettigrew was immediately covered in ropes. The two of them disappeared with another snap of her fingers.

“A house elf?” Amelia asked.

“House elves are surprisingly strong creatures. Did you hear about what one did to Lucius Malfoy?”

“No, I hadn’t,” Amelia said with interest. “Unfortunately, I haven’t the time tonight. Perhaps after the Wizengamot meeting tomorrow we can have tea and you can tell me.”

“I look forward to it.”

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

Harry and Hermione entered the common room to find an irritated Percy Weasley waiting for them. Some of the students still up started watching the show.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Percy demanded. “It’s passed curfew!”

“We were with McGonagall and Dumbledore,” Hermione said.

“Do you have a pass from one of them?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be taking points and issuing you both a detention.”

“No,” Harry said. Now every head in the common room was swiveled in their direction.

“Excuse me!?” Percy said. “I am a pre-“

“Pretty annoying pest right now,” Harry said, cutting him off. “I’ve had to deal with Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and the entire group of dementors currently stationed at Hogwarts attacking me tonight, so take your points, take your detention, and shove them up your arse, Percy.

No, we don’t have passes, because Dumbledore and McGonagall are currently dealing with issues brought up by Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and a ton of dementors attacking us. Ron’s in the hospital wing by the way. Sirius Black broke his leg when he kidnapped us tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired, and so I’m going to bed. Goodnight Hermione.”

“Goodnight Harry,” Hermione said, watching him head up to the boys dorm, then she turned back to Percy. “Yes, all of that was true. If you want to confirm it, either look in the hospital wing, go to Dumbledore’s office, or wait until morning. Now, Harry’s got a damn good idea. I’m tired too. Night all.”

Hermione went up the stairs to the girls dorm. Percy stood still from shock in the middle of the common room, jaw hanging down.

“Damn,” Fred said. “I didn’t know Harry had it in him, did you, George?”

“Well, he did jump on the back of a troll for Ms. Granger,” George said.

“And kill a giant basilisk to save our sister,” Fred added.

“So, yes, I suppose I did know that he had it in him.”

“Boy, Perce, you sure are lucky he was tired from fighting off Black, Snape, and those Dementors tonight, or you might’ve been next.”

Percy’s gulp was audible to everyone in the common room.

Other Upcoming Leggo My Lego Harry Potter Stories

A Family Born of Tragedy: A simple game of Keep Away with Peeves, leads to some not so simple consequences.

Bad Press: Rita Skeeter had a nose for gossip, where to find it, and how to best spread it far and wide. Harry Potter just had to rescue his godfather from a Minister who wouldn’t listen, losing his best chance to leave the Dursleys. A terrifying partnership emerges and the Wizarding World will never be the same.

Currently Untitled: Draco messes with the steam release valve on the Hogwarts Express to hurt Potter and his friends, never thinking of the consequences of his actions. Too bad it wasn’t Potter and his friends that got hit with the hot steam.

Currently Untitled: An accident in the Champion’s tent leads to Hermione being in the arena with Harry as he faces the dragon.

A Family Born of Tragedy (The Entire Prologue)

“Trying to enter the girls bathroom are we?” Peeves chuckled. “Naughty, naughty. I’ll just have to lock the door.”

“Peeves! We need to get in there!” Harry yelled. Peeves rolled his eyes. Boys have been ‘needing’ to get into the girls bathrooms for years, only when they were occupied, of course.

“I’ll just leave this up here, shall I?” Peeves said, dropping the key on a tall pile of rubble and disappearing from sight. Most first years would give up now, their prize out of reach, even the Gryffindor ones, but Harry and Ron made for the rubble pile.

“We have to get up there,” Harry said.

“We need a ladder, or some stairs,” Ron said.

Harry pointed his wand at another rubble pile, and wished as hard as he could. Sparks burst from his wand, making the rubble pile change shape into a long ladder. The two boys set the latter against the taller rubble pile, and began to climb towards the key.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Peeves said, appearing just in time to keep the key from the two boys. “How about I leave it over here?” He left the key on a rubble pile much further away, and then cackled, disappearing again.

“Peeves,” the boys growled.

“This isn’t a time for games, Peeves!” Ron yelled.

“Hermione is in there with the troll!” Harry added.

Peeves rolled his eyes again. Boys had come up with many strange excuses to get into the girls bathrooms over the years, but he had to hand it to these two – a troll in the bathroom was a first. But then, Peeves thought, what had caused all the damage to this corridor?

It would have to be a large creature to cause all the damage, assuming it wasn’t caused by the boys themselves. A troll was certainly a possibility. But surely the Headmaster would keep the students as far away from a troll as possible.

It was very likely they were only trying to make a fool of Peeves, and Peeves didn’t like to be messed with. While he would never harm a student outright, he would sure be as annoying as possible to anyone he didn’t like. He was just about to appear and grab the key again, as the two boys had made their way to it while he was lost in his thoughts, when the unthinkable happened.

An ear-piercing scream came from the bathroom, followed by a loud, animalistic roar. Peeves only just appeared in time to catch Harry from falling to the corridor floor.

“A troll you say,” Peeves said.

“Yes, a troll!” Ron said.

“It was supposed to be in the dungeons,” Harry said.

“TROLL!” Peeves yelled at the top of his lungs, flying towards the door. “TROLL IN THE GIRLS BATHROOM! STUDENTS IN DANGER! TROLL!” Harry and Ron followed behind him as quick as they could, having to take the time to unlock the door and wrench it open.

Bad Press (Not an entire chapter but some scenes from one)

“Ma’am, the Minister’s residence is under attack!” an auror eagerly informed her.

“I see,” Amelia Bones said, rubbing her forehead in an attempt to prevent her coming headache. “And is the Minister in the Minister’s residence?”

“Yes ma’am, he is,” the auror said, nodding.

“I see,” Amelia repeated. “THEN WHY AREN’T YOU ALREADY THERE TO DEFEND HIM AUROR!”

“Uh,” the auror said, before running off to join those who had already left.

“I swear, with the budget cuts the Minister keeps pushing on us we’re having to scrape the dregs off the bottom of the barrels. I miss having a legion of competent aurors,” Amelia said to herself. She finished off her paperwork and then sighed.

“I suppose I should go see what’s wrong this time. Maybe I can even convince him to give me some extra money next quarter.”

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

Amelia arrived to chaos. The Minister’s residence wasn’t actually under attack, but was certainly being besieged by howlers. Which her aurors were attempting to fight off and losing badly to.

“AND ANOTHER THING!” Molly Weasley’s voice came out of the melee. Another howler bit into Molly’s allowing someone else’s to yell out.

Amelia rolled her eyes and then whistled loudly. Every auror and howler stopped immediately. Amelia sighed again, wishing once more for competent aurors.

“Aurors, fall back! Howlers, your messages are not being received if you shout over each other. Form a line alphabetically by your sender’s name and then go off one by one.” And wasn’t it just peachy that howlers listened to her better than her own aurors did?

“Blanchett, you idiot!” Blanchett had ignored the order to fall back and was being bitten by several howlers. Amelia summoned him away from the howlers. “Howlers, in line now. Someone get this idiot to Saint Mungo’s.

Amelia sighed and then settled down into a nearby chair to wait until the howler conga line was finished with the Minister.

“Oooh, this is a comfy chair,” she said. “You there, Robards. Get me a drink.” Robards sped off to do as she wished.

–

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for a howler to arrive at Hogwarts, especially after the first Weasley child started. What was unusual was the number that had arrived today, not just for the staff, but for the dementors.

All the books on dementors agreed that there was no way to destroy a dementor or cause it pain. Clearly, none of those authors had every tried to send one a howler. The students of Hogwarts couldn’t tell what was funnier – the staff’s pitiful attempts to lessen their own howlers, or the dementors’ terrified screeches as the howlers set their cloaks alight.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were only let out of the Hospital Wing at noon, had to be regaled with the stories of the staff’s attempts, as the staff had disappeared into their private rooms by then, but luckily, they had managed to see the spectacle with the dementors from the windows of the Hospital Wing.

“The best part,” Ron decided, “was that Mum sent each individual dementor a howler. I don’t know where she found the time, but man, hilarious.”

After lunch, still missing the staff, Fawkes appeared carrying a letter, and landed in front of Harry. As the girls in Gryffindor (and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, who came over rather quickly) began cooing over Fawkes, Harry read the note.

Harry,

Please join me in my office this afternoon at three for a chat.

Sincerely,

Professor Dumbledore

P.S. Have I mentioned how much I love Chocolate Frogs lately?

“Well, that’s not very informative,” Hermione said. “I assume chocolate frogs is the password to his office?”

“Probably,” Harry said. “And I’ve noticed that Professor Dumbledore is rarely very informative with me. I don’t know if he is with others or not, but he never tells me anything.”

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

When the last of the howlers stopped screaming (including the several that had come later and joined the line) at the Minister, Amelia got up from the very comfy chair (she’d have to find out where the Minister got that, because wow, comfortable doesn’t even begin to describe it, no wonder the Minister always left early to come home and sit in it) and went to find him.

“A-Amelia, is, is that you?” he asked from underneath the bed.

“It is,” Amelia said. “Cornelius, we need to talk.”

“About the howlers and that horrible Skeeter woman?” Cornelius asked hopefully, climbing out from under the bed.

“About the dementors and Sirius Black,” Amelia said.

Cornelius grumbled several uncomplimentary things that Amelia chose to ignore since he had just been through a horrible ordeal (and my, some of the senders of those howlers had some very large lung capacity, didn’t they?) and was likely traumatized by the event.

Currently Untitled (Draco Messes With Steam Release Valve) (This is another story that will be tagged with ‘Draco Malfoy Is Not Treated Well’)

“It was only meant to get Potter and his friends!” Draco whined.

“Oh, well, if you were only trying to kill Harry Potter and his friends, that makes everything alright then,” Amelia said, sarcastically. Draco either didn’t hear her tone of voice, or lacked the capability to recognize sarcasm.

“It does?” Draco asked, hopefully.

“No.”

A member of the Wizengamot stood and cleared his throat. The rest of the Wizengamot members stared at him in shock. He vary rarely spoke during meetings, whether they were regular Wizengamot meetings, or court cases like this, and when he did he was invariably right.

“Jackson Everett, isn’t it,” Amelia said. “You have something to say to the court?”

“I believe I can provide a probable motive, since young Mister Malfoy is unwilling or unable to provide his own.”

“I for one would like to hear it,” Amelia said, waving her hand. “Please, if you will?”

“As you all know, I work in the records department,” Jackson started.

“I didn’t know,” Draco whined. They all ignored him.

“After the escape of Sirius Black I did some digging. While I’m having a bit of trouble finding his trial record, I did manage to come up with three other items concerning him that I believe concern young Mister Malfoy’s actions as well.”

“What sort of things?” Amelia asked.

“The first is a request for blood adoption, signed by himself, the Potters, and then Minister Bagnold, as well as the additional attached paperwork indicating that the blood adoption ritual was successful and that Sirius Black was now also a parent of one Harry Potter.”

“Why on earth would he blood adopt the child of the people he was planning to betray?” Augusta Longbottom asked.

“I couldn’t say, ma’am,” Jackson said. “As I said, I’m having trouble finding his trial record and while I’m sure Minister Bagnold would have asked him there, since I can’t find it, I can’t tell you. To continue, the second item I found was Sirius Black’s will. In it, Mister Black leaves a few smaller bequests, but he also declares Mister Harry Potter to be his primary Heir, receiving everything else upon his death, including any titles he may have gained.”

“Which doesn’t matter,” Narcissa Malfoy said, standing up from her spot next to her son. “Sirius Black was disowned from the Black family. There are no titles for him to inherit.”

“Not quite,” Jackson said. “Which brings me to item three – the last will and testament of the previous Lord Black – Arcturus Black. In which he states that he never agreed to the disownment of Sirius Black, so while he may have been kicked out of his home by his parents, he was still a member of the family. He then declares that Sirius Black is his primary Heir, receiving everything upon his death, including the title of Lord Black.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Augusta asked.

“Sirius Black is currently Lord Black, regardless of the fact that he hasn’t come to the Wizengamot to formally declare his title. After his death, his son through blood adoption, Harry Potter, will inherit the title of Lord Black, with the single exception of Mister Potter dying without a blood Heir of his own, in which case the title of Lord Black will revert to the next available magical male in the line of inheritance – one Draco Malfoy.”

“But that means – “ Minister Fudge began.

“ – that this is no longer just a trial for assault,” Amelia interrupted, staring hard at Draco Malfoy, “but for attempted murder and attempted inheritance fraud.”

“There is no fraud!” Draco said. “I am next in line for Lord Black! That title is mine by right! Mother and Father said so! I’ll kill Potter before I ever let him sully the House of Black like that!”

Narcissa and Lucius practically wilted as the full wrath of the Wizengamot fell upon them and their son. Draco was, unfortunately for him and his parents, too stupid to notice that he had practically confirmed Jackson Everett’s theory, and that everyone was angry at him for it.

Currently Untitled (Hermione In First Task With Harry)

Amelia rounded on the rest of the judges.

“Oh dear,” Crouch muttered, having recognized the look on her face.

“This tournament is becoming more and more of a disaster every second it lasts,” Amelia said. “To prevent anymore idiocy out of the judges,” here Amelia gave an obvious pointed look at Bagman’s back as the aurors led him and Rita to the edge of the wards, “I’m going to have to insist you all take an oath to keep the champions as safe where you can and to judge them fairly.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Dumbledore said. It was drowned out by Karkaroff’s much louder, “How dare you!?”

If Karkaroff was expecting a weak-minded, paper-pusher, incompetent Ministry bureaucrat he was sorely disappointed. What he got was a terrifyingly competent and angry Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“No, how dare you!?” Amelia said. “How dare any of you put your pride in front of those students that are out there fighting dragons and whatever else your insipid little minds thought up for your own amusement! You will take the oath to keep the tournament safe and fair, or you won’t be judging it.”

“You can’t prevent me fro-” Karkaroff began. He was interrupted by Amelia’s wand pointed right between his eyes.

“I beg to differ,” Amelia said, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Either give your oath, or march your ass right back to your ship and send someone who will give it in your stead.”

“You can’t possibly – you,” Karkaroff gave a terrified look to his fellow judges. “You won’t let her – you can’t – “

Maxine was watching the quarrel with amusement. Crouch was watching with resigned despair. But Dumbledore stood up, pulling his wand. Karkaroff thought Dumbledore would save him, until the elder man began speaking.

“I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, swear on my magic to make the tournament as safe as I possibly can, and to judge it’s contestants as fairly as possible. So mote it be.”

Maxime followed suit almost instantly, and with one last weary glance at Amelia’s wand, still pointed at Karkaroff’s face, Crouch gave his own oath.

“Looks like you’re all that’s left,” Amelia said, smiling sweetly as her wand gave off a few harmless sparks. Karkaroff gave off what sounded suspiciously like a whimper and began to slowly pull his wand.

“I, Igor Karkaroff, swear on my magic to make the tournament as safe as I possibly can, and to judge it’s contestants as fairly as possible. So mote it be.”

“Thank you Headmaster Karkaroff,” Amelia said, waiting for him to reholster his wand before she reholstered hers. “Shall I get the champions, so that they may get their scores?”

“There is the small matter of us missing a judge,” Crouch muttered.

“Well, that’s easily solved. Bagman was representing part of the Ministry, of which I am also a part of. And it just so happens that I saw all the contestants’ participations while I was in the stand. So, for this task, I’ll fill in, if that’s alright with all of you,” Amelia said. She didn’t bother waiting for a reply before pulling her wand. “I, Amelia Susan Bones, swear on my magic to make the tournament as safe as I possibly can, and to judge it’s contestants as fairly as possible. So mote it be.”

“Let’s gather all of the contestants now, shall we?” Dumbledore said cheerfully, as Amelia took Bagman’s seat.

“One moment please,” Boris said, snapping a few pictures of the five judges. “Alrighty, thank you.” He disappeared back into the crowd, muttering, “Editor’s going to be so pissed I didn’t get one of Bones’ wand in Karkaroff’s face.”

“Ah, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to Ron, who turned bright red at being singled out by Dumbledore. “Would you please go and see if Madam Pomfrey is willing to relinquish her claim on our champions.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I mean, uh, yes, SIR, yes sir!” Ron stammered out. He then hightailed it for the medical tent.

“Young people these days are so odd,” Dumbledore said.

“I imagine that young people think the same of their elders,” Amelia said.

Word Hunter

Current Series Future Updates (Not necessarily the next update, but sometime in the future.)

Golden Trio (Plus One) Rise Again

Hydravengers

The What Now?

The Golden Trio (Plus One) Rise Again

“Good evening Iruka,” the Hokage said, and upon seeing who was with him, added, “and Anko. I thought this was about the new graduating class.”

“It is,” Iruka said. “I had four new academy students on the early graduation exam list, so I asked Anko to test them separately. I figured she would, er, scare them into going back to class, or at least ensure they were serious about becoming genin now.”

“And now the parents are complaining?” Sarutobi guessed.

“No sir,” Anko said. “They passed.”

“They…passed. Four eight-year-olds passed the early graduation exam?”

“Technically, three eight-year-olds and one nine-year-old,” Anko added.

The Hokage rubbed his forehead, “Which ones?”

“Sakura Haruno, Ino Yamanaka, Sasuke Uchiha, and Naruto Uzumaki,” Iruka said. “And there’s more.”

“More?”

“I didn’t know the academy test had been dumbed down so much,” Anko said. “I put them through the same test I went through, instead of the written and a couple of jutsu. They don’t even do taijutsu anymore, it’s horrible.

“Yes, well,” Iruka continued, “they not only passed, but passed with the four highest scores. We even cut out the tests the other students didn’t do, and they still had extremely high scores.”

“Oh boy,” Sarutobi said. “What am I going to do with them? We haven’t had genin that young since the war.”

“Yamanaka came to me before the test, and made a pretty good argument for the four of them being on one team. She cited precedence – you and your genin team sir – their age, and the fact the four of them work best together, and that to break up a team showing such promise for a silly notion such as three genin to a team would be stupid, her words not mine.”

“I see. Most jonin are only prepared for three students though. Four students starts to distract the teacher too much.”

“I’ll take them, if no one else will,” Anko said.

“Unfortuantely, Anko, you’re only a Tokubetsu Jonin, so you can’t take a genin team.”

Anko pouted. The four of them had been excellent students, and she really wanted them, even if they were tiny little hug-monsters.

“However, Kakashi can take a genin team, and I can assign you as his assistant, if that is agreeable to you.”

“Hell yeah it is.”

The Hokage nodded, “Good, and that should take care of the distraction four students usually cause. Kakashi is on a mission at the moment. I’ll inform him of the genin team as soon as he returns.”

“Is he going to agree to take them?” Iruka asked.

“He’s already claimed Naruto for his future genin team. He’ll just have to take the other three as well. Now, how about the other teams?”

“Well, there’s…”

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

“Four eight year olds passed the early graduation test!?”

“Three eight year olds, and one nine year old.”

Kakashi stared at him, dumbfounded. Finally, he asked, “When’s the team assignment?”

“It’s already passed. Since there’s four of them, I’ve assigned an assistant to your team to help you, a Tokubetsu Jonin.”

“Hayate?” Kakashi asked hopefully.

“Anko.”

“ANKO!?”

Kakashi didn’t bother changing out of his armor or showering to get all the blood and sweat off of him. Instead he rushed to where he felt Anko’s chakra signature, just on the outskirts of the Forest of Death. As focused as he was on finding Anko, and as tired as he was, it wasn’t much of a surprise that he completely missed the genin team in question.

The genin did not fail to take notice of him, however, or of his aggressive stance when heading towards their favorite teacher.

A wandless, wordless summoning spell from Harry pulled Kakashi back towards them, where Ginny and Hermione both grabbed one of his arms and slammed him face first into the ground. Ron, who had been practicing his chakra control via tree climbing, allowed gravity to aid his attack, landing on Kakashi’s back with his elbow, and several of his clones.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Anko said. “Ten laps around the forest, let’s go.”

The genin grumbled, but having learned that Anko would set snakes on them if they didn’t comply with her orders immediately, began jogging.

“What the hell just happened?” Kakashi asked, groaning as he rolled over to stare at Anko in disbelief.

“Heh, heh, heh. Welcome to Team 7,” Anko said, smirking.

“Fuck my life,” Kakashi muttered, hoping Anko didn’t hear him. Judging by the fact that her smirk turned into an evil grin, she had.

Hydravengers

“So who else knows about this?” Steve asked some time later.

“No one but you, me, and now Stark,” Sharon answered.

“Really, that’s it? You didn’t even go to Fury?”

“I didn’t know who to trust. Even Fury is friends with Alexander Pierce. And I think Pierce is the Head of Hydra.”

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

“What in the hell,” Sharon asked.

“That’ll be Tony,” Steve said.

“You sure?” Sharon asked.

“Unless you know someone else with a metal arm?”

Sharon was already walking to the entrance of the warehouse, and missed Rollins getting a foot free and kicking Jones in the leg. Steve held up a finger to his lips for silence. Rumlow was the only one to catch on.

You’re kidding, he mouthed.

Steve smiled and shook his head. Hail Hydra, he mouthed back. The others caught on quickly, and Jones turned pale.

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

“So you’re going to kill someone?” Rollins asked. He leaned over and whispered, “Is it one of us? If it’s not me, can I kill them?”

Steve finally tore his gaze from Bucky to give an exasperated look at Rollins, “No, I mean that you’re the only one who likes to kill his free time by killing people.”

“So, no one’s dying?”

“Not today.”

“That mean someone’s dying tomorrow?” Rumlow asked, taking a seat on Rollins’ other side. “Your Bucky threatened to skewer me if I didn’t leave him to cook the burgers.”

“And you just walked away?” Rollins asked.

“He’s the Winter Soldier, Rollins. When he threatens to skewer you, and he’s holding something he can skewer you with, you believe him and get away as soon as possible.”

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

“So,” Tony said one day, “It turns out we’re all Hydra agents.”

Natasha choked on her coffee.

That, more than Tony’s statement, shocked the rest into silence. Not even Clint had seen Natasha do something like that, and his kids had done their best to make it happen. Natasha waved off their stunned looks and Tony continued.

“Well, except for Thor, but let’s face it. He’s an alien prince who’s only been on our planet twice. Even Hydra’s not that good.”

The What Now?

“What idiot put dementors on a train full of children!?” Lily demanded. “What idiot places them near a school?”

“Fudge, apparently,” Remus said.

“I’ll wring the bastards little neck!”

“Now, Lily-flower. You can’t just go kill the Minister of Magic,” James said. Lily, who had been heading towards the fireplace, turned to him, glaring. “By yourself, I mean,” James added quickly. “It wasn’t just our sons on that train after all.”

Lily’s glare turned into a smile. A smile that would give Sirius and Remus nightmares for weeks to come (James was immune by now).

“Honey,” Lily said. “I’m going to do some research and then go write some letters.”

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

Riot at the Ministry!

Dementors Removed From Hogwarts!

“Your wife started a riot!” Sirius exclaimed.

“I know,” James said, proudly.

“Listen to this,” Remus said. “Sources claim the riot was started by several Lords and Ladies of both Light and Dark families, all of whom have children at Hogwarts. And then this, in the confusion, Minister Fudge was turned into a platypus and no one has been able to reverse.”

“A platypus?” James asked. “Who did that?”

“Probably Alice,” Remus said.

“She does think their cute,” Sirius added.

Future Series Previews

A Genderbended Wizard In Ninjaland: What do you do when Death decides you need to do a job for him before you can pass on? When he replaces your magic with chakra? When he turns you into a girl with bright pink hair? When he doesn’t even tell you what it is you’re supposed to be doing? Harry Potter decides to wing it.

A Simple Case of Chakra Exhaustion: When Kakashi remains unconscious, Team 7 has to train themselves for the upcoming return of Zabuza.

Albus Dumbledore, DADA Professor: “As it turns out Cornelius, I find myself with an overabundance of free time lately, so I’ll be taking over as the Defense Professor. Do give dear Delores my regards, when you inform her that her presence will not be necessary.”

A Genderbended Wizard in Ninjaland

What did girls even do?

Harry had some time to come to grips with his now being a girl (although he could have done without the pink hair). Unfortunately, as he quickly found out, his new family lived in a shinobi village, filled to the brim with suspicious ninjas that would surely notice he wasn’t the girl he said he was.

And that meant he had to pretend to be a girl. Which led to his newest problem.

What did girls even do?

Having been a boy all his life – well, his previous life anyway – he had no idea what girls actually did. He had a general idea, of course. Girls were intelligent – Hermione was at the top of the list of proving that, but even the giggly Gryffindor girls Lavender and Parvati had been in the top ten of their year, every year.

And girls, in Harry’s experience, did not like their hair being messed with. Lavender and Parvati would hex anyone who messed with their hair, and Hermione, on the occasional day she did it up nicely, was even more vicious.

Which led to his next point, when angered girls were vicious; Hermione and Ginny were at the top of the list of scariest angry girls, and not just because they were his best friend and wife respectively. Luna would have been number one on that list, but Harry, and others, usually blocked out the things she did while angry to save their sanity.

That being all he knew of girls, that was what he based his personality on – an intelligent girl, who got pissed when you messed with her hair, and was exceedingly vicious when angered.

He’d do his best to pick up on what else girls were like when his new parents took him to the nearby playground.

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

Like in his previous life, Harry was immediately beset upon by bullies when he stepped onto the playground. A larger civilian boy immediately began picking on him. Unlike in his previous life, Harry had the ability to ignore the boy, which the boy clearly did not like. He showed his dislike for this by pulling Harry’s long pink hair.

Harry may not like pink, but he was supposed to be a girl, and girls got mean when you pulled their hair.

The entire playground, children and parents, watched in awe as Harry picked up the boy, spun him around, and threw him into the swings hard enough to send the swing spinning around the bar it was attached to until it couldn’t anymore.

“Never. Ever. Touch. My. Hair,” Harry said, before turning to a nearby girl, “My name’s Sakura. Want to play?”

The girl grinned at him, “Sure! That was awesome! How did you do it? Oh, I’m Ino by the way.”

And so Harry gained his first real friend in his new life.

And a new shinobi rule was passed around – Never mess with Sakura Haruno’s hair.

A Simple Case of Chakra Exhaustion

Kakashi woke up feeling fuzzy. His blurry eyesight didn’t clear nearly as fast as he would have liked. When it did clear, it gave him a view of an unfamiliar ceiling. He struggled to remember what happened for several moments. And then it hit him.

Tazuna. The Demon Brothers. Zabuza. The hunter-nin.

Or more specifically, the hunter-nin that wasn’t a hunter-nin but rather Zabuza’s accomplice, which meant his genin were in danger. He sat up quickly, only to aggravate the injuries Zabuza had given him, and fall back onto the futon with a thud.

“Ow,” he muttered soundlessly. He strained his ears and heard footsteps heading up the stairs, obviously alerted to something amiss by the sound. The door to the room opened and one of his students entered.

“Kakashi-sensei! You’re awake!” Sakura exclaimed. “Hold on, and I’ll get you some broth!” Sakura disappeared again, and Kakashi let out a groan.

Sakura reappeared with a bowl of what was obviously the previously mentioned broth, and helped him sit up to sip at it.

“Zabuza’s not dead,” he finally managed to get out, his voice still scratchy sounding from the period of nonuse.

“We know,” Sakura answered.

“The hunter-nin-”

“-is his accomplice,” Sakura interrupted him. “We know, Kakashi-sensei. They’re not a problem anymore. Neither is Gato for that matter. We had a bit of trouble with a few of Gato’s goons with more brawn than brain, but they’ve been dealt with.”

“Dealt with? How long have I been out?”

“Two weeks. We were getting worried. You were lucky Naruto happens to carry practically everything with him, including a few scrolls with instructions to medical jutsu.”

Two weeks? What the hell had happened in the two weeks he was out? “Tell me everything,” Kakashi demanded. Sakura nodded and began her story.

Albus Dumbledore, DADA Professor

“What about Hogwarts, Cornelius?” Dumbledore asked. “I have many things to be doing to get ready for the new school year, which starts tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Fudge said. “Delores is excited to be starting.”

“Starting where, exactly,” Dumbledore asked.

“Why, the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, of course. Educational Decree Twenty-Two-“

“Allows the Ministry to appoint a teacher only if the Headmaster has trouble finding someone for the post,” Dumbledore said, smiling brightly. “As it turns out Cornelius, I find myself with an overabundance of free time lately, so I’ll be taking over as the Defense Professor. Do give dear Delores my regards, when you inform her that her presence will not be necessary.”

“Wha-what!?”

“Well, as you know, I no longer have the posts of Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump to take up my spare time, so I thought I’d pass on my defensive knowledge to the students. The most wonderful idea I’ve had since I thought to try a lemon drop in 1926, don’t you think.”

“But, but,” Cornelius sputtered.

“Well, if that’s all Cornelius, I have a booklist to set.” Dumbledore walked away with a serene smile on his face and a spring in his step.