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the-broken-truth · 3 years ago

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Can I request i male reader who treats all of the lords and mother mranda like his own kids cause of his animal instincts? 🙍‍♂️🐾

(You can choose the sifter)

Broken (Chuckles): Hello, @imanewboi99 - back again to spoil me with delicious scenarios, are you? (Reads ask) A Shifter that treats The Lords & Mother Miranda like his children? Hm...I can imagine the Lords but the Lords see Mother Miranda as their mother...I'll make him Miranda's Lover - Hopefully that is good for you, my friend. As for Shifter Form... I'll make him a Caracal Cat; I like their ears and they have stubby little tails, plus cats are one of the animals I think will take in another animal's infant as their own. Now, let the words weave together!

Note: The Reader will be known as [Father].

🦇 [Alcina Dimitrescu] 🦇

When Alcina met [Father] during the Lord Meeting, she didn't like him for the simple fact he was a man but she was curious of the large feline ears he had in replacement for his human ears & they weren't just for show - he made that clear when Karl called Alcina 'Lady Super-Sized Bitch' during a Lord Meeting, causing the tall buff man to walk over to the 4th Lord and glare down at him.

His Response: "You will not refer to another Lord, your sister, and my daughter as a 'bitch' in my presence or the presence of your mother and siblings again, Karl Heisenberg or I show you the power I hold in a way you will not be fond of. Now, apologize to Alcina this minute."

When Karl didn't move fast enough, [Father] grabbed the German by his trench coat and held him high (Keep in mind that [Father] is around the same height as Alcina) with a glare on his face and snarl in his voice, "I SAID 'APOLOGIZE', YOU UNGRATEFUL BOY!'; Karl wheezed out an apology before the man placed in back on the pew, "And never...disrespect anyone of my children again, I wouldn't let any of them do it to you, Son." then he went to sit.

As time went on, [Father] would come to Castle Dimitrescu and repair any kind of structural damaging or ask Alcina if she needed anything to be delivered to the castle.

Alcina would say, "Father, you don't need to worry yourself with these petty issues."

But he would say, "As your father, I don't want my eldest daughter and granddaughters to be without. Please, let me be a good father and grandfather to you and my granddaughters, Alcina."

Alcina was touched and handed him a list of things she needed to be taken care of that no one else would do or couldn't do. Everything was done within a few hours.

When it comes to the daughters, [Father] loves them as a man would love his biological grandchildren.

He would come to the castle with gifts: A new book collection for Bela, Gadgets of Torment for Cassandra, or a new weapon for Daniela.

If the daughters were bored and had nothing to do, [Father] would turn into his Feline Form and let the daughters hunt him, but he was rather fast & which made the daughters have fun with the chase.

[Father] has a manor that is around the same size as Heisenberg's Factory and the daughters love to visit because the large man spoils them too much.

They would go every single weekend but one day, Alcina told them that they didn't need to go everything single weekend and to give [Father] some space. The daughters didn't like that and called their grandfather to complain and waited around the corner when Alcina received a call from [Father].

"Father, all I said was they don't need to be over there all of the time," Alcina explained.

"Alcina, don't say anything to me; you are lucky that I am 5 whiskey glasses in, otherwise I would come to get them myself. Call the carriage and bring me my granddaughters." He hung up after that.

Not wanting to disappoint her Father Figure, she called the carriage and delivered the daughters and she was given a case of fine wines to relax with while they were with him.

She may hate men - but [Father] was the only man-thing she would admit to caring about. Mother Miranda picked well.

🎎 [Donna Beneviento + Angie] 🎎

[Father] knew that Donna was timid & Angie was her way of communication - he didn't want to frighten her thus began their relationship with phone calls.

For the most time, he spoke to Angie and each conversation would with [Father] asking if Donna or Angie needed anything; yes, he considered Angie another person and not just a doll.

On the occasion that they did need something, he would go purchase what they needed and let it on the porch of Beneviento Manor, knocked on the door, and stepped away; he knew that Donna was scared of his height.

One day, he was delivering some Doll Parts Donna asked for, he did his normal routine and was about to leave when Angie called out and asked if he wanted to come in for tea. He accepted.

He shrunk himself to be a more acceptable height for Donna and the three of them had tea and conversation.

Donna became more adjusted to his presence and would call him herself - without Angie - and ask if they would have tea, make dolls together, or work in the garden together.

One day, he came with an eyepatch with the Crest of House Beneviento stitched into it as a way to cover the scar but not her whole face.

At the next meeting, she wore it.

Salvatore complimented her on it and she said 'Father made it for me.'

He smiled.

🐟 [Salvatore Moreau] 🐟

Salvatore was curious about [Father] but was too nervous to talk to him - thinking he was going to be mean or make fun of him his appearance. Imagine his surprise when [Father] wanted up to him and smiled before saying, 'Hello, Salvatore. It's nice to meet you, son.".

Salvatore looked at him with wide eyes - he thought of Salvatore as a son? He didn't make fun of him?

Salvatore and [Father] would talk whenever they saw each other at the Lord Meetings but one day, [Father] asked to spend a day with his son because he never got to learn about him.

Salvatore was nervous but agreed.

When [Father] arrived at Salvatore's Territory, he was displeased that his son was living in such poor conditions and he vowed to do something about it and his son's vomiting.

The two of them spent hours watching movies together and eating cheese & fish while Salvatore told [Father] everything about him.

One day, Salvatore was surprised to see his father building a new house on steady ground and told Salvatore that it was his new home because he was not gonna let his Lord and Son live in poor conditions like that. Salvatore was also informed that there was a new collection of movies for the two of them to enjoy.

They have movie nights every Wednesday and Sunday.

As for Salvatore's vomiting, [Father] was able to make an elixir that prevents vomiting but Sal has to drink it every month. It's bitter but he will do it regardless.

🛠 [Karl Heisenberg] 🛠

[Father] knew that Karl was still cross with him for embarrassing him before Mother Miranda and the Other Lords & no real father would want his son to be angry with him at every family get-together.

[Father] went to Karl's Factory with an apology but when he went inside, he saw his son running from a strange contraption with a large drill arm.

His Paternal Instincts kicked in and he charged at the creature, crushing its head in his hand before turning to his son to make sure he was alright.

Karl was angry to see him at first but he did thank him for saving his life before that thing turned him into a pin-cushion. He then asked [Father] what he was doing in his factory and the taller man said he didn't want any bad blood between the two of them and offered his services to his son.

Karl wasn't interested and first but he then realized that he could use [Father] to get inside information on Miranda so he agreed.

The two of them worked on projects, blueprints, or repairs for hours, enjoying each other conversation and presence.

[Father] asked the 4th Lord to be kinder to the other lords - he hated seeing his family argue and be bitter with each other.

Karl - while he never saw the others as his family - agreed to this for the sake of the only one he really respected and cared for.

Karl was still planning on making Miranda suffer for what she had done to him and the others...but...Did [Father] really deserve it?

This man - he had a heart of gold - but it was clear he suffered as well and this 'family' was the only thing that kept him together, kept him happy - Karl didn't want him to be unhappy.

What would destroying Miranda and this 'family' do to [Father]? Karl wondered but at the same time, he didn't want to know. This man was a father to him...what was he supposed to do?

🧪 [Mother Miranda + The Lords As A Whole] 🧪

Miranda would wake up to the smell of [Father]'s cooking and coffee every morning - he refused to let her start the daily research without a good meal and coffee, and she didn't object to this - the man made some delicious food.

One day - Miranda went to the meeting grounds and found the man cleaning, fixing pillars, and making individual thrones for the Lords, Mother Miranda, and himself. Reason: "My wife and children are not sitting on old ass furniture and possibly getting sick."

The Lords love their thrones - he even made one for Angie.

When an argument - mostly between Alcina and Karl - broke out, [Father] would roar for them to shut up and respect the Mother of All and each other.

"You are my children - not savages - and you will act like it or I shall show you how savages were treated where I came from!"

It would take Miranda's gentle hand to calm him when the children acted out of line.

When it came to the Cadou Experiments - [Father] would aid Miranda or his children without a second thought. Whatever they needed, he would get for them.

[Father] would try to have a family dinner with everyone at his manor once a week, just so the family could all be together.

As much as Miranda didn't want to admit it - she loved the dinners; it really felt as if she had a real family.

Maybe...when Eva was returned to her...they could be a family.

[End]

#Mother Miranda x Male Reader #Alcina Dimitrescu #Donna Beneviento #Salvatore Moreau #Karl Heisenberg #Resident Evil 8 #headcanon

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estrel · 4 years ago

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It’s in the Knowing (that Wishes Come True)

destiel december 2020 prompt: sledding + spn advent calendar 2020 prompt: wishes wc: ~1.4k

[READ ON AO3]

“Dean, you had,” Sam huffs, “infinite possibilities at your disposal. And you wished for–for this?”

Dean’s a little confused, too, looking out at the mountains. Almost every inch is covered with a layer of snow, but by far, the hill they’re standing on has the thickest blanket. Dean’s feet sink into it a little when he shifts his weight, studying their surroundings.

Apart from the clearing they’re in, the place is littered with trees. Dean’s gaze follows the trunks up, until he’s looking at the sky, which is quickly losing light. He thinks he can make out the beginning twinkles of constellations, and when he laughs, a puff of frosty breath obscures them for a moment before fading off.

Then he smells it—something like firewood, he thinks, and turns towards it. Eyes still searching the tops of the trees, Dean catches sight of a thin column of smoke, likely from a cabin nearby.

A few feet away from them, a tree branch packed with snow loses its hold, and the whump of the snow hitting the ground startles Dean out of his thoughts.

“I don’t know, man,” Dean says, “It’s not like I really had a choice. I just, you know, just had this thought, I guess, and now…we’re here.”

He turns back to Sam, who focuses on Dean once more, seemingly having caught sight of the smoke too.

“I’m assuming…those have something to do with it?”

Dean’s eyes follow the direction Sam’s finger is pointing to, which is a somewhere on the ground and behind Dean, off to his left. Just at the edge of the hill sit two sleds—the old, wooden kind that seem like they’re always one good bump away from splintering into a million pieces, but somehow never do.

He chuckles, moving towards them to check them out, when Sam urgently pats his shoulder. Dean swivels around, taking in Sam’s confused—but not shocked—expression, and once more tracks his stare to see what he’s looking at.

Dean finds himself mirroring his brother, but otherwise smiling despite himself.

“What took you so long?” He hears himself say, feels Sam looking at him weird in response. If this was his “wish,” then this only made sense—it’d just been a matter of waiting for him to show up.

Cas levels him with a stare that says ‘really?’ and Dean moves to meet him half way.

“Jackets,” Cas says, handing Dean a thick black one that looks like it’s meant for snow. Dean takes it. “And Jack,” Cas adds. With a gentle tilt of his head, Dean looks over and sees Jack, not too far away, walking briskly towards them with something small in his hands.

“You two always come out here practically naked,” Cas says, leaving Dean and handing Sam his own jacket. “And the lumberjack outfits are fine for when it’s any other season, but you do realize it’s the dead of winter, right?”

“Well, you…” Dean starts, about to tell him off for the dress shoes and trench coat he’s never seen without, except that Cas isn’t wearing them, he’s…

“Cas, is that—are those—are you wearing boots?” Sam asks, a lilt of amusement in his voice.

Cas looks down, frowning. “These are my snow boots. Dean got them for me last Christmas.” He shoots Dean a confused glance, as though Dean should be in on this, and Sam was the one acting deluded. Dean can’t really bring himself to care, too busy smiling at the rest of Cas’ outfit.

He’s about to comment on the snow pants, which are black and baggy over Cas’ lower half, but Jack makes it to them just in time, pushing something into Cas’ chest.

“You forgot your beanie,” Jack explains, and then looking up at them, “I thought you guys came out ahead of us so you could ‘get the sleds ready.’ Cas and I started on the cookies so they should be done by the time we get back.”

Dean watches Cas slip the beanie on, losing his breath a little at the sight. The thought occurs to him—when he’s looking long enough to notice Cas’ red nose and ears and cheeks—that angels don’t usually get cold.

“Hang on—you left the oven on unattended?” Sam says. Pulling his eyes away from Cas, Dean chuckles at the wild look on Sam’s face, like he’s half ready to bolt for the cabin to stop it from catching fire.

“Of course not.” Jack frowns at him like he should know better. “I charmed it with the spell you taught me. It’ll shut off automatically when it’s done.”

Sam relaxes, forcing a smile. “Right. Uh, Dean? Can we talk for a second?”

Dean follows him around to the nearest tree, which is far enough away that Jack and Cas probably won’t hear them over their own conversation (Dean thinks he hears something about hot chocolate) if they talk quietly enough.

“We can’t stay here,” Sam says, “We have to find a way out.”

Dean wets his lips, “I know, Sammy, but…” He looks over at Jack and Cas.

Sam is quiet for a second before he notes, “You want to stay.”

He shrugs. “Just…just for a little while longer. We can–we can go sledding, eh? We haven’t done that since we were kids! And then—then we can figure out a way out of here.”

Sam has a look of growing concern on his face, something Dean thinks is teetering too close to pity.

“What?” He jokes, “You’re telling me you don’t wanna see those two sled? It’s not for us, Sam, it’s for the nerdy angels over there.”

His brother manages a smile, which is a relief. “Sure,” he says gently. Dean pretends not to hear it, heading now for the sleds and waving them all over.

He pulls the sleds apart, placing them each by the hill’s edge, but not so close that sitting on them would be enough to send them flying down the slope.

“Okay,” Dean starts, “How do we want to do this?”

Dean knows the answer before anyone says it. Better stated: he knows his wish before anyone else does.

“The logical route would be to pair up,” Cas says seriously, “You and Sam have done this before, so each of you gets a sled.”

Dean feels his chest go tight with anticipation for a second, and then it subsides. He nods.

“Good idea. Who—”

“I’ll go with Jack,” Sam interrupts, a wry smile on his face. Dean quirks his lips in a smile, cocking his head to the side in a mild ‘screw you’ gesture to his brother. He turns to Cas.

“Well, hop on then Louise and we’ll sail off this cliff together,” Dean says. He waits for the recognition to spark in Cas’ eyes and he smiles—for real this time—as Cas situates himself in the front of the sled. He spares Jack and Sam a glance, amused at how Sam is struggling not to take up most of the sled with his legs, before sitting down behind Cas.

And he stays like that for a moment, sitting awkwardly and gathering his courage, until he musters up enough to wrap his legs around him.

“I’m nervous,” he hears Jack say. Dean thinks, Me too. Sam laughs and reassures Jack that it’ll be fine.

“Okay, uh, you’re gonna have to lean back once we kick off, alright?” Dean instructs, trying to remember how to do this.

“You promise I won’t fall?”

Dean swallows. “Nah. I’ll hang on to you.”

“Let’s race,” Sam says. He can feel him staring and avoids Sam’s gaze. He’ll blame the tint on his cheeks and ears on the cold, if Sam ever asks.

Dean scoffs, “You’ll lose.”

“Prove it,” Sam responds, and then he’s pushing off and leaving them in the dust.

Dean’s surprised by the laugh that escapes him, and then he’s pushing off too, and he and Cas are propelled down the snowy slope after the others.

Cas leans back as instructed. Dean’s pretty sure the guy can feel the rush of his heartbeat with his back on Dean’s chest like that, but Dean can also feel Cas’ steel grips on his legs, nails digging into his shins.

He laces an arm around Cas’ chest, pressing him closer. “I’ve got you!” he reminds him.

There’s a beat, and then over the sound of the wind whipping against their faces, Cas says, “I know.”

tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@castiels-a-lamp @jellydeans @writtenmemxries @cestladean @randomblabbling @fluffiestlou @dreamnovak @weird-dorky-little-d @depressivedemonnightmaredean @jackleslongcon @friedchickenangelwings @galaxycastiel @destielle @dickspeightjrs @on-a-bender @organicpurplepants @casbelieves @samuelswinchester @spacegirlstuff @seffersonjtarship @winchester-novak @professorerudite @squintingg @holmesemrys @imnotrevealingmyname @festivemish @good-things-do-happen-dean @angxlsgrxce @casandeans @castielscrookedtrenchcoat @destiel-in-its-natural-habitat @gracelesschoice @superduckbatrebel @iheardyourprayer @top13zepptraxx @that-one-fandom-chick @scoobydean @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh @maxguevra @cursed-or-not @i-think-im-humanbut-cant-besure @fitinmypoems @madilineskingdom @awolfnamedaliac @castee-yel @tearsofgrace @credentiast @fivefeetfangirl @my-favourite-hellatus @gray-is-neutral @sunflower-vol-28 @ensignabby @ar-bi-trary @lulu-zodiac @y-yo-a-ti-dumbass @castielology @nguyenxtrang @destiel-bitches @supergaycas @deancasology @miadeline @save-the-sloths

#this is so fluffy im gonna puke #alsO i've never ridden a sled before so like #dont cancel me or anything #destiel december 2020 #spnadventcalendar2020 #rambleoncas writing #spn #destiel #supernatural #whats up with me and these titles lately huh??#weirddd #roc original #my post

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ohgodmyeyes · 3 years ago

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Your writing kind of uh disturbs me? I know ‚don’t like don’t read‘ and normally I would do exactly that,

But

Rape? Incest?? I haven’t looked more into your writings because I was puking when I saw the luke/anakin stuff

„My new favorite ship“ no what the fuck

Who in their right mind ships that??

I was going to delete this the other night, partly because that's what I'd usually do, and partly because I'm actually not sure if you're serious— my sarcasm detector is broken, and I'm a bit incredulous to the idea that anything I've ever written is enough to shock or upset anybody in the year 2021. You didn't call me any nasty names, though (thanks!), and I don't feel like writing anything for real right now... so I'll indulge us both by answering your ask.

First of all, yes, rape is horrifying— that's the way I write it, because that's the way I see it, and I'm honestly kind of glad you see it that way, too. Some rape stories are meant to be read like porn (which is also just fine, by the way), but mine aren't: If you picked up on that, even just through skimming 'Ani', then I feel artistically validated, and owe you a big thanks.

Anidala, as presented to us in canon, says more about mental illness and domestic abuse than I think it intends. People have been using that ship to explore and depict heavy topics for well over a decade now; we wouldn't still be doing it if it weren't a worthwhile pursuit.

It's been said before, but it's always worth saying again— Star Wars is, first and foremost, a story about people who love each other. They love each other for better or for worse, taking all of their damage and trauma and weird conditioning with them. There's only so much that can be explored in canon without rendering the franchise inaccessible to its original intended audience (I get it— my own kid is in the next room watching Lego Star Wars right now), and that's where fanworks come into play. We have complete freedom to look at whatever we want, solely through our own creative power.

Which, I guess, brings me to the incest! I was, at one point, pretty nervous about sharing it; needless to say, I don't feel that way anymore. Mark Hamill and Hayden Christensen are two attractive, completely unrelated men who play two sexy, interesting characters. I like imagining Luke and Anakin together romantically because it's fascinating... and, yes, extremely aesthetically pleasing to me.

Darth Vader is a sad, angry shell of a man for years and years before Luke Skywalker comes into his life. When they 'meet' in the trench on the surface of the Death Star, he feels something he hasn't felt in a long time. He doesn't know Luke is his son at that point, or anything else— all he knows then is that the kid is absolutely bursting with Force energy. He's fascinated, confused, curious, and scared. Those feelings escalate and change enough over the time that passes between ANH and ESB that I totally believe Vader might end up finding himself helplessly infatuated (in his own weird, obsessive way) with young Luke before he knows better.

Their relationship culminates with them claiming an emotional connection which, in my eyes, is unrivalled by anything else either of them ever achieves for themselves. It's a very special bond, and because I'm a mushy horny old lady, I readily read romance into it. I can understand why some people wouldn't, but I can't help the impression I get. Human ingenuity has gifted me a perfectly safe and ethical way to revel in the warm fuzzies I have for these fictional men— and it's not just me, if the infallibly kind response of other ao3 readers is any indication.

Luke and Anakin are both such three-dimensional, relatable, interesting people. There is an endless number of scenarios I can imagine that involve them interacting romantically. Some of those situations are whimsically unrealistic and unabashedly sexy; some of them are deeply disturbing, and very sadly conceivable. Some of them are somewhere in-between, but all of them are entirely imaginary, and you can always count on me to label them accurately.

I'm not bound by real-life ethics or morals when I'm writing fanfiction for free, and neither is anyone else. There are some stories I can't bring myself to read either, and that's alright— those kinds of preferences are both unique to individual people, and endlessly variable. Something I love about stories is that they only take an author to bring them to life; that author can depict essentially whatever they want without having involved anyone but themselves in the production of their work. That's magical! Written language is a man-made miracle, and restricting its use has, historically, never really ended well.

Thank you for giving me an opportunity to talk about some of my favourite people, and why I love writing the things I write about them. I'm largely out-of-touch with what other fans like and dislike, both about my own work and in fandom more generally. I don't know what anyone thinks of anything until they tell me, so I appreciate you doing just that without getting rude about it. :)

#thanks anon #fanfiction #luke x anakin #anakin x padme #star wars fanfiction #i never claimed to be in my right mind #shipping

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doctorreids · 4 years ago

Text

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FIVE - my tears ricochet

previous chapter | next chapter

word count: 1.9k

warnings: talk of addiction/grief/mental health/loss of a parent & a lot of angst

summary: reader and spencer remember the fight that broke them in half.

“even on my worst day, did i deserve babe, all the hell you gave me?”

Y/N

It would be an understatement to say that she was having a bad week. 2 months after her father’s passing, the BAU was faced with a killer targeting fathers and daughters.

She promised them she was fine, and she tried to convince herself that she was fine too but she really wasn’t. She didn’t venture to the M.E’s office or the crime scenes, instead, she waited for families to arrive.

JJ was sitting beside her as mother’s, brother’s, and son’s filtered in and out of the small office in the station. She sat there and wrote down all they had to tell them, her grip on her pen made her hand cramp. Listening to mothers recall how close the fathers were with their daughters, how inseparable and connected they were, broke her.

Splashing cold water on her face in the bathroom, she looked in the mirror to find someone she didn’t recognise. Tear stains graced her skin, mascara lying underneath her eyes. She hadn’t truly processed how not-fine she was.

She told herself that she had mourned, the funeral had come and passed, the headstone had been placed and her childhood home packed up into millions of boxes. Just when she thought she was beginning to move forward with her life, grief came back again. That kind of grief that makes you numb, your senses dulled, and the world a lot more grey than it was that morning. Just when she thought she’d cried enough tears, there’s always more to be shed.

She wasn’t altogether too sure what she was crying for; her own father or for those children, knowing the last thing they saw and heard was their father crying out for them.

She kept looking at the girl she didn’t know. She looked so alone, so small. She’d lost weight, a little bit at least. She looked absolutely exhausted, lack of sleep apparent under her eyes. Her cheeks were hollowed out, she’d lost weight.

Every day she covered the pain she carried with a smile and her head held high. Some days the facade slipped. That was this day.

It was a constant battle, a thin line between sanity and losing it all. The tension between her and Spencer didn’t help.

They’d been arguing over small things. Things that you can’t really remember days later, but matter at the time. Somedays he looked at her like she would shatter into a million different pieces, other days it was completely blank.

The love she used to see had dimmed. Not gone, but the light she once saw was slowly losing its fire. The passion was no longer there too; he didn’t touch her as he used too. No squeezing her hand in the back of the jeep, no wrapping his arms around her while she made breakfast nor did he leave lingering kisses on her neck.

She had conditioned herself into numbness, blocking out any sense of feeling or emotion. The walls she had built around her were supposed to keep out any impending attacks, but there were cracks. Sometimes the walls would tumble down, sometimes they would hold steadfast and strong.

There was only so much she could take.

“we gather stones, never knowing what they’ll mean, some to throw, some to make a diamond ring.”

The stopping of the car woke her from her daydream. It was growing dark outside, a humid, clammy July night. Spencer didn’t speak a word to her as he closed the car door and walked towards his apartment building.

Steps behind him, she could see the tension in his shoulders.

He’d annoyed her. He dismissed her theory about the unsub possibly being a son who felt overlooked by his father (she came to be right) with such animosity the whole team was left stumped by the coldness he’d regarded her with.

She tried to chalk it up to him having a bad day, giving him the benefit of the doubt, but then he treated similarly the next day and the day after that.

He was her home and she felt locked out in a thunderstorm, rain pouring down on her. She didn’t know what to do. So, she did the only thing she could think of.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She asked quietly as he put on a pot of tea.

He sighed in response.

“Spencer?” She moved towards him.

He exploded, “Just stop. Please, just fucking stop.”

“Spencer I-“

“What? Are you going to tell me ‘I told you so’ or tell me how much I messed up, huh? ‘Cause I already got that from Hotch, and I certainly don’t need it from you.”

“Excuse me? Why in the world would I ever do that? Is that what you think of me?”

Silence fell between them.

“Just drop it.” He looked completely dejected.

“You know what? I’m not going to just ‘drop it’. You’ve been acting like a complete stranger and I’m sick and tired of coming home to someone that won’t talk to me. I thought we could tell each other anything, Spence.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

It was quiet, but she heard it.

“What?”

Silence.

“You’re kidding me, Spencer. I cannot believe you.” she scoffed.

“It’s not like you tell me anything nor do I think you care about what I have to tell you.”

She had, for so long, felt as though she was living in a glass house - watching everyone from behind a thin sheet of glass. Caged in and lonely, she had nowhere to go. He threw the stones that broke her defences, shattered them to tiny pieces.

His words sliced through her. She stood there for a moment, silent and dejected.

“I don’t tell you anything? I don’t care about you?” Her voice was quiet.

He didn’t reply.

“I have been trying to tell you for weeks now, how much I love you, how I will always be here for you,” She continued, “I’ve been trying to tell you to talk to me, yet you never seem to want to. I’ve tried to tell you that I needed you.”

“Needed?”

“What?”

“You used the past tense. You don’t anymore.” He said matter-of-factly.

She laughed sourly, “That's all you took from that?”

Once again, she was met with silence.

“Do you really have nothing to say to me? Nothing at all that could possibly explain to me what the hell is going on with you? Because for the life of me, Spencer, I cannot figure it out.”

“you turned into your worst fears and tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years.”

SPENCER

The morning of the case, he’d gotten a call to say that his mother’s health was deteriorating. She wasn’t taking her medication and was refusing help.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not even Hotch.

If there was anyone he wanted to tell it was Gideon. And Gideon was gone.

He knew that it was strange that for someone who could never stop talking at times, he couldn’t find the words to even begin to describe how he was feeling.

Alone. Scared. Angry. Suffocated. Numb. Overwhelmed.

Everything he knew was crumbling around him; his relationship with Y/N, his mother’s health, and himself. He was constantly feeling as though he hadn’t accomplished any of the things that he and others expected him to do.

He felt like a disappointment and it crushed him. He didn’t understand how he was surrounded by such loving, caring people. He couldn’t even reciprocate their love properly.

He thought about taking Dilaudid again. Not that he would ever tell anyone that.

Addiction followed him like a dark cloud. He’d been to support group meetings whenever he could but that didn’t stop the urge to want to disappear again, feel something for once. He just wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He constantly felt like he was falling and falling with no end in sight. Dilaudid gave him the release he couldn’t find in real life.

He’d feel the urge then he’d look up, he’d see her and that feeling disappeared.

So, he took his frustrations out on her.

It was wrong and he knew it but he felt like she didn’t notice him anymore. Like she didn’t see that he was drowning, that he was so far removed from everyone.

What he didn’t take into account was that she was too.

He didn’t have anything to say when she asked him to explain, he truly didn’t. Nothing he could’ve said could have justified or properly explained how he was feeling and how he was acting. Anything he could have said would have made her feel guilty like it was her fault. And it wasn’t. He knew that now as she stood before him, hot tears ran down her cheeks.

He realised he couldn’t blame her for anything. He couldn’t even blame himself.

He swallowed harshly, he could see in her eyes the pain his words caused. But he was engulfed in flames, a fire he couldn’t put out.

“Well?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“God, I just want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

‘So much’, he thought, ‘and none of it’s your fault I promise, my love.’

“Spencer, I’m done fighting.”

He was losing her. His worst fear was coming true and he was frozen. Completely immobile. He didn’t know what to do. He’s panicking so he reaches for the only thing he can.

“Can we just talk about this some other time?”

She laughs. It’s bitter.

“Some other time? When will that be Spencer? Cause, frankly, I’m sick and tired of waiting.”

“Just some other time. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Can’t deal with what?”

He loaded his gun and he fired.

“You.”

Now she was silent. The sound of both their hearts breaking filled the room. It killed him to push her away and it killed her to hear it from him.

The room grew cold. Both of them stood in their trenches, no man’s land in between them. He took the first step. She immediately retreated.

“Y/N I-“ He stopped as he met her eyes, emotionless and dead.

“Save it, Spencer,” she mumbled, tears rolled down her cheeks.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and swipe them away, scoop her up in his arms and hold her tightly. He spent every day fearing that he would lose her and here he was, it wasn’t like anything he’d seen in his nightmares - no crazed killer. Instead, he was the one that pushed her away. Realisation flooded his body as he saw her pull her arms around her body; she only did that when she was overwhelmed.

“Please, my love, I didn’t mean-“

“You’ve done enough.” The calmness in her voice sent a chill down his spine.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door slam. Then he let his guard down, floored by the sobs that racked his body.

He knew he had messed up but he didn’t know where else to go. He felt caged in, trapped in his own maze.

His vision of their future was destroyed the second his apartment door slammed. His plans to make sure there was a diamond ring on her finger by the end of the year were demolished, the visions of little Y/N’s and Spencer’s faded into nothingness.

He had ruined everything and he didn’t know how to fix it

------

taglist: @itsfangirlmendes @rexorangecouny

#spencer #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reidxfolklore

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bipabrena · 4 years ago

Text

Beneath x the x Ice (AO3 HisoIllu fic) Chapter 9

A fic where there’s more to Illumi than meets the eye. Hisoka goes to great lengths to help him realise he deserves better than the Zoldycks and being a puppet to his parents.

Read the whole thing here.

Amane, Gotoh and three more butlers stood guard around the massive dining room while the Zoldycks sat to dine.

Zeno and Silva strictly discussed business, while Kalluto and Kikyo spoke.

As usual, Milluki was allowed to use his phone to watch anime while he ate.

No one noticed the lonely Illumi.

Everyone alternated between eating and speaking, but Illumi did not. Illumi never moved. He merely stared at his plate with an impassive expression, the same impassive expression he’d always had.

Those huge, large voids for eyes merely stared at the plate of food.

Mouthwatering and delicious, and his stomach ached for it, but his body did not respond to fulfil its wishes. It remained hungry, as it had been for the last week that Illumi had not been eating, and as it would remain for the rest of the day.

Eventually, Silva attracted everyone’s attention so he could explain the job of epic proportions they had next. The one Illumi would take in, the assassination for the Queen.

They all listened intently, but Illumi remained in his bubble of nothingness.

“You have no dignity or a will of your own.”

“You let others make decisions for you, and all you do is nod. How pathetic.”

“You’re not even worth fighting.”

It seemed this is all Illumi could hear inside his head. It had been for the last three weeks, ever since the event with Hisoka transpired.

The family’s attentions was directed to Illumi once Silva addressed him.

But Illumi said nothing.

He hadn’t heard a single word.

It was then they finally noticed his plate was full, his cutlery had been untouched, and the glass was dripping wet as the cold from the beverage condensed from being unheeded.

“Illumi!” Silva yelled. Surprisingly loud, surprisingly firm.

They were all taken aback.

But all Illumi did was slowly look up at him. Aloofly. With zero emotion, with such impassiveness that even put his own family at unease.

It felt different from usual.

“Yes, father?” asked Illumi with a hollow tone that surprised them further.

“I’m speaking to you, son. Did you not hear a word I said?”

“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not.”

“Is something the matter, dear?” Kikyo asked. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“You’re so strong, so absurdly strong, yet so pathetically weak.”

“You have no mind or ambitions of your own.”

“You are pathetic, Illumi Zoldyck.”

“You’re not even worth fighting.”

He blinked impassively at them.

Pathetic… weak… not even worth fighting… he thought. A manipulated manipulator, a puppeteered puppeteer. That’s what he implied.

“Do you really love your family, or is it only a robotic, forced loyalty?”

Illumi sighed so subtly it was almost imperceptible to those watching him.

… I can’t help but wonder, he told himself.

“Son, your mother is talking to you,” Silva said in a cautioning tone.

Kalluto frowned as concern overwhelmed him.

What was happening?

Illumi seemed absentminded lately during training, but now during dinner, too?

They all expectantly awaited his response.

“I’m fine,” is what he elected to say. “What were you saying, father?”

“The contract for the Royal Family of Kanem will be in forty five days, starting today. We already have everything prepared, it is only a matter of waiting. In the meantime, you will continue responding to other contracts we may get.”

“Yes, father.”

He and Silva exchanged a look. The others couldn’t help stiffening because of the sudden tension that overwhelmed the room. Silva seemed stern and belligerent, while Illumi remained utterly indifferent.

Not defiantly. Not because he didn’t respect Silva or care for his words.

Simply because he felt he had nothing to care about in general.

“You’re an irreplaceable commodity for our family.”

He recalled those words told to him by Silva the day he sat him in his office. The eyes, the tone.

Their relationship had always been so give-and-take.

Nothing more, nothing less.

He’d never experienced the warmth or familial love Killua had been deluged with by his parents and grandfather.

The closest thing to it was Milluki’s fear and respect, and Kalluto’s fondness.

But nothing from his parents or grandfather.

A commodity. A commodity is not even sentient. It’s just a thing, he thought nonchalantly. A thing that benefits you. That’s my role.

Yes, that’s who I am.

I can’t escape the position I was born into.

I’m a servant of my own family. I was born to work for them. To be their puppet. To not have ambitions or goals of my own. Just like I told Killua of himself that day.

Except that those rules do not apply to him.

Yes… a commodity. That’s all I am.

Suddenly, Illumi looked at the ceiling inquisitively. He seemed utterly indifferent to the tension in the room, to Silva’s stern expression on him.

He was simply so absentminded.

It was incredibly concerning to all of them.

“Would you like to eat in your room, dear?” Kikyo asked, and that surprised them.

“No, but if you do permit, I’d like to excuse myself. I have a meeting with a potential client in a few hours.”

“Granted,” is what Silva said immediately.

Illumi stood and left.

His stride was robotic. Lifeless.

Despite being indifferent and emotionless, Illumi always walked with an admirable grace. His body was strong and lithe, he stood tall amongst everyone around him, with pride and with his head held high. He always moved with an intrinsic gracefulness and firm aura that clearly denoted he was strong and could win any encounter.

But right now, he walked with indifference, without purpose, without meaning.

And then, even Silva found it in himself to worry.

Illumi stirred his hot chocolate. The shape that had been drawn on it by the skilful barista faded into a foamy spiral.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Illumi,” said Chrollo. “I understand you usually do business through calls, so this does mean a lot to me.”

“It’s no problem. What do you need?” Illumi asked curtly.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this already, but the underground auction will be held soon. I have my own plans for it, but I may need to use your services.”

Illumi’s unblinking, onyx eyes bore into him.

What a strange thing, Chrollo thought.

Illumi’s eyes had always been cold.

They penetrated anyone whose gaze met his. His stare was piercing enough that it’d make anyone feel exposed, and even the strongest man would shiver, however slightly.

He just looked through you.

Like he were navigating every trench of your soul, of your mind; finding weaknesses and creating schemes to exploit them. A penetrating gaze that exposed everything about those submitted to it, but nothing about the one who owned it.

It was a hair-raising thought that everyone who’d ever met Illumi had thought to themselves.

Chrollo himself had thought it when he first met him.

But right now…

Illumi did not carry that presence. He seemed so impassive, so indifferent, so dead. Like there was absolutely nothing inside him. Like he were a shell, a ghost that happened to have a host.

And, somehow, that was even more unsettling. More hair-raising.

“When the time is right, I would like you to kill the ten dons.”

“Okay.”

Chrollo blinked.

“Is there anything else?”

Well… no. But Chrollo didn’t invite Illumi for coffee and snacks only for business. He’d like to get to know him better.

Frankly, he’d love to make Illumi the fourteenth Phantom Troupe member. At the very least, he’d like for Illumi to be an honorary member.

The Troupe rarely got together, there simply weren’t that many heists in Padokea. But with the rising gangs all across the world, he wanted the Phantom Troupe to be at the top as it once was.

Having Illumi around would change everything.

He had the connections to find whatever he wanted. The Phantom Troupe was never about glory, but about a bunch of comrades who did whatever they wanted simply because they could.

But Chrollo would like for the Troupe to be together more often. A couple of heists would be a nice way to stay together.

And with Illumi, he could find anything.

More importantly, it’d be a great excuse to spend time with him. To get to know him better. Even if he didn’t end up joining the Troupe, at least there would be something more between them aside from provider and client.

Illumi stirred his hot chocolate as he watched Chrollo, and Chrollo thought he was cute.

Chrollo listed the facts in his head.

The mafia was a huge deal, but their protection was limited and borderline useless against Nen users. Ultimately, they’ll end up contracting someone who could truly challenge the Troupe once they strike.

Assassins. And the most proficient assassins in the world happened to be in a nearby region.

The Zoldycks.

By having the ten dons killed, it’d leave the Zoldycks with no real targets assigned by a client, and so the Troupe would be scot free.

From the thirteen members in the Troupe, Chrollo knew that only five would pose a threat to the eldest son sitting across him, and the two heads of the family.

Uvogin, Phinks, Feitan, Hisoka and himself.

They were the true threats. The rest wouldn’t stand a chance.

So, if they happened to hire the Zoldycks, eight members would be at great risk of dying. Even Chrollo’s own life could be in danger. However, if he contracted Illumi right here, right now, he’d become his client, and so Illumi wouldn’t be able to kill him.

That’d be at least one less threat.

Chrollo manipulated the truth a little. He explained to Illumi the reason he was hiring him, and what the Troupe’s job entailed.

Illumi nodded.

Then, he decided to bring something else up, something that would bring him closer to Illumi.

“I wanted to know what other services you offer.”

“Elaborate,” is what Illumi said.

“Do you only assassinate? I understand how it may be a futile question with an obvious answer considering your profession, but I was wondering whether you offer other services such as Intel gathering or reconnaissance.”

Illumi’s hollow, nearly hypnotising eyes blinked at him impassively.

“I’m listening,” said Illumi.

“I’m sure you’re already beyond familiar with what the Troupe does. We’re thieves. We like something, we take it. However, there aren’t many heists here in this continent, and the underground auction is all we’ve had in a very long time. If I asked you to gather Intel for me, to find a job for me, would you be able to do it? It goes without saying the pay would be hefty. You’re the one that will put the price, and I will pay whatever it takes, so long as it doesn’t leave me squeaky clean,” he smiled. “But even then, I may still consider it.”

“As it is not a decision I can make on my own, I cannot give you an answer right now. I would have to further discuss it, then get back to you. Is that acceptable?”

“Absolutely, Illumi.”

He could hear it. Illumi could hear it so clearly in his head.

Silva’s voice.

“The pay isn’t worth it. Don’t mess with the Phantom Troupe.”

Well, he wouldn’t be messing with them. He’d be doing a job for them.

“Then, if that will be all, I believe we’re done here. I will be contacting you as soon as possible.”

“Wait, Illumi!” Chrollo called when Illumi stood up after leaving the money for his drink on the table.

Illumi looked at him.

“Won’t you sit and finish your hot chocolate?”

“I wasn’t here for it, I was here to discuss business with you. I don’t need to finish it.”

“Is there anywhere you need to be right now?”

Illumi was silent, and Chrollo took this as dissent.

“If you don’t, why don’t you stay here a little longer? We can chat for a while.”

Illumi said nothing.

It was hard to get him to talk. But that was okay, Chrollo thought. He liked a challenge. And if that challenge happened to be quite pretty, he would be more than okay with accepting it.

“If it’s your job policy to not relax a moment and sit down to talk to someone, I completely understand. If it’s not, however, I don’t see the harm in sharing a hot beverage with a friendly neighbour.”

… Ah, shit.

This wasn’t good. This brought back memories.

This place… the hot beverage…

“You’ve helped me keep an eye on Killu by your own volition.” He leaned back. “There will be a lot of people in that warehouse, possible Nen users too, that you can kill. I wanted to return the favour.”

“So,” Hisoka licked his lips, “as a token of your gratitude, you want to take me out on a date? ♠” he pestered.

Illumi blinked. “It’s not a date.”

“Is it not? ♥” he chuckled, hoping to annoy the eldest Zoldyck. “Because it sounds like one. You and me together, at night…”

Illumi blinked impassively.

… Why am I remembering that right now?

Goddammit.

… Hisoka… he thought to himself with the slightest sense of mourning.

“I suppose it won’t kill me,” said Illumi as he sat back down.

Chrollo smiled. He wasn’t sure whether that was a joke, but in the off chance that it was, he chuckled gracefully.

He brought forth his charms, the charms he used whenever he wanted to steal someone’s ability, whenever he decided to gather information, whenever he wanted to manipulate someone or gradually bend them to his will without them ever noticing.

Except that, for this one time, today was different.

Truly, he wished not to get something out of Illumi.

In fact, the main reason he wanted that new heist was merely to have an excuse to work alongside him. He was willing to pay whatever price Illumi placed. The auction would be soon and the treasure would be hefty, so money was not an issue in the slightest.

He wasn’t sure why the eldest Zoldyck son drew his attention so much.

He just knew that he did.

Read the rest of the chapter here.

#hisoillu #hisoka x illumi #hisoka morow #illumi zoldyck #Hisoka #illumi #Hunter X Hunter #hxh

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archonssun · 4 years ago

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Huntin’ For Your Touch

Your timing was impeccable nonnie. I’m so stuck on my other stories rn 😭 Also, cuz I’m a slut for angst, this is gonna get sad...😈

Huntin’ For Your Touch

WC: 1763

Prompto didn’t get it. Whenever he was around Cindy, he’d be a bumbling mess, but around you ... he almost felt normal. He didn’t stumble over his words, he didn’t make a fool of himself. But in a way, speaking with you was more nerve-wracking than speaking with Cindy. You were a hunter, after all, and you’d have no problem kicking his scrawny ass.

Maybe that’s why he never told you. Maybe that’s why he’ll never get the chance to.

***

When he first met you, it was during their trip to Altissia, shortly after the fall of Insomnia. When they had met Cor at Keycatrich Trench, you had been there, standing at the Immortal’s side. More than anything, the gunman was curious who you were -- you didn’t look like a member of the Crownsguard, but you weren’t just some random civilian, either, if the weapons strapped to your sides were anything to go by. It wasn’t until the boys, Cor, and Monica took down the Imperial blockade that he learned you were a relative of the Immortal.

“Hey, um, not to be rude or anything, but who are you?” Prompto approached you cautiously. As he got closer, he noticed a small scar running across the bridge of your nose. It was faint; he hadn’t noticed it when he first saw you because it was so faded. It must’ve been pretty old.

“(Y/n),” you responded, giving the blond a quick once over before going back to maintaining your short swords. “And you’re not being rude, Prompto. It’s natural to be curious about a stranger.”

“How do you know my name?” his blue-violet eyes narrowed on you for a split second. Heaving a sigh, you placed your swords off to the side and directed your attention to him.

“Cor talks about you a lot, y’know,” you answered. You took in his reaction -- his brows furrowing and his face scrunching in confusion -- before you continued. “He thinks of you like a son. He’s proud of you.”

Prouder than me, at least. That’s what your expression said, and the gunslinger frowned -- not something he did too often. But he didn’t get the chance to say anything as you grabbed your weapons and walked away.

Prompto swore he heard you sniff.

***

The next time he saw you was in Old Lestallum. You had joined Dave on his hunt for dog tags. At that time, you had gained more scars across your hands and one that split your lower lip. Considering it had only been a few weeks -- a month, at most -- since you had last seen one another, Prompto couldn’t help but wonder what the older hunter was having you do.

“Dave,” you had called for the older man as soon as you had seen the Regalia pull into the small town. It wasn’t all too long after that that you were joining the four men in their search for some missing tags.

That day happened to be when Prompto realized something: he cared for you, deeply. In a more than platonic way.

That also happened to be the day that you were seriously injured while protecting Noctis.

“Noctis!” your shout rang across the battlefield. It had caught Prompto’s attention immediately, and when he turned he saw a Magitek Assassin charging his best friend. For his name’s meaning, Prompto wasn’t ready at all. Noct was in stasis after having defeated multiple assassins at once, and he could barely move. He was just a second too slow to raise his gun, and it only took that single second.

Prompto watched as you collapsed to your knees, a short sword jammed through the assassin that had targeted Noct. But what made his blood run cold was the blade sticking out of your back. He could only be a bystander as the assassin disintegrated, it’s blade staying where you had been impaled -- just below your right collarbone. His hands started shaking, his gun dematerializing as Ignis and Gladio rushed to their king’s side, as well as yours.

You were a hunter. You hadn’t taken an oath to protect him, yet you had risked your life for Noct. It was enough to shake each of the men to their cores, seeing someone that was basically a complete stranger try to protect the Lucian heir.

It was Prompto’s job to call Cor, to tell him what had happened. It wasn’t even a few hours later that the Immortal was in Lestallum, clutching your hand as fear made itself known on his face. In all the time Prompto had known the marshall, not once could he remember him looking so distraught -- especially over the possibility of someone dying.

Prompto learned another thing that day; he learned just how closely you and Cor were related.

“Please, (Y/n),” Cor’s voice trembled as he grasped at your cold hands. “You can’t leave me, too.”

Prompto stood off to the corner of the room, guilt weighing heavily in his heart.

If I had just been two seconds faster, then--

“D-Dad…?” voice crackling, your (e/c) hues met Cor’s, fear evident in them. The marshall’s grip tightened around your hand in response, trying to calm you. Tears welled in your eyes at the sight of the man and you turned onto your side as you sobbed. “Dad…”

***

After that, Prompto didn’t see you until the darkness had already set in. And when you saw Noct wasn’t with the retinue when they came back, it was Prompto that had cried with you.

Since you had almost died protecting the prince, you had grown close to each of them, but with Noct in particular. He seemed like a brother to you, and the fact that he hadn’t come home from Gralea broke you.

Not that you had been overly cheerful before they had left, you became a husk, only doing what was needed to survive and nothing more. And Prompto was with you the whole way, trying to make you smile. Or at least make you forget, for even a second, that Noct was gone. It was really for the both of you -- Prompto missed the prince more than anyone else. He hadn’t just lost a king back in Gralea, he had lost his best friend.

***

You and Prompto had grown close over the past seven years. There wasn’t a single day that you two went without one another. You two had become each other’s crutch in the absence of Noctis.

You had both changed in that time. Where once you had had long (h/c) hair, you had to cut it because of the absurd number of hunts you’d go on on a daily basis -- and washing daemons guts from long hair was a less than enjoyable affair. Prompto had done something similar, cutting back the fringe that used to fall in front of his right eye when he was twenty. Like every other hunter alive, you two looked tired, and neither of you could remember the last time you had gotten any real sleep.

Currently, you were sitting in the plastic patio furniture in front of the caravan in Hammerhead, trying to get any sleep your body would allow. You had just come back from a particularly nasty hunt that left you more exhausted than it should have. Just as you had begun to get comfy, a sound had you alert once more.

You shot up from your chair, head swivelling as you tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. But it proved difficult; even after relocating several times, you couldn’t determine its origin. It was only because you had thrown your head back in frustration that you saw Prompto sitting on the roof of the caravan. Your brows knitted together as they met his form. One leg was pulled into his chest while the other dangled off the caravan, and his head was buried in his arms.

Had it been any darker, you never would have seen the slight tremor in the blond’s shoulders. Worried for your partner, you were quick to scale the trailer and sit next to the man that had become an unlikely friend.

“Prompto, you good?” At your voice, Prompto’s body tensed. You were sure of it now; the man had been crying. He sniffled, rubbing at his eyes before meeting yours. He gave you a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m fine, don’t worry,” he said. He yelped when you pinched at his ear, tugging slightly.

“Bullshit,” you seethed. On more than one occasion, you had found the usually happy-go-lucky blond crying, and each time he had brushed off your concerns. But you wouldn’t let him, not this time. “I’ve known you far too long for that smile to work on me. You need to focus, Prompto. We have a hunt in a few hours, and I don’t want either of us getting hurt because you were stuck inside your head.”

Your words had come out harsher than intended, and you regretted it immediately when the blond’s face fell. You quickly replaced your scowl with a frown and cupped his face in your hands.

“You’ve always helped me out. Why won’t you let me help you?” you whispered, watching as his eyes went wide and his face turned red. “At least, let me try to help you? Please?”

Prompto nodded slowly, and your lips turned upwards slightly.

“What can I do, Prom?” It was the first time you had given him a nickname in the seven years you had known him, and he was shell-shocked. Your smile fell as you watched him, waiting for a response.

It was quick, and it left you wondering just how long he had wanted to do it. His gloved hands pulled your face to his, pressing his chapped lips to yours.

“Just stay with me? Please?” his voice was small, quieter than a whisper as he pleaded with you.

“Always.”

***

“Prom.” You could barely speak, the pain becoming too much. Your body shook like a leaf as you coughed, and Prompto was quick to pull you into his arms, pressing a hand to your bloodied side.

“C’mon, (Y/n). Stay awake, please.” Tears spilled from his blue-violet eyes, landing on your cheek. “Just stay awake for a bit longer. You’ll be fine.”

Hand shaking, you reached up to touch his cheek, giving him a sad smile. Your fingers carded through the blond strands before your palm settled on his cheek.

“Don’t stop, Prom,” you wheezed. “Don’t look back. Noct will need you when he gets back. Keep pushing forward, and everything will be okay.”

#request time #prompto x reader #ffxv #reader insert #female reader #ffxv x reader

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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Through the Wringer

Go For Broke | Previous

Obiyuki AU Bingo Mystery AU

“So let me get this straight.” Suzu heaves a sigh like a pair of cement shoes, nose pinched between a pair of fingers so long and spindly that if he moved them together with the other eight, spiders would start jawing on about his fine set of gams. “You just...gave her the paper.”

“Gave is a strong word.” Obi kicks his heels up, dirt crumbling right onto the placard that reads SUZU EASON, ADJUNCT. “I showed her the stuff, and she took ‘em.”

Right out of his hands too, so quick he’d hardly had time to blink. That Nowakoski girl had some fight to her, that’s for sure.

“And by ‘she,’ you mean our murderess,” Suzu snips, waving his hands. “Get your boots off my desk! This is-- this is an academic institution, not some-- some speakeasy or something.”

He slants his smirk the way he knows will drive his favorite almost-professor crazy. “They don’t let you do it at bars either.”

“Then I cannot fathom why you think you can do this here, to my very own desk!” Suzu frowns down at the worn desktop, running his fingers over the grooves of the hundred despairing adjuncts that came before. “I just got the thing, Obi, I want to keep it nice for at least a little while.”

He gives it to him, dropping his soles back down to the dirt. The egghead looks like he could use the break.

“And stop smiling!” Suzu huffs, brushing the clay and gravel off after him. “You just let a murderess take our only proof that Kain Wisteria may have died of something other than an unlucky break in Amiens.”

Obi waggles a finger at him “You’ve been hanging around that fussy grouch box and his rocks, haven’t you?”

Suzu puffs up, using all six foot, four inches of him to be just as intimidating as Raggedy Andy. “Professor Lata is a tenured professor.”

Obi doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s not as impressive to all the non-eggheads outside.

“And he’s the geology chair,” he continues, as if that’s helping matters. “So his opinion--”

“Ah.” Obi fishes a wrapper out of the trash, the spicy scent of hot pastrami still thick on the air. “He bought you lunch.”

Suzu deflates, eyes skittering away from Obi’s grin. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Seems to me like you’re taking pages out of his book,” he says as Suzu snatches the paper out of his hands, crumpling it back down into the trash. “Being a real grouch, I mean.”

“I’m not-- I’m not being grouchy!” he hisses, mouth pulled thin. “Do you know how much trouble I could get into for all this? You told me this would just be a little favor and now--” he throws up his hands-- “I didn’t even ask Shidan for permission! We’re sitting on a-- a ticking time bomb of a theory that you just gave to a murderer.”

“Oh come on.” He shrugs beneath the weight of his trench. “She didn’t kill anyone.”

Suzu’s as pale as they come in this city, so it’s a real light show when he gets hot and bothered. Which he is right now, if Obi can tell his colors.

“And which head made that deduction?” he grits out. “I’ve practically staked my career on this-- by accident-- and now our only proof is in the hands of--”

“Hey.” A head sticks around the corner, wearing a face so cute someone could slap it on a doll and it’d sell like hotcakes. “So this is where you’re hiding out.”

“Oh!” Suzu presses a hand to his chest, clutching at the cotton of his button-down. “It’s just you, Yuzuri. Can you tell Obi that he can’t just--”

“I’m not here to get involved in your lover’s quarrel.” Her hands hook on her hips, right where her sweater meets the swell of a decent pair of hips. “Shake a leg, mister. You’re needed down in reception.”

Suzu blinks. “Wha?”

Yuzuri’s mouth purses, sour, accentuated by the vibrant blush of her lipstick. Most earthly creatures could only aspire to be in Haki Arluleon’s league, but the department’s secretary certainly comes closer than most. “Kihal Guerreiro is down there reenacting Sunrise Over Okinawa.”

Obi tilts his chair back, mind grinding through his memories like a freight train through a signal gate. “Isn’t that the one where the girl burns down--”

“Sure is.” She fixes Suzu with a glare. “And it’s your fault.”

Ah, the girl’s got spunk. No wonder Suzu’s so stuck on her.

The aforementioned adjunct gapes. “M-me? I’ve never met her in my life! I don’t know anyone famous!”

Yuzuri cocks her hip in a way that clearly says, yeah, pull the other one, too.

“Okay, well,” he hedges, “I did see Rita Hayworth having an ice cream once. But that’s it, I promise!”

“I don’t care if you saw Hedy Lemarr dancing naked on Rodeo,” she snaps. “That woman is down there kicking up a real fuss because of you.”

Suzu goes whiter than a sheet that’s shook hands with Clorox. “You haven’t-- you haven’t told Shidan, have you?”

She barks out a laugh. “I didn’t have to. She’s down there reading him the riot act as we speak.”

“Oh.” Obi’s seen poltergeists with more solidity than this post-doc. “Oh no.”

“So you better get down there lickity-split,” Yuzuri tells him, “or else I’ll tell her where you live.”

She turns on her heel, real neat, like some of the flyboys did in their birds, showing off that long seam up that back of her nylons before she slams the door behind her, hard enough to rattle a diploma off the wall.

“Oh hell,” Suzu breathes, hands digging runnels through his hair. “Oh hell, I’m in for it now.”

“You know,” Obi muses, gaze lingering on the door. “I like that dame.”

Suzu sighs. “You would.”

Reception’s never been a quiet place; the secretaries are always typing away like gunfire, writing up the department’s next magnum opus or fielding calls that have them cradling their receiver like another appendage, but today it’s certainly, well--

Louder.

“Listen here, Mister.” The words ring off the walls like an air raid siren, spoken from the diaphragm with true talent. “My friend has been calling your office for days, and she hasn’t heard from a single person who can give her an answer for this.”

Obi rounds the corner just in time to see Tinsel Town’s rising star shove a paper right into the professor’s chest, blue eyes blazing with a fire that would put Dresden to shame.

She’s dynamite up close; an Amazon straight off the isle with the stilettos she’s wearing, staring Shidan straight in the eye without having to crane her neck. Every inch of her is as dangerous as the femme fatales that have made her a household name, but still--

He’s hardly paying attention to her. Hard to, when her shadow’s got hair so red it practically blazes.

“My apologies, Miss Guerreiro,” Shidan soothes blandly, gaze hooded with the kind of weariness only a chair could muster. “I would normally be happy to answer any questions one of the public may ask, however--” his mouth pulls thin-- “I wasn’t even aware that one of my fellows had undertaken such an investigation.”

Suzu stiffens beside him, knuckles white where they grip the corner. “Well,” he breathes, backing away. “That’s my cue--”

“Why look.” Shidan’s gaze snaps over his shoulder, fixing Suzu as thoroughly as formaldehyde. “Here’s my fellow now. Suzu--” his teeth flash as quick as gun cotton-- “why don’t you come over here and explain yourself to this nice young woman.”

Suzu gulps, throat making a hollow thunk. “Ah...of course, Professor Weise.”

Obi’s not the kind of guy that leaves a man behind, but as Suzu shuffles his sad-sack self into the fray, he finds himself diverting from the flight plan, circling right around to where a high-necked blouse and Mary Jane bobs worriedly in Guerreiro’s wake.

“Well, well, well.” She jumps, turning those big eyes toward him, green as any of the arsenic bottles in the lab’s cabinet. “If its isn’t our winsome Wisteria heiress. Funny seeing you here.”

Her mouth pulls thin. “Oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he agrees, slipping up beside her. She smells nice, something floral and vanilla that clings to her hair and makes him think of cookies at grandma’s. “I gotta say, Miss, for a humble war nurse, you sure got friends in some very high places.”

She huffs, arms crossing over her chest. “For your information, we met long before she got into show business.”

“That so?” he hums, hiking up a brow. “Now that you mention it, she was in one of Kain Wisteria’s flicks, wasn’t she? That one about the South Pacific.”

“She was in three,” the little miss corrects primly. “But the one you’re looking for is Sunrise Over Okinawa.”

He snaps his fingers. “Right, it came out just as I...”

She turns, all question.

“Ah, never mind,” he coughs. “Seems like Wisteria sure liked her work, if he kept using her like that.”

“Mm.” Her face crumples with the shadow of concern. “He did. He told her that with a little more work, she could be his muse.”

“Hah.” Obi lifts his hat, scratching at the back of his head. “That man liked his muses.”

Her knuckles blanch where they grasp her elbows. “He sure did at that.”

“You know, I’m surprised he didn’t try to put you in one of his flicks.” He grins down at her. “You might not be no Veronica Lake, but you got that Judy Garland look.”

Something happens to her face, so quick he can’t catch more than a ripple of it before it’s gone. She turns to him, shoving a paper into his hand.

“Here’s your report back,” she says, the words trembling. “You might want to be more careful where you leave these things.”

She glances at him, and he hears loud and clear: or who you leave them with.

“Right.” He glances down, catching the coroner’s letter head, stark and official under the university’s warm light. “Hey, ah, if you’re having trouble, I could get you in to see my friend.”

The girl whips back to him, wide-eyed, staring like maybe he’s missing a couple of sandwiches from his picnic basket. “I...appreciate the offer, detective.”

“Obi,” he offers, giddily.

“Obi.” Her mouth parts just slightly, uncertain. “But isn’t he right there? I could just ask him myself.”

“Well, sure,” he wheedles, “but that’s no guarantee he’ll talk to you. You know these egghead types. Insular.” He leans in, flashing a smile that could charm the hose off a Hepburn. “But me, I can put a good word in for you.”

She hums, hose still snug. “That so.”

“Sure thing.” He nods toward the charlie foxtrot happening hardly two yards from where they’re standing. “I could go up there right now and ask for you. I’m sure he’d be happy to do me the favor.”

“Of course he would,” she huffs. “He’s having a strip torn off him from both sides. Thank you very much, Mister...Obi, but I think I can wait.”

“Not at all.” He grins so wide the Cheshire Cat would go green with envy, and he’s rewarded with a look so wary that Wisteria’s pet cop would slap him in irons just to head him off. “Good thing for you, Miss, I don’t have any shame.”

She blink. “What? No, you can’t--”

He steps right up to the Western Front, marked by Guerreiro’s sharp elbow and says, “Hey, Suzu, this is the girl I was telling you about. Miss Nowakowski. She’s got some questions about that report you gave me.”

Suzu goggles at him. “Ah, sure, pal.” His mouth pulls into a rictus grin. “I’d--I’d love to meet her. Why don’t we all just go up to my office--”

“No need.” The red head shoulders through, nearly knocking him off his feet. She might be a tiny thing, but she stands shoulder to shoulder with the rest of them like she’d the tallest personality in the room. “I only came here to say that I’m giving permission to exhume the body.”

Shidan chokes. “I-- I’m sorry? I don’t think I heard that--?”

“I’ve already put in the request at the precinct,” she explains, shoulders square she she stares them all down. “But I want to come down here as request personally that you do the toxicology report, Mr Eason.”

“Oh, I-- I don’t-- I’m not--” Suzu pants, hand hooks in his sweater vest-- “I don’t have the authority for that, Miss.”

“But I do.” Shidan stares down at the lot of them, his mouth in a thin line. “I think we should be discussing this in my office. Come this way, Miss Nowakowski, Miss Guerreiro. It seems I’ve missed a few crucial conversations.”

#obiyukibingo2020 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #mystery au #Go For Broke #noir au #my fic #ans #every time i start writing this fic #i'm so convinced it'll be easy #and then i spend like 99% of my time during the second draft googling the DUMBEST STUFF #obi's shoe choice is in one line but guess how long i spent deciding that #TOO LONG

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tfw-no-tennis · 4 years ago

Text

mtmte liveblog issue 19

it’s 2021 now!! time for more transformers

we start off w/a flashback showing tyrest retrieving ultra magnus’s body from the ship - and we get a look at magnus’s spark, which is the green color of a 0.1%er [eyes emoji]

tyrest punching magnus..... grrrrr leave my dad alone bastard man

‘the divided self’ what a good title

rodimus is like listen man this is a lot for my poor thot brain to take in

in flashback land, we see tyrest immediately launch into a crazy person spiel about how he can and will edit the law as he sees fit to conform to the situation, because that doesn't seem like a blatant abuse of power or a huge conflict of interest or anything

oooh the screen in the corner that says ‘thought warfare,’ I see that

oof, poor magnus. its gotta be rough to hear your boss rant about how bad at your job you are....especially bc this is right after overlord called magnus a joke and nearly killed him

its especially brutal bc as magnus says, his job is his life

augh, I love the panel where the armor is falling off around minimus, and then the one where he’s holding the ultra magnus head...poetic

its fascinating that there was an ‘original’ magnus who was an actual guy, and then tyrest chose to make him into this legacy symbol - I'm assuming the OG magnus had no say in this, and probably didn't even know that he was gonna become this lawman legacy figure

I do wanna know though - obviously everyone thought that ultra magnus was one dude, but how did the different guys wearing the armor deal w/that? like, did minimus have people coming up to him like ‘hey ultra magnus old buddy! remember when we fought those guys in that one place? good times!’ like, do they have to study up on the lives of the past armor wearers to prepare for the role of ultra magnus?

augh poor minimus, of course he’s been wondering about what happened with overlord after he was KO’d

oof, drift...I feel like minimus looks surprised and a little skeptical at the idea that drift was the one behind the entire overlord thing - which is interesting bc as we saw at the beginning of the story, he doesn't exactly trust drift, but it’s still pretty far-fetched that one person orchestrated the entire thing

tailgate :(

the concept of a load-bearer is SUPER cool, I love it so much

it also puts a much-needed limit on things - as in, there IS a limit to how much weight/mass a normal cybertronian frame can carry, which is why you don't see everybody upgrading to be Massive - bc they actually CANT

oof, the worst part is that tyrest is RIGHT, minimus essentially DID have a nervous breakdown after the war ended bc of the rigid way he views the world

mental health support is clearly in shambles for cybertronians, yikes. they literally have 1 therapist for their entire race, and he’s not even licensed anymore due to hipaa violations. what a mess

the ‘attention deflectors’ thing is so cool and clever and also a great explanation as to why ratchet or anyone else never said ‘hey wait a minute, you're actually a much smaller dude in a trench coat’

I love tailgate knowing all the stuff about the autobot code bc of magnus...my BOY

and THATS why minimus was asking about skids specifically earlier!

oh minimus, please don't put so much stock in tyrest being stable and resonable...

aaaand there's skids and swerve! brainstorm says it best - ‘because something unexpected hasn't happened for at least nine seconds.’ lmao ily brainstorm

finally checking in w/whirl and cyclonus - god I love that. whirl asking cyclonus how many cons he killed and cyc is like psh I wasn't keeping count....................ok it was six

hhhhh cyclonus IS looking for a cure for tailgate, even though he told tg that there wasn’t anything to hope for....excuse me as I go be emo

and now we flash over to the unethical medical conduct hell zone, where pharma is being weird and horny and ratchet is appropriately horrified

I seriously love how unhinged pharma looks, the art & colors do such a good job conveying his feral energy

ratchet has some massive dick energy for taunting pharma when he’s currently just a head and pharma has dual chainsaws for hands

ugh, I love whirls speech about anger...and I feel like he really does see cyclonus as a peer, despite cyclonus wanting to kill him, which is why he tells cyclonus all of this

I fuckgin love that cyclonus’s reaction to very suddenly getting stabbed thru the abdomen is to just glance down at the sword, looking mildly inconvenienced

back over to ratchet - and at first its like oh wow I can’t believe pharma was stupid enough to let ratchet goad him into this contest....but then you see first aid and ambulon and its like UH OH this is gonna be BAD

the idea that getting sliced in half is no big deal for a cybertronian is wild

‘you're gonna let doctor djd cut us in half?’ yeahhhh that's an appropriate reaction, yikes

FUCKING LENGTHWAYS GOD

pharma you piece of shit

poor ambulon :( :( :( that's fucking brutal. amazing panel but....jesus

and like, to further my point from last issue’s liveblog - the fact that this very gore-y panel is okay, but swearing isn't...that's really funny honestly. I guess robo-gore is acceptable, while I'm guessing regular ole run of the mill human gore wouldn't be

then back to cyclonus, who is still looking only vaguely put out by the sword stuck right thru him

and then cyclonus just pulls it right out, which is a very bad idea for humans but probably not as big of a deal for big near-immortal alien robots

circle of light stuck in capitalistic urban hellscape cubicals

poor skids, being asked to stand trial while having no idea what his crime is due to Big Amnesia

OH SHITTTT I totally forgot that getaway shows up here

that is super clever though, with chromedome confusing the name ‘getaway’ with the concept ‘needing to escape’

cant believe tyrest is really dumb enough to tell minimus all his evil plans

BUT that means its time for some very important forged vs constructed cold lore

jro spelling ‘program’ as ‘programme’ made me remember when he said that he considers everyone on the lost light to be british, which is perhaps the least valid thing he’s ever said vhbghjsdbfjkhasbjk

the idea that they used the matrix - which is portrayed as kind of a holy object - in reproductive experiments is really interesting

AUGHHHHH this is all so good and interesting...im really fascinated w/this particular brand of like, alien robot racism/constructism/whatever you wanna call it - I feel like it does such a good job as a plot device, where many other ‘fantasy racism’ concepts from other franchises fail, bc there's not really a ‘human metaphor’ being used here (as far as I know/can tell) - as in, this isn't a thinly veiled metaphor for something that happened/could happen in human history

in fact, this type of bigotry (or w/e you wanna call it) isn't something that is even really possible in humans - I guess if there was a stigma against being born via ivf or something...? but there isn't, so there's no obvious real-world equivalent, which I take as a sign of good writing and worldbuilding - it makes the cybertronians feel more Real, bc of course they would have their own types of bigotry based off of completely different things than humans

additionally - and this is crucial - tyrest is wrong: there’s no like, inherent moral corruption in cold constructed bots. there's no difference at all, other than method of construction. fantasy racism plotlines often flounder here, with the oppressors having a ‘valid reason’ for oppressing the oppressed, but tyrest is just operated on religious zealot bs and some biased science

like, dude, did you ever think that maybe there are other reasons why your trials only condemned cold constructed bots? like, maybe the trial itself was biased? or societal conditions were to blame? correlation is not causation, my dude, especially when the conclusion is ‘cold constructed bots are inherently SINNERS’ lmao

like, tyrest rlly said ‘FUCK separation of church and state,’ huh

anyways I just think the whole cold construction vs forged thing is really interesting and well-done, and serves as a good precursor to the more fleshed-out functionism stuff we see later

so tyrest is clearly off his rockers w/the whole drilling thing - dude, you accidentally gave yourself a lobotomy, okay - but I find it kinda funny that he’s right about a lot of that stuff he said at the end, about primus and the guiding hand and stuff being real

cyclonus saying ‘tailgate and the others’...I see you, man, I see you

also cyclonus looks fine now??? didn't he just get stabbed???

ah, tyrest sprinkling a little light genocide onto his plan to find salvation. nice, dude!

MINIMUS NOOOOOOOOO

‘fully deserved’ SHUT UP BIIIIITCH

poor minimus is taking a lot of Ls this arc, geez

oof, great issue! again, as usual....I loved the lore we got this issue, its so interesting...and some good character stuff too. I love minimus, I feel like he’s gonna be my fav this readthru; my first read my fav was brainstorm, second readthru was whirl, and I feel like its minimus/magnus this time. I just love his character arc...

hype af for more B)

#lj rereads mtmte

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saintbandaid · 5 years ago

Text

Promise - Sally Face/Larry

Just boys being bros

Larry was lazily strumming his guitar, strewn across Sal’s floor waiting for him to return from the kitchen with lukewarm beers and a package of chips. Larry couldn’t help but stare out the window at the way the trees shook with the windy rain that was pouring out over the apartments. The tree house was visible, almost, through the downpour. The soft thudding of feet came rumbling from down the hall. Larry’s gut turned, he didn’t know if it was a trauma response or general excitement to see his friend again.

Sal walked into the room, carefully shutting the door behind him as if there was anyone in the house to bother.

“What.”

“Nothing, you just look cute.”

“Shut up. I’m wearing a mask.”

“Yeah but it’s cool,” Larry laughed.

“Then tell me I look cool.”

“Ice cold baby.”

“I’ll literally fucking kill you.” Sal sighed, behind his mask he felt his lip begin inching its way towards a smile.

“Only if you promise.”

Sal sat down beside Larry on the ground, picking up the guitar. He strummed softly, it sounded as if someone was brutally murdering a banjo, but it was soft in a way only Sal could do.

“Let me teach you to play.”

“No. I play fine.”

“Sal if you make me listen to your drunk chimpanzee attack on my guitar again I will literally shit on your floor.”

“Hot.”

Larry sat up from his lounging position, scooting over to sit closer to Sal. He reached down and repositioned the guitar in the other man's lap. “Now put your right hand at the top, left at the bottom.”

“Ok.”

“Now press down with your middle finger, and on this string with your other.”

Sal strummed the guitar after his fingers found their way to the right position, it sounded nice, Sal sighed a defeated sigh. “Fine, teach me.”

“I’m gonna gym teacher you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sit in my lap.”

Sal stared at Larry for a moment, in total silence. The rain kept trickling down, licking the windows in long laps. Sal sighed again, he got up and scooted to a position with Larry’s legs around him. Sal has confined himself to this moment of defeat. Once he was sitting the room remained quiet, Larry’s chest was pressed against Sal’s back so close he could feel the deep indent in Larry’s chest.

Larry rested his head on Sal’s shoulder so he could see the guitar strings. He took a moment to smell Sal’s hair, the aroma of sweat and strawberry shampoo. Larry picked up Sal’s hand and began pressing his fingers against different chords. This carried on for a second, or moments, for centuries or millennia. Long enough for Sal to shake away Larry’s hand and begin pressing the chords on his own. Listening to the choppy strumming Sal was producing, Larry reached over and opened one of the beers. He chugged it quick, escaping the idea that it was probably time to scoot away from Sal and let him explore the guitar.

Larry sighed, beginning to push away from Sal. “Stop.”

Larry looked over Sal’s shoulder, trying to make eye contact.

“Just,” Sal paused, “Keep showing me.”

Larry swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and suddenly the dreary rain filled apartment felt hot. “Ok.”

Sal reached over Larry’s thigh and grabbed one of the beers, popping it open and chugging it like his life depended on it. The two sat in awkward silence for a moment before returning to the guitar.

Sal kept moving, shifting in his sitting position.

“Are you okay?”

Sal turned his head to look at Larry, his eyes were piercing and serious. After a few moments he looked away, grabbed another beer, and treated it like a glass of apple juice.

“Teach me on the bed.”

“What?”

“Teach. Me. On. The. Bed.”

“Hot.”

“If you talk again I will kill you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Larry smiled and pushed himself off the floor, each of his joint cracking on the way up. Sal stayed sitting for a moment while Larry got comfortable on the bed. Larry wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to be drunker. “Can we drink something else?” Larry asked, rolling his head to look at Sal.

Sal reached under his bed and revealed what appeared to be gasoline in a plastic water bottle. “It’s like six different alcohols… whiskey, rum, whatever I could find.”

Larry smiled, “Damn.”

Sal got on the bed and gave him the water bottle, “I have two, we can drink this one all if you want.”

This caught Larry off guard, typically his blue haired counterpart was more certain. Offering an option was different than the typical conversation styles. The two drank, leaving the guitar on the floor. The boys laughed at the noises from different apartments and they way they echoed through the floors. They guessed who was talking, even guessing people that weren’t there anymore.

Sal got quiet, his skin was prickled with goose bumps but he had never felt more warm.

“You’ll catch a cold baby blue.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Baby blue.” Larry smiled and winked.

“Do it again.”

“Okay,” Larry suddently couldn’t make eye contact anymore, “Baby blue.”

“Look at me.”

Larry was getting frustrated and he wasn't sure why, as if he was caught in a lie.

“Baby blue.”

Sal sat there, he did nothing, just sat. Larry’s ears began to heat up, something was caught in his throat.

“Why do you want me to call you that.”

“No one calls me that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Sal reached down and took another swig from the water bottle. He leaned over and got close to Larry’s face.

“When do you call me that?”

“Just leave it alone Sal, I’m sorry if you're mad.”

“I’m not, I just know a secret.”

“Oh?” Larry’s voice cracked, there was no playing cool when Sal’s blue eyes pierced into his brown ones. Dirt and mud mixing but this was like a mudslide.

“I’ve heard you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve heard you, singing, you wrote a song and you say baby blue.”

“It’s a colour.”

“Yeah. It’s a colour. But you called me that.”

Larry reached over and grabbed the water bottle, taking a deep gulp. “And?”

Sal leaned over, pressing his forehead against Larrys. Larry could hear his breath, laboured but not the typical difficulty breathing that Larry knows.

“Touch me.” Sal whispered.

Larry couldn’t move, suddenly forgetting how his hands worked. Nothing made sense right now. Larry jerked away, “Woah.”

Sal sat back quickly. “Im drunk.”

The pit in Larry’s stomach felt deeper than the marianas trench.

“No.”

Sal squinted his eyes, “What?”

“No.”

Larry leaned back over, his hands on either side of Sal’s thighs. He used one hand to yank on Sal’s piggy tail, “I can touch you.”

Larry has in fact, zero idea what he was doing, but he liked it whatever it was. Sal shook his head, moving Larry’s hand away. He didn’t let go, he grabbed tighter and pressed Larry’s palm against the straps on his mask.

Larry knew what was happening, and it was happening faster by the second. Warp speed ahead. He unclipped the mask, it fell onto Sal’s lap. Before Sal could say something bossy Larry had his lips on Sal’s. It was rough, tactless and very boosey. Larry smiled into the kiss, this is exactly what he wanted as his first kiss.

Sal didn’t do much, as if by magic he no longer had instructions for Larry. This was uncharted territory and Sal was lost and going through the motions.

Larry pulled away, “I’m so sorry.” Larry’s stomach felt like it was going to turn, worried that he had fallen for a joke and taken it too far. “I’m just drunk.”

Sal’s blue eye appeared to be watering, something Larry had never seen.

“Sorry for what.”

“Kissing you, you were joking right? I went too far. I shouldn't have don-” Larry was cut off mid pitiful apology by Sal’s finger.

“Don’t apologize.” Sal’s finger began to trail down Larry’s chin, brushing against the stubble developing. He carried down Larry’s neck and to his chest, drawing circles on his descent. The room was quiet, Larry was holding in his breath in anticipation on how far Sal was going to go. Sal paused above the belt, and Larry watched the way Sal’s breath was hitching too.

“I thought I was supposed to touch you.” Larry laughed, grabbing Sal’s arm tightly. His courage was coming back, and he was ready to be a present player in this mixed up game of repression and graveyard alcohol. Larry grabbed Sal’s other arm too and pushed him against the bed.

Sal’s brain was mush, “Hit me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Slap me or something.”

Larry began laughing, “Why?”

“Need to feel real.”

Larry leaned down, squeezing Sal’s arms tightly and pressed a kiss into his forehead. “Make me.”

Sal squinted, establishing control through eye contact. Sal began to squirm, his back arching to make contact with Larry. He began to moan, never stopping eye contact with Larry.

Larry couldn’t breathe, everything he had read in the porno rag he found in the woods did not compare to this moment.

“Okay, Baby Blue, okay.”

Larry leaned back, still straddling Sal, and slapped him across the face. Sal moaned, arching further. “Okay?” Larry asked.

“Okay.” Sal whined.

Larry leaned down and kissed Sal again, biting his lower lip to get inside. As their mouths moved together Larry began to get lost. Almost forgetting where he was, almost.

“I want you to kill me.” Sal sighed.

“Excuse me?” Larry laughed.

“I want you to choke me to death, hide my body in the tree house, and fuck it until I rot.”

“Sal.” Larry paused, “You’re kind of fucked up.”

“Yes.”

“I promise, but not today.”

“Promise.”

Larry gave Sal a look, “Say not today.”

Sal stole a quick kiss, “Not today.”

“Good boy, you follow direction too.”

Larry rolled off of Sal, laying beside him.

“Am I your boyfriend?” Larry asked nervously, his body still felt like fire.

“Why?”

“Because we kissed, and I promised to hide and fuck your corpse.”

“Ok.”

“Okay? You’re my boyfriend?”

“Sure.”

“Will your corpse also be my boyfriend?”

“Shut up or I’ll kill you.”

#sally face fanfiction #sal x larry #fanfiction

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eddsworldwritingrequests · 5 years ago

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Alright, how about this, the red army aren't actually bad, everybody who joins does so willingly, everyone loves being a part of it and it's done more good for everyone in the world then any one government ever could. All of this is because of one man, red leader. Tell us a day in the life of red leader. (If it was shippy that would be cute but you don't have to of course.) [Please post something to tell me you got this because my tumblr is being bad right now and just poofs my asks sometimes.]

(Okay, first post, beware that writing stuff on tumblr is new to me so if there’s a certain format you’d like to see, tell me–)

——————

Tord genuinely thought leading an army while you were all powerful would be easy. Call him naive, yes, but being all powerful meant having money, having people at your side. A single whistle or a ring of the bell could get people falling down to his knees, asking Tord what he wanted them to do. That’s what he thought it would be like. And if people were so willing to help you, then you could have them deal with the work. All Tord had to do was supervise, correct?

God, he wished it were so. Tord wished with all his heart that it could go along like that, but the way he sat in his spot, shifting every now and then, he knew for a fact that this dreadful day was never going to end.

He listened to the other drone on and on, watching anything but the higher-ranking member seated at the table, talking about lab reports that came back from the testing units. Apparently, Tord couldn’t pay anybody to look over something like this. Couldn’t replace somebody else to be seated here in his spot. Pat had made that very clear.

Yes, Tord knew he’d have to put in some hard work. After all, Tord was a leader for a reason. He was the famous Red Leader because of the amount of work he put into this, spreading this army of his, making the world a better place. A cliche line, but it was something Tord wanted to hold and make clear.

Sure, they seemed scary at first, such a huge band of people doing what they cared for all the while throwing over their government. They took over, Tord slyly making his way to the top before it was too late to rip that position out of his hands. Anybody would be frightened, seeing how the leader himself looked like something straight out of a comic book. Scarred face, faded lines streaking into the untouched side of his skin. The definition of a villain.

It also didn’t help how dramatic Tord was. Sure, a leader he may be, leading more than thousands of people under the flick of his hand, but he was still a child at heart. A… dirty child, sure, but an anime/hentai loving fanatic at most. He had that style, that obsession with being dramatic, no matter where he was, no matter the position. So many times Paul asked him to cut it out, saying he needed to be more professional, but nothing stopped Tord anymore. Nothing these days could stop the Red Leader from wearing his god-awful dirty, old trench coat. Lined with stains and rips from over the years, its black color faded lightly. It was a surprise that it still fit him in general, but even if it was a bit snug, the man himself didn’t let that stop him.

Dramatic, he sure was. With the scarred face, his occasional suit being switched out with a damn trench coat, and the metal arm he wore, well, it sent certain vibes to someone who knew nothing about the man. Looks alone could send someone inching away.

So, in all honesty, it was a surprise to watch the Red Leader whine at something so miniscule. To watch this man that had raised to the highest of ranks just sit back and pick his teeth lazily, finger wedging in between to get pieces of food unstuck. Eyes trained on the reporter before looking away again, annoyance lacing his features.

Red Leader had to sit through every meeting and approve them, confirm that everything was going accurately and to the way he saw correctly fit. It was a bore. Having to listen to how this member continued to drone on about how their scientists found another way to catch deadly sicknesses years before they could develop. Interesting, that’s what it was. That’s what it should be to Tord, but all he heard was the other go on about something that Tord already knows that they’re capable of. Something that shouldn’t even need his approval by now.

Report after report was given, the man seated in his chair giving a wave of the hand every time the presenter looked his way for confirmation that he could continue. It was boring to hear all these things they were doing. They were good and productive, working on that step forward to perfect things in a place that seemed to be going along just fine. Tord was happy with where things were, but he was getting a little sick of how nothing interesting seemed to happen. He was at such a rank, at such power where nothing seems fun anymore. Nothing at all because the Red Leader had basically done everything.

His eyes wandered, grey orbs floating along the other members that were listening. They all paid careful attention to the presenter, so quiet and lifeless that Tord had basically forgotten there were other people here.

Meetings were boring. Everything was boring. And as Tord sat, he found his fingers begin to click along the wooden surface, finding anything to distract himself with. He turned, waiting for his eyes to land on anything, anyone, but no one dared to stray from their attentive state.

No one but Matt.

The ginger was also seated in the board, having gotten to this position because he was one of the main man’s closest friends. A rocky friendship they used to have, problems from years ago that were now forgotten. Tord and the others weren’t all too close after his little stunt. His little try at forcing himself to distance from them. He didn’t want them involved in something like this, didn’t want the stress he was feeling at the time to spill onto them. It was better if they weren’t involved. Just people who benefitted from Tord’s overrule.

That hadn’t been the case, however. And Tord was sort of glad things worked out this way.

Tom worked in other departments, that little ball of spitfire finally finding some common ground with Tord. Edd didn’t come around too often when it came to work, but he was useful for outside jobs. Things that shouldn’t be connected with the Red Leader’s army. Edd wasn’t exactly an expert, but he was stealthy when it came down to jobs. Especially if he could get paid in goddamn Cola. The things that man would do for that sugar addictive drink.

And Matt. Well, he seemed more than happy to help Tord with the things he needed. Always happy to comfort the other whenever the Norwegian found something to complain about. Whether it be too much paperwork, or having to give some speech to new recruits, or writing a document to his “friends” in foreign countries. The redhead was always there by his side, helping where the others couldn’t.

Tord was grateful for that. Very much so, because the way Matt’s eyes flickered towards him before smiling made the Red Leader himself grow a bit more interested. His back straightened, sitting more properly in his chair than when he was a couple seconds ago. Fingers stopped their drumming, only for a moment so he could watch the ginger turn to the reporter once more before finally looking at Tord again.

Matt could practically read Tord’s boredom off of his face alone. He was so antsy, so desperate to just walk out and not deal with this. And, well, he could if he wanted to, no one would object, but Tord would get a real damn lecture from both Pat and Paul if he did.

Matt had heard most of the reports, his little notebook on the table filled with the basics of each assignment. The man standing with the transcripts in the front was on his last paper, explaining the next thing he needed signed from the man himself. And, while Matt was sure Tord wasn’t paying attention, he could always fill him in on it later. The ginger was the only one who could actually grab Tord’s attention when it came to something like this.

He knew that he could handle this with Tord later. So, for now, Matt decided to relieve the other from his boredom. Just for a bit.

Tord’s brows raised a bit, lips parting slightly with question as Matt came to scribble furiously on his notebook. A quick little note, something small he was writing before he let the pen settle in between the pages. He eyed the presenter to make sure he wasn’t looking before sliding the journal to the Norwegian.

Tord eyed it, gaze flickering up at the man as well, as if expecting to get in trouble. Tord was the boss here, the leader and superior man, yet he still found a bit of nerves tremble through his skin as he picked up the pen, staring at the words.

Like a pair of friends passing notes in the middle of class, Tord had to restrain his grin from just the sheer comparison he made with this.

I can tell you’re bored.

Tord glanced up at the man across the table once more before scribbling back.

you should know by now just how much i despise meetings

Before he could send it back, Tord drew a little sad face, grinning to himself all the while.

He slid it back, watching Matt’s eyes come back to the notebook before picking the pen up, writing even as his eyes glanced towards the front. Scribble then the journal slid towards Tord once more.

Would you like me to entertain you then?

Tord squinted at the paper.

what do you mean ginger stick

First of all, stop calling me ginger stick. I will leave you to your boredom.

Tord snickered, having to cover his mouth when receiving a look from another official. He looked around, then back down at the paper.

okay okay fine entertain me already

A narrow of his eyes were given as Tord watched Matt smile, teeth showing as he began to write. A devilish little grin it was as he looked up at Tord before looking back down at the paper. And over he slid it again.

If Germany was the fatherland and Russia was the motherland, then World War 2 was basically just a brutal divorce.

Tord snorted, quickly looking up with wide eyes as the reporter paused. They made eye contact, the Red Leader seemed to freeze in his spot before remembering that, hey, he was the boss here. He wasn’t gonna get in trouble. “Please continue.”

Matt grinned at him, a cheeky grin as Tord turned to narrow his eyes at him once more. Tord quickly wrote back.

im intrigued

He paused.

you’ve caught my attention

Matt smiled at him, eyeing the others seated at the table with a side glance. He hummed quietly, picking up the pen again and writing a bit more.

An octopus is just a wet spider.

Tord had to physically hold back his noise, a hand coming up to press against his lips. He stared up at Matt with wide eyes, not even bothering to send a glare his way as the redhead put on a wolfish grin. Lips were covered as Matt smiled, turning his attention as he waited for Tord to respond.

And that’s all they did for the next half hour. Matt would scribble some nonsense down and Tord would respond, react, sometimes input his ideas and his own thought.

It was fun. And while Tord knew this would bite him in the ass in the long run, seeing how he wasn’t giving the presenter even a single percent of his attention, the Norwegian knew that he’d do this again if given the chance. A small shot of nostalgia, smiling at how the two friends continued their little note passing. Like when they were in highschool and Tord would have to send Matt a note in the middle of a test, saying he didn’t understand certain words because of the language barrier.

With his gap tooth and accent, not to mention his obsession with anime and such, Tord stood out like a sore thumb back then. I mean, even now, he still did. With his charred, burnt face and his scraped up prosthetic. It was a wonder how he managed to snag the coolest friends ever, all the while looking like a cringey fanboy.

Small snickers were vibrating between them, the soft sound of a notebook being slided back and forth heard every few seconds. It was absolutely wonderful being here with Matt, having the entertainment of your friend with you in such a boring place. It made everything ten times better, really.

More joyful as they grinned at each other, made faces, stuck their tongues out in mockery. It was all fun and games until Tord’s head was snapping towards the direction of a grunt.

A man clearing his throat, eyes narrowed. Eyes pierced into Tord, and the man found himself shifting nervously, mouth growing dry as he stared at Pat, who was standing beside the presenter. He was glaring daggers at the leader, making the man himself grow weak.

“Tord.” He muttered, watching the boss squirm in his seat before finally positioning himself in a proper position. From the corner of his eyes, he watched Matt sit a bit straighter in his seat as well. “Should we approve this or not?”

Tord gulped. He didn’t even know what they were talking about, or if they were even still on the same topic. God, he didn’t even notice the big wooden doors open upon Patryk’s arrival. He only watched the other glare at him, the Red Leader slowly growing more anxious in his seat.

“Uh–”

“Out.” Pat demanded, nodded his head towards the door.

Tord let his mouth hang open a bit, looking between the exit and the irritated man. He let his expression fall again, different from his giggly, happy one that was lacing his features only a second ago.

After a few moments, Tord frowned.

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to.” Tord muttered, staring at Patryk. He crossed his arms, brows furrowing as he watched the other. Watched as Pat blinked at him before beginning to round the table.

That got Tord jumping out of his seat, almost tripping in the process of scraping his chair back and pacing around the otherside of the wooden piece.

The Norwegian glanced at Matt, mouth pulling into another frown as he huffed a bit. He glowered when he saw the ginger hide his smile, posture still straight as he remained professional in front of the other two. Gosh, what a prick! No wonder they were friends.

“Alright, I’m up! You don’t gotta do that…” Tord grumbled, angry at his sudden panic. He avoided the looks of other people, instead walking around the rest of the way before meeting Pat at the door. Despite being all high and mighty, the man couldn’t help but wince as the other grabbed his arm, opening the door. “Jeez…”

As they headed out the door, Tord took a final glance back into the meeting. He passed the multiple stares towards him before catching Matt’s eye. And, before Tord was pulled completely out of sight, Matt gave him a little wave, mischief clouding his look. Tord huffed, and finally, he was out of the room. Walking down the corridor, heels clicking loudly as Pat pulled him.

Oh boy. Maybe getting in trouble wasn’t worth it, but Tord had to admit. That was the most fun he’s had all week. A little smile rested on his face, even as Pat grumbled something under his breath when glancing at him.

Yeah. Tord’s job was alright if he had his friends.

#eddsworld #fanfic #eddsworld fanfic #writing #tord #matt #ewtord #ewmatt #mattew #tordew #friendship #ireallylikedthisrequestthankyou #requests #request

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vulpinmusings · 4 years ago

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Letters from Buxcord #6: Spiders-man

After two sessions of major character lore, we now present a more... typical(?) Monster of the Week adventure

Samantha,

I’m gaining a solid enough reputation that some of the local authorities have started turning to me for assistance when the mundane everyday of Buxcord gets disrupted by the uncanny.

Before I get to the real story, though, a quick update on my lost memory situation. I’ve hit a dead-end on fixing it myself, so I paid a visit to Madam Weaver to see if she could offer me any options besides hunting down Nollthep and beating him into reversing what he did to me. I encountered a minor repelling spell at the edge of the Weaver property, but it wasn’t strong enough to actually keep me from entering. Madam Weaver explained that it had triggered in response to the contract I made with the Faerie King, and the Madam expressed some pity that I’d gotten wrapped up with him. I did my best to assuage her worries that it would be an inconvenience, and asked her for help with my memory problems. She offered to contact somebody that she thought might be able to help, but it won’t be a certain thing because we don’t really know what Nollthep actually is.

Still, it’s progress.

Oh, and Madam Weaver also gifted me a pocket-sized book of combat spells. The spells aren’t a great fit with my Weave style, naturally, but they will serve in a pinch until I build my Cards back up.

On to the main event, then.

A bit over two weeks have gone by since Lea settled matters with her Fey roots. I got a call late one evening from Officer Weaver of the Buxcord Sheriff’s Department, asking for my input on a strange event. One of the sheriff deputies, Bizier, had not been seen for a few days and Lea had asked the sheriff to go check on the man. Officer Weaver wouldn’t tell me what they’d found, but she’d determined it was something best left to me.

As I approached the address Officer Weaver had given me, I happened to glance up and saw Lea flying overhead in the same general direction. Apparently the girl has been expanding her range of abilities, which should make her more of an asset in the future. When I actually got to Bizier’s house, Lea approached from a shadowed alley, trying to look casual, and I gave her some encouraging words.

Then Mr. Penn and his dog showed up, with the dog nearly colliding with the police car parked out front.

Officer Weaver was waiting just outside the house to grant me access, and she didn’t bat an eye when Lea and Penn made to follow me inside. It was immediately obvious why Weaver had decided to call me in: the sitting room was completely covered in layers of spider webs. The webs had a faint trace of magic that seemed similar to the energies of the local Fey Way, out of the various “flavors” of magic I’ve encountered so far. Lea managed to find some footprints in the webs leading to the window, which had been broken before being webbed over. Heading back outside, we found a trail of blood and broken webs leading into a stand of trees. After promising Officer Weaver that we’d handle the situation quickly and try to avoid civilian involvement, Lea, Penn and I set off in pursuit.

The trees were thick with spiders spinning webs as we tracked our target down, finally finding it in a small clearing where the spiders were thickest and had woven up a kind of den. Inside the den, we could see a humanoid figure completely wrapped in webs and with spiders crawling in and out of holes in its body. Lea somehow determined that the figure was Bizier, and she tried to speak to it. She got no response until she tried to get closer and stepped on some webbing and set all the spiders on the attack. The figure turned around, revealing an enormous funnel-web spider clinging to its face. I cast some fire, which started burning up webs just fine, but I had to struggle to maintain control of the blaze, and it did little to the spiders in any case. The little spiders started swarming up Lea, and in her panic her fey magic animated a tree which swatted her to the side in an effort to get the arachnids off her. Penn ran to her assistance, but tripped over something and had to fend off a spider swarm as well. I continued wrangling my own fire spell as Lea tried to climb up into her animated tree, only to collapse from some kind of fast-acting paralytic from a spider bite. Penn got himself clear and pulled out a mace, which he used to knock the big spider off the figure’s face and almost onto my feet. The big spider tried to flee, but I swept some fire into it path, so it whirled back around and spat acid at me. I wrapped it in a Tangler, and then realized that Lea was paralyzed and about to be covered in spiders again. I chose to go help Lea, which gave the thing that used to be Bizier time to grab the big spider and flee, taking its swarm with it.

Somebody must have noticed the fire, because a fire truck arrived shortly, along with Officer Weaver and the sheriff. I put Lea into the sheriff’s care, mostly so I wouldn’t have have to deal with his skepticism when I summed up the situation for Weaver. What would have been a quick report before resuming the hunt was delayed when Penn made a quip about getting a flamethrower and Officer Weaver had to determine whether or not he’d been joking. I’m still not sure.

The tracks were harder to follow, but they seemed to heading south-east, so Penn and I headed that way. When we reached the nearby park, Lea suddenly flew in, having managed to purge the paralytic from her system shortly after arriving at the hospital. Lea reported that while she hadn’t managed to spot spider-Bizier on her way back, she had gotten a glimpse of his aura heading southward and focused on locating his girlfriend. We made a quick sweep of the park before heading south again, ending up in the marshy woods around the bayou.

We wound up lost for a good while, I’m ashamed to admit. Something in that part of the bayou was just wrong, in a way similar to the necromatic power involved in the pig-mask revenant incident. The sheer force of the quasi-demonic magic in the area overwhelmed our ability to pick up the spider-thing’s trail again and… Well, curiosity got the better of us I suppose. Curiosity and the old Pragmagic stubbornness. We encountered a powerful repelling force, and I simply could not let that stand unopposed, although it hurt me to push through enough to get a glimpse at what was hidden.

There’s an island with a big cottonwood tree that just reeks of Bad News. A Problem for another day, or maybe somebody else.

I should be careful not to become too attached to this world’s issues.

Anyway, we managed to work our way out of the bad bayou zone, and Lea came up with the brilliant idea to call Officer Weaver and ask if she knew anything about Bizier’s love life – namely where the girlfriend could be found. Weaver claimed she didn’t know much, but she knew the girl was from out of town and so figured that if she was around then she’d be found at the hotel.

So that’s where we went, and found the lobby full of spiders. Two members of the staff had been attacked and guests were fleeing. I decided to give the spellbook Madam Weaver had given me a test run, picking out a wind-blast spell that sounded good for clearing the spiders away from their victims. It proved to be more than effective, as the blast squashed several of the spiders against a far wall. Penn produced some kind of flash powder that finished off the rest of the swarm.

One of the hotel staff – custodian by the uniform – was paralyzed, but the desk clerk was simply in shock, and she pointed us to the stairs when we asked if if anyone wearing a spiderweb suit had come through. We found webs on the railing leading up to the third floor, and right by the stairs was an open room with a screaming woman being menaced by spider-Bizier.

Penn whipped out a rope (that trench coat of his is surprisingly well equipped) and lassoed spider-Bizier around the neck, pulling it away from the poor woman. While the monster was off-balance, I swept in and plucked the big spider of its face, getting a face full of acidic spit for my trouble. I wrapped it in a Tangler again and stuffed it into one of Penn’s pockets for safe keeping while I ran to the bathroom to wash the acid off. Meanwhile, Lea tried to get Bizier to calm down as Penn tied him to the stair banister outside, but the thing Bizier had become wouldn’t stop struggling until Lea used her compulsion magic.

Lea and Penn got into an argument over what to do about Bizier. Lea wanted to try and save him, while Penn argued for a mercy kill. Once I’d finished washing my face off, I got roped in as mediator. After examining Bizier for a moment, I determined he was long past saving; he was just a walking hive of spontaneously-generating spiders at this point, animated only by the vaguely fey magic of the big one that I’d stuffed into Penn’s coat. Penn slammed the big spider against the iron stair railing, splitting it in half, and then threw the spider-hive over the railing for good measure.

The woman had fainted at some point during the fight, so we set her on her bed and then headed down to greet emergency services once again. After the acid damage I’d taken, I was feeling in need of some professional medical attention, I invited myself onto the ambulance that had arrived for the hotel staff.

The only thing that disappoints me about this little adventure is that I never had the chance to try and find where the spider had originally come from or why it had targeted Bizier. At this point, though, I don’t think it’s worth the effort.

-Ash

#MOTW #Vulpin plays

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neighborhood-newtina-reblogger · 5 years ago

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Forward motion

Word Count: 2.4K

I’m writing a multi-chapter fic that will eventually include and go beyond the chapter I posted as “Not a moment to spare.” This is chapter 1. Forgive the exposition. Picking up at the end of COG.

Footsteps on the wet stone of the viaduct were practically the only indication that eight people were making their way to the school grounds. Just one voice carried forward from the back of the crew: the overly companionable one belonging to Flamel, who was valiantly attempting to make conversation with Nagini.

The animagus, for her part, hadn’t made a sound since their arrival at the castle. Left alone in the Great Hall for the hour Newt had been in Dumbledore’s office, the rest of the crew attempted to fill the empty air with light conversation, albeit with mixed success. Nagini didn’t engage with the stilted questions about the cities of Paris, New York, and London. The weather in each place didn’t interest her in the slightest. Nor did she particularly care about the popular tourist attractions at each spot. She kept her thoughts locked up tight inside her. She slouched her shoulders in and kept her arms tight to her body, as if to close herself off from the rest of the group. She maintained that posture even now as they walked. A cue clearly missed by the ancient alchemist.

Yusuf strode along beside Jacob, though the two did not even spare a passing glance. The shorter man ambled on with a look of resignation, the wonder and confusion he experienced upon their arrival having faded with his confrontation of the sobering circumstance that brought them there. Yusuf, for his part, kept his eyes trained squarely in front of him, where Newt and Dumbledore strode with purpose. Their grey attire matched the gloomy sky and the gloomy mood. Nobody dared call attention to the tension that lingered heavily between the two men. As for his appearances, Dumbledore donned what would have been a convincingly cool façade, but his hesitance to make conversation with Newt betrayed his true feelings. Newt, however, put forth no effort to mask his distaste for the whole situation. He wore the closest thing to a scowl he could muster, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly downturned. His grip on his suitcase was unusually tight in his left hand, seemingly placed there on purpose to create a barrier between himself and his old professor.

The smell of wet grass in the courtyard they entered held very specific memories for Theseus, ones that he didn’t much care to relive right now. Of a time when he actually had friends. When he could run around and laugh and play without shouldering the weight of all the atrocities of the world. Weight that someone had come along to finally help him bear. Weight made intrinsically lighter by her reminder that there was light in this dark world. That love and friendship were real and attainable and worth fighting for. And fight she had. He considered turning around and heading alone back to the Great Hall when his opportunity was cut short by Dumbledore’s voice:

“Let’s have a look at the beast, shall we?”

Newt pursed his lips and set his case down in the middle of the grass. Tina emerged from where she’d hidden herself at the back of the pack, cradling an injured niffler in her right arm, and motioned for the others to stand back just before the zouwu came roaring to the surface. Nagini gasped and grabbed Yusuf’s arm. He gave a few uncomfortable pats to her hand, which she quickly withdrew. The creature circled the perimeter of the grounds like a raging river of orange and red ribbons before alerting to the jingle of the feathered kitty toy. She roared forward and screeched to a stop before Newt, who promptly dropped the lure back into the case. With the zouwu safely recaptured only seconds after her explosive release, Dumbledore broke past Tina’s barricade and placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder, which earned him a sharp glare from the magizoologist.

“She’s surely a fine creature, just as you said.”

Newt recognized the glimmer in Dumbledore’s eyes. It was mischievous. Scheming. Decidedly up to something. “You’re not using my creatures for any of your clever plots, professor. I won’t allow it. I agreed to show you the zouwu as a matter of strictly academic interest.”

Dumbledore gave a hum in acknowledgement, which set Newt fuming. It was a slight sound, but it spoke volumes. It said that his concerns were a minor inconvenience that could be easily swept aside with just a little persuasion. Well, perhaps he could be convinced about illegal travel to Paris given additional incentives, but nothing could ever justify weaponizing his life’s work. He was in charge of his creatures, and that would never change.

Newt scanned the small crowd, most of whom looked varying degrees of scared or amazed by the spectacle they’d witnessed. All except one, who was busy negotiating with the niffler over a pearly button on her blouse, which peeked out from where her stark leather trench coat shrouded her whole body. She looked conflicted as she gently pushed his paw away with a finger, being mindful of his injuries. Newt’s scowl softened slightly with the knowledge that he’d made the right decision in handing him off before disappearing with Dumbledore. She was whispering something to the creature, though Newt couldn’t make out what it was. The silence must have persisted for a second too long, because Yusuf finally spoke up to ask after their lodging.

At this, Tina’s attention snapped back to the people standing next to her, and she gave a concerned look to Nagini, who had once again had retreated into her small personal bubble.

“Yes, well, we’ve been making arrangements for you over the course of the day. Unfortunately the dormitories and common rooms have newly become occupied by students, as is the way of things come September, but I’ve ensured that adequate space is prepared for each of you in spare offices around the castle. I trust you will find everything to your liking.” He turned to address the rest of the group. “You are all safe at Hogwarts.”

“Exactly how secure are these offices? We can’t afford any mishaps with Newt’s case, and it‘s probably be best if we keep its contents hushed up. The creatures and the children have to be kept safe if we’re gonna be here a few days.”

Newt wanted to collapse in relief every time he heard Tina use his given name after so much time being “Mr. Scamander,” and prior to that not being addressed at all for months. Only this time, his knees actually did buckle a little thanks to his state of general exhaustion. He bent down to click the latches on his case and take it in hand as he spoke: “I promise you, Tina, that after New York I’ve taken steps to ensure that my case is both muggle and niffler-proof. Not to worry.”

She gave him a small smile, which set his heart to fluttering. He had seen it before just hours ago, still in Paris, when the ragged bunch gathered around the fountain awaiting word on their portkey arrangements. There was so much still unsaid, but he was almost certain that the worst of their misunderstanding was cleared up. She knew now that he hadn’t gotten engaged. She didn’t ridicule his Salamander eyes comment. In fact, she finished it. They’d fought side-by-side, a well-synchronized machine, just as they were nine months ago in New York. She just might be the most special woman on the planet. The growth of a soft smile on his lips skidded to a halt as he remembered the one thing he’d gotten no closure on: that man Queenie had mentioned. That auror. Dare he even ask? If that thought hadn’t been enough to sour what had a been a content few moments of contemplation and sustained eye contact between the two, Dumbledore’s voice was sure to paste the frown back on Newt’s face.

“All unused rooms in the castle are enchanted to grant access only to certain witches and wizards. The charms have been updated so that each of you will be the only ones able to open or close the doors using your wands.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Tina saw Nagini’s head drop to look down at her empty hands. Her heart went out to the young woman; she could recognize false bravery when she saw it. This woman needed an ally.

“Is a wand the only way to unlock the doors, professor?” She said this giving a slight nod in Nagini’s direction. Dumbledore looked puzzled for a fraction of a second. The flicker went unnoticed by anyone but Newt, who felt an incredible amount of satisfaction. Leave it to his Tina to ask a straightforward yet unexpected question for which Dumbledore wasn’t fully prepared. The professor trained his focus on the maledictus, who kept her eyes to the ground. Sensing she was now the center of attention, she lifted her head first to look at Tina, who gave her a warm smile and nod. She snapped her gaze to Dumbledore and spoke with a low and steady voice:

“I don’t have one.”

Nagini’s calm and shy exterior masked an inner turmoil that Tina could only hope to understand some day, at least enough to be of some help. This woman clearly cared very much for Credence, and Credence trusted her to some degree. What was the nature of their relationship, anyway? Had they become friends in the circus? What had they gone through at the hands of that wretched ringmaster?

With Dumbledore’s assurances that something else could be worked out for Nagini, the group started heading back. Tina placed her free hand—that is, the one not occupied by a now gently snoring niffler—gingerly between Nagini’s shoulder blades, giving her enough of a start to cause Tina to immediately withdraw the gesture of comfort. Both women whispered “sorry” at the same time, and Nagini sped up her steps a little to join Yusuf, Theseus, and Jacob in silence.

Left at the back of the pack, an opportunity finally presented itself. Taking a steadying breath, Newt resolved to not let his chance get away. “Tina, might I have a word for just a moment?”

Her heart thumped at the sound of him unexpectedly so close behind her. She turned her head to find his eyes and slowed to a stop. She adjusted the niffler slightly in her arms, shifting him more securely to the crook of her elbow, and waited for Newt to continue.

“Tina, about the records room.”

She smiled. A breathtaking, warm smile that let her dimples make an appearance.

“Yes?”

“Well, I can’t help but feel that we were somewhat interrupted.”

“I guess we might’ve been.” She took a half step closer, just as she had not a day prior. “Salamander eyes?” That spark she used to have when teasing him returned, and it transported him back to that rooftop in New York when she’d chuckled about Dougal’s name.

He cleared his throat. “Yes well, what I meant to say is, you have beautiful eyes. And you’re beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I’ve—I’d been losing sleep at night with worry for you. Not knowing whether you were angry with me for my comment about aurors or whether you’d been hurt and I had no way of knowing...it was maddening. And to find out it was all because of some stupid magazine, well I’ll write to the editors first thing tomorrow. I’m sorry that I let that hurt you, Tina. I should’ve kept writing. I feel—well, I feel that I failed you. As a friend.”

All the air was sucked out of her lungs as soon as he began to speak. Beautiful. The most beautiful, even. Losing sleep? He wasn’t meeting her eyes, but she could see through his fringe how his brows furrowed with the effort of making these confessions.

“You couldn’t have done anything, Newt. You didn’t even know the damn thing had been printed! I should have reached out to you instead of letting myself stew over it. I did some dumb things when I should have known better. If I’d have just asked— ”

“Well, clearly I had done something wrong if I made it possible for you to believe even for a second that I would marry another woman.” She raised her eyebrows at his interruption and he panicked, “Not that I—I just mean—there was nothing between me and Leta anymore and if I gave any indication that there was, I—well, it was unintentional. And surely I would not have kept such a significant development in my life from you in light of our—of our friendship. I assure you that I have no plans to marry anyone at all.” He cringed and she opened her mouth so say something. “Not that it’s—I mean—sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just—“

“Hey, hey, Newt,” she put her arm on his shoulder and gave him a little laugh. “It’s alright. I get it.”

“You do?” She nodded. “Good, good, that’s...that’s good.”

“Let’s just move on from all that now, okay?”

“Yes, right. Moving on.”

Tina gave him another bright smile when the niffler stirred in her arms. It groggily sniffed in Newt’s direction, and the two shared a slight chuckle.

“Newt, I think he wants his mommy.”

He took a step closer to help her transfer the niffler securely to his own arms. He tried to keep himself steady for the niffler’s sake, even if the way their arms and hands brushed sent enough electricity through his body to topple him over. Merlin, when did it get this bad?

She reached over to scratch the creature’s belly as Newt shifted to a more comfortable position before she turned to keep pace with the group. As the distance between them grew he felt his head grow hot and his thoughts dissolve into a chaotic haze. What were you thinking? ‘Beautiful.’ He should have complimented her intelligence or her wit or her heart! A woman like Tina doesn’t just want to hear beautiful. She deserves something more complete. And he even said ‘probably the most beautiful.’ ‘Probably!’ He didn’t even say it with certainty! And “marrying another woman”, what had possessed him? What a terrible way to phrase things. He almost made it better and then the not marrying at all! Bloody hell.

#newtina #newtina fanfiction #fic #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #fantastic beasts and the crimes of grindelwald #fbatcog #tcog #canon compliant #newt/tina #newt x porpentina #Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander #mine

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themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years ago

Text

Someone Alive, Part One

How does it feel?

Falling. Castiel knew that falling was defined as a verb, to move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level.

Touch. How does it feel? They were just words, concepts. He understood them as a functionality, just another thing that happens like the wind or the sunrise. They are not required to have a meaning, not everything does.

Castiel was a man of faith, he had to be, but sometimes he still wondered. When he saw the leaves move with the breeze, a bird with its outstretched wings gliding through the sky, or the lapping waves of Lake Michigan against the harbor.

What was cool, warm, sweet, soft, gentle, rough? How does it feel?

He wore sensible shoes, when it wasn’t necessary for him to wear shoes at all, but suddenly he was glad that he had them. He stared at the city, his toes hanging over the edge of the scaffolding. His arms extended like wings, his trench coat catching the wind and flapping wildly, but even then he didn’t have the answers. He only had a taste, a longing for the tug of gravity, for just a brush of something real.

He didn’t know how it felt. He didn’t know how any of it felt, and all he could hear was the echo of a voice inside his head, “I need to be with someone alive.” What was a life anyway? It was all so meaningless, but as the sun rose in the distance, the shape of the buildings just a dark silhouette against the bleeding pink and orange sky, he heard the music. It was a song familiar, like a mother rocking her child to sleep, a hum deep in his soul, shaking him to his core.

There was a majesty, a mystery to a plane of the world that he couldn’t reach out and grasp, that had no definition - like the song within the sunset. But some things don’t need to be defined. Perhaps it was better to leave the mystery, the vague idea of something more, or perhaps it wasn’t.

Before

“Winchester what the fuck are you doing here? This is your off time, go be off,” Lieutenant Bobby Singer grouched as he walked out into the common area of the fire station.

Dean sat with his feet up, reading the newspaper. He offered a huge smile to his Lieutenant. “I am off, see ?”

“Don’t buy it for a second. Go home.”

“Come on Bobby,” Dean whined. “Just let me hang around here, I’m not botherin’ anybody.”

“You’re bothering me. Git.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He placed his feet on the ground with a huff of complaint, and walked to his quarters to grab his bag. He hated going home, if he was being honest. It was lonely in his one bedroom loft, he preferred the loud, busy chatter of the fire station. He flopped down on his bed, his head resting on his pillow. He didn’t function well on breaks, it wasn't in his blood to stay still. The guys were always trying to get him to take a damn vacation, and he always told them that vacation wasn’t in his vocabulary.

There was a groan from the bunk above him, the bed springs sagging as his roommate shifted in his bed. “Brother, what’re you still doing here?”

“Mind your own, Benny.”

Benny chuckled and leaned over the edge. He smiled down at him sleepily through a full beard. “What’s your obsession with this place, anyway?”

“Don’t have any other friends.”

“You don’t have any friends, brother,” Benny laughed, sitting all the way up with a stretch. “Fuck, I should probably get up and around, and you should go home. Really.”

“Buzzkills, all of you.”

“Go have sex with your pretty girlfriend, some of us would kill to have that to go home to.”

“She ain’t home.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s a pharmaceutical rep, she travels a lot. She’s on the coast now, I think,” Dean said, almost sounding bored. He’d been with Lisa since graduating from college. When they were together, things were good, and when they were apart, there were no strings. It worked for them. Dean could burst into flames and know that she wasn’t waiting around for him, worrying. The perks of having no family was that he didn’t have to worry about his own safety. He could just focus on putting out fires and saving people. It’s all he’d ever wanted to do.

Benny’s feet hung over the side of the bunk, his bare toes uncomfortably close to Dean’s face. “Then go have some phone sex or grab a beer. Get a hobby, because if Singer finds you in here he’s going to be pissed.”

“Eh, he’s always pissed. It’s his default emotion.” The bed creaked as the heavy man above him hopped down, giving Dean a full shot of his hairy ass. “Aw Christ, Benny. Really ?” Dean groaned, covering his eyes. “God, I can’t unsee that.”

“Kiss my ass, Winchester.”

“Bend over and give me something to kiss then, princess.”

“You wish.” He moved his fingers a bit to see if his friend was decent again, just to catch him shrugging into this shirt, his ass out of view again.

“I told you I’m lonely, don’t tempt me,” he joked.

The familiar sound of the alarm began beeping, lights flashing - alerting them that they were needed on site.

“Yes!” Dean grinned, hopping up. “I knew I should stay.”

Benny was shrugging into his pants and shoes. “No way, man. Singer will kill you if he sees you out on the job. You’re off duty.”

“Not anymore! I’m not letting you take on the job without me.”

“Stubborn ass,” Benny mumbled, jogging out of the room and down the hallway.

Dean followed him with a laugh, matching his pace. He patted Benny’s back and offered him a wide grin. “Don’t call me by my true name, can’t have the other guys knowing.”

“Shut up,” Benny laughed, shaking his head.

This was Dean’s favorite part. The anticipation before, wrapping his legs and hands around the cool metal, sliding down. He slid into his clothes perfectly in less than sixty seconds, pants, boots, suspenders, coat, SCBA, SCBA mask, hood, helmet, and gloves. He was fast, much faster than Benny who always stumbled around when it came to his boots, leaving Dean snickering inside of his mask. He slid into the truck.

He’d wanted to be a firefighter his entire life. When he was a child, his mother died in a fire, trapped in the house. They couldn’t get to her and his father pulled him out, the flames licking at their ankles. The firemen let him sit in the truck, and he got to watch as they put out the flames. He watched as one man ran in, bravely pulling his mother from the second story window. She died of smoke damage at the hospital later that night, but Dean never forgot. His own father wasn’t brave enough to go after his Mom, but the stranger in the heavy gear did, without a second thought.

Dean was four years old, and his future was suddenly laid out in front of him. He bought a fireman's hat from the dollar store with the money that he stole from his Dad’s wallet when he was passed out drunk.

He was desperate to find the bravery that the men who tried to save his mom had. Even an ounce of it could’ve changed everything. So he went on every run that he could, he trained as hard as possible. He was a smartass, but he was damn good at his job. No one complained when they saw that Winchester had snuck onto the truck, again .

Dean always said that he was gum stuck to the fire station’s shoe. They couldn’t get rid of him no matter how much they tried. They were stuck with him, and as much as they bitched, he knew that they were happy that he was there. Benny settled next to him, and Dean slapped his back approvingly.

The rest of the crew consisted of three other firemen. Jo, the petite blonde who was good at squeezing into smaller spaces. She kept up with the boys just fine, meeting every one of Dean’s snarky comments with one of her own. The night that she hustled him in poker she gained his respect and all of the money in his wallet. Kevin the genius kid, who was so good at building structures that he often mapped out their entire entrance plan, making him invaluable to the team. Last but not least, Jack Kline rounded off the group. He was the youngest in the group, brand new and fresh out of fire science camp. He had graduated early, taking classes during his junior year, so there he was: twenty years old, not even old enough to drink, drowning in his gear. Dean was gladder than ever that he decided to stick around. They were going to need him.

They arrived at the fire first, an apartment building was caught on fire. In the briefing Kevin explained that the fire seemed to be coming from one of the mid level apartments and was spreading upwards. Evidently the old building was extremely flammable, by the time they arrived the flames were licking out of the windows, black heavy smoke curling up into the sky.

Dean clicked on his oxygen, itching to run right into the shit. He’d gotten a talking to more than once about zipping in without orders, but he always got the job done, saved the unsaveable, he didn’t make mistakes. So he continued to be reckless, because sometimes that was what needed to be done to save the most people. At least that’s what he told himself.

The police had already sectioned off the building to keep the civilians away, the lower levels were already evacuated and Dean could see soot-covered individual’s being checked out by EMS.

Kevin rolled out the schematics of the building to show the team. His mask was up so he could talk them through the plan, but Dean felt the itch, something deep inside of this gut that told him he needed to go right then. It was almost like a heavy hand on his shoulder, a tap telling him that it was time to run, that he didn’t have the time to stand around staring at maps. Maybe he did have a death wish, or maybe it was something else altogether, but regardless of the reasoning, he turned away from his team, saluting Benny, and running into the building.

The lowest level of the building was filled with heavy smoke that seemed to have creeped through the vents and down the steps of the building. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was left behind, but the coast seemed clear. He jogged to the stairs, checking his weight on them before determining that there wasn’t enough damage to cause him any real difficulties.

The higher he climbed, the harder it was to see. The next floor up was heavy with smoke, and he squinted through his mask. His adrenaline pumped through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears. There were people up there that needed to be saved, and it was Dean’s responsibility to get to them.

“Hey, idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” Jo buzzed into his ear piece.

He groaned. They’d recently updated their radios, and he still wasn’t used to hearing them essentially inside of his head. “Savin’ people. You know, the job,” he said back to her into his mic. “Rooms clear on the second floor.”

“You’re fast, Winchester, I’ll give you that. Don’t go up any further without backup.”

“What? You’re breaking up,” he said, making chhhh noises.

“I’m going to break something on you! Stay where you are, I’m coming to you!”

It was some kind of miracle that Dean hadn’t been fired already, no pun intended. He was garbage at directions, and he was always getting into sticky situations. Sticky situations that he always managed to get out of, and he supposed that was why he still had a job.

He grumbled and awkwardly stood where he was, deciding that he should probably wait for Jo. It was the right thing to do. It would be shitty of him to leave her all alone in a major fire. At least that’s what he thought until he heard the sound of the building groaning above him. It was going to come down, that was obvious, he just didn’t know how fast. “Jo,” he said into the mic. “Don’t come up, it’s not stable.”

“Come back down, Dean. We can go up through the window.”

“Can’t, already this far,” he said, not intending to blatantly disobey her, but fuck he wasn’t going to walk out when there were still several floors left that he had yet to sweep. Before she could respond, a cry cut through the air, through the smoke, and through the thick material covering his ears, and he had no idea how he didn’t hear it before. “Fuck, there’s a kid up here. I’m going up.”

“Dean!”

If Jo said anything in addition, he didn’t hear her. He was too busy running. He climbed upwards, not bothering to test for weight, which was an amateur move. He was hyper focused on the sound of the child crying out. He would get to the kid, and get him or her out as quickly as possible. He would save the little one no matter what. When he reached the next level he finally saw the flames. The third floor was clearly the originating location of the fire. Flames licked out of the open doors and out into the hallway.

Even after all the fires that he’d been a part of he still wasn’t used to breathing easy in the midst of all of the heavy smoke. He listened hard, waiting for another wail to tell him which direction he should be going in. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to think, to focus . He knew he could find the kid, and as if he summoned it himself, a cry erupted from his left.

He turned sharply and approached the door. He tried to open it, but the knob wouldn’t turn. He quickly eyeballed the doorframe to get a good idea of its stability. He had no real reason to think that it’d crash down around him, so he backed up a bit, and kicked at the door as hard as he could. Kicking down a door wasn’t as easy as it looked on television and even after some practice it still took a few tries before he was able to break through. The door swung open and he immediately shielded his face as the fire reached out toward the oxygen in the hallway.

He pushed through into the apartment, and it was so much worse than he expected. The ceiling groaned angrily above him, threatening to collapse, and just about every surface was engulfed in flames. He couldn’t see shit, let alone a little kid. He went through the house, looking behind furniture and inside closets, but he wasn't getting anywhere. His stomach twisted, as he realized that he might never get to the kid. Not the way he was going. Jo was screaming in his ear, but he tuned her out.

Dean knew that it only took a single second, a thought, a breath to change his world forever. So he pulled off his mask, and he shouted as loud as he could. “Where are you? I’m here to save you!”

He squinted in the smoke. “I heard you crying!” Come on, damn it! It didn't take long for him to already start feeling lightheaded, and he thought that maybe he’d imagined the cry all along. “My name’s Dean,” he called out weakly, feeling like it was a sad attempt at putting the mystery child at ease, but something must have made a connection, because just as he opened his mouth to call out again he was met with a small squeak that sounded a lot like his name.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m here! Where are you?” He followed the soft sound of the child’s voice over the angry, roaring fire, trying his damndest to get to the kid before the roof came crashing down. “What’s your name?”

“Charlie,” she said, poking her head out from behind the washing machine.

Dean let out a sigh and smiled. “Hey Charlie, you’re safe now. M’ere.” He turned his head to speak into the microphone. “Jo, I found the kid. I’m gonna get her and head down.”

“Good, you idiot! Which side of the building are you on? We are bringing the ladder to you. The building is unstable, and the Super says that he has a good headcount of the tenants. We think the building is clear.”

“North side,” he grunted. “Heard.”

He crouched down and offered the little girl with two red pigtails a big smile. She coughed in response, her pale, thin fingers tightly gripping a stuffed dragon.

“Your chest hurt?”

She nodded lightly and he pulled his oxygen away from his helmet and offered it to her.

“Breathe in, okay? Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.”

Her pale cheeks were covered in soot along with her nightgown, and Dean had to wonder where her parents were. “Are you alone?

She nodded quickly again and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, spreading the soot. He stood up, backing out of the small opening so she could get out. “Let’s get out of here. It’s too hot for my taste, what about you?” He offered her a hand, and she nodded up at him, reaching out her own hand.

It happened so fast. It was another moment, a split second rift in the space-time continuum that would change his life forever. Her fingers didn’t even brush his before a loud crack erupted through the apartment. Charlie recoiled into herself, pulling her arm back into the gap next to the washer, directly under a shelf. He reached back for her, feeling like he was moving in slow motion against the pulse of the flames and the haze of heat radiating through the air.

Dean wasn’t even able to suck in his breath before the ceiling collapsed. The support beam above them holding everything together broke right between them, crashing into the floor with so much force that it busted a hole right through the already-burning floor. Ash, flames, and smoke littered his vision and he had to blink it all away, narrowing his eyes to focus.

He was on the ground, the falling debris having landed directly on him, and he was fucking glad that he had kept his helmet on. He couldn’t move. He was trapped. The adrenaline pumping through him made sure that he was numb from his shoulder down to his fingers. That can’t be good . He tugged gently and a white hot pain shot up his arm into his shoulder, which surprisingly felt like a good sign. He knew that at least his arm was still under there somewhere. His eyes scanned the tube going from his oxygen tank that had been connecting him and Charlie together. It was pinned underneath the rubble. “Charlie! Hey! Kid, can you hear me?”

He coughed, his chest burning. He’d been in here too damn long. Heat licked at his cheeks and every breath was hard labor. He pulled on his arm again, feeling the true weight of the beam against his likely-broken bones. The impact fucked up his radio, and all he heard was static where Jo’s voice used to be. He never thought he’d miss the sound of her nagging, but it was all about perspective, he reckoned.

The weight of the smoke was heavy on his tired lungs and his arm cried out in pain. All of those moments that he was told to slow down felt just a little more justified to him now. “Charlie.” His voice was weaker, his vision blurring as he tried to see her in the rubble.

He always assumed that he would die trying to be a hero, although most would probably say that he’d die doing something pigheaded. He figured this was as good of a compromise as any.

It came like a ping, and Castiel knew where to go. Death was a part of life, and it was his job to help the wary souls pass through the gate into heaven. He often approached the situation with eager anticipation, and when little Charlie Bradbury’s face flashed in front of his eyes, the ache in his chest that was always there pressed a little more insistently.

He could move with a single thought. It was not like most people assumed, there were no large fantastical wings, adorned with thousands of golden feathers. He instinctively reached back behind him, grasping for the place where his wings would’ve been. Compared to what people expected, his travel was lackluster at best, but it was effective nonetheless.

The apartment was on fire, blazing angrily around him. By the look of things, it had to be hot, painfully so, but he couldn’t feel the heat on his face, and there was no risk of danger to him as his eyes scanned for Charlie.

His eyes were made to locate lost souls, which glowed radiantly, even as they still lingered inside of their bodies. It wasn’t difficult to locate her once he adjusted his perception. She was lodged underneath collapsed ceiling materials, gasping for breath. A piece of wood had pierced her chest, and she was still trying to breathe into her oxygen mask. The tube ran underneath the rubble and connected to a man. Castiel hadn’t noticed him previously.

He stepped over the collapsed ceiling and crouched next to him, he had to wait for Charlie to disconnect, anyway, so Castiel had a little time. He was a fireman, still completely in his gear apart from his mask that was given to the little girl. His face was covered in soot, but even through the black, Castiel could see that his cheekbones were dusted with freckles. The fireman’s full lips were open, his breaths weak and labored. It wasn’t his time, Castiel knew, but his arm was trapped below the fallen beam. He looked like he’d given up.

He wasn’t granted the ability to perform miracles, but there was still something that he could do. There was always something. Castiel reached out his hand and pressed his open palm to the man’s chest. Dean Winchester . The name rushed into his mind in an instant, and Castiel focused on his own grace, willing Dean to breathe in deeply, for his lungs to repel the smoke long enough for him to get to safety. He focused his strength on giving Dean the will to live. Sometimes that was enough.

The fireman’s eyes shot open as he sucked in a deep, easy breath. He coughed a few times, spitting up black saliva, and then Dean looked at him. His face was a breath away from Castiel’s, his green eyes were alert and Castiel wished that he could see his own reflection in them. He knew that if he had the need to breathe, that Dean would’ve taken his breath away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, to ask Dean if he could see him, but Dean’s eyes flickered away, and he pulled on his arm again.

The arm was stuck, Castiel saw that it was too much for him to pull himself free. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t shake that look that Dean had given him. He stood up to full height and reached down, pulling up the beam just enough for Dean to pull his arm free. Dean winced, and laughed breathlessly. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You’re welcome, Castiel thought, not trusting his own voice.

Dean’s arm was twisted wrong, blood staining his rig, but despite the pain that he had to be in, he hurried to his feet and began to call out. “Charlie, hey kid! Can you hear me?”

Castiel closed his eyes for just a second at the realization that Dean was in the fire to save her. He was trying to save someone that could not be saved. There was a rustling, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean throwing pieces of rubble away, exposing the little girl lying on her back gasping for breath. It was too late, it would’ve always been too late.

“No, no, no!” Dean fell back to his knees, moving the useless mask away from her bluing lips. He put his ear next to her mouth looking for breathing signs, and his fingers pressed to her throat searching for a pulse.

Castiel had been an observer in many tragedies, and he’d seen the way people react to situations of dire emergency, but what he saw Dean do surprised him, and he hadn’t been aware that he could still be surprised.

Dean took his broken arm, pressing his palm against her sternum with a wince, and he pressed his other palm over the bottom one, lacing his fingers. He was counting, low, his voice full of pain as he pressed down on her chest, trying to get her heart to start back up. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Live , damn it!”

Something was stirring inside of Castiel, something that he didn’t know was possible, something that he didn’t yet have a name for.

“You ain’t taking her. You hear me?” A pair of green eyes met Castiel’s again, causing him to still completely. Dean was looking at him, like he was a man. “Not today! Not on my watch!”

Dean looked wary as he turned his face back down to Charlie, still pushing with all that he could, but the fire was still intense and rising around him. Castiel frowned, knowing that she was a lost cause, but not knowing how to communicate that to the stubborn man fighting in front of him.

Castiel was fixed on the movement of Dean’s body as he attempted to pump life back into Charlie when he noticed a small tug at his trench coat. He glanced down to find Charlie Bradbury standing next to him in her pajamas, her skin and clothes clean. She glowed brightly as she blinked at Castiel confused. “Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel,” he said, crouching down at her level. He offered his hand out to her, and she stared at it suspiciously. He smiled at her. People often thought that children were far too trusting, but he found that their honesty made them trusting of only those who deserved it. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he said simply and as their fingers brushed he sent a rush of calm through her. She exhaled in response, her eyes fluttering shut.

There was a crash, a breaking of glass in the other room. “Dean,” someone called out. It was a female voice. Dean called out something that Castiel wasn’t sure was even English, sending the female firefighter bursting through the flames in his direction. “We have to go, idiot.” She stopped, her eyes settling on Dean and Charlie’s lifeless body. She shook her head. “Oh Dean, come on, we have to go. How long has she been down?”

“I can get her, I can…”

“Come on, let me help.” She crouched down, putting her arm under Charlies neck, holding her.

His shoulders slumped. He stopped pressing against her chest. “No, I’ll take her,” Dean said, defeat in his voice. He slid his broken arm under Charlie’s body, protectively holding her against his chest.

The woman offered him a fire resistant blanket to wrap around the little girl’s frail, limp form, and she led Dean to the window.

“Mister Castiel?” Charlie asked, looking up at him.

He blinked a few times, not realizing how long he’d been staring. “Yes, little one?”

“Is Grandpa there?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes, he is waiting.”

“Let’s go,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement.

So Castiel gripped her hand a little tighter, feeling the need to keep her close to him after watching Dean try so hard to fight for her, try just to fail. It was so beautifully human. He turned, seeing the white glowing light of the door to Heaven swinging open for them, and they walked easily over the rubble and through the fire, into the next life.

“But Lieutenant!”

“But nothin’ ya idjit!” Singer shouted back.

Dean sat in his office, his face down turned in embarrassment. He had climbed down the ladder, holding Charlie in his arms, and delivered her lifeless body to her weeping mother. His arm was twisted all to hell, and he was going to have to be in a cast for at least two weeks to fix it. He had other burns and serious smoke damage, but more than anything his ass was getting skinned by his boss. “I was tryin’...”

“I don’t give a shit, Winchester,” Singer sighed, scratching his beard. “Listen, son, I know what you were trying to do. The fact is that you ignored my direct orders and went on the run, and then you ignored more and got yourself hurt.”

And I didn’t even save her. He wanted to scream, break his fucking arm again. “So what?”

He shook his head, leaning across the chest. “You’re suspended until I get a call from your doc sayin’ that you’re permitted to come back. So go home, rest, and get your fucking life together.” He waved his hand, dismissing Dean.

Dean knew that he was being let off easy, and maybe it was the fact that Lieutenant Bobby Singer had a soft spot for him, or maybe it was the fact that Dean almost killed himself trying to save a seven year old girl that he couldn’t save.

He couldn’t save her, but the girl's mother still hugged him tightly and cried. He was invited to the funeral, and if he was being honest, it all seemed like way too fucking much. But he was a glutton for punishment, so he knew that he wouldn’t miss it for anything.

He stood up and walked out of the office, and went straight to his bunk to grab the rest of his stuff. He’d already moved a few things, expecting nothing less than a suspension. Singer was chomping at the bit to get him to take some time off, so the required time off was a good compromise.

He adjusted the sling on his arm, the strap rubbing against his neck. He grabbed his clothes, shoving them haphazardly into his duffle bag. Jo leaned against the doorframe of his quarters. “Got the boot?”

Dean snorted and glanced at her. “Singer doesn’t want to see my face until my doc says I’m healed.” He waved his bad arm with a wince.

“I’ll miss your face around here, Dean, but if you keep at it you’ll end up getting yourself killed. Maybe a little vacation will be good for you.”

“Smug doesn’t suit you, Harvelle,” Dean grumbled.

“Everything suits me,” she said dismissively.

He zipped up his duffel with his one arm with some difficulty and a grunt. He picked it up and swung it over his uninjured shoulder. “You seen Sam anywhere?”

“Benny drove him home when you were getting patched up.”

“Great.” Dean let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t need help with anything before I go, do you?”

“Nu uh, Winchester,” Jo said, walking towards him and taking his arm. “I am not going to help you disobey orders. Get the fuck out.” She dragged him out to the front of the firehouse. “I’ll see you later, okay? I got you a Netflix subscription. I texted you the login details.”

Dean stumbled out into the street, the clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the sun. He grimaced at the sky, feeling like the weather was a little too on the nose with how he was feeling. He made his way to the Loop and found one of the only seats away from other people, his bag resting on his lap. He stared out the window, watching Chicago zip past him in a blur.

He’d lived in the same old Brownstone his entire life. They’d redone the inside of the house after the fire, so the inside was different but still the same. When he looked really closely, he could still see the scorch marks under the paint on the ceiling in their bedroom. He used it as his office now, but he was rarely there, keeping the door shut at almost all times.

Dean’s father had disappeared into the night. It was the typical cliche, he went out for cigarettes and never came back. He’d had a revolving door of family members watching over him and the apartment until he turned eighteen two years later. It was already paid for, his grandfather Henry having purchased it with the little money he had coming home from the war when he was young. Dean couldn’t give it up, no matter how much he hated being there, no matter how much his old bedroom kept him from sleeping.

He hopped off the Loop a few blocks away from his place and enjoyed the fresh air, because he knew that the next few weeks would be suffocating. He could already feel the pressure on his chest, constricting his lungs. He unlocked the front door, taking one last deep breath before he crossed the threshold.

“Sam,” he called out, tossing his duffel bag on the couch. “They suspended me! That’s some bullshit, right?”

He walked to the fridge and swung it open, grinning wide as soon as he saw that Benny had stocked it full of beer. He pulled one out, struggling with the bottle opener with only one good hand. “Everyone is pissed that I went in against orders. I was just tryin’ to save her, and maybe if I’d got there sooner…” He finally got the cap off, letting out a heavy sigh. He took a swig of his beer and leaned against the counter. “Sammy, you listening to me? Are you mad at me too? Sam?”

Dean heard the footsteps before he saw him. He turned and crouched down to catch his massive chocolate lab in his good arm. He wrapped it around the dog's neck, scratching behind his ears. “Aw, Sammy I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.” He laughed as Sam licked his cheek.

He was never a dog person before he got Sam, but on one of the first house fires that he worked, he’d seen this little puppy in the corner, howling and whimpering. He couldn’t just leave the poor thing there to burn, so he carried him out of the burning building and fell in love with the little guy. It wasn’t often that dogs were allowed in firehouses anymore, but the entire team loved Sammy. He was quiet and well behaved, and when Dean went home he took Sam with him. He liked to joke that Sam was the only other living being that he could live with permanently since everyone else drove him stir-crazy. Sammy was happy to see him no matter what he did, and he didn’t give him that disappointed look that everyone else seemed to have.

“Just me and you for a few weeks, buddy,” Dean murmured, scratching behind his ear, already feeling the quiet from his apartment creep around him like smoke, like a curse.

Castiel stood on top of Willis Tower, overlooking Chicago as it transitioned from day to night. All the flights flickered in, illuminating the thousands, millions of angels standing around the city on street corners, ledges of buildings, lamp posts, vehicles… everywhere the air touched was also touched by an angel. They were the soldiers, the messengers of god.

There was a sound of flapping, for just a moment, as if Hannah was taking land as she appeared next to Castiel with only a thought, a breath. She wore a simple suit, much like Castiel’s own. Her hair was plain brown, simple, but she was pretty in her own regard. She was his very best friend, if angels had such a thing.

“Castiel,” Hannah said pleasantly, lowering herself to a seated position so her legs hung off the edge of the building. He followed suit, sitting next to her.

They did this every day, sitting on the edge of the buildings and watching the sun disappear over the horizon. They sat, talked, and when the last rays of sun touched the earth they were quiet.

“I escorted a little girl today,” he said, squinting at the buildings, his hands clasped in his lap.

“What was her favorite part?” Hannah asked. She could seem disinterested, but for most of Castiel’s brothers and sisters it was just easier that way. Angels were not known to have the capacity to feel, so most didn’t bother to fake it.

For Castiel, though, it was different. His curiosity with humanity often pushed him to the edge of what was expected of him. He’d always been a bit of a black sheep.

He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a small notebook. He licked his index finger to catch a page, turning it easily. Hannah gave him a look, like she didn’t quite understand, but she was quiet nonetheless. “Her favorite part of being human,” Castiel said lightly, with a smile, “was the marshmallows in her morning Lucky Charms.”

“Sugar,” Hannah said with a knowing nod. “Not quite insightful.”

It wasn’t, but he still wondered. How did it taste ? He tried to close his eyes sometimes and imagine it, just for a moment. He tried to imagine what one of those tiny morsels would feel like on his tongue, melting away, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t grasp onto it. Most days, those thoughts left him more hollow than ever, the emptiness whistling through him like through a chip in a glass.

“She asked if she could become an angel,” he said quietly.

“Did you tell her the truth?”

“I didn’t want to upset her.”

“Castiel, she can’t be an angel.” She reached for the hand of her friend and patted it gently. “We were never human.”

“I know.” Castiel let out a heavy sigh.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth, but I did offer to make her wings out of paper.” He turned to Hannah, offering her a wide grin.

“And what did she say about that?”

“She said, what good would wings be if you couldn't feel the wind on your face?” His voice was solemn, quiet, catching the breeze and floating away with it. He reached his hand out for the breeze, trying desperately to feel something, anything . “Do you ever wonder what that would be like?”

“What are you asking?”

“Touch… do you ever wonder what it would be like to feel ?”

She pressed her lips together in a tight line, in a thought, a consideration. Her eyes were focused elsewhere, out into the distance, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he’d never heard her so hesitant, so unsure. It wasn’t in their nature. “No.”

He could feel the corners of his mouth tug up into a smile. “Did you just lie to me?”

Her eyes flickered to his, and she pursed her lips. “Of course not. It’s pointless to wonder about things that you’ll never experience. It is a waste of time. You should stop this nonsense, Castiel, it may get you in trouble one day.”

He knew that, of course he did, but he couldn’t stop, not until the questions that plagued him had answers, and another one had been drilling into his mind since the moment he saw Dean Winchester’s magical green eyes lock with his in the midst of that fire. “Hannah, have you ever been seen?”

“My, you are inquisitive today.” She laughed to herself, a small exhale out of her nose, before her dark eyes flickered to his blue ones. “Of course not, Castiel. Humans can’t see us, not unless we want them to.”

“When I went to get the little girl today… there was this fireman, and I could’ve sworn that he looked right at me.”

“He wasn’t looking at you.”

Castiel swallowed hard, because he knew that she was right. Dean wasn’t looking at him, he was looking directly into him, past the outer layers and into his soul.

Hannah must’ve noticed his hesitation, because she leaned in closer to him. “You didn’t let him see you, did you, Castiel?”

Did he? He shook his head. “No. He didn’t… comment on what he saw, but he seemed like he was looking at me.”

“Your head is in the clouds,” she said fondly, turning her face back out to the sparkling lights from the city.

That was him, Castiel, the angel with his head in the clouds, but was that so unreasonable? To him, it seemed like a logical place for an angel’s head to be. The time for talk, questions, and judgement was over, because the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, emitting a beautiful hum almost like the first note on a violin. Even though he didn’t know God personally, his purpose, or why he couldn’t get those green eyes out of his mind, at least he had the song in the sunset, because when he heard it, feeling it rush through him into his bones, he had all the answers that he needed. That song gave him faith. That song helped him see God.

But that day, in that exact moment, the song sounded different… It sounded like Dean.

-------------------------

Part Two

Masterlist

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wwoww-au · 5 years ago

Text

Off Track Mind

Mare cracked his knuckles and glared at the bright green door. Thunder boomed in the distance, and rain soaked his trench coat. After weeks of searching, he’d finally managed to track down the location of what would soon be his greatest capture.

Marvin the Magnificent.

Mare had been on the conman’s trail for weeks now, always just a few steps behind. He couldn’t risk getting too close too quickly, or he’d completely lose his target. Finally he’d managed to catch up as Marvin stopped in a small Midwestern town.

Mare lifted his hand to knock, but something made him hesitate.

The conman had avoided capture for far too long. Every time anyone got close, he’d somehow manage to slip away. Some of his attempted captors vanished without a trace. Those who returned shared in ashamed tones how they’d been seduced by the magician before being dropped on the side of the road. Marvin was near impossible to track, disappearing in a flash and leaving no clues behind. Wherever he showed up, he robbed people blind, manipulating them out of everything they owned. His entire business was a scam, and the Wizard Committee was constantly scrambling to keep the wizard community hidden wherever he went.

This would end tonight. Tonight, Mare wasn’t going to leave until he had Marvin in handcuffs. He’d never failed to bring a criminal to justice, and he’d take special pleasure in breaking Marvin down.

Before Mare could knock on the door, it swung open, revealing a masked man wearing a shimmering blue robe and thigh-high sparkling green boots. His bright green hair was pulled back in a loose bun, held together by two needles.

“Marvin,” Mare growled. “I’ve been waiting a long time to finally meet you.”

“You have?” Marvin asked, placing a gloved hand to his heart. “I’m flattered, honest! You’re Mare, aren’t you? I’ve heard so much about you.” The magician slid up against the door and dropped a shoulder, letting the blue robe slide off.

“Y-yeah,” Mare stammered. Why was his face so warm? Was Marvin wearing anything but his boots, gloves, and robe? What was-- No! Mare shook his head. He had to stay focused. “You’re under arrest,” Mare added, fumbling to pull out his badge. “I’m taking you in!”

Marvin stuck out his bottom lip and held his hand out the door, letting a few drops of rain gather in his palm before taking his hand back. “In this weather?” Marvin asked. “Tell you what, Marie, let me take you in” -- He paused to hold up his hand, stopping Mare from interrupting -- “just for tonight. Then, once this dreadful rain has stopped, you can arrest me and I’ll go along quietly.”

Mare’s heart pounded. It should have been an easy choice, but the way Marvin had said his name, and the look he was giving him was making his head go fuzzy. Mare made eye contact with the conman and felt his face flush. Just the night couldn’t hurt, right? Once the rain stopped, then he’d arrest Marvin, and he could forget about those glimmering blue and green eyes and those well-toned arms.

“Fine,” Mare said, less reluctantly than he wanted to admit to himself. “No funny business, though. I won’t hesitate if you try to pull something.” He felt his hands shaking as he reached to touch the microphone at his belt.

“Perfect,” Marvin purred, grabbing Mare by the collar and pulling him into the cart. The door slammed shut behind him, and Mare swallowed hard.

The carriage was dimly lit by a few candles scattered about the large room. Boxes full of fake magic items sat against the wall by the door, leaving the rest of the space to a couple couches and a table. A door on the back wall led into a darkened kitchen, and a spiral staircase disappeared to an upper level. Marvin was reclined on the fainting couch, robe hanging loosely off of his shoulders.

“Please, take a seat,” Marvin invited, gesturing at the couch across from him. “You must be exhausted from all your travelling.”

Mare shrugged off his coat and took a seat where Marvin had gestured. Despite still being soaked, the detective felt almost too warm. “Wait, you knew I was following you?” Mare asked, the realization hitting him suddenly. He’d been extra careful to stay undetected, and he was sure he’d been doing alright. Marvin hadn’t disappeared, after all.

“Of course!” Marvin laughed. “I’m not daft, Marie. If I was, I would have been captured long ago.” He gestured at a pair of wine glasses on the table, filling them magically with a shimmering ruby red drink. “Thirsty?”

Mare hesitantly took one of the glasses, swirling it gently. “This, uh, better not be poisoned,” he said, eyeing Marvin as they both took a sip. The taste was incredible, clearly crafted with care. “That’s really good,” Mare admitted, taking another sip.

“I had hoped so.” Marvin swirled his own drink, watching it with pride. “I've been saving this bottle for a rainy day. And with the storm outside it seems it's the perfect time to have it.” The magician turned his gaze back to Mare, and the detective felt his face grow warm again. He found himself just staring into Marvin’s mismatched eyes, heart fluttering in his chest.

“See something you like?” Marvin asked, startling Mare out of his stupor. The conman chuckled as Mare struggled to answer. Why couldn’t he answer? Mare wanted to say no, to shake his head, but something was holding him back. He glanced down at the drink. Could it have--? No, Mare had hardly had a couple sips, and a love potion that quick and potent would have had to have been crafted by a heart wizard. This was something else. Something real.

Slowly, Mare nodded.

Before Marvin could say anything, Mare picked up his glass and downed the entirety of its contents. He held the empty glass up to Marvin, who raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure about that?” Marvin slowly chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink. “You can’t arrest me drunk, Marie.”

Something inside Mare reasoned that Marvin was right, but his heart, set on what he really wanted, quickly pushed that thought aside, and he nodded. “Yes,” he added out loud when the magician continued to hesitate.

Marvin nodded, satisfied by the verbal confirmation, and flicked his wrist. Mare’s drink refilled slowly, and only halfway. "Don't get too carried away."

This had to be some powerful drink Marvin had given him. His vision was already starting to blur at the edges, and when he tried to open his mouth to talk, a hiccup came out instead. When had he moved so close to Marvin? The same thought from before now begged Mare to focus on why he had come here in the first place, but Marvin’s glittery lips were just so alluring, and the plans of Mare’s mind had been replaced by those of his heart.

Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was the lipstick Marvin was wearing, or maybe it was that very real something else, but Mare found himself letting his rationale take a backseat as the rest of the night passed by.

Mare groaned and sat up slowly. Where… where was he? The gentle sunlight reflecting off of a sequined blanket made him close his eyes tight. His head pounded, and he tried to collect his memories as he got dressed. He remembered Marvin’s kiss, remembered a conversation before stumbling drunkenly up the spiral stairs, remembered- oh. Mare’s face flushed with embarrassment and rage, and he started carefully down the stairs, ready to slap a pair of cuffs on Marvin’s wrists and forget the night ever happened.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Marvin purred, shuffling a pan of eggs over a magically lit stove. He was wearing that damned blue bathrobe again, and fishnet stockings were pulled up to his thighs. Mare felt the same warmth from the night before, but quickly forced it back down.

“You’re under arrest,” Mare grumbled, sounding probably a lot less intimidating than he wanted to. He blinked blearily as Marvin easily guided him to the front door.

“I was hoping we could have a nice breakfast,” Marvin sighed, opening the door, “but not with that attitude.” The conman gently nudged Mare outside, and the detective’s heart dropped as the door closed.

“Wait--!” Before Mare could open the door again, the cart was gone. A single, glitter-covered business card sat on the ground where the cart had been. Picking it up, Mare read silently, ‘Call me, Marie~,’ followed by a series of numbers. In a fit of fury, he lit the card on fire and dropped it, stomping it into the dirt until it was just a pile of sparkling ash.

Mare wanted to kick himself. He’d let himself be seduced and then tossed aside like last week’s newspaper. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself be led on by Marvin of all people. Worst of all, Mare had liked it. He’d wanted it when he was lucid, and he’d just drank to keep himself from holding back. It had been clear that Marvin wouldn’t have done anything had Mare not stated his own desires.

Still furious, Mare stormed back to his car. He couldn’t let anyone know he’d gotten his perfect capture streak tarnished in glitter. He’d just tell them he’d lost the trail again and needed to gather more information before heading back out. It had happened before, and there was no reason it couldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let some undeniably handsome conman in glittery boots ruin his career.

Mare rummaged through his coat, making sure he had all his things. Keys, check. Microphone, check. His handcuffs were missing, but those were easily replaceable. Wallet… Mare groaned. He searched a couple more pockets, just to be sure. His wallet was gone. He wasn’t one to carry much cash, but that wallet had his badge in it, plus a few prized pictures of Mangle. Perfect. Now he had to make an excuse to get a new badge as well.

Mare fumbled with his keys for a moment before speeding away from where the cart had stood just moments before, determined to never look back.

#wwoww au #wwoww marvin #wwoww mare #wwoww story #marvin the magnificent #natemare

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