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inglourious-imagines · 4 years ago

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Piece Of Cake (Fred Weasley)

Summary: Fred claims that asking a girl out to the Yulle ball is a piece of cake. Harry and Ron dare him to prove it.

Prompts: fluff list: 2 - "I don't care, just hold me." & angst list: "Try to see things in my point of view." & miscellaneous list: 4 - "My mum thinks I'm dating you." (changed a bit)

Warning: angst at the beginning, some swear words, fluff at the end

Author's Note: This is for @lunalovecroft 's 1K writing challenge! Probably it was meant to be the other way around, but that idea suddenly strucked me and I decided to give it a go. Happy reading ♡

HP Taglist: @alienoresimagines @95swifi

"You have a place in my heart no one else ever could have." - F.S. Fitzgerald

All the Yulle Ball decoration were making Y/N beyond sick, every ribbon reminding her that she still did not have a date to accompany her throughout the approaching evening. Molly Weasley was so kind to send her as a gift the most beautiful dress Y/N had ever seen in her life and now she was genuinely thinking about not going to the ball at all.

When she threw herself at the bench in the Great Hall right next to her best friend Hermione who was sitting way too far from Ron, Harry and the twins were seated. Y/N knew about the brightest witch's secret crush on the young Weasley that was slowly but surely growing into something more than just a simple crush. She'd even swear that Ron felt exactly the same about Hermione but she had to promise not to get involved or play a cupid.

"He didn't ask, did he." Y/N dared to speak up first, glancing from Hermione's sad expression on her face to absolutely oblivious Ronald just a few metres away from them who seemed to be stuffing as much food as possible into his mouth as fast as he could.

Y/N's eyes wandered from one Weasley to another, much taller one, who's smile was so contagious that she found herself grinning like an idiot for no particular reason.

"What do you think, Y/N." Hermione sighed bringing her back from her daydreaming, "guess he's not the only one who didn't ask, right?"

Y/N looked at her friend again, simply nodded as she wasn't able to react in any other way. As much as she tried not to, she felt a bit disappointed when the only person she wanted to go to the Yulle ball with, hasn't asked her.

"They've been bickering for the past 15 minutes whether asking a girl out is easy or not." Hermione stated, clearly upset with the whole situation.

"Are you serious, 'Mione? What are their points of view?"

"Well, Harry and Ron are obviously struggling to even compliment a girl in the right way but Fred reckons there's nothing easier."

The girls look at each other and burst out laughing in the next second. "Like he'd know how to ask." Y/N managed to get out of her through her laughter, "however, I must agree with Harry and Ron. They're the most oblivious idiots."

"Tell me about it." Hermione giggled but a trace of hurt flew over her face and Y/N suddenly felt really sorry for her dear friend.

"Hey Y/N!" Fred shouted out of the blue, his clear voice echoed through the Great Hall causing other students to perk up their heads in order to find out what possibly he has in mind now.

Y/N threw a look full of question marks to Hermione before turning her head to the tall red-head. "Yes?"

The moment his typical mischievous grin appeared on his face Y/N knew that something either funny and unpleasant to her or something embarrassing is about to happen.

"Will you..." Fred kept on talking as loudly as possible while wildly gesturing with his arms - apparently pretending to dance, "go to the ball..." now he was just pointing at her and him, "with me?"

Y/N's whole face turned brightly red, her nervous eyes wandering from student to student with such awaiting and amused expressions on their faces. Her heartbeat fastened in the matter of seconds that it seemed like it might jump out of her chest. Y/N looked at Hermione for help with such desperation hidden behind her gaze but her friend just simply shrugged, absolutely shocked with the sudden question, just like Y/N was.

A few seconds passed and Y/N was still sitting at her spot totally speechless. She imagined many times how Fred would ask her to the ball but never in a million years did she think it'd be like this - shouting at her in front of the whole Great Hall with absolutely no sign of sincerity or romance; to her it seemed like some sort of a bet to prove his point.

Their eyes for a moment and Y/N realized that Fred was convinced that she's going to accept his offer, confidence was basically radiating off of him. She knew he's not bragging, Fred was one of the kindest people she'd ever met but sometimes, sometimes he just wasn't able to estimate the situation.

Anger was slowly bottling up in her as she quickly stood up grabbing all her books. As much as it hurt her to say it, Y/N was still able to straighten up looking directly into his eyes. "Sorry, Weasley, not interested. But thanks for the offer, I feel flattered." The sarcasm in her voice was more than obvious.

Y/N winked at Hermione, rightly feeling satisfied with her as she heard a few laughs from many students when she walked out of the Great Hall leaving absolutely speechless and embarrassed Fred Weasley.

•••

Y/N rushed into her dormitory, not wanting to deal with anybody at the moment as the anger was slowly transforming into hurt. This wasn't what she imagined.

She threw herself at her bed; her books were casted off on the ground, papers flying all over the place.

"Y/N! Wait!" a muffled voice of the too familiar Weasley filled her ears and before she knew it, Fred was standing in the middle of her dormitory with flushed cheeks due to the long run, doors slammed shut behind him.

"Let me explain." he almost begged taking a few steps towards her. She quickly got on her feet as she shook with her head couple of times. "Please, no. I don't care if your intentions were the noblest, but it happened and that's it."

"If you could just let me talk."

But Y/N didn't see the regret in Fred's eyes, or how his hands trembled a little bit, she was way too furious to notice all these things.

"Try to see things from my point of view, Weasley! You basically shouted at me in front of the whole school if I want to go to the ball with you! I understand that you just wanted to prove something to Ron and Harry but this is not a game for me."

Every single word that left her mouth went straight to Fred's heart. He never in a million years intended to hurt Y/N, he'd rather suffer himself than have something happen to her. But he was scared, Fred felt truly terrified of asking her out and when the boys confronted him about it, he panicked. He didn't have an idea why he reacted that way. The pounding heart, sweaty palms, the hotness in his cheeks - all this was new to Fred Weasley and he wasn't sure what do to with his stormy emotions.

"I'm real sorry, Y/N. I didn't want to offend you but that doesn't mean I don't stand behind what I said earlier." he tried to ease the tense in the small room, his lips even formed into a cute little innocet smile.

"I don't know, Weasley. I simply think-"

"Let me make it up to you! The ball's tomorrow, just say yes."

Then they were there - Fred's puppy eyes that no matter how serious the problem was, Y/N wasn't able to bring herself to say no. She knew he's very well aware of that fact, he somehow managed to melt her heart.

"Fine. I'll go to the Yulle ball with you, Weasley. Don't make me regret it."

"I can certainly promise you that, Y/L/N."

•••

Y/N was nervously pacing in her new white dress that she got from Mrs. Weasley while Hermione was watching her with an amused expression.

"You know, this isn't funny." she frowned but a part of her was telling her how unreasonably ridiculous she is.

"Actually it is," her best friend couldn't held back the laughter, "you'll be fine. I bet he's even more nervous than you are."

"Hermione! His mum thinks I'm bloody dating him!"

"That's just so perfect. Maybe you will be after tonight."

Their eyes met for a moment and then, as if their minds were connected, the girls started giggling like some 13-year-olds. Y/N finally relaxed a bit, just like Hermione did, as they both promised themselves to look after each other during the evening.

"So what do you think?" Y/N winked at her friend, "shall we?"

"Absolutely."

•••

The duo walked together down the stairs leading to the dance hall, side by side, both of them smiling widely. Y/N found Fred's tall figure right away as he was nervously pacing back and forth mumbling something under his breath while George watched him amused. Just like Hermione watched her a couple minutes ago. God, how similar they could be.

"Well done, brother dear. Fucking well done." George whispered into his twin's ear tapping his shoulder. Fred's gaze immediately landed on approaching Y/N making him stop in his tracks. George just smirked and left with his own date to give them some privacy.

Fred was closely watching her every step, how elegantly she carried herself through the room, the beautiful white dress flew around her making her look like an angel descending from the sky.

"Blimey, I don't think I've ever seen something so beautiful like you." Fred breathed out, his eyes roaming all over her body.

"You don't look too bad as well, Weasley." Y/N blushed at his compliment as she sent him one nervous smile. The truth was, he looked way more better than just 'not bad' and she had to remind herself not to stare at him too much. He pulled her into his side, his scent and warmth immediately embracing her, and she found herself falling for this dangerously good looking red-head.

"Everybody's turning their heads after you. I swear I even saw a smile on Snape's face." Fred pointed out, his voice filled with obvious jealousy as his grip on her waist tightened.

"I don't care, just hold me, Fred." Y/N gave him a reassuring smile taking his hand in his, "just hold me."

"I never wanted anything more."

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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You Know What They Say About Weddings // R.W. (celebration fic)

Request: Omg congratulations!!!! Could you do a Ron x Reader with the "theres only one bed" trope and fluff prompts 11 and 1? Thank you so much and congrats again!! - @mischi3f-manag3d

Fluff 1: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Fluff 11: “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

A/N: Just me that's ridiculously attracted to the photo below? Anyway! Here is your request, I hope you like!!

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I don’t think there are any - just a load of fluff really.

Word count: 1.6k

The band hired by Molly Weasley upon the recommendation of an old friend played in the corner of the marquee. The Weasley family and their friends all crowded there; happy to watch the eldest Weasley child, Bill, marry the love of his life, Fleur.

It had been a wonderful ceremony; very few left the service with dry eyes.

You found it hard to keep your emotions in check through it all; wanting so desperately to turn to the youngest Weasley son beside you and ask if he felt the same way as you – if he loved you just as much as you have loved him since Fifth Year.

You think back to this morning; when you had arrived at the Burrow in time to watch the marquee be raised. Your eyes had landed on Ron, and they hadn’t left him. Your eyes ran over his body; drinking in the sight of him in a suit – sleeves rolled up due to the already warm day. Not wanting to be caught, you turned away and rid your mind of the thoughts running through it at warp speed.

With a laugh at the memory, you drag Ron onto the dancefloor. Awkwardness radiates from him, but he dutifully places his hand on your waist and takes your hand in his as your other hand places itself on his shoulder. You laugh together as you try to follow the beat of the song; the dance lessons given by McGonagall doing nothing for either of your left feet. You step on his toes repeatedly, but he doesn’t complain once; he just changes tact – instead of trying to attempt the waltz, he simply changes the hold of his arms and decides to have fun instead.

Spinning around the dancefloor; you can’t help but let yourself imagine. You can’t help but let yourself think of the future you so desperately desired with the very redhead holding you so gently in his arms.

You know what they say about weddings.

-----

Fred leans down to Harry’s ear, pointing towards Ron and you on the dancefloor, “When do you think they’ll pull their finger out?”

Harry laughs, “Worried about the bet, Fred?”

Fred snorts, “Hardly.”

Harry watches his best friend twirl you around on the dancefloor before pulling you back in as you laugh. Harry swivels to face Fred, “You know what they say about weddings.”

--------

You throw off your heels; groaning at the feel of your blood rushing back to your feet. At this height, Ron can easily throw an arm over your shoulder, “Better?”

You nod, “Much.”

Following Ron upstairs, you stifle yawn after yawn. The reception had been one of the best nights of your life; dancing, drinking, laughing – it was a truly happy night. You had danced with Ron for a lot of night; dragging him to the dancefloor for one dance but then staying with him for three more. He eventually left to get drinks whilst you danced with Hermione, Ginny, and Luna – a wide smile across your face.

You hadn’t missed the looks exchanged by the girls when Ron came back to steal your attention. You also hadn’t missed the conversation between Ron’s family and your friends as they watched you continue to the dance with the red-haired man.

You shake your head as you remember that moment; you were aware of the bet they had going. Hermione unable to keep a secret from you had blabbed it to you less than a month after it was made. She felt awful for keeping it from you, but you assured her you didn’t mind too much – curious as to who had what date.

“You don’t mind sharing my room with me?” Ron checks.

You shake your head, smiling at him sleepily, “I don’t mind.”

Ron relaxes somewhat, but he still remains tense, “There’s only one bed.”

You roll your eyes, “How many nights did I sneak into the hospital to stay with you after you hurt your leg?”

Ron blushes, “You’re right. I’ll let you get changed first… just knock when you’re done.”

In that moment, he looks so helpless that you lift yourself onto your tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. The last thing you see before closing his bedroom door is Ron pressing a hand to his cheek with a wide smile.

You knock lightly on the door when you’re done changing. Ron enters the room with a light blush dusting his cheeks; his eyes running over body quickly. He turns to his dresser, pulling out his pyjamas.

“I’ll wait outside for you to finish changing.”

Ron shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it; just turn around.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” He laughs.

You turn to face the singular window; the moon is high in the sky and the sky is so clear that you can see the stars. Looking into the garden, you see Bill and Fleur still dancing – alone, no longer surrounded by family and friends. They have no idea they have an audience; they just remain in each other’s arms, finally happy to have a private moment between them. You shift your gaze when Bill dips his heads to kiss his wife.

You think to yourself; there’s just something about weddings.

Ron coughs; bringing you out of your reverie. Turning around, you find him dressed in some old sweatpants and an old shirt. Your heart softens at the sight of him; his hands flex at his side – his nervous tick

His bed is just big enough for two; you lie side by side on your back, hands laid out by your sides. It would take less than a millimetre of space; less than a second of time to reach out and take his hand in yours, to tangle your fingers together.

But you don’t. You lie next to him; mind racing just as fast as your heart – any sense of tiredness hanging over you chased away the moment you laid down next to the boy you’ve loved since Fifth Year.

“Did you have fun today?” Ron asks in the dark; filling the silence.

“I did. It was nice to see everyone before we go back to school. Harry and Ginny looked particularly close.”

Ron frowns, “My sister and my best friend.”

You giggle, turning onto your side, “Don’t act like you don’t approve.”

Ron sighs with a smile, “You’ve caught me out,” He furrows his brows, “Did you see them all whispering when we were dancing?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

Ron snorts, reaching for your hand in the dark, “I know. Harry told me about it tonight.”

You sit up in bed; not letting go of his hand, “How long has it been going on? Hermione told me about it but she never said when it started.”

“Since last year. Harry only brought it up because if we get together by Saturday, he wins the bet.”

You laugh, “I can’t believe them.”

“Absolute gits,” Ron laughs.

You play with your fingers, dropping his hand to do so, “What do you think of the bet?”

Ron sits up, “Why?”

“It doesn’t annoy you?” You question; risking a peek at his face in the limited light of the moon.

“Not particularly. It’s a harmless bet.”

You nod your head; trying not to think too much of it.

“Why? What do you think of the bet?”

You sigh heavily; wondering how best to phrase what you’ve wanted to say to him all day, deciding that the truth is the best way to go. “I think I’m in love with you,” You state; bluntly, honestly.

Ron’s mouth drops open and you start talking without giving him a chance to say anything, “You don’t need to feel the same; really, you don’t,” You grab a pillow, “I’ll go sleep on the couch, I’ll see you in the morning.”

You make to leave but Ron’s hand grips your wrist, “Sit back down. At least give me a chance to reply.”

You sit back down on the bed slowly; your hand still grips the pillow in case you need to sleep downstairs. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Ron asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I’m not sure. I wanted to, I really did but then you were with Lavender and I didn’t feel like talking to you a lot and then, and then, and then, I guess I didn’t want to ruin the friendship.”

“I wondered why you pulled away through Lavender; I barely saw you.”

You sigh; crushing the pillow to your chest, “It hurt too much to look at you.”

Ron shuffles on the bed, “If I had known-”

“You’d have what?” You interrupt, “You’d have broken up with her?”

Ron shakes his head, “I’d have never dated her.”

“What?”

“I’d have never dated her,” He repeats, “I’d have asked you out.”

“Oh,” You state.

“Yeah,” Ron mumbles, looking down.

“We’ve mucked this up haven’t we?”

“Nah, we haven’t,” Ron laughs, “We just delayed their bet.”

You giggle, “The bet. Who do we want to win?”

“Who’s the closest to tonight?”

You think for a moment; remembering the piece of paper that Hermione explained was the bet. “I think you were right earlier,” You say, “Harry is the closest by Saturday.”

“What do you think? Shall we let Harry win?”

You smile softly, leaning closer to Ron, “I think I’m okay with Harry winning.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron whispers before pulling you in for a kiss.

His hand caresses your cheek, and he smiles into the kiss. You soon begin to laugh at the absurdity of it all; having to pull away from the redhead and assure him that it isn’t him you’re laughing at. Your jealousy over Lavender never spurred you to confess your feelings, neither did the Department of Mysteries, but a bet and a wedding has you falling into Ron’s arms.

Well, you know what they say about weddings.

***********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites

#ron weasley x reader #ron weasley #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley reader insert #ronald bilius weasley #ron x reader #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x y/n #fluff #ron fluff #ron weasley fluff #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #the golden trio #the golden trio fanfiction #the lightning era #my writing

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wlntrsldler · 4 years ago

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where’s my love (fred weasley x malfoy!reader)

PROMPT: Y/N Malfoy is allowed back to live with her family in Malfoy Manor after spending 6 years studying at Ilvermorny. She’s the black sheep of her family and now that she’s attending Hogwarts, she’s doing everything in her power to drive her father mad. Nothing else drives her father crazy than a Weasley, so why not date one? (fred weasley x malfoy! reader; fake dating au)

WARNINGS: none for now.

WC: 2K+

where’s my love masterlist

HP Masterlist

PROLOGUE

“My dear,” your mother, Narcissa gasped, walking over to engulf you in her arms. She hugged you tightly, the tears from her eyes falling slowly on your exposed shoulders. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“I’ve missed you too, mother,” you confessed, dropping your bags to the side of your feet to return her gesture. You pulled away, wiping the tears still streaming down her face. “Six years is a long time.”

Her face dropped at your words, looks of guilt and shame taking over her features. She knew that six years away from your family must’ve been difficult for you. You knew that if it was up to her, you would’ve stayed at home with her and Draco, and studied at Hogwarts as planned. But it wasn’t up to her.

“He doesn’t know you’re back,” she whispered, her smile reaching her eyes. She squealed in delight, happy that both of her children were now home and for the moment— safe. “He’s going to be so excited.”

“Do you think he’ll still like having me around?” you asked, nervously chewing on your bottom lip. “Like I said, six years is a long time and he’s a teenager now. What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?”

“Nonsense, he begs us to visit you every winter,” she took the bags from your hands, ushering you to go up the stairs. “Second door to your right.”

You nodded, swallowing your fears and apprehensions down. You took in a deep breath, listening to the way the floors still creaked under your feet like when you were a child, running up and down the empty corridors with a young Draco behind you. You smiled fondly at the memory, remembering the giggles of a lively boy with the blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Draco was your best friend, your baby brother, the one you swore to protect.

You knew even from a young age that your family was involved with Dark Magic, a practice you were never truly fond of. Your father hated your disapproval of your family’s history. He saw it in the way you were as a child and he hated the way you tried to get Draco as far away from his birthright as much as possible.

To Lucius, that was enough to send you off and away from the Malfoy name.

You stopped in front of the unfamiliar door, heart in your throat. Softly, you knocked on the wooden door, waiting for a response from the other side. You heard an incoherent noise from the other side, taking it as a sign to enter.

Draco was sitting at his desk, back turned from the door. In his hand was his quill, the ink gliding flawlessly on his parchment. He had a drawer opened beside him and from where you stood, revealed piles and piles of sealed letters. You watched him silently, admiring how grown up your brother had become. He was definitely taller now and his features were more defined. He looked like a perfect mix of both your parents, the perfect Malfoy. You wiped your tears from your eyes, your chest growing heavy as you realized just how much you missed your baby brother.

“Dray,” you whispered, holding yourself together. Your knees grew weak when he dropped his quill, spilling his ink all over the piece of parchment.

Only one person called him by that name. He turned around, not believing who it was that called his name. When his eyes saw your figure, leaning on his door frame, he stood up, knocking his knees on the top of his desk. He scrambled up to you, halting quickly in the middle of his bedroom. His bottom lip quivered, “Y/N? Is that really you?”

Shyly, you waved, not even bothering to wipe your tears rolling down your cheek. You approached him slowly, afraid of his reaction. “Hi, Dray.”

Draco fell apart, rushing over to you. He towered over you now, wrapping his arms around you as he sobbed into your shoulder. He shook viciously, reminding you of when he was a child having panic attacks after his lessons about Dark Magic with your father. Young Draco would rush into your bedroom, looking for comfort from his big sister who always fought off the darkness with her light. You pushed your own fears aside, an instinct you never lost all those years, and cradled Draco in your arms.

“I-I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he sobbed, pulling away from you.

“You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” you teased, holding him by the shoulders. He chuckled at your attempt to ease the tension. You walked over to his desk, staring intently at the now ruined parchment. “Sorry bout that.”

“No, no,” he reassured, pointing at the opened drawer of unopened letters, “This was actually for you. I’ve been writing to you since you left. Father has never let me send any off so I was going to send them when I became of age.”

Your heart ached, realizing that the letters you wrote to your brother most likely never reached him. You reached down to retrieve some letters, eyes blurring again once you realized he’s written so much over the years. You placed the letters on his desk, walking over to give him another hug. “I missed you, brother.”

“I missed you too,” he knitted his eyebrows together, soon becoming confused as to why you were suddenly allowed back home after all those years. He watched as you walked around his room, staring at the pictures on the wall. You took notice of his Slytherin robes hanging proudly in his closet. You stopped in front of the picture of the two of you, smiling at the camera when you were younger. You could almost hear your mother’s voice counting down in the background. You touched the photo with your fingers, cherishing the roughness of the material under the pads of your fingertips.

He thought back to the final moments of last school year, after the Triwizard tournament, after Cedric’s death, after the Dark Lord’s rumored arrival. He began to remember the harsh murmurs and criticisms that people said about Harry— how he was lying about the rebirth of the Dark Lord and how it was all a part of an elaborate plan by Dumbledore to gain more power. He believed the whispers— of course, he would never pass up an opportunity to make fun of Potter— but now that you were standing in front of him, his sister that he hasn’t seen for six years, he knew that it must be true.

After a while, Draco spoke up to confirm his suspicions. “Do you know why you’re here?”

You shook your head, confusion evident in your eyes, “No.”

Draco merely nodded, turning his head to the side, unable to look you in the eye knowing that he’ll be fighting with the side you tried to help him escape from all those years. He didn’t know how to tell you that he'd accepted his fate. He’s accepted it for a while now. The dark forces that you taught him to fight against were now a part of himself. How does he fight a battle from within?

There was only one thing Fred loved more than pranking and jokes— his family. He didn’t mean to walk into their conversation, nor did he mean to sneak around and listen to his parents talk about their struggles. He simply wanted a glass of water in the middle of the night. He stopped on the final step of the stairs when he heard his parents’ hushed whispers from the couch.

“I don’t know how we’ll be able to afford everything this year,” Molly sighed, leaning her head against Arthur’s chest. The fire crackled in front of them, engulfing them in its warmth. “Ginny needs new books this year. The old ones are too worn out to be considered books. We’ll have to dig into our Christmas funds to afford it.”

Arthur tightened his grip around her, “I’m sure they won’t mind that they’ll have to settle for scarves and vests instead of sweaters this year.”

“Oh, I know,” she fussed, “Our children will always be grateful but I just wish they were able to have a good Christmas.”

“We always make it work, don’t we?” Arthur reassured her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out this year too.”

Fred tiptoed back up the steps, careful not to make much noise. On his way up, he couldn’t help but start to doubt himself. He and George began to talk about the possibility of leaving school next year in order to start a joke shop. It seemed like a great idea at first, how could it not? It was their biggest dream to start one. But now after Fred heard his mother’s hushed concerns, he couldn’t help but second guess himself.

Where would they get the money from? How do they know they’ll even be successful? What if outside of Hogwarts their pranks were considered boring and immature? What if they’re meant for nothing else but for the corridors of their school?

Fred pushed the door to his shared bedroom with George softly, cringing as the hinges squeaked. George stirred in his sleep, an annoyed groan escaping his lips. He was always a light sleeper. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, “Any louder, Freddie?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, tucking himself back in his bed— only he didn’t lay flat on his pillow. He sat up, wondering, guessing.

George took note of it, copying his brother’s actions. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising one eyebrow, “Well, what’s on your mind?”

Fred sighed, looking curiously at his twin, “What if we just stayed at school and worked for the Ministry?”

George let out a snort, laughing quietly in the dark. He froze after realizing Fred wasn’t laughing with him. He gulped, “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he stated, shrugging. Even in the dark, unable to make out the expression on each other’s faces, George knew his brother was afraid. Fred continued, “I mean, would it be so bad? At least we’d make a decent living, right? Help out mum and dad?”

“I suppose.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“But can you see us working in a cubicle for the rest of our lives, Freddie?” George asked. “Because if you say yes then I’m inclined to believe that you’re actually Percy who drank Polyjuice potion to look like my twin brother.”

“I’m me, you git,” Fred threw a pillow at George, laughing slightly at his comments. “I just… I don’t know, Georgie. I want to help mum and dad, not add on to their plate.”

“Believe me when I say that they’ll get a load off once we move out of here.”

The two boys chuckled at the statement, knowing it was most likely true. They did hog the food, leaving virtually none for Ginny and their parents. However, Ron also ate for a village so in all honesty, it’s not all their fault. A comfortable silence fell upon them, the creaking of the stairs an indicator that their parents were finally turning in for the night. It made Fred smile knowing that they were finally going to get some rest.

“Georgie?” Fred broke the silence after a while. A half-asleep George mumbled into his pillow. Fred took it as a sign to continue, “You reckon mum and dad would still love us if we started our joke shop?”

“Mate, I reckon mum and dad will love us regardless of what we do.”

Fred was content with that answer. He moved down to rest his head on his pillow, closing his eyes as he began to drift away. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would start to come up with new Weasley products to sell next school year. New batches and new designs to start the year off strong. He and George will make money, enough to save for their lot at Diagon Alley, and enough to sneak into their parents’ Christmas fund. Whatever it may take, Fred will somehow find a way to provide for his family. He solemnly swears.

A/N: AHHH here’s my fred fic!!! i’m so excited for this fic. this fic will be very heavy on family name/ reputation. also, draco is good in this fic (kinda) he’ll still be canon asshole draco but deep down he’s a good guy (as you can see in this prologue)

also, this fic is based on where’s my love (acoustic) by syml

i’m tagging everyone who expressed excitement for this fic but i won’t tag you in the next part unless you let me know directly that you’re still interested! thanks guys!

@cappsikle @you-make-children-cry @bonkyboinkybucky @lionlikewolflike @britishspidey @girlbabyvelez @pillowjj

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter series #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x yn #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x malfoy!reader #george weasley #draco malfoy #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy #the weasleys #frances writes #frances song fics #where's my love fic

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deepperplexity · 4 years ago

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Prompt: 17. Loneliness

A/N: We are getting closer to the end of Snapemas and I wanted to write something I haven't done earlier through this prompt list. Fair warning, it is a bit sad... But I feel like this is yet another subject to shine some light on. There are some cute/sweet parts too! (Written on mobile so the paragraphs are a bit wonky, sorry 'bout that!)

Setting: Christmas party at the Burrow, Snape is approximately 85-90 years old

Characters: MANY xD

Word count: 1814

Warnings: Major Character Death

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

After the war, so many years ago, Harry had told everyone of his exceptional work and dedication. He had been celebrated as a hero along with many others. He was acknowledged and people were not so frightened of him back then as they had been earlier. They nodded at him on the streets, the students had asked him to tell them stories more times than he could remember and he had made friends and amends.

Yet, none had found him to be of romantic interest. None had found him worthy of their time and love. None had found him to be partner material and he had never had a romantic relationship. One night stands, sure. But no relationship of mutual love, not a single person to share his life and home with. He had thought, he had hoped, that one day someone would find him worthy but it had never happened.

So there he was, sat in a wonky armchair surrounded by other families and everything brimmed with joy. Except he felt none. He was empty and sad, alone in the world. He knew all too well that once the party was over he would go back to his dusty home and silence would fall again. As it always did. He would cook for one, do laundry for one, clean only the spaces he used and the morning coffee would always be shipped in solitude. Not that it will continue for much longer, old as I am and my body giving way. He allowed the thought to linger. Sure, he could make potions, keep his health up and live to 150 probably. But what was the point of that?

"Severus, dinner is nearly ready. Shall I ask Ron to help you get seated?" It was Hermione who spoke to him with a soft smile on her lips as she marched over.

"I am quite alright to get seated on my own," he huffed with a slight sneer but Hermione only rolled her eyes.

"Everyone, it time to eat!" She called so loudly it could be heard all the way through the Burrow. Just as Molly's voice had once been heard even in the smallest of corners and highest of rooms.

"Come on now, up you get," she said and grabbed him with strong arms.

She marched him over to the table as his back ached terribly and his knees refused to function smoothly. She plopped him down and he sneered at her.

"There we go," she said with a smile as she patted his shoulder.

"Now, don't be a Grinch and smile." Severus could not help but do as he was told since it was nearly a tradition for her to utter those words. She gave his shoulder another pat as the table was swarmed by several generations and it was extremely cramped. But Hermione always made sure he had enough space, even if the newest generation always wanted to crawl all over him. Why? He had no idea. Perhaps all the stories their parents and grandparents had told them of the war, of his part in it.

"Granma' 'mione" Hermione turned at the little girl who stood next to her leg.

"What is it dearie?" The granddaughter of Harry and Ginny had clearly inherited her looks from the Weasley side of the family with her red sparkling hair and twinkling eyes of mischief.

"I wanna sit here," the girl said and pointed to the chair next to Severus. Hermione smiled.

"I think your father wants to sit here," she said and the little girl pouted while Hermione smiled so widely her eyes wrinkled even more.

"Bu' I wanna sit by Uncle Sevy!" She stomped her foot with an angry expression and Hermione sighed.

After a while, and some bickering about who would sit where, everyone had a place in the recently remodelled and extended dining hall of the Burrow. Hermione had done a great deal to fix up the place as she and Ron were the only ones who wanted the place when Molly and Arthur had passed away from old age. Severus had helped with some magical binding spells and such but he had not been able to do much as his body did not age well. Hermione always said it was because he didn't allow enough joy and exercise in his life and he always huffed at the words. But lately, lately everyone had seemed more worried about him and comments like that had stopped coming. He suspected it was because he was truly old and brittle now.

"Well go ask-"

"Of course you shall sit by my side you little trickster," Severus said with a thunderous voice and the girl beamed at him before she quickly crawled up on the chair and Hermione simply scooted her in closer to the table as Albus came in.

"That's my seat!" He said and he played the shocked parent role as his daughter laughed on a giggle.

"Uncle Sevy said I get so sit with him," she giggled with a proud expression and Albus shook his head in defeat as his daughter, being merely 5 years old, was as headstrong as any child could possibly be.

"There is room for everyone," Hermione chided and Albus took the seat next to his daughter as the chair on the other side of Severus had already been claimed by the grandchild of Hermione and Ron, one of Hugo's daughters. Little Mary. She was a quiet child, as in she did not speak unless it was an absolute necessity, but very attentive and brilliant in her own way.

The chaos of Christmas dinner ensued after some thanks had been said for everyone's attendance, and the children begged for their gifts to be delivered after dinner. Hermione, the boss of them all, had shut it down with a few chosen words. So they all started to eat, talk and laugh again. The house was truly filled to the brim with them all. Three generations, four if you counted Severus as a separate one, which surely made sense?

The food was delightful, the children as well. The adults were in the middle of various conversations while helping the little ones. Severus kept a close eye on the two little ones closest to him and helped them as much as he could while Albus's daughter blabbered about gifts, school and the new pyjamas her mom had given her a week earlier - apparently, it had reindeer on it and that was obviously very important to tell him. On his other side sat Hugo's daughter in silence for a long time as she gently ate and listened to the conversations around her. She was also 5 years old and yet she seemed very different from the rest of the children. Less out there and more closed of. Severus found himself to be very attentive to her, even when the other children and adults called for his attention he still had her under his gaze.

Once the table was cleared and the squadron of Weasleys and Weasley-related people had moved out to the living room while the Potters and Potter-related people trailed after Severus was still sat by the table. He was looking out the window as snow fell silently in tiny little glittering flakes. Someone tugged on his sleeve. Hugo's daughter, Marry, wanted his attention. He glanced down at her.

"Yes?" His tone was as gruff as always yet there was a hint of a surprise in there somewhere. Mary looked intently at him, unflinching and unwavering.

"Can I sit?" She pointed to his lap and Severus opened his arms so the girl could climb up into his lap. It was an odd feeling. Not that the children didn't do it, even the previous generation had wanted to sit in his lap - well that time it was harder to accept but eventually, he had learnt to deal with having children crawl all over him. No this was an odd feeling as Mary never wanted to sit in a lap, be hugged or held in any way. She wanted no physical contact with others when it wasn't on her terms. And everyone respected that (even though he knew it hurt her mother deeply). But she snuggled into him, her knees raised as she leaned her side into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her gently. They both looked out the window in silence for a moment.

"Does it hurt?" she asked and Severus arched a brow at her. He was still rather good at that.

"Does what hurt?" he asked and the girl ever so slightly tilted her head.

"Life." Severus gawked at the girl. His mouth slightly open as that was in no way a question someone so young should ask.

"I saw it," she whispered, "the hurt, the bad people." Mary fidgeted with her fingers as she looked down.

"You saw it? Severus asked and she nodded silently.

"Would you like to tell me?" he asked and she nodded again.

"What did you see?" He asked and she peaked up at him.

"I see all kinds of things," she said softly, " some good, some bad, some make me sad. Like you. When I see things from you it makes me sad. You seem sad. It hurts," she said and Severus was quite surprised at how well-spoken she was for her age - and the fact she barely talked.

"Is that so?" She nodded at his words. He gave her a small smile.

"Well, you see Mary, life is difficult. Life is hard. But it is also beautiful," he said as he struggled to find words the little child could understand and also not to tell her too much.

"There are good people and bad people, there is love and hate. Some choose the wrong path and end up at the wrong place," he continued as they both yet again looked out the window.

"I don't understand. You are good but your life was bad? Wasn't it?" Her direct words cut through him harshly yet he smiled as she called him good. Children, unlike adults, said what they thought and felt. No filtering. Just honesty.

"True, my life was not easy-"

"And grandpa's pa was mean to you. But you like grandpa? You protected him? I don't understand." Severus stiffened, how do you know that?

"Mary, can I ask, what exactly do you see?"

"Well, I-" a burst of loud laughter broke through their little bubble and Mary jump a little as she grabbed on to Severus.

She relaxed again, "well I see what has happened, what might happen too. Sometimes it's really clear but sometimes it's hard to see. It's, foggy. I think that is the things that might happen."

"I think you're right," Severus murmured. Maybe she's a seer?

"Have you talked to your parents?" Mary shook her head, "Is this why you don't want to be touched?" Mary nodded, "do you see things about people more often when they touch you?" he continued in a steady, unwavering rhythm of his thunderous yet low voice. Mary nodded again.

"I see."

"That's my line," Mary said with an attempt at a smile. Severus smiled and gave her leg a little pat.

Yet, a thought occurred to him.

"May I ask, why you are willing to sit with me?" Mary tensed ever so slightly.

"Do you want to know?" Severus nodded sharply. He did indeed want to know even though he had a hunch.

"I don't see more foggy things from you and it feels, feels different. Feels like there is no more." Severus sighed, he understood her words. He had felt life slip away the past year as well.

"And the bad stuff, there is not so much bad left in them. Have you, hrm... I don't know the word."

"Accepted them and moved passed it?" Mary nodded that that was what she meant, "I believe so, I believe I've come to terms with those things in the past."

"But not the loneliness, I see it. The empty house. The coffee cup." Severus sighed at that.

After a moment of silence where Mary curled up even more and leaned her head against his chest that rose and sunk with every breath.

"I'm gonna miss you," she said in a hushed whisper. He gently stroked the top of her head, a coldness spread through him as the realisation truly hit him. He was nearing the end of what was his life. And who knew what waited beyond the border between eh living and dead; certainly not he.

"I will miss you as well. But I won't go far," he said softly and she chuckled ever so slightly.

"You shake when you talk uncle Sevy," she said, "it feels nice."

"Well, I have a deep voice. It happens," Severus said with a tired yet warm smile as he relaxed with her in his lap.

"It's nice," Mary whispered and after a moment he felt her body grow heavy as she silently fell asleep cradled in his arms.

It took several minutes before Hermione appeared in the doorway, just outside of Severus view as he was watching the snowfall outside still. She silently beckoned Ron, Hugo and Hugo's wife Ellie to come over. She pointed towards Severus and little Marry who was slumbering deeply. They all had wide smiles over their lips as they watched the scene.

"She's, she's in his arms," Ellie whispered on a suffocated sob. Hugo hugged his wife gently as tears gleamed in his eyes as well. Hermione stepped over as silently as she could.

"I'll take her," she whispered and Severus arched a brow at her.

"She's fine here," he said as he actually did not want to let the little girl go. Not for his sake, no, but for her sake. Little Mary, who never got human contact without an ensuing anxiety attack or crying. Little Mary, only five years old, who had to see things none should. Not only the one life she lived but everyone else's as well. He held her softly and Hermione nodded.

"I'll check on you in a moment," she said and he nodded ever so slightly. Hermione left and took the rest of the crowd that had gathered with her before she closed the door and left Severus in solitude with the sleeping child cradled ever so gently in his embrace.

When Hermione came back over an hour later Mary was sleeping even deeper. Her little hand splayed over Severus's chest and her head slightly tilted where it rested against his arm. she was heavy ad his legs had fallen asleep but he did not mind, no he did not mind one bit as Mary had a tiny smile on her lips as she slept peacefully.

"Should we put her to bed?" Hermione whispered and Severus nodded with a small smile. It was indeed time to let go. Hermione skillfully snuck her arms in under Mary, but the little girl stopped smiling instantly. Hermione swiftly walked out with the little girl as Hugo entered the room with Ellie in tow.

"Thank you," Ellie whispered as she silently cried tears of joy.

"How did you manage to get her to sit in your lap? Please, tell us," Hugo said and Severus gave the couple a tired smile.

"She asked, I obliged," he simply stated. They looked a bit confused at that. But Severus ignored it.

"You have a gifted daughter," he said, "and I do not mean that in the general spew people cast about when it comes to children. I truly mean, she is gifted. You ought to speak with her, and get help." This seemed to both concern and confuse the couple. Severus allowed his gaze to glide over to the window. An old man's pleasure, to look at the world outside.

"What, what do you mean, Severus?" Hugo asked as he crouched beside him.

"She's a seer," he simply stated.

"A, a seer?" Ellie asked as she sat down on a chair next to Severus.

"Indeed, and physical contact gives her more visions. visions of the past, the present, the future. It's all quite much for suck a young girl. You ought to get her help, allow her to explore and train her ability before it hurts her even more," Severus said and he did try his hardest to do so in a gentle way.

"She told you?" Severus nodded at Hugo's words.

"She, she never told us she, we just thought she, was special. Had special needs..." Ellie sobbed and Hugo looked as if he was devising a plan. Severus did not really concern himself with it as he knew he would not be here long enough to see what happened. He had felt it, and with Mary's words, he knew it. It was all ending.

Once Harry had dropped Severus off at his home and apparated back to the Burrow Severus sagged in the hallway. He was exhausted and he felt as if he could sleep for weeks. It was indeed a struggle to just undress and get ready for bed. But once he was properly tucked in while wearing his most comfortable nightshirt he slowly drifted off to the world of dreams. Little Mary's smiling face greeted him and she took his hand in hers. It was warm and soft, gentle as she tugged him through a field of sunflowers that echoed with children's laughter and the softest of music lingered in the wind.

The living room was filled with talk about Mary as Severus felt himself grow even more tired.

"Severus, would you like Harry to take you home?" Ginny asked with a gentle smile as she walked up to him.

"I presume that would be in order," Severus said and Ginny immediately told Harry who got dressed in coat and boots as Ginny helped Severus get dressed. He felt such disgrace at being such an ordeal but Ginny kept telling him it was no trouble and that they loved to have him with them. He could not fathom why and did not dare to question it as that might have changed their minds. They were, after all, the closest thing he had to a family. How it came about he still could not quite understand but it had happened at another Christmas party many years ago.

His breathing slowed as he found peace. His heart stopped beating as he felt warmth and joy spread through his younger body in the world of dreams and love. His soul drifted away, led by Mary's sweet smile as she called for him to come home and be free. All that was him left the world of the living and his body that still had a face etched with a soft smile. As he stepped over the border and embraced eternity Mary let go of his hand. And he knew, knew he would see her again, in many years when she was old and wise. When she had lived her life he would great her with a smile as he was no longer lonely and cold.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

Uffh, this hurt to write but at the same time, I really wanted to try my hand at this kind of sorrow and joy... This older version of Severus, this lonely version who never got a chance at love in life. but who still managed to find joy and peace in the end.

I hope you guys liked this despite it being dark/sad and different <3

Tags: @lizlil @snapefiction @morphineisouthoney @setsuna-meiou31 @snapefiction @monstreviolet

[Dec:2020]

Want to be tagged? 💚

You can tag yourself HERE!

Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

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ruzek-halstead · 4 years ago

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girl’s night

pairing: jay halstead x hailey upton

it's girl's night for the first responder ladies & girl talk ensues. the night ends at molly's where hailey tries to make a great escape but ends up confessing her feelings for jay instead.

"have you seen the way he looks at you? the man has heart-eyes all the time!”

masterlist || ao3

warnings: swearing, fluffery

it was vanessa’s idea to have a girl’s night.

she’s young, full of energy and looking for a good time. this particular girl’s night could have gone many ways, as literally everyone had different ideas in how to spent their night. eventually, vanessa’s idea received the most votes and it was decided they were going clubbing.

so hailey pulled out a little black dress from way deep in her closet (honestly, when was the last time she dressed up?) and a pair of strappy matching heels and allowed vanessa to drag her to a nightclub. the other first responder ladies were also in attendance (it was amazing that their schedules all coordinated for once). due to vanessa’s connections to the club, they were able to score a luxurious booth with bottle service in the vip section of the club; the drinks are flowing and they are all clearly and obviously, very inebriated.

“i’m so glad we got to do this!” sylvie exclaims, a fondness in her eyes. “god, i haven’t had an enjoyable night like this in forever. i love you ladies,” her eyes are glistening and hailey is sure she’s about to start crying in the club.

stella takes her empty glass from her hand and replaces it with a full one. “no tears tonight, brett!”

sylvie takes a hearty gulp from her glass. “sorry. i’m probably drunk.”

“you definitely are,” natalie laughs. “what do you think the guys are up to?”

kim snorts and all eyes land on her. she’s ditched the glasses and opted for the bottle instead (it’s been a year). “is that even a question? molly’s, obviously.”

“since we’re on the topic of men,” april says with a glint in her eye. “kim, what’s going on with you and adam?"

kim chokes on her bottle. “what?”

hailey hides a smirk in her gin and tonic.

“when are you guys getting back together?” natalie adds, looking at her expectantly. “honestly, we’ve all been waiting forever!”

sylvie nods. “you two are endgame.”

“end-what?” kim sputters, feigning confusion. she isn’t surprised they’re wondering though; adam and her have a long history and they always keep coming back to one another.

stella rolls her eyes, “not everyone speaks tween, brett.”

“it means ‘meant to be together’ obviously!”

kim hides her smile with another gulp from her bottle. “i’m not saying anything definite, but we are progressing along slowly,” she pauses so the ladies can squeal in delight. “we’ve been through a lot recently and i just can’t jump into anything right now.”

emily nods in solidarity. “that makes perfect sense. you do you, girl.”

“but since we’re on the topic,” kim adds, smirking in hailey’s direction. “how about you and jay?”

hailey nearly drops her glass.

“oh my god, yes! we’ve all been wondering the same thing!” april exclaims.

suddenly, all eyes are on hailey and she’s overwhelmed, like a deer in headlights.

“jay and i?” like the flick of a switch, hailey’s undercover skills jump in and she’s schooling them all with a perfectly stoic expression. “i’m not sure what you guys are talking about; we’re partners.”

if it wasn’t for kim and vanessa, she might have actually fooled them all, but they know her too well.

“bullshit!” vanessa yells, “i don’t believe that for a second. have you seen the way he looks at you? the man has heart-eyes all the time!”

“forget about that!” natalie interrupts, “we all saw your reaction in the hospital not that long ago.”

hailey swallows deeply. “that was… different. i wasn’t sure if he’d make it.”

“and what did that make you realize?” vanessa prompts with a mischievous smirk. hailey refuses to answer and instead downs her drink, following a particularly nasty glare thrown in vanessa’s direction. she’s unphased of course and says, “she’s obviously in love with him!”

“vanessa!” hailey snaps in utter mortification.

emily pats her knee from her seat beside hailey in the booth. “oh honey, it’s alright.”

“embrace it,” sylvie adds with a giggle, tipping back a bottle. stella smirks and hastily pulls it away from her.

“i’m so done with this conversation,” hailey mumbles, sliding down in her seat. compared to all the alcohol she’s consumed, she feels oddly sober in that moment.

“i have a crazy idea!” vanessa interrupts excitedly. “let’s go hit up molly’s?”

emily grins, finishing her glass quickly. “i’ll go anywhere i can get out of these shoes.”

“oh god, me too,” april agrees.

hailey is just dying to get away from conversations about herself and with everyone distracted at molly’s, she can make a quick escape.

stella makes the final decision as she stands up with a wicked grin. “plus, i have an in with one of the owners. free drinks, ladies!”

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

it only takes them twenty minutes to call ubers and arrive at their favorite modest bar. it only takes hailey seventeen minutes to realize how truly tipsy she is and how much of a terrible idea it was to wear heels. but then it only takes two minutes upon arrival to spot jay’s truck parked across the street and a small smile spreads across her features.

the ladies enter the bar in high spirits and loud cheers. the men of chicago’s first responders are scattered around the bar, smirking pleasantly at the sight of their drunk coworkers.

hailey finds jay’s heated green gaze easily. he’s sitting on a stool at the bar counter and shooting her an amused smile. her plan to sneak away has already failed before it’s even started. kevin and adam are nearby and kim and vanessa gravitate towards them on instinct. when hailey doesn’t move, vanessa doubles back and drags her blonde partner so she doesn’t attempt an escape.

“how was the night out ladies?” adam questions with a smirk.

vanessa is nearly vibrating with excitement. “amazing! god, i missed clubbing.”

“i’m still offended we weren’t invited,” kevin adds, pretending to be annoyed, “ruzek and i know how to bust a move.”

kim orders a water from herrmann as she laughs (she drank one too many bottles and it’s starting to hit her hard). “i can attest to that. it’s something everyone deserves to see before they die.”

“no doubt,” kevin smirks, nudging his brunette best friend. “what about you, hailey? enjoy yourself?”

hailey’s neck snaps up to make eye contact; she was once again deep in her thoughts. “oh yeah, it was great.”

“she says with limited enthusiasm,” jay narrates sarcastically.

hailey feels oddly sober.

“sorry,” she shakes her head, avoiding eye contact. “i’m just really tired. think i’m going to call it a night.”

vanessa instantly frowns. “do you want me to head home with you?”

hailey can see how much vanessa doesn’t want to end the night; this entire night was her idea in the first place and she can see stella and sylvie setting up the karaoke machine. this night was definitely far from over.

“no, no, i’m okay!” hailey reassures her with a forced, bright smile. “i’ll see you all tomorrow morning!”

she catches adam’s disapproving eye, as if he knows more than she does, but she ignores it.

“i’ll drive you home,” jay offers, just as she is about to leave the bar. he’s hurriedly draining the remainder of his beer bottle and grabbing his jacket.

hailey frowns (but notices kim and vanessa’s identical grins). “no jay, i’m okay. i’ll call an uber.”

jay scoffs. “you are not calling an uber,” he replies with distaste, “and you are not arguing with me about this.”

hailey promptly closes her mouth and shoots him an annoyed glare instead. “goodnight you two,” kim bids goodbye with a cheeky smirk, “be safe out there!”

the blonde detective rolls her eyes at her friend’s antics and silently follows jay to his truck parked across the street. he usually doesn’t drink more than one or two beers specifically so he is still sober enough to drive home and not have to leave his vehicle overnight. and it always helps to be able to drive his coworkers home whenever they need to unwind with a few extra drinks.

jay can tell that hailey is unusually quiet, especially with her silence during the car ride home. it seems like the girls all had a good night, so he isn’t sure what is up with all her mysteriousness.

“did you have a good night?” he asks again for the sake of conversation. they aren’t far from her place but the silence is killing him.

hailey steals a glance at him and his passive expression. “yeah, it was nice.”

“why so quiet?” he eventually asks. “did something happen?”

she lets out a dry laugh. “no, not really.” he doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. “no, it’s just girl talk. they were teasing me about you.”

“about me?” jay smirks. “what about me?”

hailey rolls her eyes at his childishness. “something about the way you look at me; heart-eyes or some weird shit like that.”

to her surprise, jay doesn’t give a visible reaction. he seems to almost agree. “you are pretty amazing and sometimes i can’t help myself.”

jay pulls into her driveway.

“what else did they say?”

now hailey is blushing and finding it hard to meet his eyes.

“something about my feelings for you.”

he places the truck in park and looks at her with hopeful green eyes.

“is there?” he asks. “are there? feelings, i mean.”

hailey notices his body language and mentally decides it’s most likely safe to be completely honest with him. “yes,” she replies, hardly even thinking about it. “i mean, there’s something.”

a smile spreads across jay’s features. “that’s good. i say that because i really do look at you with heart-eyes.”

“what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i like you hailey, and i think you like me too.”

it’s hailey’s turn to smile and she feels the rush of alcohol rise back up into her head.

“everyone else seems to think so too. looks like we’re the last ones to know it.”

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

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be as you’ve always been

Alternate Title: everyone’s nb bitch, let’s get you some gender affirming underwear

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This is based on a request by the lovely @minky-for-short and some truly beautiful art of Caduceus which you can see and bask in here. Huge thanks to @tendermosses for letting me base a ficlet on their work and for always doing such amazing art for fjord and caduceus!

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Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 or reblogging to let me know what you think!

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Caduceus had known, since moving out of the grove and into the city, that his life went at a very different pace to most people’s. He didn’t know if it was because he was a firbolg, because he talked more to trees with lifespans of centuries than to people or because of brain chemistry reasons. But why's had never particularly concerned Caduceus, he tried to take people as they were, as long as they did the same for him.

And these people made decisions almost without thinking, they moved from one task to the next without pause, one word could send them careening onto a completely new train of thought while Caduceus was stuck on one three stations back.

And some did it so quickly, so without any kind of traceable logic, that all Caduceus could do was cling on as tight as he could and follow along in complete ignorance to see where he ended up.

But then he spoke to some of his friends and realised, to his mild relief, that no. That was just what Mollymauk and Jester were like.

He also realised that sometimes it led to very good things.

Molly and Jester were two of his closest friends and two of his most regular customers, given that the theatre where Mollymauk worked was just down the block and that Jester had an addiction to sweet things. They were usually there, talking together or with their partners, and Caduceus had grown to love the sound of their voices mixing pleasantly with the noise of the cafe.

That evening, a half hour shy of closing, they had both been sitting on the tall chairs against the counter, Jester’s short legs swinging happily halfway up, Molly’s lanky ones folded underneath him but they would have touched the floor if he’d let them. The discussion had turned to sewing, how best to work with the sequined and beaded fabric Molly needed to wrestle for the theatre’s next show without breaking his sewing machine.

Caduceus had been scoring tomorrow’s loaves with the elaborate leaf and vine patterns he liked to do, bringing his work out onto the counter because there were no other customers in and so he could listen to his friend’s chatter. Jester had been recounting a memorable night with some sequinned lingerie she’d bought the other week, how so many had come loose and turned up in places they weren’t meant to be that she’d had to buy new sheets, Molly cackling and snorting at all the appropriate places. Or, rather, inappropriate places.

Caduceus had murmured, not particularly minding whether they heard him or not, that lingerie mystified him a little but he’d always wanted to give it a try.

The immediate silence told him his friends had definitely heard. And the look they gave each other, barely concealed glee and eagerness, told him they intended to do something about it.

Which brought Cad to where he was now, legs folded almost up to his chest, in the cramped passenger seat of Mollymauk’s car. Caduceus didn’t know a lot about cars but it didn’t take much to see that Molly’s had gone beyond being on its last legs and was now running on pure willpower and prayers to the Moonweaver. It felt like the bass of the music pouring out of the speakers was going to be enough to shake it apart and Jester piped up from the back seat that the door handle had come off.

“There’s duct tape under the seat, babe,” Molly called back, unconcerned, learning forward to turn down the volume when he saw how Cad was wincing but being too awkward to say anything.

“You really don’t need to do this,” Cad insisted gently, “You’ve both been working all day, it’s getting late...”

“So have you,” Jester pointed out, voice a little indistinct through the strip of tape she was holding in her teeth, “And we don’t mind, it’ll be fun! We can help you pick out something nice! Anyhow, Beau and Yasha are at the gym until eight, Fjord too.”

“And Caleb has the kids,” Molly hummed, spinning the wheel lazily, far further than he should really have to just to take an easy corner, “This is a bonding exercise, Deucey. You need back up on something like this. You need your GNC club.”

“GNC?” Caduceus tilted his head.

“Gender non conforming,” Molly supplied, “You know, people who get it. Gender’s dead but friendship is not.”

“Your NB buddies!” Jester grinned, her head pushing in between the two of them, duct tape stuck to her horns, catching her homemade earrings with the plastic gummy bears, “Wait...your NBuddies!”

Caduceus considered that, his ears flapping a little as he took the tape off for Jester. He liked the idea of being part of a club. Even more, he liked the idea of being understood. He’d been worried about that when he’d first moved, breaking away from the grove where things were fluid and constantly changing as nature itself and entering a place where there might be rules and expectations in place that made sense to everyone but him. Where he would have to explain himself and define himself with terms that weren’t his own.

But here he was, feeling safe in a very unsafe vehicle, with friends to gladly cheer him on as he threw open the windows of the self he’d made a home in and tried new things.

Caduceus folded the piece of tape over and over in his long fingers and smiled.

“So what is it that mystifies you, exactly?” Mollymauk twitched some scandalous lace as they moved deeper into the boutique. Apparently this is where he and Jester had been coming for ages, enough that the drow behind the counter had known their names and greeted them with high fives.

“I guess...the concept?” Caduceus held his tail so it wouldn’t knock anything over, some of the displays were elaborate and delicate looking and full of things that would probably vibrate loudly if they hit the floor and that would be embarrassing, “I thought the idea of sex was to wear nothing rather than something. Where in the whole...process does this stuff come in?”

Molly nodded, managing to listen intently while dragging Jester by the tail so she wouldn’t dive headfirst into the costumes part of the shop, “Anywhere really. They make stuff you can still fuck in, if efficiency is what you’re worried about. But I think the function of this kind of outfit is to make you feel pretty, y’know? Get you in the right headspace, get you feeling yourself, yeah? It doesn’t always need to be about sex.”

“Sometimes I just wear pretty lingerie under my clothes cos it puts me in a good mood!” Jester bounced on the balls of her feet, ducking behind racks to sneak sips of the milkshake she’d smuggled past the cashier, “Helps me feel more like me.”

“Oh,” Cad said softly, tilting his head to consider the silk and satin and lace around them in a different way, “That sounds nice, actually.”

“Which is why it’s important to choose things you really like,” Molly nodded encouragingly, taking a sip of Jester’s shake and dodging the punch she aimed at his shoulder, “It’s a treat for yourself, this kind of stuff. And, when it inevitably shortens Fjord’s shorts by a good few inches because you’re going to look utterly stunning, that’s a bonus.”

Caduceus turned pink under his fur, a smile playing on his lips, “You think he’d like me wearing this kind of thing?”

“If you love yourself in it, Caddy, he will,” Jester beamed confidently.

“So...what’s catching your eye?” Molly prompted, seeing the excitement in his bright purple eyes, “They’ve got a good size range here, gaps for tails. Anything you like, they’ll have it to fit you.”

Caduceus looked around, ears lifting and whiskers twitching with interest. Anything he liked. No need to wonder if they would have things made to fit his tall, awkward body, no need to feel the pinching anxiety he’d grown too familiar with in clothing shops. A place where he could fit. And the only purpose was to make him feel beautiful.

“I like...green. And I like flowers.”

Molly and Jester shared that look again, the look of remembering when they’d had that moment of realisation too, when they’d discovered the world had space for them as they were. A look of delight at seeing it happen for their friend too and knowing they’d had a hand in it.

“Let’s get to work then,” Molly grinned.

Caduceus still had a little more time before Fjord came back from the gym. They’d checked and double checked the sizes on everything but Mollymauk still advised trying them on to make sure he was happy with them. And honestly, Cad’s excitement meant he didn’t want to wait.

So he stood in front of the full length mirror, after clearing away the clothes that were draped over it, with his hair gathered up in a thick bun at the nape of his neck, wearing little beyond the dull gold light of the sunset coming in through the windows. He’d bought three sets at the store and a few bits of jewellery to go through his piercings, actually a rather modest haul compared to what Molly and Jester bought for themselves but he was just starting out, after all.

There was one in green silk with garters and lace panels. There was a bodysuit made of mostly straps in a mossy blue colour that reminded him of water and looked pretty against his fur. But he quickly decided his favourite. The main material was sheer, meant to look like it wasn’t there at all, so the effect was that he’d laid a number of beautiful, intricately embroidered flowers across his body, teasingly concealing the barest amount.

That one he couldn’t quite bear to take off, even after he saw it fit him perfectly. Caduceus kept turning this way and that, grinning widely, seeing how it looked from different angles, touching the fabric, feeling how the stitches rose and fell under his fingertips. He looked like a dryad, wearing only sunlight and flowers, glowing from the inside out with an ethereal, untouchable kind of beauty.

And he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Caduceus had always felt mostly at home with how he expressed himself. He’d had eighty years to decide who he was and to know it was okay, that the Wildmother would always accept him and some individuals would not and that was outside of his control. Dysphoria was a word he’d learned the meaning of only after he’d moved to the city.

But this was the first time he’d been able to understand why Fjord looked at him the way he did, why he wanted him. Those dark nights when he’d lain awake with his head on his boyfriend’s chest and listened to the heart that was promised to him and wondered why, of all the people in the world, Fjord’s body stirred for him, those nights felt far away right now. Because he could see it for himself now. There was a connection in his mind, clear as day, that had been dark before.

He was beautiful. He was desirable. And this was good to know.

Caduceus mustn’t have heard the front door open, more in his head and in the mirror than in their bedroom. He mustn’t have heard Fjord throwing his bag down in the hall, his heavy footfalls across the old, creaking wood.

All Cad heard was the bedroom door starting to swing and his boyfriend’s call of, “I’m home, love, just going to showe-oh.”

Cad turned quickly, the magic broken, suddenly only able to think about the fact that he was wearing ridiculous lingerie with absolutely no warning, no rose petals or candles or glasses of champagne to try and pretend this was a deliberate surprise, “Fjord! Sorry, I...I was just…”

He faltered for words but couldn’t find any. Though it seemed Fjord was having the same difficulty. He was in his gym clothes, shirt still sticking to his chest and hair pushed back from his damp forehead with a simple band. And his jaw was on the floor. And his eyes...

“Um...Molly and Jester took me shopping today?” Cad explained, feeling heat rise to the surface of his skin for a different reason, “I thought I’d try something new.”

Fjord swallowed hard, his eyes wide and darting, unable to decide which part of Caduceus they wanted to stare at most, “Yeah? You...you look...I mean, god, Cad…”

Cad’s smile was back, flickering into life, “I look pretty, don’t I?”

Fjord gave a soft laugh, his eyes practically flooding over, “Pretty? Cad, there aren’t even words, love.”

Caduceus’ ears flapped and his tail curled in the air. He liked that. He liked the idea of things that could be said without words.

“Can I?” Fjord stepped forward, muscles coiled and ready, body telegraphing his need as clearly as a hunting animal.

“Oh please,” Cad breathed, “Fjord, please.”

It was well and truly night by the time they were done and Caduceus was pleased to learn he could feel just as beautiful once the lingerie had been eagerly pulled away. It was like a light had been switched on somewhere inside him and on it would stay.

He slept contentedly, easily, head resting on Fjord’s chest. His braid was undone, hair settling over his shoulders in waves made wild by his boyfriend’s fingers passing through it again and again. His lips were swollen pleasantly and flushed, his body would be full of well earned aches in the morning.

He was the most beautiful thing Fjord had ever seen.

He was ready for sleep himself, more than ready, but before he settled down to let himself drift away in his boyfriend’s arms, the only way he could ever really sleep completely peacefully, he had something to do. He pulled his phone out, fortunately within reach because his shorts had ended up hanging off the bedside lamp. Just a quick text, sent to two of his friends- Little Blue and Peacock according to his contact list.

thank you. seriously guys THANK. YOU.

And if Molly and Jester hadn’t been busy with their own partners, their own purchases, their own bliss, they would have seen it and grinned that grin again.

But there would be time in the morning.

#fjorclay #caduceus clay #fjord #critical role #everyone is trans #everyone is gay #modern au #fluff #smut #please let me know what you think!#teahaw

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adenei · 4 years ago

Note

“Go. You go and don’t even think about coming back here.” for Romione 😊

@my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass Thanks for the prompt! I really loved writing this one!!

************************************************************* Hermione stood up from her desk and gathered her things. “Elizabeth, I’m taking the afternoon. I have an appointment outside the Ministry. I’ll see you on Monday,” she said to her colleague and friend.

“Ooh, more wedding stuff?” Elizabeth whispered.

Hermione smiled. “Something like that.” The wedding was only a month away now, so her assumption was justified.

“Brilliant! Have a great weekend, Hermione!”

“See you,” Hermione responded as she made her way to the lifts.

Hermione was headed to see a mediwitch at St. Mungo’s. Everything had been seemingly fine with her since Malfoy Manor, save for a few spasms now and then if she exerted too much energy on any given task. She’d recently talked to Fleur who had made the suggestion. Hermione had tried to reassure Fleur that she was fine, and she was the one to thank for that, but Fleur wasn’t convinced.

‘Zer could be hidden damage zat I did not catch. It would be best to have a mediwitch check for ze things I could not.’

So Hermione was on her way to get the work up done, and to be reassured of a clean bill of health.

****************************************************************

Ms. Belmont, the mediwitch, had just finished performing a number of spells, which was the last part of the work up. Hermione had already been administered potions, and answered a series of extensive questions about what she remembered of the events of Malfoy Manor before this point. She genuinely liked the woman who was helping her.

“Well, Ms. Granger, I have good news and bad news after reviewing the scans.” Ms. Belmont said.

“Oh?” Hermione asked.

Ms. Belmont nodded. “Despite the extensive time and force you were under during the Cruciatus, your body has not undergone any significant damage. You were incredibly strong in fighting it. However, the spells did detect layers of scar tissue around your lower abdomen, around the outside of your uterus. It will likely affect your ability to conceive and carry a healthy pregnancy in the future.”

Hermione stared at the mediwitch. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to hear, but it wasn’t that. She’d never even thought there could be any repercussions in that area of her life.

“It’s not to say that you can’t get pregnant, but it will be more difficult. Luckily, the uterus itself is not damaged, but the scar tissue around the outside could cause problems as it needs to expand as a baby grows.”

“I see,” was all Hermione could say.

“I will be more than willing to work with you if you and your partner come to a point where you are ready to start a family, of course. Do you have any other questions for me?” Ms. Belmont asked.

“Er, no, not right now. Thank you,” Hermione said.

“Of course. Please don’t hesitate to owl if you need anything.” Hermione nodded at the mediwitch’s words and gathered her things.

She exited St. Mungo’s, and began walking down the street. Ms. Belmont’s words were echoing in her brain as she walked aimlessly. Hermione was having trouble thinking straight. She turned down an abandoned alley and apparated away. She found herself not in front of her own flat, but in front of Shell Cottage. Her body seemed to be working of her own accord as she felt her hand knock on the door.

Fleur opened the door after a few moments. “Hermione! Please, come in. Victoire just settled in for a nap.” As she shut the door and turned to look at Hermione, she noticed the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Hermione sat on the couch in the sitting room. “It’s...I’ve just been to see a mediwitch. She was very nice, did a full work up and everything. I’m truly always amazed at how Magical medicine works…” she trailed off.

Fleur was busy heating the kettle for tea, and gathered mugs from the cupboard. When Hermione didn’t continue, she turned to her and asked, “Eez everything okay?”

“Y-yes, for the most part. The only thing she found was some scar tissue.”

Fleur poured the hot water in the mugs and brought them over, sitting across from Hermione. “Where eez the scar tissue?”

Hermione’s throat tightened as she looked down and clutched her lower abdomen.

“Oh, Hermione I am so sorry.” Fleur said. This was what she was afraid of.

“It’s- I’ll be fine. I just- I needed to tell someone. I don’t know how I’m going to tell Ron. How is he going to want to marry me still if I can’t-”

“Hermione, do not speak like that,” Fleur stopped her, but before she could continue, Victoire began crying in her room upstairs. “Please, take all ze time you need here, but do not make any rash decisions.”

Hermione sat quietly sipping her tea as Fleur tended to Victoire. She kept trying to come up with ways to tell Ron. He didn’t even know she’d been to the appointment at all. She remembered back to the times they’d talked about the prospect of kids and starting a family someday. His face always lit up at the prospect, and he was such a wonderful uncle to Victoire. Hermione felt the tears start to stream down her face. She couldn’t take that away from him.

Fleur came down a while later with Victoire in tow. “Listen, Hermione, you are more than welcome to stay, but I promised Molly zat we would be by for dinner, and Bill eez meeting us there.”

“Oh! Of course, it’s fine. I need to get going anyway. I should probably get home before Ron wonders.”

“I’m so sorry. You know I am always here if you need to talk, of course. We’ll see you on Sunday?”

“Yes, yes of course. Thank you for the tea.” Hermione then told Fleur she’d rather apparate than floo, and saw herself out as she heard Fleur lock the front door and floo to the Burrow.

The sun was warm and the fresh air felt nice against her skin. Hermione decided to walk on the beach before settling on an abandoned log, watching the water. She thought she’d put the war past her. The nightmares had stopped ages ago, everyone had healed, and then she had to go and tear open all those old wounds. Tears began to fall again. How could she have been so stupid to believe she’d walked away from the Cruciatus Curse unscathed, by Bellatrix Lestrange no less.

Hermione had lost track of time, having forgotten to wear her watch that day, as her thoughts began to spin out of control. She wasn’t sure how long she was sitting there, and was only brought back to reality when she heard a familiar voice calling her name. No, no, no, I’m not ready. I can’t confront him yet, she thought.

“Hermione? Hermione!” Ron called as he moved quickly towards her. “Why didn’t you come home? I stopped by your office to pull you away from your desk for the day, but Elizabeth said you’d left for the afternoon, but then you weren’t at the flat either. I checked your parent’s house and the Burrow, and that’s when Fleur said you’d been here, but she thought you’d gone home.” He paused to look at her, noticing how she stared straight ahead, instead of looking at him. “What’s wrong?” Ron made to move to her side, but stopped abruptly when she backed away and held her hands up as if to stop him.

“I’m sorry. I just, Ron, I really need to be alone right now. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“What? Hermione, where were you this afternoon? What happened?” Ron was confused by her reaction.

Hermione shook her head. “I can't right now. I just need a little space! Please, just-. Go. You go and- and don’t even think about coming back here. Please. Not right now. I’ll be home later.”

“But Hermione-”

“Ron, please!” Her voice broke ever so slightly. It was all she could do to hold it together. She couldn’t do this right now. She needed more time to process this on her own.

“No,” he said. They hadn’t had a row like this in years. Ron had no idea what had happened, but the look he’d seen on Fleur’s face earlier indicated she knew more than she was letting on.

“Ron, why can’t you just give me the space I’m asking for?” she pleaded with him.

“Because we’re not in school anymore, Hermione! I’m not just going to walk away and let you sort it out and ignore me. We’re getting married in a month! I thought we were past this!” He let the frustration take over his words.

“You may not be saying that anymore after you do find out what this is all about,” Hermione realized a moment too late that the words had escaped her as she clasped her mouth with her hands, hoping the ocean breeze prevented her quiet words from being heard.

“What are you on about?” Ron sat down next to her in disbelief of what he’d just heard. The anger had dissipated and now all he could feel was fear. The fear that he could be losing her. He softened his tone. “Hermione, please. Talk to me.”

Hermione closed her eyes as a few more tears escaped. “I went to see a mediwitch today.” She waited a moment, gathering her thoughts before continuing. “To- to make sure there were no...lingering effects from the Cruciatus Curse.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because I was sure it would all check out to be fine, and I didn’t want to worry you.” Hermione sighed.

“But it’s not fine. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“No,” she said plainly.

“Please tell me.”

Hermione took a deep breath in and exhaled deeply. “There’s a good chance I may not be able to carry a child. It’s not- It’s not definitive, but she said I could have a harder time because of the layers of scar tissue that’s built up around my uterus.” Hermione subconsciously moved her hand over her stomach.

Ron felt like he’d been sucker punched. Not because of Hermione’s confession, but because she thought he might not want to go through with the marriage because she might not be able to have children. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Hermione, love, I wish you would have told me. That I could have been there with you.” He tried to reassure her.

“I’ll understand if you want to call things off, since I can’t give you a family.” It was as if she hadn’t heard him, or felt his arms around her.

“I’m not going anywhere, so bloody get that thought out of your head right now. You’re my whole world, Hermione. Kids or no kids, that doesn’t matter to me. You matter to me. We’ll figure this out together. I love you.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

She felt as if a weight had been lifted off of her as she melted into him. “I love you, too.” She looked up at him, her eyes finally meeting his. Ron kissed her hard then, channeling all of the emotion he felt into that one kiss.

When they broke apart, Hermione chewed on her bottom lip before admitting, “I just thought we were finally past it. The nightmares are gone, the pain is gone, but now this will always be a constant reminder. It’s like she’s haunting me on purpose.”

Ron shook his head. “No. Don’t even think that. You haven’t let her get the best of you yet, so we can’t let this setback change anything.”

“I know, I know.” Hermione said. He was right after all. “I’m sorry I tried to push you away. I was just so scared.”

“Well, being alone never helps anything. Learned that the hard way. I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Ron said as he played with her hair.

“Good.” Hermione said through a smile. “Can we go home now?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Send me a prompt!

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rcris123 · 5 years ago

Text

The wind is harsh; he can hear it in the twisting of the branches above. They found a tree perched on a ridge of this plateau, underneath which the soil cut abruptly, creating a wall that they decided to use as shelter for tonight. Wet and with the air cooling further as night fell they ended up knees to their chest and arms folded over each other to preserve warmth.

John kept coughing; reckons his lungs still got some water left in them – and frankly they ain’t got the time to pat the man rough between the shoulder blades to get him comfortable. And then he never asked further.

Arthur shielded his son, like he always did; the love that man bore for his child was undeniable and tender in a way few men had the courage to – but he doesn’t think they’re any kind of men... They’re on the fringes; never the norm, so maybe the outlaw lifestyle suited him and he should have thought of it earlier than Arthur collapsing in front of him.

That felt so long ago... The Molly-house is only a distant memory now, but thinking back he can still remember the smell of fluids in the sheets, the smoke, the alcohol... Some of them made couples and they’d bed each other sometimes. He couldn’t say he didn’t try it once. It was easy, available and not meant to last and they all knew it. Imagine whoever you want darlin’. And Sebastian’d lay back and close his eye, but before his eyes was a black screen: nothing. Pleasure could build but there was no one there; and nothing he really desired. Sex was just like alcohol; it numbed the loneliness. For a while.

He doesn’t know how those 5 years passed, but at the same time he wonders how he got the chance not to be stuck there until he would be useless and greying... How’d he got the chance to meet exactly Arthur, ‘cause there’s so much about him he can find no replacement for. Handsome, wounded outlaw and his beloved son, queer on top of it to somehow end up his partner.

Chest squeezed at the thought; of course he could hardly sleep, but eyes were closed. Hand draws tender circles over Arthur’s arm. Maybe it’s giving him tingles that he’s so close other men, but the way they’re all squeezed together for some form of warmth and comfort felt like a permission. And then they all knew he loved Arthur.

“I love you.” Just a whisper; it’s to give him courage. “Buck.” It’s how Arthur called him. Stubborn buck, when he thought that’s something that’d much rather describe the other than himself: hardy, agile, determined and with a certain pride that he wouldn’t admit ‘cause he thought of himself as lowrung and worthless.

Arthur shifted as if he heard and there’s that smile crawling on his lips. Sebastian pulls himself closer and feels the sweet nothings on his tongue, but that may just be too much-

He wasn’t the first awake. Sean and Kieran seemed to have climbed up near the tree, inspecting the horizon for possible ways to take. Flat Iron Lake still glistened in the distance, the morning sun reflecting on its surface.

He reaches for Arthur; he’s there.

“Mornin’ Buck.” He sounded tender, but not worry free.

“Mornin’.” A lean in. “What you thinking about?”

“We should head East now, but on foot-”

“We just need to find the nearest town, and we’ll buy some horses from there.”

“I ain’t been this far south before...”

O’course... Sebastian did neither. He’s been stuck for most of his life in dusty Rhodes and the rest in Saint Denis, but Arthur was a traveler.

“I bet you’ve seen a lot of places you’ve never been to before.” Sebastian muses.

A chuckle, that by now sounds almost familiar: “You ain’t wrong about that.” He takes a deep breath in before he gets up. “We’re gonna get out of this one as well.”

Hand extends to Sebastian; he pulls himself up.

John is the last awake. He’s complaining about the throat bothering him and who can blame him – thou truly, he’s the only one speaking...

Bones don’t get stretched for long before they pick a route, courtesy of Kieran and Sean, who’d tried making heads or tails of this desert they found themselves in, and start marching. And marching they did. The heat wasn’t bad at first, only prickling at skin after about half an hour, but then blood started to run hot, then boil. Sun rules above them like some tyrant king, unrelenting, unforgiving. They don’t know how long they walked in a straight line until their trajectory changes to bee-lining from the shade of one shriveled tree to the next. Stops become more frequent. They ain’t got canteens with them. John’s feeling weak; collapses on the treetrunk after the first few. Arthur’s bent with his hands resting on his knees, urging Isaac to sit down next to John.

They don’t have water with them. Alcohol will make them thirsty and delirious. And he’s starting to doubt the words he said this morning.

They decide to wait for evening; march at night. They throw away good alcohol so that him and Sean could try and look for some water to fetch. Kieran wanted to help, but he’s still got that injured hand – a whole chuck of flesh taken out of it. Well one could argue Sebastian’s been shot in the leg, but he’s hoping they forgot that.

“Here.” He offers Isaac the bottle first and the boy gulps it down without breathing. They found a spring not that far from here.

“Thank it easy, kid or your lungs’s gonna catch fire.” Arthur warns and Isaac takes the bottle from his mouth and passes it to his father. “Thank you.”

Arthur drinks slowly, then hands the rest to Sebastian:

“I had my fill at the spring.”

“Where’s this spring, we need these refilled.”

“I’ll go-”

“You need to rest yourself. Lookit you.” Sebastian takes a breath in at that. “You’re all purple under the eyes; I’ll go.”

“I can come too.” Isaac offers.

The sun ain’t as fierce now as it’s starting to set and golden hues paint the landscape. If it weren’t for their predicament it’d almost be pretty. He does rest; he has to trust Arthur. He trusts him, in fact; he’s a more than capable man.

Father and son return with the bottles filled and they go on their march yet again. Maybe they’re lost souls in purgatory.

Sebastian honestly had no idea what to expect from this ‘Blackwater mission’, Arthur told him it was foolish, and maybe he wasn’t a planner, but he had experience – Sebastian did not, and his optimism faded to dread, then a sort of hollow acceptance as if Death was trailing just slightly behind them on a pale horse waiting for them to drop. One by one...

Dawn comes. All their boots are cream from dust, legs are sore and he can only speak for himself but the one still healing’s stiff and throbbing with pain. They find themselves a tree and fall under it, huddled like the night before. No incentive needed, they fall asleep each as they manage.

When he opens his eyes for a moment to shift his position he sees Sean completely fallen over in Kieran’s lap and John more or less leaning against him. Isaac is clinging to Arthur and the man’s body looks so still it feels lifeless. In his exhaustion fueled daze he thinks of something he shouldn’t and heart squeezes in his chest. He jerks with eyes fully open.

They’re breathing...

He doesn’t remember when he falls back asleep; his eyelids are always heavy and the hunger in his stomach keeps growling.

Flies wake him up in the afternoon; it smells like corpse.

He jolts awake again:

“Jesus!” John’s thrown off and goes to cover his face before he falls to lean on something else.

Sebastian quickly rushes to his feet; he’s shaking. He can’t help but smell his clothes: just sweat, pungent, disgusting, but it’s just sweat. He turns to the rest. They’re all slowly waking; Isaac’s lifting his head in confusion.

Arthur’s eyes are closed, his breathing rapid, precipitated.

John catches him staring and shoves the man awake. Wind’s knocked out of him as he lands on one arm and starts coughing lightly.

That glare Arthur gives is tired.

“Maybe we should be eating something...” Kieran prompts.

They got some cans left. They chow them down at lightning speed, but Sean doesn’t look too fresh after all that food taken on an empty stomach that fast.

And they start crawling again. Tonight there’s no moon. Arthur’s last, Sean first.

The desert keeps on going and Flat Iron Lake’s left the view.

Tree to tree their journey takes them, further inland. The wind is harsher there; and maybe he’s going delirious thinking this is feeling like a descend to Hell. He’s losing; they’re all losing. They’re all losing because he’s a bad luck charm; karma’s best contender for misfortune. Panic boils through his system, steps drag, stumble, and he feels his lungs fill up with dust.

What the fuck is this dread? Does it belong to him? Why? Why now all of a sudden, just because one job went bad – Oh no and he’s reminded of Dutch now. He’s an outlaw now, ain’t he?... He’s an outlaw; he ain’t the man he was, but what man was he to begin with. What man was he supposed to be or become if it weren’t for one fateful encounter.

Should he owe everything to Arthur?... That ain’t how things work. He’s-

He’s lost.

And he’s dragging Arthur in with him and it’s smelling like death-

He eats dust falling on his face. The entire line of people stop to gawk. Isaac rushes to his side first to help him up; Arthur follows.

“I’m fine...” he spits dirt out, pushes himself up only to find himself wanting to fall back in Arthur’s arms. He only gives the man a look; he probably looks pitiful now, wiping wet sand from his lips. It crunches between his teeth.

“C’mon up.” Arthur offers him a hand and heaves as he strung Sebastian up. “Walk with me...”

Sean starts walking again, and his hand slips into the other’s and squeezes it tight. The march goes on; Isaac in front between them, and the two of them at the rear, arms dangling from each other as they walked.

He didn’t notice at first, Arthur’s palm’s burning-

“Arthur...”

He knows: “It’s just the heat. Heatstroke...”

And the bulletwound... His leg won’t give him peace, he can’t imagine how Arthur’s repeatedly abused shoulder would feel like... And he wants to believe him, although deep within himself he knows the man is lying; he’s alright for everyone else’s sake – he-

“I know you.”

Arthur’s hand squeezes his own hard; Sebastian reciprocates the gesture:

“It ain’t gonna get much worse. I promise.”

Isaac whips his head around:

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that, Isaac.”

“Don’t lie to me. Not now.”

“I ain’t trying to lie...” Arthur speaks. “I’m trying to keep hopeful.”

“Okay...” the boy says, but ain’t in the least hopeful...

They end their march near sunrise; they found a road. If they kept to it they might just reach some form of civilization. But rest came first.

It was definitely fever when Arthur rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder; even his breath came out hot. Isaac curled next to them.

And throughout the day it got worse- bouts of cough started up, wheezing.

“Are you sleeping?” Sebastian whispers to him.

“No...”

“We’re getting you to the nearest docto-”

Arthur holds him firm: “At night...”

But he can’t watch him like this; not with the thoughts he’s been having lately. He swipes a few strands of hair out of Arthur’s face and the man leans into the touch like he’s been starved.

“We can’t let the kid get sick...” Arthur says, trying to suppress another cough.

A kiss to the temple: “Never, Buck.”

He feels Arthur’s cheeks rise against his clothes: “I like it when you call me that...”

Well he can’t deny that’s a truly special pet name: “Me too...”

A moment’s silence. Breaths rise and fall in sync after a short while. Eyes close and he adjusts his position against the tree, arm drawing Arthur closer in; in turn the man climbs a leg over his own; comfortable. They need as much rest as they can get.

And it was obvious they weren’t going to get much of it...

Arthur startles Isaac awake with his coughing, and the boy goes to shake him awake but there ain’t no use: man’s gotta cough a lung out first.

Sebastian strings himself and the man up with a heave: “We’re getting you to a doctor-”

John, Sean, Kieran were all awake by the time as well staring at the pair of them as if their friend’s been given a death sentence. And maybe that was correct but he ain’t letting Arthur lose the fight just yet.

The walk is painful; Arthur is heavy in his arms and his shot leg is screaming with every movement. They were allowed no rest, but he’s starting to understand that it ain’t like them to just give up. They are stubborn men. And they have a son to look after.

Isaac walked first behind them; the rest followed.

Then Isaac walked ahead.

It was past midday at this point, the heat was slowly simmering down, but it wasn’t enough for them; bodies have been pushed quite beyond what they could; they haven’t eaten, got any good rest or significant break. And now... Isaac’s walk was brisk; stiff from all the sore muscles, but it felt like he was putting all the energy he had left into this, as if there truly was a town just near of here.

But there wasn’t.

They walked, and walked some more; Arthur took to his own legs, dragging them through the dust, one hand into his own. And Isaac was still ahead, the faintest sniff escaped him sometimes, but the boy wouldn’t turn when his father called out to him. And then they walked some more.

Heat produced sound at this point. Sebastian couldn’t feel his leg; it grew completely numb with pain. And Arthur looked worse: hair drenched in his own sweat, skin drained of color, while his cheeks and nose reddened to a concerning color. And still man had the strength to keep up the pace, following behind Isaac intently, loyally.

The world started to grow dim – and they kept on walking. The boy kept on walking ahead, stiff, limping from exhaustion, and only the boy existed outside themselves. John, Kieran, Sean faded to background noise. Arthur’s huffing, his own pain and Isaac’s silhouette became all that he knew, besides the inertia of moving his feet.

Any moment now, he feels the pale rider’s going to swoop in and mercifully depart them. Two queer men, their son and the fortune they never got to taste. What’s he come to; it’s almost beautiful in its tragedy.

He’s already convinced himself the sound of hooves is that impending doom – but it’s merely another traveler-

Isaac seems to spring to life the moment the man comes into view; moves to stand directly in front of the rider.

“Isaac-” Father’s voice is lacking a certain sternness.

“Can I buy your horse, mister?” Isaac sounds terribly polite for how his voice was shaking.

“No. Get away from here, brat-”

Man’s eyes peel open when the boy pulls out his revolver, the other hand swooping in to grab the reins.

“I’ll buy your horse, mister. 100 dollars.”

“Isa-” but John steps in, his own gun raised:

“Hand the boy the horse, it ain’t worth your life.”

Man slowly raises his hands and dismounts. Isaac reaches in his pockets and hands the man the promised money.

“Now get going!” John’s tone still retained its broken highpitched squeal. Traveler stands there for a moment then the feller books it.

Arthur takes from his side:

“The hell is wrong with you-”

“You need a horse. You’re sick!” Son defends his choice.

“You ain’t no outlaw! I ain’t raised you an outlaw-”

“What other choice did I have!? Did we have!”

Arthur’s jaws clench shut followed by a deep inhale, and silence falls.

“Get in the saddle and let’s go... Please...” Isaac begs at this point, tugs Arthur’s sleeve. “Pa...”

Man sits there a while, until his chest vibrates under a cough he’s trying to suppress. Son urges his father one more time and this time he gives in.

Isaac mounts first with the man on the back of the horse.

“Make sure you don’t forget us here.” Sean decides to butt in as Isaac spares one more glance at the people he leaves behind, before spurring the horse maybe a bit too harshly.

He holds his breath watching them take the road into the night. He can feel his heart thumping against his ribs, but the ache is only noticeable when he finally exhales. Head bows and he’s waiting for his thoughts to collect. They’ll be fine he’s trying to tell himself.

And it’s only now that he feels completely exhausted, weak and feeble. Posture slouches and his knee trembles from the pain of having to still stand up.

“Hey... Uhm you ain’t lookin’ that good, Sebastian.” Kieran’s voice is meek as usual.

“Guess I ain’t...” There’s no tree to lean upon so he just ends up laying on the ground with a huff.

“What a mess...” John utters, skipping a stone out of frustration.

“Guess it could have gone worse.” Sean argues, flopping down beside Sebastian. “And maybe our luck’s turning.”

Silence.

Then John’s voice pitches in again: “I... wonder if Jack’s gonna end up like that...”

“Stickin’ up for you? No chance.” Sean mocks.

“Hey-”

“Let the man talk.” Sebastian grunts; it felt like all John was being taken for was a buffoon with half a brain, even in his most sincere moments.

He’s almost taken aback: “Thank you, Sebastian...”

“Ain’t... always a straightforward way of being a father...” Sebastian admits.

“How can I know? All I ever saw was Arthur and his kid. He was there the day I joined, you know. A toddler running around this massive man in his 20’s that had no fucking clue how to deal with me and him at the same time.” John cracks a faint smile. “I probably should have turned out much better... I ain’t even fully knowin’ what I was trying to prove. I ain’t Arthur. I ain’t some golden boy, some father of the year or the other...”

“But you love the kid, don’t you?”

“Of course! I mean... It’s still weird thinking he’s mine. But he’s five already... But he’s got everyone else looking out for him! I ain’t though he’d be needing me.” Then, after one short pause, John’s expression sours, lips curling in on themselves: “Arthur ain’t really got someone like that did he?... Like, he raised that boy alone, before the gang really got that big-... Shit.” Man rubs his chin.

“It ain’t your fault.” Sebastian tries his best to be reassuring.

“At this point who even knows whose fault it is...”

Silence again; he doesn’t know how to reply to that; he’s empty of any good words and he really ain’t the man to be giving advice...

“You know,” John speaks up again. “You ain’t a bad man, Sebastian.”

A few blinks; it takes him a while to answer: “Thank you...”

“I...” A huff. “Arthur’s really thinking about you, you know? He-” John purses his lips.

Eyebrows furrow: “What?”

“I asked him a dumb question once; that’s all...”

They somehow fell asleep when they hear what sounds like a two horse wagon racing their way. Sean is first up, reaching for his gun.

“It’s Isaac!” the boy shrieks pulling hard on the reins.

They all exhale, but a whole wagon feels-

“Where’d you get that?” Sebastian dares ask and hopes he’s soft.

“I bought it.” Isaac defends, apologetically this time.

“How is he?...” Kieran’s the first to ask; not because it wasn’t on his mind as well?

“In a hotel room. They don’t have a doctor in town. Said we gotta head to Calport, then take a boat to Saint Denis.”

“Jesus...”

“We gotta-” Isaac sighs as if trying to hold something in. “I’m so sorry. Seb...”

Sebastian climbs up next to him on the driver’s seat, picks the reins and tries a smile.

Isaac gives him directions as he drives, but otherwise keeps the conversation quiet. In about half an hour they find themselves in a small town that, with its dusty roads and dried up buildings, reminded him of Rhodes.

The hotel wasn’t fancy: more or less crumbling down; stairs creaking under his boots. The room was sparse and they find Arthur sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over his knees, propped in his elbows. Head was low and hair looked sticky. Isaac wasted no time sitting beside his father, a hand rubbing between his shoulders after an awkward stutter.

Arthur bends his head towards his chest further as he coughs.

Sebastian limps to join them; the rest of the posse flooding in after him.

“So, uh... what now?” Kieran had enough confidence to speak up.

John pinned his arms on his hips, Sean scratched his chin; so it was up to them... And he doesn’t have the strength to ask anything of Arthur, but he can’t find it in himself to say anything either – think of anything either. He’s feeling sore and numb and simply wants to revel in the company of those he holds dear and he so wants to cling to this feeling of home he’s barely gained an appreciation for.

“Guess we need rest for tonight.” Arthur speaks up. “And tomorrow we head out...”

“In that case we better get ourselves some provisions; everythin’ we had was on them horses.” Sean says. “Isaac would you come with me?”

“Let the kid rest.” John intervened.

“No, I want to come...” Arthur’s son knew very well what people intended.

“I’m coming too.” Said Kieran.

“Guess I’ll be joining then...” John got the hint; the rest were already heading out. “Rest up, a’right, Arthur?”

Man just scoffs and the moment John turns his back Sebastian presses his head onto Arthur’s shoulder, with one hand blindly finding the other’s. And Arthur softens under touch; covers his mouth when another cough comes.

“Hang in there, cowboy...” he finds himself saying.

“Don’t intend on dying just yet.” Arthur’s conviction strengthened him, strengthened the grip he had on his hand.

“I fear of getting lost again.”

“I ain’t letting you.” Another cough.

“Can’t let you bear all that alone either.”

“I know... Just... what am I supposed to do? There ain’t no stopping-” Thumbs rub over Arthur’s palm in gentle, calm strokes. “Hosea died...” Arthur confesses, leaning his head further onto his own. “He said he’s gonna take care of us. All of us.”

“You ain’t him to take that responsibility.”

“They’re my family, Sebastian.”

“I know...” He tried to be comforting, but words don’t quite help him today do they... “And you surely ain’t alone.” Head nudges itself further into Arthur. “Never alone.”

Arthur swings himself around, catching Sebastian in a secure embrace and holding the other up to his chest. He straddles the man’s lap and his arms find themselves on Arthur’s back. Tight; it’s a pleasant reassuring pressure; he can feel his heart drum against his chest.

“Neither are you.” Arthur utters, avoiding pressing his face to Sebastian’s; man’s breathing is wheezed and heavy.

There’s little hope for them, but they can’t just stop...

They have somehow fallen asleep, limbs tangled and unwilling to let go of one another, but Arthur’s convulsive cough jerk him awake. His skin is sticky from sweat and skin burning from fever. He doesn’t seem awake.

But Isaac was. Boy was looking at the way his father suffered from a rag he set for himself at the foot of the shoddy bet: two eyes peering over the thin metal frame, watching in horror. The man who raised him grew weaker and weaker under his eyes, and under Sebastian’s a well; he’s seen this man on the brink of death a couple of times now already.

The cough grows increasingly violent, man having trouble getting any air in. He doesn’t know how he fumbled, but Sebastian tried his best to prop the man in a sitting position, waiting for the bout to pass.

Arthur was fully awake at this point, caught Isaac looking at them.

“You-... Should eat something, Pa.”

“Yeah...” Arthur struggles to get a grip on his posture, leans over the side of the bed; staggers up. Sebastian finds himself following suit. “Did you get anything?”

“Yeah. John and Sean are still downstairs at the saloon.” Isaac stands up. “Do... you want me to come with you?”

“Always, kid.”

The boy follows intently, sticking close to Arthur as if there was something he wants to atone for. And Arthur ain’t dumb enough not to notice the changed demeanor of his son:

“You okay there, Isaac?”

“... How are you feeling?”

Now, with an arm outstretched Arthur waits for his son to descend in front of him, hand finding its way on the boy’s back.

“Better.” It’s a lie; Sebastian knows. “A bed and some proper sleep is all this ol’ man was needin’.”

Boy squints his eyes, but bows his head and shakes it.

“Don’t... lie to me, Pa.”

Arthur stops and puts both hands on Isaac’s shoulders.

“Just... don’t lie to me, okay? You’re all I have-” Boy barely stifles a sob. “Just tell me what I can do- I can help. Let me help-” Arthur pulls the boy to his chest, shushing and Isaac clings to the man’s clothing: “Let me help...”

But not even Sebastian knew how to help and he’s afraid Arthur ain’t knowing either...

The hug don’t last the chatter from downstairs forces the men apart; it ain’t private and they ain’t regular. He descends last, Isaac by his side, both of them seemingly of the same mind, taking care their Arthur don’t stumble.

The moment they’re downstairs, John, Sean and Kieran turn their heads their way. Sean lifts a glass: “English!” And once they’ve made their way to the table he cheers: “Ye’r finally awake!”

“Feelin’ any better?” Kieran chimes in, leaning over the table, but Isaac seems discomforted by the question. “I-I ain’t meaning to say you-”

Arthur waves a hand: “Peachy. Seen much worse.” Man looks over at John, then back at everyone else: “You all ‘kay?”

“Sure! Asked ‘round town for some routes, fastest way back to Saint Denis.” Sean explains. “Said there’s a bigger town called Callport ‘bout a day or two from here. And we should be able to take a boat ‘cross the Lannahachee from there.”

“And we bought a wagon.” John mentions, before averting his gaze-

“Tell’em John! Tell‘em what happened.”

The man groans at that: “Jim! Name’s Jim Millston.”

“You heard that lads, Millston.”

“Shut up!”

But that had Arthur chuckling. And in the mids of this, Sebastian didn’t pay attention that the boy took off and ordered them food.

“Now tell’em what Kieran said when asked ‘bout his name.” Sean kept on.

“Not this again...” Kieran commented. “What was I s‘possed to say!?”

“Kieran Duffy.” John said almost irritated. “They ain’t knowing you.”

“And what did he say?” Arthur’s looking cheered up by all this.

“Ugh- Said I ain’t got any.” Kieran finally caved in. “Said my parents died before they could give me one.”

Arthur chuckles: “Maybe you’d make a good dime novelist.”

“Nah, I’m a horse boy, that’s all.”

Isaac places them two plates of food and Arthur thanks, then asks the kid to take a seat beside him. He wastes no time taking a bite, showing his son appreciation for the gesture. He can still hear the subtle coughs that come with the first few bites.

The rest of the dinner is eaten in silence; the food doesn’t taste good, nor bad; it’s bland, the meat is dry and stringy and the porridge sticks to the corners of his mouth. But he downs it with the help of a pint of beer. Arthur gulps his drink in one go.

“So we got a wagon...” Arthur starts and he ain’t exactly content with the predicament he’s just been put in without his choice. Sebastian liked to think he knew the man enough to know he’d protest vulnerability ‘cause it’s the face of helplessness – and it ain’t like Sebastian ain’t just the same in that regard. “We can already leave for Callport. It ain’t like we got much with us.”

“I don’t think so.” John’s the first to protest.

“Why?”

“ ‘cause you’re... Well...”

“The sooner we get back to camp the better.”

It’s a logic he can’t argue with.

“You ain’t fully rested yet-”

“ ‘course I ain’t.” Arthur’s struggling to raise his voice and at the same time fighting to keep the conversation civil. He takes a look at his son: “We ain’t knowin’ how this is gonna go...” Fear starts to glisten in the boy’s eyes and Sebastian puts a hand on him.

“He needs a doctor that’s all.” He intervenes, trying to steady it; not his best suit thou.

“Is it too much to wait for tomorrow?” Isaac asks.

“We could get some more supplies, ask the locals about things.” Kieran chimes in. “We got some food. A-And I can probably ask around for some cough medicine.”

Arthur just pursed his lips; a stifled cough:

“I need to stretch my legs...”

Isaac follows in an instant; Sebastian looks at the lot of them, all with sour faces, bows his head and excuses himself as if they were some strangers...

Outside Arthur’s leaned on the wall with his son next to him, trying his best not to worry the boy further. It was all so entirely messy, dissonant, trying to keep up with a reality that no longer existed if ever. They didn’t know what to do – they don’t. Stuck and they keep pushing, hoping the wall will break and reveal some hope after it all, but even that seemed like some lofty ideal, dangled before them, a dancing shadow on the wall. It’s not real.

“I ain’t dead. Or dying.” Arthur sighs and starts walking. “Just caught something when I dragged Marston out of the water. I’ll live through it.”

“Don’t expect anything less from you.” Sebastian says and finally there’s a smile.

“I’m just worried.” Isaac counters, trotting up between them. “There’s been a lot lately... Hosea-”

“I miss him too, kid...” Arthur confesses. “But I ain’t letting no one get there again.”

“Does that include you, thou?” Isaac wasn’t convinced; fear ran deep.

“I really do hope so.”

“We’re trying our best.” Sebastian adds.

“And I ain’t intending on leaving you alone like this.” Arthur stresses the words. “Both o’ you.” A sigh: “But enough talk ‘bout all that. I just need to feel a lil’ bit human again, not like some medical example.”

Putting it like that really gave a sense of perspective about the ordeal; Arthur who seemed to have held up this gang for many years looked about to crumble now, and it ain’t that worry ain’t natural, but how’s someone whose only worth seemed to be his usefulness supposed to feel when they all see him become fragile. That sentiment there’s one that he’s very familiar with: one thing and that one thing is me, all of me. Sebastian liked men, and he only allowed himself to be that for five entire years and it never crossed his mind that he could just saddle up and ride out west; become a cowboy and be himself, queer and all... He’s still feeling like a shell, and everything else like some reality he ain’t truly a part of.

But he got no choice but to fight.

Hand in hand; it’s real, and it ain’t slipping through, feverish and sweaty as that other palm felt on his.

Isaac’s been doing thinking this entire time: “Well I saw an interesting place if you want to check it out. Some abandoned ranch house not far from the town in a big corn field.”

“Lead the way then.”

The stalks could be seen from the edge of town; it was a little ways away from there; the lights of the houses barely touching the field. Wind whistled through making it resemble something out of a ghost story. It’s a wonder that the lantern he pulls out is still working after having been soaked through that night, then left unused for the next couple of days.

He takes on ahead; and he probably shouldn’t admit that his hand started to shake lightly. It felt more and more like something out of a nightmare of his, but Isaac finds his way right beside him. There was something daring in that boy’s eyes, and that might just give him some courage too.

There’s nothing in the cornfield. The house is indeed empty and beside being dusty to the point that it crunched under their boots it was clean.

“Oh?” Isaac darts from his side and proceeds to pick up a guitar that was lying in the corner. “Wished I asked Javier how to teach me to play one.” He tries a strum.

Sebastian puts the lantern down and Arthur finds his place on the edge of the bed; it creaks.

“I used to know how to play one he says.” He says.

“Really?” Boy lights up and hands him the instrument. “Think you can try and play something?”

“I can’t promise anything.”

Isaac flops next to his father: “Doesn’t matter; it’s still music.”

Obliged. Sebastian sits down, tries finding a comfortable pose; lips quirk as he’s trying to remember a song. Nothing. Crickets chirp outside. Still nothing. A deep inhale. Okay. He takes it from the gravest note to the highest, playing one by one then a strum down. That sounded like a tune. He repeats it a few times, eyes glued to the chords before he lifts them up.

Arthur’s eyes then; he can’t help not smiling. They ain’t been that bright or tender in quite a while; he’s starting to understand the meaning of tonight: they gotta be sweet to take away some of the bitterness that’s drenched them. Sebastian keeps on strumming.

Isaac lays his head down, closes his eyes: “It’s just like when we first met. The church remember?”

“Mhm...”

“I didn’t get it... but... Pa?” Arthur turns to look. “Did you always know?”

“I ain’t the right one to be asking these questions.” Arthur chuckles, turns into a cough at the end. “I’m a fool all things considered.”

“Well you ain’t the biggest fool.” Sebastian has to laugh; that felt like a jab at John honestly. “But did you know, Pa?”

“Well...” a scratch of the beard. “I liked him. Had a kind face.”

Hand’s placed on the guitar: “Don’t make me want to kiss you.”

“No chance with the kid watchin’.” Arthur jokes, but he’s soon cut by a protesting Isaac.

“I liked you too, Arthur.” He confesses. “You intrigued me.” He lays the guitar down. “And I guess I ain’t done discovering you.”

Arthur bows his head with a smile, while Isaac looks at the both as if this is his first time hearing a love confession.

Morning came without them paying it much notice; they returned to the hotel sure, but after that the order of events blurred. They were tired. And so sun found the bundled in a pile in a single bed. It wasn’t comfortable, his left arm was filled with static, but he’d trade nothing else for the warmth in his chest. He slips away enough to be able to stand up and lean over: a kiss on Arthur’s jaw, just beneath the ear. A few more until he wakes.

“I love you too.” Instead of ‘good morning’ because Arthur doesn’t return the kisses; caution is better, and still that manages to make his heart expand between his ribs, pulsate pleasantly.

“I’ll smother you with mine.” Sebastian coos with a thin smile on his lips; one more.

He loves the man.

Isaac tosses to the other side with a groan. And he loves the family they’ve somehow been blessed to be.

Setting out felt like they were forgetting something, but all they had was on their person and a crate of provisions in the wagon. Sean jumped front, but John drove and the Irishman didn’t quite protest about it yet. But even with this promise of a new day, maybe a new start and new luck, they all still knew Arthur ran the fever.

And the fever only grew; so did the cough. Of course, Isaac took notice of the man’s growing sluggishness, the wheezing of his breath; the boy started remembering how he got treated for influenza when he was younger. Onion syrup, chicken broth and cold rubs with camphor. And sweating, lots of sweating.

“You’d bundle me up in some old furs and tell me to stay put. You gave me your old journals and I’d scribble in them.” Isaac recounts with fondness.

Arthur sighs: “They all got burned down last winter with that fire business up North-”

“Yeah I remember... But I can always try and make new ones. I know I ain’t much of an artist.”

A chuckle, a ruffle of untamed hair: “Always aiming to please, ain’t ya?”

Sean eavesdropped on the conversation: “You know my Ma’ always made me Elderberry blossom tea to get rid of the fever. And willow bark, grinded to powder with a bit of warm milk to slide down the throat.”

“My parents used Turpentine and lard for colds.” Kieran adds. “Rubbed all over the chest. The smell was awful. I would get sick from it.”

“Wasn’t you real young when your parents died?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah. Cholera.”

“Christ! What a way to go.” Sean blurts out.

“Don’t make it worse.” John intervenes.

“Do ya ever let up, Marston?”

“The willow bark might get handy if we ever find any around.” Sebastian rubs the back of his neck in thought; it’s getting really hot.

“Streams should have some form o’ willow growing there.” Kieran says, then rubs his beard. “Wait... Ain’t hair tonic using camphor? You know the one that you rub in ye’r hair.”

Arthur muses, pursing his lips like he always did when he was unsure: “I guess... I still hear the best medicine’s whiskey.”

“That’s for pain, not fevers.” Sebastian counters; Kieran was rummaging his satchel.

Arthur scoffs then John’s voice picks up: “Listen to your man, Morgan.”

“Shut up.” The man in questions calls back only mildly offended. Kieran had pulled out a bottle of something and was looking on the back of it with squinted eyes.

“What you found there?” Sebastian asks.

“Uhh some horse stimulant.” Kieran chews on his lips: “Yup. It has camphor. Reduces pain and cools them down.”

“You want me rubbed in horse stimulant now?” Arthur protests, and a cough builds up behind his words.

“It’s all we got.”

“It ain’t that bad. It’s gonna go down soon enough.”

Wishful thinking.

The cough continued. The heat outside ain’t helping either; they were all sweaty. Kieran was driving now and john climbed in the back, offered them some water to rub on the back of their necks to cool off, but even so Arthur seemed to heave as if he ain’t got air to breath. Skin burned like a heated oil lamp.

“Kieran, can I get that horse stimulant.”

“Sure-”

“Sebastian...” Arthur was on the verge of protesting.

“It’s gonna cool you off.” He don’t wanna say that if he keeps running this fever for the next day he’s probably a goner.

“I don’t like this...”

“I know.” Sebastian didn’t like it much either.

Still, when he asked Arthur to unbutton his shirt, man obliged. John turned his entire body so he wouldn’t look at them. Sebastian poured the oily substance on his right hand and stuck it underneath the other’s shirt; the smell stung in his nostrils; the rubs are hardy, firm, making even a man as big as Arthur sway under the motion.

Hand retracts: “You know. I ain’t talked lot about Lily...” He pours some more stimulant on his hands. “She got sick a lot when she was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that...” Arthur says; Isaac keeps quiet.

Palms rub together and he motions for Arthur to lean in for him to rub the thing over his chest. Same firm rubs, round the neck and down the burning chest:

“I was so scared for her. But she’s always been a fighter.”

The smell makes Arthur cough, but he keeps up the conversation: “Don’t doubt it.”

“Myra- Her momma would rub her down with this or something like that. The smell hung around the entire house. I could almost taste it.” The moment he’s done he buttons up Arthur’s shirt. “And when she’d be cooking, or sleeping I’d be the one to rub it on. I kept massaging a while after and she fell right back to sleep...” They’re fond memories, even if they sting now.

“You’re a great father-”

“No, I-” he wants to deflect that.

“They ain’t gonna rob you of it no more.” Despite the cough that shook his body Arthur’s arms are steady, containing, his palms like hot irons, especially in this blazing heat; he ends up easing into it.

John peeked over his shoulder at them: “I’m sorry you had to lose a child, Sebastian...”

Head simply bobs down, and Arthur goes cough inside his fist with wet heaves. It’s silence for a while, then the coughs start up again, more feverishly and the man is forced to bed over. Isaac perks up, but stays pinned to the spot- John holds the boy’s shoulders.

Arthur waves a hand: “I’m fine. I’m-” another bout, just as violent. He heaves. “Just the goddamn smell. Christ’alive...” Some more drown out coughs. “I’m fine...” He leans his head against the sides and he’s given an extra coat to let that camphor work its magic.

Sebastian can’t get sleep, not even as night falls. Everyone else seems to have gone numb to the sound of Arthur coughing. It sounds worse than it did before, but at least the temperature is steady. The sick didn’t get much sleep either, heaving and covering his mouth for the next fit.

Man looks at his hand, then up at Sebastian. Heart stings, and when he gets to look at what the cough left behind it sinks. Blood...

They wasted too much time...

#arthur morgan #john marston #sean macguire #kieran duffy #sebastian castellanos #isaac morgan #sebthur #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fandom #whump #WELL THIS WAS A LONG TIME IN THE MAKING BUT HERE IT IS #man this chapter is kind of depressing ;w;

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analisegrey · 6 years ago

Text

Februwhump Prompt

“Cauterization” (Read on AO3)

And Home Before Dark (a direct sequel to Into the Woods)

Caleb is upright.

Mostly.

That’s in no small part due to the arm Molly has braced around his waist; the healing potion Molly’d fed him had brought him back from the brink, but it still very much feels like he was shot- a lot- and it’s quite painful. That’s to say nothing of the beating he’d taken before they’d fled the battleground; the barbed bolts were just added insult.

He can feel time flying past as they trudge through the woods. He’s fairly certain they’re heading in the right direction, and therefore back toward help, but Caleb’s not entirely sure they’ll get there fast enough. He hasn’t told Molly, but his wounds have started to bleed again from the movement of walking, wet warmth making what’s left of his shirt cling unpleasantly to his skin. More worrisome, as far as Caleb’s concerned, is that he knows nightfall isn’t far off. Another hour at most, though full dark will hit them under the tree canopy much faster. Caleb’s already having difficulty seeing where he’s going; he tells himself that’s due to the low light, and not the dizziness of blood loss.

He considers his options. He knows they have no potions left- if they had any, he’s certain he’d have been forced to drink them by now. Neither he nor Molly are gifted with healing magic, and Molly has already done his best to bandage Caleb’s wounds with his and Caleb’s shirts before they’d gotten moving. If there were anything else to be done, Molly would have done it.

That doesn’t mean that Caleb has done everything he can, yet.

He knows Molly is going to argue with him. It’s the best possible solution, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good solution, and he’s only considering it because he’s relatively certain getting back to town before dark is incredibly unlikely, and he in no way wants to be caught in the dark woods while leaving a trail of fresh blood behind. It’s asking for trouble, and neither of them can handle any more of that right now.

“Molly- Mollymauk, wait please.”

Molly comes to a stop, looking over at him. “Do you need a minute? We shouldn’t stop long, but we can rest a moment if you need-”

“Molly.” Caleb gathers some of his dwindling strength and projects more confidence than he’s feeling. “The bleeding has started again, and if I do not stop it we will attract predators and it won’t matter how close to town we get. Something else will find us first.”

“Wait, you’ve started- why didn’t you say something, Caleb?” Molly breaks off into muttered curses, lowering Caleb down to sit so he’s propped against a tree before reaching for the strips of shirt he’d used to bandage Caleb’s wounds. Caleb catches Molly’s wrist before he can make contact.

“This is me saying something. Molly, the bandages are not enough. Neither of us can heal, and there are no potions left.”

Molly frowns at him, barely visible to Caleb in the growing dimness. “Then what would you suggest we do? You said we had to stop the bleeding-”

Caleb shakes his head, lifting a trembling hand to let a small curl of flame lick over his fingertips. “No, not ‘we’, Molly.”

Molly’s expression goes from confused to understanding to horrified in quick succession. “No. Absolutely not. We can’t be that far out from town now; we’ll get there and get you help. No need to do anything foolish.”

Caleb snorts a laugh, then winces at the resultant spikes of pain. “I think we are well beyond pretty lies at this point, Mr. Mollymauk. Even if we move at full speed, it would be a close thing to get there before dark, and we both know we’re not going that fast. I am leaving a trail even the stupidest of predators could follow easily. That is all of course beside the point that I am slowly bleeding out. If we are to make it safely out of the woods, something must be done to stop it. We have tried dealing with it in more traditional ways, and they have failed.” Caleb looks from the flame flickering on his fingertips down to the blood-stained bandages. “Trust me when I say this is not a choice I am pleased to be making, nor one that I make on a whim. If I thought there was another way, I would happily consider it.” Caleb glances back up at Molly in the failing light and gives him a pained smile. “Mr. Mollymauk, if you have another suggestion, now is the time.”

Caleb can still see just enough of Molly’s face in the flickering firelight to see the anguish and indecision written across it. “Caleb, there has to be a better way than-” Molly gestures down at Caleb’s hand. “-what you’re proposing.”

“If there is, I cannot think of it. And unless you’ve been holding back an idea, I think I would like to get this over with quickly, please.”

Molly’s face twists, and he spits a curse in Infernal that has Caleb flinching back. Molly holds his hands up in apology and composes himself before running a hand over his face with a frustrated huff. “No, no I don’t have any other ideas.”

Caleb nods, stifling a groan as he settles himself more firmly against the tree. “Alright.”

Caleb’s been hurt a lot in his life, in many different and horrible ways, but there’s something uniquely awful about the way burns feel. They throb, the pain penetrating and inescapable, and by the time he’s on the last wound, he hesitates, his fingers hovering over the injury. The three he’s cauterized already are screaming flares of agony, and realistically he knows adding one more won’t make much of a difference. If anyone deserves this kind of torment it’s him, but part of him still rebels at the thought of willingly putting his fingers into the last wound and searing it closed. He needs to focus, to do this and get it done so they can get moving, get somewhere safe, but there’s a part of him, a treacherous whisper of thought that wonders if his parents had felt this, or if the smoke had taken them first-

“ Caleb .” There’s a burst of pain against Caleb’s cheek, snapping his head sideways; he blinks, Molly coming into focus in front of him, his arm lowering. “Are you with me?”

He isn’t, not entirely, but he’s present enough. “Ja. Ja, just-” He jams his fingers into the last bolt hole with a choked-off noise and lets his fingers ignite before he can think about it. The pain is immediate and nauseating, and he viciously bites down on the scream that wants to rip its way out of him. When he’s sure it’s done he lets his hand drop to his side, his head thumping back against the tree, and he takes a moment. It’s not until Molly’s hands settle over his and squeeze that he realizes how badly he’s shaking.

“Caleb, mo chuisle, are you alright?” Molly’s voice is laced with concern, and Caleb is sure his face must match, but the light’s dim enough now he can’t see more than the basic shape of Molly in front of him. He responds with a gently unhinged laugh and a shake of his head.

“No, probably not. But time for that later, ja?”

“Caleb-” He can easily hear the frown in Molly’s voice, but chooses, as he does with many things, to ignore it. He pulls his hands away from Molly’s and gets one on the tree behind him, the other on the ground, and pushes himself up with a groan.

“Gods above, Caleb, you stubborn arsehole.” Molly’s hands are on him in an instant, helping steady him once he’s upright. “You could have taken another minute. A minute won’t matter.”

“We can’t know that, Mollymauk.” Caleb gives him a tremulous smile. “Let’s get going.”

There’s a brief pause in which Caleb can feel the weight of disapproval from Molly’s stare, but Molly doesn’t say anything, just takes one of Caleb’s arms and flings it over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Caleb’s waist to steady him before they start walking again.

“One of these days,” Molly huffs as they walk. “We’re going to have a long and probably unpleasant conversation about that deflection thing you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You-” Molly pauses then says, “When you’re hurt you brush it off, like it doesn’t matter, or- or like you’re trying to get us to ignore it. You did it a little when we first met, but you do it more now.”

Caleb’s momentarily stunned. He thinks back on his interactions with the Nein, with Molly, and he can see what Molly’s talking about, the trend; it causes a painful curl in his gut, and gods, he doesn’t have the energy for this now.

“I’m not one to pry.” They go around a small boulder, Molly leading him deftly to the side and forward again. “You’ve never really dug into my past beyond that first time with everyone else, and I appreciate and respect that. A person should get to keep their own secrets, and only share what they like.”

He thinks Molly’s going to drop it, and is just starting to relax when Molly says, “If it weren’t for you almost getting killed so frequently, I’d leave it alone. But I’m scared one day we’re going to ignore something we shouldn’t, and you’re one who’ll suffer for it.”

Caleb has a number of responses he could make to that, but none of those will appease Molly, and would in fact probably just make him more worried than he already is. Caleb’s grateful for the low light; Molly can probably see him, but it’s easier to pretend he can’t when Caleb’s mostly blind. It soothes the crawling under his skin he gets when people look too closely, when they see him, not as he pretends to be, but as he truly is.

Caleb considers his words carefully, and Molly- wonderful, ever-patient Molly- gives him the time to get his words in order. “It’s complicated.”

Molly’s arm tightens ever-so-briefly around Caleb’s waist. “Then explain it to me.” His voice is gentle, and Caleb’s heart squeezes, wondering how he deserves someone so kind.

“When we first met, the group of us, I was not in a good place. Nott helped, she always helps, but even she, as much as she tries, can only do so much.” Caleb huffs a laugh, and brings his free arm around his middle when the laugh jostles his injuries. “That’s not to say I am perfect now, mind you, but I was much worse back then.”

Molly is quiet, but Caleb thinks he sees him nod.

“I- I care now, in a way I did not before. Back then I didn’t know you all the way I do now. We were all just a group of asshole strangers thrown together and-” It’s getting harder to think clearly, to articulate the muddy swirl of his thoughts. He sighs, leaning more heavily against Molly. “Now that I know you all better, I have a clearer idea of our strengths, our weaknesses. My priorities have shifted.”

“What changed? You know we all care about you, right?”

Caleb drops his hand from his stomach to find and pat the arm Molly has around his waist. “Ja, I know you do, schatz.”

“Then why? Why don’t you want us to help you?”

Caleb aches from the subtle hurt in Molly’s voice. How does he begin to explain? How does he tell Mollymauk that he doesn’t want them wasting resources on him, doesn’t want them using a potion on him that might keep one of them alive? He’s come a long way in terms of how he views things, how he views himself.

But.

If it comes to a decision of whether it should be him or someone else who lives, he just doesn’t see it as a very complex choice. He doesn’t want to die, but he will so someone else can live.

“It isn’t that I don’t want you to help me. I appreciate the care you show me. I just have a better idea of how to deploy our often limited resources.”

“You know you’re not any less important than anyone else, right?”

“Molly-”

“No, you listen to me.” Molly’s voice goes hard, and he comes to a stop, forcing Caleb to stop as well. Molly angles to face him, even though Caleb can’t properly see him at this point. “You’re just as important as anyone else. Your safety is important, your well-being is important, your health is important- physical, mental, or otherwise. You can say your priorities have changed, and I can’t tell you what to do or how to feel, but that doesn’t mean my priorities have changed.” Molly sighs, shifts a little more, and Caleb startles at the touch of a hand to his face. “I can’t believe we’ve gone through so much, experienced and survived all that, just for you to decide that we shouldn’t care for you for whatever reason you’ve got built up in your head.” The hand on Caleb’s face flexes, and he leans into it as Molly’s thumb runs up over his cheekbone. Molly’s voice sounds closer and softer when he continues. “I know to you it makes sense, but believe me when I tell you I want to know if you’re hurting. I want to know if you’re unwell or in pain or just having a bad day. You’re part of my family. I love you and care about you. Please don’t shut me out.”

Caleb swallows past the lump that’s taken up residence in his throat and nods. He doesn’t trust his voice, but does trust that Molly can see his response. The cauterized wounds are pulsing, hot and insistent like small fires in his belly, his whole body aching with the edge of fever, but none of it hurts the way Molly’s quiet plea does. He wants to give in, desperately wants to give Molly everything and anything he wants. He can readily admit his life has improved greatly since Molly came into it, since the whole of the Mighty Nein came into it, but there are still things he has to do, things he must accomplish before he can even begin to deserve the kind love and affection Molly shows him. Molly is still waiting, expectant, and Caleb sighs wearily.

“I- I will try, schatz.”

“That’s all I ask, love.” Molly leans in and kisses Caleb, a quick press of lips to his forehead, and Molly hisses as he pulls back. “Fuck, you’re burning up. It’s time we get going. Sooner we get back, sooner Jester can have a look at you.”

Caleb steadies himself as best he can, takes a shuddering breath, and braces himself to move again. “Ja. That- that is a good idea.”

Molly tightens his arm around Caleb’s waist, and together they find their way out of the woods.

#analisegrey fics #februwhump #Critical Role season 2 #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #wound cauterization #whump #spoilers: mentions of Caleb's backstory #critical role spoilers

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strangedreamings · 6 years ago

Note

1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 12, 15, 16, 20 & 21 for the writer's ask!

Thanks!

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Fluff under a thousand words. It’s getting to the point where I’m probably evenly split between established and non-established couples. Short and sweet, that’s my wheelhouse. Of course, my ambition and my dedication to The Story means sometimes I go long but for the most part, I write ficlets.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Off the top of my head, slow burn that is paced correctly (my weakness). But really, I don’t think I have the patience for it.

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Just ideas? As in stuff I haven’t written yet? Oh lord. I have a huge list of prompts I haven’t answered, stuff like that.

I don’t want to give too much away, but one idea is a ghost!lock Sherlolly, but the ghost isn’t either of them.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I know I posted this line recently for the 💬 meme but it’s still my favorite line.

Sherlock felt his heart sink to his feet and spill onto the rug.

from Oscillating

It’s one of the few times I’ve been truly poetic in my fics and it’s so visual, you know?

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Ugh. You would make me pick that. :P I feel like dialogue is my strength, for the most part. But if I have to pick something, I’m going with the start of Big Apple Honeymoon (a fic I hope to finish sometime this year).

“Americans, both of them,” Sherlock Holmes declared.

Molly Holmes rolled her eyes fondly. “Sherlock, we’re in New York – most of the people here are Americans. Not exactly hard to deduce.” The newlywed Holmeses were on the first week of their two-week “sex holiday.“ Having lunch at a café had been Molly’s idea – she decided they needed to actually see the Big Apple while they were there instead of just the inside of their suite.

Her husband huffed. “Shall I go on?”

“Please do,” she said, smiling at him sweetly.

“He’s some sort of minor celebrity. Military but not always active. National Guard.” He narrowed his eyes as he continued to study the man sitting a few tables away from them. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“What doesn’t?” Molly asked as she ate her fries. Not as good as chips, but they’ll do in a pinch.

“Everything about him says he’s older than he looks. Much older than he looks.”

She shrugged. “That’s not hard – you looked a good ten, fifteen years younger than you really were for the longest time.”

Sherlock finally lowered his voice to murmur, “I’m not talking about a decade or two, I’m talking about seven. This man is a hundred years old but looks thirty.”

“Not possible,” she declared. Then a thought struck her. A “minor” celebrity in New York who’s a hundred years old but looks young? Can’t be, but who else could fit that description?

Finally turning around to look, she saw a man in jeans, trainers, a grey t-shirt, a baseball cap, and mirrored sunglasses sitting with a petite brunette woman in rectangular glasses, jeans, flats, and a man’s white dress shirt. Both of them were laughing so hard that tears came to their eyes. The man slipped his sunglasses off to wipe his eyes, unintentionally giving Molly a good look at his face.

“Oh my God, it is,” she murmured excitedly, turning back to Sherlock. “That’s Steve Rogers.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“Captain America.”

“Still nothing.”

Molly groaned quietly. “Search your Mind Palace for the Avengers.” At his continued blank look, she added, “Superheroes. They’ve saved the planet multiple times.”

“From what?”

A pleasant male voice spoke up. “Aliens, evil robots, you name it.” The two of them looked up to see Steve Rogers standing in front of them, hat and sunglasses gone. He held out his hand to Molly, smiling a bit. “Steve Rogers, but you already knew that.”

I feel like I nailed everyone’s speech patterns correctly and having Sherlock deduce Steve to his bride Molly just makes me happy, not to mention Steve overhearing. :)

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

It’s more like “fics” than “fic.” Anything with smut, any fic that’s for a ship or fandom that’s a first for me, anything with interpersonal conflict.

But if you want a specific one, Christmas Getaway has been harder to write since it got popular – I don’t want to let all my new and old readers down.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

For Sherlock, it’s ASiB, TAB, and TFP tied.

If you look at the MCU movies as “episodes,” then probably Captain America: The First Avenger and Thor. :)

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

If anyone reading this guessed The Incubus in the Hallway, *ding ding ding* you are absolutely correct. :) It’s my baby and honestly, I think it would make for a good Sherlock AU movie.

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Another mean question. :P No, I can’t do it, I can’t pick just one. Three? Sherlolly, Sebolly, and ShieldShock. But no, not just one.

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Peace and quiet, no real-life interruptions, I don’t get uncomfortable from sitting too long, I have enough drinks and snacks to last, and Windows & iTunes don’t need updating. Tumblr might have to be down for me to truly write without distractions, but at least it’s a good distraction. :)

21. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

My normal writing process is getting the first draft done then doing one major revision of the whole thing. After that, I’ll refine it one chunk at a time, then I’ll read it again a couple of times just to make sure it’s okay. At least, this is the process for chapters of multi-chap fics. One-shots get a first draft then a major revision and they’re usually ready to go.

#writing

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banesbottombitch · 7 years ago

Note

“Youre being too friendly with them” & “Youre mine i watch everything you do” for the tozier reader thing if thats cool! i love your writing so much

I got carried away af with this. I hope its up to standard, and since i used “you’re mine and I watch everything you do” already, I did the first prompt. Also, this is a one shot, I will not be doing another part, so enjoy it as a singular work, my duderinos.

Prompt Used: “You’re being too friendly with them”

Word Count: +2,500

Warnings: Possessiveness, drugging, that good kush, Patrick POV. Tozier!Reader.

Tagged: @dreamboathannah, @restoftheworldfallsaway @ghoulishtozier @itwasmathilda, @fangirlinganditswonders, @neoandersons, @basicwheeler, @leetime14, @passionfortrashin

(Anyone who wanted to be tagged for WYS automatically gets tagged for my other Patrick works as a bonus, my duderinos. Message me -through pm- if you want to also be tagged! Love y’all.)

Patrick leaned against the front of his car, wiping the motor oil off his long fingers and watching the Tozier girl while she helped their classmates. Her hair was rolled up into a tight bun, the dark green button up she had worn over her t shirt all day tied at her waist while she peered under the hood of Dylan Pram and Cole Harris’ project car.

She was talking some auto mechanic nonsense and pointing out where their problems mostly laid, the two dipshits at her side feigning cluelessness. Patrick knew their game, others in the class had tried it once or twice too, but to no avail. He would know best, [First Name] was fucking oblivious when it came to flirting.

Dylan stepped closer to her as she rummaged under the hood, and Patrick’s fingers flexed under the rag he rubbed them with when the jock rested a firm hand on her lower back and spoke in her ear.

He must have said something utterly hilarious, because the trashmouth choked on a laugh and straightened. Cole shared their smile, but his eyes connected with Dylan, a silent conversation running between them as Patrick’s partner parted from them with a wave and a soft laugh.

“Nice one, Dylan. Remember to clean it up when you’re done, dude.” She waved them off, coming back to Patrick with flushed cheeks from her laughter. Behind her, eyes and sly grins sought her back, and Patrick ignored them, smirking at the Toizer girl when she arrived.

“You’re being too friendly with them, Tozier.” He said quietly, tossing the dirtied rag over the top of his tool box. “They’re going to think you got the hots for ‘em.”

“Who? Cole and Dylan?” Her lips tilted in a cute little lopsided grin. “I thought they were going to announce their engagement soon, I had no idea they swung for the other team.”

He allowed a laugh, but a certain fondness for the girl startled him. She was starting to really soften him up, and day by day he found himself leaning closer and speaking more frequently with her. Gone were the earlier days of the truly antagonistic ways since Henry had dropped his grudge towards her cousin and his friends, and Patrick had grown used to falling instep beside her while walking to class.

He guessed that this would be called friendship.

So that was clearly why a strange fire built in his stomach when he caught Dylan eyeing his partner with particularly hungry eyes, because she was his friend…Then again, his underlying pining for her also applied to that, but he would never admit that aloud.

No, he was a good actor. He could win a god damn academy award for his patience and tactful thinking. Patrick could keep [First Name] in the dark over his, well he hated to say feelings, but yes, feelings, for her.

So he frowned, and easily slipped into the role of a concerned friend, nudging her with his elbow as she went to sit on the hood of the Monte Carlo.

“What?” She mirrored his frown, resting her ankle across her knee and drumming painted nails on her jeans.

“Don’t think we’re the only bad guys around here, Princess. There’s plenty of sleazy fuckers hiding behind a football jersey in Derry.” He warned with earnest, but was met with a scoff.

“Dylan and Cole are fucking nimrods, and they couldn’t fix a lightbulb together if they tried.” She waved him off as the class bell rang. “I’ll see you at the bonfire tonight, yeah?”

Patrick had done his duty, he had given her the passing warning. It was up to her to listen, he supposed.

“Yeah. I’m bringing some good shit too, hope you’re not as fucking uppity as you were last time.” He bent his lean form down, collecting his leather jacket that was draped over the hood as Tozier slipped off the front and snatched up her backpack. “See you around eight.”

“Adios, Hockstetter. Don’t keep Bowers waiting.”

She left, patting Belch’s arm as she headed out past him and Henry. She said something in passing, making Belch smile after her. Henry watched her go as well, a certain gleam in his eyes as Patrick came to meet them by one of the open garage doors.

“Glad we don’t have to worry about being ambushed with a fucking tire iron now.” The bigger boy said, pulling his varsity jacket over his shoulders. The three watched her go, her back growing smaller as she jogged across the fields to get to the parking lot.

Henry huffed indignantly. “She was going to be a fucking problem, that’s the only reason I’m not tormenting her little shit of a cousin. Cigs?”

He threw a hand out to Patrick, demanding the taller boy share his pack. Patrick complied, digging around the pockets of his jacket before tossing him the pack, the trio of boys heading across the field as students began to file out of the school in mobs.

“She’s a good work partner too,” Belch said absently, the spring air nipping his cheeks pink. “I got an A on our last assignment, my coach and Ma were in tears, swear.”

“Yeah, whatever. Goody two shoe bitches like her are a dime a dozen, but I’m not gonna deal with another run in with her.” Henry muttered, lighting his cigarette after a few tries and stuffing Patrick’s pack in his own back pocket, something that the lankier boy would not forget before the day was through.

“Sounds like you got a crush, Henry.” Patrick dared to say, eyes lazily raking over the boy next to him. Henry tensed, shoulders under his bomber jacket rigid as he sent a glare to Patrick.

They both held a steely gaze before Belch interrupted, announcing the arrival of their smallest and blondest, Vic.

“Hey! Did you get the part?” Belch called out to the victorious looking boy, who nodded eagerly.

Henry took the opportunity to look away, but Patrick chose to keep a dark look on his friend. The rest of his pals dissolved into talk over Vic’s newest accomplishment, Henry berating him and Belch defending him, while Patrick ignored it all. He was itching to get to the canalside and have a good time, if only just to abolish the jealousy he felt twisting in his gut.

He didn’t have time for that shit.

Patrick sat the closest to the bonfire, the heat curling the ends of his hair, but significantly warming his fingers that had numbed from the cold of a spring night in Maine. There had been a girl at his side at some point, but she was long gone, having moved on to someone who was more interested in her than staring into the depths of flames.

Henry and Belch had raced off elsewhere the moment the four had found the party, Vic staying close to Patrick for a while until he was led away by a few drama friends of his. Patrick was happy to be alone in all honesty, it made dealing and keeping his high all the easier. The party raged around him, fellow classmates dancing and drinking away, high on the drugs he supplied or drunk off cheap liquor and nasty beer. The music that blasted through speakers was crackled and heavy, something with a strange beat and sliced with dark lyrics. Patrick enjoyed it, sitting by himself and waiting for his next costumer to find him.

He felt a lovely haze, his high improving his mood tenfold. There was a sloppy kiss mark on his neck, but he could barely recall who had given it to him. It was perfection.

And then someone plopped down beside him.

“You’re a hard guy to find, Hockstetter.” Drawled a voice to his side.

“Am I?” Patrick said loftily, slowly turning to look to his new companion, and then felt his nostrils flare upon recognizing him. “Harris.”

The brunette bristled, and Patrick realized he had turned to face him without a mask, instead showing him the slack and emotionless state he normally had when he was alone. He brought it back, and Cole was set to ease at the surprisingly friendly smile he was given.

“So how much?” He asked, and dug out his wallet, opening the folds and showing off a pretty stack of cash.

Patrick felt limply at his side, finding his backpack and unzipping it. “What do you want? I’ve got weed, coke, E, a few poppers and a few tabs of acid if you wanna have a real good time.”

Cole sat still for a second, eyes darting around the contents of the bag. He licked dry lips before lowering his voice, barely audible over the roar of the flames.

“Do you have any… Roofies?”

“Why.” The dealer snapped, more forceful than needed.

“Do you or don’t you?” Cole insisted, keeping his voice low even as Patrick’s raised. It wasn’t as if anyone would hear them, but it didn’t matter to either of them- they both knew Cole has crossed a line.

“I’ve got some Molly, and that’s the closest you’re getting, Harris.” Patrick dug out a small bag of violet pills, smacking them to Cole’s chest. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. Thats a gram, so give me sixty.”

Cole eyed him, hand raising to take the drugs offered. “You sure-”

“Sixty bucks, then fuck off.” Patrick sneered, and snatched the twenties that were held out to him, stuffing the money in his pocket.

“Jesus, fuck. Fine.” Cole stood, and shuffled away, pocketing his drugs before casting his dealer a nasty little glare.

Patrick watched him retreat with his tail between his legs, digging into his bag for a joint. He lit it and took heavy hits, the smoke tasting musky but sweet. The haze returned eventually, distracting him as he sat there. He took patient drags, letting the smoke curl and twist from his mouth, ignoring the worry that scratched at his thoughts, it wasn’t his business. Harris wasn’t his problem.

But Tozier was.

He stood then, hauling his bag over his shoulder and walking over the rocks and gravel that crunched under his feet, weaving between crowds of grinding teens. What time was it? Where was Tozier, he hadn’t seen her yet.

Fuck.

Somehow, through his high and the distraction of the dancing and drunkenness, he found Belch. The boy was working on a drink of his own, the brown bottle in his hand nearly empty and his face flushed.

“What time is it?” Patrick demanded, Belch blinking in surprise as the urgency. The boys he stood with part of his football team and seeming confused at Patrick’s arrival, but they welcomed him with a round of nods.

“Uh,” Belch shook his arm, the watch he normally wore glinting in the far off fire light. “It’s like eight forty-seven, why?”

Patrick’s gaze swept the heads of their classmates, but he couldn’t find hers. “Have you seen Tozier?”

“No?” Belch said, caught off guard as Patrick spun away with a curse. “Hey! Wait, dude!”

But Patrick was gone, slinking away and now targeting Harris or Pram. A blond and brunette pair, who wore blazers and had proper preppy haircuts.

[First Name] was never late. To anything. She arrived nearly twenty minutes early for class, she turned in her work a day in advance and had never left him or the others hanging if she agreed to meet them up for a meal at the malt shop.

So there was no way she was late to the spring bonfire, not if she had assured him she would be there at eight. No, she would have arrived at seven forty-five.

He caught a mullet in his peripheral vision, as well as the arm candy Henry was desperately sucking face with.

“Henry.” Patrick jerked his shoulder, tearing him from liplock. The girl, a senior the dark haired boy recognized as Carly Henderson, whined from loss of contact.

“The fuck, Hockstetter!” Henry hissed, grinding his teeth as he rolled his head to face his friend. “I’m fuckin’ busy.”

“I can’t find Tozier.”

Henry’s brows furrowed. “I saw her earlier with Harris and that fuckwit Pram, by the coolers.”

Patrick’s jaw set, and he dug his heels into the rocks, sprinting away. He shoved aside a few people, the coolers in his sight. It was then he saw Tozier, leaning heavily against Dylan Pram and in the middle of a fit of giggles, her eyes glazed and face burning. She held a solo cup, the contents sloshing out her cup as Cole Harris tilted it back to her mouth, encouraging her to drink.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” The pair cheered, and she downed the contents, crushing the cup with a valiant cry.

He slowed, coming up on them slow and steady, a predatory tilt to his shoulders as his eyes burned hotter than the logs of the bonfire. Cole was the first to see him, and his expression flattered a mere second before he paled considerably.

Pram was oblivious, carelessly crafting heavy touches to the girls waist and hips, the hands trying to wander further before Cole shot a hand out and gripped the sleeve of his blazer, catching his attention.

“Well, what do we have here?” Patrick announced his arrival with a dangerous tone.

His friend gasped, and she tore herself from the blond, taking a few steps to stumble to the man who had inevitably caused this mess, wrapping her arms around his skinny torso. “Patrick! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Protectively, no, posessively, Patrick secured her in his arms. He threaded strands of her hair between his ringed fingers, rubbing a comforting thumb to her scalp. “You found me, Princess.”

She nuzzled her face to his chest and he held her there, grey-green eyes dancing with malevolence at the boys just feet from them.

It wouldn’t take a genius to see she was high, and higher than he had ever seen her. She had always been a lightweight, barely touching a beer and still stumbling around like she had drank a bar dry after a few sips. He’d given her a hit of a joint once and been entertained for hours as she babbled on about Star Trek with Belch and professional wrestling with Henry.

Those had been good times, he had smiled an actual smile once or twice during those times. But now? Seeing her fucked up on drugs he had sold some fuckwit jock with intent to do the worst? He saw red.

“You smell nice.” She murmured, and it was only her voice that stopped from him slugging the frozen pair in front of them. She drew him back from his rage, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, his hold tightening.

“Let’s get you some water, sweetheart.” Patrick said, and he turned with her, the hollow glare he shot over his shoulder sending a clear message.

‘I’ll remember this.’

He left the jocks there to stew in horror, their fates sealed. He’d be paying them a visit in the next coming days, but for now, he had a Trashmouth to attend to.

#Patrick Hocksetter / Reader #patrick hockstetter #Imagines #IT 2017 #the bowers gang #Henry Bowers #belch huggins #Patrick is a weed man #who knew?#Tozier!Reader #Possessive Prompt #This was long #Patrick POV

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elfnerdherder · 7 years ago

Text

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 21

[Support My Writing] [Read on Ao3]

Chapter 21: Annabel Lee

Will woke with an urgency that belied the dragging weight of his muscles. There was a disorienting lack of knowing just where he was and how he’d gotten there; it took far too long for him to realize that it was Lecter’s office and that he’d fallen asleep in the armchair. His neck ached, and his back cringed from the awkward angle. The fire had gone out hours before, ashes cooling against the stone. He stared at them, then found himself rising to his feet, needing something.

Down the darkened halls he ventured, a weird sort of urgency that pushed, pushed. He paused at a corridor, unsure, then turned to the right, the very blood in his veins urging him forward, whispering that if he just walked faster then it’d be alright –run, if he could. His side burned; he couldn’t. He couldn’t run, but he could hurry, hurry fast.

Will stopped just before a door that he found to be locked after a brief test of jiggling the handle. His hands passed over the frame, glided along the heavy, sturdy wood that remained as a barrier to him –a barrier to what? He pressed his fingers to the whorls of the wood, like he could ingrain his fingerprints to it if he pressed hard enough. He was becoming part of this place, he thought dazedly. He was bleeding into the walls, the paint, the hunger. He wondered if Molly would tell Wally to trust him now.

Go, go, something urged, and he pushed harder. The smoke of dreams still curled through his mind, foggy and hot in the lungs, and he leaned against the door, pressing his cheek to it. Go, go.

He gave a start when the sharp sound of a lock turning cracked through the otherwise silence of the hall.

The door opened, and Will stepped back to give them space. He shifted impatiently from foot to foot, a tremor working its way through, him; when the door opened just enough to admit him, he pushed it the rest of the way, a hiss of aggravated air rushing past his lips. He had to go; he had to go.

“Will-” they said, but Will wasn’t listening. He was pressed against him before he could truly think, before he could fight against the rush of endorphins that flooded him as his skin met skin, as his heartbeat thudded once, twice. It was dizzying, the sense of utmost relief as he pressed his face into the hollow of his neck, needing something –contact, exposure, relief.

It was a drug, and it washed over the walls of his mind, leaving him drunk off of the sensation of just what it was to feel sweet, sweet peace. Arms wrapped around him, and god, could it feel any better? Could he feel any more at ease? This thing that lay draped around him, this chemical reaction that made his muscles loosen their tension, made his bones stop grinding against his sinew; he blinked starlight from his eyes, imprints leaving bright lights in his vision.

It was that thought that prompted him to look up, to blink past the haze that reassured him that everything was going to be alright if he just touched. Shock was a dousing of cold water across his skin, a sharp plummet in his stomach that sent him stumbling back from him, falling over himself where he landed on the floor of the hall, hard.

“No, no,” he whispered, horrified. No, this wasn’t true; no, this hadn’t happened. In all of his nightmares, in all of his wildest thoughts that ran rampant throughout an imagination that more often than not sought his destruction, he hadn’t thought to consider such a thing, such a fucking thing that had less than a one percent chance of occurring:

A staggered connection.

Hannibal Lecter was his soulmate.

“Dr. Chilton, thank you for taking the time to speak to me.”

“No trouble at all; this is a messy business, as I’m sure you know,” Frederick replied. He didn’t often like to play the martyr; it stemmed from an issue that he had with pride, according to the psychiatric evaluation he’d done on himself years before. “I have agents swarming my establishment, investigations on all of my employees, bad press…I found a reporter in one of my laundry bins, trying to hide from security.”

“Well, with three people of your employ aiding Hannibal Lecter in his current killing sprees, we have to take precautions,” Jack replied.

“Three?” Frederick sniffed.

“Three,” Jack affirmed. Frederick often equivalated him to that of a bull dog because of his mannerisms. He could almost hear him setting his jaw as he continued, “Further information has revealed that a Matthew Brown of your establishment is working with Dr. Lecter.”

“Matthew Brown?” Frederick said, scalded. “No, no, I haven’t employed him for at least three years, Agent Crawford. You can’t blame me for him.”

“No one is blaming you for anything,” Jack replied calmly. “What can you tell me about him?”

Frederick found himself pacing, a certain sort of unease at a question like that. Despite sitting before many a certifiably insane person with a magnifying glass, he didn’t take well to being in what he’d heard his employees call ‘the hot seat’.

“Dr. Chilton?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, irritated. “It takes a moment to try and remember someone you fired years ago.”

“Fired?”

“Matthew Brown, yes…yes, I fired him.” He nodded, the memories slowly surfacing. “He had a habit of speaking to the patients. It wasn’t anything altogether horrible, but it is a rule here. I don’t like the orderlies getting too friendly with the patients; it breeds the idea that they could potentially get them a lighter sentencing if they were to become friends, or it could ruin the integrity of the screening procedures for letters and potential gifts that come into my establishment.”

“Do you know what sort of things he’d say?”

“Well, that was the problem of it,” Chilton replied, pacing. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but Crawford often made him feel like he had. “He would disable my microphones so that when I played it back, I couldn’t hear anything. Fired him right in front of everyone to set a better tone in my workplace.”

“Did he speak often with Dr. Lecter?”

“As often as he did any other.”

“And there’s no way you could find out the sort of things they discussed?”

“What is this, years ago he planned some sort of…of heist in order to free Dr. Lecter?” Frederick demanded. “All because I fired him?”

The silence was long, the sort of silence Frederick liked to do when questioning people that came to his office. He could recognize it as a sort of power play, to see how long the other could hold out before speaking. Seeing his own tactics turned against him was in poor taste, in his opinion. He paused by a window and stared down at another set of agents that made their way up the steps of the hospital, suited and serious.

“I understand that this is a frustrating thing for you,” Jack said after he supposed an appropriate amount of time had passed. “I’m just trying to do what you’re trying to do.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Help people as best as I can. Hell, we get Lecter fast enough, I may be able to persuade the courts that he’s still best suited locked up behind your bars rather than someone else’s.”

“He is best locked up behind my bars, Agent Crawford! If it hadn’t been for-”

“Thank you for the information regarding Mr. Brown. I’ll call you if I have anything else.”

“Now wait just a moment! You’re saying that-”

He wouldn’t be able to confirm what Crawford was saying, though. The call disconnected, and he hung up the phone, grinding his teeth. It was a bad habit, and sooner or later he’d have to do something about it, but there they were. There they were, and his hospital was under enough suspicion that he’d be lucky to get a borderline personality disorder sent to his doors, let alone anyone as rare as Lecter after this was through.

A troubling state of affairs, indeed.

He was musing and scowling out of his window at nothing in particular when there was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said dismally.

He turned around, and a man and woman entered the room, steps in sync. Her fair hair and pale eyes were a stark contrast to the man’s short, buzzed hair and darker skin tone, but from head to toe they were dressed the exact same. Chilton couldn’t have said if it was the eerie, blank expressions, or if it was the knowing look they gave one another, but it set his teeth on edge. He found himself grinding his teeth again despite the ache in his jaw, and it took far too long for him to relax, shoulders rolling forward then back. He thought their pattern and distinction odd, but no comment was made. If he wanted Lecter back in his cell, he’d have to play nice with the FBI.

“I just got off of the phone with your boss,” he said by way of greeting.

The man tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixated on Chilton with the sort of intensity that made Chilton nervous. His lip curled in retaliation, and his spine stiffened.

“I don’t think you have,” the man said. He had a smooth sort of speech, the hint of a musician’s tremor to the words.

“Haven’t I? Has the FBI sent another department? How many people are you going to have crawling through my work space?” Chilton demanded. The woman closed the door behind her, her head tilted as she surveyed Chilton from head to toe.

“Is he what you thought?” she asked the man.

“Oh, yes,” the man said lightly. “Exactly as he was described.”

“Now see here, I want to speak with your boss! The FBI can’t send people left and right as they like, coming here and interrupting what-”

“Do you want to speak with him?” the man asked.

“Wh-what?” His interruption ruined Frederick’s tirade, muddled the whole thing. He’d had a couple of clever quips to toss in, just to really dig it to him.

“Do you want to speak with him?” the man repeated, just as calm as before.

“…Yes, in fact, I do.”

The man produced a satellite phone, which was odd enough in Frederick’s humble opinion, but he made no comment on it.

“It’s dialing,” the man assured him.

“After I’m off the phone, I want to see your credentials,” Frederick muttered, and he put the phone to his ear.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Chilton,” their boss said.

His voice after all this time was chilling, sent an icy pain down his spine that froze him in place. It wasn’t so much that it had been a long time since hearing it, but rather what the ramifications were of his hearing. His eyes, wide with shock –and dare he admit a little bit of fear? –bounced from the woman to the man, and he managed to shuffle away from them, shaking his head.

“No…” he managed, which wasn’t at all what he wanted to say. ‘Help’ would have been nice; perhaps a ‘someone call the police’ could have also sufficed, if he could have yelled. They were blocking the door, though, and he wasn’t the sort to leap from a three-story window just to try and save himself.

“Oh, yes,” Hannibal Lecter said pleasantly. “Before you, you see two of my associates, I’m sure.”

“…Yes,” Chilton said faintly. He broke out into a sweat, gaze bouncing between the two of them.

“That is Tobias Budge, a lovely musician from the Baltimore Symphony, as well as Maggie Kester.” There was a pause, and one thing that Frederick hated most of all was Dr. Lecter’s ability to wield pauses far better than Frederick himself could. “You remember Mr. Kester, don’t you? Rick Kester?”

Chilton’s knees buckled.

He caught himself, though, and he leaned back against the wall as he stared at the woman and the man, side-by-side and perfectly calm. “Yes…” he managed, a break in his voice. “Y-yes,” he said, a bit stronger. “I remember.”

“I found Tobias after he shoved the neck of a cello down a man’s throat to try and play his vocal chords,” Hannibal said. “And Maggie all but tracked me down through Francis Dolarhyde. She’s resourceful. The agent that brought her husband to you –you remember that agent, yes? –she killed by placing a magnet on his pacemaker. He had a bad heart.”

“I don’t know where you are, Hannibal,” Frederick said, swallowing down the terror clawing its way up his throat. “I don’t know where you are, I couldn’t possibly…”

“A long time ago, Dr. Chilton, I informed you that if I should ever manage to be released from your institution, I’d never forget you. You laughed and informed me that there was no such likelihood, seeing as how you held the key to my future.” There was a pause that oozed bitter delight. “Do you recall?”

Frederick certainly recalled. He didn’t feel quite up to acknowledging it, though.

“I’d hate to not keep my promises though, even after my release. I think it’d be quite discourteous of me. As I’m unable to personally sit down and catch up, seeing as how I’m currently busy, Mr. Budge and Ms. Kester were more than happy to come by.”

“Dr. Lecter, really, you don’t have to-”

“Oh, but I do, Dr. Chilton. I keep my promises, however I may.”

The line went dead. There was a prolonged pause; Chilton was quite familiar with pauses and just how varied they could be. He used them far too much in his work, or so the critics said. There were some pauses used to illicit guilt. There were some pauses used to test people, to wait out their impatience until they couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Some pauses were used to deliver a particularly good jab against colleagues that didn’t understand his genius. There were some pauses when Chilton struggled to come up with something that fit the narrative of what his diagnosis was on an inmate –those pauses were especially troublesome for him and kept him awake late at night. Dr. Bloom informed him that he had those sorts of pauses all wrong, although he humbly thought otherwise.

This was a pause of resignation, though. It was a stalling sort of pause, the kind when one realizes just the sort of situation they’re in right before everything falls to pieces. He could see this pause in all of its wretched glory, see it for what it was and what it meant for him. Chilton numbly hung up and passed the phone back to Tobias Budge’s patient and waiting hand.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you in person. When you testified to have my husband killed by lethal injection, I thought a meeting was long overdue,” Maggie gushed. She had matching brown eyes, flat and soulless despite her eager tone. “Let’s sit down and chat.”

Freddie Lounds’ foot sunk into a particularly soft spot in the ground, and she cursed.

She was only a mile or two into the woods, but it felt like an eternity. Her car was parked as discreetly as she could get it on a turnabout, and there was a moment of hesitation where she’d debated the honest pros and cons of just going back to it and calling the cops. She wasn’t cut out for hiking through the woods towards the potential hiding place of a den of serial killers. She was a writer, for God’s sake, not some woodsy folk.

Investigative journalism and all. If Jack Crawford wasn’t going to play nice, Freddie Lounds figured that she in no way owed him anything that would help him catch Clark Ingram. He said find Will Graham, and she’d find Will Graham. Maybe get some kind of award for being the only one smart enough to hunt down the man that’d stuck an FBI agent with a stiletto with his partner not even fifty feet away. Jack Crawford was so concerned with sticking it to Lecter that he was missing the piss in the proverbial pie.

It probably said something about her that she was more concerned with her story and her career than helping anyone -she often wondered if that made her a psychopath to some degree, that her successes were more important than their lives. As she picked her way around a particularly muddy patch near a fallen tree, she wondered at her gall, that she’d rather go about this the hard way than just call Crawford and tell him she’d found Ingram. Pride. There was a whole lot of pride involved.

Maybe not a psychopath, but certainly a narcissist. She wanted the glory, and it’d be a damn good feeling to shove it in his face when she called him from the safety of her car with Will Graham in tow. ‘Found your guy,’ she’d say casually. Found him and I didn’t have to incarcerate someone else before I got to him.

Her readers would just love that.

She wasn’t quite sure about the girl that’d accompanied him, though. She didn’t seem the murdering sort -she had an innocent, mom-did-drugs-and-I-suffered sort of expression. Freddie couldn’t discount her, though; it was the innocent ones you had to look out for. There was something about her that was utterly recognizable, but Freddie couldn’t put a finger on it. Emma. Clark Ingram had called her Emma. Something to table later, after she’d saved the day.

Hannibal Lecter had murdered at least fourteen people while aiding others in therapy, after all. You couldn’t discount the innocent ones.

She wondered if Will Graham would allow a photo op of her saving him when the time came. Things to think about later, when she wasn’t sidling around a tree in order to avoid slipping down an unpleasantly muddy hill.

Lloyd was woken abruptly by his phone vibrating off of the nightstand and onto the floor. Drug-induced sleep was difficult to wake from; it left thick dust over his thoughts and made his throat hoarse. He groaned, shifted, and tried to turn just enough to scoop his phone up. The wound burned in anger, and he triumphantly grabbed it before collapsing back into bed, sighing. He hurt. A lot.

“What do you have?” he asked, turning the speaker phone on.

“You’re going to want to see this,” Nick said by way of greeting. “I found it.”

The laptop was far easier to reach. He kept it just to the side of him while he slept, for ease of access in case he woke with a hunch. He turned the brightness down as it started up and burned his eyes. The e-mail loaded, and he clicked the prompted link with a yawn.

“I gotta say, these guys have a flare for the dramatic,” said Nick as Lloyd waited for it to load. “I think this is more theatrics than genuine belief, but maybe that’s just me trying to normalize these weirdos. Either way, it’s wild.”

The page loaded to a black screen with red ink dripping from the top of the page to the bottom. Lloyd blinked lazily and stared at it, thinking of how his blood had looked dripping onto the pavement. The thought hadn’t come to him before; trauma, most likely, that his mind had repressed it until now. He’d laid there, pressed on top of the assailant, before someone turned him onto his back. His blood had dripped to the pavement much like it did on the webpage, and he wondered just who’d designed it to get the vision oh-so very right.

“How’d you find it?” he asked. His voice was rough, gravel across concrete. He waved his mouse over the screen before it shifted from an arrow to a pointing finger on a particularly plain spot, and he clicked the apparent link curiously.

“A bit of this and that. Say, I got a date lined up with a girl from that soulmate site. Wish me luck, right? They claim I’ll find ‘the one’ with just one date, but it can’t be that easy. I need to make a real experiment of this.”

“Nick,” Lloyd cut in.

“I mean, if she’s the one then I won’t complain, you know? Her photo was cute and all, but I’m not going to get too excited. It’s easy to get your hopes up, I’m sure, but-”

“Good luck with the date –now tell me about how you found this place.”

“You don’t really want to know, do you? Because if you do, I’m actually really fucking proud of it, but it’s kind of like ‘how do I cut this down to laymen’s terms so that you-”

“You’re right,” Lloyd cut in irritably, waiting for the screen to load. “I don’t really want to know.”

“I figured. So, you find the link yet?”

Lloyd hummed an assent.

“Here’s where it gets good, right? Has it loaded?”

“It’s loading.”

Nick’s excitement bled into the earpiece. “Guess what, it won’t ever load. It’s a dummy link. It makes you think that you’re going to, like, the next step, but then you don’t. You just look at this seventh-grade emo site for sad kids for ages and it never loads.”

“So how’d you get in?”

“Looks like these guys are basically recruiting those with a little bit of tech smarts. Smart on their part. They don’t just want fangirls, they want some real shit. If you basically hack into the interface –sounds more complex than it is, trust me –it pops up with a chat box that you can send a message to them through. They get back to you pretty quickly.”

Lloyd froze, staring at the hourglass loading icon as it continued to turn and turn and turn. “I’m…guessing you did exactly that.”

“Hell yeah,” Nick said with a laugh. “Guess who I’m talking to right now?”

Lloyd’s blood went cold. “Who, Nick?”

“Agent Francis-Fucking-Dolarhyde, that’s who,” Nick crowed. “I’m tracking their IP right now. I’ll send the information to Crawford once I find them. The little fucker’s trying to give me the slip, but I’m good. I’m damn good.”

“Nick, do not engage with them,” Lloyd said, and he pulled himself to a sitting position with a wince. “You think he’s not tracking you and looking into your background as you try to find him? He was an actual FBI agent, not one of your tech buddies that you play Dungeons and Dragons with on Roll20.”

“That’s a really sharp crowd, Uncle Lloyd,” Nick said off-handedly. “Don’t knock them just because one of them keeps playing a Halfling that dies every other session.”

“Nick, I’m serious, don’t-”

“Besides, you wanted my help, right? He won’t find me. I’ve got no trail that can be tracked, and this will show the FBI just how to find these ass holes. I’m helping you out, remember? That’s my job? That’s what you got ahold of me for?”

“This isn’t one of your games that you can talk yourself out of if you get in too deep. One mistake, and you’re dead. Do you hear me? In the real world, to lose means that you die.”

“I won’t lose. Don’t worry.” Nick was miffed; it sounded through on the speaker as he let out a curt huff of breath. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’ll call with more information.”

“Nick-”

He hung up, and Lloyd cursed, glaring at the screen that kept dripping blood with slow, lazy ease. A lot of animations made blood look odd, just different enough that no one took it seriously. They made it ooze rather than spread like water, reaching and grasping with all intents of a liquid set free from a container.

Liquid spreads to meet the space in which it rests. In a cup, it is a cup shape. In a box, it is a box shape, his eighth grade science teacher said.

He stared at the blood dripping, and he nodded to himself as he bookmarked, then exited the browser. Whoever made the animation certainly knew what it was like to see blood spilt. They had a perfect, genuine understanding of just what that looked like, had seen it often enough to know.

And Nick was barreling straight to them.

Oh, good!

A lovely thanks to my patrons: @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe @frostyleegraham @frostylicker @sylarana Duhaunt6 and Superlurk! <3

#Hannibal #LiaS scribbles #where the wicked walk #will graham #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #soulmate au #hannibal soulmate au #the following au #someone help will graham

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writingwife-83 · 7 years ago

Note

Omg will you do 'scandalous ankles'? Can they be Sherlock's? I will die.

Aaaand we’re back to the Victorian era! So when I first got this one my thought was, oh this is definitely gonna be cute and silly. Well…it seems that all I know how to do with these historical prompts is to get feelsy and romantic lol. Hope you don’t mind! :D (and I also hope you don’t mind that the focus on the actual ankles is pretty minimal lol)

Taken from these prompts- https://writingwife-83.tumblr.com/post/162989401123/historical-story-prompts (prompts are closed)

“Good heavens!” Molly exclaimed as Sherlock burst through the door.

“Yes yes,” he sighed. “I realize my socks and shoes are missing. There are perils of chasing a criminal through the streets of London. Now, where is Mrs. Hudson?”

“She went out. Was there something you needed?” Molly asked, standing from her chair and doing her best not to stare at the amusingly bare feet of Mr- her fiancé, she reminded herself. It was awfully easy to forget sometimes, seeing as he hardly treated her as his bride to be. Though it would be hard to forget in two more days, seeing as then they would actually be getting married.

“Nothing,” he huffed. “Just looking for tea.”

Molly stood there for a moment, hesitating. But Lord knows she needed to try and put at least a little crack in the walls that seemed to surround this man.

“Why don’t you sit? I’ll make some tea.”

Martha Hudson’s had been kind enough to take Molly in upon the death of her father, who happened to be the older landlady’s younger brother. She was kind and hospitable, making Molly feel comfortable and welcome. And naturally Molly was soon introduced to her aunts tenant.

Sherlock Holmes had Molly head over heels within the first day. And he seemed pleased with her too, in his own way. They got on swimmingly; their mutual love of science and medicine creating an instant connection. But their innocent friendship was quickly noticed by the rest of the Holmes family, and it wasn’t long before Sherlock’s parents and brother thought up and orchestrated a rather surprising arrangement.

A few silent minutes of preparation later and Molly set the tea down at the table.

“Are they cold?”

Sherlock frowned. “Pardon?”

“Forgive me,” she laughed while handing him a cup. “I mean your feet.”

“Ah, that,” he acknowledged, glancing down. “A bit, I suppose.”

Molly convinced him that they should move to the chairs by Mrs. Hudson’s fireplace so he could warm his tired and cold feet. He seemed to settle in and relax after that, sipping his tea after divesting himself of his coat and suit jacket.

“So…two days then?”

He looked at her over the edge of his cup, still for a moment before quietly responding in agreement.

“Two days, yes.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll no doubt miss living here once having to move upstairs to what Mrs. Watson calls my ‘scruffy old flat.’”

“It’ll be our scruffy old flat…and it won’t bother me,” Molly replied with a soft smile, though that faded a second later. “Though, perhaps I’ll be the bother to you.”

“No!” Sherlock responded, more forcefully than Molly would have expected, which he clearly registered.

The tired looking detective sighed, set his tea down, and shut his eyes for a moment before looking at her again. “Miss Hooper, please forgive me but I cannot pretend to know what it is I am doing…with you. I have always considered myself married to my profession, and it has been a rather easy relationship. But you are…”

Molly watched him with baited breath, unsure of what he would say next.

“You are so much more,” he murmured. “The idea of being a husband to you is not repulsive to me, it is simply unfamiliar. It is unlike anything I’ve undertaken before and I fear that if I am not careful I could…fail you. And if I have been distant during our engagement this past month, it is only because of that fear.”

Molly would swear later that it was the forceful beating of her heart which propelled her out of her own chair and into the lap of her fiancé. She’d never so much as held his hand in affection before, but somehow this seemed as natural as drawing her next breath.

As she sat across his legs, she caught his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, silencing any possible question forming in his mouth. And then she felt the delicious pressure of his hands around her waist as his lips and tongue responded instinctively in just the way she’d hoped. She melted into him for a few moments before pulling away and resting her forehead against his.

“Never be afraid you’ll fail me,” she whispered. “To be sure, we shall both be trying our best to learn something new. But along the way I cannot help but believe we shall also be having a truly marvelous time!”

His half lidded eyes smiled back at her. “Yes, I’m beginning to see that.”

Molly blushed a little. “I suppose you know now what you do to me, Sherlock Holmes…see that you use your power responsibly,” she teased.

“Am I allowed to use this sort of power anytime I need coddling after coming home barefoot?” He punctuated the statement with a kiss to her nose.

“Oh, especially then!” Molly agreed with a giggle and then sighed contentedly, leaning into him again.

“Well…it seems that I now only have one more pressing concern,” Sherlock murmured low.

“Yes?”

Sherlock let out a little huff of frustration while clinging to her affectionately.

“Must our wedding be two whole days away?!”

#sherlolly #mollock #historical prompts #Victorian sherlolly #arranged marriage #thanks for the historical prompts guys!#wifey answers things

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sunken-standard · 7 years ago

Text

Another Prompt Fill

Since both came in together... Great minds, apparently.

"Your great-aunt Eudora died," Molly said, glancing over to Sherlock before going back to her slides.

"Oh good, when's the funeral?"

"Day after tomorrow, reading of the will to follow. I didn't know that was an actual thing people actually did. Like, do you lot just gather in mahogany-panelled libraries with your embroidered hankies and veils and mesh gloves and just faint dramatically when the surprise illegitimate child walks in?"

"I know they say television is a window to the world, but sometimes it would do you some good to actually go outside," Sherlock said, shouldering her aside to see what she was looking at. "Ooh, is that brain?"

"Colon polyp, actually, though in this bloke I don't think there was much difference. Real Darwin Award material, thought a curling iron was a vibrator with a warming feature."

"And that killed him?"

"He tried to cool it off by running it under the tap. While it was still plugged in."

"Which end?" Sherlock continued to look at the slide.

"Both."

"Hn." He finally moved away from the microscope. "So, fancy a trip to the Peak District?"

"Wait, you're actually going?"

"Of course I'm going, I want to see what she left me."

"You're not going to make a scene or anything? I mean, it is a funeral."

"You think so little of me. That hurts," Sherlock said too earnestly. He touched his chest. "Right here, in my heart."

"That's not your heart, you've got a raisin stuck to your shirt."

"Wondered where that went. Had a snack in the cab." He picked the raisin off his shirt and popped it in his mouth, then made a face. "That was not a raisin."

I don't even want to know, she thought.

"Just awful. Taken too soon," Cousin Sybil said, shaking her head sadly and staring into her wineglass.

"Wait, they're serving wine? In a church?"

"Oh no, I brought my own. If you thought the weddings were bad, the funerals will make you wonder how you ever ended up in this family in the first place."

"Not really in the family, but okay."

Cousin Sybil just looked at her, 'you poor, deluded fool' written across her face. Sherlock picked that moment to reappear; he'd been cornered by his parents, back from the Caribbean just in time. Their globe-trotting always seemed to coincide with family functions, but apparently the funeral was enough of a surprise that they couldn't beg off.

"They'll be seating soon, come on. Need a spot in the front row," he said before steering her toward the chapel doors.

"Would anyone like to say a few words?" the vicar said after concluding his sermon.

Sherlock shot up from the pew and dashed to the lectern. He pulled cards from his jacket pocket, fumbling them a bit as he took a steadying breath.

He truly missed his calling, she thought. Though, she'd never have met him if he'd ended up an actor, so there was that.

He started his eulogy and teared up convincingly as he reminisced about her fresh-baked scones and the dish of allsorts she kept by her chair in the study.

Molly leaned into Mycroft. "Really sounds like he was fond of her, that they had a good relationship," she remarked quietly.

"Oh no, the old bat hated him. She hated everyone, but especially him," he said.

Mummy Holmes leaned around Mycroft. "She really was a dreadful woman."

"...And so I've come to understand the fleeting fragility of our time on this Earth, and I realized we've not a moment to be wasted," Sherlock said, choking on his fake tears. "I probably don't have that much time left myself, so I'd like to make the most of it."

He moved out from behind the lectern and came to stand in front of her, pulling her up out of the pew. Her stomach lurched with foreboding.

He dropped to one knee.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she hissed through gritted teeth as everyone in the church sucked in a breath in unison.

He pulled a little velvet box from inside his jacket pocket. "Molly Hooper. Will you marry me?" he asked, looking up at her with his eyes wide as he opened the box. He bit his lip while he waited for her to react.

I'm going to murder him. Two funerals at once, it'll save everybody time, she thought giddily.

He broke character for a split second to lift his eyebrows a hair and widen his eyes even more, play along and make it good.

She put her hand over her chest and heaved a breath. "Oh Sherlock," she gushed. "Yes, yes, of course!"

He grinned and it actually looked real; he made his hands shake visibly as he slipped the ring on her finger. A wave of gasps and murmurs rolled through the crowd.

He stood and pulled her into a hug, bending so his lips were next to her ear. "If I had a mic, I'd drop it right now and peace out," he said. "Is the coffin moving? She's probably spinning in it."

"You are such an arsehole," she said into his ear while she clung to his neck.

"I know," he said, sounding well-pleased. "Never let it be said I don't know how to put the 'fun' in 'funeral.'"

"I'm not helping you fake your own death again." She was sure he had that planned after his little 'not having time left' thing; she wondered how long he'd been sitting on the idea.

"Spoilsport," he said, rocking them back and forth a little bit. "You could stand to cry a little. Pull out a nose-hair if you have to, I'll cover you."

"Words cannot begin to describe the world of hurt you're in for when this is over," she said.

He pulled back and gave her a quick kiss right on the lips. "Do you promise?" he said, eyes sparkling.

"Oh, I promise," she said darkly.

She spent the rest of the funeral fondly recalling dismembering the chocolate Sherlock with a wire saw and a blowtorch, only substituting the real one in the memory.

Molly walked with Sherlock's parents in the procession from the chapel to the churchyard, as both Sherlock and Mycroft were pallbearers; she hoped to God Sherlock didn't do something to make them drop the coffin. She could just imagine the body rolling out and down the hillside to the motorway below, causing a ten-car pile-up when a lorry swerved to avoid it...

"I'd like at least two grandchildren, three if you can manage it. Identical twins run on my side, you might get lucky," Mummy Holmes said. Apart from their introduction, it was the first thing she'd said to her. Ever.

"I'll, ah, see what I can do," Molly said.

"You should honeymoon in Jamaica. The resort we stayed at was Hedonism II, cannot recommend it highly enough. The food was amazing and the view of the beach was simply spectacular."

"The view inside the room was too," Daddy Holmes said, his face innocent as he gave his wife's bum a firm squeeze.

Molly stopped wondering how Sherlock had turned out the way he did.

"Welcome to the Hotel California," Cousin Sybil said as soon as they stepped into the entryway of the actual mansion where the wake and will-reading was being held. Molly was 98% certain it was Aunt Eudora's house. Well, one of them.

"I mean 'the Family,'" she added, pressing a glass into Molly's hand.

"What is this?" Molly asked, sniffing the glass.

"Scotch that they found in an iceberg or something. Trying to drink it all because Billy's set to inherit it. He's coveted it his entire life because he's got a hard-on for adventure and it's some historical... explorer... thing. Ha! Can't wait to hear what he tells the lads on the polo team. He'll probably just dump a bottle of Glengoolie in the decanter and add a few drops of Dettol and pass it off as the real thing. Those idiots would drink horse piss if someone told them it was single malt and stuck a £750 pricetag on it." She drained her glass and wandered away.

"I swear to everything that is holy, if you put your fingers in or even near my mouth again I will bite them off."

"I'm feeding you, it's romantic. Have some more cake," he said, breaking off a piece of the very plain, very dry slice of poundcake on her plate. Apparently even the food was meant to inspire a suitable state of misery.

"Really not. Have you even washed your hands since you carried that coffin?"

"Why does that matter? You touch dead people all day at work."

"I wear gloves."

"Stupid NHS rules. Imagine the budget savings if they did away with that policy. Maybe I'll mention that to Cousin Fred, he's an MP."

"Please don't."

The reading of the will really was in a library with leather furniture and wood panelling. There were stag heads and swords, too.

She ended up on an ancient sofa obviously made of irregularly-shaped rocks and corners of bricks, squashed between Sherlock and some elderly Aunt whose name she hadn't caught who smelled vaguely of mothballs, sour milk, and old money.

The solicitor shuffled a stack of papers and blah-blah-blahed on about his contact information and legally binding whatever-whatever until finally he jumped right into the who-gets-what. "To the worst daughter God has ever seen fit to burden a mother with, I leave the house and all associated properties. Do try not to lose it in your next divorce, you simple tart," he read in a monotone.

"To my idiot son Rudy, I leave my entire wardrobe and a sum of fifty thousand pounds so you can finally get the operation. You did a piss-poor job of hiding it. I never should have let you have that teddy bear when you were six because I knew it would turn you into a nancy-boy, but you begged and begged, what was a mother to do? I hope you find yourself a nice man to settle down with."

"Ha, joke's on her, he's not actually a woman or gay, he's just a cross-dresser," Sherlock said, leaning into Molly and putting his hand on her leg. "Going to have a bit of a kip until they get to me, wake me when it's my turn." He settled back against the sofa, but left his hand on her thigh.

"...And to that little prick William Sherlock," the solicitor droned. Sherlock's elbow slid off the arm of the sofa and he woke with a start when he heard his name. "I leave my departed husband's collection of coprolites."

"Oh-ho, yes!" Sherlock clenched his fists and wiggled in his seat. "I love fossils."

"Eat shit and die, you little arsehole," the solicitor finished in his monotone.

She found herself pressed up against the door of a froufrou parlour this time; she'd excused herself to go to the toilet shortly after they'd got to Sherlock in the reading when it became apparent there was no end in sight and of course he followed her.

She wasn't even sure how it happened. One minute she was walking along, opening doors in the labyrinthine corridors hoping to find the library again, or at least a room with a liquor cabinet, and the next she was inside a lady's sitting room with Sherlock's tongue down her throat and his thigh snug between hers. She really hoped this sudden display of affection had nothing to do with his inheritance. She supposed maybe it was just the fact that it was a funeral; they always made her a little randy, too. Some kind of pushback against mortality, she thought to herself as Sherlock wedged his hand behind her to unzip her dress. Whatever. She was in the sweet spot between bored and drunk and pretty much anything short of arson would seem like a good idea.

"Maybe try to make it last the full minute this time," she said, hiking up her skirt.

"Should be good for longer than that, had a wank this morning before we left."

Her lips pursed into a question, even though it took her a few seconds to figure out what to ask. "Wh— Where was I?"

"In the shower," he answered against the crook of her neck like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Where were you?"

"Kitchen."

"You had a wank in my kitchen at four in the morning. Before a funeral."

"I was nervous. It helps."

"Oh. my. God."

"I haven't even put it in yet, must be doing something right," Sherlock quipped before kissing her again.

Molly leaned against the door of the car watching the family members file out of the house with cardboard boxes and paintings and lamps like it was a fire sale. Sherlock had already loaded his boxes in the boot; it was indeed a sizeable collection of shit.

Sherlock flopped against the side of the car next to her, his head lolling back against the roof. "Really hope this is the last one for a while. I don't want to see any of these people again ever."

"Well, at least til the wedding," Molly said, a teasing lilt to her voice that was only half-teasing.

"Oh God, which one's getting married now?"

She held her left hand in front of his face.

His face did a thing where it crumpled in on itself in confusion before smoothing out again with new and different wrinkles; he looked at her askance. "You really would?"

"You're highly educated, quite fit, and rich. I mean, maybe you're not great in bed, but a girl can't have everything," she said lightly.

"That last bit is invalid because we weren't actually in a bed. I lasted the full minute and even gave you an extra thirty seconds this time. Sorry about your dress, though."

"At least it's machine washable. Wouldn't want to take that to the dry cleaners."

"Mine know not to ask questions, it's better for everyone. And I tip well."

"Mm," Molly acknowledged. She knew all too well the kinds of things he ended up covered in. At least he was considerate enough to clean out her shower drain, after. Even snaked the pipes after an incident with tarmac and another with rubber cement. He'd posed as a plumber once on a case, he'd told her. The joke she made about laying pipe had gone completely over his head. Good times.

Sherlock didn't say anything else, but he slipped his hand into hers and interlaced their fingers, leaning against her side.

"You realize we're going to have to invite every single person that was here today, right?" she said, smirking.

"Bugger. How would you feel about a destination wedding? Somewhere far away. With no waiting period."

"Like the Caribbean? Your parents seemed to really like the resort they stayed at. Right up your alley, too, it was clothing-optional."

"...And there goes my ability to ever have an erection again."

Molly opened her mouth to make some kind of joke about size or staying power, then closed it again. Really shouldn't cut off her own nose to spite her face.

"You know, I'm a doctor, I can probably do something about that," she said instead.

Sherlock shifted against the side of the car and cleared his throat. "...Aaand you just did," he said.

"Really?"

"It's a thing," he said defensively.

"This is going to be fun," she said, her lips curling into a smile. If she looked in a mirror she'd probably have devil horns and flames dancing in her pupils.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply.

#rooneykmara #mychakk #drabble ask meme round 3 #sherlolly #sunken's secret stash

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