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mrslankyman · 9 months

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Do I Wanna Know?

Wrote this a while ago - 2,906 Words

Daryl Dixon - Prison Era (Not based on any episode in series)

February 12, 2012

As far as I know today is February 12. That's what Carol tells me. She keeps the days tracked. I guess she does a lot around here.

She's pretty reliable. Rick's been out scouting for a while. We're running low on supplies. Might have to make a trip to the closest town.

I head out of the main corridor of the prison where we've been staying. Pulling my pistol out from my holster and switching it into my dominant hand.

I opened the door that lead outside. The sun hit my face and I squinted. Living in the dark of the prison sure as hell made your eyes sensitive to any bright lights.

I passed Glenn and gave a curt nod. He was heading to the watch post for his daily steak out. I walked up to the fence. Looking out into the field. Only a few walkers today. Better than yesterday. There was a whole hoard out there. Thank god for Daryl. Him and his cross bow. That damn cross bow. He loves that thing more than anyone.

Speaking of the devil the familiar sound of a motorcycle filled my ears. I turned to the gate as Glenn pushed it open. Daryl came riding into the prison. Stopping his bike and taking the keys out of the ignition. He unwrapped the three rabbits he had killed. Of course he was out hunting. When wasn't he doing something? He barely slept because he refused to be useless.

"What ya catch out there Daryl?" Carol asked walking out of the Prison. Daryl looked up at her and held up the three rabbits. "Nice." She smiled and took them from Daryl. Forgot, the cook and the hunter were best friends. I groaned and looked back out into the field. Everyone in the group seemed to have someone.

I was just left out. I joined late and it felt like when you joined a friend group but the kids before had been friends for years. I was always the odd one out. At least I can survive here. That I am grateful for.

"What are you doing just staring off into the field?" A low voice asked behind me. I'd be lying if when I first joined that voice didn't set me off. In a good way.

Now it's just a constant reminder that I'm just lonesome. Daryl never cared for me. I knew from the day I joined. At first he tried to come across as friendly. In his own way. He just said Hello. Which was more than anyone else did. After about a week I guess he got tired of it.

"Yes I am. Does it bother you Dixon?" I asked not looking at him. My voice was laced with attitude. Hoping he got the point to leave me alone. It was what he did best. Ignoring me.

Daryl must've gotten annoyed. At least I assume because I heard him turn away and head inside. I let out a sigh and put my pistol in its holster on my waist. "I hope this shit ends one day." Such an idiotic thought. It was never going to end. The world was over.

-----

"Alright, we need to plan out the group's going out for supplies tomorrow." Rick said as we all sat down to eat. "We need more canned foods, medicine, and first aid supplies. Ammo too if we can find any." As Rick carried on I looked over to Daryl.

He was sitting next to Carol on the floor. They were talking about what I don't know. I rolled my eyes. He was starting to get really close with Carol. It was annoying seeing him make friends. I don't know why but it did.

"Y/N did you hear me?" Rick's voice pierced through my ears. The angry dad tone. I looked up at him. "What?" I asked. "You and Daryl are going out to Greens Burrow to search the market place up there for food." Rick said pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ok everyone else listen up." Rick said gathering everyone else attention again.

I looked over at Daryl. He was looking back at me and chuckling.

I guess me getting scolded is what made a almost 40 year old man laugh now a days. I rolled my eyes and ate my stew.

----

After we all ate dinner everyone headed to their cells to sleep. Besides Rick. He headed out of the prison. I assume to go on watch or snoop around somewhere. I don't really care.

As I headed down the short walk way to my cell I bumped into a broad shoulder. I looked up and groaned. Daryl. "Watch where ya going." He huffed out. I rolled my eyes and went to walk past him. "Annoying asshole." I mumbled under my breath.

A hand grabbed the back of my shirt collar and slammed me into the cement wall. I groaned as a slight rush of pain pierced my head.

Daryl looked down at me. His hand holding my shirt to the wall. He leaned closer his eyes squinting at me. "Wha'd ya call me?" He asked in a low whisper.

I glared at the man in front of me. No way in hell he was talking to me like this. "Wha'd ya think?" I mocked him.

I smirked a little in sanctification as the annoyances crept its way onto his face. "Is the big hunts man mad?" I teased as his hand bunched into fist. I took the opportunity before he could speak to flip our positions.

I slammed him into the wall. Watching as his eyes widen in shock. "Before you go around shoving women into walls.." I leaned into his ear. "Make sure shes not a professionally trained wrestler." His face scrunched up.

I laughed as I let go of him. "Ass hole." I cooed as I walked off to my cell. Completely satisfied for once.

----

"I seriously cannot believe I have to go with you. Rick could've chosen anyone." I complained as I fixed my pistol in my holster.

Daryl was getting his bike ready. "Stop complaining." He grumbled in annoyance. He got on his bike and looked at me. I stared at him confused.

"Get on the fuck are ya doin?" He asked as I still stood there. In utter silence. "I'm not getting on that bike with you." I rolled my eyes.

He leaned his head back in exasperation. I was making this hell for him. I could tell. I kinda liked it.

"I'm gonna leave without ya." He kicked up the kick stand of his bike and revved it up. "Fine! But only because I don't feel like walking." I saw him smirk slightly from the side mirrors on his bike. Our eyes caught each other and he stared at me for a second before looking away.

I walked up to the bike and threw my right leg over the seat and sat down. "You're gonna have to hold on." He said as he revved the bike up again. "I think I can balance." I rolled my eyes. "Sure." He chuckled as the gates opened.

He revved the bike up one more time before shooting out of the prison and onto the road ahead. My body wobbled and I flung my arms forward. Wrapping them around Daryl's waist.

Daryl Pov

I knew she wouldn't be able to balance. I felt her arms wrap around me and bit my lip. The breeze of the wind flowing my hair felt nice. But not as nice as this. I'll admit it's been a while since someone has ever touched me like this. Maybe that's why I don't mind.

Or maybe I just wanted to prove her right. I closed my eyes slightly. It was nice to get out of the prison. Even with the dead being all over.

My thoughts slipped to last night. Her slamming me against the wall. Her face as she leaned into my ear. Her voice.. I felt a shiver run down my spine. No I couldn't like this snobby woman. She was also keeping to her self. A strange woman in a now strange world. Not so strange at all If you really think about it.

I'm too hypocritical.

I was and still am like that. Sure I've gotten closer to a lot of our people but I still keep my distance. I opened my eyes. Watching ahead for any walkers or living people.

I could see in my right side mirror Y/N looking around. She looked nice with the wind blowing her hair. A carefree look on her face.

I looked ahead and kept going. All the way to Greens Burrow. Trying my best to ignore the thoughts I had of the woman behind me. I'm just going crazy. This world has changed me.

----

I stopped at the local market. I kicked down my bikes kick stand and waited for Y/N to get off. Once she did I got off too.

She grabbed a stray shopping cart and headed inside. She better not fill that shitty thing up. The two bags on my bike only had enough room for a few things. If we found any.

I shoved open the door. Carts and random shelves blocked the entrance. We climbed over them and got to the main center of the store. Empty shelves and random new papers littered the room.

I looked over at Y/N to ask her what we should do but she was already walking off. Pushing the cart down a random isle all the way at the back of the store.

"Is she dumb?" I asked myself as I followed her. I left my cross bow back at the prison. Fuck. I pulled out my pistol from my holster and lifted it up. Checking each isle as I walked over to her.

This idiot could've been eaten. I guess not everyone is as smart as you think.

Once I finally made it to her I saw the cart. Stock pilled of random canned goods and chips. "We can't take all of that." I grumbled as I lowered my pistol.

"We can just take some and then come back for the rest." She shrugged like it was no big deal. She is starting to really piss me off.

"I do not wanna be stuck running around all day with an idiot." I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance. I felt her hand pat my chest and I looked down at her. "Get over it." She smiled but her tone was rather angry.

I shoved her away and headed off down the rest of the isle. Checking for walkers so this idiot of a woman doesn't die.

----

Regular POV

It's been about a week since me and Daryl's run. He has been avidly ignoring me. I guess I really pissed him off when I said this walker with the ugliest fucking face looking like him. I thought it was funny.

Today I was out checking the other cells around the prison. Killing any walkers that I stumbled into or that stumbled into me. I had finally made it to the end of cell block E.

I was going to be late for dinner. Oh well. I headed back to the front of the prison and walked into the main cell block we were all settled in. Just as I thought.

Everyone had ate and there was nothing left. I groaned and mentally cursed Rick for giving me the worst jobs. I lowered my head and started walking up to the stairs.

"Not gonna eat?" A familiar deep voice asked. I looked over at Daryl. He was holding a bowl of stew. I rolled my eyes. "No." I huffed and turned to keep walking.

"Come on and eat. I don't need you to starve." He insisted. Talking to me like he cared.

"Why do you care if I starve?" I sneered. He just gave me a look. The 'you better do what I say.' look. I gave up and walked back down the steps and over to him. He held out the bowl to me and I took it.

"Thanks.." I say unsure. Should I be thanking him or telling him off? He had ignored me for a whole week.

Why do you care about me so much all of a sudden? You ignored me all week." I antagonized him. He just stared at me. Bitting his bottom lip.

"I didn't ignore you. Now good night." He turned away and began to walk up the stairs to his cell. I rolled my eyes and started to eat my stew.

Then it hit me.

He wasn't ignoring me. At least he was verbally.

He would purposely bump into me and give me a rude look. Even if it was his fault. He'd look at me anytime we all ate dinner together. Constantly pick the same time to do guard duty as me. Even if he didn't speak to me.

I shook my head. Maybe I was just over thinking it. We were in a prison after all. With maybe 10 people. It's bound that we bump into each other and have the same shifts.

———

Again. Today I had to check Cell block A. I groaned as I walked down the hall. I was always chosen for the dumb jobs. I headed into a cell unit. Checking each cell for any sign of life .. or death. As I got to the end of the cell block a hand grabbed me and pushed me down to the grown.

"Ah- what the hell.." I looked up at the walker infront of me. It's jaws slammed together as I pushed it away with my hand. Keeping its mouth away from my face and neck. "ah- fuck!" I looked over to my side. My gun had fallen out.

"Shit shit shit! I kicked at the walker. It didn't budge. I tried shoving it off. No use. My arms grew tired and I trembled under the weight of the dead. This can't be how I die. No way.

As the Walker lowered its self. Close enough to take a bite out of my flesh. I swear I could've felt the pain of teeth bitting into my skin. A loud 'phew' echoed and an arrow pierced the Walker through the head. It flopped down. I pushed it off my quickly and scrambled away from it. Catching my breath.

Daryl stood at the end of the corridor. His crossbow in hand. He lowered it and walked over. Pulling the arrow out of the walkers head.

"What are you doing here?" I asked still trying to recover from the shock.

"Saving you. Dumb ass." He grumbled and set his cross bow down. He walked over to me and held out his hand. I hesitantly held my hand out and took his. He pulled me up and I stumbled into him.

He looked down at me as I looked up at him. "I heard you. I was walking around tryna find you to tell ya dinner was done. Since you missed it the day before." His voice echoed in my head. This time it wasn't annoying.

"Oh really? What makes you care so much if I miss dinner? It just mean more food for you. I don't get why you're trying to be so nice to me but stop."

He stared at me. His eyes narrowing slowly. "I just saved ya. Doesn't it prove I are about ya?! Do I have to spell it out!" He yelled flipping his arms into the air and back down.

"Why did you save me? Aren't I just an annoyance to you?" I went on. His hands bunched up into fist. "Maybe you are!" He sneered.

"Good I like being the reason you're so mad." I smirked and pushed him against the wall. He stared at me. Slowly catching onto my game. "Agitating you makes my day." I clicked my tongue in his face at the end of the sentence.

He bit his lip and glared at me. His hands grabbing my sides slowly but firmly. My heart rushed slightly. I pushed the feeling down. I wanted him to make the first move.

"Maybe I like that you agitate me." He added on, pulling me closer by the waist. His voice was deeper now. More low and quite.

I pressed my body against his. My arms wrapped around his neck. "I like that you like it." I whispered in his ear in a slow, low tone. I could feel him growing hard as each one of my silky smooth words touched his ear.

I pulled away and looked at him. I laughed slightly. Who knew a women could make a grown man melt at a few words so easily.

"Maybe I'll-"

He cut me off and pressed me against his chest. "Just shut up and kiss me." He demanded. I smirked and gladly listened. Pressing my lips against his cold chapped ones. His stumble rubbed against my face and I'd be lying if I said it didn't turn me on more.

We stayed like that for a few minuets. Just kissing and saying things I'm sure he wouldn't want the others to know about. Men get embarrassed so easily.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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popcorngirl85 · 8 days

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Mad men Peggy in the year 2000

Peggy just wrapped up speaking at Princeton University. The graduates adored her speech. She had fifty of them follow her afterwards to Starbucks for an autograph.She was simply awestruck as they formed a line around her patio table as she sat nursing an iced caramel macchiato with extra caramel.She had those kids captivated by her words. Usually at the few college graduations she had attended (none of them her own),the kids and parents alike looked bored shitless,as an unsuspecting speaker droned on like Kevin's annoying teacher from the Wonder Years.Peggy received a ten minute standing ovation at the end when she quipped," If you don't like what's being said about you, change the conversation."She'd lifted that gem from a former boss and carried it around for years.She had the grads in stitches with the joke about the penguin,the intern and the priest that walked into the bar. Peggy hadn't thought it was that risque, pg-13 maybe.It was innocent compared to the garbage she heard daily while working as a girl friday on Madison Avenue forty years ago.The president of the college and several female board members were outraged,faces beet red with anger as she finished.

The audience and the students were still clapping enthusiastically as Peggy was asked to exit the premises immediately.Which was pretty much sucked for two reasons.One,was it really her fault that at least one college administrator was too idiotic and lazy to skim through her notes ?

They could have told her ahead of time what had to be edited out.Peggy's assistant had only faxed it to them three separate times.Two,she'd snuck downstairs earlier where the reception would be held and stole a peek at the terrific looking cake . The red roses on top were calling her name. Now she wouldn't get any.:(

Maybe it was Peggy's dark sense of humor or her no bs approach to life that got her into so much trouble. Or that for the past 60 years, every day had been a bad hair day.It always seemed to be women of her social standing and age that couldn't stand Peggy. She got along with older adults and younger people ,especially the gothic ones with the blue hair and all the piercings. They were usually kind of shy like she had been when she was young and her dad had passed away.

Peggy wanted to say to these woman, who pointed and whispered then split up whenever she came close," Hey gals, we are the same woman,different packaging.We play for the same team. I marched for woman's rights all the way to Washington, too. I still don't wear a bra but probably should have for gravity's sake.Let's work together and make something beautiful! "

Before passing away from breast cancer last fall.Joan, one of Peggy's fellow partners at the ad agency for almost three decades came up with a theory. When Joan was fading she hadn't wanted to chat about the horrible things the cancer was doing to her body, or what a bummer it was she wouldn't live to see her son get married.

So they talked about everything else." You are much too smart and intense for you own good. People,especially other women hate being showed up. That's why I always play dumb. Also with all your money ,your plaid clothes are (gasp) interesting.That is why I was so mean to you when we first started working together.I was threatened and scared you were there to take my job. "

It is so weird how relationships end up. Peggy had been one of a handful of folks who knew Joan was on her way out and not on an extended vacation in the Poconos like mostly everyone else had been told. Joan despised being pitied more than anything in the world.

Just then, Peggy made a decision not stew in a mass of self pity like she usually did. Who cared if a few politically correct strangers were mad at her. She was lucky.Most of the people from Peggy's old neighborhood were on assistance of some sort,three generations stuffed into an apartment the size of a walk - in closet.

Many of them hadn't graduated high school . Quite a few couldn't read. Everyone thought she arrived when they found out Peggy poured coffee for rich guys and got to pull the mail cart.

How blessed she was that one of the execs from middle management was impressed when she described the trashcan full of lipsticked tissues as a basketful of kisses. That Americans liked the Dunkin Donuts slogan she and a team of skilled professionals came up with. She had made her life a success story and nobody could take that away from her.

#mad men #Peggyolsonlegend

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wonwoonlight · 3 years

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Mingyu [my daisy] – bad day + established relationship + “I can’t smile at you, I’m mad.” + “Cooking is an art form”

1.1k~ words – a thousand starlights event

“Gyu?” your voice resonates in the empty living room, unsure where Mingyu has gone to. You’ve just dropped Gyuri off her grandma’s house, because the little girl has promised she’d stay over during the weekend.

Her dad would usually come with you, but there was an emergency call from work and Mingyu said you should go by yourself before his mom nags him once again. You’ve reluctantly agreed, because you meant to settle the little fight you had with him last night but you’re yet to be able to do it because Mingyu has been busy since morning.

You really don’t want to prolong the heavy atmosphere between the two of you, but you know Mingyu asked you to go because he’s promised her he’d come with you to drop Gyuri off; and if he couldn’t make it, then at least you should.

You figure you should just drop Gyuri off and go back home immediately, but Mingyu’s mom insists you have brunch before you go back, and you’re not quite in the position to reject her invitation. So you did, though a bit fidgety as you can’t get your mind off Mingyu.

It’s not often that you two fight, because misunderstandings don’t happen when you have someone as calm and understanding as Kim Mingyu. It’s a good thing, quite obviously, but it makes even the small fights feel bigger than it really is.

You try calling him one more time, and when he doesn’t answer, you instinctively make your way to the kitchen. Mingyu cooks when he’s in a bad mood, and, just as you expect, his back greets you as you hear the steady sound of his knife against the cutting board.

“Gyu, I’m back,” you softly announce, hoping he’d turn to you. The guy simply hums though, continuing to chop his vegetables without really addressing you. “What are you making?”

“Just stew,” he shrugs, still adamant on not looking at you. You contemplate on what to do, because it’s always tricky when Mingyu is quiet. He either wants to be left alone, or he wants you to coddle him. Right now, you aren’t sure which one he prefers.

You bite your bottom lip as your eyes follow him. You’ve always liked watching Mingyu cook, though he hasn’t had much time to do so these days. And now he’s doing it because his head isn’t in a good place, which you’re probably a part of the reason why.

You softly exhale before you make your way behind him, waiting for him to stop moving from one side to another so you can finally circle your arms around his waist. He tenses a little when you do, perhaps not expecting the sudden physical affection, but you simply hug him tighter and plant your forehead against his back.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, closing your eyes as if it’ll help you get it off your mind. “I shouldn’t have made a big deal out of it last night. You were busy and forgot to text me, it’s not that big.”

Mingyu sighs at your words, knowing full well that he’s also making a big deal out of it by not addressing you since earlier. He gently removes your hold, but only to turn around and face you so he could embrace you himself.

“I’m sorry too, I promised to have dinner at home and I made you wait for me for hours,” he mumbles against the top of your head, still feeling bad for getting mad at you because you fell asleep on the sofa waiting for him until 1 in the morning.

You haven’t been in your best condition lately, and Mingyu knows the telltale of you getting sick, which is why he was worried when he saw you asleep on the sofa, not even a blanket covering you from the cold.

It was stupid, but work has been stressful and he’s been worried about you getting sick so the first thing that made sense in his mind was to scold you for it. He didn’t even consider you waiting up for him because he forgot to tell you there was a sudden meeting after his secretaries left, and they, too, wouldn’t know to notify you about it.

“Still,” you sigh, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said those words to you…”

“It happens, baby,” he pulls you closer to himself, a little sad that you’ve been holding this over yourself even only for a few hours. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you waiting for me, too. It’s been a long week for us both and sometimes we say things we don’t mean when our head is not in the right place. It’s okay as long as we both know it’s wrong.”

Your frown doesn’t seem like it’s going to release anytime soon, and there’s a slight pout on your face that you probably don’t realize you’re sprouting and it’s taking everything in him not to just kiss it away.

“Stop being so adorable,” he finally gives in, bumping his forehead against yours. “I can’t smile at you, I’m mad.”

His attempt to joke doesn’t seem to deliver though, because your frown deepens and you instead ask if he’s really still mad at you. It’s then that Mingyu realizes how much the situation has been eating you up, so he leans down to kiss your frown away and then goes to do the same to your jutted lips.

“I’m not, I promise,” he whispers against your lips, letting you know that whatever upset him last night was simply because of the heat of the moment and right now he’s just upset because you’re upset. “We were both wrong and we’ve apologized, okay? All is good. I was just being childish this morning.”

“‘Kay,” you finally smile albeit a little, though it’s enough for Mingyu--at least for now. “Want me to help you cook?”

“It’s okay, I don’t want us to move house yet,” he denies your offer with a playful grin, yelping when you hit his shoulder.

“I’m not that bad!” your frown returns as you glare accusingly at him.

“Cooking is an art form,” he dramatically tells you as he steers you to one of the stools near the kitchen island. “And I’d be happy if you’d kindly just attend the exhibition. Don’t touch anything, okay, Daisy? You don’t see people in the museum trying to help the artist.”

You roll your eyes at his way of telling you to stay put, though you can’t help the giddy smile that flashes across your face when he drops a kiss on your cheek and whispers a gentle ‘I love you’ against your ear as if it’s a secret you two keep from the world.

Taglist: @winterciella

my daisy taglist: @yslshua@penny-quinn@nollixtrml@dnylwoo@itsveronicaxxx@john-and-paul@wheeinz@rjsmochii@w0nuuu@boowanie@n6body@imtotallydef@wwssi@bythe8@cheolright@coupsiekkuma@hoe4wonwoo@kyeomjjigae@jh-fn@clairdelunesstuff@yoongischeeksluv@onlywonforhui@janandbeyond@treasure-hwa@teddy-cheol@tito-jun@projectjuvia@notscoupy@jeonshuawreads@cheoriemoawa@wtfkidult@itsdnguyenxoxo@nothingbutadeadesceane@juli-ssi@soonchanshua@wonunuu@cottonsthings@youcanreadithere

#mingyu fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenario #seventeen x reader #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagines #mingyu drabble #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fanfic #mingyu oneshot #a thousand starlights masterlist #my daisy masterlist #svt fluff #svt scenarios #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagine #seventeen au

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chaotic-major · 3 years

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MPAU Part 1

For @min-play I hope you like it! This will be following Min-Play’s Movie Possession AU. Enjoy part 1!

Lloyd liked to consider himself a fairly normal person. Sure, his dad whom he’s never actually met in person attacks the city every other day but besides that, everything in his life is normal. The bullies can be a bit much, considering it's basically the entire population of the city, but his mom doesn't need to worry about anything more than her job. Lloyd can handle it, he’s fifteen.

He fixes his hood as he walks down the street, avoiding eye contact with anyone but the ground. He’s memorized the route home by now. As the city falls into dusk, Lloyd takes a moment to gaze at a fountain in a small plaza. He doesn’t dare enter of course, but it’s nice to take in the beauty of the city once and awhile, especially if it doesn’t always last too long.

The clouds overhead rumble as a light rain starts to fall. Lloyd sighs and watches all the people gather their things and head into their homes or find buildings to seek shelter from the rain in. He starts to continue his walk back when a dark vortex opens in the sky. Lloyd stares at it, puzzled. Is his dad somehow orchastairing this? He wouldn’t put it past him, honestly. But as soon as it opened, it closed and the rain abruptly stopped. As confused as Lloyd was, he had no energy to question it at this point. He sighed before turning on his heel and going home.

Morro realized he wasn’t entirely in the right. Holding the realm crystal in one hand and his sensei’s in the other, Morro realized it was up to him. Save himself, or save the ninja. When he looked behind master Wu to see the ninja’s scared and angry faces, he knew what choice he had to make. Putting the realm crystal in Wu’s hand and ignoring his pleas to save himself Morro looked at his sensei and let go, a sad smile on his face.

“You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.” He says as the Preeminent grasps onto him and pulls him down, closer and closer to his watery doom. Lloyd lunges forward suddenly and smacks the realm crystal, opening a portal below Morro. The Preeminent lets go and Morro is pulled down into the portal, Lloyd’s last words to him ringing in his ears.

“I forgive you, and I’m sorry.”

Morro fell through the void as if he had any weight, a force of gravity pulling him down through the opening on the other side. When Morro opened his eyes, he was floating in front of a large city, with buildings that seemed to touch the sky and with lights that glowed brighter than most others he’d seen in the past few weeks. He floated through the streets, glaring at every person who walked through him and paid him no mind regardless.

“Hello!?” He shouted, flying above the crowd. “Can any of you fools hear me?” No one gave any response. He looked around, almost frantically, wanting to be heard.

“H-holy shit. You’re a gh-ghost.” A meek voice said from below him. Morro turned and flew down, inspecting the person who spoke. He seemed to be a young teen in a green hoodie, the hood up and covering his hair. It was blond and strands were falling over his face. His eyes were an emerald green, a colour he’d seen in someone else before…

The realization struck Morro in an instant. This was… Lloyd? He seemed nothing like the green ninja Morro had grown familiar with. This one seemed shy and scared, so much so he didn’t ever seem to take off his hood. The Lloyd Morro possessed was confident and strong, the green ninja. This Lloyd didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

“I am. So who are you?” Morro asked, not wanting to look like a fool if he was wrong.

The boy shifted on his feet. “I’m Lloyd. What’s your name?”

Huh. This kid really knew nothing. “I’m Morro. Master of Wind.” He looked Lloyd in the eye. “And you’re the green ninja.” That made Lloyd drop his expression of fear and trade it for confusion.

“The green ninja? What’s that?” Lloyd inquired. Morro looked like he was about to tear his hair out. What god forsaken universe did Lloyd send him to?! Death a second time would’ve been better than this! Morro groaned.

“It doesn’t matter.” Morro said before promptly possessing Lloyd. The teen screamed as a spectral projection of him was produced, taking Morro’s spot. Morro glared at him until Lloyd realized he was basically fine. He stared at Morro, shock and confusion apparent on his face.

“Wh- what are you going to do? Now that you’ve possessed me?” Lloyd asks the specter in his body. Morro scoffed and walked away, knowing that Lloyd would be pulled after him if he got too far from the body.

Morro walked through the streets, watching as people parted around him. He tried to ask for directions to the museum multiple times, all a fruitless effort as people either scoffed at him or threatened him away. Morro was more than agitated at this point. Everything was so bright and loud, so much space in the street and yet so little. The buildings were too tall and he felt much too small. Morro caught sight of an alley and ducked into it, breathing out a gentle sigh of relief as he escaped the loud and towering street.

“What’s wrong with these people…” Morro mutters, walking farther into the alley. Lloyd’s small voice piped up from behind Morro.

“Um… H- hey, it’s getting pretty dark… I really shouldn’t be down here this late. We should go back.” Lloyd suggests. Morro lets out a laugh that chills Lloyd to the core.

“Wow. That’s adorable.” Morro says in a mocking tone. An apparition of himself appears before Lloyd.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not in control here. So shut up and stay put.” Morro demands. Lloyd looks down before looking back to Morro.

“C- can I at least call my mom? She’ll be worried.” Morro raises a finger and opens his mouth to reply before he was thrown from the mindscape and back into Lloyd’s body. Suddenly, Morro was up against the wall, a knife to his neck.

“Make a sound and I’ll slit your throat,” The man said in a low tone. “Garmadon.” Morro grew more emranged, if that were possible. He blasted the man off of himself, kicked his legs out and pulled the man to the ground, hand in his hoodie, holding him to the ground.

“Let’s make this crystal clear.” Morro said, holding the knife to the man’s throat, hair now a jet black in contrast to the sunny blond it had been seconds ago. “ I am not Lloyd Garmadon.” He announced. “I and Morro. Master of Wind. And I will be the Green nin--” Morro was cut off as Lloyd managed to grasp hold of control.

“STOP!” Lloyd shouted. He glanced at the knife in his hands before screeching and dropping the knife before dashing out of the alley. Lloyd broke into a sprint, managing to make it three and a half blocks before breaking down. Morro let himself into spirit form, rebounding Lloyd against a wall.

“What was THAT?” Morro shouted at the teen. “I had that! Why did you get in the way!?” Lloyd stood his ground.

“You- you were going to kill him!” Lloyd shouted back, scared and concerned. Morro digested Lloyd’s words a moment.

“..No.” Morro said. “NO!” He exclaimed angrily. He pointed his finger at Lloyd’s throat. “HE was going to kill YOU.” Lloyd’s eyes widened. Morro was right, as much as he hated to admit it. Lloyd looked back from where he ran, stewing on Morro’s statement. He pulled his hood over his head, desperate to ignore what had just taken place. He felt his hands shake, ready to have a good cry.

“Can… can I please call my mom and let her know I’m ok?” Lloyd asked in a small voice. “Please? I’ll help you find the museum after.” Morro smacks his hands in his face and gives a long groan, letting his hands fall off his face, contemplating the suggestion. He sighs and nods silently, watching as Lloyd walks over to a “payphone”. He inserts a coin before pressing the numbers on the small pad in an order, obviously committed to muscle memory.

“Hey, mom.” Lloyd answers after a few seconds. Morro floats behind Lloyd, back turned to the boy. “Y- yeah I’m ok.” Lloyd says after a second or two of silence on Morro’s end. “I’m sorry.” He hears Lloyd apologize. Morro feels something bubble up in his chest, squeezing his nonexistent heart. He sighs and allows Lloyd to end the call and return home without stopping at the museum.

It would’ve been closed at this hour anyways. Morro reasons with himself. As Lloyd settles into bed on the fateful Friday night, whether either of them liked it or not, they were stuck together, for better or worse. Morro looked out Lloyd’s window all night, watching the city slow down and speed up as the sun rose. Maybe… maybe he could still get what he wanted. He turned and looked at the blond, finally looking at peace for the first time Morro had seen. He turns back to the city. Just maybe.

#nose #morro ninjago #lloyd garmadon #Did I do good?#I love this AU #lego ninjago #lego ninjago movie #lego ninjago morro #lego ninjago lloyd #Give Min-Play some love

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

One Night🌙11

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, angry Andy, hormones, awkward dinner, y’all know what it be.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Okay, here’s an update.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You wore a black dress, barely loose enough to fit over your bump as the hem floated high in the front. Your forehead beaded with sweat as you took out the heavy glass pan from the oven and puffed. You set it down and removed the lid as steam clouded out. You heard your father’s voice from the living room and Andy’s baritone response.

The night was smooth so far. Your father was particularly impressed by the autographed baseballs on the mantle but never outspoken, the conversation didn’t stray much from sports or cars. Your mother’s posture and expression betrayed her discomfort but she masked it with a cordial tone. You were thankful for it as you didn’t need to deal with her attitude and Andy’s at once. You were too hormonal and tired for that.

You began to take down plates from the cupboard and your mother’s voice sounded from behind you. She neared and reached up next to you as she grabbed the next plate before you could. She stacked the four of them neatly and grasped them in her knobby hands.

“You’re too pregnant for that,” she said, “you grab the silverware.”

You gave a small smile and turned to open the drawer as she left you. You took out the utensils and followed her into the dining room. You set the table and she returned to the kitchen. You came after her and she used a dishcloth to lift the hot pan.

“Get the door, will ya?” she said as she angled around carefully.

She passed you as you held open the swinging door and she set the pan down on the mat in the middle of the table. She inhaled deeply and glanced over at you.

“Stuffed peppers?” she asked.

“Your recipe,” you said, “I’ve been craving them.”

“Next time, let me make them,” she smiled, “you still don’t know the special ingredient.”

“I’ll figure it out one day,” you rubbed your lower back.

“Sit,” she pulled out a chair, “I’ll go get the men.”

You neared her and leaned on the back of the chair, “mom,” you said quietly.

“I’m trying,” she said grimly, “I’m just… not happy yet.”

You nodded and hung your head, “yeah, you don’t have to be, but thank you.”

“I don’t like that man,” she hissed, “a wife in the hospital and he’s knocking up a stranger--”

“Mom,” you warned her, “please.”

“I know, I know,” she shook her head, “but you’re my daughter and he’s… I don’t know, who knows what really happened to the wife.”

You gave her a look and she pursed her lips. She retreated and you sat down heavily and cupped your cheeks. All you had to do was get through dinner. Then you could say you were tired and hide in your room.

You heard her voice in the next room and the impending footsteps before they appeared in the doorway. Your mother and father sat across from you and Andy took the seat to your right. You waited awkwardly and he cleared his throat.

“Well, sweetheart, aren’t you going to serve the guests?” he intoned.

“I can do it,” your mother offered, “don’t make her work any harder than she needs to. Not in her condition.”

You were slightly taken aback by her effort but you didn’t miss how the corner of her lip twitched as she eyed Andy. She didn’t like and didn’t trust him. You couldn’t say you did either and almost for the first time in your life, you felt a kindred connection to your mother.

She stood and scooped a pepper carefully onto each plate with a generous spoonful of sauce from the bottom of the dish. She set them back carefully before each diner and returned to her chair and sat. She smiled, a forced smile, and shifted her chair closer.

“So, you have some time but… once the baby’s here, I’m sure you’ll be back to work,” you mother began, your father always content to hide in his food, “me and your dad talked, we could watch the kid once and a while--”

“She’s not going back to work,” Andy interjected, “especially not at the diner.”

“Oh,” your mother’s lips pressed together in a firm line, “she isn’t?”

“Maybe after a year?” you began as you glance at Andy, “once I get the hand of things--”

“No,” Andy said, “you’re staying home with her.”

“I guess we haven’t decided,” you offered calmly, embarrassed by Andy’s attitude, “as you said, we still have time and we’re figuring stuff out.”

“Once the kiddo’s in school, you’ll have the time to get a job,” your dad offered, “that’s what your ma did. She kept on a few hours here and there when you were real small but once you hit kindergarten, she was back to full shifts.”

“We’ll talk,” Andy threw a hand up and grabbed his fork with his other, “it’s really not your business. It’s ours.”

“Andy,” you chided, “they’re just curious--”

“And where were they for the last couple months?” he snarled, “they weren’t so curious then.”

“Alright, calm down,” you hissed, “sorry, mom, dad--”

“Don’t apologise for me,” he snipped, “they should be apologising to you. That’s why I welcomed them into my home.”

“What?” you gulped, “Andy, they don’t need to--”

“No, no, my child is gonna have at least one set of grandparents and if it’s going to be them, they’re going to respect you and me,” Andy insisted, “so they can apologise or they can leave without dessert.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you uttered.

“Don’t you tell me how to act,” he cut into the pepper, “so…” he looked across the table at your parents, “she made this delicious meal and I think she deserves at least a little appreciation from the two of you.”

You dad looked angry for once in his life as your mother’s lips curled in mortification. You gave them both a shameful look and shook your head just slightly. You mouthed an apology as Andy huffed and tapped impatiently on the table.

“We’re sorry, honey,” your mother began, “we overreacted. Just like I said earlier, I was surprised.”

“Sorry,” your dad forced out as he glared at Andy, “you know I always love and support you, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, “now,” you touched Andy’s arm gently, “we can move on. It’s all good.”

“Mhmm,” he grumbled as he leaned forward to take a bike, “we can… but this doesn’t happen again.”

You wanted to shrink down and hide under the table. The tension that rose was palpable and threatened to choke you. You had false hope in the beginning that this might feel normal, that you might end the night with a new standing between you and your mother.

You knew then that Andy’s goal had never been to bring you back together, it was only to gain another degree of control. He made it clear that no one could help you, not even your own parents.

🌙

You were almost thankful for the sink full of dishes. It kept you distracted and gave you a reason not to sit and stew with Andy. Your parents left shortly after you cut the cherry pie and you cleaned up as they bid their farewells. You were completely humiliated by Andy’s hubristic demands but you didn’t dare argue with him. Especially not in front of guests.

You scrubbed the dishes as your stomach pressed to the wet counter and placed each in the drying rack. Andy came in as you pulled the drain and you took the dish cloth from its hook.

“Here, I’ll dry,” he offered.

You stared at him and wiped the water from your hands and gave him the cloth. He went to the rack and opened a cupboard. You took out a container and began to pack up the leftovers from the pan and wrapped the top of the pie. The silence made every clink and clank louder as you moved around the kitchen.

You shut the fridge and sensed him behind you. You flinched as his hands settled on your hip and you gripped pressed your palm against the cool metal. He pulled you back against him and slid his hands around your bump as he hummed.

“Did I tell you this dress looks wonderful?” his fingers brushed the dishwater along the front.

“Andy,” you grasped his wrists, “what are you doing?”

He rocked you as one hand grazed beneath your bump and his fingers dangled over your vee. He bent and inhaled the scent of your scalp. You went rigid as he wiggled against your back, his arousal twitching tellingly.

“Andy, please--”

“Can’t knock you up a second time,” he purred.

“I… no, please, I’m tired--”

“Come on, honey, that night… wasn’t that amazing?” He turned you to face the island and you caught yourself against the edge, “that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“It was a mistake, alright? Look at us now--”

“Look at us, hmmm?” he pushed his hand down and cupped your cunt through your dress. You gasped and squeezed his wrist, “I lay in my bed thinking of you all night… and you’re just across the hall. Why are we playing this game still?”

“Get off of me, please,” you begged, “Andy--”

He pressed his fingers to your pants and pushed the cotton against your folds. You bit your lip as he found your clit and the chafing formed a pressure beneath his touch. You shook your head and leaned back into him, trying to shove him away.

“Let me go…” you breathed.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” he urged, “I can feel you getting wet already. You’re lying to yourself.” He pulled your panties aside and dipped two fingers between your lips, “why do you gotta be so damn stubborn?”

You sucked in air and tensed as he played with your bud so that your thighs quivered. You tucked your chin in and bit down as you tried not to let out a moan. Your nails sank into sleeve but he kept on. You felt how powerful he truly was, his chest pressed against you as his arm remained immoveable.

He bent you slightly as he snaked his hand further and poked a finger inside of you. You squeaked and he added another, curling them as he began to rock his hand. He buried his face into your neck and his hot breath permeated your skin.

“Mmm, isn’t that nice, honey? I just wanna help you relax?” his teeth grazed your neck, “I can be nice, you see?”

Those words turned your blood to ice. You closed your eyes as you returned to those hours ago when his fist crashed into the wall. When his voice was rigid and unloving, when you were certain he would do worse than just yell. Now he was all over you, coaxing you as if it never happened, as if there hadn’t been months of this precarious tug-of-war.

“Andy, really, I’m tired,” you pleaded, “that night… I told you--”

Your voice caught in your throat as he thrust his fingers deeper and moved his hand faster. The pressure throbbed inside of you, pulsing through your veins and you kept your hand tight on the counter as you gripped his arm with the other. Your ankles threatened to bend as you shuddered and came in a sudden rush.

“Tired?” he mocked as he led you through your climax, “I’ll do all the work, honey.”

You shook your head and whined through your teeth. He kept on until you were weak and clinging to his hand. He slowly drew his fingers out of you and slid his arm out from around you. You slumped against the counter as he let you go, the subtle tinkle of his belt gleaned in your ear.

You turned to him as his belt hung open and he caught you by surprise. He wrapped one arm around your back, his other hand across your ass as he lifted you with a grunt. You threw your hands back to keep from falling across the island as he put you down on the marble. You tried to slide forward as his hands grasped your hips and held you in place.

His blue eyes burned and dilated. He reached under your skirt and pulled your panties down. You whimpered as he tugged them down. He quickly pushed your legs apart and moved between them, your knees wide around his thighs. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head back, his lips covering yours hungrily.

You clawed at the front of his shirt as his other hand danced along your pelvis. His fingers crawled down your thigh and she shifted as he fumbled blindly with the front of his pants. You pushed against his shoulders as the panic erupted from your stomach and swelled in your throat.

He brought you closer to the edge and pulled his hand back to grip himself. You opened one eye as you tried to peek down but couldn’t see beneath your bump. He leaned on you until you fell over the marble and bent over you as he slipped his tip along your cunt. His lips strayed to your cheek and down to your throat.

“Andy,” you begged one last time as he pressed against your entrance.

He purred against your neck as his hand slid past your shoulder and stretched over your tit. He pushed into you slowly and you gulped as tears pricked in your eyes. You bent your legs so your heels pressed to the side of the counter and gritted your teeth as he got deeper.

As he bottomed out, he rasped against your skin. He stood up straight and dragged your ass over the edge of the counter. He puffed his chest as he thrust into you and his eyes rolled back. He growled as he did it again and your walls clenched around him. Your reached down and pressed on his open pants with your fingertips, trying to push him away pathetically.

“Andy,” you whimpered as he hooked his arm around your thigh, “Andy--”

His other hand flipped up your skirt and he stretched his hand over your round stomach as he rocked into you. You shook your head and covered your face with one hand as you gripped the edge of the marble with your other. Your breaths grew shallow as you fought your own body and the pleasure blooming around his intrusion.

He sped up as the wet noise filled the kitchen and you bit the heel of your hand to keep from crying out. Another orgasm flowed over you and knotted your muscles around him. His groans and grunts grew louder as his flesh slapped against yours, his fingers drawing circles on your stomach.

“Oh fuck,” Andy hissed and jerked his hips harshly.

He sank into you as deep as he could go and wiggled his hips as he flooded you. He twitched as he leaned his head back and sighed, his fingers tight on your thighs as they painfully poked your tender flesh. You moaned and trembled as you felt his release hot inside of you.

He stilled and let your legs splay around him. You stared at the ceiling in shock as he shuddered. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked between your legs as his cum dripped out around him. You pulled off of him and shoved him away. He seemed to awaken from a trance as you did and his lashes fluttered.

You dropped down carefully to your feet and stormed away. He called your name but the vomit was already halfway up your esophagus. You weren’t going to make it upstairs. You closed yourself in the half-bath under the stairs and wretched into the sink. You held yourself up weakly until the violent ripples quelled. You looked at yourself in the mirror and winced.

One night cost you the rest of your life. One night meant your body, your soul, your days were his. One night would be countless nights, your fate decided in a single careless act.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #one night #defending jacob

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braindeadmaggot · 2 years

Note

For the sfw ship ask game... ZoSan please? (the nsfw is fine too if you want to do both or either)

I'll do both

SFW version (specify for which version you send the ship

1. Who is the grumpiest in the morning

ZORO - He wakes up around 10am so anything earlier than that is just a pain in the ass [can relate]

2. Who worries more when the other is sick/hurt

SANJI - he worries about everyone but especially so with Zoro, he doesn’t like to show it because Zoro gets mad about being coddled so Sanji does his best to take care of him silently without being too bothersome, usually just leaving his favorite meals in little tupperware in the fridge for when Zoro’s built an appetite or leaves medicine and water on Zoro’s nightstand for when he wakes up in the middle of the night. This is their love language.

3. Who plays pranks on the other

SANJI - fueled more so by Usopp, Zoro acts like he minds but he has fun with it too. Especially since only 14% of Sanji’s pranks actually work lol

4. Who is always the first to suggest cuddling on the sofa

ZORO - They usually cuddle without any engagement, they just sit together and it flows into a cuddle naturally, but on days where Sanji is hyper-stressed and panicky, Zoro will drag him over to sit and hug out his frustrations

5. Who insists on creating nicknames for the other

SANJI - Sanji insists on pet names and Zoro insists on calling him adulterated versions like booby/boob instead of baby/babe, dartboard instead of darling, shitty instead of sweetie, horny instead of honey, etc etc. Sanji hates it but sometimes he likes it cuz at least the dumbass is doing SOMETHING amirite?

6. Who says ‘I love you’ first

ZORO - during a particularly dull day when they’re just hanging out and yeah maybe it’s kinda boring and Sanji doesn’t look particularly happy but still very relaxed, Zoro looks over at him and feels all the content and peace he could ever hope for and just says it out loud. The abruptness of it all shocks Sanji but he absolutely swoons. Nothing makes him happier than knowing that Zoro said it first

7. Who’s the messiest one

ZORO - ”It’s called organized chaos, cook. Do not touch my stuff”

8. Who feels the most uncomfortable about PDA

SANJI - he’ll flirt in public, he’ll fight in public, but holding hands and kissing his man for all to see makes his heart flutter and his breath catch and he’s so bashful he freezes in a panic. If Sanji is going to kiss or touch Zoro in any way, he’s gonna go all the way. Can’t do that in public

9. Who’s the funniest drunk

SANJI - He thinks he can dance when he’s drunk and proves himself wrong every time

10. Who texts the most

BOTH - Sanji likes to text sweet nothings, Zoro likes to send memes

11. Who has the most embarrassing taste in music

NEITHER - okay maybe Zoro, but that’s only because Perona added a bunch of music to his phone without his permission that one time. Also, he likes Nickelback. I like Nickelback. Fuck you all, we don’t need your approval

12. Who reads the most

BOTH - Sanji reads biographical cookbooks, and travel and food blogs. Zoro reads motorcycle magazines and reddit. I read fanfiction, not that anyone asked lol

13. Who’s better with kids

ZORO - he has the patience for it and always instills discipline in naughty brats. Sanji has no patience for kids, is always ready to bro down with a 3rd grader, and will tell dirty jokes and trip them while they walk. Sanji is a prick but he would make a good dad. That is until their kids become teenagers.

14. Who’s the one that fixes things around the house

ZORO - Zoro can fix a leaky faucet, realign gutters and Spackle a wall. He may not be able to build anything like Franky but minor repairs are easy. He can however rebuild a car engine.

15. Who cooks and who cleans up

BOTH - Sanji may be the chef in the relationship but his job can be taxing so Zoro takes charge in the kitchen every once in a while. During their first month together, Sanji came home really late to find Zoro had made stew and was impressed by how good it was. “I can make this much, ya know. It’s just meat and veg in a pot; what’s difficult?” Zoro has always been able to cook basic meals and Sanji loves it when he’s being taken care of. Chores are done when they are noticed; whoever is available does it. It’s an unspoken agreement they have. You see something, you have free time; just do it.

#this is my longest one yet #I have many ZoSan opinions #BrainDeadAnswers #anon #ZoSan #ship meme #op headcanons #op ship meme

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retrocontinuity · 3 years

Text

Eat, for this is Her Body: Chainsaw Man and the Doxology of Cannibalism

"One day," Anthony Oliveira writes in "The Year in Apocalypses," [Jesus'] disciples approached their master while he was silent in prayer and made a request: 'Lord, teach us how to pray.'" From here, Jesus teaches them the Lord's Prayer, what the Catholic Church once called "the summary of the whole gospel":

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Denji is no one's disciple. When we first meet him, he is closer to how Oliveira describes Jesus himself, "homeless, gleaning for food in the field like a sparrow and relying on the kindness of strangers to put him up, . . . a man cheerfully resigned to powerlessness." And so, Denji doesn't need to be taught how to pray. He has always known. Every bone in his body at the opening of Chainsaw Man sings out the Lord's Prayer: "forgive me my debts", "deliver me from evil." And, of course, Denji is intimately familiar with the prayer's most pitiable, most powerful line. It's this line that he cries out to Makima when he rests, Pieta-like, in her arms at the end of the first chapter. It can only be this line, one that Denji might have written himself:

Give me, from this day forward, and for all the rest of my days, daily bread.

Bread runs throughout CSM like a mocking scent that you only fully identify in the last two chapters. It should have been a sign to all of us when the first meal Makima buys for Denji is not bread (but rather a hot dog and udon noodles). It isn't until Denji meets and enters Aki's home that he is seen making a hideously overladen slice of toast for himself, luxuriating in having all the toppings he was denied. The morning after she forces Denji to open the door to Power's death, Makima makes the very breakfast she once promised to serve Denji: eggs, coffee, salad, and sliced bread. But this is a meal that Denji never eats—maybe the only meal in the entire series that he, a survivor of the meanest starvation and poverty, ignores. There is only one other time we see this meal in CSM, and it is subtle, almost off camera, though no less meaningful: in Chapter 53, after Reze's death, as Denji sits down to breakfast once more with Power and Aki.

To revisit CSM's public safety arc is to see all the ways the plot connects itself to food and the act of eating, both appetizing and revolting, both profound and profane. Denji, eating gyoza at a bar for the first time. Denji being forced to swallow barf as he is kissed for the first time. The Fox Devil, who eats indiscriminately and on command, who refuses to return to Aki after being fed something disgusting. A fox that is hunted and transformed into stew. Denji eating sandwiches at Reze's cafe. Aki and Angel eating noodles. A woman sitting down to eat a hamburger for the first time, before she commits mass murder. She is worried she has lost her taste buds, yet she exclaims, "So delicious!" We know, later, that this woman is a liar, that no part of her is what she presents herself to be. Should we take this moment at its face value then? Was Santa Claus simply lucky enough to have preserved her sense of taste? Or was it her one last act of humanity, to recognize that it is not enough just to eat, that man does not live on bread alone, that there must be at least food that is also delicious, that inspires people to get up and dance—even if it means she has to lie about what she can experience?

Food is necessary for survival, and CSM is a story about survival. But CSM is also a story about glimpsing the after. After you know you can keep living, what next? After you are no longer starving, after you have been forced to kill a friend, after you have touched your first boob, after you have been betrayed, what next? After you are tired of eating toast with jam for breakfast, what do you eat next?

The version of the Lord's Prayer we tend to recite asks for "our daily bread." But this, most modern scholars believe, is a mistranslation. The Greek adjective as it appears in the Gospel of Matthew and Luke is "epiousios," which doesn't mean "daily" at all, but rather something too complicated etymologically for me to even begin to parse. The point is that what we ask for in the Lord's Prayer is not just bread for today, but bread for tomorrow. Both the physical bread and the spiritual bread. Bread on this kingdom of earth, and bread that is the kingdom of heaven. Bread to feed our bodies, and bread to feed our souls. The realm of the divine is full of these moments, isn't it? Of two things existing at once, in one.

Denji starts the series asking for daily bread, and ends the public safety arc with Nayuta, Makima's reincarnation, asking him for daily bread. Trash heap Denji, living with his not!dog Pochita, really was just asking for daily bread. A slice to eat for breakfast, maybe even with butter and jam. But he too learns that bread, physical bread, is not enough. Merely to subsist, to eat good food, is an empty life. And what he must give Nayuta is not just bread, as was given to him. Otherwise, he will be trapped in a cycle of creating more Makimas. Instead, he must give her a relationship, a family, a world that Makima was unable to create. He must give her, in Pochita's words, lots of hugs. He must give her, in the words of the Lord's Prayer, epiousios.

To be clear, I am not arguing that CSM is meant to be read through a Catholic lens, and I doubt Fujimoto had all of this in mind when he wrote it (though he must have thought something, given that he drew a very large print of Gustave Dore's "Satan descends upon Earth" in Makima's entranceway!). But there is something primal (primordial?) about the Lord's Prayer. If every reader can understand the horror that the Darkness Devil represents, so too we can understand the intimacy and comfort of the Lord's Prayer. It is, as Oliveira writes, "a simple peasant's mantra for detoxing anxiety." Jesus opens by addressing God as father—not king, not an all-mighty spiritual being, but rather "abba, which is rather closer to 'dad,' and not in the intercultural Greek of his adulthood, but the Aramaic of home and childhood." The Lord's Prayer asks for what we always want, the only thing any of us have ever wanted since leaving the womb as infants: for no bad things to happen, for there to be enough to eat.

Even if what we have to eat is another person.

At the center of the Christian liturgy is the Last Supper, and at the center of the Last Supper is a meal that functions as ritual, abomination, accusation, transubstantiation, paranoia, and an early example of cracking open a cold one with the bros. Here, Jesus shares bread and wine with his disciples and then, as if trying to invent r/creepypasta years before its time, informs them they are actually eating his flesh and blood. This image is so powerful and heretical that the Romans accused early Christians of being cannibals. And why shouldn't they? It's there in the text. "Take, eat. This is my body. This is my blood." Stripped of the grandeur of tradition and ritual, this is downright vampiric. And yet it goes on to become the cornerstone of the Christian faith.

Oliveira begs us to see the Last Supper as a family meal, one shared by Jesus and his found family. "All he is really saying is, 'I hope when you eat together, you remember me.'" It's a good reading, one that moves me to tears, and is the framework through which I see the events of chapter 80. Because Makima is not the first time that Denji "consumes" a friend, and I don't just mean him sucking Power's blood or taking Pochita into himself. When Aki died, he left half his fortune to Denji, who uses it to support himself and Power. They "pigged out on good food," he tells us. This is Aki's symbolic body, through which he provides Denji his daily bread. Eat ice cream and onigiri in remembrance of me.

But it is not how I see the events of chapter 96. Denji does not eat Makima in the context of a feast. He does not partake of her in a communal meal, as Jesus did, among his found family. He eats every bite of Makima alone. Jesus said before his death, "this is my blood, which is shed for many." Yet Denji says to Makima, I alone will absolve you alone of your sins. I alone will bear you alone.

Denji's Last Supper is a lonely remembrance. He is hoping that no one but him will remember her. He is hoping to wholly consume her, because he loves her. "We love as cannibals," French philosopher and activist Simone Weil wrote. "Beloved beings . . . provide us with comfort, energy, a simulant. They have the same effect on us as a good meal. . . . We love them, then, as food." In fact, Weil believed we cannot love any other way. As humans, we are forever doomed to want to eat the ones we love. In order to escape, we must both be devoured by God and then become food for our fellow human beings. As Alec Irwin writes of Weil's philosophy, "the devouring violence of God must be positively harnessed in order to dismantle the machinery of human cruelty."

If Weil is right and being devoured is transformation, a crucial part of salvation, then in eating Makima, Denji redeems her. He turns her into food to break the cycle of her cruelty. For Makima's power itself is consuming, cannibalistic. She "eats" humans in order to use her power, which remains mysterious like God moving across the face of the earth, leaving only broken corpses as a sign of its presence. So it must be Denji, not Chainsaw Man, who does the consuming. If Pochita had consumed her, as she had always prayed for, then it would simply be another act of violence being enacted. Instead, Denji gives her salvation by turning her into human food—his food.

To Denji, Aki was human, his family, his brother, his friend. It is Makima he loves as a God and a woman. To him, she is Satan and God, his betrayer and his creator, his salvation and his friends' damnation. So he must take her, consume her, digest her, excrete her, reduce her to nothing, as she once consumed and excreted and reduced him. "I ate her to become one with her." He ate her to become her. There is no truer form of his love than for Denji to take Makima into himself. I use those words purposefully, because this is the rejection of classic cishet PIV penetration, that old hoary chestnut of men inside women. As Don Delillo famously outlines in White Noise, we talk about sex as if women are containers, rooms, elevator lobbies: "He entered me," "I want him inside me," "I took him into myself." Denji and Makima never have physical sex, but this is a consummation, a reversal of roles. We are given the only sex that Shounen Jump will allow us, with Denji taking Makima into himself. She enters him. She is inside him. He is—physically, emotionally, willingly—penetrated by her flesh. She is released inside of him, becoming part of him.

Because the divine is full of moments like this, isn't it? Of two things existing at once, in one. That is the kingdom and the power and the glory. For Makima now lives in that country inhabited by God, where loving and eating are one and the same. For that country is none other than Denji's body.

In conclusion:

Substitute Makima for "God", and the preceding statements are still rigorously accurate.

Further Reading:

Anthony Oliveira's ongoing podcast reading the Gospel of Mark (Patreon exclusive, but I highly recommend, even/especially if you are a heathen like me)

Hannibal (NBC)

Daniel Birnbaum and Anders Olsson, An Interview with Jacques Derrida on the Limits of Digestion

David Farrell Krell, "All You Can't Eat: Derrida's Course, "Rhetorique du Cannibalisme (1990-1991)." Research in Phenomenology, vol. 36, 2006, pp. 130–180. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/24660636.

Alec Irwin, “Devoured by God: Cannibalism, Mysticism, and Ethics in Simone Weil.” CrossCurrents, vol. 51, no. 2, 2001, pp. 257–272. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/24460795.

#chainsaw man #cannibalism as love #love as cannibalism

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

holly's august extravaganza day 26: slowly becoming lovers

for sonia (@pragmaticoptimist34)! i have to confess something - i got so caught up in writing this that i actually forgot to include either of the other two prompts you sent me 🙈 i hope you like it anyway!

second confession - it was supposed to be longer and then it kind of got away from me so i had to draw a line somewhere oops

thanks to @ravens-words, @cosmiicmalex, @halsteadmarchs and liz (sorry, i don't know your tumblr!) for enabling me and to @noxsoulmate for beta'ing!

ao3 | 2.9k | falling in love, fluff, tiny, tiny hint of hurt/comfort, soft tarlos, set between s1 and s2

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

i. food preferences

“You have to be joking.”

“It tastes like soap, Carlos!”

Carlos groans and drops his head into his hands, shaking his head at this latest revelation from his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who has just made his life—or at least his cooking—a hell of a lot more complicated. “My mamá would have a fit if she could hear you now.”

He almost regrets the words as TK’s eyes alight with interest; he’s been dancing around the topic of his parents for a while now, but it’s not like he can deny what he said. His mom would be having a fit, or possibly attempting to kill TK with a wooden spoon, if she found out that Carlos’s boyfriend was not only a gringo, but one who hates coriander.

“I swear, you won’t even taste it when it’s mixed into the food,” he tries, because coriander is a staple of his cooking, and he can’t even fathom not using it.

But TK just levels him with a firm look. “Yes, I will, Carlos. I’ll always taste it.”

Carlos rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s theatrics, but sighs, relenting. “Fine. I suppose I can—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, as TK throws his arms around him and plants a noisy kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks, babe,” he says, grinning cheekily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carlos grumbles, but he can’t help but smile.

There’s very little, he’s finding, that he wouldn’t do for TK.

ii. nicknames

It slips out by accident one day.

“TK,” Carlos groans, followed by a gasp as TK moves just right, sending sparks of pleasure down his spine. “TK, Ty—”

TK instantly freezes on top of him and Carlos’s eyes open, concern rising in him as he takes in the pensive look on his boyfriend’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” TK shakes his head and forces a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m good, I promise.” He ducks down to kiss Carlos again, but the mood is all wrong, and Carlos gently pushes him back, raising an eyebrow. TK holds out a moment longer, then sighs and rolls away, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s stupid.”

Carlos tuts, reaching over to brush a hand through TK’s hair. “Bet you $20 it’s not.”

“Hope you have $20 then, Reyes,” TK says wryly. He looks over at Carlos and sighs again, biting his lip. “It’s just… You called me Ty.”

“Oh.” Carlos’s eyes widen and he props himself up on an elbow. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking; it won’t happen again—”

TK presses a finger against his lips, cutting him off abruptly. He smiles softly, then removes his finger and caresses Carlos’s cheek. “It’s okay,” he says. “More than okay, actually. I… I’ve always hated my name, but, I don’t know, I guess it sounded right? Like, when you said it? I think I’d kill anyone else who tried, but I really liked it coming from you.”

“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that because—”

Carlos is again cut off, this time by TK’s lips on his. TK moves so that he’s straddling Carlos again, hands pressed against his chest. “I’m sure,” he whispers, a grin playing at his mouth. “Now, weren’t we in the middle of something?”

iii. religion

Christmas sneaks up on him that year. Between helping the city recovering from the solar storm, work in general, the pandemic, and building his relationship with TK, Carlos has completely lost track of the months, until it’s a week before the date and he has nothing planned.

Really, it’s never been a big deal for him; he and his family used to attend mass and make an event out of it when he was a kid, but now he’s an adult, he’s often working, and he hasn’t been to church regularly since he was a teenager. But this year is different. This year, he’ll be spending it with TK, their first Christmas together, and he wants to make it special.

But he’s left it too late—nothing he orders online will arrive in time, the shops are becoming a nightmare, and he honestly has no clue where to even start. So Carlos resigns himself to another quiet Christmas, frustration and disappointment welling in him at the thought of telling his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out one night over dinner, the thought having been gnawing at him for days.

TK raises a brow. “For?”

“Christmas,” Carlos sighs, looking down into his stew. “It’s our first one together and I had all these plans, and then I just sort of… I didn’t forget! But things have been so crazy, and—”

He’s cut off when TK lays a hand on his. When Carlos looks up at him, TK seems to be fighting back laughter, which is confusing at best and potentially mildly insulting at worst.

“Babe,” TK says, grinning, “it’s okay. You might not believe me, but I forgot too. Christmas wasn’t really a thing growing up—my mom’s Jewish, so I used to celebrate Hanukkah on the years I stayed with her, and Dad was working more often than not. I don’t care, I promise.”

Carlos blinks. “You’re Jewish?” Surely he would know if… But they’ve never discussed religion before, and Carlos had kind of assumed TK had the same ideals as him about the church. In hindsight that was stupid and presumptuous, and Carlos can’t quite believe he’d do something like that. An apology is on the tip of his tongue, but TK just shrugs, going back to his stew.

“Half,” he says. “I don’t really practice anymore but I still keep the beliefs with me, if that makes sense?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

TK smiles at him, and Carlos suddenly realises that this holiday season will be special after all, even if they don’t celebrate anything. Because he’s with TK, which is the most special thing in the world.

iv. how they sleep

Carlos has been sleeping alone for a long time. He’s had a couple of short-term boyfriends and the odd hook-up here and there, but he’s never had someone else in his bed regularly—certainly not regularly enough to get used to it.

TK was hesitant at first to stay over, but once he started to be more comfortable, it was almost a given that they’d be sleeping together whenever their shifts allowed.

And it had been an adjustment.

TK had warned him he tended to move around and be clingy in his sleep, but Carlos hadn’t quite understood what that meant, until now. He is, essentially, trapped under TK, his arms pinned to his sides and one leg thrown over his hip. TK’s head is pillowed on Carlos’s shoulder and his breath is fanning in soft puffs over his skin.

The only way he can move is if he wakes TK up, and there’s no way Carlos is going to do that. His boyfriend looks so peaceful, and Carlos is more than happy to be clung onto like a koala to a branch if it keeps that expression on his face.

In fact, he thinks he can get used to this very easily.

v. pda

In private, their days are filled with gentle touches and stolen kisses. Carlos will be cooking breakfast and TK will slip his arms around him, kissing the back of his neck. TK will be doing one chore or another and Carlos will brush a hand over his back or gently nudge him as he walks past.

But in public, it’s a whole other story.

It’s almost reflexive, the way TK reaches for Carlos’s hand as they’re walking down the street. It’s something they do all the time at home, and even with their friends, but this time, Carlos immediately tenses, seemingly automatically pulling his hand away.

“You okay?” he asks, frowning.

Carlos takes a deep breath, then obviously plasters on a smile, retaking TK’s hand—and TK can feel the tension in the gesture. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” TK gently lets go of Carlos and smiles reassuringly up at him. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with touching in public.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. This is all on me; I should have asked.”

“But—”

“But, nothing.” He carefully bumps their soldiers together. “You’re entitled to your boundaries, I’m just sorry for overstepping. Tell me next time, please?”

Carlos hesitates, but nods, a gentle press of their arms a silent acknowledgment of agreement and understanding.

vi. scars

Carlos, TK has noticed, likes to pay extra attention to his bullet scar. Whether it’s pressing a gentle kiss over it when they’re in bed, or brushing it with his fingers when wrapping an arm around him, it happens too often for TK to believe it’s anything but intentional.

He doesn’t understand it at first.

Then he discovers Carlos’s own scars.

“What’s this?” he asks, tracing over the thick raised scarring on Carlos’s side. It stretches along the curve of his waist and round his back, and TK has no idea how he hasn’t noticed it before.

Carlos cranes his neck, letting out a hum when he sees what TK’s looking at. His head flops back down on the pillow and he closes his eyes, absently stroking up and down TK’s sides.

“It was...three years ago, maybe?” he says. “I got stabbed on a call. They told me it was pretty touch-and-go for a while, but they fixed me up and I was back at work in a month.”

His eyes are still closed, body completely relaxed, but TK can’t take his eyes off the scar. He reaches up to his own scar, and he gets it.

Carlos’s eyes crack open. “TK?”

“I’m good,” TK murmurs. He breaks his gaze from Carlos’s abdomen and smiles at him. “We both are.”

And if, after that day, Carlos notices him paying more attention to that scar, he doesn’t say anything.

vii. penguin or panda

“You’re out of your mind!”

In Carlos’s defence, a zoo date had seemed like a good idea. He knows TK loves animals, and he himself grew up around them, so in theory, a trip to Austin Zoo should have been the perfect time to get to know each other better while enjoying the day.

Turns out, TK has some very strong opinions on animals, and is willing to budge for absolutely no-one.

“I can’t believe you think penguins are cuter than pandas! I mean, look at them, Carlos!” He gestures emphatically to the panda enclosure, where one is napping on a log. It’s pretty cute, Carlos has to admit, but…

He shrugs. “But remember when the penguins were all huddling together?”

TK makes a noise of outrage, and Carlos has to laugh, then some more at the wounded pout he gets for it. “Is this really a thing for you?” he asks. “Like, is this going to be the dealbreaker for us?”

TK folds his arms and levels him with a stern look. “That depends,” he says. “Meerkats or koalas?”

And, just because he knows it will rile TK up more, Carlos grins and answers, “Meerkats.”

(They don’t break-up over it, but Carlos isn’t so sure that TK will be forgiving him any time soon.)

viii. special interests

“Say you could go back to a moment in history, but only once,” TK says, out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence of the front room. Carlos stops carding his fingers through TK’s hair and looks down at him, curious. “Where would you go?”

Carlos opens his mouth, but TK doesn’t give him a second to answer. “Is it cliché if I said I’d go to Stonewall? I mean, I’d really like to see dinosaurs in the flesh, or—oh! I was, like, obsessed with pirates as a kid; I thought they were the coolest things ever, and I pretty much idolised Anne Bonny. But I’m pretty sure I’d die immediately if I went to either of those places, so…”

He trails off, a blush rising on his cheeks. “Sorry, I’m boring you.”

“No!” Carlos rushes to say. “No, you’re not. I love history, I just… What makes you ask?”

“It’s something we got into at the station earlier. Mateo brought it up first, I think?”

Carlos hums, pursing his lips in thought. “I guess…” He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s too hard. There’s so many places I’d want to go and people I’d want to meet.”

“But if you had to pick?” TK pushes, sitting upright and looking at Carlos with interest.

“I really want to meet Eleanor of Aquitaine, but if I could only go to one place…” He hesitates and thinks it over some more, but then his eyes catch on the masks hanging along the stairway, and he’s sure. “Tenochtitlan, but before Cortés arrived. It was a whole society, and I just think it would be so cool to see it up close and to know what it was like first-hand. I mean, I’ve read a lot of books, but we don’t have much from the Mexica people, a lot is from the conquerors, and—”

Carlos stops and huffs a laugh. “Now I’m the one boring you,” he says, but TK shakes his head, eyes bright.

“Tell me more.”

ix. coffee order

TK accepts the coffee without even thinking about it, even taking a sip before he realises he never told Carlos what his order was. He curses himself but resolves to drink it anyway; TK isn’t too much of a coffee snob, and he’s certainly not going to reject anything his boyfriend brings him.

He takes a second sip, and he’s so caught up in making a mental note to tell Carlos next time that it takes a minute for the taste to register. And…

It’s his order.

He looks sharply up at Carlos, who is smiling into his own coffee—therefore dispelling any notion of this being an insanely good guess. “How did you know?” he asks, bewildered.

The tips of Carlos’s ears turn pink, but the smile doesn’t leave his face as he looks up at TK. “Our first real date,” he says. “You mentioned that this was your go-to order.”

And TK can’t do anything but stare, because their first date was weeks ago, and Carlos still remembered, and it’s just…

He thinks—no, he knows—he’s falling in love.

x. fears

“Weirdest fears, go.”

TK has to laugh at the perplexed look Carlos sends him at the question, the straw of his boba hanging out of his mouth. Now that they’ve figured a sort of rhythm out between them, they decided to try the boba place again—there have been no emergencies or disasters so far, so TK is counting it as a win.

“Come on,” he continues. “Last time we were here, you said we barely knew each other—which was true—so now we’re going to fix it.”

Carlos’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “By telling each other our weirdest fears?”

“Exactly!” TK grins. “I’ll go first if you’re too chicken. Mine is slicing my hands open or cutting some fingers off with ice skates.”

“What?” Carlos breathes, disbelief all over his face. “I’ve never been ice skating but I’m pretty sure your hands aren’t supposed to go anywhere near the blades.”

“I didn’t say it was rational.” TK sips his boba, raising an eyebrow at Carlos. “Your turn.”

Carlos swallows, suddenly very interested in the table. “I, uh. When I was a kid, my Tía Lucy had a snake get into her pipes. She only discovered it when she went to the toilet one morning and it was just...sitting there in the bowl. I was terrified for years that the same would happen to us, and it’s kind of become a reflex to check.”

“Oh my god.” TK can’t help but burst out laughing, even though he feels bad for it as Carlos covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a real thing for you, I just…”

But Carlos’s shoulders are shaking too and, bizarrely, TK really does feel closer to him now.

It’s a good feeling.

xi. long-term commitments

Carlos is surprised when TK is the one to bring it up first.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks one day, head in Carlos��s lap, staring up at the ceiling.

Carlos pauses the show he’s technically supposed to be watching and quirks an eyebrow at his boyfriend. “Sure,” he says. “What about the future exactly?”

TK hesitates, and his voice comes out a lot quieter when he next speaks. “Like…” He sighs, a small flush rising on his cheeks. “The future. Our future. Us. Maybe...marriage, or…”

He trails off, practically whispering by the end of it. His gaze has shifted from the ceiling to the frozen TV screen and he’s chewing on his bottom lip, body stiff with tension. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Forget about it.”

But Carlos is learning to read TK, and he knows he was looking for reassurance. “I mean, yeah,” he says. “I think about it. Do you?”

TK stares up at him, wonder in his eyes. “After New York, I thought… But yeah. Yeah, I do.”

They share a smile as they lock eyes, and Carlos knows that they’re on the same page here. That, distant though they may be, both of them can hear wedding bells in their future.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #911ls #lone star #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #holly's august extravaganza #pragmaticoptimist34

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"Wait- where are you going?" Wakko

If Wakko heard another word about that stupid disneyland prince, he was going to scream.

Every since that party he was all Yakko would talk about. Except in the rare moments where Yakko would instead talk about Disneyland and its "fascinating history".

"Wakko, did you know they were in a war just a few years ago? It was between-"

"Max is first in line in his kingdom too, I wonder what that means for-"

"Wakko, did you know their colors are blah blah and blah?"

"Wakko did you know Max has brown eyes-"

"Wakko, Max blah blah blah blah blah-"

Every. Single. Conversation.

Sure, at first it was fun (hilarious, even) to poke fun at Yakko and his newfound crush, to make him act stupid for once. It was also really funny when he teamed up with Dot and forced him to interact.

But now? Now he was confident he was regretting that move with every fiber of his being. It never ended- just "yakyakyakyak" about Max. Hell- Wakko was pretty sure if he ever saw the guy he'd bite his face off just so Yakko would finally stop talking about him.

Wakko tried asking his mom to ask him to stop but she just chuckled and said it's a harmless crush and the yakking about Max will go away eventually.

Weeks passed, and nothing changed.

So, to punish Yakko, Wakko purposefully stopped hanging out with him. If he wanted to talk about his stupid crush he could talk about it with Dad or Dot or someone- ANYONE who wasn't him.

...

Another week passed and it was like Yakko didn't even notice. He never looked for him, never got confused when he suddenly left a room, none of that. At diner, he'd hardly even glance at him. His head was too full of that stupid prince to even notice.

He spent a lot more time with his mom instead, which he didn't hate. He loved cuddling with her or curling up on her lap during a meeting, while she stroked his ears softly. Plus- sometimes she'd actually ask for his input (something Yakko clearly had no interest in as of late). At least he felt useful somewhere...

Oh yeah, and he went to see Doctor Scratchnsniff, but... well... eh? Wakko didn't really like him and how he'd poke at him, and Wakko usually just preferred to cuddle up to his mother while in the office instead of talking. He was weird. Wakko didn't like that.

Be that as it may, Wakko still enjoyed the time he spent with his mother after a year of having her gone, and was happy she was trying her best to make him feel better.

However, all that changed in an instant, when one morning at breakfast his mother announced she and Yakko were taking a trip to Disneyland together, leaving the rest of them behind.

"What? Why?!" Wakko shot up in his chair. Everyone turned, shocked at the sudden outburst.

"It's for diplomatic reasons, Wakko. It's part of my duty as Queen to get acquainted with our allies, and it's important for Yakko to do so too," Lena explained lied to him.

"It's for that stupid prince, isn't it?!" Wakko glared daggers at his older brother.

"Well- i- uh-" He fumbled, which only made Wakko angrier.

"Wakko, please," Lena placed a hand on his shoulder, which he brushed off, jumping down from his chair and running out of the dining room.

Where exactly he was going he didn't know, but he had a feeling no one was going to chase after.

He ran for a very very long time, before realizing he should probably slow down, but before he did he crashed headfirst into none other than Doctor Scratchnsniff and the two of them went crashing down.

"Ahh... Wakko? Are you okay?" The doctor asked, rubbing his head. Wakko looked at him silently, before sniffling and rubbing his head too.

"Something the matter? Is it about Yakko?" He asked. Wakko frowned.

"Ah... I see. It's his trip, ya?" The doctor said, getting up. Wakko growled, staying on the floor.

The doctor sighed. "My doors are always open if you need an ear," he said before leaving. Wakko continued growling until he was out of sight.

He did not like that man.

Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him and he dashed into the nearest room, which was stone and dark and empty. He made sure to lock the door behind him and held a hand over his mouth so no one could hear him breathe.

"Wakko?"

It was his mom.

"Wakko, darling, I don't mean to abandon you... it's just... as queen, there are certain duties I must fulfill that you can't always follow," She said softly.

Wakko remained silent.

"Your brother and I love you very much, you know that, right?" She placed a hand on the door.

She could say what she wanted, but he knew they planned this on purpose. To go see that stupid prince. Ugh.

Eventually, the queen sighed. "We'll be back by tonight. I'll still be able to tuck you in if you want."

He remained silent, stewing.

"I'll see you tonight... I love you," she said, before leaving.

Wakko waited a while in there. It was an overcast day. Not heavy enough to rain, but enough that the room was grey and barely any sunlight was getting through, leaving him cold and mostly in shadow.

Wakko didn't like being alone. In the cold. In the dark. Against the stone flooring. It sent chills down his spine and a heavy feeling in his chest.

It reminded him of the tower.

After a long time, he eventually got up and wandered aimlessly, not knowing what to do without his mother and storming far away from Dot and his father, who were probably doing their own thing by now.

Eventually, he made his way to a familiar doorway. He hated it, he hated it more than anything. It was a reminder of his grandmother- of her cruelty and hatred...

But every so often out of pure painful boredom he'd go and visit it.

Not the actual room- his mother had that locked with a real big lock and key, but just... the base. He'd sit there, and stare at it. Expecting something.

What he expected he didn't know.

Maybe for his grandmother to pop up and drag him back there for Yakko to have to save him again.

Maybe for it to collapse in front of him because of its uselessness.

Maybe for it to open up once more and he can look at the familiar prison once again, and feel... whatever this was some more.

Wakko grumbled and pulled his hat lower as he stared at the door to the entrance.

"You having a staring contest?" The voice of his younger sister caught him off guard.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" He asked, wiping his face. Dot sat next to him.

"Yakko's being dumb lately," She said, curling her knees to her chest. "He keeps talking about that prince."

"I bet he's not even that great. I bet he smells and has a stupid laugh," Wakko huffed.

"I bet he's dumb," Dot agreed.

"Yeah, he is dumb," He crossed his arms, thinking a moment.

"We need to stop them," He said. "Before he separates us from Yakko for good."

Dot blinked. "You really think he's trying to do that?" She asked, the question striking a nerve.

Wakko nodded. "Why else would Yakko not want to hang out? It's just like before... with Her," he seethed. Dot gasped, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"We have to separate them. For Yakko's own good," She said. "But... how? Mom and Dad are on his side," She pointed out.

"We'll have to find our own ways, but with our minds combined, I'm sure we'll figure something out in no time," Wakko said confidently.

"Yeah!" Dot said confidently. "We'll stop him and Yakko will be back in no time."

And so the two then swore an oath that no matter what, they wouldn't let this foreign prince- this Prince Maxamillion- take their brother away from them no matter what it took.

Now all they had to do was think up a plan...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

#animaniacs #my fics #wakko warner #dot warner #yakko warner #yax #trauma #queen angelina ii #feels #djsafkl;djlfd #sorry this took forever #and that it's short #my brain was dead lmao

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the-badger-mole · 3 years

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No Sound But Silence: Interlude

It was the day before the arrival of Sokka and Katara's grandparents. Katara had spent the first two days of her winter break cleaning and preparing for their guests. Or at least that was her intention. Between her father and her fiancé, they wouldn't allow her to do much more than wash the dishes for fear of her over-extending herself.

"You can't do heavy-lifting," Hakoda had chided her as she was preparing to clean the floors.

"It's a bucket," Katara said drily. "It's only half full. I can lift five pounds."

"This is ten pounds if it's an ounce!" Hakoda took the bucket of mopping water from Katara's resistant hands and picked up the mop. "It's better for the baby if you rest."

"I think I liked it better when you were pissed about all this," Katara grumbled.

"I'm about to become a grandfather," Hakoda retorted. "Of course I'm still pissed. Cleaning is my outlet."

"Cleaning is my outlet!" Katara stamped her foot on the floor in annoyance, but Hakoda continued as if he hadn't heard her. He went into the kitchen, humming a song he always played when cleaned.

Zuko wasn't any better. He stopped by the day before Katara's family was to arrive to bring some ingredients for a stew Hakoda was making. He had been granted a key, so he'd let himself in with the groceries. He found Katara in the living room, cleaning the windows. His strangled yelp startled her, nearly sending her toppling off of the step ladder she was on. Zuko flew across the room and steadied her until she found her footing.

"You can't do that!" he whisper-yelled. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I almost gave you a heart attack?" Katara turned off the music she'd been listening to and pulled her headphones out. "I didn't even hear you come in."

"Why are you on a ladder?" Zuko demanded. "Where's your dad?"

"He stepped out," Katara huffed. "And I was trying to clean the windows. Pakku is a stickler for cleanliness. He said it's because of his years in the military, but Gran-Gran said he's got a stick up his-"

"You were on a step stool alone?" Zuko huffed in exasperation. "That's so dangerous! What if you'd fallen off?"

"I was doing just fine before you startled me." Katara folded her arms and scowled at Zuko.

"Katara you're getting bigger."

"Hey, watch it, pal!" Katara put a warning finger under his nose. "You played a part in this."

"That's not what I meant," Zuko assured her. "It's just that your balance is going to change. The baby could throw off your equilibrium."

"Are you seriously turning this into a physics lesson?" Katara groaned and rolled her eyes.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you," Zuko said softly. He pulled Katara into a hug and kissed the top of her head. "To either of you." In spite of her aggravation, Katara smiled as she leaned against his chest.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "It's just that everyone is coming tomorrow, and I want to make sure everything is done."

"You could have called me," Zuko said, pulling back slightly. "You don't have to do all this by yourself. Uncle taught me how to clean windows so well they look invisible. I need vinegar and some newspapers-"

"I appreciate the offer," Katara cut in. "But I just needed to work off some energy." Zuko paused and pulled back until he was only holding her hands loosely in his.

"I know you're stressed, and you clean when you stress," he said. "But there's got to be something else to clean. What about the microwave?"

"I did that yesterday," Katara huffed. "The windows and the vacuuming are the last things. I thought I'd be able to get them done since Dad was out."

"I just got a new video game," Zuko offered. "I can bring over my game system for you. It's great for stress relief." Katara rolled her eyes hard at that.

"Or I could just clean like I always do when I'm stressed," she said.

"My love, you are pregnant," Zuko reminded her. "All this heavy lifting, and the chemicals, and the climbing isn't good for the baby. Let me help! Katara, let me spoil you!" Katara wanted to be annoyed with Zuko. She wanted to be annoyed with her father. It wasn't as if she were invalid. She was pregnant, and very healthy, according to Aunt Wu. Some light housework wasn't going to jeopardize her child!

But Zuko looked so earnest, so weirdly excited, that Katara couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Alright," she relented at last. "You win. You can do the windows. I'll vacuum the carpets." Zuko turned and hurried out of the room.

"I'll grab the vacuum for you!" he called behind him.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21

#atla fanfic #no sound but silence #zutara

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flamencodiva · 3 years

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Bottom of the Bottle 2 - Sneaking Back on Stage

Description: Dean was at the peak of stardom until his world came crashing down. Can he find his way back to the top?

Word Count: 5340

Warnings for entire series: Smut (oral female and male receiving, P in V, Threesomes, Fingering, Orgies) Fluff, Angst, Violence, Language, Mentions of Drug use, Drinking, Mentions of Death.

Songs in this chapter: Partial Lyrics of Brother's Osbourn Ain't My Fault and Full lyrics of Down don't Bother Me by The Derek Truck Band

Beta'd by: @wonder-cole

Aesthetic by: @firefly-graphics

Dividers by: @talesmaniac89

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

<< Chapter 1

Dean pulled the bike up on the driveway and parked her next to his father’s truck. Then, killing the engine, he hopped off with a smile. Finally, Dean found a place where he could start over, a place he could play and live again. He found a small spring in his step and ran his fingers through his short hair. He was glad it was quick. His years with Purgatory had the band growing out his hair long. He hated it, but it was for the image. At the time, he would do anything just to be able to be involved in music and if growing his hair long was the worst of it, it was worth it to him.

But the minute that he was put in jail and kicked out of the band for something he didn’t do, he was glad to be rid of it. He was happy to cut off the long hair and return to his short locks. Turning the key to unlock the door, he let himself in to find his father sitting at the dining room table, hands folded on top of it.

“You could have gone to bed, you know,” Dean muttered as he placed the helmet on the table in the foyer and shrugged off his jacket to put it on the hook, “I told you I was going to be back.”

“Where did you go?” John asked as he looked up at Dean.

“Out,” Dean huffed, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. So I went out, the bike had a wire come loose, I was close to a place, got help, came back.”

“You can’t do that again, Dean,” John said as he got up from the table.

“Do what? Go out and have fun? Go out and try to find some friends?” Dean asked, “I’m confused as to what you want from me here. I’m already working at the garage. I’m living under your thumb. I have a damn motorcycle instead of Baby.”

“I just wanted you to think before you went out,” John said as he walked to Dean, “I know you love to sing, and you love music, but it isn’t everything.”

“It’s all I have!” Dean practically yelled. “You know you started spewing all this bullshit about how I abandoned this family and ran away and couldn’t wait to leave,” Dean ran a hand across his face. “I wanted to go out and explore and find myself. You want to know the fucked up thing?” he walked up to his father, “I came back when Sam called me about mom. Not you,” he poked at John’s chest, “Sam, he called me to tell me mom was sick. You were the coward who couldn’t even face me to tell me my mother was dying!”

“Would you have answered the phone if it was me?” John muttered. “You have to admit, the minute you signed that contract, you wanted to high tail it out of here faster than a damn wolf chasing its prey.”

Dean looked down at the floor and licked his lips, “I wanted to get away from you. Not mom, not Sam, you. Because I was so mad and disappointed that my own father didn’t want me to follow something I was good at, something that gave me life.” Dean walked over to a picture of his mother and let his fingers graze over it, “I came every chance I could. I was in that hospital by her side when you didn't know it. I always waited for you and Sam to leave because I didn’t want to fight you while she was fighting Cancer.”

Dean wiped the stray tear that was falling down his cheek and shook his head.

“But it doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not that money I gave for the treatments or the fact that I tried to get Mom one of the best specialists I could find.” he turned to face his dad. “Music is in me, and I can feel it. What hurt me wasn’t mom dying. It was the fact that my own father thought of me as a disappointment when I made it big.”

John let his son’s words sink in before heading to the stairs, “A lot of good that fame and fortune did. You became part of a group that, in the end, it brought you back down to zero.” John was halfway up the stairs before he stopped, “you called me a coward for not calling you, but you’re a coward for not manning up to face me at that hospital.”

John’s footsteps began to fade as he ascended the staircase and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Dean to stew in his anger. Dean let out a frustrated growl with his jaw clenched and stomped up the stairs towards his old room. Why was his dad so adamant about keeping him locked up in a cage? He was already in a cell for six months, and he hated every minute of it. Apart from the fact that he could write a few lyrics, he hated being in that damn jail. He didn’t do anything wrong, and everyone tried to fight him for being a damn rock star.

Entering his room, he could see the boxes from his old home scattered around. Some boxes labeled clothing, some marked notebooks, and a few just miscellaneous. Walking to the box labeled notebooks, Dean tore the tape out and pulled out one of his more recently used ones. His fingers grazed over the pages before he turned to his bag full of his things from jail. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small booklet he had filled with some lyrics he had.

Dean didn’t go to bed right away that night. Instead, he took that time to filter through the small notebook and transferred his lyrics to his larger notebook. The memory of Y/N on stage seemed to haunt him. She looked at peace being up on that stage, almost ethereal, an angel ready to spread her wings and fly. Putting down his pen, his eyes roamed his room before settling on the silhouette of his guitar case. Sure, Dean had plenty of guitars, but this one, this one was special, and he was surprised to see it propped up in the familiar corner of his room.

Getting up from his chair, he walked over towards it, pulled the hard case out, and placed it on his bed. Opening up the latches, he lifted the lid and smiled. There nestled nice and snug was a Fender FA-100 Dreadnought Acoustic Guitar. He loved this guitar and hadn't been able to play it for years. He felt almost sad that he had it with him but could never really pull it out to play often. It was a birthday gift for his 17th birthday from his mother. Sure, she said it was from both her and his father, but Dean had a feeling it was more his mother than his old man.

Gently pulling it out of the case, Dean sat on his bed and placed the guitar on his right thigh, the fingers on his left hand holding down a chord on the fret before he strummed it. He winced at the awful sound that came out. It needed tuning. He looked around his room using the tiny light from his desk lamp and smiled when his eyes landed on the corkboard above his headboard. There, pinned to it, was his favorite pick. It was one of the few things his father did give him that he loved, a pick that he had seen in the music store that he had to have.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began to pluck at the strings and turn on the knobs to find the right notes. There was something about the way he felt holding his guitar that sent a shiver down his spine. Dean missed this feeling, and he kicked himself for letting the image geniuses at the label dictate that he should only be the voice of the band. Focusing on his tuning, he continued to play with the knobs until he was sure the guitar had the right notes to play.

With one last strum, he hummed in satisfaction at the sweet sound. He moved his fingers along the fret, strumming at the strings when a melody came to mind. He wasn't sure of the tempo, but he knew the notes he wanted to play. Adjusting himself and the guitar, he cleared his throat and let the music flow through him.

“Blame the whiskey on the beer, blame the beer on the whiskey,” he let out and smiled, “I like the sound of that,” he chuckled before grabbing his notebook and scribbling it down.

He continued to find the melody, and he figured a slow rhythm was a good fit for the song. At least that’s what he felt.

“Blame the bar for the band, blame the band for the--” he paused as he tried to find the right word, “song? Yeah, that works,” he wrote it down and shook his head gently.

His mind began to fill with doubt as he looked down at the lyrics. Was he really going to try to get back into music? Could he really deal with being a label stooge? He wanted to make music, sure, but it needed to be his music.

“You got this, Winchester,” he calmed himself, “You’ve been playing music for a long time. This is a good song.” he licked his lips and looked down at his fingers, “you had these lyrics in your head for a while, you just gotta get them out.

He continued to strum on his guitar and progressed as much as he could. He had gotten to the first round of the bridge before yawning. But, looking over at the clock, it was well past two in the morning, and he had to try to get as much sleep as he could.

The following day, Dean woke up to his father banging on his door.

“Wake up,” John called through the door, “I’m headed to the garage. You should head out soon. Coffee is already brewed.”

Dean let out a groan and ran a hand across his face to try and wake up fully. He stretched his body before forcing himself to get up. Dean looked at the open notebook on the floor and sighed. He had to finish the lyrics and try to memorize the song by tonight if he wanted to show Benny up. He didn’t like that Benny thought he would use Y/N for his own personal gain. That wasn’t in Dean’s nature at all. Besides, if the song was a hit, he could perform the other songs he had lying around, but he had to find a way to hide it from his dad.

Walking to his window, he looked outside and sighed. The sun was just rising, and he could hear the birds chirping on the nearby tree. Opening the window, he leaned on the windowsill when something caught his peripheral vision. He turned his head slightly to see the trellis that ran up the side of the house by his window. Reaching over, he pulled on it and gave a pouted shrug.

“Still feels sturdy,” he muttered to himself before looking down and feeling his pulse race. “You can do this,” he said, looking at the height, “you did it back in high school to go sneak over to ‘easy’ Gracie's house.” he reminded himself. “That and all of Mullet’s parties to play a gig.”

With a nod, he began formulating his plan. He spared no time in grabbing his clothes and getting dressed. His notebook was tight under the crook of his arm as he made his way downstairs to grab a coffee. His father had already left, leaving him alone. With a coffee mug in his hand, he used his free hand to write out the rest of his lyrics before looking at the time and dashing towards the front door. He made sure he kept the notebook close to him as he got ready for his bike ride to the garage.

He kept to himself as he placed certain things in his locker before grabbing his coveralls and put them on over his clothes. Then, his notebook in hand, he walked over to the work orders board and picked a clipboard to work on for the day. In between changing the oil on a few cars, replacing brake pads, and rotating tires, Dean had finished writing and found himself memorizing the lyrics he wrote out.

“I got my hand’s up. I need an alibi,” Dean muttered, “find me a witness who can testify.”

The melody was slow and funeral-like, and for the most part, it worked. What mattered to him right now was memorizing the damn words so he could get them out. He was sure the melody would change later, as he kept bouncing from uptempo to slow funeral march. It was hard trying to find a good beat, but he wasn’t sure what direction he was going. Was he going to stick to the complex rock rhythm he got used to with purgatory? Or was he going to go to his country roots?

He didn’t notice his father looking at him closely, the sad look on John's face as he recognized that Dean was writing lyrics. The old man could always tell when Dean was working on a song. Dean could never sit still when he was inspired, and the fact that Dean kept tapping different rhythms during the day wasn’t helping him hide it. But John was out of ideas, and the last thing he needed was to find his son on the news where they were announcing his death. It was bad enough seeing his son being arrested on the news, but to have his death broadcasted would absolutely shatter him. John had tried so hard to shelter Dean from getting the performance bug, but it seemed like the tighter John held on, the more Dean slipped through his fingers.

The rest of the day, Dean had played with a few different melodies in his head, but nothing seemed to stick. By the time he had memorized the song, it was time to close the garage. Dean had put his coverall back in his locker and walked over to his bike.

“Dean?” John called.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, turning to face his father.

“What do you think about heading over to the diner we always used to go to for dinner?”

Dean looked at his watch and then back up to his Dad. He still had some time to head home and grab his guitar and sneak out, “yeah, sounds good. Need to have that famous burger of theirs. I missed it when I was up in KC,” Dean said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there,” John nodded his head as he let Dean go before him, “I gotta lock up, so you go ahead and see if they can get us in a booth.”

“Sure,” Dean called out before putting his helmet on and zipping up his jacket.

The ride to the dinner wasn’t too bad. It was short. To begin with and Dean made it with perfect time to grab the last available booth. Dean ordered a burger for himself along with a beer and a slice of pie for after. The waitress was about to leave when John appeared and slid in.

“I’ll have the meatloaf and a water, Jenny, thanks,” he said to the young waitress.

“You got it, John, coming right up,” she smiled at the elder Winchester before turning to Dean and winking, “I get off at 8.”

Dean offered her a smile before turning to his father, “you come here a lot then?”

“Haven’t really cooked since your mother died,” John muttered as he looked at Dean. “You did good work today,” he changed the subject, “I was thinking about showing you how to run the books and showing you all the accounts, you know, get you ready to take over.”

“Dad--” Dean sighed, “I love working at the garage, I do, but it won’t make me happy.”

“Because music makes you happy,” John scoffed, “look what music did to you!” he pointed out.

“You know as well as I do that it was the industry, not the music. Those are two different things!” Dean argued.

John shook his head before running a hand across his face, “look, you need a backup, and I need someone I can trust to take over.”

“You planning on retiring soon?” Dean let out as he leaned back in his seat.

“Maybe,” John sighed, “I can’t run the garage forever, and I don’t want to sell it.”

Dean looked at his father’s face and could see the hurt in his eyes, “you really love that garage.”

“It’s my second love to my family,” John said as he folded his hands together over the table. “Just think about it?”

“I guess I can do that,” Dean muttered as their waitress, Jenny, came by with their food.

“You know she’s single,” John commented as he grabbed his fork to dig into his meatloaf.

“I don’t need dating help,” Dean let out as he grabbed his burger in his hands, “besides, I’m not looking for attachments.”

“Sometimes they’re a good thing, though,” his father commented after swallowing his food.

Dean rolled his eyes, “after the fiasco with Lisa, no thanks.”

“You’ll find someone,” John chuckled, “I don’t think I ever met Lisa.”

“Thank your lucky stars for that,” Dean huffed. “All she cared about was the fame and notoriety. Then I caught her with some publicist screwing in my bed,” he shook his head, “then again, I was nailing two, maybe three girls at a time so… no skin off my back when I cut her loose.”

John stayed silent for a minute, digesting what his son was saying, “so you went for the sex god approach then.”

“Better than being the drug addict,” Dean shook his head and took a bite of one of his fries, “the alcohol helped to just dull the senses anyways. I was a pretty face and a voice for the band, that’s it.”

John could hear the unhappiness in his voice and see the pain radiating in his son’s eyes over not making the music he wanted. It hurt John for a bit, but it also had him thinking about how it might help keep Dean home and safe.

“The business can chew you up and spit you out pretty easily.”

Dean watched as his father continued to eat his meatloaf, letting the conversation die. Yet, he knew where it would lead if he kept the conversation going.

Finishing his meal, Dean cleaned up his face and reached for his wallet before John stopped him.

“I got this son, you go on home, or are you going back out for a ride?” John asked.

“I need to rest, so I’ll be up in my room,” Dean lied as he slid out of the booth. “So I’ll be in bed by the time you get home, maybe.”

“Okay, I’ll be up watching some tv, so I’ll try not to make too much noise,” John pulled out his wallet and a few bills to place on the table.

Dean walked out and towards his bike just as John got into his truck.

On the ride home, Dean was thinking of what his escape plan would be. He already knew he would climb down the trellis, but his guitar had to come with him. Reaching the house, both men stayed in silence as they went their separate ways. Dean closed his door and put the lock on for good measure. He felt like a teenager hiding from his parents, but he knew his father would never understand. And honestly, Dean really had no place to go, and if he had to keep his musical exploits a secret, then so be it. One could say he wanted to try to impress a particular bartender he met last night, also wondering if he would hear her sweet voice again. Grabbing his case, he looked around for something he could use to strap it to his back, finding a rope he could use on the fly.

Once he was sure that the case was secured to his back, Dean carefully climbed out of the window to sit on the windowsill. He moved as carefully as he could, making sure to avoid making too much noise with his guitar case and getting it out of the window. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he reached the trellis and slowly began to climb down.

“You got this, Dean,” he said to himself as he made sure to place his foot on the holes as he climbed down. “Just like that time you snuck out to head over to the bonfire,” he took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in his throat, “granted you also missed a small hole and fell when you reached the last foot off the ground, but you did it.”

Finally reaching the bottom of the trellis, Dean gave a small jump and smiled in satisfaction. Heading to his bike and rolling it away from the house to not make any noise when he started the engine. Once he was a block away, at least, his night began. The ride to Rusty’s was smooth, and Dean could see it already start to fill with patrons. Parking his bike, he adjusted his guitar and made his way inside. His smile grew when he saw Y/N at the bar already taking orders.

“You know we really do have to stop meeting like this,” he called out with a smile when she turned to him.

“Does that line work? I mean, right now, it just seems like you’re trying too hard,” she let out as she walked over to him, “going to drink, perform, or both?”

“Both,” he answered, “know where I can find Jo?”

“She’s over by the stage taking names for tonight,” she pointed over to the blond who was talking to a few groups.

“Wait,” Dean squinted a bit, “That’s Jo Harvelle? I know Jo,” Dean smiled and turned to face Y/N, “Will you be performing tonight?”

“Nope,” she sighed, popping the ‘p.’ “Yesterday was a fluke. I was filling in for someone.”

“I’m going to go talk to Jo,” Dean said before leaning over and taking Y/N’s arm gently before she could leave. “Whoever told you that you weren’t amazing last night was lying to you, sweetheart.” He let her go before she could give him a counterargument and made his way to the stage with his guitar strapped to his back.

As he approached the stage, he could feel a hand pull him back, and a person walked past him.

“Hey,” he called out, “do you mind?”

“Why yez, ah do mind,” the familiar Cajun voice said, “didn’ tink youz goin’ tah show up.”

Dean gave Benny a cocky smile before huffing, “I did tell you I would see you. Let me guess you have a song to sing tonight too?”

“Betta’ than what chu have to play i’m zure,” Benny chuckled, “I didn’ tink dat dey let chu play an inztrumentz.”

“I was playing the guitar before I ever joined that group,” Dean said with a low growl, “how the hell did you recognize me anyway.”

“The long lockz don’ matta to me brotha,” Benny sighed, “but da eyez are da windows to da soul.”

“You and everyone else seem to recognize me,” Dean muttered, “well, you can go ahead and sing your song before me,” Dean offered him a sly smile, “I’m sure I can bring the house down.”

Benny let out a scoff before turning away to walk towards Jo, “good luck wit dat brotha.”

Dean watched as Benny talked to Jo, who gave him a quick nod while jotting down a note. Once she was done, the Cajun turned around and checked Dean on the shoulder.

“Good luck up, der,” he chuckled at Dean, “you lookz like you need it.”

Dean clenched his jaw as Benny walked away. The guy really didn’t like him. Dean didn’t do anything. Hell, most people’s assumptions of him now have to do with the damn drug charge. Shaking his head, he walked up to Jo and adjusted the guitar strapped to his back. As he walked up to the young blond, he couldn’t help but smile as a memory of a young girl in pigtails flashed before him.

“Never thought you’d grow out of the pigtail stage,” he said as he stood in front of her.

“Well, well, well,” she said, chuckling before pulling him into a tight hug, “never thought the infamous Dean Winchester would grace us with his presence. I thought this place would be too. country for you?”

“I want to sign up to perform,’ he let out with a deep breath.

“Fees $20 to perform,’ she sighed.

“Performance fee?” Dean scoffed, “Really, Jo? Who the hell came up with that?”

“Look,” Jo sighed, “The $20 goes for every and all performers. It’s a small fee for renting out the stage. Besides, you get more in tips if people really like you.”

Dean grumbled as he fished in his pockets for a twenty-dollar bill. He handed it to Jo and shook his head, “I’m only going to be singing the one song.”

“Okay,” Jo wrote down his name and smiled, “You can wait by the bar and order some food. I’ll have someone pull you to the back about three performers before you.” She reached over and pulled him into a hug, “Welcome home, Dean. I have a feeling this is going to be a fresh start for you. You never looked right with that band.”

Dean smiled as he hugged her back, “Thanks, Jo.”

With that, Jo pulled away to let him walk towards the bar with his guitar still on his back. Approaching the bar, Dean smiled, seeing Y/N smile as she served customers. Her laugh reached his ears, and it pulled at him. There was a sense of comfort he felt from listening to Y/N’s laugh. Her laugh was very familiar to him. Walking to the bar, he pulled up a stool and sat down to wait for his turn. He wanted to try out his new song, but he wasn’t sure about the tempo yet. He continued playing around with different beats, but all he could come up with was a depressing march, but it didn’t seem to fit the song at all. With a groan, Dean decided to get something in his stomach while he waited.

“You look like you got something bothering you, Gringo.”

Dean snapped his head up from the menu to see Y/N leaning over the bar top towards him.

“Just trying to figure out what to eat before I have to head up on stage,” He chuckled, trying to shrug off the nervous feeling he had on him. “Besides, Benny’s gonna get mad if he sees you talking to me.”

“I can handle Benny,” Y/N offered him a smile, “besides, I’m the only bartender here, so I’m doing my job.”

“What do you recommend from the kitchen?” Dean asked as he licked his lips. There was something alluring about Y/N, but at the same time, he felt as though he had known her from before their encounter in the coffee shop.

“Honestly? The ultimate bacon burger,” Y/N answered. “It’s got premium Angus beef, with nice crispy bacon, a chipotle aioli, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. Not to mention you can have it with steak fries or onion rings.”

“That actually sounds good. I’ll have that and a bottle of Margiekugels,” Dean closed up the menu and sighed, “So is there ever a chance I’m going to see you on stage again?”

Y/N looked over at him as she put in his order on the digital register, “I don’t know,” she sighed, “it was just a one-time thing being up there.”

“Well, if you ever want to go up there again,” Dean said before taking a sip of his beer, “I could always be your backup.”

“Look,” Y/N shook her head with a slight huff. “I know all about you. Just because you cut your hair doesn’t mean that people aren’t going to recognize those big green eyes of yours,” she gave him a soft glare. “I’m not into rock stars, so do me a favor and just find someone else to play with, okay?”

Dean let out a small huff with a smirk, “well, screw you then, sweetheart.”

He took another sip of his beer and shook his head.

“You think you know me because of what the media says about things I didn’t even do? Then fine, you know me. But in reality, you’re just a scared little bitch who wants to stay behind the bar counter.” he grabbed his guitar as he got off the stool. “You can have them send my burger to the table in the corner over there,” he pointed towards the back of the saloon and slapped some money on the counter, “keep the change.”

He stalked off with his beer and guitar, chest full of anger as he looked up to see Benny had already gone on stage and was singing a song. The people were cheering and hollering for him.

Goin' 'round in circles

Pickin' out a cue

Travelin' with no memory

Ow, in my shoe

Down don't bother me.

If the music say

You can take a picture baby

Time won't care

And you're my second nature

A-coming over me

And though I might be shakin'

Down don't bother me no more.

Down don't bother me no more

As Benny finished his song, Dean rolled his eyes as everyone in the crowd cheered and whistled. Seemed like Benny has a crew of regulars that come to see him. He took a swig of his beer, smacking his lips and smiling at the waitress who brought his burger to him. Dean could feel Y/N staring, but he didn’t care. She had made up her mind, and he was done trying to prove to people that he wasn’t an asshole.

Finishing up his burger, he watched as Benny made his way over and rolled his eyes. He should have known that the seat he picked was closest to the kitchen.

“I’ze hope chu enjoyed dat performaze brotha,” Benny chuckled, “chu look like you could yuz da luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Dean grumbled, “I know my skills, so why don’t you go back to yours and leave me and mine alone.”

Benny lifted his hands in surrender and let out a laugh, “didn’t mean ta hit a sore spot witch you. Enjoy da burga.”

Dean shook his head as Benny walked into the kitchen. His nerves were starting to get the best of him as he could feel his hands shake. Looking at his guitar propped up in the chair, his mind began to spin with thoughts.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’ his mind shouted. ‘People are going to hate this song. I don’t even have a tempo yet!’

He could feel his heart race. Nothing could get him to snap out of it. At least, not until Jo came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jerk.

“Hey,” she gave him a warm smile. “You got two performers before you. You should head backstage. I’ll show you the way.”

Dean nodded numbly as he followed her, not noticing an old friend watching him as he disappeared behind a black curtain.

Chapter 3

Tags in the Reblog

#Bottom of the Bottle #Rockstar!Dean Winchester #Rockstar AU #Dean Winchester Fic #Dean Winchester Fan Fiction #Supernatural AU #Supernatural Fiction #Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Reader #Angst #Fluff #Smut #mentions of orgies #Mentions of drug abuse #Alcoholism #violence #fake dating #language

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desertno3 · 4 years

Text

Violet – Chapter Two (3/7)

When Sean finally meets his daughter, you wonder why you ever left him in the first place.

Sean Wallace x fem!reader Chapter Two: 1787 words

Prologue // Chapter One

A/N: Welp, sorry I said this would be up soon and then immediately went and took like two weeks to finalise it. Anyway, here’s the Sean and Violet interaction we’ve all been waiting for! Let me know what you think!

Taglist: @ysmmsy @prettyinpayne @the-a-word-2214 Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series!

“Can you help me colour this in, mum?”

You have to repress a tired sigh at your daughter’s request.

“Sorry, Vi, I can’t right now,” You tell her, scrolling through real estate listings on your phone. You’d been looking ever since the incident because there was no way in hell you were going to go back to your old place after what happened. “Maybe later, yeah?”

You hear her huff and when you look up, she’s already walking out of the room, crayons and colouring book in hand - no doubt on the hunt for someone else to ask.

You shouldn’t have been surprised at the way Violet had made herself right at home in the Wallace household, quickly warming up to everyone even though she’d just met them. It was just the kind of child she was. If she could, she would go right up to total strangers and talk to them but you’d made sure to nip that habit in the bud early, sitting her down and telling her why it was dangerous to do so. She was the most gregarious and self-assured little girl you’d ever known - and you were sure her Wallace genes played a strong part in making that happen.

Sean groans in frustration, leaning against the kitchen counter as he does so. Elliot had just called to say that the latest lead Sean had him following went nowhere and now Sean was wracking his brain to figure out who else could have been behind the intrusion of your home.

The intruder in question had been of no help, naturally. Sean had done what he could to pry information out of him but the man said nothing - and Sean wasn’t sure if it was out of loyalty or because he’d lost so much blood he couldn’t think straight. In the end, Sean didn’t even have to finish him off because the gunshot you’d inflicted did the job well enough. He decided he wouldn’t tell you that, though. You were shaken enough as it was.

“Are you okay?”

Sean’s jolted out of his thoughts by the little voice and when he looks up, Violet’s hoisting herself up onto one of the stools on the other side of the counter. She then looks at him expectantly, waiting for his answer to her question.

“I am,” Sean replies, still watching her curiously.

Besides the brief introduction where you’d told Violet he was your friend, he hadn’t yet properly interacted with her. For one, he had been too preoccupied with trying to track certain people down but the other reason was that he didn’t know how you would react to it if he did. You’d clearly been avoiding bringing up the topic of Violet’s parentage and he’d let you avoid it - for now.

“Will you colour in with me?” She asks, taking him out of his reverie yet again. “My mum’s busy.”

Sean blinks at her, processing the request. He wonders if he should say no - after all, he has so much to do - but she looks so hopeful that he doesn’t want to. When he eventually caves and says yes, he’s taken aback by the fondness he feels at the way she beams and hops off the stool, coming over to him to take his hand and lead him to the living room where she’d already had her colouring book all set up.

You’re more than surprised when you come downstairs half an hour later and see the two of them sitting at the coffee table, colouring in together.

“What colour do you think should go here?” Sean asks her, pointing to a blank spot on the page.

“Green! No, wait!” Violet’s expression scrunches up as she surveys all the colours in front of them. “Yeah, green.”

You watch as Sean chuckles, complying with her wishes as he reaches for the green crayon. He starts colouring in the area while Violet happily observes, the section she was working on long forgotten as she peers intently at the way Sean was doing it.

You feel a slight pang in your heart as you watch them, knowing you had kept them from having moments like this. It’s a fleeting feeling, however, because Violet looks up and spots you.

“Mummy!”

“Hi, love,” You greet her, walking over to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I see you’ve wrangled Sean into colouring with you.”

“We’re colouring in this page right now,” Violet says excitedly, showing it to you. “But we also did the one with the horses. You know, the one me and you didn’t get to finish?”

She flips through the book and shows you the page in question.

“That’s great, darling,” You tell her, fondly smoothing her hair down. “Now, why don’t you go outside and play for a bit, hm? Let Sean get back to his work.”

She nods, taking the crayon from him and putting them all back in the box.

“Thanks for colouring with me, Sean,” She smiles before turning and scampering off excitedly to the backyard.

“Don’t forget your hat!” You call out to her but she’d already disappeared around the corner, leaving a silence to settle between you and Sean in the living room.

“She’s a chatty one,” He comments, breaking the silence as he gets up off the floor. “Would fit right in with my dad’s side of the family.”

You just hum in acknowledgement, avoiding his knowing gaze. You’d always thought the same thing but you didn’t want to tell him that, not yet wanting to confirm or deny anything to do with Violet being a Wallace even though there really was no point in doing so - you knew Sean knew, even if you hadn’t yet spoken about it.

“Y/n,” He says, waiting until you actually looked at him. “Did you know you were pregnant when you broke up with me?”

There it was.

You’d spent the last few days waiting for him to bring it up - surprised he even let it stay unaddressed for this long - and yet you find yourself still completely unprepared to have this conversation.

You shake your head. “I only found out about a month after.”

Not that it matters. What matters was that you could have told him at any point during your pregnancy or at any point after Violet was born, but you never did. You scan Sean’s face desperately, hating that you can’t read him as well as you used to be able to.

“I’m sorry, Sean,” You say and you think you’ve never meant an apology more in your life. “I thought it would be safer to keep her away. Even after I found out I… I didn’t think coming back to you pregnant was a good idea.”

“Still, I deserved to know about her, y/n. She deserves to know about me.”

You drop your gaze, ashamed. “I know. God, I know, okay? But I was scared.”

You know that doesn’t excuse anything but you had to be honest. He had to at least know why you did what you did at the time.

“Scared of what? Me?”

“Of the people you were working with!” You clarify. “I was scared that if they knew about her they might-”

“They would never even get close,” He cuts you off, his tone developing a menacing edge to it at the mere thought of anyone laying a hand on Violet. “I wouldn’t have fucking let them.”

There's a heavy silence in the air and you watch him sigh in frustration, trying to work through his temper. Your own heart hammers against your chest at finally being forced to face the consequences of your decisions.

“I would’ve kept you both safe,” He eventually says, his voice slightly calmer. “If you had just let me, I would’ve done it.”

“I know,” You admit quietly, remorsefully. “I know you would have. But at the time... Sean, your way of keeping us safe wasn’t my way of keeping us safe. You know that."

He purses his lips, remembering all the times in the past you two would argue because he would always get himself into more violent situations than you thought was necessary. The way you saw it, he was unnecessarily digging his own grave with every altercation he found himself in whereas he’d grown up being taught that violence was a necessary measure to keep certain people at bay, to remind them who was in charge, and to prevent them from threatening the people he cared about - namely you, at the time.

“I could never get my head around why you would go through all that trouble, Sean. But I get it now.”

His eyes bore into yours, his brow furrowing slightly as he takes in what you just said.

“What changed?”

You open your mouth to reply when you jump at the sound of banging at the window. Both of you look to see Violet on the other side of it holding up a football, clearly wanting you to play outside with her. You give her a nod, holding up a finger to let her know you’ll be out in a minute.

“I had her,” You answer as you both watch Violet grin and run down to the other side of the backyard. “I’d literally do anything to keep her safe, anything just to make sure she’s okay.”

Sean looks out the window for a long time, to the point where you think he’s still stewing in his anger, but then he lets out a little amused-sounding huff.

“What?” You ask, slightly confused.

“Now you know why I used to get into all those fights for you.”

Your expression softens at that but he doesn't see it. He's deliberately not looking at you, immediately feeling like he’s made himself a bit too vulnerable after saying that. He glances at Violet, kicking the ball around all on her lonesome, and it reminds him of the reason you’d returned to his life in the first place.

“I have to make some calls,” He says, shifting back into business mode. “I have to find another lead.”

“I really am sorry, Sean,” You tell him, ignoring his change of topic. You needed to make sure he knew that.

He looks at you and sighs. “I know. And I get why you did it. As much as I fucking hate it, y/n… I do understand.”

It’s more than you could have ever asked from him. You nod and one last look of acknowledgement passes between you two before he disappears to his office and you head out to be with Violet, feeling lighter than you have felt in a while now that everything was finally out in the open.

#man he looks good in that gif #sean wallace x reader #sean wallace imagine #gangs of london fanfiction #*writing #violet series #gangs of london imagines #sean wallace

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fernpost · 3 years

Text

Cycle 3 - A Meal

[link to ao3]

[first] - [previous] - [next]

“Do we not have it?” Lup’s voice, just on the edge of unadulterated panic, filters through the room. It is borderline sweltering, and they’ve been at it all day.

If they don’t have it, it’s all been for naught. Taako bites at his nail, racking his brain, “fuck, do we not?”

Lucretia is sitting across the room, writing down notes from the day before. Her hand stills as she looks up, “it’s missing?”

Lup wipes her brow, before snapping her fingers and dropping to her knees, opening a small cabinet. She digs frantically through what they have, “if it’s not here, there’s none. I’ve looked all over- we honestly should have had it sooner but there was so much to do and-”

Taako steps behind her, hands resting on his hips to feign casualness. Lup adjusts her position and curses as she hits her head. Taako is about to comment, when she gasps.

He is silent as she jolts backwards with a cry, hand held in the air in success, waving it in the air, “we have it!”

Taako pulls it from her grasp, making his way towards the stove. Lup follows close behind, “if we had used the rest of the garlic last week, I would have jumped ship in shame.”

“Can’t make Mama Davenport’s special meat stew without it. Who are we to surprise our great captain with subpar stew.” Taako peels it quickly, cutting it up and tossing it into the pot liberally, firm in his lifelong belief that no recipe can have too little of the perfect allium.

Lucretia smiles as she scribbles in both of her notebooks from the table, “and Taako couldn’t have transmuteted more because…?”

Handing the spoon to Lup, he turns with an affronted gasp, resting his hand dramatically against his chest, “Do you think me a subpar chef?” With a snort, he kneels to peek into the oven, checking the status of the bread they are baking, “but actually, transmuted food is never as good as the real stuff. You can always taste the difference. It’ll do in a pinch, but for the occasion the Taaco’s spare no expense.”

“Ah, of course.” She goes back to her writing, content in listening to the two of them cook more.

After a few more minutes of gentle stirring, Taako sends Lup to grab Barry from the lab, where he’s been pouring over the same notes for a few hours now. Magnus, Merle, and Cap’nport should be back within the next half hour, if the Sending note Taako received is to be believed.

Considering it’s from Merle, who's to say. But preserving the heat of a dish with magic is much easier than making a dish from scratch, so it won’t be the end of the world. Anyways, Taako will give Merle shit either way.

Taako hear’s Lup laugh as she approaches, so he knows she successfully managed to wrangle Barold away from his work. He is already tired of their strange almost-flirting rituals, but it’s nice to see Lup so excited about something, even if it is a nerd like Barry.

(Taako is steadfastly ignoring how much he enjoy’s Barry’s company himself. Or Magnus’s. Or Lucretia’s. Or how comforting it is to talk to Merle. Or how welcoming Davenport always is. It all means nothing. They’re all still his coworkers. He definitely never seeks out their company. He pretends not to think about how the last time he was around the same people this long was his aunt, and he pretends not to think about how that ended. And it never feels bad when they leave on dangerous missions to look for the Light. Never.)

“Lup, the bread!” Taako calls out, pulling the stew from the stove and bringing it over to the table. Lucretia picks her notebooks up, bringing them over to the small sitting room and leaving them on the rickety coffee table (it wasn’t always rickety. Magnus had been trying, apparently, to teach Barry a wrestling move Merle had described to him once. Mending only goes so far). Lup crosses the small kitchen quickly, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter and pulling the bread out. It smells absolutely divine, of course.

Barry hovers near the edge of the kitchen, hands hovering awkwardly in front of him, “can I help-”

“Not after last time, Bluejeans.” Taako places the lid on the stew, turning to the fridge to look for the cider bottles he knows are in there somewhere from a small market they found near the end of the last year.

“Can you grab the plates?” Lup asks as she removes the bread from the tin and begins cutting it. Barry is quick to help, pulling the plates down from the cabinet right next to her (he’s trying so hard to not brush against her, it’s almost sad). Once he has a stack of seven, he pulls out the utensils as well.

Lucretia stiffens from where she has made her way to the window in the sitting room, peering out. “They’re back!”

Barry glances over, almost overbalancing and dropping the silverware as he gets distracted. After he regains control of the plates, he asks, “how do they look?”

“No worse for wear. No one’s limping or missing anything important, at least.” She pauses, and squints, “I think Magnus is a little singed, though.”

“He’ll be fine.” Taako waves it off. The big guy not getting injured would be more surprising.

Lup is bringing the tray with the bread over when the front door opens. Taako places the last cider down before calling out, “oh Captain!”

“We have a surprise for you!” Lup yells.

“What do you-” Davenport pauses, and Taako has cooked enough for the gnome to know he is smelling the air. “Is that stew?” He rounds the corner with the others. He looks tired, thick bags hanging heavy under his eyes.

They were supposed to be gone a week for a recon mission, but Merle sent a message saying they’d be a few days later. About halfway through them being gone, Taako had started digging through the books Davenport brought. One was, for some reason, an old cookbook. It was covered in scribbled writing, and a note left at the beginning detailed how Davenport’s mother gifted it to him when he left for his first job on a ship. One recipe in particular had a sticky note marking it, and Taako had glanced through the recipe. It seemed easy enough, so he brought it to Lup to make.

If she had said anything about him being a sap, he’d deny it. He just enjoyed trying out a new recipe.

“Are we going to eat or just bask in the smell?” Taako sits at his normal seat, not waiting to begin to serve himself. He passes the ladle to Lup, watching as the others join them. Davenport remains standing, only moving when Magnus kicks his chair away from the table, gesturing for him to sit.

The ladle is passed to their captain, who scoops some of the stew and stares at it, “is this…” Davenport looks up at Lup and him, squinting, “did you two go through my cabin?”

An overlap of “no,'' and “Taako did,” answer his question, and Taako quickly slaps Lup on the arm. “Was just looking at your books. You expect me to not read a cookbook you’ve got hidden away?”

Davenport doesn’t answer. He scoops up some of the stew and sips at it, obviously hesitant. It’s quiet in the room, before he smiles, “almost as good as my mom made it.”

A cacophony of mockery aimed at Taako blusters out, his own voice just barely rising above as he defends his honor and abilities.

No one mentions how their captain looks a little misty-eyed. It’s been a long three years.

Later that night, Magnus approaches him and Lup as they play cards in the sitting room, vaguely describing a pie his dad used to make on Candlenights, asking if the two of them thought they could recreate it.

Taako is offended that he believes they can’t.

#lup #taako #lucretia #barry bluejeans #davenport #magnus burnsides #the stolen century #taz balance #my works

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forgedroyalseal · 3 years

Text

Happy FanFiction Friday!

Will discusses the struggles of being a new father with Halt

Fatherhood:

Tug let out a short whinny as Halt approached Will’s cabin. He hadn’t seen Will or Alyss for two months. He and Lady Pauline had been there when baby Daniel had been born, but they both had been kept busy since then. Even now, Halt was traveling alone due to the fact that Pauline was required at a series of meetings in Macindaw. Despite having to make the trip to Will’s without his better half, he was delighted to see Will, Alyss, and Daniel.

Halt dismounted and untacked Abelard, leaving him in Tug’s company, a couple handfuls of oats for them to share. As he approached the veranda, Halt could hear the wailing of a baby coming from within the cabin. He knocked on the door, not sure if the mild knock would even penetrate the harsh cries. Sure enough though, the front door was opened moments later by Alyss. Halt couldn’t help but be surprised by how beautiful Alyss looked. For a woman who had recently given birth and had a newborn at home, she didn’t look tired at all. Her eyes were bright and shining, and her fair blonde hair was in a long braid that was secured at the end with a pale blue ribbon. Halt recognized the ribbon as the one Will had bought for her as a gift before their wedding.

“Halt! What a wonderful surprise!” Alyss beamed at him before encasing him in a warm hug.

“It’s good to see you Alyss. You’re looking well.”

The crying inside got louder and Alyss waved Halt in. The cabin was slightly less put together than Alyss was, but not by much. There were numerous mugs with cold leftover coffee on the kitchen table, along with various papers and letters spread out. Halt recognized Crowley’s signature on more than half of them. Crowley had granted Will a month of paternity leave, and was still only sending him work that could be done from home. Halt noticed the crying had stopped and looked up. Alyss had taken Daniel from Will who was sitting in an arm chair, and was now holding the baby and swaying slightly to calm him down.

“Would you like to hold him?” She asked, and Halt grinned. It was a well kept secret that Halt adored babies. Or, it was well kept, then Will had a son. Once Daniel was born Halt couldn’t even pretend to be stoic around him. He cooed and doted on the child, much to everyone’s surprise. Everyone except Crowley, who had claimed to have known about Halt’s love of babies “since forever”.

“I’d love to. Come to Grandpa little one.” Halt reached out and took Daniel from his mother. Halt’s heart swelled as he looked down at the child. Daniel was splitting image of his father. The first time Halt had held Daniel, the deja vu nearly bowled him over. His hands were actually shaking when he had past the newborn over to Pauline. He felt as though he had travel back in time, the past 24 years melting away, bringing Halt back when he carried Will as a baby to the ward in Redmont.

“Looks as though I’ve been replaced as your favorite. You can’t even give me the time of day now huh?” Will teases, coming up behind Halt.

Halt scoffs, “Don’t be so dramatic. You were never my favorite, Alyss was.”

Alyss laughed as Will fake pouted, “I’ve lost my spot then?” She asked.

“Hm, perhaps it’s a tie, you did create him for me.”

“Hey, I helped!”

“Barely.” Alyss and Halt said in unison.

“Betrayed by my own family.” Will clasped his hands over his heart.

“Somehow you’ll manage.” Halt said dryly.

“It’s almost time for Daniel’s nap, why don’t the two of you take a walk into town and pick up some pie for tonight.” Alyss took a sleepy Daniel from Halt’s arms.

“If the two of you wanted to eat at the inn this evening, I can stay and watch Daniel. I didn’t come to intrude, I came to help.”

“You came for cuddles with your grandson and we all know it.” Will muttered as he pulled on his boots.

“We might take you up on that tomorrow morning, but Will’s alrighty got a stew going for tonight and it will be nice to catch up with you. It’s a pity Pauline couldn’t make it.” Alyss replied, ignoring her husbands grumbling.

“She wanted to. Much more than she wanted to go to that dull meeting. She’ll visit as soon as she gets back.” Halt put his boots on, then gave one last kiss to Daniel before following Will out the door.

The two men walked in companionable silence for a while then Halt broke it saying, “So how are you really? I know that it can’t all be sunshine and rainbows.”

Will sighed, “I love Daniel. I really do.”

“I know that. Nothing you could say would convince me otherwise. You can find some aspects of parenthood difficult while still loving your child unconditionally.”

“It’s not just some aspects though. It’s all of it. The sleepless nights, the crying, the constant worrying. I feel like I’m doing absolutely everything wrong Halt. I don’t think I am cut out to be a father.”

“Will, not to minimize what you are feeling, because it’s completely valid, but I think every parent goes through exactly what you are going through.”

“Alyss isn’t. She is gracefully waltzing through motherhood, while I am blindly stumbling along fatherhood like an idiot. Daniel seems to cry every time I pick him up, but the moment Alyss is holding him, he’s all smiles. What’s wrong with me Halt? Why does my baby hate me?”

“Oh Will, Daniel doesn’t hate you.”

“But-”

“No buts. He doesn’t. Does he currently prefer his mother who also happens to be his source of food? Sure. But he does hate you.”

“Then why does he always cry when I hold him.”

“Maybe he can feel your stress. He’s a very intelligent baby you know. He gets that from me.”

Will manages a laugh, “He doesn’t get anything from you, not yet at least. If his hair starts going gray or he has a terrible taste in music, then you can take all the credit you want.”

“I have excellent music taste I’ll have you know. And you are to blame for my gray hair. And Gilan. That’s what happens when you have sons.”

“So you’re telling me that I’ll start finding gray hairs soon?”

“Yes, so don’t go throwing stones.”

There was a pause, then Halt, in a bit more of a serious tone said, “Will, I know that you are struggling, but there is not a doubt in my mind that you are and will continue to be a magnificent father. It’s normal to question yourself when it comes to these types of things.”

“Did you? I mean, I know that it’s different, it’s just”

Halt cut Will off before he started to ramble, “Of course I had doubts Will. I questioned every decision I made regarding you. I never knew if I was being to hard on you or not strict enough,”

“Oh you were plenty strict, believe me.”

“Clearly not strict enough about interrupting others. As I was saying, you are always going to worry about doing right by Daniel, it’s a cornerstone of fatherhood. Worrying and embarrassing your children. That’s what being dad is all about.”

“If that’s the case you must’ve won father of the year every year of my apprenticeship.”

“Oh I did. There was a ceremony and everything.”

They had reached the inn at this point, but before they went in, Will pulled Halt into a quick hug. “Thank you. Not just for the chat, but for showing me what a good father is. I can only hope to be half as good at it as you were.”

“Will, you are going to surpass me in every way. And I will be cheering you on at every bend in the road.”

#ranger's apprentice #rangers apprentice #ranger’s apprentice FanFiction #fanfic #fanfiction friday #hope you enjoy #let me know what you think

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