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destieltropecollection · 10 months ago

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Destiel Trope Collection | Day 6: Canon Divergent

Ladies | @ididitallofitforyou Rating: General Word Count: 1,130 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship Summary: The ladies in Dean and Cas' life throw them a surprise bachelor party.

Yours Again | @tami-ryver Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,935 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Possession, Castiel Possessing Dean Winchester, Possession, Cursed Castiel (Supernatural), Gabriel is So Done (Supernatural), Castiel's True Form (Supernatural), Angel True Forms (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Wings, Angel Wings, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Season/Series 05, Misunderstandings, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff Summary: Dean just waves his hand, but stops when he can almost feel something brushing against his hand. His mouth turns into a wide smile when he realizes he is actually touching Cas' feathers. They are like silk and Dean can imagine himself being wrapped by them, luring him to sleep.

priority | @dcforts Rating: General Word Count: 2,034 Main Tags/Warnings: S15e18 Coda, Castiel's Confession Scene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It Summary: The world is empty, he almost lost Cas again. The world is full, Cas loves him.

the edge of the devil's backbone | @cascigarette Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,008 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Demon Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Castiel, Blood and Violence, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Face-Fucking, Come Swallowing, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Spit as Lube, Church Sex, Angst, Porn with Feelings, Porn with Plot, Alternate Season 10, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester Summary: The demon burns, burns, burns, and the angel is a moth to the flame. Or: Dean succumbs to the Mark of Cain. Cas follows him. Whenever they cross paths, it's bloodthirsty and violent and addicting. Cas asks him to stop. Neither of them are sure if they want him to.

thank god for bruce campbell's abs | @watchinghimrakeleaves Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,408 Main Tags/Warnings: Human Castiel, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary: Dean decides to expose Cas to horror movies. In the process, he learns some startling things about his best friend.

What the Heart Misses | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: General Word Count: 5,546 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Episode S15E14, Fluff, Sam Winchester Knows, Castiel Does Not Make A Deal With The Shadow, Dean Loves Castiel, Christmas, Gift Exchange Summary: After learning that the Winchesters and Jack celebrated Christmas with Mrs. Butters, Castiel takes the opportunity to give Dean a Christmas present. Which then prompts Dean to reflect on the nature of their bond.

a light in the dark burning brighter | Chi_Yagami (AO3) Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 6,092 Main Tags/Warnings: finale fix-it, injured Dean Winchester, hurt/comfort, confessions, kid Jack Kline, team free will at the beach, Dean finally gets his little umbrella drink Summary: Three weeks after Castiel is pulled from the Empty, when Dean can finally eat solid food and sit up in bed on his own and complain about being fussed over, Sam asks what they can do to make Dean's recovery a better experience—for everyone, Sam adds. Ducking his head, Dean admits to his brother that he still wants to go to the beach and sip on one of those little umbrella drinks in a coconut.

insi(de an)d outside | @thisisapaige Rating: Mature Word Count: 6,688 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel as God, Angst, Alternate Season/Series 07, Sexual Tension, Castiel POV Summary: Castiel smiled. His Dean— His defiant, determined Dean— was ever the hero. Dean never gave in without a fight, without exhausting every plan and trying every angle. It was so human of him. Castiel could not help but love him for it. "Surely you know holy fire cannot hold a God?" Castiel asked. "You know me." The flames flickered across Dean's face, casting shadows over the hollows of his cheeks. "I had to try."

It was you, only you | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,131 Main Tags/Warnings: Slow burn, canonverse, season 15, friends to lovers, fix it Summary: After defeating Chuck and the raising of Jack as the new God, Dean wakes up from a revealing. dream. Nothing will stop him now from rescue CAS from the Empty. But a new defiance is looming over TFW2.0. Will Dean be able to use his words this time? Or is gonna be work a big impediment again?

Murder the World | @thisisapaige Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,160 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst, Canon Divergent after s10e22 The Prisoner, Demon Dean Winchester, Parallels Between Cain/Colette Mullen and Castiel/Dean Winchester, Switch Castiel/Switch Dean Winchester, Violence, Porn With Plot Summary: Castiel said he would be the one to watch Dean murder the world. Now he has a chance to prove it.

Loving you back in time | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15,683 Main Tags/Warnings: Temporary MCD (Castiel, Sam), time travel, top!Dean/bottom!Castiel, falling in love, enemies to lovers, winged Castiel Summary: After locking Chuck and defeats him, Jack comes out with a plan to get Cas and Sam back from death. Dean will travel back in time to try to really stop the Apocalypse from its root, this time Dean will contact Castiel before events, and part of his mission is to try to convince the angel to join him, explaining they're the good guys and angels and Heaven are not, while trying to avoid the urge of kissing his angel. But something won't go as they expected, and Dean will have to change the plan. This is mid season 15 canon divergent fic. The time travel is before Dean going to Hell. I mixed two importants moments, but they're not in the timeline of the season 3, with references to episode 1x12: Faith.

In A Parked Car Exhuming Ophelia | @an-android-in-a-tutu Rating: Mature Word Count: 17,741 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Interrogation, Demons, Grief/Mourning, References To: Homelessness, baby eating, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Heaven Politics, Unsafe Sex, Pregnancy, Temporary Character Death, Dubious Consent, Summary: The bunker didn’t lend itself to much natural light, and the utilitarian fixtures in the concrete hallways tended to sap people of their colour even on a good day. Maybe that was why Dean looked so much worse than Sam remembered, as worn as he’d ever seen him. The hand he pulled away from his face was shaking, just slightly, and he dropped it quickly to disguise the tremor, but the detail had already been seared into Sam’s brain. Something was very wrong. "I need you with me on this." Sam hasn't spoken to his brother in over a month, so when he shows up in the middle of the night with a powerful demon in tow, he's concerned. It doesn't take long for him to realize that Dean is keeping secrets again, and that whatever he has hidden behind his teeth has to do with the strange woman who seems all too content to remain bound in their dungeon. The demon with white eyes. All Sam wants is the truth, to figure out who she is, and how she's connected to his brother. But people who ask questions, tend to get answers. And they just may be more than Sam can take. An alternate take on season 9 that replaces the Mark of Cain plot with something much worse.

Rock & Roll and Feathers | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20,172 Main Tags/Warnings: Season 15, canon divergence, rock stars, case fic, rock star!Dean, bodyguard!Castiel, mutual pining Summary: TFW 2.0 defeated Chuck, locking him down in a magic box and exchanging him with Castiel's deal with the Empty. Everything would be perfect if Jack wasn't locked inside another magic box too. The only way to release Jack, now the New God, is to find the key. Rowena knows who has it. His powerful father, a retired sorcerer, who would give anything to those who win his rock and roll contest. That's why Dean will sign up as a rock star, followed by his manager Sam and his bodyguard Castiel. Bad thing is, maybe winning a rock Contest is not the only test they will have on the road to reach that key.

Roadtrip to the End of the World | inkdr0p (AO3) Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 24,813 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Original Male Character(s), Team Free Will (Supernatural), Sam is a nerd, Dean is a nerd, Cas is an ancient multidimensional being, Road Trips in the Impala (Supernatural), Castiel stops and looks at everything, Las Vegas, Star Trek References, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff, Dean works through his experiences of the future in 5x04 The End, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Sam Winchester Knows, Dean Winchester Has PTSD, Sleeping in the Impala (Supernatural), Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Wingfic, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), Sam covertly gets Dean and Cas to go on a date, Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Castiel Deserves to be Loved (Supernatural), Season 5, In which I repeatedly compare Cas to a cat, Hunters & Hunting, Slice of Life, Canon Divergent (erases 5x05 "Fallen Idols") Summary: “There’s an apocalypse on, Bobby. In case you forgot.” “No Dean, I didn’t forget. But unless you’ve figured out a way to stop it in the next couple of days, I don’t see why you can’t give yourselves a break. This ain’t a sprint, Dean, it’s a marathon. Besides, last year when we realized just how much had hit the fan I seem to recall you being real quick to---” “Vegas.” “Exactly.” “...The Star Trek Experience.” ---------- OR: Dean's back from the future, Sam's back from his break, and Cas is, well, Cas. As good a time as any to finally take that road trip Dean's been dreaming about since he crawled out of the ground and learned the Apocalypse was a real goddamn thing. All he has to do now is remember how to have fun. Fic takes place in lieu of 5x05 "Fallen Idols"; instead of Paris Hilton the boys are off to the Las Vegas Hilton, former home of the greatest place on earth: The Star Trek Experience.

but i'm singing like a bird 'bout it now | @dirtangeldean Rating: Mature Word Count: 26,976 Main Tags/Warnings: Car Impala (Supernatural), Car Conversations, Aromantic, acespec, AceSpec!Cas, accountability, 15x18 coda, switch POV, Healing Dean Winchester, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, Dubcon Kissing(kinda), arospec!Dean, Aromantic Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Former Sex Worker Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Gives Oral Sex, Past Sexual Assault, Mention of Past Sex Work, Dean Winchester's Jacket, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, reader…i have taken liberties, Angelic Grace Kink (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Original Character(s) Summary: 15x18 fix-it: Dean uses his one last shot to save Cas and succeeds, the fall out that happens when the unspoken becomes spoken all at once has a happy ending. The eventual conversations of comfort, duty, sacrifice, power, obligation, and love ensue. Communicationnatural. OR Dean can't bare to have Cas leave him. And the Empty allows him to stay. OR Reckoning with a first kiss actually being the opposite of happiness simply due to circumstance.

We're at the lost and found | @mercurialkitty Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 27,019 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 12 AU, season/series 13, Fix-it, mostly broadcast tv level swearing with a few f-bombs, Hunter's Funeral (Supernatural), canon typical angel slurs, Domesticity, will they or won't they, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, relationship beginning, like an episode some story arcs are left unresolved, dadstiel Summary: What would the beginning of season 13 have been like if Cas lived and Mary stayed put?

Desideratum and Other Mishaps | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 28,075 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Episode: S14E13, Baby Jack Kline, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Protective Dean, Fluff and Angst, Dean Worries About Castiel Summary: In an unexpected turn of events, Castiel and the Winchesters find themselves with a toddler on their hands, when Jack, intending to regain his grace, makes a wish with the Baozhu—the wish-granting pearl—instead of Dean and gets transformed into a young child. Unsure how to fix the situation, and with Mary and Sam aiding the hunters from the other world on a hunt, Dean and Castiel are left alone at the bunker to care for baby Jack, where more than one revelation will unfold.

Dean Winchester and the Belly Button Piercing | @teeparadigm67 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 34,800 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Porn With Plot, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Dean Winchester has his Belly Button Pierced (And Sammy Doesn't Know), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is a Tease, Castiel doesn't understand flirting, Idiots in Love, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Porn with Feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Piercings, Ear Piercings, Pierced Dean Winchester, Navel piercing, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Flirty Dean Winchester Summary: Dean Winchester was 23 when he got his belly button pierced. It was during a time in his life when everything felt like it was in turmoil (long before he even really knew what his life being in turmoil truly meant). He never intended to go out and get any piercings—his father would have never allowed it. For 20-something years it had been his best-kept secret… that was until one fateful night when a hunt went wrong and his best friend had to swoop in and help patch him up, catching an eyeful of his elusive secret. Castiel’s infatuation with his best friend took a dangerous turn that night (not that he wasn’t already treading treacherous waters with his feelings towards the man). He had already known that Dean had a piercing, but he had no idea it was still functional, and equally had no idea that a piece of jewellery, Dean’s own slice of quiet rebellion, would have such a profound effect on him. Now Castiel can’t help but want him and his fading grace is doing very little in hiding his… indiscretions. The idea of it slowly drove him insane. And what makes it worse… Castiel was certain Dean was doing it on purpose.

Castiel's Hidden Pussycat | @macy2me Rating: Explicit Word Count: 41,050 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - Season 13, Castiel Adopts A Cat, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester in Denial, Castiel's grace is damaged, Boys Being Awkward, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester is So Done, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Frottage, POV Castiel (Supernatural) Summary: Castiel, angel of the Lord, has been saved by a cat. He didn’t intend to keep it. He didn’t mean for the green-eyed cat to work its way into his heart. It’s becoming a bit of a theme. Yet, here he is, smuggling a cat into the bunker. Cas and Dean have been doing a dance for nine years—circling each other, one step forward, by one step back, changing direction, never getting closer, never too far apart. However, when you throw a cat into the mix, the next move becomes a lot harder to predict.

When Dreams Come True | @avonlady42 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 65,616 Main Tags/Warnings: canon divergent, angst and fluff and smut, Dean Winchester has a wing kink, plot twist, inappropriate use of grace, top castiel/bottom Dean Winchester, explicit sexual content, happy ending, marriage, adoption Summary: After Chuck is defeated, Jack forces Dean and Cas to finally admit their feelings to each other and gives Cas his wings back in the process. They end up getting their happily ever after while Sam settles down with Eileen. Ten years they spend together as a couple, hunting when they need to, but mostly living the domesticated life Dean always wanted and Castiel always wanted him to have. Unfortunately, it all comes crashing down one day when Castiel goes on a hunt and doesn’t make it home. Dean will do whatever it takes to get the love of his life back and ends up getting more than he bargained for when he finds him again. This fic is canon compliant through Season 14 and starts off during the Ouroboros episode S14E14, from there it becomes Canon divergent with some of the rest of Season 14 and Season 15 being the same, but slightly different. S15E20 doesn’t exist and there is an alternate storyline 10 years into the future.

We Are The Music Makers (WIP) | Clairebearer (AO3) Rating: Explicit Word Count: 120,932 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Canon Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Castiel, Action/Adventure, Romance, Sexuality, Domestic Dean Winchester, Human Castiel, Reaper Dean, BAMF Dean, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Sam, Greek Mythology - Freeform, It's all about the souls, Awkward Sexual Situations, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Build, Case Fic, Magic Mirrors, Dark Magic, Demons, Angelic Grace, Mental Health Issues, Trickster Gabriel, Musical References, Pop culture references, Movie spoilers, Fate, Destiny, Free Will, Canon divergent, Cupid - Freeform, Terminal Illness, Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Not Heterosexual, Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Temporary Major Character Death, Angst with a happy ending Summary: Set in the aftermath of seasons 8's epic finale. With Sam's life hanging by a thread Dean is forced to call the only being he knows has the power to help: Death. However, like most impossible things they come with a terrible price and it acts as an hour glass hanging ominously over Dean's head as his life-line burns away like a fuse, a full-time job as a reaper waiting for him. Time is short and the world is bent on destroying itself, so when the shadow of an averted apocalypse threatens to resurface and wipe out everything he has fought so hard to save, Dean must do everything within his power - and more - to stop it. His own feelings be damned... If he can help it.

Far From Heaven: Part Two | @Taymarpigeon Rating: Explicit Word Count: 151,921 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Post-Canon Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Gratuitous Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt, Homophobic John Winchester, Abusive John Winchester, Former Sex Worker Dean Winchester, POV Alternating, Top/Bottom Versatile Castiel/Dean Winchester, Possessive Castiel (Supernatural), Possessive Dean Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, Dom/sub, BDSM, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Consensual Non-Consent, Angelic Possession (Supernatural), Angelic Grace Bonds (Supernatural), Wing Kink, Castiel and Dean Winchester Get Married, Additional Tags in End Note Summary: Castiel is gone and Dean can't move passed it, can't bring himself to stray far from the last place he ever saw his Angel. A place so full of sorrow, yet there is love there too, lingering in the farthest, darkest reaches. Gabriel is done watching Castiel and Dean be martyrs. Jack's fixed up Heaven, all is as it should be, there's no reason these two idiots can't finally have everything they ever wanted. If he intervenes, if Gabriel finally embraces what he was built for in the first place, will it make a difference? Will Cas and Dean finally get their happily ever after? He's not gonna lie, leading three (not so) wise men across the desert was probably easier than this headache will turn out to be. Still, Gabriel maintains that it is possible to lead a horse to water and make it drink. You just gotta know which buttons to push.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2024 #destiel #fanfic #supernatural #canon divergent

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cunninghamchrissie · 4 months ago

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@hellcheerweek day 6: devil

“oh lord, what do i do? i've fallen for someone who's nothing like you. he's raised on the edge of the devil's backbone, oh i just wanna take him home.” 👹 - the civil wars, devil’s backbone

#hellcheer #eddissy #edissy #munningham #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #grace van dien #hellcheer week #hellcheer week 2024 #mine*edit

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formorethananame · 6 months ago

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So this is where that curious energy had been coming from.

Lucifer moved through the room languidly. He was in no rush, and it didn't take much to make the crowd part around him. The power he carried spoke for itself; when he wanted it, the room would open for him.

But the spot he aimed for was at the back of the room - the bar.

Lucifer came to a stop once he reached it. The girl behind the bar was no ordinary girl. He looked her over as she spoke, studied the energy she gave off. Death was all over her. A reaper of some sort, then.

How fascinating.

As fascinating as the sudden nervousness emanating from her. Lucifer smiled, slow and charming. "We haven't met before," he said, answering her cut off question. "And, if it's alright, I would rather stay up here in your company." He was aware of what went on downstairs. Hard not to be, with the noise and chaotic energy radiating everywhere. "What's the best drink you can make? A specialty you have, perhaps? I'd like to try that."

@formorethananame liked this for a girly pop starter

"Welcome!" Mai stood happily behind the counter of the bar, smiling at the tall... very tall... man opposite. "What can I get for you, babe?" The term of endearment slipped from her mouth. She called everyone 'babe', but for some reason, as soon as she said it to the other she had a dark feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her regret using the word. Some kind of alarm was ringing in the back of her mind - a warning that she shouldn't be so nonchalant with whoever this was in front of her.

"Have we met bef- sorry! Totally crazy of me." But there was something about him. Perhaps he'd been to the bar? She really felt like she'd remember him, though! Why was she in such a state!! "If you're looking for the fights they're downstairs, just behind that white door."

#mournus #replies; lucifer #threads; lucifer x mai #verse: the edge of the devil's backbone

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formorethananame · 4 months ago

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and now here you are, caught under my spell.

@weedzkiller

#weedzkiller #under my spell; lucifer x solum #verse: the edge of the devil's backbone #edits

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honeypiehotchner · 1 year ago

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Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- epilogue

Well, we've reached the end guys. Thank you endlessly for going on this wild ride with me. I didn't really know what to expect when I started posting this fic because I wasn't sure it would be anyone's cup of tea, but as usual, you guys went insane with me for it and it never gets old. Love you guys so so much (and thanks for letting me be the evil author that tortures you with such sad stories) 💛💛

Warnings: sadness. just so, so much sadness.

“I have survived, but I have not been spared.” --Catherynne M. Valente

“You understand the agreement you are entering by accepting this retirement package from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit?” Strauss reads aloud for the tape.

“Yes ma’am,” you reply with a nod, signing your life and career away.

“You are not to disclose any of the details of this case with anyone. Family, friends, coworkers past, present, or future, and so on. You understand?”

It’s not like I want to tell anyone. “Yes, I understand.” You sign again.

“Please give me your credentials.” Your firearm was taken days ago. You slide your badge and keycard across the table toward Strauss. “Thank you.”

She recites her name and title, the date, this case number. You recite your name, your former title, the date.

The tape clicks. Strauss exhales. You stare blankly at the space in front of you, drained of all energy.

“I am sorry,” Strauss says. “For all of this.”

You look up at her. You nod slowly. “Thank you.”

“If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod. Slow. Everything moved so fast. Now time struggles to breathe.

“You are dismissed,” Strauss says finally. “Thank you for your time. During this interview, and at the FBI.”

You manage a smile. Both of you stood and exchanged formal handshakes, and you left.

The rest of the team is waiting for you in the bullpen by your desk. Your go-bag and cardboard box of your belongings that you packed sit on your chair.

You don’t say a single word. Rossi pulls you in for a hug first, soothing you while you openly sob into his shoulder. Everyone gathers around you in a group hug, and it isn’t long before everyone is crying, too.

No one knows what else to do. The BAU will never be the same, nor will you, or anyone here. All there is to do is hold one another and cry. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to do anything else.

They help you carry your things to your car. Derek has your go bag over his shoulder. Reid is carrying the cardboard box. Rossi is holding onto your coat until you’re ready for it. Penelope hasn’t let go of your hand. Emily is rubbing perpetual circles into your spine. JJ has her arm linked with yours, and you rest your head on her shoulder in the elevator.

“Dinner at mine tomorrow,” Rossi says in the elevator. Everyone nods their silent agreement.

Nothing in the world can fix this feeling or make any of it better, but a homemade dinner with expensive wine in Rossi’s back garden will, at the very least, take the edge off.

Derek insists on driving you to your apartment and you don’t have it in you to argue. All it took was one look from you and he knew.

After another round of hugs, you’re in the passenger seat as Derek drives your car out of the Quantico parking deck for the last time. You fall asleep on the way home.

He wakes you gently when he gets to your apartment, unbuckling you and helping you out. Up the stairs and into your apartment.

You stand like a ghost in the middle of the kitchen. The place on the counter that once held the bottle of wine you shared with Aaron now sits empty, glaring. The couch where you have tossed and turned countless nights -- and where Aaron once slept -- threatens to swallow you whole.

You didn’t realize how much of Aaron is in this apartment until he’s gone forever. He’ll never be here again, but there is no getting rid of these memories, his shadow that still dances on the far wall. A time long forgotten, a man that hasn’t existed for some months.

You turn around to see Morgan watching you, tears filling his eyes. You blink and feel the warm tears rush down your cheeks. Morgan has his arms wrapped around you in the next second, tucking you into his chest.

“I know,” he says softly, propping his chin on the top of your head. “I’m so sorry.”

Your sobs only grow louder, your grip on his shirt tighter. You’ll fall over if he doesn’t hold you up. He holds you up for as long as you need.

“I can’t stay here,” you say, the words muffled into his chest.

But he hears you. “I know.”

+++

You move out of the apartment the next week, after staying in a guest bedroom at Rossi’s. Derek lets you live in one of the properties he recently renovated, free of charge, until you can find another place of your own.

You don’t know if you’ll stay in the area, or if you’ll move farther away. The truth is, no amount of distance would suffice. No matter where you go, you’ll forever be running away from the memories of this.

So, you decide to stay close to your friends. Derek becomes Unit Chief (Rossi refused to take on that much responsibility). JJ becomes less liaison and more field agent. Emily toys with the idea of leaving, but nothing sticks. Reid is going nowhere. And as long as Derek is there, Penelope is there. You don’t know what the next years will bring, but for now, everyone is close, and dinners at Rossi’s house are frequent.

You’re in therapy twice a week and meeting with your psychiatrist once a month. You don’t know how much any of it is helping, but you’re able to eat and somewhat sleep, so things are better. Relatively.

Aaron is buried next to Haley and Jack. You visit him once. You haven’t gone back since. But you think about him every day.

Love is a funny, funny thing. For you to still love him after everything that happened, after the attempts on your life. For your heart to still hold onto the small parts, the moments before it all, when he was nothing but a crush, a casual affair, a man you stumbled into bed with while laughing, a man that if he had stuck around a little longer, you might’ve seen a future with.

Letting go of him means letting go of all of it -- good days included -- and a part of you just isn’t ready for that yet.

So, you spend your days floating. Making it through. Fighting the ghosts that crawl their way onto your back. Letting them linger and letting them go. One by one. Until the only one left is Aaron himself, hanging off of you, arms around your neck, face nuzzled into your shoulder.

You’ll always miss him, probably as much as you’ll always love him. The version before he became the person you killed. Part of you died when you fired your gun that day. A part of you that you’ll never be able to get back. But you’re not sure if you want it back. Maybe it was meant to die. The consequence of killing him meant you killed part of yourself, too.

So, you get through your days as best as you can. As a person half-alive. Forever changed, and not for the better. Always wishing for the past to return, hating the present, and dreading the future.

Because you were happy once -- with Aaron. You don’t know if you’ll ever be happy again.

You dream of him almost every night, though you don't tell your therapist the dreams are that frequent. You dream of what could've been. The life the two of you might've built. A fantasy world where you moved on from the BAU, he stayed Unit Chief, and the two of you grew closer, bought rings, settled down. A life worth living. A life better than the one you got.

He will always be gone. You will never be in his arms ever again. And these are the facts that haunt you every morning when you open your eyes.

You killed a man. Who happened to be the man you loved. Facts you can't escape. A judge ruling in favor of your self-defense doesn't quiet the thoughts, the questions of if you had behaved differently. You took a life. And it was the life you wanted most to save.

In the end, are you any better than he was?

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #unsub!hotch x fem!reader #unsub!hotch x reader #unsub!hotch x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch fanfiction #hotch fanfic #unsub!hotch fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

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twola · 1 year ago

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Devil's Backbone - Owanjila VI

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV

Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Owanjila VI: Fevered Dreams

Arthur’s entanglements weigh heavily on him, while a fever strikes in camp.

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“I’ve… You’re… Oh, you’ll never change… I know that.”

He stares back at her, his eyes following when she dips into the train car following her brother until they find seats.

Arthur doesn’t quite know what he wanted from this. The letter begging for his help - the fool that he is, he rode to her beck and call. His dark-eyed beloved, even now, after years gone by, she’s just as beautiful as the last time he saw her.

That last time, when she broke off their engagement. A letter some months later told him she was getting married, and it was like their love had never existed.

And yet… the fool he is. The fool he is cannot say no to her, he will likely never be able to say no to her. That scarred heart of his - he reckons it will always belong to her. Wanting. Waiting. For something that will never be. She had even said herself - he’ll never change. He’ll never be what she wants, what she needs.

But damn well if he did not wish.

He makes eye contact with her once more through the window - god damnit, she’s just as beautiful as he remembers, age having sharpened her jaw, but those eyes, he can still get lost in them.

He still loves her.

The train jerks forward and slowly pulls away from the station. Mary Gillis leaves him and he’s alone once again, unable to change his ways. Unable to be what she needs.

He is a damned fool.

Arthur stares down at the worn planks of the station’s platform, kicking at it slightly to stop himself from staring at the train receding into the distance. He grits his teeth, one hand going into his satchel and pulling out his half-empty pack of cigarettes. His jaw clicks as he clenches his teeth, annoyed that he’d have to go to the general store and get another pack. God only knows he can’t go without a smoke now, not now. Not when that heavy feeling in his chest, like he’s been shot, threatens to drown him.

His eyes close heavily after he lights the cigarette, breathing the tobacco in deeply.

He still fucking loves her. And still, still, even widowed, she does not want to be with him.

Arthur rips the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and tosses it to the ground, grinding it under his boot with much more force than necessary. Sighing, he grabs his hat from his satchel and places it back on his head, moving from the platform back toward the road where the Walker is hitched.

Christ, maybe a drink could take the edge off his frustration. By the time he reaches his horse and pulls the reins from the post, he’s made his decision. A drink or two at that saloon in town. He swings himself up into the Walker’s saddle and guides the old horse down the mud-clogged street. By the time he reaches Smithfield’s, he’s edging on wanting to drink himself stupid - maybe then he could forget Mary’s damn eyes.

“Arthur!”

He looks up and finds Lenny Summers leading his horse urgently toward him. Arthur glances around before placing a hand on his hip, “The hell you doin’ way out here?”

Lenny’s face is ashen, sweat dotting his temples, “Strawberry - it was Micah -”

“Of course it was,” Arthur interjects, rolling his eyes as he slides down off the horse, taking the reins and knotting them on the hitching post before grabbing the reins of Lenny’s horse from him, knotting it as well.

“They almost lynched me!” The young exclaims, arms akimbo in agitation.

“Okay, alright, now calm down there kid.” Arthur places his hands on the young man’s shoulder, “Tell me what happened.”

Lenny recounts the sorry tale - that he had met Micah in Strawberry and the outlaw was three sheets to the wind already in a damn dry town - and ended up shooting some feller that he knew - and everything devolved into chaos. Micah was dragged to the jail, and now there was talk of hanging him.

Arthur cannot help but smirk as he guides Lenny up the porch of Smithfield’s, chuckling to himself at Micah’s predicament. He couldn’t wish it on a better man.

Pushing Lenny toward the bar, Arthur digs his thumbs into the boy’s shoulder blades to attempt to relieve some tension. “C’mon now, kid. Let’s have a drink.”

“And Micah?” Lenny asks.

“He’ll be fine. Let ‘im dry out in a cell.” Arthur retorts with a grin as they reach the bar, “Alrigh- We’ll just have a couple, settle you down, then head back, okay?”

Lenny nods, and leans on the bar, rubbing at his face with frayed nerves, “Just one or two… right, Arthur?”

Arthur nods, motioning to the bartender, “Course, just a drink… no big drama. Can we get a couple of beers, please?”

The large tent on the hillside blazes with yellow-orange light, lanterns interspersed on tables and barrels in and around the canvas.

Dutch Van der Linde is in a magnanimous mood. A gramophone, of all things, blares music into the night upon the shores of Owanjila, and various members of the gang sit and mull about the campfire.

Molly O’Shea sits upon his lap as if she sat on a throne, her emerald eyes surveying her kingdom and subjects as if the rest of the folk existed to serve. Her arms thrown loosely around his neck, one of his wrapped around her thigh, his rings glinting in the night.

She looks upon you with some kind of bored disdain from across the campfire. You pass the bottle of brandy that was foisted upon you back to Karen - you had acquiesced to her request and taken a healthy sip, frowning at the sweetness.

Mary Beth laughs under her breath, rubbing your shoulder. “Ain’t my favorite neither.”

The men had returned from some sort of score, having ridden out the day before with Dutch all riled up - the kind of energy radiating from them like when they rode out to Blackwater those weeks ago. Horses stamping, voices hooting and hollerin’, but unlike the Blackwater fiasco, when they returned later in the night, it was in some sort of triumph.

For a moment, the glumness that had settled upon the camp was lifted - chores were set aside, and alcohol flowed freely. Even stern Grimshaw sat with a beer around the fire as the night fully settled.

“So, this train - obviously y’got something good, or you wouldn't be in such a mood.” Hosea tips his beer across the campfire at Dutch, who grins as his grip tightens on Molly’s thigh.

“Bearer bonds, courtesy of one Leviticus Cornwall.”

“Cornwall? The railroad magnate?” Hosea arches an eyebrow at Dutch, who seems completely unperturbed.

Across the fire, your stomach drops. You nearly drop the newly opened beer bottle in your hand, but by some divine providence, you don’t lose it. Ripping your stare away from Dutch, you look into the fire as the dread creeps into your chest, clawing at you like some kind of untethered beast, threatening to choke you and steal your breath.

You stare into the fire and see Limpany.

However you feel, you fear - about what the men just did, you kept it to yourself for the rest of the night. You excused yourself from the festivities and went to sleep without much further fanfare, but when you awoke in the morning, the stone of guilt and fear lay upon your chest much in the way it did when you had fled to Blackwater.

You busy yourself with morning work, getting the coffee pot ready while Pearson began the stew of unbeknown origins for the day. For all of the bragging that man did about his Navy days, he seemed to be a one-pony show. Maybe you could ask Hosea or Arthur to bring you to Strawberry so that you could eat something other than this stew.

Speaking of which, you noted Arthur’s absence last night - he hadn’t returned with the other men after the job - actually a few of the men hadn’t returned, now that you think about it.

Breaking open the tin of coffee, you dump grounds into the percolator before pouring water from the bucket, drawn fresh from the lake to set the coffee up. Placing it on the hook suspended above the fire, you lean over it for a few minutes as it brews.

The sound of footsteps behind you draws your attention from the percolator, and you turn your head from where you are stooped down to see who it is. Abigail slowly trudges toward you, rubbing at one eye with the back of her wrist. Grabbing one of the empty coffee mugs scattered about the ground, you wipe the inside with your skirt before pouring it full of coffee, standing up from where you had stooped down.

“Didn’t get much sleep?”

Abigail frowns before yawning, covering her mouth for a moment as you hold out the cup of coffee to her.

“Jack was fussin’ all damn night. Kicked at me like a damn mule.” She mutters as she takes the cup, nodding in thanks as she immediately takes a long sip. You give a half-hearted frown as you look behind her, to the lean-to that the two of them sleep in, where Jack is still asleep under a blanket. It is strange for the boy to still be asleep, but if he was up most of the night…

Abigail blows at the hot coffee before taking another sip, “Been a while since he’s been like that. Hopefully was just one night.”

You nod in agreement before she turns to walk back to her lean-to. Going back to the coffee, you start pouring another cup as more footsteps draw you to stand again.

“Good morning, dear.” Hosea smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder as you hand him the next cup of coffee.

“Morning, Hosea. You stay up much later last night?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head before bringing the cup to his lips, “I ain’t much for the late nights and bottles of whiskey like I used to be - hangovers are a bitch when you get as old as I am,” he chuckles.

You laugh and shake your head, leaning over to prepare your own cup as a horse whinnies in the distance, a rider arriving back into camp. Hosea squints toward the horse as it approaches, “Ah, it’s Lenny.”

Lenny guides his horse to where the others are tied off, and slides out of the saddle, nearly stumbling to the ground a step after landing.

“Oh, Lenny, you look like you’ve seen better mornings,” Hosea notes as Lenny staggers toward the two of you, looking absolutely miserable and the slightest shade of green. As he groans and walks closer, the overwhelming stench of alcohol wafts off of him and makes you scrunch your nose. You’re pretty sure there is vomit on his collar. You cover your nose to stop from gagging as Lenny wipes at his mouth, noticing your discomfort.

“Did’ya leave poor Arthur in another state?”

“He’s…somewhere. He was still in Valentine once they let us out of jail.” Lenny drolls, his eyes bloodshot as he bends over and places his hands on his knees, obviously trying to quell his roiling stomach.

“Jail?!” You exclaim as your eyebrows raise.

“Ah, one of those kinds of nights,” Hosea chuckles. Lenny groans and continues onward toward the shared lean-to where his bedroll is spread out, stooping down on one knee before giving up and flopping down onto the bedroll.

Your eyebrows still raised in concern, Hosea waves his hand in a cheery dismissal, “Don’t worry ‘bout him. He’ll slink back to camp and sleep it off. Boy can get a bit rowdy when he goes overboard.”

Christ, even his damn eyes hurt. His hat’s brim slung low over his face to keep the sun from his eyes - as if this damn headache could get any worse. The Walker sways beneath him, this ride from Valentine taking twice as long as the ride to town, and he hadn’t even gotten the new horse he meant to.

Arthur thought it smart to leave town quickly after being let out of jail - evidently almost drowning a man in a pig trough is frowned upon in these parts. He’d like to blame the bender on trying to cheer Lenny up, but he knew, he knew that he had let things get out of hand partially on purpose. That drinking himself stupid would push the thought of Mary Gillis from his mind.

Instead, it gave him a massive hangover, a lighter wallet, and still at a loss about Mary. He quietly enters the camp with little fanfare, not wanting and very unwilling to make small talk with anyone.

Fortunately, he’s able to slink back to his cot without needing to talk to anyone, sitting down and pulling his hat off, tossing it further down on the cot as he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms.

Hanging his head, his forearms rest on his knees as he stifles a pained groan. A canteen appears in his field of vision. He looks up, ready to tell whoever off, but finds you standing in front of his cot, holding out that canteen full of water. In the back of his hangover-addled brain, instead of shooing you off, he wants to call you an angel - that the water you’re offering him must be holy in the wake of his bender last night. He can already taste its freshness before even taking the canteen.

You smile, “I heard you had an interestin’ night, Mister Morgan.”

The morning light glints off your hair like it was some kind of spun gold. He swallows, taking the canteen from your hand, and mumbles some kind of thanks as he brings it to his mouth, the cool water just godsend that he believed.

“Well, at least you didn’t come back with vomit on your shirt,” You chuckle lightly, taking a step back as you place your hands behind your back, “See you later, Arthur.”

“Missus Shaw.”

He stares down at the canteen for a moment, then flits his gaze back up to your frame, walking down toward the lake. The tendrils of your unbound hair bounce with each step you take. The sway of your skirts….

Oh god damnit.

Arthur rubs at his eyes with one hand once again, gritting his teeth against the creeping feeling in his chest. He downs another large gulp of water from the canteen. Chucking it onto the table across from his cot, he grabs at his hat as he lays down on his cot, sighing as he places the hat over his face, praying that sleep will take him quickly and that this headache will subside.

It did - at least he had that going for him today. A few hours of undisturbed sleep was entirely what he needed - by the time he woke, the sun was setting behind the ridge. He pulls himself from his cot, rubbing at his jaw with one hand as he rifles through his satchel for his cigarettes.

He’s approached by Susan Grimshaw, who steps in front of him with her hands crossed over his chest. Arthur looks past her toward the main fire, not wanting to be lectured at the moment. Susan arches an eyebrow before turning her head to follow where Arthur is looking. He lights a cigarette from his pack as she looks back up at him.

She snorts under her breath, looking back at Arthur with a tinge of amusement.

“Missus Shaw.” Grimshaw shifts her eyes back and forth toward the direction of the main campfire, where all of the women are gathered, chirping like sparrows as they eat their dinner on beat-up metal plates.

“What about Missus Shaw?” Arthur retorts; the lit end of his cigarette throwing shadows on his face in the night.

“She’s a nice girl. Doesn’t talk back, works hard, easy on the eyes.”

He doesn’t respond.

“And she don’t have a mean ol’ drunk of a daddy whispering things in her ear.” Susan narrows her eyes in an almost threatening manner, “Don't think I don't know who that damn letter came from.”

The next night proves to Abigail that Jack’s sleeplessness wasn’t a fluke. He had been lethargic all day, overtired and fussy. By the time night fell, the boy’s head was hot to the touch as Abigail scooped him up into her arms, beginning to fret as the night went on and he seemed only to get warmer.

You’ve fallen in next to Abigail, urging her to get Jack out from their flimsy lean-to and into the sick tent, having recently been vacated by John, who had healed enough to get out of bed.

“C’mon, let’s get him into bed,” You reach down to Abigail, sitting on the ground next to Jack, and guide her by her shoulders to stand enough for her to gather her son up. The two of you walk slowly toward the tent, as you reach it, you step inside and turn up the oil lantern as Abigail lays Jack down in the cot. You root around for a blanket for a moment, finding an old one stowed beneath the cot, and spread it out over Jack. Abigail rubs at her brow worryingly.

“Think - think he’s breathin’ okay?” She asks, and the both of you lean over the boy on either side of the cot, holding your ears close to his face.

Jack whines then coughs harshly, and both you and Abigail recoil backward, sitting up straight next to the cot. Abigail frowns, looking apologetic - “God, sorry, Ruth - he -”

You shake your head, “It’s fine. He’s gonna be fine.”

You’d like to think it was the lack of sleep for staying up all night with Abigail, but as Jack rolls into another full day of fever, as the next night falls in, you can hardly stave off the exhaustion setting in.

“Shit, Ruth -” Abigail curses from the other side of the cot as she sits back down having brought the oil lantern in from refilling it, “You’re flushed - you - shit, you got a fever?”

You wipe at your brow, damp in the night, “ M’fine,” brushing her off.

But as the hours creep on, it becomes increasingly clear that yes, you had whatever Jack had come down with. It's not much after you start to nod off in your seat that Abigail picks Jack up, gathering him into her lap, and orders you to lie in the cot - your resolve broken by that point.

The night stretches on as you start to shiver in the cot. Jack pitifully whines in his mother’s arms as she hunches over in exhaustion.

“Give - give him here, I’ll hold him. You’re gonna get sick yourself if you don’t get some rest.” You reach toward Jack, huddled in Abigail’s lap. The poor woman’s eyes are bloodshot, dark circles appearing beneath them at her lack of sleep.

Abigail is unable to hide the guarded look in her eye - her hesitance to let go of her greatest treasure. But after a moment, she acquiesced, exhausted.

She leans forward, Jack huddled to her breast like you’re sure she did when he was a baby. Handing him to you, you situate the child against your chest, pulling the blanket above you both. He does not awaken with the movement, but unconsciously, the boy curls himself into your embrace, his clammy cheek pressed against the exposed skin of your collarbone.

Your hand rubs his back slowly, softly, and when you close your eyes, you wonder if your boy would have curled himself into you the way Jack does. Clutch at you, searching for the comfort only a mother can give.

You choke back a sob, trying to keep quiet, but your attempt is in vain as Abigail notices, drawing closer to you again.

“Ruth - are y’ al-... I can take ‘im back-” Abigail stutters, placing her hand on Jack’s back again to brace him, about to pick him up from the cot.

“ ‘s alright,” You sniffle, unable to stop the tears tracking down your cheeks, “Jus - hic - my baby-”

Abigail’s face falls further, her hand moving from Jack’s back to grasp at yours, her fingers wrapping around yours, “Oh, Ruth, I’m sorry-”

“He… he was too early, b-but -” You shudder with another stifled sob, trying to not disturb the sleeping child in your cot, “ ‘e had his just a bit of his father’s dark hair-”

Abigail’s free hand reaches into the bowl of water, grabbing the rag and squeezing the excess water from it. She dabs it gently to your forehead, holding your hand tightly, comfortingly.

“And now… hic - I’ve got nothin, I’ve got no one, they’re g-gone-” You croak, tears falling down your cheeks freely. You draw the child at your chest in closer, as if Abigail’s son could temporarily fill the depthless void in your chest.

You devolve into sobs, and Abigail holds your hand.

The ponderosa pines wave in the warm breeze, the sweet vanilla wafting through your nose as the clearing opens before you.

The cabin stands quiet across the way. Far quieter than when you left.

The door was left open.

Aethon isn’t hitched up, but the wagon is still next to the cabin.

The door was left open.

With unsteady steps, you slowly reach for the doorframe, looking down when your boots make a muted squelch on the wooden floorboards of the porch.

The door was left open.

Blood runs in wretched rivulets from the inside of the cabin, out the threshold, and into the world.

You step into the cabin, and upon the ground, his body is contorted into a death throe, his eyes wide open and blood running from the hole in his forehead.

As if you were caught in molasses, you move slowly toward the body, reaching out toward your dead husband who seems to be just out of reach. Finally, finally, when you reach him, you touch his cold form, hands on his shoulders, slowly coating your arms with his blood.

Your Frederick, dead on the floor. You weep into his shoulder, loudly wailing the mourning dirge.

A loud noise from outside draws your attention, and you turn to see a large shadowed figure in the door. A lantern is thrown into the cabin by the figure, bursting into flames on the wooden floor.

Smoke quickly fills the room, and you begin to cough as you crawl toward the open door, taking your chances with the shadowed figure outside rather than with the flames. As you reach the threshold, you look back forlornly at your dead husband’s body before dragging yourself out the door. You stumble to your feet, coughing as you unsteadily step off the porch. You make it only a few steps before doubling over, coughing violently as one of your hands braces on your knee.

As your eyes water over, the shadowed figure appears again, walking slowly toward you. The figure becomes two. Two become three.

“Why, if it isn’t the lovely Missus Shaw. We’ve been looking for you.”

A gunshot pierces the night.

The canvas to the sick tent swings shut after Susan steps out, a basket of linen on one hip. He watches as she moves back toward the center of camp, calling for one of the girls to wash it.

He grimaces, the stitches in his skin pulling tightly as he works his jaw. Christ, his face itches something awful, but at least now he’s no longer bedridden, having thrown off the yoke of invalidity a few days ago.

John knows, of course, that Jack has taken sick. Christ, the way that Abigail tutted and fretted about, the whole damn world knows the kid has a fever. He’s kept a wide berth as the boy was relegated to the sick tent that he had so recently occupied.

He was just going to take a quick look in. He’s been listening to Abigail’s damn voice for the past two days through the canvas of the tent, and being stuck in camp and not well enough to ride yet, there was little else to do. She’s finally gone quiet. Hopefully, both her and the boy are asleep.

John barely notices that he’s almost crushed the unlit cigarette between his fingers as he approaches the tent, quietly leaning inside the canvas opening, blinking as his eyes adjust to the lantern light from the darkness outside.

Abigail sits on a stool, her head pillowed on her crossed arms on the small table. She’s dead to the world, exhausted as she’s sprawled out over that table. He looks over to the cot, the mess of blankets piled up over a still form. A mess of sandy brown hair tucked into a shoulder.

You’re awake. He wasn’t expecting that, standing in the tent’s opening. Stuck, unable to escape, John can do nothing but take in the scene, the fevered blush staining your cheeks, the clammy pallor of your skin. The mess of your blonde hair pulled into some kind of bun that was falling apart. The matching, flushed look of the child pillowed on your chest, the boy’s labored breathing loud in the silence of the night.

Your hand moves to cradle the back of Jack’s head as he subconsciously curls further into you in his sleep.

John audibly swallows, knowing he’s been caught. Under your unfailing gaze, he turns and leaves the tent.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #twolafic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #devil's backbone

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tmnt-obsessed · 8 months ago

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Amnesiac Patient: Chapter 1 | Bay!Donatello x Fem!Reader

Okie this is going to be my first series! Yay!! I hope everyone is just as excited for this journey as I am! This has not been proofread, don't come at me.

Warnings: Talk of marijuana, hinting of kidnapping and human trafficking, severe injuries

You glanced at the time on your cell phone, chewing at your lip as you looked back up at the very dark parking lot of your shit job. You suddenly wished you had a backbone to tell your coworker that no, you were not “cool with closing for him”. Especially since you knew he was just going to smoke some of the “devil’s lettuce” with his friends and not be there for his sister who was “giving birth like right now.” How? You may have overheard -eavesdropped- in on that call with said friends not even ten minutes prior. Thinking back, does he even have a sister?

No, that's hardly important. You’ve dug your grave already and now you must lay in it. Man, is it difficult though. The dark creeping at the edges of what light is illuminating from the old shitty LED light poles of the parking lot is already making you feel uneasy and a bit queasy if you’re being honest.

How are you expected to walk home when you don’t even want to walk across the parking lot? You steal your nerves, carefully fitting what keys you do have on your keyring between your fingers and slipping the other hand in your bag to fiddle with the small, bedazzled can of pepper spray your mom gave you for Christmas “just in case”, and begin your trek home.

You can feel your nerves fraying with each step, constantly on the lookout for anything odd or out of the ordinary. Being extra cautious around alley entrances, and crossing the street when anyone threatens your path. Other women be damned! You heard stories of some luring other women into traps. You aren’t taking any chances.

You’re rounding out around a particular alley entrance; ensuring there is space between you and a potential criminal if they were to be lurking within. Pausing when you see a figure laying on the ground, unmoving. It’s.. kind of human shaped? Honestly it’s hard to see anything from where you are standing in the warm glow of a street lamp. The dark of the alley way twisting your gut uncomfortably.

You’ve heard of this too. People pretending to be hurt in order to lure kind, empathetic dumb girls into traps…

Girls like you unfortunately. Your heart is far too big for your body, therefore making a home on your sleeve instead. You know better, in fact everything in you is screaming in you to just run, but that small voice in the back of your head whispers “But what if they die when you could have helped them? Can you live with yourself if they die when you could have done something?”

No, you could not live with yourself knowing you left someone to die. You would feel as if you killed them.

Gripping your pepper spray a bit tighter, you step closer to the alley and further from the false safety of the street light.

“Um.. are you alright?” You hesitantly call out. Chewing on your lip when there is no response.

You really shouldn’t be doing this.. But you're stepping further into the alleyway, your gut really churring when you realize you’re completely surrounded by the dark. Gripping the pepper spray so tight you just know you’re going to have dozens of gem shaped indents in your hand for a few minutes once you actually let go.

Creeping closer to the person, but.. the closer you get the less human they look. In fact if you didn’t know any better you’d say they aren’t human.

Once you’re practically on top of them you’re freezing up, your mouth is going dry, and your blood is running cold, and what the FUCK is that?!?! Is it a that?! Is it an IT?! Obviously you don’t know better because whatever they are it’s most certainly not human!

Are they an alien? What else could they be?? God is there like a secret species the government is withholding from us and this is it? What are you even supposed to do? Are they even alive? If they're seriously injured they should go to the hospital, but you doubt they could just waltz right in. Should you call the police? God but what if they are alive and have to spend the rest of it in a lab being poked and prodded? They may not be human, but that doesn’t mean they deserve something like that. Nothing alive does.

You take a deep breath, hand leaving the pepper spray to drag down your face. Okay, deep breaths and one step at a time. You should make sure they’re alive before getting ahead of yourself. Couching down to try and find a pulse, or a breath, anything to signal life really.

Surprised to find a jugular artery, even more to see their chest rising and falling. They’re oddly.. human like. The more you scrutinize the more you realize they are an odd mix of turtle and human and… male looking. As your eyes further adjust you also realize they’re quite badly beaten up. Scraps, cuts, forming bruises, you name it he’s got it.

Chewing on your lip once more -honestly a bad habit that should be broken one day- you think what to do next. He obviously needs medical attention but he can’t just waltz into an ER like you could. It’d literally cause public wide panic. The police are out of the question as you can already envision in a cell in some fancy, unescapable government lab. But you can’t just leave him here.

So.. what do you do with him?

You sigh and glance around. You see some old forgotten tarp, and glance back toward the unconscious man in need of serious medical attention. You may only be a medical student, but you seem to be this only man’s hope.

Thus you spend the next thirty minutes doing your best to get the man and all of his suspected personal items on the tarp -which is what leads you to believe he has some kind of higher intelligence considering the item. Then the next twenty finding random items to pile on and around him. Hoping to the high heavens if someone sees you trying, and likely failing, to pull this tarp of items they’ll believe you to be a hoarder taking your loot home and not someone hiding a very alienated and injured man beneath.

You struggle pulling him along the sidewalk towards your apartment. Often slipping against the pavement which resulted in a scraped knee, or straight up tripping which you know is going to leave you bruised and sore. A couple times the thought of just leaving him crossed your mind, but it quickly made your heart squeeze uncomfortably with guilt and a twinge of sadness, and so you pressed on each time.

Once you finally dragged him into the small living room of your less than favorable apartment, your whole body was numb and you just knew you’d feel the consequences of pulling the very large man in the morning.. Well evening considering you still have work to do and it’s already.. 1:30am

Ugh you wanted nothing more than the comfort of the you shaped dent in your bed, but this man most certainly wouldn’t make it til morning without medical attention. All the work you’ve put in so far to protect and help this man would not be for not, so you’re getting to work.

Clearing the trash from his body and piling it up off to the side-you’d clean it later- before heading off to grab everything you’d need to patch him up good as new. Or what you think new would be for him.

Setting the supplies besides him as you set up. Disinfecting items with alcohol and donning a pair of gloves onto your hands to avoid contact with his bodily fluids before being first aid.

“Sorry for dragging you here in garbage, I just couldn’t risk anyone seeing you..”

Why you’re even talking to him is a mystery, he’s obviously out cold. Although if he’s just paralyzed in his own body, like sleep paralysis, he might be scared. You know you would be in his shoes.

“I’m just going to clean and cover these wounds, and then I’ll be out of your hair- a well.. I won't be bothering you further.” You find yourself feeling embarrassed for a mistake he might not even hear or remember.

As you're cleaning him up, you are covering his wounds with butterfly strips, bandades, or bandages depending on the severity, you find yourself frowning at the large bump on his head. You check to see if his eyes dilate and they do, but only slightly which is concerning, but it doesn’t seem as if he had a concussion, brain damage, or bleeding with that fact. Although it doesn’t necessarily mean entirely rule it out.

You really hope that’s just a bump and not something serious. You are not equipped for that educationally nor do you have to correct tools and resources. Honestly you’re hoping all these wounds are superficial and need stitches at the max. Stitches you are equipped to handle.

As you work you can't see anything else too disheartening -that being broken bones or internal bleeding. Several cuts that needed stitches, but other than that he’s looking pretty good.

Once you have him all cleaned and patched up, you move on to make the floor as comfortable as possible for him. Adoring him with pillows, and since you notice he was a bit chiller to the touch like, plenty of blankets. Then you set out to clean up the many first aid supplies you dragged out -along with that garbage pile you really didn’t feel like cleaning up.

Sagging when the clock showed 5:57am. You’re so exhausted, you’d be surprised if you woke up before 2pm tomorrow. Heading for your room and just plopping on your bed. You don’t even care that you’re wearing your work clothes, you’ll just clean your sheets tomorrow.

You let out a small, relieved sigh but find yourself looking towards your living room even if you can't see it. Or rather towards him, since that’s the real reason for your wandering eyes but you shake your head. You’ve done what you could and will check on him in the morning..

But you find yourself continuing to think about him. It's plaguing your brain and causing you to toss and turn.

What if he's still dying even after everything you did? God what if he wakes up scared and confused and tries to run away? What if he's secretly like evil and steals everything in your apartment before running away? There isn't much worth stealing but...

After enough time with these thoughts you sigh, collect a pillow and blanket before walking back into the living room and setting up on the couch.

"Night big guy. Hopefully you'll be alive and awake in the morning.." You say even though he still likely can't hear you -or speak English now that you think about it. Shaking your head and laying down.

For your own personal comfort, your hand slips to the floor and your fingers natural find the pulse on his wrist. Relieved it feels a bit stronger than before. With that thought, and the reminder he is very much alive pulsing against your fingers, you drift off easily into sleep.

Soooo, who's excited for the part two? *Que horribly wiggled eyebrows*

#tmnt bayverse #2016 tmnt #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #bayverse donatello #bayverse donnie #tmnt x reader

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unhinged-summer-fun · 3 months ago

Text

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 22

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger"

A/N: Ever heard of the calm before a storm?

series masterlist

chapter 22: devil-may-care

The noodle shop Indara chose looked wildly different than what Osha imagined. The outside looked like any old concrete-exterior strip mall restaurant, but the inside was elaborately furnished, if inelegant. Artfully tattered banners crisscrossed the ceiling out of reach from the multiple, slow-spinning fan blades that circulated air in the cavernous room. To the left of the entrance, a loft area with several small tables provided ample view of the entire dining area and the small bar at the center. It was beneath the stairs leading up to the loft that Indara sat waiting for Osha. The shadowy alcove kept them out of view of the dining room, which made sense for the clandestine nature of their meeting.

Allegedly clandestine.

Whatever clarity Osha had hoped to gain from her brainstorming earlier that afternoon had been lost by the time she made it to the restaurant. How was this her life? Shady meetings, subterfuge, and gumshoe behavior. What was she becoming, a film noir character? Better the devil-may-care detective than a femme fatale, Osha mused. But she suspected she was on the verge of becoming both.

Indara looked tired. She supposed driving for six hours straight would strain anybody. Still, Indara was always the unflappable backbone of the Temple and never showed she was flagging, even in the final round of any match. But now, her hair was down, and she looked… bedraggled. The beer in her hand seemed mostly untouched, but the fact she’d ordered one at all spoke volumes.

“Hey,” Osha said, waiting until Indara saw her before sliding into the booth across from her.

She looked up at her arrival before pushing her drink a few inches away and sitting up straighter. It was astounding how a few inches of movement were all it took to return her to the cool, collected Indara that Osha had known for over half her life. “Osha.”

Indara didn’t make small talk. The attempts at it back in the storage room, tiptoeing around the actual topic, were trite and watery. Osha appreciated that she didn’t make any overtures about why they were there today.

“I’m not sure the kind of information you need right now, but—”

“It’s okay,” Osha said, waving her off. “Let’s just… eat some noodles.” God, this was weird.

But Indara agreed. They got their food, and as a result, the conversation flowed better.

“Mae said Sol was being a little weird in Theed. Is he alright?” Osha prodded.

Indara’s eyes flashed with something shifty but sorrowful. Osha had been anticipating it, as she’d been locked into the same behavior for over a decade: keep the secrets of the Temple secret at all costs. But the look faded away as she made a noncommittal gesture. “He’s on edge. We used to be close enough to talk about things like that, but I couldn’t talk to him without Vernestra swooping in and taking over. Her behavior is more suspicious than his.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I have seen a lot of things and said nothing over the years, even before I signed that document.” She directed her words toward her food instead of Osha, for they were both quite aware of the public setting. Though they didn’t recognize anybody they knew in the dining room, it was always possible that Vernestra had hired other investigators in addition to Idise.

“If you don’t want to say anything, point me where I can find out more.”

Indara winced. “Alright. First, I’d look at other gyms in the city. There are some other people there who know, who aren’t in league with her. It’s difficult to say which would run back to her, but… If you catch my drift, Vernestra can only clean her own house. Not everybody else’s.”

“Alright,” Osha nodded. It made sense that the conspiracy involved other members of the boxing community; Vernestra wasn’t the type to go down alone. Her hands itched to pull out the notebook with all her questions and evidence, but Idise had warned her not to do any of that in front of her informants.

It’ll make them nervous and clam up.

“I’ve heard she’s got a prolific legal presence. Can you tell me anything about Lakshay? Is it worth, um, pursuing anything?”

A curious light went on behind her eyes. “Yes,” Indara said slowly, like she was coming to a realization right then. “You know, much of her standing was helped because of her connection to the former mayor.”

“Mayor Chuwant?” He’d been mayor of the city for the last twenty years until his recent unseating in the previous election. “Should I talk to him?”

“No, not at all. They’re good friends, and he’d suspect you instantly. Go to Rayencourt, the current mayor. He’s the former district attorney. I’m fairly certain Vernestra tried to get in with him as well, but it backfired on her, and he started investigating her donations to the city government. It’s not illegal to make donations, but it does show a certain pattern that Rayencourt is smart enough to sniff out.”

“Did anything come of the investigation?”

Indara’s deadpan expression said, what do you think.

This was starting to feel much bigger than she could handle, and it must have shown on her face because Indara gave her a pitying look. She said, “From what I’ve heard, Rayencourt is a good man. He cares about doing things the right way and finding justice. If he can’t help you, he’ll at least show you where to find help. Vernestra has friends in high places; it’s probably for the best you make some, too.”

It was sound advice, though it didn’t explain why Indara would risk implicating herself to help move Osha’s goals forward. Something’s got to give. That’s what she’d said back in the storeroom several weeks ago. Looking back on it, that reason also didn’t make sense. Osha kept that behind her ear as she went on.

“So I have the mayor. Anything else to look at while I wait for an appointment?”

“You’ve checked the Temple’s website archives?”

Osha made a see-sawing motion with her hands.

Indara flashed a mirthless smile. “I’m assuming you’re gathering evidence for a case if you’re talking about lawyers.”

Shit. Had she given away too much? She winced. “Things are… in motion.”

The keen glint in Indara’s eyes was fox-like in its sharpness. “Then look at the website, but deeper than that. Vernestra is very concerned with image and optics, so look at historical SEO and PR trends surrounding the Temple. There’s an absurd amount of social media presence for a small business like the Temple, and it’s all smoke.”

Buffeted with information, Osha simply nodded and stuttered out, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they finished their meal, Indara’s demeanor started getting antsy. Osha wouldn’t get much else out of her, but she had a few leads, which was more than she had before.

“Can I ask you one more thing, Indara?” Osha said quickly.

Wary, the woman nodded and drained her beer.

“Does… have you ever known Sol to… hate somebody?” She cringed at the wording, unsure of how to convey her question. It made her seem like she didn’t know what she even wanted to ask, but Indara seemed to understand the gist.

She looked painfully awkward but settled herself and took a few moments to gather her thoughts. “When Sol—” she cut herself off sharply, clearly not liking where her thoughts had led her. She shook her head and didn’t meet Osha’s eyes as she started again. “Qimir is an orphan. He was a child when I knew him. He’d latched to Vernestra as something—not a mother, but a guardian. She didn’t want even that from him, as I’ve said before.

“But Sol has always wanted to be a father. He wouldn’t settle for being a father figure. He never wanted to be a husband or… or a lover; he wanted to be a father. When he was invited to coach for the Padawan program, he was so happy to be a mentor for the child he was working with. After the program concluded and Qimir stayed on, he was despondent. And he latched onto Qimir, trying to jockey himself into position so he would look up to Sol in that previous way, perhaps even growing to see him as his father. Vernestra let the Temple raise Qimir without her involvement, taking the it takes a village adage a bit far. It was very irresponsible, and she never curbed Sol’s enthusiasm.

“The problem was that Qimir just… never saw him that way. They trained together; they were cordial, but Qimir didn’t need him like a child needs their father. I think Qimir had a closer relationship with his spine doctor than he ever did with Sol. I took him to a check-up once, and it was easy to see how much he admired the doctor.”

Osha’s heart stuttered in her chest. Paul. She’s talking about Paul.

Kana’s words echoed back to her. I know Qimir would never say as much, but Paul’s absolutely his dad—and Qimir’s Paul’s son.

“And Sol resented that.”

“Oh yeah. Big time.”

Indara looked around and ordered another beer when she caught a waiter’s eye. While they waited for her drink to come, they didn’t speak further. Settling with this new information made Osha nervous, and she wished she wasn’t meeting Mae at a bar later so she could get a drink as well. Indara continued only after she received her second beer, which she took a long drink from to shore herself up against her next words.

“I think Sol just wanted to be a father but… didn’t want a child.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Osha said softly. She was here, proof of Sol having a child—two children. The implications of Indara’s statement spelled something quite worrying.

Indara cleared her throat and gave Osha a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “It doesn’t, you’re right.”

After a pause where Indara didn’t elaborate, Osha tried to reel her back onto the original topic. “So… Sol hates Qimir?”

“You have to understand, this was nearly four years of daily contact between them. Sol’s attachment came on quickly, but the resentment was like a slow-moving poison the longer Qimir just… didn’t reciprocate that attachment.”

“That’s awful,” Osha said, because it was. There was no spinning it otherwise. “He was a child.”

Indara nodded. “And considering everything else that happened between them, it’s amazing that…” She laughed, bitter. “Well. It’s amazing that Sol walked away from all this getting what he wanted: fatherhood. Though, I suppose, it’s not too far a stretch to believe it.” For as amused as she sounded, she seemed twice as miserable.

It made Osha’s insides churn uncomfortably. There was something big behind those words, something so big she couldn’t see the outline of it from where she stood—only the encompassing darkness of its shadow.

“Do you think he knows I’m… training with him? Is that why he was so weird this weekend?” Sol had certainly avoided less awkward conversations with greater effort. His recent absence from Osha’s life was bizarre compared to the helicopter parenting she grew up with, and avoiding such a conversation could be why.

But Indara shook her head. “No. He would have been much more—sorry, but he wouldn’t have been so neurotic about something like this. We don’t talk about Qimir, for obvious reasons, but long before that fucking spar, Sol had walled himself off emotionally to the child.” Her mood seemed to tank, a dark cloud cast over her expression as she stared, middle-distance, into the past.

Osha felt queasy at whatever was being implied, and couldn’t muster the spine to continue her questions. The dour note it ended on made her feel a little disappointed at the lackluster results of the meeting, having yielded more questions than answers once more. Next time, I’m bringing a list of questions.

“Okay,” she sighed, getting up from the table. “I’m… you’ve given me some good leads to follow, Indara. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said sharply, a haunted look on her face.

Osha had a feeling she’d be agreeing very soon.

O: Do you recommend any bars

Idise: Besides the obvious?

O: I mean that u want to follow me to lmao

O: I’ll buy u dinner while u watch me drink

I: I see.

I: The burgers at Dex’s aren’t half-bad and their beer is alright.

O: See u there

I: No you wont :)

“So it’s all gone bad?” Mae asked, shaking Osha from her distracted reverie. They’d been at Dex’s for all of fifteen minutes and she hadn’t been able to shake her mood. “I was only there for a second, but I didn’t hear the weird noise you told me about.”

“I’m not sure. I tossed everything that seemed sus and turned the fridge off, but the noise didn’t go away. It’s gotta be somewhere in the kitchen, but I couldn’t find whatever it was.”

Mae sighed and shook her head. “Damn. Well, it looks like things are a lot better tonight. Things haven’t even flickered once in here.”

“We’re near the medical district; they paid a private company to weatherize this section of the grid like two years ago.” Osha had looked it up in a fit of annoyance during the last outage she endured at the apartment. “Pip is pissed that his feeding times have been all fucked up.”

“I figured.”

Osha looked out the small, blackened windows at the front of the bar but didn’t see Idise’s black sportscar in the lot. Figures: Idise was good at what she did.

She’d been against the idea of taking Vernestra up on her job offer, but when Osha explained that it provided an opportunity to gather more insider information that Osha wasn’t privy to, the detective reluctantly agreed. Besides, we’ll be working together. You’ll look like hot shit, following me everywhere without me suspecting.

You wouldn’t have suspected me anyways. This way, I’ll be able to see if anyone else is following you, too.

“What’s on your mind?” Mae asked, pulling her back out of her head once more.

Osha remembered that Idise probably couldn’t sell she’s normal and this is just drinks with her sister if she was scowling in all the photos she was most likely taking. She fixed an easy, if tired, smile on her face. “A lot of things. I thought I’d be relaxing the last four days, but I ended up doing anything but that. We won $200 at bingo, though.”

“Bingo?” Mae laughed. “What, is he 90?”

“As a matter of fact, we went out with Bazil, who is my friend now,” Osha said proudly.

“Bazil? Snitchy neighbor Bazil??”

“Right? And get this, he told me he’s never snitched on us to Sol. He’s just nosy for like, his own personal interests.”

Mae’s look was dubious, and then her expression turned serious. “Then how did—?”

Bad man. I’m sorry.

“I don’t know.” It was killing her, not bringing Mae into the fold. As much as Osha loved to gossip with her sister again, the unfortunate truth was that Mae was a risky asset to their case—she was technically in Vernestra’s circle of trust, but she was also tied to the NDA. Osha yearned to speak with her the way they once had, with that unshakeable bond that assured one another they’d always have someone on their team. With the events of the last few months—last few years—it now felt like a lost cause. They’d have to build something new from the ashes of their former trust in one another.

Speaking of trust. “Did you find anything more about Sol hating anybody?”

There was a twinge of regret in Mae’s eyes at the direct question, the sudden down-shift into business that marked the end of whatever friendly chatter they’d been engaging in. Osha hated to see it, but something about the earlier meeting with Indara made things feel like they were racing a deadline.

“Not really. He didn’t want to talk about it, and if I’m being honest, it skeeved me out. Sorry.”

“It’s… it’s okay. I’m—” Unlike the rest of the case, this wasn’t something that Osha could just keep from Mae. This was a meaningful, potentially life-changing conversation they were preparing to have with Sol, and she needed to know what Indara said. “I was told he may have said something like that because he hates Qimir.”

“What?” Mae whispered. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought, but it wasn’t that. Who told you that?”

“I can’t say,” Osha whispered, shaking her head. “Only that I trust what they had to say about it.”

“And what did they have to say about it?” Mae asked, suspicious.

Osha recounted to Mae as much as she could without revealing Indara as the source. She probably could have provided more, but her notebook was in her car. Something told her not to leave it in the apartment by itself. “…and I’ve met his dad, so—”

“You met his dad?”

“What’s with the face?”

“You don’t think this is moving a little fast?” Mae said, concerned.

Indignation flared up in Osha’s chest before her cooler head smothered it. Mae was within her rights to be concerned, considering her own history with Qimir. And she wasn’t wrong, not really. They were already staying at one another’s place and getting up to no good. They were clearly obsessed with each other, but the glaring truth was that neither knew all that much about the other; they were too shifty and minced their words too much to reveal anything of substance. Hell, if it weren’t for his back spasm, Osha might never have met Paul in the first place. At the same time, she wanted nothing more than to spend all her free time with him, but Osha didn’t have a broad group of friends to begin with.

“It wasn’t an on-purpose meeting of the parents thing. It was kind of by accident. And I work with his siblings, too.” Keep it vague, Osha.

Mae nodded. “Okay. So you believe it? You believe that Sol hated him for not… I don’t know, picking him as his father?”

Osha grimaced tightly. “It doesn’t feel watertight, but maybe he was younger and didn’t know what he wanted. I mean, he adopted us at what, 26? That’s pretty young; it could have given someone some idea.” They drank quietly for a while. “I… something else they said keeps catching on my mind.”

“Hm?”

“They said, ‘Sol wanted to be a father, but he didn’t want a child.’”

Mae’s face twisted in confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Did you ever get the impression we weren’t wanted?” The words tasted like poison as she spoke them, and the cloud of paranoia that followed wasn’t much better.

Mae tapped her fingers against the glass. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it like that. But… what you said a second ago is making me remember something.”

“The not wanting a child thing?”

“No. Watertight.” Mae leaned forward a little while she spoke. “You were in the hospital that first week after the accident, and Sol was carting me around with him. The papers were already signed and pushed through, which was weirdly fast. But when I first got to his apartment, he still just had the guest bed. He didn’t have beds for us or anything. It wasn’t until Vernestra came by that week and told him to go buy kids’ furniture that we had anything. She told him to ensure this is watertight, and I never forgot how angry she looked.”

“Did she know you saw?” Osha asked, tense.

She shook her head. “We were always very good at sneaking around and not being seen. And Mother Koril told me once that people’s character comes out strongest in the actions they believe are unseen.”

The reminder that they’d been robbed of their mothers’ wisdom so young still hurt, but it was an aching pain instead of the stabbing loss that they’d felt before. The truth of their mother’s words rang true, though perhaps not in the way she’d intended when she said so.

Mae didn’t know they she was being observed by Idise outside, and that unseen aspect to her actions spoke to the integrity of her sentiment. It sucked to have to question the truth of her feelings at all, but Osha couldn’t change the past. She could only choose to believe Mae wanted to be trusted again, and it was in her hands to offer that trust again.

But she couldn’t do that without sharing information about Qimir and his case.

So, she changed the subject a little, focusing on old wounds that needed healing.

“You asked me if I thought about our mothers not too long ago. The truth is I don’t. And… when I went stargazing, it brought back so many memories of our childhood that I didn’t realize I missed. It’s like I just packed it all away long ago and—” She cut herself off and looked up at Mae, who was confused at the sudden pause.

“What?”

“I… I don’t know.” Osha felt, for the first time, awkward from her habit of silencing herself. “We haven’t really… talked about them, have we?” All mention of their lives at the compound had been on the Topics Sol Didn’t Like Discussed list, so the few times they had spoken about their mothers had been under covers and across whispered words.

“I’d like to, though. And… I feel the same way; I had to seal it away. But I feel like your reasons are different than mine…?”

Osha nodded. “It’s not really something to discuss in public, but... I was awake for a lot of the accident, Mae. And I still remember a lot of it.”

Mae went pale, realizing the implications of such a thing. She looked fit to burst with all the questions undoubtedly filling her head, but she respected Osha’s acknowledgment of the public space. “I’m so sorry, Oshie,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” she said softly, reaching out to take the hand Mae offered her. “I haven’t really told anybody.” Except you and Qimir.

“Do you think you have PTSD from it?” she asked awkwardly.

“Oh, probably. I’ve never been comfortable driving, and you know how I get around fireworks.”

Mae squeezed her hand. “Well, whenever you want to talk to me about it, I’m here. I promise. If not, I… was thinking of seeing a therapist.”

“Depending on how this talk with Sol goes, we might both need family therapy just to survive it,” Osha joked, but it felt more like a sound suggestion than a humorous one.

“Yeah, no kidding. The last couple of weeks have highlighted how we were let down as kids.”

“Hey, we’ve never had a dad before, so what would we compare him to?” Osha said, raising an eyebrow.

Mae laughed before she could help herself, then half-heartedly glared at Osha. “That was…”

“It was funny; you’re allowed to laugh.”

“You’re terrible,” she said with a sigh, though she was smiling.

When they got in, the incessant noise was gone, and some of Osha’s cluttered mess from her weekend alone had been tidied. “Did you clean?” Osha asked before she could stop herself.

“No, I was here for like two seconds...” Mae didn’t see anything wrong with it, but seeing Osha’s poleaxed posture, she went on alert, looking for anything out of place.

‘Someone’s been here,’ Osha mouthed to her, heart pounding. “You said you forgot to bring up some of your gear from the car, right?” she said, gripping Mae’s wrist. If someone had been in the apartment, it was entirely possible that they were still in the apartment. They backed out quickly and closed the door.

“Osha, what the hell is—”

A chittering greeting behind them made both twins yelp in surprise and whirl around. Bazil stood in his doorway, eyes wide and concerned. Osha recovered first, taking a long stride over to him. “Good evening,” she said in halting Tynnan.

Whatever glee he would have normally responded to her with was absent from his returned greeting. He held up a finger and ran inside, returning with a piece of yellow legal paper. He’d carefully translated and written down a message for the both of them.

Sol was in your apartment at 1745. He left at 1800.

"Fuck." Osha showed the note to Mae, who blanched. “Thank you, Bazil. Do you know what he was doing?” She pulled up her phone’s translator app to better communicate with him. It was slow-going, but it helped a lot.

“I don’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t look happy when he left.”

“Did he bring anything with him in or out?”

“Not that I could tell.”

“Has he done this before?” Sol didn’t have an emergency key; Mae and Osha had the only ones.

Mae asked this last question, arms crossed over her chest. She spoke softly, almost too soft for the app’s voice-to-text converter.

Bazil frowned and held up two fingers. Twice.

“When was the last?”

Waiting for the translation to process felt like a thousand years.

“The last time was when you moved in. He was carrying lots of electronic equipment. Whatever it was, it must have shorted with the power surges.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Mae said.

“I need to make a call,” Osha said. “Mae, can you just. Not go anywhere—oh. Bazil is asking you to come sit and wait inside with him for a second.” Mae looked dubious, still doubting the non-snitch nature of their neighbor, but she went anyway. Once she was away, Osha hit call on the contact she pulled up.

“You know, it’s not a good look if the only pictures I take are ones where you’re calling me.”

“Do you have a bug sweeper? Like—” She took a sputtering breath. “How do I find spy equipment?”

Idise went silent for a very long time before speaking again. “I can do a sweep myself, but that’ll risk me getting on camera. Who do you think is spying on you?”

“My dad.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Fuck. Okay. Well. Come down to the parking lot for a second. Where’s your sister?”

“With a neighbor. I’m coming down,” she answered, hanging up the phone and heading downstairs.

Idise made a tsst noise to pull Osha’s attention toward one of the covered spaces nearby. She was dressed in all black as usual, but this time, she wore a scarf over the lower half of her face, similar to a shemagh but meant for winterwear. It was pulled down so Osha could see her face, and it wasn’t out of the norm for this time of year, but— “I would have thought you hated wearing a mask.”

“I do,” she groused. “But it’s the job. You don’t want a camera sticking to your face in this weather. Tell me what’s going on.”

Osha explained the strange ringing noise, her observation of the things that had been moved around in the apartment, and Bazil’s message. Idise kept her arms crossed, glaring up at the building like it might submit to her annoyance and stop spying on Osha. Perhaps she sees the potential bugged apartment as someone stepping on her jurisdiction; only one person’s allowed to stalk me in this city, and it isn’t Sol.

“And you trust your neighbor?”

“Yeah.”

“Not a common occurrence,” she muttered. “But okay. Step one is making sure they’re there, without being caught. Then, step two is getting them out without risking your safety. I can do them both in one fell swoop. Can you take him out to breakfast tomorrow or something? Just to keep him off his phone or however else he’s monitoring.”

Even though Idise took things seriously, Osha still had difficulty doing the same, her thoughts rattling around her skull like beans in a tube. Sol is spying on us. Sol put spy equipment in our apartment when we moved in, and he maybe started freaking out about it when the power knocked it out this weekend.

“We’re supposed to talk to him about something important tomorrow night. Does that work?”

Idise nodded, unfazed. “As long as you keep him off his devices and let me know when to come in, I’ll be fine. In the meantime, find a way to trip the power in the apartment. Hopefully, it’ll reset again and disable the devices.”

“How do I do that?”

Idise quickly explained the process of overloading fuses with the blunt efficiency Osha truly needed. Her day felt like it had been a hundred hours long—had it really been that morning that Qimir had his back spasm?

“You look tired. Your conversations go that bad?”

“That’s one way to put it. I’m fucking exhausted right now, so I’ll debrief like, tomorrow.” Wait. “Let’s actually make it the day after tomorrow. I’ll let you know about the—” she gestured to the building, implying fucky spy shit without embarrassing herself by saying as much.

“I’ll be in touch. And—tell your sister to act normal and find an excuse to be out of the house if she can’t do that.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Best case scenario, there’s no actual spy shit in our apartment, and we have an avant-garde evening of acting like how we think is normal.”

“Worst case, our dad has been spying on us for years, Osha.”

She winced. “I know.”

“Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he—oh no. I talked about the—”

“Don’t even worry about that. You’re just going to make yourself not act normal.”

“Right.”

“Think normal thoughts.”

“What the fuck does that mean—”

“Did you just say the F word, Mae?” Osha said, pushing the front door open and deciding for her.

“No I didn’t!” Mae protested, the panicked look on her face seeming entirely genuine for the accusation at hand.

If it works, it works.

They chattered loudly, exceptionally aware of every word they said. But it was late, and they could use the excuse of going to bed after a long day. “I’m going to check the fusebox, I don’t want to wait for the maintenance guy.”

“Are you sure that’s a good—”

Brrrfwww…

The power went out in the apartment, and Osha waited—

The high-pitched ringing returned.

“No fucking way,” Mae muttered from behind her.

Osha couldn’t even revel in her swearing, too disturbed that she was essentially correct. There was something in here that wasn’t there before. Under her breath, she whispered to Mae, “We can’t be sure that’s the only thing in here. Just keep acting normal, okay? Go to bed.”

She kicked the power back on, and the ringing persisted, even though the lights turned on. Mae looked distraught.

“Go to bed, Mae,” Osha urged. “I’m going to do the same.”

She got a text less than thirty minutes later, and she answered it from under her covers.

Mae: There’s absolutely no way I can sleep right now.

O: Me either

O: Did you tell Jecki

M: Idk should I?? Did you tell Qimir

M: God I’m thinking of all the things I’ve done here.

O: Ew but ur right.

O: And no I haven’t

If Qimir hadn’t been recovering from his muscle spasm, she would have asked him if she could sleep over. He would have said yes without question, which was the worst part. It would have been another secret between them. If she had told him about the spy stuff, she would have had to tell him about meeting with Idise, and that point was a load-bearing secret upon which about a dozen porcelain dinner secrets precariously spun.

She’d probably give him another spasm if she told him everything.

And perhaps an aneurysm.

She worried herself to sleep, half-resolved to tell him something tomorrow when she visited him at work.

“Hi, Cam!” Osha said, all forced cheer.

“Hi, Osha,” Cam said. They caught her tense mood. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just… they’re not using my favorite cups anymore. Do you have any Sharpies?”

Cam took their job seriously, drawing little red and green ornaments all over the bland white surface of their assigned coffee cup. Osha drew Qimir’s, little mittens and snowflakes and what technically qualified as a festive tree. The sleeves got the same treatment, and though each sip had a vague scent of permanent marker under it, it got the job done. There were festive cardboard cups in festive cardboard sleeves ready to go.

She’d also brought Qimir’s clothes back, washed and folded that morning in an excuse to vacate the apartment as soon as possible. The ringing hadn’t stopped, not even nine hours after she tripped the fuses. She’d gone from the laundry room to the college and still had many extra hours to fill before meeting with Mae to go over to Sol’s that evening.

Maybe working some of this off at Unplan would be a good idea.

She found Qimir in his office. By all appearances, he was taking things easy the way he promised. She knocked on the open door with the toe of her boot, and he looked up from his phone call. He had on his black baseball cap and a matching black jacket, which Osha had borrowed yesterday. She remembered worrying about getting the scent of cigarette smoke on it; if he was opposed, it mustn’t have been enough to keep him from wearing it. “Yeah, she just walked in; thanks, Cam.” He hung up and stood, taking his time instead of the Mr. Darcy-esque clatter he usually stood for her with.

(It did not make her swoon.)

(Much.)

“Hi, I’m here to make sure you’re chilling out,” Osha said, sing-song.

“Is that so? And do I get one of those coffees if I pass inspection?” he said, sauntering around the side of his desk to tower over her. He made her feel so petite beneath his more impressive stature. She’d met taller men before, but none had such a looming, overwhelming presence as Qimir did.

“Mayyybe,” she said around a grin. “So, have you been relaxing and recovering?”

“I have. But I’ve been sitting down most of the day, and it’s killing my hips,” he admitted, sighing and looking back at his desk—which seemed particularly laden with paperwork today. “You mind if we take a walk?”

“Not at all.” She dropped off his clothes near his backpack and handed over his coffee. He snapped the lights off in his office and they made to leave, but he stopped her just before they went into the hall.

“Hey,” he murmured. “I don’t think I properly said good morning to you.”

Her heart flipped in her chest, resisting the urge to beat like normal. “Is that so?” she said. “You better make up for it right n—”

His lips found hers, a deep kiss entirely inappropriate for anyone else’s ‘good morning’ but standard passion for them. The hand not occupied with holding his Americano came to press against the small of her back with surprising force, holding her to him like there was anywhere else she would rather be. She melted beneath his touch, her smile breaking their kiss before the distance could. And because she smiled, so did he.

As far as good-morning kisses went, it was pretty damn good.

They walked on the outdoor track when she told him it wasn’t too cold that day. Because they had gloves and didn’t need the coffee cups to keep their hands warm, Qimir noticed the “artwork” rather quickly. “Oh no,” was all he said.

“I know, I know. Don’t make fun of me. I can’t let it go, and I’m not ready to grieve holiday cups yet.”

“Denial is a stage of grief, you know,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

“No it isn’t.”

The other eyebrow joined the first.

“Shut up.”

After a lap, he encouraged them to pick up the pace a little more than their leisurely walk. “Is that… okay? I mean, for your back.”

“Staying moving helps with pain and tells your body to get on with it and heal up. Yes. It helps.”

“Huh.” Osha looked ahead. “I’m guessing you’ll need a little time before you can get back into training, then?” She didn’t like the idea of doing another Qimir-absent workout, especially if it was anything like the one she had not long ago.

“I’m going to swim today, but I can—”

“Then I’ll swim today, too. You are not making me do burpees while you’re out of throwing range ever again.” More than that, she wanted to get back on the same page as him; his injury yesterday only highlighted that they were out of sync.

He chuckled, bumping his arm into hers. “Noted.”

After some more time, Osha grew brave enough to ask, “Why didn’t you tell me it could get that bad? Yesterday, I mean.”

He grew slightly shy but didn’t hide from her question. “That was a ten on my pain scale. Typically, I hit an eight or nine when something like that happens. It would often happen in the middle of the night, wake me up just long enough to make me pass out again.”

“And how often would that be?”

He mumbled something she didn’t catch, and when she asked him to repeat it, his eyes held a desperate gleam to them. The Osha from two days ago, who hadn’t experienced the terror of seeing him like that, would have caved to his wordless request to let it lie. But she had seen him, and she had felt the fear. So, she did not stand down. Finally, he murmured, “About every three weeks.”

She stifled her gasp and looked straight ahead. “Qimir,” she said softly, admonishing.

“I know,” he sighed.

“I don’t think you do,” she said, stopping him and stepping in front of him. “Paul, Idise, the others—they were terrified. And they should be. You may have normalized yourself to this, may have accepted that this is just how you live life, but they want to help you find a life that isn’t spent in constant pain, waiting for the next time your body betrays you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he said, moving to push a hand through his hair but stopping at the baseball hat—a familiar gesture for when he was nervous. “The first time it happened, I was sleeping on the streets, like two miles from here. I was so scared someone would hear me and find me unable to move and rob me—or worse. Every time it happened after, I had to force myself to stay quiet. I’m grateful I don’t have to be when I’m in my bed like I was yesterday.”

“Degrees of gratitude aside, wasn’t there a period where this didn’t happen to you? You said this only started up again a few months ago.” She gave a pointed look that said do you want to guess why that happened, or should I?

He avoided the implications and shook his head. “I’m managing them.” He tried to walk away from the questions, but Osha piped up with the truth.

“You scared me.”

That stopped him short. He didn’t turn, but she knew he was listening.

“You scared the fuck out of me, Qimir. And this happens about every three weeks? In the time I’ve known you, you’ve had—what, six?”

“Eight.”

“Great. Eight. You know, for all you want to believe you’re still alone and need to do this alone, you’re not. You wouldn’t want me to go through something like that alone, right?”

He whirled on her. He wasn’t angry, but his voice was full of emotion as he said, “I knew it’d scare you. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I knew it’d scare you. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Of course there is. I helped you yesterday, didn’t I?”

“When I saw you there and how scared you were while I was—like that, I thought —if there’s. If any—” he cleared his throat, and Osha’s heart ached when she noticed the wet sheen gathering in his eyes. “All I could think about was if something like that happened and I couldn’t protect you because of it…” He shook his head, disgust marring his features.

Osha closed the distance between them and put a hand on his face, cupping his cheek. He leaned into her touch like a flower found the sun, like a key found a lock, like a book found its place on the shelf. Like there was no place else to be but here, nothing else to be but hers. He closed his eyes, and Osha caught the tear that slipped before it made it an inch across his skin. “Please. Please look at me.”

Though dark, his eyes still held the warmth of affection she was starting to hope was the same as hers. She gave him a soft smile and stood on her toes to kiss him. “You’re not alone anymore. I’ll sleep at your side every night if I need to. Nobody should go through that alone, especially not you.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, his hand came up to cover hers, and his eyes showed he’d come to some realization. She didn’t know what it was, but whatever it made him feel, it encouraged him to kiss her deeply. It seemed like neither knew how to dig themselves out of this emotional pit they’d fallen in, at least not with words. Kisses and touches soothed the scraping ache of growing pains.

But eventually, they had to let go; they had to make murmured apologies and promises to be better; they had to get out of the cold. As much as they would have liked to stay in that moment forever, they couldn’t.

Their return to reality wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded. He walked her to the front office from the track, and they shared their goodbyes there. Osha was all bundled up again, sans coffee. “So I’ll see you at the pool around five?”

“Can you make it to then without me?” he asked, adjusting the zipper on her coat with a little smirk on his lips.

“I suppose,” she sighed, drifting off toward the door.

His hand snatched out and grabbed her jaw—with so much gentleness she almost flinched. He kissed her sweetly, at odds with the claiming, iron-strong force of his presence keeping her in place. She nearly melted into him again but remembered they weren’t alone at the last moment. She pulled back, smiling at him and then nervously glancing at Cam, who had started making tea kettle noises from their desk.

Qimir’s satisfied smirk turned into a playful glare leveled in his athlete’s direction. “Something to say, Corderre?”

“Only that I am very happy for the two of you?” Cam squeaked.

“Good answer.”

“Alright, Coach Lo,” Osha said. “I’ll see you around five. If you can make it to then without me.”

“Now that, I’m not certain of.” He kissed her forehead and squeezed her shoulder before spinning her toward the door.

She thought about that kiss for hours.

“You seem distracted,” Qimir said as they stretched out after their workout. His hair was still damp and getting pretty long—it flipped into his eyes almost comedically.

“It’s been a long day,” she said. And it’s not over yet.

“I thought you were still off work at the cafe,” he hummed, pushing his hair back. It flopped back almost immediately, and he gave up.

She smiled to herself and turned her attention back to her ankles. “I am, for a few days. I just had a lot of things to do between when I saw you this morning and now. It’s no big deal, though. Was I slacking on the workout?”

She squeaked and squirmed away from him, but he pounced, covering her body and pressing her back against the yoga mat. If she was distracted just before, she certainly wasn’t now.

“Anyone could see us,” Osha halfheartedly protested.

“Lucky them,” Qimir said, kissing down her neck. The wet trail his hair left along her cheek wasn’t as annoying now, she decided. “I wonder…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and it took her an embarrassingly long time to ask him to continue. “Wonder what?” she asked, breathless.

“I wonder what you’d let me do to you.”

Her moan was a surprise to them both, echoing sharply around the yoga studio before returning to them. To be fair, what he’d said was surprising.

Qimir leaned back to hover above her, biceps flexing in her peripherals. He filled her entire field of vision, taking up space as much as he took up her attention. “Are you going to let me find out?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. Glacier-slow, he ground his hips down against hers, scattering all possible thoughts out of her brain like dust off a shelf. The droplet of water that splashed on her cheek felt superheated by the furious flush beneath her skin.

She was seconds from folding, from caving to both their desires and letting him find out whatever the fuck he wanted from her, so long as…

The wide windows several feet away were kind of a mood-killer, if she was being honest. Something thrilled inside her to be so exposed, but the way things were between them, and the delicate nature of their growing intimacy, she didn’t want to put a black mark in their book this early.

Qimir caught where she was looking and nodded once. He didn’t make her feel embarrassed by the weak rejection, taking it with grace the way a good friend would take a rain check.

And this was a rain check.

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and drew backward, sitting on his heels and offering a hand to her. “Someday, Osha. Someday soon,” he promised, “I’ll know just what you’ll let me do to you. And you’ll know just the same for me.”

CHAPTER 23

#common grounds #unhingery #osha x qimir #oshamir #oshamir fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the acolyte #the acolyte fanfiction

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