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clarktooncrossing · 11 months ago

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Giraffe's Eye View: Christmas Specials Special (2023) | Mickey's Once Upon a Christmas

Chestnuts are roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost is nipping at your nose. Mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again. All the dogs in the neighborhood somehow learned to bark Jingle Bells in sync. Yet retail workers are still more annoyed with Mariah Carey. Snow is getting shoveled, tossed, and formed into sentient beings leading parades without permits. It makes for an excellent distraction as the Krampus abducts children for bad behavior. Fruitcake is exchanged only to find its permanent home in the garbage. Terrorists have hijacked the Holiday office party right before your boss can give you a Jelly of the Month Club membership as your bonus. And of course, the Turducken has returned to wreak its fiery vengeance upon an unsuspecting world! If all this doesn’t put you in the Christmas spirit, perhaps these following Holiday specials will!

Greetings people of today and robots of tomorrow! It is I, Santa Clark, your geeky giraffe friend with a deep love of Christmas! My obsession for the yuletide is rivaled only by Maleficent’s hatred for it, which is saying a lot considering she once teamed up with Mad Madam Mim to kidnap the literal Spirit of Christmas. Yes, that really happened. I know this due to my annual pilgrimage to the Island of Misfit Specials, home to obscure or nerdy festive media ranging from movies, TV episodes, and comics. It’s no easy journey. Constantly I find myself confronted by sinister snowmen, genocidal gingerbread men, and worst of all, crappy commercials. Getting stabbed in the foot by a candy-cane wielding cookie is one thing, but I swear I’ve seen that ad for Wilbur’s White Elephant Gift Emporium more times than I’ve seen Miracle on 34th Street! Sometimes at night I catch myself reciting that jingle. Wilbur’s White Elephant Gift Emporium: Where Christmas meets Convenience! Huh, maybe Maleficent had a point.

Nah, my deep-rooted appreciation for this time of year can weather even the most moronic marketing! It helps that most of the merry media I’ve seen have put me in the perfect Holiday mood! Examples include the time a Ninja Turtle found himself trapped in a truck full of stollen toys, a drunk department store Santa stumbling onto a wish-granting magic bag, Big Bird nearly becoming a popsicle, Gwenpool waking up in a world where Galactus took the place of jolly ol’ Saint Nicholas, a terrifying tree stump trying to slaughter some saps over a stupid ship war, and the year when Death gave the Little Match Girl the greatest gift of all. Needless to say, I thought I had seen it all. That is, until I took my friends on a trip to the Island, tasking them to find me new, strange, seasonal specials to review! Some of them were fair, finding me festive favorites as comforting as coco in front of the fireplace. Others were fiendish, wanting to feed off my misery like Gremlins after midnight. Regardless of how naughty or nice my companions were, I’ve compiled all of their suggestions into a makeshift advent calendar! So stay tuned everyday until Christmas to see how badly my buddies can shred what little sanity I have left.

On the fourteenth day of Christmas, my buddies gave to me...

One of my oldest memories is watching Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas with my family every year when I was younger. Little Clark always got excited when his mom popped that tape into the VCR. There was always something so magical about this movie that drew me in each December. If nothing else it was one of the few highlights in Disney’s direct-to-video catalog. Much as I could complain about the follow ups to The Little Mermaid, Mulan, or Brother Bear, I’d gladly take any of these turds over the live-action remakes any day. Especially when said sequels exceeded expectations every so often. This festive anthology is such an example. Honestly, it's a wonder why I haven’t talked about it until now. Thank goodness the totally tubular Tiger (AnimatedTigerGirl) gave me an excuse to do so. Without any further ado, let’s see what awaits us under the tree.

Nestled neatly beneath an immaculate evergreen are three special presents; a boat, a teddy bear, and a miniature sleigh. Each represents an original short, the first being Donald Duck: Stuck on Christmas. Actually, putting the foul-tempered foul’s name in the title is a bit misleading since the story actually focuses on Huey, Dewey, and Louie (Russi Taylor). Like most kids on Christmas, they wake up early to eagerly tear into the presents, ignore their relatives in favor of playing with their new toys, then end the day by pigging out on a traditional turkey dinner. Wait, turkey?! Good lord, they’re cannibals! Between this and Woodstock from A Charlie Brown Christmas, my current theory is that all animated avifauna are anthropologists! Seriously, why is this a recurring trend in media? Another common cliche utilized is wishing upon a star, the boys begging for Christmas everyday. You fools! This is a Disney movie, doing that’s actually effective here! And unlike Timmy Turner or Elmo, these birdbrains end up with the same exact Christmas. It’s like Groundhog Day, minus the suicide montage. Instead we get Uncle Donald (Tony Anselmo) butchering breakfast, sloppy kisses from Aunt Gertie (Tress MacNeille), and Scrooge (Alan Young) singing hoaky carols on the piano. Give the geezer a break boys, these three ghosts gave him a hard time about being a humbug. No carols equals chains for the rest of his afterlife. Whether that’d be worse than experiencing the same day on loop is up for debate. Either way the boys quickly become bored getting stuck in a constant rerun. Not even adding their typical brand of mischief helps, so eventually they elect to plan a perfect Christmas for everybody. They even sacrifice the sleds gifted from Donald to craft him a crude one-man boat. A boat that falls apart almost immediately. Like the song says, he gets stuck with all the bad luck. Overall, Stuck on Christmas is fine, if not a tad repetitive. You’ve seen this type of tale told a million times before and know exactly what to expect. It’s not bad by any means, a lot of the jokes landing perfectly. Still, out of the three plots presented, this is the weakest one.

Fortunately A Very Goofy Christmas makes up for that! Max (Shaun Fleming) is confronted by a conflict of faith when his neighbor Pete (Jim Cummings) declares that Santa isn’t real. Pete, this is exactly why Peg packed up and left with the kids! How can you shatter a child’s dreams like that? Oh right, cuz like Yamai Ren and Lord Zedd, you have a permanent place on the Naughty List. Serves you right for kidnapping Minnie for all those years. Still, his words sting Max, much to the dismay of his father Goofy (Bill Farmer). Like always he’s the best cartoon dad, comforting his son as best he can while also providing a hot meal for his struggling neighbors. Y’know, whenever he’s not wrecking a mall or burning his butt. The absurdity of Goofy escaping a giant ornament Indiana Jones style balances out nicely with the drama centered around his son’s dilemma. It all comes to a boil when Max catches his pop pretending to be Santa, prompting the dippy dog to prove that the festive fatman isn’t a fake. All of his attempts fail, even sending him flailing off the roof. By then Max doesn’t care, just wanting his old man to smile again. Thus he turns the tables and dresses up like Kris Kringle to fool his father, nearly falling off the roof himself. In the end they embrace, happy that they have each other regardless of whether Santa exists or not. Given this is a cartoon produced by Disney though, Saint Nick naturally shows up to give Max a snowboard before burying Pete’s house in snow. A perfect ending to my favorite segment. Granted, Goofy is one of my all time favorite characters, so I might be biased here. Still, having been harassed over my own belief in Santa makes this story very relatable to me. The fact that Goofy nearly catches pneumonia trying to convince his son that there’s still magic in the world hits me right in the feels. Out of these three plotlines, this one’s easily the best.

In a close second is our last segment, Mickey and Minnie's Gift of the Magi. Both Mickey (Wayne Allwine) and Minnie (Taylor) are dreaming of giving each other the perfect present. Problem is neither of them have any money. A relatable conundrum if ever there was one. Each of them try to earn more at their crappy jobs, Mickey working for Pete as his tree lot while Minnie wraps packages at a department store. Sadly the former gets fired for helping a family find a cheaper tree as opposed to his boss’s ridiculously overpriced ten-footers. Again Pete, you should know better. What family actually wants a tree that tall? Asides from the Griswolds, I mean. Imagine the hassle trying to decorate the darn thing. I say as if he cares. Pete’s so furious he steals Mickey’s tips, which I’m pretty sure is illegal. Though the blow heart's gonna need that money after he sets his forest on fire. Maybe now that family can afford those ten footers! Things aren’t much better for Minnie, her boss Mortimer (Jeff Bennett) giving her a fruitcake as a bonus. Minnie proceeds to loudly declare him to be a heartless, brainless, dickless, fatass piece of monkey shit. Hallelujah! She then walks home with a fruitcake, no job, and in need of Tylenol. Left with no other options, both give up what they value most in order to give the other a gift, a scene that’s as sweet as it sounds. Adding to the cuteness is Wayne and Russi’s performance as the duo, the two having actually been married in real life. It’s killing me with cuteness! The only reason I don’t consider this the best of the lot is because of the admittedly simplistic story. Goofy trying to catch Claus was just more compelling to me. Regardless, Gift of the Magi is the perfect conclusion to this trilogy of shorts. That is if all the characters didn’t come together to sing a medley of merry tunes.

Here’s how you can tell someone watched something way too often: when they can sing along to the SheDAISY rendition of “Deck the Halls" that plays over the credits. Like I said, this was a seasonal staple in my house when I was younger and still is to this day. The same sadly can’t be said for Mickey’s Twice Upon a Christmas, but that’s a story for another day. For now, I hope I’ve expressed just how much this movie fills me with joy! It’s made so many wonderful memories for my family and I over the years. Just like I hope it will with my children, and their children, and their children after that. Regardless of what you watch this year, go make some memories with the people you love.

But seriously though, NO MORE NUTCRACKERS!

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butter--peanut · 3 years ago

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Idk if you're still taking asks, but Sakura's pov of her talk with Obito when he was in jail would be great.

Kamui Blues prompt request #11 (previous requests), Sakura and Obito have a chat. 775 words, G rated.

(prompts now closed btw; life & work currently eating into my writing time, but I'll make my way slowly through the ones I have!)

“Obito,” Sakura said from the outside of the cell bars.

She was nervous — she was always uncomfortable around him, and it was no different when he was blind and in prison. But she’d wanted to ask him this question for a while, and she didn’t shy away from discomfort.

“Sakura,” he greeted her neutrally. He was sitting at the little table in his cell, eating dumplings that Kakashi-sensei had brought him. She knew this because she had watched the prison gates from a nearby tree until Kakashi had left, feeling faintly ridiculous for the subterfuge. But she didn’t want Kakashi to be around for this conversation.

“You love Kakashi-sensei,” she began.

He nodded, and he waited.

She had seen it on Turtle Island, how everything in him was oriented to Kakashi. Kakashi’s pain and grief made Obito hurt twice as badly, though he hid this from Kakashi, only showed him care and protection and stability. Kakashi’s recovery had made him glow with happiness and relief. Kakashi’s affection made him awed, soft, as though he still couldn’t believe it was possible.

At the time, she had hated it. How dare he claim to be on their side after his crimes against Konoha, against Naruto. How dare he think to give them guidance to win the war when he had planned the war. How dare he be capable of loving someone when the person who she had loved couldn’t be fixed, couldn’t heal. Couldn’t love in return. (Until he could, of course, and she didn’t begrudge Naruto his love.)

“But you don’t blame me for what I did to him,” she said. “Why?”

Kakashi-sensei and Naruto had never blamed her. But they both cared about her, and they were good people, so as wrong as it was, their acceptance made sense.

How could Obito, who loved Kakashi more than anyone, and who had hated so deeply not hold this against her?

(Someone should hate her at least as much as she hated herself.)

He tilted his head, thinking.

“I might have,” he said eventually. “Obviously, I’m no saint. But I found him safe before I knew what you’d done. He didn’t die because of you.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, he must have guessed her flinch from her silence.

“He died because of me, you know,” Obito said, with a slight smile. “So I understand. I know the guilt. I know how terrible their forgiveness is. And I know how unworthy you feel. These feelings haven’t gone away for me. I doubt they will for you.”

She let herself lean her head against the cell bars, exhaled out a little of her tension. There was some strange comfort in Obito’s words. In having someone understand her.

“What helps?” she asked him softly.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure what will work for you. But for me, it’s always been him. He needed me to accept his forgiveness, so I did. He wanted me to remember myself, to know what it meant to hurt other people, so I remembered. And he wanted me to recover from what that knowledge did to me, so I tried. I’m always going to put what he wants above everything else in life.”

Once upon a time, she had loved Sasuke like that. She had wanted to do anything for him to be happy.

But she couldn’t use that strategy now, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be tethered to a person like Obito was to Kakashi-sensei. Not for a long time, at least.

She pulled away from the bars; stood straighter.

It was okay. She would come to terms with her actions. She would find her own way through.

(She would accept more of Naruto’s hugs, at least. That was a start)

“Thank you, Obito,” she told him. “I’m glad that Sensei has you.”

She turned to leave, and Obito snorted. “That’s it? I thought that you were going to give me some sort of Sensei shovel talk.”

“I think we both know what I’ll do if you ever try to hurt him, or Naruto, or Konoha again,” she said immediately. “Once you’re out of here, I’ll watch you, Obito. I think you’ve changed now, that you won’t try again, but I’ll keep you in check just in case.”

He smiled widely at that, and she could tell she was correct. They did understand each-other. This strange connection, created by the fallout of their horrible decisions from the best intentions.

“Good.” He raised a shoulder. “If you want, I can do the same for you.”

That, too, was a relief.

“Good,” she repeated, and left him to his meal.

#bp shortfic #kb prompts #bp answers #kamui blues #btw to the 3 people who asked for the blank period when Kakashi was unconscious and Sharinganless #I'm going to bundle your prompts together so this will be a longer story woop

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padme-parker · 4 years ago

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Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 3

summary: After finally meeting the darkling, the two of you have a one on one conversation. It seems like Mal and Alina also have one. An offer is made to you, one that you could simply not deny

A/N: Please read this before continuing-- From here on, the rest of the fic will most likely be following the book series instead of the show. However there will be some aspects of the show woven in! Also I know the beginning of this chapter doesn’t line up with what happened in ch 2 but its whatever. for the sake of the story, the timeline is going to be dragged out for as long as possible <3

I also made a playlist, give it a look :))

As Mal walks with the guard towards the room the General had directed for him to wait in, he hears his name being called out. His heart pounds at the sound of Alina’s familiar voice. He turned around, her face being split by a giant smile. Alina runs toward him, engulfing him in a hug, her arms around his neck.

“What’re you doing here?” She asked

“Hell if I know.” Mal said with a weariness that Alina hadn’t expected. “I had a report to make to your master.”

“My what?” There was confusion on her face before a grin took its place. “You and y/n were the ones who found Morozova’s herd. I should’ve known, the two best trackers in all of Ravka.” Alina knew something was off. Mal couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes, where had all the excitement he had felt earlier gone?

“I should go.”

“What do you mean? You just got here.” The sun summoner could feel something topple over in her, all of the anger and embarrassment that she had built up. All the letters she had sent, but never gotten a reply to. All the times she had hoped Mal would come and find her, yet when he finally did, he was just going to leave again. “You know what, sorry. I didn’t realize I was wasting your time.” She sneered, the love in her eyes now replaced with animosity.

“I didn’t say that.” He argued.

“No, no, I understand. You can’t be bothered to answer my letters. Why would you want to stand here talking to me, while y/n is waiting saints knows where.” Mal’s mood shifted into one of confusion.

“I didn’t get any letters.” He whispered.

“Yeah right.” She replied angrily. Mal sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“We have to move constantly to track the herd. My unit is barely in contact with the regiment anymore.” Mal was tired of arguing with Alina. He had come to see one of his bestest friends, he didn’t expect for it to end like this.

Alina hesitates for a second to look at Mal, noticing how much he has changed since she was taken from the Darklings tent. He was no longer the Mal she knew, something had happened to him since the months she had been gone. His eyes were colder, his posture was one of somebody who was always on alert.

“You didn’t get any of my letters?” She uttered, feeling the ends of her heart fraying. He shook his head, she could tell his mind was elsewhere now, a distant look in his expression.

“Mal, I..” She hesitated. “Can’t you stay a little while longer?” She pleaded. She hated the fact that she had to do so just to spend time with him. “You can’t imagine what it’s been like here.” He lets out a laugh, one riddled with sarcasm.

“I don’t need to imagine. I saw your little demonstration in the ballroom. Very impressive.” He sneered.

“You saw me?”

“Yes, both y/n and I got a glimpse of you.” He paused, trying to search for the right words. “Do you know how worried I’ve been about you? How worried we were? Y/n was stationed near the southern borders and when she came looking for us she was so worried. She didn’t know what happened to you and neither did I. I couldn’t tell her the truth because I had no what they’d done to you! We had no way to reach you. Did you know that there were rumors that you were being tortured?” The words left his mouth in a quivering mess. “When we had heard of the opportunity to see you once more, we took it. We did it for you, Alina.”

“Really?” She tried to believe Mal, why would he come looking for her when he could be with anyone else. After all of these years, she had become so used to his indifference.

“Yes.” He hissed. “And here you are, safe and sound. Dancing and flirting like some cosseted little princess-”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” She snapped. “I’m sure the Darkling can arrange for a rack or some hot coals if that would make you feel better” Mal scowled and stepped away from her. She couldn’t believe that they were fighting. Alina lays her hand on one of his arms and feels it tense below her, yet he doesn’t pull away.

“Mal, I can’t help the way things are here. I didn’t ask for any of this!” He looks at her and then looks away, some of the tension leaving his body.

“I know you didn’t.” The weariness in his voice came back, making Alina remove her hand from his arm. “What happened to you Mal?” She whispered. Mal chose to say nothing, staring into the darkness of the hall. She lays her hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble on her palm. She turns his face until his eyes meet hers.

“I can’t…” She lets her fingertips wander to the scar on his jaw.

“Genya can fix this, she can..” She knows she said the wrong thing when Mal takes a step back.

“I don’t need fixing” He snapped. Snatching Alina’s hand from where it had just been seconds before.

“I didn’t mean..”

“Are you happy here, Alina?” The question took her by surprise.

“I don’t know… sometimes…”

“Are you happy here? With him?” Alina didn’t have to ask who Mal meant. She didn’t know what to say.

“You're wearing his symbol. His colors.” He observed, his eyes glancing at the gold charm hanging on her neck.

“They’re just clothes.” She tried to convince him, quite possibly herself too.

“You and I both know that they’re more than just clothes.”

“What difference does it make what I wear?”

“The clothes, the jewels.” He spat. “Even the way you look. He’s all over you!” The words hit her like a slap. She takes her hand from his tight embrace and crosses it over her chest.

“It’s not like that.” She said, avoiding his gaze. Mal could see right through her, he could see the flush that had started to form when he had mentioned the Darkling.

“I saw how he looked at you Alina!”

“I like how he looks at me!” She shouted, a malicious smile forming on Mal’s face.

“Just admit it,” He sneered. “He owns you.”

“He owns you too, Mal.” She bit back. “He owns us all.” The smile falling from his face.

“No, he doesn’t.” He said fiercely. “Not me. Not y/n. Not ever.”

“Oh really? Don’t you have someplace to be? Don’t you have orders to follow?” Mal stands up straight, his face cold and devoid of any emotions.

“Yes, I did. My orders were to wait for you to be taken to me. But I think I found what I’ve been looking for.” He turned sharply and walked out, leaving Alina to her thoughts. She finally lets the tears fall down her cheeks, her body coursing with anger and heartbreak. For months she had dreamt of the day where she would be able to see Mal again. She had spent her whole lifetime chasing after him, but she knew now it was time to let him go.

THE DARKLING walks closer to you, while you stay propped up next to the door. You fidget with your hair, moving it to one side as he inches closer and closer until he is a few feet away from you. You anticipated his next moves, he brings his hand to you neck and strokes it.

“Your bleeding.” It seems like Genya had nicked you after all. “Here, let me.” He offered, taking a cloth from his pocket and gently wiping the small amount of blood away. His other hand resting at the nape of your neck for stability. You watched his eyes as he concentrated on his actions. You prayed to the saints that he couldn’t hear the incredibly fast pace your heart was beating at.

“So, what did you need to speak to me about.” You questioned. Deeming his work satisfactory, he takes a step back. Tucking the bloodied cloth back into his kefta.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asked.

“What?” Some of the excitement inside of you had deflated.

“It must’ve been a long ride from Kribirsk, I’m sure you're starving.” He calls out for one of the oprichniki outside of his doors and orders them to bring dinner for the two of us.

“I appreciate the gesture, sir. But surely that’s not why you wanted me to stay behind.”

“No, you’re right. Take a seat.” He points to a smaller table, one that hadn’t been occupied by maps and war strategies. It was a rectangular table, both seats facing the window that had shown the view of the lake. You walked towards the table and took a seat. The moonlight glimmered off of the lake, making you smile. He places a lantern in the middle of the table, assuring that you were not going to eat in the dark. In one swift motion, he sits right next to you, his body angled towards yours. “How do you know Alina?”

“We grew up together.” He looked at you, pressing for more details. “In an orphanage in Keramzin.” You were interrupted by a knock, the food had finally arrived. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until the smell of roasted lamb had made your mouth water. “Is that roasted lamb? It’s my favorite!” The Darkling shot you a smile, motioning for you to dig in.

“I was alone until Alina and Mal had come in.” You said between bites. “I never knew my parents. Ana Kuya said I had just turned up one day on the doorsteps, wrapped in nothing but a blanket. I used to get bullied, but when they showed up, they started picking on Mal too. Alina, being the great person she is, defended us both.” A smile made its way onto your lips as you reminisced about your youth. “From then, the three of us were like peas in a pod. We were never seen without each other. That was until we joined the First Army. Alina and Mal had been stationed near Kribirsk while I was down south in Caryeva. We rarely got to see each other.” The Darkling watched as you shoveled the food into your mouth. His hands clasped together, resting on his lap as he listened intently.

“Are you not going to eat?” You pointed the knife in your hand at his plate.

“No, it’s for you.” He replied, pushing the plate closer to you. You squinted your eyes, bewildered by the movement.

“What do you want from me?” The words had left your mouth before you could think, “Sorry, I..” Truly, what would the darkling want from someone like me? Someone who wasn’t like him. You thought to yourself.

“Stay. I want you to stay at the palace.” He announced, his request shocking you to the core. “..Alina needs a friend here, someone she knows and is familiar with. Someone she is comfortable around.”

“What about Mal?” You set down the fork and knife, forgetting about the food.

“He is welcome to stay too.” A quiet and hesitant knock is heard after he finishes speaking. He calls out for the person, allowing them to enter. “Ah, Alina. We were just talking about you.” He motions for her to come to the table.

She gingerly walks over to you, her arms crossed over her chest. “What about me?” She asked.

“I’ve invited our friend here, y/n, to stay at the palace. Your friend, Mal, may stay too.”

“He won’t be staying here.” She sniffled, a sarcastic laugh leaving her lips.

“What? Why?” You inquired.

“He left.” She explained. You knew she was leaving out some details. Just mere hours ago, Mal had been ecstatic to see her again. Yet now he was gone? Something wasn’t adding up. You’d pester her later about it when you weren’t in the presence of the Darkling.

“My offer to you still stands, y/n. You may stay, granted that you take residence in this hall.” Alina tried to hide her shock, no one had ever stayed in the Darkling’s hall. He had it all to himself. She didn’t even know there were other rooms near his. “If you are to stay here at the Little Palace as a guest, then I’ll need to be able to keep an eye on you just in case something happens.”

You give yourself some time to decide. You had duties to attend to, you and Mal had to track the stag. However, given that the two of you had pinpointed it’s location, there wasn’t much left to do. What the Darkling was offering you had been everything you’d dreamt of. If you stayed you wouldn’t have to wait days just to bathe. You wouldn’t have to starve anymore.

“How long would I stay?”

“For as long as Alina likes.” He said. You turned to Alina, asking if this had been the right choice for you. She gives you an eager nod.

“Fine. I’ll stay for Alina.” You look at her again, taking note of the color of her kefta. She was wearing his colors, which could possibly mean one thing. “Are you two together?” Alina’s eyes widen with humility while the Darkling lets out a brief laugh.

“Sorry for her behaviour. She just doesn’t know how to shut her trap.” She moved from where she was leaning against the table and pinched your arm. Her playful glare made you giggle. She opens her mouth to talk again.

“No, we aren’t.” The Darkling answered for her. He noticed the frown on her face, sending her a tight lipped smile, signalling that they would talk later. “You must be tired. Let me show you to your quarters. Alina, stay here.” He motioned for you to follow. Alina watched as the two of you left the war room, a sigh leaving her lips.

You followed him for a few paces before he stopped in front of a door. “Your room is right across from mine if you ever need anything. However I think everything you need is already there.” He replied. You waited around, wondering what was to happen next. He nodded his head towards the door, allowing you to enter. The room had been dark, no lanterns had been lit up due to the room being unoccupied. The Darkling called for an inferni. One came over quickly, lighting up the candles and lanterns as quickly as she could. The room was quite similar to Alina’s, the only difference being that most of the furniture had his symbol engraved on it. Had this room once belonged to his lover? You were too afraid to ask, not wanting to overstep your boundaries. “I’ll be back in the morning to give you a proper tour of the palace. Until then, get some rest.” Without bidding you goodbye, the Darkling left to go speak with Alina.

Without wasting a second, you ran towards the tub, drawing yourself a warm bath. It had been so long since you had been able to bathe by yourself. You’d gotten used to bathing with the other female soldiers that you had forgotten had relaxing it could be. You wash all the accumulated dirt and grime from your body along with your hair. Feeling the water begin to grow cold, you reach for a robe before heading towards the dresser.

It’s contents were luxurious. Many gorgeous dresses, all varying lengths. Countless nightgowns embroidered with flower designs. At the very end of the dresser was a kefta. No ordinary one, it was gold with black detailing. It seemed to stop mid knee. You wanted to reach out to it, to feel it underneath your fingertips but decided not to. Maybe another day. Instead you reached out for a nightgown and slipped it on. To your surprise it fit perfectly, almost too perfectly. Deciding not to dwell on it for much longer, you blow out the candles, leaving the lanterns alight and slip under the heavy covers of the bed. The fatigue from the journey finally caught up with you, and you found yourself sleeping within the minute.

“I won’t let you take them!” A voice that sounded like yours shouted. What were you talking about? Who were you talking about?

“You have no say in this matter.” You couldn’t tell who was talking and it frustrated you, it felt like their name was on the tip of your tongue.

“There’s always a choice.” Before you knew it someone had pressed a cold blade against your throat, gasping emerging from the people around you.

“No! Don’t do it.” Someone pleaded just as another shouted your name.

“I won’t be your pawn, not anymore.” You said, the next thing you felt was the warmth of your own blood dripping on you. You stumbled back, your hands going to the laceration on your neck. You gasped and whimpered in pain as you felt more blood leave you. In the background you could hear someone screaming, another one sobbing whilst saying your name.

You woke up screaming, your hands going to your neck as you stumbled out of bed, falling onto the floor. The door to your room flew open and in came the Darkling along with the oprichniki. Some had their pistols drawn, ready to shoot, while others held their arms up. The Darkling and his guards ran about your room, looking for an intruder to find none. Noticing the state you were in, he ordered the guards to leave.

He crouched down to you, reaching out his hand to touch you before pulling back. “Are you alright?” Your gaze met his, you observed the sun's rays coming through your windows, lighting him up like an angel. His eyes held concern as you hesitated to answer him.

“I’m not sure..” For the first time in your life, you were terrified. You shed a few tears as you looked at him, your shaking hands still around your neck. He hovers his hand over yours, stopping just before they made contact. He was asking for permission to touch you. With a nod, he gently placed his hands atop of yours before removing them. The birthmark on your neck was now raw and red, as if you had been violently scratching it.

Your dream had left you in shambles as one thought ran wildly through your mind, was my birthmark a warning of what was to come?

tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost @telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard @thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5 @louweasleymalfoy

I tagged everyone I could </3

Also not proofread so sorry for any mistakes lmao

#shadow and bone #the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #ben barnes #mal oretsev #alina starkov #mizpah

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outercrasis · 3 years ago

Text

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: References to sex, masturbation (nothing actually occurs)

Summary: After meeting Mando, you just can’t seem to get him out of your head. (events directly follow Introductions)

A/N: Thanks for the kind reception to the first post of this AU! I’ll be making a masterlist soon for easier navigation :) Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or if I’ve missed a warning.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Lingering Impressions

Your day ended up being an exhausting one. Mando had been your most exciting session for more reasons than just the obvious. You'd reviewed the papers of two freshmen, a junior who wanted you to basically write their paper for them, and another graduate student who disregarded every suggestion you made. Needless to say, Mando's gratitude felt extra special after all of that.

Getting home, you're greeted with the welcome smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen as you throw yourself face-first into the couch. The open floorplan of your tiny two bedroom apartment allows Layla to spot you as you wander in.

"Hello to you too!" she calls over. "I'm making chicken marsala."

You lift your head up from the watermelon-shaped throw pillow to smile at her. "You are a saint and I don't deserve you."

"You totally don't," Layla teases back, happily returning to the stove. You flip over on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while she finishes making dinner. A comfortable silence fills the room, interrupted only by Layla's hums and the discordant sounds of cooking.

Layla has been your roommate since your sophomore year of college, randomly paired together by the dorm sorting system and inseparable ever since. The two of you clicked, a friendship forged over the awkwardness of early adulthood and a shared love of terrible reality TV. Both of you keep busy schedules while pursuing your respective master’s degrees and help each other out where you can. Making dinners for each other is just a part of that.

It’s not long before Layla brings over two steaming plates of food to lay out on your thrifted coffee table. She sits opposite you, preferring to sit on the floor rather than the couch. You’re eager to dig in, groaning at the first bite.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Layla grins, tucking into her own meal.

“God yes.”

“Long day then?”

You groan again, this time in irritation rather than pleasure. “Yes. I don’t know how many more know-it-all grad students I can deal with.”

She’s heard all about your nightmare sessions with students that think they already know everything. You’ve questioned more than once why they bother booking the session if they're just going to ignore your advice and decide their paper is perfect as is. It seems like a total waste of time for both you and them.

Layla sympathizes and shares her own gripes about some of the assholes she's forced to put up with while working on her research project. After all, no group project is complete without the one person who does nothing but acts like they know everything. Giving each other time to vent another small way the two of you take care of each other.

As you think back on your day and sessions your mind inevitably drifts to Mando. He hadn’t been anything like you’d expected. He was kind in his own way and by far the most amenable session you’d had all day. Not taking off the helmet was odd, as was not giving out his real name, but neither of those had really bothered you when it came down to it. If anything, they only serve to fascinate you further.

“Did something else happen today?” Layla asks, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She can always read you, something that can be either a blessing or a curse depending on what it is you're hiding. You take a few more bites before answering, already anticipating her reaction.

“Well I might have also met Mando today,” You try to throw it out there casually, hoping that if you treat it as though it’s not a big deal she’ll follow your lead. You should have known better.

“You what!? Tell me everything,” Layla screeches at you from across the coffee table. She pushes her food off to the side, clearly deciding that your unexpected meeting with campus's resident celebrity is far more important.

"He came in for a session. His paper was really good, it-"

Layla is quick to cut you off. "I literally couldn't care less about that and you know it. Tell me about him, what's he like? Is he terrifying?"

You can’t help but snort at that. You know why she asked of course - the rumors flying around about him getting out of hand these days - but when you think about him now they all seem ludicrous. The gentle way he spoke to Grogu and offered his hand out to the kid before leaving. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke to you, eager to hear any advice you had to give him. No. Mando was decidedly not terrifying. “He’s… just a guy,” you tell her, not really sure how to explain his unique presence.

The eyeroll you receive in response is warranted. “Are you kidding me right now? You probably know more about him than anyone else on campus and you’re going to tell me he’s just a guy?”

You shrug, shoveling another bite of food into your mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you Lays, I only spent an hour with him. He was nice, really sweet with his kid, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

You’re not sure why you feel a quick sting in your chest at that thought. It wasn’t like you knew him well or that he even owed you anything. Considering the fact that you’d gone weeks without so much as glimpsing him on campus you’d probably only have another chance to see him if he signed up for another session and there was no guarantee he’d return.

“So the kid thing is true?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Really cute kid, pretty quiet.” Very quiet now that you think of it. You don’t have much experience with kids that young, but you’re certain kids Grogu’s age can talk. He hadn’t said so much as a word, only letting out an occasional noise or two. It was odd, but then he could just be shy or something. Another question you’d probably never have an answer for.

“Is the kid his?” Layla presses.

“I don’t know, it didn’t exactly come up while we discussed his paper on unique material applications,” you snap back at her. You wince a little at your sharp reply. It wasn’t deserved. Layla was simply curious and now the victim of your long day and swirling thoughts.

You quickly follow up with an apology. “Sorry. I just- I had a long day and I really didn’t learn much about him, okay?”

There’s a small sense of relief when Layla nods, backing down from her inquisition. “It’s cool, I get it. Just promise you’ll tell me if you see him again?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

The rest of the night passes like usual. You wash up after dinner, a fair trade since Layla cooked, and the two of you get to tackling homework that’s begun to pile up with the semester entering its full swing. Nighttime study sessions have been a regular occurrence since your undergrad days and have only intensified while pursuing your respective graduate degrees. It’s more about solidarity and accountability than shared workload, what with your program being in English and Layla’s in Marketing, but it’s nice. Simply having company is better than doing it all by yourself.

Around 10:30 you call it, eyes bleary from staring at your laptop. Layla is deep into a PDF reading so you leave her to her work and shuffle off to the shared bathroom. While the water heats, you brush your teeth lazily, going through the motions of your nightly routine. You test the water with your hand before deciding it’s warm enough to step in.

Your thoughts drift aimlessly as you stand under the hot stream, unfocused until they land back on him. It’s like you can’t help yourself, the way your thoughts have been returning to him all night. You’ve puzzled about him before, but only in the abstract. A hypothetical more than a real person. Wondering if rumors are true isn't quite the same as wondering about the man himself.

All throughout the night he kept popping up. One moment you would be considering the symbolic use of color in your assigned reading and the next you would be puzzling over Mando’s favorite color. Maybe orange, if his gloves were anything to go by. Layla's favorite song played and while she sang along you couldn't help wondering what kind of music he listens to. Rock probably, or was that too on the nose? As you sipped your drink you wondered what his drink of choice would be, alcoholic or not. Did he even drink alcohol at all? Something told you he wasn’t much for losing his inhibitions.

It's all the little things, all the little details that actually make up a person that no one bothers to speculate about that consume you now. Who cares about his favorite movie or favorite food when you can guess on whether or not he's been to jail?

As you wash the grime of the day from your body, your mind continues to drift further, settling onto the first thing that captured your attention earlier today. His hands. Those gorgeous sun soaked hands, how fluidly they moved across his keyboard. The firm hold of them when he shook your hand.

Eyes fluttering closed, you can't help imagining that it's his hands skating across your skin. You can almost feel the gentle roughness of them, the way he'd squeeze and hold you - tight, but not so hard that it hurts. Almost unconsciously, your hand begins to drift down your body, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. Your eyes snap open, confusion and embarrassment replacing your fantasy.

"Hurry up in there! I need to pee," Layla yells through the door.

You grumble in response, knowing she can't hear you, but quickly finish your shower. It's not quite as relaxing anymore, flustered by your wanton thoughts.

Getting back into your room, you check your email before setting your alarms for tomorrow. There’s the usual spam from online stores reminding you of limited time deals, a reminder that rent is due next week (lovely), and a couple generic university emails. Your eyes fall to your new tutoring appointment emails and you flick through them mindlessly to clear them out, knowing they’ll all automatically appear on your calendar.

Just as you’re about to close out of the app and get some well needed rest, a new email pops through. It’s another appointment alert scheduled for next week. You tap to open it and your heart flutters when you read the name on the form. Mando. No need to wonder about if you’d ever see him again now. You’d be seeing him Tuesday at 3 PM. Somehow you know he won’t miss his appointment.

×××××

Din is exhausted. Between Grogu, classes, and trying to find ways to make money, he barely has enough time to do basic functional adult things. Things like showering regularly, eating more than a required minimum of once a day, or heaven help him sleep.

He wishes he could afford a regular babysitter, allow himself some occasional reprieve but it's not possible. He makes just enough to keep the bills paid and at least Grogu's stomach full. There's also an ever present paranoia about letting a stranger into his home, much less to watch his son. Only Paz and Cara have ever babysat for him and even that was mostly against his will.

Din slumps onto his couch, exhausted from the long day. He’d found the couch on the side of the road. It’s well worn and has a couple holes in it, but it was devoid of fleas, comfortable, and most importantly, free. His helmet is off, sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it after getting home from campus. He’s mostly used to it these days, but sometimes it can still feel suffocating underneath the custom bucket. Taking it off at the end of the day is always welcome, especially when Din sees Grogu’s eyes light up at his exposed face.

He allows himself just a moment of rest, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Grogu had finally gone to bed, demanding three stories before he fell asleep and Din not having it within him to deny the requests. A small smile rests on his lips, thinking of Grogu's excitement at his mediocre storytelling. He already loathes the day when Grogu won't ask him to read anymore.

There are about twenty other things he should be doing right now other than sitting on the couch. The apartment hasn't been cleaned properly in weeks, dishes are piling up, laundry needs to be done, he needs to find a job for this weekend, should probably find better daycare for Grogu, has an exam to study for, and a paper to finish writing. He should be doing all of that and more, and yet he can't find the will to move. He stays planted firmly on the couch, letting his thoughts drift. A few different ideas and ruminations swirl around, but his mind settles onto one. Her.

She isn't what he had been expecting. When his professor had recommended a session with a writing tutor he'd been a little miffed at first. Din knew words weren't his strong suit, but he hadn't thought he was that bad. He probably wouldn't have even considered it if she hadn't immediately assured him that it was only a suggestion because she saw potential in his work.

He had still only been considering it, form half filled out, when Grogu had hit submit. He’d looked for a way to cancel the appointment, but couldn’t figure it out with the school’s poorly designed website, so instead he had resigned himself to going. After all, just the one session couldn't hurt and he'd already be on campus.

He thought the tutor would be some irritating know-it-all, pointing out all the mistakes in his paper. Either that, or that they'd be too nervous to make any real criticisms. He’d noticed the way people froze up around him, sometimes too timid to even look in his direction. She wasn't either of those things.

She was all smiles and kindness, not hesitant around him for a moment. Even Grogu took an immediate liking to her, as evidenced by the gift of his frog drawing. Din had more of those than he could count, but very few others had been bestowed the honor of his sacred amphibian themed artworks.

She challenged him in a way he liked, not rude but still forceful. Encouraging him to figure out what it was she was guiding him towards with the paper. Not taking ownership, simply identifying where ideas could be made stronger or clearer. They’d only worked through a few pages in the session and Din already felt more confident in his writing.

What he liked most though was that she hadn't even asked about the helmet. It was all he heard from those brave enough to speak to him. Where did he get it, why did he wear it, did he ever take it off, what does he look like underneath, and so on. Avoiding all of those questions got to be draining. She didn't even acknowledge it.

She had mentioned the rumors that were apparently swirling around campus about him but that was it. He was a bit grateful for that though, entirely unaware of how popular he'd apparently become. The stares that followed him on campus were hard to ignore, but he didn’t know about their accompanying whispers. He still isn’t sure if the rumors are a good or a bad thing. Her reaction hadn’t given him all that much to go off of. He wishes it had.

That thought stops Din short. Where did that come from? Why did her opinion of him suddenly matter after a single one hour session? Din can’t remember the last time he considered someone else’s opinion of him. Probably when he first brought Grogu home to meet everyone. Now here he is, wondering what his English tutor’s thoughts were about the rumors everyone has been spreading about him. He needs to get out more.

Din shakes his head free, trying to ponder other aspects of his life. Like when he’d be able to get the Razor Crest up and running again. She’d broken down again after only the second week of classes. Paz makes fun of him for riding on such an old bike, but she’s a classic. Din can’t get rid of her, no matter how much she likes to break down on him. In the meantime he could make due with the loaner truck from Peli.

Thoughts of his motorcycle only distract him for so long though. He realizes half-way through the fantasy that he’s imagining taking her out on his bike, feeling her hands clasped around his waist as he rides through the city. The way she’d hang on just a little tighter, pressing herself against his back, as he hits the throttle just a bit harder.

Din sits up on the couch and mutters to himself. “Come on, Djarin. Pull it together.”

She’s beautiful, yes, but to already be fantasizing about taking her for a ride? That’s a bit much. It has been months since Din has seen any kind of action, but he shouldn’t be this desperate after spending only an hour with a pretty face. Still, now that he’s thinking of it, his mind wanders to what she’d be like.

Would she take charge, calm and in control like she was earlier today? Or would she submit to him, allow him to do whatever he wanted? A small groan escapes Din’s lips at the thought of having her beneath him, begging for him to take her. How she would look spread out on his bedsheets, how sweet she’d taste. He can already imagine how good she’d feel wrapped around him, the way her eyes would look all strung out and cockdumb. It would be a beautiful sight if he’s ever lucky enough to see it.

An alarm Din forgot he set suddenly blares on his phone. He can’t even remember what he set it for as he’s yanked from his lewd imaginings, scrambling to turn it off. There’s a small wave of embarrassment as he registers where he allowed his thoughts to drift.

Ignoring the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans, Din pulls up the tutoring appointment form on his phone and signs up for another session. There’s an option to select a specific tutor and he’s quick to open it up, choosing her name from the drop down menu.

There’s nothing wrong about this, right? She’d helped him with his paper and Grogu liked her. She even asked if she’d be seeing him again. That was plenty of reason to have another session. His renegade fantasies had nothing to do with his decision to go back. Din is a man in control of his urges. If anything, this next session would prove that his thoughts were all just fleeting, just a simple result of going too long without anyone in his bed.

taglist: @honestly-shite @booksarekindaneat @wonderless-screwup @pinkninja200 @captain-jebi @ajeff855 @leias-rebelion

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 💕

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #college!din #college!mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal x reader #mandocrasis fic #sessions

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wiener-soldiers · 4 years ago

Text

so, you’re real - tommy shelby

summary: while high off his ass, tommy shelby is approached by a mysterious woman offering him something more valuable than drugs: information. your services become essential to how tommy conducts business, but your anonymity means he can’t help but fall in love with you from a distance.

words: 5.4k

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader (race non-specific)

warnings: tommy shelby. that’s the warning.

a/n: first tommy fic :D he’s one of the most beautifully complex characters ever in television imo but that also means his kinda nightmare to right. so,,, he might come off a little ooc because he’s very soft!tommy in this. i also wanna write a tommy fic based off ‘why’d you only call me when your high’ by arctic monkeys for obvious reasons.

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist! | faq

Tommy Shelby could count the number of people who’s seen him high as a kite on opium with three fingers. Arthur was the first; he drukenly stumbled into Tommy’s room instead of his own one night and the smell of the pipe sobered him enough to start asking questions. Tommy shoved him out and by the morning, Arthur was too hungover to remember a thing. The next was Polly; Tommy stumbled down the stairs as he was high around three in the morning once as he searched the house for more booze. Polly watched from a distance as he sat himself on the kitchen table and wept, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands. She chose not to mention it the following morning, but a perscription for morphine found its way to Tommy’s desk a few days later.

The third person... was you.

You didn’t know the Shelby’s personally. You were the assistant of a local Small Heath accountant that dealt with Birmingham’s most infamous clients: local coppers, factory owners, politicians, even gangsters. Your boss was known as the Devil’s Safe—nothing that came in went ot without the client’s consent.

But you weren’t a saint. Being so close to his office at all times and knowing far too much about where the most influential people in Birmingham got their money and where they spent it, it was nearly impossible to keep your mouth shut.

So, you didn’t. At a price, of course.

You quit your job and created a small network of spies that could feed you information about anyone or anything at anytime, using your knowledge about the Devil’s Safe as leverge. You charged whoever could afford for your services, coppers and criminals alike. Some self-righteous copper tried to shut you down once. Keyword: tried. There were too many spies all over the city to try to arrest (that is, if he could find grounds to arrest them), and you were too important to too many important people that arresting you would likely have him assasinated.

That, and you tipped him off about a corrupt police captain who had been trading orphans for cash. It got him a promotion and you a protective shield over your dealings from the coppers.

Tommy first met you at the races. You were hanging off the arm of Roberts, Billy Kimber’s advisor, and he briefly caught your eye before returning his gaze to Grace who stared at him lovingly. He didn’t know it then, but you were analyzing him. His posture, his facial expressions, how he spoke to Kimber, and most importantly, his books that Roberts happened to have a copy of. Nothing went unnoticed by you. The Shelby’s were starting to cause ruckus all over the city and you were interested. But, to maintain your facade, you snuck a few kisses to Roberts’ neck to distract him from your snooping.

When Tommy returned to the table with the bag of cash his brothers had collected from the Lees, you were gone.

---

The second time he sees you, he isn’t even sure if it’s you.

It’s late at night as he approaches The Garrison when he notices Polly standing with another figure in the alley. He slows his steps and silences his breathing, trying to catch the end of your conversation.

“You’re sure this is where she is?” That’s unmistakingly Polly’s voice.

A soft chuckle rips through the air and Tommy suddenly wonders what your voice sound like. “There’s only so many women carrying a newborn and looking that terrified of what may be behind her,” the other voice says. It’s not soft or angelic, Tommy notices. Nothing likes Grace’s. It’s deeper, smoother, and he can almost hear the smirk in her voice.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Polly asks back skeptically. Tommy has the common sense to realize she’s talking about Ada who had gone into hiding after Freddie was arrested. Polly hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as him for very long since.

You pull out another envelope from your coat and teasingly dangle it in front of her. “Here’s the list of all of Ada and Freddie’s known addresses. The Communists have them move every few weeks; the address I gave you is Ada’s current address. Go there tomorrow from seven to nine in the morning. Ada’ll still be in bed and Karl will still be asleep. Then, you’ll know I’m right, you’ll give me the full payment, and I’ll give you the rest of the addresses.”

Tommy is slightly stunned at what he’s hearing. They had been trying to look for Ada for nearly two weeks to no avail, but this woman was able to find her that easily?

The woman turns to walk away before Polly can respond and in the street light, Tommy can make out the outline of your face. It was so brief that he couldn’t tell if you were actually there or if he imagined your face in the darkness.

Polly doesn’t notice him as she makes her way back inside the pub. The following afternoon, Polly is pounding on his office door saying she’s found where Ada had been hiding.

---

The third time he sees you, he’s sitting in the empty Garrison with a bullet wound in his shoulder, whiskey coursing through his veins, enough meloncholy and anger to swim in, and a broken heart.

Billy Kimber was dead. Campbell was gone. But, so was Grace.

It was a series of emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time: relief, then anger, then happiness, then frustration. Then the shovels started. Then, it all got too loud and he slipped his opium pipe into his coat pocket before going to The Garrison to drink his sorrows away. He had never taken the pipe out of his room before. In that state, he didn’t care.

He doesn’t really know how you got in; he had angrily yelled at everyone to leave the bar when the night was late enough for him to feel emotion and locked the door behind him. Maybe I didn’t lock the door right, he thinks. In reality, you had picked the lock.

“I could’ve told you she’d been working with him,” your voice calls behind him. He’s still hunched over his drink, the pipe lying next to a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He didn’t need her to clarify who she was talking about.

“You could’ve, eh?” Tommy mumbles dangerously. He felt light, but his eyes and his heart felt heavy. He hated the feeling. Oh god, he hated it.

“Hmm,” you hum back, taking a seat next to him. You reach behind the bar and pull out a bottle of gin and poor yourself a drink. Tommy watches you do so. You don’t look like you pity him, in fact, you don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus your attention on the drink.

After taking a sip, you reach into your coat jacket and pull out an envelope, slidding it over to Tommy. You had clearly seen the opium pipe that still had smoke coming out of it, but you gently pushed it out of the way so the envelope rested in front of Tommy’s drink.

“What is this?” he asks, still too high to think straight.

“Consider it a resume,” you quip back, taking another sip of your drink as you study the collection of liquor and spirits on the back shelf of the bar.

“For what?”

“My services.”

“You a fuckin’ whore? You think that’s what I need right now, eh?”

“What I think you need right now, Mr. Shelby, is a sense of security. To be ahead of the enemy. I can give that to you,” you reply smoothly, barely flinching. Tommy notices your voice doesn’t falter even at his jab. He begins to sober up, finaling looking at you.

You had an air of mystery and intrigue. Your eyes looked all-knowing and the corner of your lip was quirked. A white blouse was tucked into a deep red skirt with your black wool jacket overtop of it all. If he was a different man, he surely would have taken you home.

“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.

You look back at him, the smirk on your lips growing. “Because I quite like your family. Polly is quite intelligent and Ada is a delight. I also know far too much about you, so it’d be a shame if someone paid be good money to tell them everything there is to know about you. But if you came to me first, there wouldn’t be much of an issue. The rate for ratting out one of my clients is ridiculously high.”

So, it had been you with Polly that night, he thinks. “You’d work for me?” he asks again, tone getting more serious. The last time a woman worked for him, it didn’t end particularly well.

You laugh and Tommy is momentarily stunned. It’s a beautiful laugh that appeared in an awful moment. “I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby.”

And then you left. Tommy stares a the door for a few minutes after you’ve left, wondering if he had imagined your visit the whole time. When he turns back to his drink, the envelope you left behind is a sign that you had been real. He hesitantly opens it and his jaw unhinges at the contents inside: there were several documents, reports, and even pictures tying Grace Burgess and Inspector Campbell together. It seemed so plain and simple once it was laid out in front of him.

Under the flap of the envelope was an address as well as a rate of service. It was high, Tommy couldn’t deny it, but he also couldn’t deny how the pressure on his chest eased for a moment when he was with you. Even more so when you had left the address.

The next morning, a wad of cash from Shelby Company Limited shows up at one of your drop locations. It’s more than you asked for and quicker than you expected it to come. You smirk softly and get to work.

---

Tommy doesn’t see you again until he pays a visit to Sabini’s club a few years later as he works on his London expansion. He had been a client of yours for nearly two years now and he was continuosly impressed with your work. You literally had eyes everywhere; there wasn’t a place between Manchester and Brighton that you couldn’t get to. You had been the one feeding him inside information about Sabini’s operations in London, as well as how to get Alfie Solomon’s attention.

Despite all this work, he hasn’t seen you since you approached him when he was high in the empty pub. He gets all his information through courriers, telephone calls from messengers, and packages from drop locations all over the city. He asked a courrier once why he hasn’t seen you since.

“No one really sees her, sir. We just get orders in one way or another, we excecute them, and then money shows up. She doesn’t want anyone to tie her to her clients or the boots on the ground.”

“She’s clever.”

“She’s bloody brilliant, is what she is. She’s set up this system so bloody tight that no one really knows how it works except her. One lad up in Coventry tried to turn her in. Went missing a few days later.”

He doesn’t think about you often, but when he does, he’s reminded of that night in The Garrison; how mysterious and beautiful and dangerous you looked, how his chest seemed less tight with you around. Maybe he’s imagined it. Maybe it was the opium clouding his vision. So, he pushes those thoughts away because as far as he’s concerned, you’re an enigma. Hell, he doesn’t even know your name and he’s been paying you big money and giving away too much of his plans.

But he sees you that night when he and his brothers storm Sabini’s club. You’re sitting on a fancy velvet lounging chair, tucked under the arm of what Tommy assumes is a wealthy banker or socialite. You don’t see him (not yet, at least) but Tommy sees you. All Tommy sees is you. The smoke that flows out of your nostrils as your lips curl at whatever attempt at humour then man with you made draws Tommy in. So does the cut of your deep blue, satin dress. He knows it then, that you’re real. That you’re not a figment of his imagination.

“This place is something else, innit?” Arthur remarks as they make their way deeper and deeper into the club. Tommy is still drawn to you as his brothers gawk at the permiscuous behaviour around them.

The party atmosphere doesn’t last long however, as the boys make a show out of trashing the place. Tommy makes sure to put on a performance, to play up the fear. When he shouts something along the lines of being on a holiday, he happens to catch your eye and the first thing he notices is the smirk playing on your lips. He’s first confused as to why but he understands: you had a large part of the London expansion and you also likely knew that Tommy was going to be there that night. You weren’t there with a man. You were there to see him. You were there to see his reckoning.

The image of you tattooed itself onto Tommy’s brain and the feeling he felt in his chest was something he craved to feel again.

---

The next morning, the brothers stumble into Ada’s home, uninvited. Their younger sister begrudgingly lets them in, still clad in her nightgown, and hastily tells them to keep their noise level down as Karl was still sleeping.

It doesn’t last very long.

“You shoulda seen their bloody faces, Ades!” John hollers, mouth full of biscuits and tea. Ada hisses at him for spewing food across the table.

“Didn’t know what was coming, the lot of them,” Arthur adds, already taking a sip from a flask. He was barely sober from the night before and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Fuckin’ Sabini, Ada. He won’t know what’s bloody comin’.”

“Sabini, eh?” Ada plays along, still slightly annoyed but now intriguied. “You didn’t happen to hit up his club last night, did you?”

“’Course we did!” John snickers. “What’d you think we’d do, start small?”

Ada’s facial expression suddenly changes into one of slightly more concern. Arthur and John don’t notice, but Tommy does. “I was hopin’ you would,” Ada plays it off but Tommy notices.

“Ada?” he asks, voice stern but eyes curious. His sister was intelligent, so much so that her mouth was as good at getting her out of trouble as it was getting her in it. Tommy was sure that there was more than what she let on.

“Tom?” Ada says back, not meeting his gaze and instead taking a bite out her toast and jam.

“Why’re you so hung up on Sabini’s club?” Tommy asks directly, slowly getting tired of his sister’s semantics. He mommentarily understands how Polly feels when he keeps things from her.

Ada sighs, having also attracted attention from her two other brothers. She sets down her toast and looks directly at Tommy. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

“Saw who?” Arthur asks, booming voice too loud for the sudden change of tone in the room. Ada grimaces but still stares at Tommy.

Tommy knows exactly who she’s talking about. But he wonders how Ada does.

“I did,” he says simply.

“Who’re you talkin’ about?” John asks next, looking between his siblings. Arthur shrugs at him.

“Did you say anything to her?”

“No.”

“Good,” Ada says too quickly. Tommy narrows his eyes at her.

“For God’s sake!” Arthur says again, slamming his tea cup back down onto the table. “Who in the bloody hell are you talkin’ about?”

Ada rolls her eyes and continues eating and Tommy is left to stare at his brothers. He wants to answer. He wants to answer so badly. But he doens’t even know her name.

“I—” Tommy trails off. He’s rarely rendered speechless, but he is when it comes to you. Who were you? Why did Ada know you? Why can’t he get you out of his head? Why does he hope you’re standing there in the shadows every time he steps out on the street?

“You? You what, Tom?” John asks this time, equally as exasperated.

“He doesn’t know and it should stay that way,” Ada says simply. “She offers you a service, you pay her, end of transaction. Stay away from her Tommy, I mean it.”

“What service?” John asks again, still getting more questions than answers.

Tommy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “After Grace, she offered me a service. Cash in exchange for information. Said she knew that I needed a sense of security.” She was right, Tommy thinks but doesn’t dare say.

“Information about what, exactly?” Arthur asks, voice dropping an octave as he leans forward.

“Everything. Anything and everything. She knows everything. I don’t have the slightest clue how,” Tommy answers honestly, his own disbelief being obvious for the first time.

“She can betray us...” John warns, skeptical especially after Grace.

“She won’t,” Ada says simply.

“How do you know?” John challenges.

“She won’t,” Ada reaffirms with a glint in her eye. John immediatley backs down. Ada doens’t trust easily, especially after Freddie.

Tommy believes her. You know too much, far too much. More than he or you had bargained for. You also gave too much. Tommy asked for one thing, you gave him what he wanted and more. Tommy wanted a brief description of the shipping business in Bristol, you gave him an itemized list. Tommy asked you to keep an eye out for any potential threats, you gave him incredibly precise weekly reports. He asked people what your service was like as if he didn’t already know himself: you were never this thorough. He knew you wouldn’t betray him because you would have done it already. The question is, why did Ada trust her?

“You know who she is, don’t you?” Tommy asks his sister once again, doing his best to intimidate her. It’s no use.

“I do,” Ada says simply.

“Even her name?”

John scoffs. “You don’t even know her bloody name and you’ve got that look like you’re in love? Jesus, Tom! You need a good fuckin’, I’m telling you.”

Ada ignores her brother’s comment. “Even her name.”

Tommy gestures for her to elaborate and Ada hesitantly continues, “Polly paid her to find me after Karl was born. She found me personally, not through a messenger. We got along quite well, she was very honest about what she’d been hired to do. She gave Polly that information she was looking for, but we kept in touch. Personally, I mean. I like her.”

“Tell me her name, Ada.”

Ada makes a face of fake appeasement. “Can’t do that, sorry Tom.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “Ada...” he warns.

Ada’s glare mathces his own. “Her identity is all she’s got Tommy. The minute a client knows who she is, it all falls apart. For the love of God, for your safety and hers, don’t find her.”

And hell, does Tommy want not to listen. He wants to find you again. To see you. To speak to you. To learn your name. To feel the weight in his chest lighten once more.

But you remained impossible to find. Even with his London expansion, he wasn’t any closer to finding out who you really were than the day you first spoke to him at The Garrison.

So, he tried to push his thoughts away. He didn’t get so lucky.

---

He was used to receiving messages from you on Sunday evenings before the week began and Thursday mornings before the week ended. Sometimes, they’d be in the form of a phone call from a messnger reading a message written by you. Other times, he would visit a drop site where he picked up parcels of information and evidence you had collected. Fridays were paydays, so he’d get a Blinder to drop a parcel of cash (though they never knew it was cash) at a drop site and wait for a courrier with a blue ribbon pinned under the lapel of their overcoat to retrieve it.

All your foot solidiers and clients wore the ribbons. You avoided paper trails so everything was with symbols. Ribbon colours were a discrete way for both the client and the courrier to tell who was who. Clients wore white ribbons, courriers wore blue ones, messengers wore green ones, and red ones were used for emergencies.

That’s why Tommy panicked when a man burst into his office late at night the day before he was set to take down Sabini, urgently lifting his lapel to show his red ribbon.

“What’s happened? Are we in danger?” Tommy asks immediatley, standing up from his chair.

“No, sir,” the foot soldier said. They were never allowed to say the names of clients, only sir and ma’am. “I have a message from her. It was urgent and couldn’t have waited until Thursday.”

The man gives him a sealed envelope before bowing and leaving as quickly as he came. Tommy checks to make sure that he is alone before ripping it open. It wasn’t a message, but a phone number and the word clairvoyant scribbled quickly with fancy ink.

Tommy furrows his eyebrows but picks up his phone and dials the operator. The other end picks up immediately. He hastily says the number he wants to be patched through to as well as the word scribbled below it. The operator says nothing else and he hears the phone ring again before a female voice finally picks up.

“Mr. Shelby, I was waiting for your call.”

It was you. Tommy’s heartbeat quickens. You continue to speak, oblivious to his shock, “I don’t make calls myself unless absolutely neccassary. You don’t need to worry about privacy; I have connections with the operating center that patched you through. They won’t say a word to anyone, telling them that you called and they won’t be listening.”

Truthfully, Tommy hadn’t even been thinking of that. He was still slightly shocked that he was hearing your voice, the same voice as nealry three years ago. The opium fucked with a lot of things, but not his sense perception. Your voice was as beautiful as he remembered it to be.

He forces the thoughts out of his head and finally speaks. “What’s happened? Is there an emergency?”

“You aren’t safe at the races tomorrow. There will be an attempt on your life.”

Tommy is not entirely surprised. “I’m sure you can put two and two together; what I plan to do at the races is practically a suicide mission, dear. Of course there’ll be an attempt on my life.”

You scoff at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll rephrase: you may succeed in your plan tomorrow, but something will catch you off-guard. Something big.”

“What is it, then? If you’re so sure,” Tommy challenges, but is taken aback by the silence.

You sigh, defeated at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll be honest. An Inspector Campbell approached me this morning, asking for my services to give him everything I knew about you plans tomorrow. I took his money.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “You called me to tell me you’re a fuckin’ conspirator against me now, eh?”

“I resent that. There’s a reason I ask you not to tell me anything about your business aside from what I need to know to do my job,” you snap back. “Campbell gave me money to tell him information I didn’t have. So, I took the money and told him lies. He didn’t pay enough money to turn me against one of clients anyway and I don’t negotiate.”

Tommy laughs in slight disbelief, “You clever bloody woman.”

You can’t help but grin at the other end of the line. “He let it slip that he had something planned, though. That you weren’t getting out of this alive. Thomas, I don’t know what and I don’t have enough time to find out, but you needed to know,” you say before soflty adding, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you.”

Tommy nods solemnly before saying, “That’s the first time you’ve called me Thomas.”

You laugh and Tommy’s heart clenches at the sound. “Is that what you choose to focus on?” you ask, amused despite your worry.

“I’m not afraid of death. Not anymore,” Tommy answers.

“It’s a shame. There seems to be a lot in your life that’s worth living for,” you reply, your voice softer that Tommy’s ever heard it.

“Will you do me one final favour? Take it as my dying wish.”

“Thomas—” you start before he cuts you off.

“Can you tell me your name?” he finally asks, but he’s met with silence. He clears his throat and adds, “Please?”

You sigh at the other end. This is not how you were supposed to conduct business. Anonymity was the only thing keeping you from being excecuted at the hands of the Crown or a crime-boss. But here the feared Thomas Shelby was, asking as his dying wish to know your name. You don’t know him aside from your brief interactions and stories from Ada. But strangely, you trust him with the key keeping your identity safe.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”

---

The following evening, Tommy trudges home covered in mud and blood. His encounter with the face of death was anticipated, but still left him scarred. Despite his success against the races and against Sabini, he felt trapped. With a success in the business, he still finds himself indebted to Winston Churchill. He’s exhaused of this cycle and in the moment, he embraced his fate just a little.

As he pushed the door to his home open, his eyes are immediately drawn to crackling fire. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home, as the family was staying in London with Ada to celebrate their successes.

So the sight of you, sitting on his couch and staring into the fire shocked the life back through him.

He takes of his hat and stares at you in slight disbelief. “So, you’re real.”

You turn to face him and the tension previously present in your features fell and the corner of your lip quirked upwards. “You’re alive,” you state the obvious.

“The Devil’s tried too many time to kill me, I’m starting to wonder if God does exist,” he says plainly, taking off his coat and taking a seat on the other end of the couch from you.

A small laugh escapes you. “He has jokes, does he?”

Tommy smiles softly but shakes his head and stares at you. “You’re really real. I was starting to think I was imagin’ ya.”

“Ada says you’ve been asking about me.”

“I have. She wouldn’t tell me your name, though.”

“You got it anyway.”

“Who’s to deny a man his dying wish?” Tommy darkly jokes again.

“I can’t go back to operating how things were. Even you knowing my name is too much,” you say softly, turning back to the fire. You were slightly frustrated with yourself. Years and years of building a network built around your anonymity destroyed by one man. Deep down, you felt that it was time.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tommy says simply.

“But you’d want to be in my life,” you say back, still not looking away from the fire. “I’m a woman, but I’m not stupid. I know why you tried to look for me.”

Tommy sits back and watches her. A woman’s never been more direct with him before. Even Grace, who had just asked him to lay with her one final time before moving back to America at the races, had never laid out what she saw so simply and bluntly before. She was right. Tommy wouldn’t tell anyone your name if you asked him to, but he would still want to see you. The only thing more painful than not knowing who you were was knowing and still not being able to see you.

“You could start again,” Tommy says. He barely recongizes the softness in his own tone, but he decides the change is good. “You could work for me, have your men join the Blinders if they wanted.”

“I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby,” you say again cheekily, reminding him of the first time the two of you spoke. You turn to face him and stop to admire his beauty—how the fire cast beautiful shadows across his face, how the moonlight sparkled in his eyes.

“That you don’t,” Tommy hums in agreement, still looking at you. His gaze hadn’t left you since he came home.

It’s silent for a few moments before Tommy says, “Stay.”

“With you?” you ask in slight surprise.

“With me, in Small Heath, with the company—whatever you want. Just stay.”

“You barely know me.”

“Then let me get to know you, Y/N,” Tommy answers, finally saying your name for the first time. He loves the way it spills off his tongue and you equally adore the sound of his voice when he says it.

You nod softly, agreeing with his hearfealt proposition. The two of you spent the rest of the night staring into the fire, allowing your heartbeats and breaths come into sync as you slowly fell asleep.

---

It’s been five years since you had started working for Shelby Company Limited as Tommy’s senior advisor and security specialist, four years since your network of spies had merged with the Peaky Blinders, three years since you and Tommy got married, two years since you gave birth to a set of twins named Benjamin and Mae Shelby, and one year since you had also become a political advisor to your husband and his allies in Parliament.

With your years together, the Shelby family found you to be an intriguing, fascinating, and intimidatingly wonderful woman. They couldn’t comprehend how right you seemed with Tommy. They also couldn’t comprehend how involved you were in their success without them even knowing who you were. However, they love to poke fun at Tommy for basically falling in love with from two interactions.

You were currently at the Arrow House doing the final touch-ups to your makeup for the gala you were hosting in your home. It was a typical charity ball that made sleezy politicians look good in the eyes of their constituants, but you had pressured Tommy to allow you to host it on behalf of the Shelby Family Institute. He had been skeptical, but relented when you reminded him that it wasn’t about giving them a platform to look good, but using their ego to benefit the institute.

“I’ve put the children to bed,” Polly announces as she walks into the master bedroom. The room is obscenely large with a king sized bed in the middle, but Polly can’t help but feel pride every time she visits. It was the both of your hardwork that you got you here and she was proud. “Ben passed out almost immediatley, but you’re right about Mae. She’s a trouble maker.”

You give Polly a smile through the mirror of the vanity you sat in front of, “Thank you, Pol. Really.”

“Where’s that bastard husband of yours?” Polly jokes as she stands behind you, inspecting her pearls in the mirror.

“His study, no doubt,” you joke with a slight smirk.

“The faith the two of you have in my is astounding,” Tommy says sarcastically, immerging through the en-suite dressed in his tuxedo.

Polly rolls her eyes and leaves the room, leaving the couple to stare at each other.

“You clean up well, Mr. Shelby,” you state, smiling as he approaches you. “Though I’m not sure if that’s because of you or your OBE.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have continued loving you at a distance,” he comments humourously.

You laugh—a real laugh—and wrap your hands around his neck while his arms immediately find themselves around your waist.

“How’re you feeling, darling?” Tommy asks, referring to the mental and emotional preparation for the event that was about to start downstairs.

“I’m not the biggest fan of a lot of your colleagues, Tom,” you say honestly. “Their wives however...they give me thousands of pounds worth of information every sentence.”

“You never cease to amaze me with that mind of yours,” he tells you honestly.

“And you never cease to amaze me with how verbally affectionate you can be,” you quip back lightheartedly before Tommy softly kisses your lips.

“How ‘bout this?” he says once you pull away. “I take care of getting donations, you take care of getting more leverage on the labour bill I’m looking to pass.”

“Done,” you say with a smile before Tommy kisses you again. You begin to hear cars pull into the driveway when you try to pull away, but he keeps you close.

“Tom,” you giggle, breathless. “Tom, the guests are arriving.”

“I’ve waited for you for years, they can wait for you a little while longer,” he replies with a smirk before kissing you deeply once again.

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jeromesxreader16 · 3 years ago

Text

Such a Joker (55)

Part 54 Here!

~o0o~

I stop at the bottom of the staircase with a basket of clothes. "You two need to come down here or you're going to be late. We have a set time, you know!" "WE KNOW!" The twins yell. Four feet hitting the steps quickly. "Can I give this to him?" Juliet opens a card reading a sweet love letter to her father. "That's very sweet, honey. I'm sure he will love it." Jeremy shuffles his feet pushing his glasses up his nose. "Do you have something for him, Jer?" He nods, pulling out a book about his favorite animal. "He loves tigers!" Jeremy's eyes light up. "Really?!" "Yeah! Come on!"

I rush the kids to the car, buckling them into their seats before making way to Arkham Hospital. "Make way! We're back!" Juliet screams as she runs to the door, swiping the entry card. The nurses stare at my family strangely each week. "Juliet, honey. Slow down."

"Daddy!" Juliet yells at the gate, flailing her arms around. "Welcome back, Juliet." A guard by the name of Rick speaks up. "Thanks, Rick! Care to open the gate, good sir?" She bows to him playfully. As the doors slide, Jeremy walks through the patients calmly minding his business while Juliet attempts to make friends.

"Jules, honey, come on." I laugh, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the table. Jeremy sits in front of his dad crossing his hands in front of him. "Hello, dad." He smiles brightly at Jeremiah. "Daddy!" Juliet throws her arms over his neck hugging him.

Rick comes over nodding to us. "His room is ready if you'd like to escort him." I nod, going behind Jerimiah's wheelchair. "Thank you, Rick."

The kids walk behind me as I push Jer to his secluded room on the end of the hall. "Jeremy, love, get the door for me, please."

"Sure." As my boy pushed the door open Juliet jumps on his bed. "Can't we spend the night, mommy?" I scoff, "Jules, you know we can't." She crosses her arms. "Why not?" I bend down to her level. "Don't you have something for him?"

She takes the card out of her pocket and pushes it towards Jeremiah. "I made this for you, daddy." She places it on his leg. He just sits still, looking dead at the wall. "Are you going to read it?" Juliet looks at me. "He won't read it if you're in here, mommy. Can you step outside?" I give her a sad smile. "Honey, he's... daddy can't move." She looks up at me confused. "That's not true. I've seen him!" Jeremy walks over and leans to his father's ear, whispering. Then goes to his mouth, listening almost as if Jeremiah is speaking back.

"Kids! That is enough! Jeremiah is not going to move. He's not going to talk. All we can do is come visit and see him. We do not get a response. Now straighten up or-"

"Oh darling, you've gotten yourself all tightened up haven't you?"

His voice cracking. Dry and horse. I turn around seeing Jeremiah standing out of his chair. "What? See a ghost?" He laughs spinning around. "Daddy!" The kids cheer running to him and jumping In his arms. "Oh, my boy and girl. I've missed you!"

I stood frozen as the kids interacted with him. He looks over at me. Scars and all, he's still my love. "(Y/n), my wife. Come to me." As a river flows one way, so does my heart. I reach for him, walking closer. "You haven't aged a day. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner." I rest my head on his chest letting out a breath. "Jeremiah. It's been so long." He hugs me close. "I know, darling. I know, but now we're together again. As a family." I back away from him slightly. "Why have you done this for so long? How long were you able to-" Jer shovels me in his arms, pressing myself against him, devouring my lips. "Everything is fine now. Unanswered questions are useless. Live with me, now, in the present."

The kids and I walk into Arkham with smiles. "Morning, Rick." He tips his hat to us, opening the gate. "A pure saint you are." I internally roll my eyes. "I just want my kids to have their time with their father."

I grab the handles on Jer's chair pushing him forward towards his room. I kiss the side of his head. "Almost there, honey."

The kids open the door letting me in and close it right after we make it through. Jerimiah sits still waiting. I stare at him confused. "Jer?" I question leaning down. "BOO!" He raises his hands scaring me. I jump back holding my heart. The kids laugh running to him.

Hours of laughing and playing with Jeremiah the sky has darkened. I put on my jacket and gather my kids. "Alright. Time to go home, loves. I still need to make dinner. Pops is coming over." Jer frowns and hugs his two wild redheads. Juliet shuffles her feet. "Do we have to, Mommy?" "Honey, of course, we do. This isn't a hotel."

Jer kisses my head. "Not long now. We will all be home." He rushes me out and closed the door leaving me to wonder about his plans.

Juliet and Jeremy sit at the table swinging their feet. I open the door with my hip, setting the roast on the table. "Now remember what I told you." "Don't talk about dad." My children say out loud. "That's right!" The doorbell rings and the two kids rush to it.

"You're under arrest!" Jeremy says holding his hands like a gun. "Woah!" Jim throws his hands up. "Don't shoot. Don't shoot!" Jim scoops him up wrestling him on the couch. "We got you now, Pops!" Juliet says beating him with pillows. I smile looking at them. I get a cold chill against my neck making the hairs stand up. I rub my neck and turn around to see nothing.

Must be a draft.

"Alright, kids, Dad, come on and eat."

All four of us around the table acting as a picture-perfect family. All that would soon change.

The children in bed asleep when my phone rings over and over and over and over. "What Dad? I'm getting-" "DID YOU KNOW (Y/N)?" I bite my tongue. "Know what? What's going on?" "(Y/ N), Jerimaih has escaped!" My blood runs cold at the mention. I sigh into the phone. "I don't know where he could go, Dad. He would come here if he knew where I was." "It's not you, he wants. It's me." "Do you need me?" He holds his breath. "I can't tell you to leave the kids."

I look over my shoulder at the doors. "I'm going to Bab's to get Barbara Lee." I hang up locking the kids behind both double doors.

At Barbra's the lights and music suddenly turns on.

♪Now, I don't hardly... ♪ ♪ But I think I could love her ♪ ♪ Crimson and clover ♪

"Turn around." She speaks to the figure at the bar. "Turn around. I won't ask again."

A chilling voice emerges behind her. "Surprise." She whips around to hit Jerimiah but is pushed into Ecco. "Easy. It's just a surprise party. For you, Barbara Kean, queen of Gotham, business titan. How exciting. But there was another you, I... I seem to recall. Wasn't there? Then again, there was, uh, another me, too. Oh, so hard holding on to what's real. It's... It's enough to drive you mad." He cackles over her. Barbara Lee comes running at Jerimiah, throwing a statue at Ecco.

Jeremiah looks down at her unamused. "Cute. Mine is better." Jer simply shoots Babs in the abdomen. "Mom!" Jerimiah picks Barbara Lee up, "She has your eyes. For now."

Echo whimpers, holding her stomach. "I... think she... nicked me, Daddy. I... oh, boy." Jer stares at his assistant. "Oh, dear me. My sweet Ecco, no longer my echo. There will never be one like you. (y/n) will miss you dearly." She smiles widely, "Really?" Jerimiah aims and shoots her in the chest. She smiles as blood pours down her chin. "But you were deceiving and in love with my wife. I suppose there are other employees available."

"Let me... down." Barbara Lee struggles in his arms. Jerimiah leans down to Bads on the ground, pistol-whipping her.

"Hush, little Barbaras, don't say a word. Now we're going to play a... little game. By now, James Gordon should have made it to your apartment and called his daughter. When he gets here, I want you to deliver a message."

I park my car as I see Dad sitting alone. I run-up to the club seeing Bads laying down. "What happened?" She glares at me. "He took her! Your psychotic husband took her!" She reaches for me in anger. "He took her! That lunatic took her! He said you have to come, and if you don't come, he's gonna kill her." "Where?" "The place where he was born again." I rub my face in frustration. "Ace Chemicals." I run down getting in my car and racing there. "Jer!" I call out loudly. "You can't do this shit, Jeremiah!"

"Jeremiah? Is there a Jeremiah here?" I hear him call. I follow the voice to see him all alone. "So what should I call you?" I tilt my head, tears flowing. "Jerimiah." "No, no. That's a boy name." "STOP THIS!" I scream. His facade falls slightly but never cracking.

"I call you the devil." Dad appears behind me with his gun drawn. "Wher is my daughter?" Jer looks at him confused. "The Devil? No, Call me... Jack. Mm, no, no, no, that's not right. J-Joseph. John. Jay. I-I don't know. I just... I feel something new crawling from the primordial ooze that was me. Something... beautiful."

"How long have you been pretending to be brain-dead?" "How long have you been pretending? That's a joke. I know you're not pretending." I look up seeing Barbra Lee hanging over the tanks. "Ah, ah, ah, that's far enough, (y/n)."

"But you still haven't told me. Why? Why keep pretending?" I look at Jer in confusion. Why has he waited all this time?" He smirks, "I was waiting for him to come home. We're bound together, he and I. It's the one thing I knew for certain, the one thing I knew was true. And then he just... abandoned us. Do you know how it feels to have the one, the only thing you love ripped away from you? It feels like this." Jer pulls the rope releasing Barabra Lee. "No!" I scream grabbing hold of the rope, the fibers sliding my hands.

Clangs of metal are thrown at Jer, who dodges them. "Who's there?! What do you want?! Show yourself! Show yourself!" I see a black mass whooshing over us. I gasp in realization. "You." Jeremiah laughs before he's knocked out cold.

"Now you give those kids kisses from their Pop." I laugh as I hang onto my father's arm as we walk to dark streets. "You know you could come over. They miss you. You make them laugh, dad." He shrugs and kisses my head. "I'll come over tomorrow night for dinner. Let it be a surprise." I nod and open my car door sighing. "Bye, dad." "Bye (Y/n). I love you. Tell Juliet and Jermey I love them too." "Of course." I finish, getting in my car and closing the door.

The drive home is never my favorite. Time alone is cruel to me. I still hear his laughter. Both of them are so different yet so loveable in their ways.

Juliet holds so much of Jerome in her. Especially her eyes. Full of joy and determination boxed up in two beautiful green orbs. Jeremy loves the books and brain teasers and puzzles like a certain Valeska who holds my heart.

I pull up to my small house upon a hill. The lights to the living room, kitchen, and kids' room are the only lights illuminating the house. The sitter's car was still parked in the driveway where it was hours ago untouched.

I unlock the door stepping into my house. "Jeremy! Juliet! Babes, I'm home!" I hear my daughter's beautiful laughter from down the hall. "Mommy! Come here and look!" She giggles, creating a smile on my face.

Jeremy giggles and yells from the same room, "Juliet made a mess, Mom!"

Maybe they're playing house, maybe even cops and robbers!

My heels click as they edge closer to the door. I grasp the handle smiling. "Did you two have a good time with Abby? I hope you were" I scream as the sight before me wounds my eyes.

Abby, the sweet high school girl who has watched my babies grow up now lays in my daughter's bed with knives and pins stuck in her body.

My baby girl, Juliet, stands next to her, knife in hand, blood on her cheeks, and a wide smile spread across her lips.

I cover my mouth horrified. "Juliet. Honey." she giggles and pulls out a pin of Abby's eye. "We played Doctor, mommy!" She runs to me laughing and holding the weapons.

Jeremy runs in from the bathroom with a blood-soaked rag. "I'll help clean, mommy!"

I fall to my knees letting a few silent tears fall. "Are you okay, mommy?" Jeremy asks with big eyes filled with worry. He walks over, hugging me by his sister's side. "I'm sorry we ruined the floor. I told Julie we needed a sheet first." Jeremy says, kissing my cheek.

Juliet wraps her blood-covered hands around my neck kissing my cheek like her brother. "Did Pop not come too? I miss him." I smile holding my girl as Jeremy goes to clean the floor again. "Pop has a busy day tomorrow morning. He said he'll make it up to you." she nods and laughs again.

Jeremy takes the knife from his sister and holds it up to me smiling. "Do you want to play, mommy?" I see the joy in those eyes as she asks me. I see hope in her eyes.

"Yeah, mommy! Play with us!" Juliet jumps on the bed over Abby's body.

I grab the knife and stare down at it.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, come on, mommy. Let's play."

I look up and see Jerome sitting at Juliet's vanity playing with a big brush for her play makeup. "Aw come on doll. Look at her. You'll make her so happy."

I turn my head to the right and see Jerimiah flipping through a children's book. "Better than intoxicating their minds with this, darling. Think of how much they'll admire you. Our little ones will look up to you as their hero. A hero they're going to be told is evil in Gotham. Raise them right."

Jerome grabs my hand and helps me grasp the handle of the knife. "For me doll. For Jeremy and Juliet. For you, (y/n). I know you miss it, doll. Go on."

I walk over to the cold dead body and look at my little boy and girl between their fathers.

"Let me show you two something Daddy showed me." Juliet runs over and hops on her bed next to her brother, standing in between Abby's legs. "What mommy?"

"If you slice a clean cut from the corners of her lips... to her cheeks..." I slice the skin feeling my hands become lighter.

"She's smiling!" Juliet giggles and jumps. "Isn't she pretty, Jeremy?" Juliet asks, hugging her brother. He giggles and nods jumping on the bed.

I see my men both smile at me. "Let's go get cleaned up and then we can call pop and tell him goodnight." She nods and skips to her bathroom.

"You're such a bad mom, (y/n)." Jerome purrs smacking my butt as I pass him. Jerimiah rolls his eyes and simply kisses my head. "They'll turn out to be magnificent, darling. Even more than they are now." I shrug smiling at them both.

"What can I say. They're Valeska Twins."

#jerome #jerome x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska smut #Gotham City #Gotham #gotham cast #Cameron Monaghan

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dialovers-translations · 3 years ago

Text

Diabolik Lovers LUNATIC PARADE ;; Subaru Route ー Chapter 2

*Thud*

*Creaaaak*

Yui: ( Nn... )

( Huh? What time is it...? )

*Rustle*

Yui: ( Last time, I somehow had trouble sleeping, so I didn’t get much rest... )

( ...? Huh...? I can’t move...! W-Why...!? )

???: ...

Yui: ( Someone’s...here...? Wait...!? )

ー She opens her eyes in the hotel room

*Rustle*

Yui: ーー S-Subaru-kun!?

( Huh, hold up? Why is Subaru-kun on my side of the bed...!? )

( Did I fall asleep on the wrong side by accident...? ...No, that shouldn’t be the case... )

Subaru: ...Nn...

Yui: ( Wah! Oh no! Is he waking up...!? )

Subaru: ...Ah?

Yui: Um...Well...Good...morning...?

Subaru: Yeah...Hm?

Wait, y-you!? Why are you here!?

Didn’t I tell you to stay away from this side!?

*Thud*

Yui: No! This is my side...!

Subaru: Haah!? Yeah riーー

Yui: But look! My Rosary is placed next to the pillow...

Subaru: ...

Yui: ( What now? He went silent... )

Subaru: Aah...Right...Yesterday...

Haah...

Yui: Um, Subaru-kun...?

Subaru: ...How are you feelin’?

Yui: Eh...? How I feel? I’m totally fine though...

Subaru: ...Good.

Yui ( I wonder what he means...? )

Anyway...Why were you sleeping on my side of the bed...?

Subaru: ...Well...

...Oh shut up. Why does it matter!?

Yui: Eh? ...I’m curious...

( I mean...He’s the one who kept on telling me to stay on my side... )

Subaru: ...

Yui: ...

Subaru: ...Che! Aah, fuck!

Fine! I just gotta tell you, right!?

...You were...grunting in your sleep last night.

Yui: Eh...?

Subaru: I could hear you suffering all the way over on my side so...

So...I decided to check up on you.

...Got a problem with it?

Yui: Ah...

( So the pain in my chest from last night didn’t just occur in a dream... )

( So that’s why Subaru-kun joined me... )

You were worried about me, weren’t you?

Subaru: Wha...I wasn’t concerned or anythin’...

Yui: Fufu...

Subaru: Fuck! Don’t you dare laugh!

*Thud*

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyah...!?

Don’t pull me by my arm all of a sudden...!

Subaru: Shut up! Let’s get some more sleep.

Yui: Eeh...!?

Subaru: Now shut up and let me hold you...!

*Creaaak*

Yui: ( Geez. We should really hurry and get up though...However... )

( I’m sure he watched over me all night yesterday... )

( I guess just a short nap...should be fine? )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the main street

Yui: This antique dealer you mentioned yesterday...Do you know where we can find him?

Subaru: Yeah. ...If I’m bein’ honest, I’d rather not get anywhere close to him though...

Yui: Is he that much of an oddball...?

Subaru: Rather than odd...He’s just a plain freak who always finds something to call you out on.

He’s just some stupid old geezer who doesn’t even hold back towards my Old Man.

Yui: Come on, no need to say that...

Subaru: Hmph...

However...He’s probably the only person in the whole Demon World who would dare to defy our dad.

I have to give him credit in that regard.

Yui: Heeh...I see...

( Going against Karlheinz-san...That’s quite the impressive feat... )

( I wonder what kind of person he is...? )

Subaru: I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere around here...

Aah, right here! ...Let’s go in.

ー The scene shifts to Aizen Stahl antique shop

Subaru: ーー Oi, anyone here?

Antique dealer: Hm...?

Ooh! Well if it isn’t the Sakamaki’s little one!

Yui: ( So this man is the antique dealer... )

Antique dealer: You used to be such a wee little fella!

But you’ve scored yourself a girl in the meantime, I see?

Antique dealer: ...Well, seems like she has a bit of a shovel face (1) though.

Yui: A-A shovel face...!?

( How mean... )

Subaru: Che...

...Don’t let it get to your heart. I told you he’s a disgustin’ freak who only knows how to insult others, remember?

Yui: Y-Yeah...

Antique dealer: So? What brings you here today? You sure don’t drop by every day!

Are you here to run an errand on Karlheinz’s behalf? Hehe...

Subaru: I’m not. The Old Man has nothin’ to do with this.

...Do you know Count Walter?

Antique dealer: ...

Subaru: Let’s just say I ended up wreckin’ a few of that guy’s furnishings yesterday.

Antique dealer: ...You did?

Subaru: ...Yeah.

Antique dealer: Hooh...Furnishings which belonged to Walter, huh...?

Heh...Hahaha! Right, I see! You destroyed them!

Splendid!

I have to give you props, little one.

Yui: Eh...?

( He burst out laughing for some reason...!? )

Subaru: O-Oi...?

Antique dealer: I won’t hide it, I loathe that guy.

Yui: You do...?

Antique dealer: Yeah, of course! He actually stole something very precious to me in the past.

Ever since, I’ve had a strong hatred towards him...

So hearing what happened just now made me very pleased.

Yui: ( I see...So that’s his reasoning... )

Antique dealer: I’m pretty sure I should be able to cover for pretty much anything he has in his manor aside from the stuff in his treasure storage?

Subaru: For real!?

Yui: Thank god...!

Antique dealer: If it’s to give that guy a run for his money...I’ll gladly lend you a hand.

What are you looking to replace?

Yui: Vases, sculptures and paintings...

Antique dealer: I see. I might be able to help out then. Wait one second, okay?

ー The antique dealer walks away

Yui: Seems like we might be able to fix things somehow, Subaru-kun...!

Subaru: Yeah, you’re right...

*TIMESKIP*

Antique dealer: Sorry for the wait. What do you think about this?

I assume the items which were destroyed were similar to the ones lined up here?

Subaru: Yeah, pretty much.

Yui: In which case...The Count might just forgive us if we bring him these...!

Subaru: Yeah, thanks for the help. Well thenーー

Antique dealer: Halt!

*SMACK*

Subaru: Ow...! The fuck was that for!?

Antique dealer: I never said you’re gettin’ this for free, did I?

Subaru: Haah!? Weren’t you gonna help us out!?

Antique dealer: If you’re gonna complain to me, then you can forget about getting these!

Subaru: Guh...

...Right! I’ll have the Old Man arrange the money from the human world.

So can’t we make a trade?

Antique dealer: Hmph! I can’t imagine Karlheinz will pay for something like this.

Subaru: ...Ugh...

Yui: Then...What do we have to do to get these...?

Antique dealer: Let’s see...

If you bring me the three items I want, I’d be willing to exchange.

Well, in other words, you two will be my personal servants!

Yui: Servants...

Subaru: Che...It’s a drag...but guess we have no other choice...

ーー Fine. We’ll fetch them for you.

Antique dealer: ...Is that a yes? We have a deal then!

Yui: What should we look for first?

Antique dealer: ...A clown mask. An antique one.

Subaru: Haah!? Why do you want that!?

Antique dealer: Sometimes we just want things without a specific reason, right?

You don’t have to if you don’t want to? Although that also means you won’t be getting any of these.

Subaru: ...I said I’d do it, didn’t I!? I’ll find that crap in no time so just wait here! ...Fuck!

ー The scene shifts to Saint Nore Park venue

Yui: It’s even more crowded than I thought...

Subaru: Yeah...This sucks...

Yui: ( It was to be expected with the ongoing Parade though... )

ーー Ah! But there’s a clown over there! I wonder if some sort of performance will start soon?

( Seems like we made a good decision by coming to the amusement park. Now if we can just ask him about the maskーー )

Vampire Child A: Ah! It’s a clown! Hurry up!

Vampire Child B: Wait for me!

Clown A: Now, now, don’t push!

Yui: ( Wah, he’s really popular...We can’t even get close... )

Subaru: Oi, what are we gonna do now? We can’t get to the clown ‘cause of all these lil’ brats who are in the way.

Yui: Yeah...At this rate, the show will start...

( What now...? )

Clown B: ...What should we do?

Clown C: It’s not like asking that question will get us any further...We’re in quite the pinch...

Yui: ( Hm? Those people over there... )

Say, why don’t we try talking to those two clowns preparing for the show over there?

They seem to be struggling with something...

ー Yui and Subaru approach the clowns

Yui: Excuse me...

Clown B: Yes?

Yui: What’s the matter? Is there a problem of some sorts...?

Clown C: Ah...Well...The clown who was supposed to be the star of today’s show, you see...

He injured himself and can no longer perform...

Vampire Child A: The show’s still not starting!?

Vampire Child B: We’re tired of waiting!

Yui: ( Ah...The children... )

Clown A: ...I don’t think I can buy us any more time! What now!?

Yui: Excuse me! Could we perhaps help out in some way?

Clown B: Eeh!? But...

Subaru: Hah? Oi, you, what are you...!?

Clown C: No...This might work. Even just some help with the fountain show would be much appreciated...

Clown B: ...Now that you mention it...They should probably be able to handle that much...Guess we have no other choice, huh?

Subaru: What are you thinkin’!? There’s just no way we could help out...!?

Yui: I’m sorry for making a rash decision, but...

If we help them out, perhaps they’d be more willing to return the favor afterwards...

Subaru: ...

Clown A: Will you do us this favor?

Subaru: Good point...It’d probably speed things up a little...

...Fine. We’ll do it.

Clown C: Thank you so much! Well then...We’re running short on time, so let’s get straight to it.

Yui: Yes...!

*TIMESKIP*

Clown A: Attention, everyone! The long wait is over!

Clown B: Allow us to take you to a world of dreams and fantasies!

Yui: ( Okay...Let’s give it our best shot...! )

Explanation: Press the arrow keys at the right time, following the instructions on the screen to complete the fountain show.

You can play this game in EASY, NORMAL or HARD mode.

*Clap clap clap*

Yui: ( I suppose...it went well...? )

Vampire Child A: Ohー! Amazing!

Vampire Child B: The fountain was awesome too...!

Clown A: Thank you very much! It was a grand success!

Yui: Really...? We did it, Subaru-kun!

*Rustle*

Subaru: Uwah...!?

Yui: ( Thank god...We pulled it off...! )

Subaru: O-Oi! Move back!

Yui: Eh?

Vampire Child A: Ahー! It’s a couple! They’re dating!!

Vampire Child B: You’re right~! Look at them being all lovey-dovey!

Yui: ...!

( I was so happy, I acted without thinking...! )

Ah, Subaru-kun. This is...You see, I didn’t...!

Vampire Child B: Couple! Couple!

Subaru: Che...Shut your damn mouths!

Vampire Child A: Wahー! He got mad! Let’s make a run for it!!

ー The children run off

Subaru: Fuck...!

Yui: ( Uu...What am I doing...? How embarrassing...! )

I-I’m sorry for doing such a weird thing out of nowhere...!

Subaru: Geez...

Clown C: Gosh, we were only able to hold our show because of you two.

On top of that, it got an even better reaction than we expected!

Clown B: Thank you so much!

Yui: ( I’m glad we managed to help them out. )

*TIMESKIP*

Clown A: ーー Allow me to once again thank you both for your cooperation.

Clown B: Please let us give you something to show our thanks!

Yui: U-Um...Actually, we happen to be looking for something...

ー Subaru shows them an image

Subaru: ーー This is it. Does it ring any bells?

Clown C: This is...

Yui: ( Ah...That picture... )

Subaru: Apparently it’s a clown mask. If you have it, could you give it to us?

Clown A: Ahー ...This is a rather old mask. I just hope we still have one left in the storage...

However, you were such a great help to us earlier, so we’ll try our best to look for it!

Yui: Really!? Thank you so much...!

Clown A: We’ll go search then...Could you wait for us for a while?

Yui: We’re counting on you!

ー The clowns walk away

Yui: Good news, right?

Subaru: I just hope they find it...

Yui: ( ...We’ve got some free time on our hands. What should we do? )

Ah...Say, Subaru-kun? Why don’t we go on some of the rides while we’re here?

Subaru: Aah?

Yui: I’m sure it’d be boring to just stand around waiting...

Subaru: ...Which one do you want to ride?

Yui: Um...Let’s see...Ah, how about the merry-go-round?

Subaru: Haah!? You really think I’m goin’ anywhere near that childish crap!?

Yui: Ah...

( Guess that’s a no...I would have loved to go on a ride together now that we have the chance though... )

Subaru: ...

...Che.

ー Subaru walks away

Yui: Subaru-kun...?

Subaru: ...Why are you spacin’ out over there? Hurry up.

Yui: Eh? ...Hurry for what...?

Subaru: That thing...You want to ride it, right? Then come here before I change my mind.

Yui: ...Yeah!

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: Haah, that was so much fun...!

Subaru: In what world!? ...The only thing I felt was shame!

For one...I was goin’ to sit down in one of the carriages...

But that darn employee...How dare they seat us on one of those stupid horses...!?

I’m sendin’ them flyin’ the next time we meet...!

Yui: ( Well, it was a little embarrassing to ride the horse together... )

I enjoyed riding together with you. Thank you, Subaru-kun.

Subaru: ...

Well...I guess it’s fine if you had fun...But I’m never gettin’ on that thing again!

Clown A: ーー Sorry for the wait!

Yui: Y-You’re the clown from earlier...

Subaru: Did you find it?

Clown A: Well...As we feared, it’s too old of a model so we didn’t have any left in stock.

Subaru: Haah!?

Yui: N-No way...!

Clown A: However, they might still have it over at the dress shop in town!

Yui: Dress shop...

( I suppose we should try heading there then. )

Thank you for the valuable piece of information. We’ll try our luck there next.

Clown A: Yes. Be careful...!

ー The scene shifts to Aizen Alleyway

Subaru: ーー So where’s this dress shop?

Yui: Yeah...According to the map we received earlier, it should be around here.

I suppose it could be that place attracting a crowd over there...?

Subaru: A crowd...? I’ve had enough of those.

Yui: Ahaha, right...

( However, is this bad hunch just overthinking on my part...? )

ー They enter the dress shop

Yui: ...

Subaru: ...

Why is it this crowded in here as well...!?

Yui: Y-Yeah...

( The bad feeling I had became reality...! )

Um...Excuse me. Is something going to happen here?

Female Vampire A: Yes. The fashion show is about to start.

Yui: Fashion show!?

If their show is about to start, I’m sure the staff will be busy...

Subaru: Yeah...This crowd is getting on my nerves as well. Let’s wait somewhere else till it’s over.

Yui: Yeah...Guess we should...

( I’m kind of curious what a fashion show in the Demon World looks like thoughーー )

???: Ah! Hey! Wait, you!

Subaru: Aah?

Yui: ( Hm...? )

???: Come with me, please!

ー She pulls Subaru along

*Rustle*

Subaru: Aah!? The fuck do you want all of a sudden!?

Dress shop owner: I’m the owner of this place! I’ll explain the details in the back, just come with me for now!

*Rustle*

Subaru: Oi, wait!

Yui: Ah, hey...!

( What is going on...? Guess I’ll follow them for now... )

ー The scene shifts to the changing room

Yui: ( We were taken to the back of the store... )

Dress shop owner: I’m sorry this is a little sudden, but could you please change into this outfit?

Subaru: Haah!? This is more than ‘a little’ sudden! The fuck do you want!?

Dress shop owner: ...Right. I suppose I was a little too pushy...

We’re actually about to get started with our fashion show...

However, I’ve been in quite the pinch since I was unable to find a model to wear my best creation.

We did find a substitute, but they just don’t fit the image I have in mind.

Then you appeared in front of me! You’re the perfect fit!

Yui: ( Subaru-kun...A model... )

Subaru: Fuck off! You must be mental if you think I’m doin’ that shit!

Dress shop owner: Oh no! I will have you be my model!

I’m sure my clothes would be overjoyed to be worn by you as well!

Subaru: Hmph, bullshit. Oi, we’re leavin’.

ー Subaru starts walking away

Yui: Ah, but...

( We have to ask her about the mask... )

( And above all... )

( I’m very much interested in seeing Subaru-kun take part in a fashion show...! )

Say, Subaru-kun...Why not take this opportunity to participate?

Subaru: Aah!? Have you hit your head as well!?

Yui: ...Oh come on, please?

Also...Lend me your ear for a bit?

Subaru: Aah?

*Rustle*

Yui: It might be a good chance to ask about the mask...!

Subaru: ...

Dress shop owner: I don’t know what you’re whispering about but...

I’d like to ask you for your cooperation as well. I’m convinced you’ll be the best model for this outfit!

Subaru: ...

...Gimme that. I’ll go change.

*Rustle*

Yui: Subaru-kun...!

Dress shop owner: Oh my! Thank you so much! This way, please!

Yui: ( I can’t wait to see what it’ll look like...! )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the main street

*Snap snap*

Yui: ( All of the models have such great figures. (2) I can only dream to look like that... )

( I wonder when it’ll be Subaru-kun’s turn...? )

Dress shop owner: Well then, to wrap up the show, we have none other than my pride and joy!

Yui: ( Ah, there he is...! )

*Snap snap snap*

Monologue

Subaru-kun’s appearance as he set foot on the stage,

was so handsome,

he made the whole crowd swoon.

...He did seem somewhat grumpy though.

Perhaps it’s due to the different style of clothes,

but it felt refreshing to me.

Standing next to him,

was the shop clerk from earlierーー

who looked equally stunning.

However...I could not help but grow a little curious,

as this seemingly picture-perfect duo,

seemed to be whispering something to each other.

Dress shop owner: Just look at how ecstatic everyone is...!

Come on, you should wave at the crowd as well!

*Smack*

Subaru: ーー Get your hands off me.

Yui: ( Ah...! He slapped away her hand. )

Subaru: I’m already taken. (3) Go try your luck with some other guy.

Dress shop owner: Oh dear...

...Fufu, could it be that young lady?

Subaru: ...Hmph.

Yui: ( I just hope he won’t start another fight... )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: ーー Subaru-kun!

Subaru: ...Ah, there you are.

Yui: Ah...You already changed it seems.

Subaru: Well, duh. You really think I was gonna stay in that get-up forever?

Yui: ( I’d love to tell Subaru-kun my thoughts on his performance from earlier while I have the chance...Now how to put it? )

Selection

→ You looked interesting

Yui: Um...You looked interesting just now, you know!

Subaru: Funny...Aah? Are you makin’ fun of me!?

Yui: Eh!? Ah, I didn’t mean it like that...I just thought you looked very precious while going down the catwalk wearing something you usually wouldn’t.

Subaru: Please make it clear whether you’re complimenting or insulting me...

Yui: ...Sorry.

( I should have just genuinely complimented him. )

Subaru: Then what were you tryin’ to say?

Yui: Well...You know, I just thought

→ You looked handsome (☾)

Yui: You were very handsome just now!

Subaru: Y-You think so? I didn’t do anythin’ special though.

Yui: That’s not true. The clothes fit you to a T as well...!

Subaru: ...Thanks.

Dress shop owner: Thank you so much for earlier. Thanks to you, the show was a big success.

Subaru: I did as you asked earlier, so now you have to listen to one of our requests.

Dress shop owner: What could that be? I will gladly help where I can.

Subaru: ...Does this picture ring a bell? We’re lookin’ for it.

Dress shop owner: ...Oh my, we have this in our storage room. I’ll go get it so wait here, okay?

*TIMESKIP*

Dress shop owner: ーー Is this it?

*Rustle*

Yui: Ah, that’s it!

Dress shop owner: I don’t see myself using it any time soon so...If you need it, you can have it.

*Rustle*

Yui: Thank you very much! We did it, Subaru-kun!

Subaru: Hmph...I honestly have no idea why that guy even wants this relic of the past...

Whatever. Anyway, we’re goin’ back to that geezer’s place pronto!

Yui: Good idea. Ah, thank you so much, truly!

Dress shop owner: I’m just glad I was able to return the favor. Please feel free to drop by again anytime!

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts back to the antiques shop

Subaru: ーー Here! Happy now?

*Thud*

Antique dealer: Ooh! This is it! I didn’t think you’d actually be able to find it!

Subaru: Honestly, I don’t get why you want this crap.

But...We cleared the first hurdle now, right?

Antique dealer: Yeah, of course. I’ll be counting on you two again tomorrow!

ー The scene shifts to the Diamante Fountain

Subaru: Haah...I’m beat...

Yui: We haven’t been able to catch a break right from day one, huh...?

Ah, I got us some churros from that food truck over there. Want some?

Subaru: Yeah...Nn...

...Guess it’s true that sweets are the best thing to eat when you’re tired...

Yui: Fufu...

( Still, so much stuff went down today. )

( I hope we can get through tomorrow as well... )

Subaru: Don’t look so worried. ...I’m here with you, remember?

Yui: Yeah...!

( Right, as long as I’m together with Subaru-kun, I’m sure everything will turn out fine...! )

( Okay, I’ll try my best again tomorrow! )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) In Japanese, he calls her チンクシャ or ‘chinkusha’, which is a very rude term used to describe women who have a flat/small nose and are therefore considered ugly.

I looked up similar slang terms in English and ‘shovel face’ seemed like the best fit.

(2) スタイルがいい or ‘style ga ii’ actually refers more to someone’s body type/figure, rather than their fashion style, even when talking about models.

(3) Literally he says that he has already been booked, using the word 予約 or ‘yoyaku’, which you would also use when booking a hotel room or a restaurant.

← RETURN TO CHAPTER 1

→ PROCEED WITH MAIN STORY [CHAPTER 3]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #1 [W/ REIJI]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #2 [W/ KOU]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #3 [W/ CARLA]

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #subaru sakamaki #lunatic parade #diabolik lovers translation #lpsubaruchapter2

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wondernimbus · 4 years ago

Text

conflicted — fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x female!reader

prompt: fred’s joke shop dreams are a little worrying.

please refrain from plagiarizing my work. requests are always open!

Is she cross with Fred?

Yes. But it's not her fault.

Or at least that's what she tells herself, because her pride is much too high for her to admit otherwise.

"I just don't—I don't get him," says [Y/N] with a deep, frustrated sigh, scowling at the surface of the black lake. "I understand that that's what he's passionate about and he genuinely enjoys making prank products—and don't get me wrong as long as he's happy, I am too—but he's.. he's not even trying, George, and that's what's bothering me."

Beside her, George Weasley grunts. "Are you sure I'm the best person to be telling this to?" he asks uncertainly. Thankfully, today, he's not being as much of the joker he usually is; probably because he can tell [Y/N] is being deadly serious. "Freddie and I are literally on the same boat. I should be offended."

[Y/N] spares him a mere sideways glance before she lets out another heavy exhale and fixes her gaze back onto the lake. "You're the only other person I can think of who can get through to him," she tells George glumly. "Maybe you'll succeed where I've failed."

George wrinkles his nose.

The pair of them are sitting by the Great Lake on Hogwarts grounds, both staring intently into the murky surface as if waiting for the giant squid to come out and swallow them whole. Other students mill around, talking and laughing amongst themselves. A group of third-year Hufflepuffs is playing a very intense game of frisbee. Some students just lay on the grass, basking in the warm glow of the sun.

George and [Y/N], meanwhile, are hardly out here for sunbathing. In fact, the somber looks on their faces are a sharp contrast to the perfect picture of a bright summer's day happening all around them. [Y/N] had asked George to come talk to her today after she'd fought with her boyfriend—who happened to be his twin brother—Fred Weasley.

While [Y/N] and Fred rarely fought, whenever they did, it was usually about the same thing: Fred's future. Like a normal girlfriend, [Y/N] wants what's best for him, and she's not entirely certain Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is the right path for him to go down on.

"It's just—it's risking a lot, George," she mutters, absentmindedly plucking at an innocent blade of grass on the ground. "You guys are good at what you do and everything, but it's.. you're taking a shot in the dark, is what I'm saying."

George hums. "I really should be offended," he sniffs, adjusting his arms from where they're set atop his crossed knees. "But I suppose I get where you're coming from. You're worried."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Who?"

[Y/N] looks up at him, then shakes her head. "Nevermind. Forgot you weren't Muggle-born. Go on."

George shakes his head in feigned disapproval. "Muggles."

"George."

"As I was saying," he continues, "The idea of a joke shop doesn't sound quite as promising as a job at old Saint Mungo's or the Ministry, but who cares? It's what Fred wants. It's what we want—hey, wait, why aren't you as worried for me as you are for Fred?"

George swivels around to face her, a look of proper hurt on his face. [Y/N] can't tell if it's fake or not, but it's certainly exaggerated—he's pulling abnormally large puppy eyes.

"Because you're not my boyfriend," says [Y/N], deadpan.

"I know, but I'm your friend—and future brother-in-law—"

Cringing, she groans, "Will you stop pulling that face, please, George? It's creeping me out."

George's face droops back to normal. "Whoops. My apologies, future sister-in-law who only cares about my brother's future but not mine."

[Y/N] rolls her eyes. "Let's be honest, George—if I stopped beating around the bush and asked you to drop all your joke shop plans, would you?"

The redhead doesn't even miss a beat. "No."

"But would you think about it?"

He pauses and makes to shake his head, but then after much thought, he nods. "I suppose. Would probably decide to go through with it in the end, though. It's a joke shop or nothing."

She sighs, once more frowning at the lake. "Fred wouldn't. Think about it, I mean. He'd say no right away. Makes you the more sensible one, as much as I hate to admit it, which means you just might be able to make a point to him."

A crease forms in between George's eyebrows. "You do realize that if I do end up changing his mind, that won't put me in a good place, right? I want to go through with the joke shop just as much as he does."

"I'm not asking you to change his mind," [Y/N] reassures him, pursing her lips. "I just want you to help him understand why I'm upset with him—he can't seem to figure it out by himself."

George snorts. "Bit of an understatement, innit? You'd think since we were twins it'd be the same, but Freddie's got a thicker skull than I do."

[Y/N] lets out a heavy breath through her nose, shoulders slumping dejectedly. "Trust me, George, I know."

—

"Are you cross with [Y/N]?"

"Yes, but it's not my fault."

Fred Weasley folds his arms over the table, scowling down at his plate like the sausages on it have committed a grave sin against him.

"What did you guys fight about?" asks Ginny, eyebrows arched as she shovels beans onto her plate. "Were you jealous of Harry again?"

"No—can you stop bringing that up, Gin? It happened once."

Ginny giggles. "If it's not that, then what is it?"

Someone slides into the seat next to Fred. It's George. "'Ello, Freddy. Why do you look like you've swallowed something sour?"

"Oh, piss off."

George clutches his chest like he's been fatally wounded. "Ouch."

"He and [Y/N] are fighting again," explains Ginny, an impish smirk blooming on her lips. Leaning over the table, she whispers to George, "I think he's jealous of someone again—d'you think it's Harry?"

Fred shoots his younger sister a glare. "I already said it wasn't—"

"Ah, good guess, Gin," George whispers back, playing along. "But not quite. See, I actually know why they're fighting—give me a galleon and I'll tell you."

Ginny withdraws back over the table and into her seat, rolling her eyes. "That won't be necessary. If it's not about Harry, it's probably the joke shop. Right?"

"It's never about Harry," Fred groans, dragging his palm over his face in frustration.

"There goes my galleon," George says sullenly, shoulders slumping. "But yes. Like a caring girlfriend, [Y/N] wants Fred to consider going down a career other than Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Through a mouthful of beans, Ginny says, "She has got a point."

"The same point as mum," Fred grumbles. "She knows it's what makes me happy but she's telling me to—"

"She's telling you to try, Freddy," George cuts him off, turning around in his seat to face his twin. "She's not asking you to change your mind—she wants you to at least try scraping an acceptable on your N.E.W.T.s."

Fred huffs, grabs a fork, angrily stabs it into an innocent sausage, and shovels it into his mouth all in one go. "You've got a lot of nerve telling me that, Georgey," he says, words just barely audible through his chewing. "Last time I checked, you're not studying for the tests either."

George grins. "Point taken, but I don't have a girlfriend to pester me about it, so I'm free to do whatever I want."

"You've got mum," Ginny chimes in. "She wants you to study, too."

"That's different."

"How so?"

George shrugs and twists back around in his seat to face the table properly. "Regardless of what happens, mum's always gonna be there, isn't she?" He gives Fred a sidelong glance. "A girlfriend, on the other hand—you never know when they might slip away. You've gotta hang onto them."

—

It's eleven at night when [Y/N] comes knocking on Fred's door.

Ten minutes before that, she'd been lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as her thoughts swirled with Fred and joke shops and N.E.W.T. scores.

Fred is passionate about pranking. It's what he's known and loved his entire life, and instead of leaving it behind with his adolescence, he wants to take it further into adulthood in the form of a joke shop. And to be honest, [Y/N] is certain no one can change his mind. Not her, not Molly—no one. Girlfriend or not, she can't tell him what career to go down on; if it makes him happy, then so be it. Right?

But what she wants him to do is to at least try. He's setting aside all of his other responsibilities and betting everything on a joke shop that might not even turn out to do well. The future is uncertain, and while Weasley's Wizard Wheezes might turn out to be incredibly successful, it could just as easily be a major flop.

And if, in that case, it doesn't go as planned, [Y/N] doesn't want him to look back years from now and regret not trying. He'd blame himself and go mad over all the what-ifs.

[Y/N] doesn't want that. She loves him too much to see him anything but happy.

—

The clock strikes eleven and a knock sounds on his door.

Fred looks up from where he'd been sitting by the windowsill. He's the only one left awake in their dorm room. Having known he wouldn't be able to doze off even if he tried, Fred has been sitting here by the window looking down onto the school grounds for the past hour, thinking.

Ah, thinking. He hates it, how he has to mull over everything in his head repeatedly only to come up short. It's why he acts rashly most of the time; why he does things without hesitation. It's so much easier to just go forward spearheaded—why think about things when it'll only slow you down?

It's why Fred's usually the one to operate his and George's pranks. Fred has the ideas and more drive, and George takes precautions so no one is hurt, and makes sure that the pranks will work. It's the same with their joke shop. George has actually considered taking on a different career (and Fred knows that he is still considering it, even though George won't admit it to him), but Fred is determined. He has his mind set—everything he's doing right now is for the joke shop. Considering a different career is out of the question.

Well, it's supposed to be, except [Y/N] wants him to.

And if anyone can convince him to do anything, it's [Y/N]. He hasn't told her yet, but he's in love with her. Stupidly, madly in love. And he doesn't need to tell her this because she already knows, but Fred is willing to do anything for her.

Is he willing to give up the joke shop, though? He's not so sure.

His mind a muddled mess, he rises from his seat on the windowsill and calls, "Coming!" without even pausing to think about who might be behind the door. So when Fred opens the door and sees [Y/N] standing there looking ridiculously small in the oversized sweater his mum gave her for Christmas, he doesn't quite know what to say.

"Hi," says [Y/N] in a timid voice, and it's ridiculous because she never sounds like that around him. [Y/N] is loud and affectionate and isn't afraid to speak what's on her mind, so seeing her like this knowing that he's the reason why is making him feel ten times more horrible than he already is.

"Hey," Fred grimaces, gripping tightly onto the door because he feels oddly unstable on his feet.

Scratching the back of her head, she chews on her bottom lip—a nervous tic Fred is all too familiar with—and asks, "Can we talk?"

"Aren't we talking already?" he jokes weakly, but he steps forward out into the hallway and closes the door behind him with a quiet snap.

Now that the sound of George's snoring has mostly been muffled, Fred and [Y/N] are submerged in uncomfortable silence. It's strange and suffocating and awkward all at the same time, because feeling uncomfortable around each other is a rarity. Fred can't recall the last time he ever felt this way around her. He's pretty sure the only time he did was when he'd first asked her out back then, all those months ago.

Judging from the look on [Y/N]'s face, she feels the same way.

She clenches her fists at her sides, and with the willpower of a thousand men, meets Fred's gaze. "Okay. First off—I'm sorry."

Fred stares at her. She keeps going, talking rapidly as though the words will fade away if she doesn't get them out fast enough, "Second of all, I was an arse for making you feel bad for doing what you love to do, and that's my fault and again I'm sorry but I want you to understand that I did it because I want what's best for you."

She pauses, running an aggravated hand through her hair.

Fred opens his mouth to say something, but she doesn't notice because her distressed gaze is glued to the floor. Unknowingly, she cuts him off and keeps rambling, "And I'm not saying that the joke shop won't do well but just in case it doesn't, the last thing I want you to do is to look back a couple years from now, regret not even trying to crack open a book or two, and blame yourself. I know I can't tell you what to do but I'm just saying—I care about you, Fred—I truly do and it's just—" she takes in another deep, shaky breath, and says in a quieter voice, "I'm sorry."

For the first time, Fred is at a complete loss for words. No witty joke nor playful remark rests on the tip of his tongue. But there's an odd prickling feeling at the back of his eyes and a strange stinging sensation in his nose, like he's just inhaled pepper powder—

"It's fine," he mutters, scratching the back of his head as he rapidly blinks the prickling feeling away. "It's.. I understand."

[Y/N] swallows. She'd thought that once she got all of that off of her chest, the guilt itching at her would subside—but it's still there, just as insistent as ever. "I'm sorry," she sighs, shaking her head. "Truly, Fred, I—"

Fred hates thinking. So he just does what his brain tells him to do—what his brain has been telling him to do ever since he'd first pulled the door open and saw her standing there in all her beautiful, hesitant glory.

He pulls her into him and holds her tight.

"It's fine," he repeats into her shoulder. He'd caught her by surprise—he can tell because of the way it takes her a moment to relax into him. "It's fine, [Y/N]."

When she does relax, however, she melts into him the same way she has done so many times before; she wraps her arms around his middle, buries her head into his chest and holds on just as tight. Solace overcomes the feeling of guilt and agitation bubbling up in her chest, and it feels as though a switch has been turned off in her brain.

It's fine. It's okay now.

Fred takes a deep breath and nods repeatedly, like he's reassuring both himself and her. He whispers quiet apologies into her hair, and even though he doesn't say it directly, [Y/N] can hear him asking her to understand him.

Fred hates thinking—maybe that's why he has never really been good with putting his feelings into words. Maybe that's why he needs [Y/N] so much; because he doesn't have to translate the mess of thoughts in his head for her to understand. She just does.

[Y/N] pulls away by a fraction of an inch, eyes still closed as she leans her forehead on Fred's and whispers, both to herself and to him: it's okay, it's fine.

And somewhere in her whispered words of affection she accidentally lets three words slip out—three words she has never said before but have been waiting to be said for a long, long time—"I love you".

Fred closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers. Mumbles the same three words into her lips like it's a prayer.

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #fred weasley #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley oneshots #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #george weasley #weasley twins #ginny weasley

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years ago

Text

Someone, Broom in Hand

Kaz died before he turned sixteen. That’s the story. When he reappears, it’s at the side of the Dark General, wearing the thin fluttering robes of the Sun Summoner. Jesper travels to the Little Palace to punch his fucking teeth out.

Kaz[/&]Jesper | 7.5k | content note: nonlinear narrative, past and offscreen abuse

The purple kefta is too big for Kaz. Jesper doesn’t want to think about why he dumped his coat over Kaz’ head, except that Kaz looks weird and cold in his ugly fancy yellow paper taffeta shirt, his one layer that he’s wearing apart from the underpants that leave his knees bare.

That he looks uncomfortable at all should be nothing but a trick of the violent light: there are two separate lit fireplaces in the bedroom, so awkwardly placed that they were probably retrofitted by a Fabrikator. It might have been David, though then Jesper would surely have heard a treatise on the stones used to erect the Little Palace, or Gaz, or Lizaveta or any of the other Materialki Jesper’s been bunking with but—but anyway, if Kaz felt like wearing more, he could order an attendant to fetch another shirt or two. Unless there’s nothing he owns that isn’t thin and revealing and fucking yellow. Unless he’s not allowed… Unless he can’t even dress himself anymore without a gaggle of attendants. Man moves up in the world and forgets everything he knew: tale as old as time.

“Just like you forgot us,” Jesper mutters, less viciously than he should.

The Kaz-doll makes no comment. No protest. No further manipulation of Jesper’s old affections. No snide mockery for Jesper passing his kefta on to the man that less than an hour ago, he tried to kill.

He just pulls the coat on. With his odd bare fingers—no claws after all, just thin and human—he closes button after button, including the top four that Jesper’s never once used, struggling to pull the material over the bone-tines sticking out of his chest. (And who back home would believe that Dirtyhands has ordinary fingers and a totally fucked up chest?) It would be easier to leave it open, but Kaz, even now he’s a sunny lapdog, doesn’t do easy. When he drops his arms, the too-long sleeves fall down over his hands, and with his thumbs he traps the fabric there. Sad little improvised half-gloves, more than Jesper’s seen him wear in the month since he let himself get conscripted into the Little Palace. He looks back at Jesper.

There’s no Thank you—Kaz Brekker never knew that word, and it seems in the two years they had him, whatever else they forced on him the Ravkans failed to teach him any more manners—but there is something new in his glare. It’s not just the purple washing the colour off his smooth—his way too smooth face. No. It’s something old: defiant, and angry, and scheming, just barely breaking through the placid paint and the rust beneath it.

Bit by bit, as he buttons up Jesper’s kefta Kaz simultaneously pulls on the moth-bitten coat of Dirtyhands he’s kept way back in the wardrobe of his brain, the ruthless killer, Bastard of the Barrel, Dregs lieutenant and future gang boss unless he gets murdered first. And it didn’t stick the first time. Pulls it over whoever it is that he was before. Over the doll beside Kirigan.

Over that person in the corner, that cornered boy, brittle and alone and stripped of armour and weapon and self, and Jesper wants to kill every single fucker in the Little Palace.

“Back home, you had a plan for everything,” he says instead. “I’m not assuming it’s a B or even a Z or a Q squared, but I know you. I know you’ve considered it. What do we do now your beloved long-lost friend’s shown up to help you steal the Sun Summoner?”

☼

Yesterday, Kerch accepted the terms of the Ravkan crown. Ex-crown. Dark fucking empire. Whatever. Test all children and send the Grisha to the Little Palace, conscript some people into the First Army—though what they still need an army for when they have the Fold is anyone’s guess—send food, booze, and, worst of all to the fastidious greedy Kerch, pay tribute without receiving anything at all in return. It was in the mouth of every paperboy on the streets, every mercher, every gang boss. By Ghezen how could we just surrender? they moaned, and Do you want to end like West Ravka? and Didn’t you see him? Kirigan’s going to crown himself king of everything. He’s unstoppable. And that boy next to him, the Sun—

Honestly? Jesper doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s paying fifty kruge just to sit on Inej’s bed for an hour and braid her hair. Ketterdam can burn to the sopping wet ground for all he cares. The world can rot. Like the Dregs did. Like everything Jesper cared for.

Inej, though, watched it.

“I had to see,” she’s whispering into Jesper’s ear, barely moving her miserable red-painted lips even though his hair should block out most lines of sight already. Inej’s smart, though, and desperate: if Jesper keeps returning to the Menagerie as nothing but a smitten small-time gangster with an incredibly vanilla hair fetish, he won’t catch attention. Tante Heleen will have fewer reasons to raise Inej’s rates. Jesper can barely pay for a visit a month as it is, and even those he allows himself mostly because he’s given up the hope of ever paying off her indenture unless he wins big.

“I snuck out yesterday. I had to see. Heleen got a new girl from Ravka six months ago, and she believes, too. Had a cheap pamphlet with her, last thing she had, of the new Saint. The illustrations… they looked just like Kaz.”

“Fu—” Inej elbows him. Jesper presses his lips into the braid over her ear. “Forget about Kaz Brekker. You’re the only one who matters now. He died, and you ended up here.”

She’s trapped in the Menagerie now because Kaz disappeared into the harbour like so many orphans before him; because he didn’t tell Jesper jack shit about Inej’s situation that might have helped him keep her safe in the Dregs; because he allowed senile Haskell who knows the names of all his five hundred thousand miniature boats and literally nothing else to stay in charge of the Dregs instead of killing him as soon as possible, which allowed Haskell to let the payments for Inej’s indenture lapse, which meant three months after Kaz just disappeared from his life Jesper got back to the Slat to find that Inej, too, had gone without a trace, and it was only luck and a pervert old Dreg that Jesper soon afterwards ‘accidentally’ shoved off a roof talking about the girls at the Menagerie that meant he found her again. Found her, only to realize he can’t help her at all.

Inej pulls Jesper’s ear back to her mouth. “I saw him, Jesper. I saw Kaz. Kaz is alive. He was there. I saw him.”

“You what?!” A sharp elbow darting out of her red sad nightgown that would have slipped right in-between his ribs if it was one of the knives she still mourns, and he’s not even given anything away. Heleen’s a hell bitch, but what use would she get out of random surprise?

“I saw Kaz. He’s the Sun Summoner. I was far away but—it was Kaz, standing next to General Kirigan, holding his hand, when the Merchant’s Council signed the terms of surrender. It was Kaz. I’m certain. Sankt Kaz.”

“I—” Jesper burrows his face into Inej’s hair. “You didn’t happen to have a knife on you, did you? A really tiny one she couldn’t confiscate. A super lethal one. Might never get as good a chance again.”

“Jes—”

“Fuck him sideways with a rusty shovel. That traitor. Did you forget how you ended up here? He left us. Saw a bigger pile of cash and skedaddled, I bet. He always wanted to be king. Guess becoming the Darkling’s queen was the next-best option.”

Inej doesn’t even defend Kaz. Jesper pulls away from her so he can look at her face. She always looks sad these days, unless she has specific painful orders to perk up, but it’s deeper now. She’s not doing the gesture, not holding her hand against her chest. Faith, now, is just one more thing Kaz Brekker took from her. Jesper can’t blame her, even though he never believed. Not even when Ravka’s new ‘Sun Summoner’ started gaining them the whole continent. Power’s power, though, no matter whether the stories around it are true. If Kaz truly is the Sun Summoner, then it’s not just Kaz Brekker who sent her back to the Menagerie—but one of her Saints. Fucking asshole.

He buries Inej in his arms. It’s all he can do now, to hold her until this month’s hour is up, because it’s not like he can just murder the Ravkans special weapon in retribution, can he? Can…

“This changes nothing,” he whispers. “The only priority is still paying off your indenture. Kaz quit the Dregs. He left us, and that means he’s nothing now. Less than nothing. I have a good feeling about the Makker’s Wheel at the Emerald Palace this weekend. Lots of pigeons there for the ‘Fete of Unity with Mother Ravka’ or whatever, and the minder thinks I’m hot. It’s risky, of course, but if I do this right—”

☼

Jesper’s just about to crawl right back out from under the bed—weapons raised, since hell knows what Kaz was planning back there, and fuck Jesper for apparently still harbouring enough trust in the guy to follow his lead two years after he deserted—but then, a series of clicks and rumbles heralds the opening of the door. Footsteps, and it slides shut again.

Shit, that was close.

And Kaz wasn’t bluffing, after all. Well, well… it certainly means something that Kaz, beloved Saint and Sun Summoner and ally to the Darkling, just told his attempted murderer slash old friend and-or stooge to hide. Kaz never did anything without a motive, be it profit or power or vengeance, and even this degraded, polished version surely isn’t so far gone as to engage in ideas as base as altruism. Ergo, Kaz will want to use Jesper for—something, though what is there he wants when he’s basically a prince of—but he isn’t, is he? He’s in a cell. A cell Jesper can unlock.

Three pairs of footsteps move around the room. One of them might be Kaz, but without his limp, it’s hard to recognize him. None of them says a word, which… it probably means this is a routine visit. Whatever’s going on, they all know their role.

Two pairs stop moving, while the third one—circles around them, it sounds like, and then someone else stumbles a little and catches themselves. Jesper hopes they’ll hurry up. He’s in mortal danger, technically—Kaz can still choose to reveal the intruder inside the Sun Summoner’s private room and-orprison, but, prison. Jesper’s far more useful alive, and so, hiding under the bed is fucking boring.

There’s not even anything interesting in-between the slat frame and the mattress. It’s the only place where you could hide anything—that Jesper can think of, at least, but there’s just nothing there at all, and Kaz used to be a real magpie. It’s a gaping void, just like everything else in this room. Like everything else in this palace, a chasm painted over with gilt and power. Unless—something’s stuck to the underside of a cross brace. Jesper slides a fingernail under the edge, and it comes loose easily enough. Not exactly a cache worthy of Dirtyhands, and anyway, it’s just a… a mangled piece of paper. A paper that looks like it’s been chewed on and spat out—and an entire corner actually torn off, or bitten, maybe—and whatever used to be printed onto it mostly rubbed off except for a couple of letters here and there, RAV. Curved lines and tiny hats. What would Kaz need to hide in his room? Apart from weapons he doesn’t have. Other people’s jewellery, dito. The only thing that Jesper knows about him now is that he’s trying to open the door. Trying to leave. It’s probably a map, then.

Which means an escape is planned, and Jesper’s just providing the desperately sought means. Good. That means he should have even more leverage here.

Somebody stumbles again, this time taking two steps to catch themselves. Almost as if they’ve jerked away.

“You’re falling behind,” slimes the smooth, rich voice of the Darkling. “On second thought, our people would miss you at the celebration. I’ll inform the staff that you wish to dance, all night long.”

☼

“You’re hanging around here because you heard that General Kirigan and the Sun Summoner are due back this hour, aren’t you?” The woman in a tidemaker’s kefta that just sidled up to Jesper speaks unaccented, high class central Ravkan. Even if her dark skin is an indication of Zemeni heritage, she came to the Little Palace long before the Darkling’s recent territorial acquisitions. She’s no ally, just like the rest of the crowd that surrounds them: an old-school Grisha, veteran Second Army, not someone whose loyalties may yet be pliable. Not someone like Jesper, whose skin started crawling the moment he showed his skills to a Ravkan occupation officer so he could sneak into the Little Palace. She’s friendly, though, and looks at Jesper’s face with clear appreciation. “You must be new. Hi. I’m Nadia.”

“Jesper,” he says, throwing a flirtatious grin like a blanket over his nerves and anger. It’s almost fun, playing the suave infiltrator assassin Grisha. Except Inej’s still in the Menagerie. And Kaz is still a piece of shit. “Yeah, I just got here! They didn’t test for Grisha ability in Novyi Zem when I was little, so I barely knew who I was… but once I heard about the Darkling, about this place, I crossed the True Sea as soon as I could!”

“That must have been so hard. So lonely. This place is…” She grimaces. “This place was our sanctuary. You’re lucky you’re Materialnik.”

“Why?” It’s the first time since his arrival that anyone’s had even a neutral opinion of Durasts, let alone good, and granted, it’s not like he cares that much about the ability his Ma died from, and he’s only talked to a dozen people since arriving yesterday, but…

“Listen, I know you want to see the Sun Summoner, and don’t tell anyone I said this but…” Nadia pulls Jesper a few paces away from the crowd on the training grounds, into a corner formed by two enormous bales of hay. Well-chosen: he can barely see the crowd that just surrounded them peek out behind the yellow stalks. “You’re sweet—”

“Listen, you’re gorgeous, but we just met—although, on second—”

“No!” She laughs, but it’s bitter. “You’re cute, but no. It’s my duty, to her, to protect you. The new ones. You’re Materialnik, so you’re not combat, so you’re not going to actually meet the Sun Summoner. Ever, if you’re lucky.”

“He’s that bad?” Kaz was always a dick, if Jesper’s honest—it was part of his charm—he was just a charming magnetic one, and back with the Dregs Jesper hated his ruthlessness just as much as he admired it. He was worst to his fellow Dregs and his enemies, though: he could charm a mark when needed. So it’s a tad unexpected that Kaz earned himself the hatred of a Grisha indoctrinated from childhood to see him as her Saint and saviour. Apparently, he’s just that talented. That obnoxious.

Well, Jesper’s not complaining. That makes his plan much easier.

“He killed my best friend,” Nadia whispers urgently. “The last time I saw her they were taking a walk, and then I found her, blisters and burns all over her body. Who else? There’s a reason he’s not allowed to have weapons. I heard the Darkling doesn’t let him go anywhere alone, or he would murder us all. He killed Baghra too, I’m sure—she was our teacher, but she disappeared two years ago. Just stay away from him, alright? He looks harmless, but he’s a rabid dog. Oh. There he comes.”

Jesper barely manages to whisper, “Thank you,” before she pulls away from him and returns to her previous place. Back to the crowd of Etherealki and Corporalki on the training field, but she finds her place in the last row, standing—hiding—behind two men much taller than her.

Jesper follows into the crowd. No need to alert Kaz that the past is hot on his heels, and then—

Well. There he is.

There someoneis, anyway.

If Jesper trusted Inej just a hair’s breadth less, he’d have cursed her and sneaked back out of the Little Palace the second he sees the person holding General Kirigan’s hand. Sure, the Sun Summoner is male, with dark brown hair and dark eyes and pale skin, and just a little bit taller than Kaz was at fifteen, but that’s where the similarities end. Dirtyhands had his impeccable mercher’s suits in a grim mockery of Ketterdam’s upper class, and gloves to feed the rumours, and a cane to walk and kill. His hair managed to be at once floppy and severe; just like his gaunt face, in the right light, made him look utterly captivating and not just like an annoyed scheming rat. He looked exactly like the Bastard of the Barrel should. Not pleasant or easy, but the person Jesper once would have followed into any lion’s den.

This—this Sun Summoner, on Kirigan’s arm, is beautiful. Healthful. Pristine.

Barely even a fucking person.

It’s the face, mostly.

You could never tell what Kaz was thinking, just looking at him, because he was, after all, thinking in layers upon layers of incomprehensible schemes at all times of the day and then went to bed and dreamt about ploys and deceptions. Jesper could barely follow him the three times total he deigned to explain part of his plans. But you could always tell that Kaz was thinking. Planning, scheming, plotting his greedy bloody vicious way out of and into every possible house on every possible street.

The Sun Summoner looks empty. He’s staring straight ahead, but he’s not even doing thatwith any kind of purpose. He’s like a pet on the Darkling’s arm. He looks more airheaded than all blackout drunk heirs and heiresses in Ketterdam combined.

It’s incredibly eerie, because now he’s searching for it Jesper can sort of read Kaz Brekker back into the Sun Summoner’s face. This face is much smoother, without the marks of past firepox, plumped and rosy-tinted, but that might partially just be a testament to the quality of Ravkan cooks—or, how skint the Dregs always were. He has a normal haircut. It probably suits him better, unless your standard for beauty is Dirtyhands, and unfortunately Jesper—anyway. The Sun Summoner doesn’t have a cane, either, and he doesn’t need one, apparently, because he isn’t limping. Ravkan royal healthcare, but honestly, Kaz could have pressed a Grisha healer into service back in Ketterdam only he always insisted—well, whatever. Fuck his words of wisdom. Fuck him. Fuck Kaz. Jesper shouldn’t even be remembering that snake.

Kaz Brekker betrayed Inej, left her to rot in the Menagerie, so whatever role he’s playing right now in whatever scheme this is—because it has to be a scheme that put Kaz into the yellow robe he’s in right now, so thin it’s translucent, and sleeveless too in the Ravkan winter. The Dregs tattoo on his arm is gone. Two Inferni are flanking him and the Darkling, their hands perpetually on fire just so Kaz can parade about in a robe no Menagerie slave would go outside in, but still, it’s Kaz. It’s definitely Kaz Brekker. Jesper can see it now.

Fuck him. He traded the Dregs for this. He abandoned them to Haskell’s mismanagement and let Inej go back to the Menagerie. He betrayed them all.

(Of course, Jesper abandoned Inej now too, and without a word, but—after that last catastrophic loss in the Emerald Palace, there’s a zero percent chance the Dime Lions wouldn’t have strung him up by his own entrails—or sold him into indenture, trying to make back at least a fraction of the fifty thousand kruge he owes—so really, he had no choice. It’s the next best thing, right? If he can’t help her anymore, at least he can kill the bastard that started all their troubles.)

Kaz just walks off, hand in the Darkling’s grasp, towards the Little Palace. Carelessly following the other man’s lead.

The old Kaz would have noticed Jesper.

☼

Footsteps and then, a series of clicks and pieces of wood and metal rubbing stones. The door. Kaz’s legs, taking steps backwards to the bed in a perfect, healthy gait. The rich soft creaking of the bed as he sinks down again, and in front of Jesper—the same two muscular, pale, bare, identical hairy calves. Like the legs of a statue, or one of those de Kappels he used to like, except the right leg is trembling finely. Barely noticeable if it wasn’t right in front of Jesper’s face. Those Ravkans maybe aren’t so crafty after all.

Then: nothing.

After what feels like an hour in which Jesper doesn’t dare move, even though the Darkling must have left already, a hand drops off the edge off the mattress. Middle and index finger erect, then crooking twice in quick succession. It takes a moment to connect. Jesper hasn’t seen those signals in such a—move, path clear. Yes. That’s what it was.

Jesper wriggles out from under the bed, annoyingly free of dust. Pristine. Empty, just like everything else.

“Didn’t think the Sun Summoner needed to use our secret code, boss,” he drawls up at Kaz from the floor. Kaz, with his barren black eyes and his new porcelain doll face, picking at the wide open collar of his yellow shirt.

“Never drop a tool you can still use,” Kaz says. A beat. “Didn’t think I was your boss anymore.”

“You aren’t.” Jesper turns his head away, looking at the spotless floor and the intricately painted walls from his low vantage point. Exquisite, imposing, empty: a Saint’s cage, as beautiful and terrible as Inej’s room in the Menagerie. The bare wall hiding the inaccessible door. “That guy really fucking hates you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. Jesper turns his head back to watch him again, even though that won’t give him anything more: Kaz used to be willfully inscrutable even back in the Barrel, but after whatever Grisha surgery they did to him, there are only traces left of the real person trapped inside him. Dollface, Jesper thinks again. Who’d have expected they’d turn fucking Dirtyhands into a dollface?

It’s Kaz who turns away, fingers clawed into his neckline. His voice is rough, even if it’s a shadow of the damaged rasp that used to be him. “I thought about it sometimes, back then. The first time.”

Every fibre of Jesper’s being wants to interrupt with, What are you talking about? I don’t speak cryptic anymore. I’m out of practice. He should get off the floor, raise his guns, resume—but whatever it is, whether it’s some stupid new Grisha power, whether it’s zowa, or his memory of Kaz is just coming back, he doesn’t—

“It was like this. I was on my bed already, usually, when it grew hard—and I thought you would be up for not being on the bed, and there wasn’t much else in my room. I imagined watching you. I didn’t touch it. That was better.”

Uh. What.

“He probably knows I threw up after we—I tried to hide it. I thought I could manipulate him into seeing me as his partner, I thought I’d healed, that I’d practiced enough—but he just saw that I was still weak. He saw he could control me. But if he didn’t do it again because I threw up, I’m—”

He was right. Jesper would have stayed on the cold hard floor back then for him. Even now, Jesper would crawl around like a worm jerking off for the fucking asshole he got himself trapped in the Little Palace to murder, if that meant Kaz never had to—

Kaz pulls the neckline of his flimsy thin single ugly yellow shirt closed. The shirt that doesn’t protect him. The shirt he didn’t choose.

☼

Jesper’s imagined the Sun Summoner’s quarters, of course. Most of the Grisha in the Little Palace are wretched gossips—or Jesper’s been charming as many people into spilling as many secrets as possible to him so he can plan his attack, same difference—and anyway, he needs a backdrop for his imagined kill shots. It’s Kaz Brekker, after all. Dirtyhands. The ex-Bastard. You’d want to rehearse that death. Think of some witty one-liners.

Nadia said it was gorgeous inside, like a dollhouse. Lizaveta, who Jesper’s been told to shadow so he can learn how to become a proper Durast, insisted it’s totally empty. Grzegorz said there were live kittens inside, so the Sun Summoner could sate his lust for innocent blood, Sayyna thought there was a giant swimming pool, and a lovely naïve boy from the edge of the permafrost up at the former border insisted it was just like the quarters of all other Grisha, except with a little more privacy. Since they’re all siblings fighting for a world that will be kind to Grisha.

Jesper, privately, imagined a few stolen paintings and a mishmash of furniture. Because he’s an idiot.

This is just like—

If it is the Sun Summoner’s bedroom at all. It should be. Jesper did his homework: he followed the Darkling and his Sun Summoner creature that wears the skin used to house Kaz, and a variety of Materialniks, to the end of this specific corridor, five times in total. Watched the Materialniks unlock a hidden mechanism, and then the two most powerful men in Ravka—in all charted countries, ruling everything this side of the True Sea but pockets of Shu Han and even that’s a matter of time—they walked inside, hand in hand. The Darkling always left, after a while, alone, and so it only made sense to assume that the hidden room that Jesper just snuck up to and unlocked is, in fact, the Sun Summoner’s room. Kaz’ room. It’s the best time for breaking into it, too. There’s going to be a party in two days, so hopefully everyone’s too busy, and even if the Sun Summoner’s out doing preparations then Jesper can just hide in here and kill him in an ambush. That’s probably easier, actually.

First, though, he locks and hides the door again, because… yeah, he went to Ravka expecting to get caught. At some point. This is a suicide mission for revenge, after all—suicide is in in the title. But it’s no fun if he gets caught before the gory glorious revenge part. Before Kaz admits he was a piece of shit. Both guns cocked and ready, he turns around, and actually inspects the room he broke into.

No. Nothing changes, even when he blinks and blinks again. That wasn’t a faulty first impression.

The room still looks like a fucking prison cell.

A fancy, clean cell, but a cell nonetheless. It’s empty except for the bed, and Jesper owes Lizaveta more money than he has on him (though to be fair, technically, Jesper’s fifty thousand kruge in debt anyway, so does it really make a difference at all if he’s a few Ravkan coins more in the red), and even the windows—Jesper’s had enough training now that he can look at the windows and see the subtly reinforcing mesh inside the glass. No curtains. No curtain rods. Nothing—there’s a subtle mesh inside the bedclothes too and the frame of the bed looks far too sturdy to be torn apart by anyone who isn’t a skilled Materialnik. There are meshes in front of the fireplaces.

Nothing in here that can be used as a weapon.

Not against others, and not against oneself.

No escape.

There’s nothing in this stark white massive room but a person, acting like he never did before and still looking more like himself than when he was walking through the training grounds. It’s probably the distance from other people. He’s got his back to Jesper and he’s in the furthest corner from the door, which should be a tactical misstep because he can’t escape from there but really—it’s as good as any other location, in this room. There’s nothing of use to anyone left, not even to someone as shrewd as Dirtyhands used to be before he lobotomized himself into the Sun Summoner. Or before he was—

Kaz pushes himself up from his kneeling position using the walls he faces. He mutters, “I beg your forgiveness for keeping you waiting, Aleks.” His voice sounds odd.

“Are you crying?”

“Jesper?!”

Kaz turns so quickly he has to brace himself against the wall again lest he fall over. His translucent shirt ripples. His dark eyes in his weird new too-handsome face trace over Jesper, again and again. If they were fingers, Jesper would feel like he’s being caressed. No, that’s the wrong thought. A thought from a book he won’t admit he’s read. Jesper’s got his guns out. He came here for a reason. A bloody, glorious reason.

“Inej wouldn’t want me to do this, but she’s locked up in the fucking Menagerie,” he announces, just to see whether Kaz can feel even a shred of guilt. “Just so you could be a Ravkan prince in ugly yellow lingerie.”

“Just follow my—”

No, then. Or maybe it’s just the new face Jesper can’t read. Not that it matters. “Shut up. Do you remember what you told me when I joined the Dregs? About what you’d do to traitors? Well, I have added a couple of my own ideas.”

“Shut up, Jesper. You can monologue when we’re done, but—”

Jesper aims right between his weird, smooth pebble eyes. “When you left us, you knew it would all go to shit. Inej’s in the Menagerie, and there’s no way to get her out again. Haskell let the Dregs collapse after you disappeared. No Dregs, no kru—”

Kaz flinches. “Quick. Get under the bed. Now.”

Whether it’s surprise, a sex instinct, or—far worse—a lingering sense of loyalty, Jesper obeys instantly.

☼

“We’re lost,” Jesper moans. They’ve been surrounded by trees for four days. He’s not even sure they’re trudging vaguely southwards anymore. Everything looks the same. What wouldn’t Jesper give to be back in Ketterdam already, with its lovely street names and pedestrians and garish landmarks (and gangsters about to string him up), or at least somewhere in Novyi Zem where he sort of understands the landscape. Or what’s left of Shu Han, so Kaz can unclench.

“We’re not lost,” Kaz rasps. “Keep going.”

“How do you—the map.” The half-chewed-up map hidden under Kaz’ bed, the map he snuck into his coat—Jesper’s kefta, whatever—even though he probably already knows it by heart.

“Yes. The map.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me to choose where we’re going if you’re memorized the map?!” What an asshole. Jesper just clean forgot what a piece of shit Kaz is. He forgot it so utterly he’s helping him break out of Ravka, without even extracting anything in return. He’s a fucking idiot. “Is it so you can blame me when we get caught?”

Kaz, the dick, rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t I rather not get caught at all? Think, Jesper—what’s the one advantage you have over me?”

“I’m prettier,” Jesper shoots back. “My winning personality. I have a better tolerance for hard liquor. Fashion sense. I’m funny. No, wait—I’m a much more generous lover.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Kaz hisses, making the pronoun sound even more slimy than the guy it’s referring to, which is honestly quite a feat. “Do you think this is my first attempt? He’ll send people to every single route out of his core territory that poses any advantages. He has enough soldiers for that. What he doesn’t have, though, is enough soldiers to watch every route your bird-brain might pick at random.”

And then, he stalks ahead viciously. No. Limps ahead.

It’s been growing much more pronounced over the days. At first, even without a cane he walked just like any person with two healthy legs, and that’s what Jesper expected. The Ravkans healed their Saint’s leg, didn’t they? That’s what they would do. Only Kaz can think around enough corners to make his bad leg into an advantage. But with every passing day, Kaz’ gait has grown closer to what Jesper remembers from back before the world went to shit. Kaz was touchy about accommodations back then, though, or people being nice in general, so Jesper hasn’t even brought up improvising a new cane. All he’s dared to do is slowing down his own steps to what he remembers would have matched Kaz, back then.

And insisting on taking breaks. Like he does now.

“It’s almost night, you refuse to make light despite being made of sunshine, and I’m hungry,” he complains.

“I’d assume that Ketterdam has made you soft,” Kaz rasps, “o cherished crown jewel of crime and commerce, and what’s the difference.” He limps back to the fallen tree that Jesper has chosen as their camp site, though, so he must be a just few steps short of utter collapse.

Jesper unwraps the two woollen blankets he’s been carrying on his shoulders. They didn’t get a chance to steal much, mostly because Kaz was a prick about it and didn’t even let Jesper go back to his room: apparently there was time for Kaz to fold up a paper bag into a facsimile of an envelope and write an address in Djerholm onto it and have Jesper talk a stable-hand into riding out to deliver it, right now, but no time to search anywhere else for supplies. They took just whatever they found in the stables, which amounted to extra coats, some boots, the blankets, and horse feed. And gloves. Kaz declared it was time to run as soon as he’d found gloves.

Balefully, Jesper chews on his oats. Even wrapped in his blanket, the night is cold, and Kaz—who’s still wearing nothing but underpants besides the robe/gloves/Jesper’s kefta/stolen coat combo and ill-fitting boots without socks—is shivering violently.

“We should steal you some real clothes from the next house we see,” Jesper mutters. “And some decent food.”

“We’re not stealing anything until we’re in Shu.”

They’ve had this argument before. Jesper shouldn’t be as thrilled about that as he is. There’s no way to resolve it, until they find the border—or until Kaz keels over from hypothermia, because then even his rational fear of detection won’t keep Jesper from finding some trousers. For the time being, though—

“I’m going to sit closer and steal your body heat. In exchange, you can wrap my blanket around your legs.”

Kaz glares. He can do it masterfully again: just like the limp snuck back as soon as he left the Little Palace, his face over the days grew thin and pockmarked. Vicious. Jesper’s commited it to memory, in case Oily, Tall and Dark steals it again.

“If you freeze to death tonight, this was all for nothing. I could be sleeping in a palace right now. Well, a dingy side house, with the other Materialniks, but joke’s on them. This whole escape would have been much more complicated if I’d been a Squaller. Or a Sun Summoner, who refuses to even use his power to warm us up.”

“Leave it.” Kaz runs a finger roughly over where his collarbone should be, and he shudders. The temperature, or something worse, some new pain he’s not revealing—but carefully, he leans his blanketed side against Jesper, and allows Jesper to throw his own blanket over him, too.

“I’ll make you a new cane tomorrow. With a head, too, if we can scavenge enough metal from the buttons. Not a crow. You haven’t earned that until we free Inej, but maybe… a worm.”

“That’s just a stick,” Kaz mutters. “Go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say: Kaz is taking the first watch, and so he’s not balancing on a fallen log in the cold without a blanket, trying to fall asleep sitting up while leaning against Kaz’ shoulder with as little contact surface as physically possible. After some hours or minutes, though, Jesper’s suffering is too much for even Kaz to handle. Who knew there was a limit! Who knew Kaz had heard of mercy! Maybe he just doesn’t like Jesper wriggling next to him. He fists a lock of Jesper’s curls and pulls his head down into his lap.

“I didn’t help you because I want to fuck you, just so you’re aware,” Jesper jokes, because this is actually—it’s actually almost comfortable curling up on the fallen tree with his head on the blanket on Kaz’ thighs, even though there’s the remnants of a branch digging into his hip and they’re on the run from all Grisha in the world and also the new, expanded Ravka that covers nearly every country on this continent and Inej’s still imprisoned and if they actually manage to get back to Ketterdam, Jesper’s going to be in so much shit. And still, it’s… “I mourned you, you know, when Haskell told me you’d died. I wasn’t just angry because the Dregs were a shambles without you.”

Kaz is quiet. Jesper sort of wishes he’d touch his hair again, or his shoulder—and he never seemed to have any trouble touching the Darkling, so what, is Jesper not good enough—but he also looked like a void back there, like in order to endure it maybe he had to smother—

“That’s not why I mentioned that fantasy back there,” says Kaz, lyingly. Sure. He just happened to invoke Jesper’s obvious past crush for no reason whatsoever. The awfully convenient infatuation Jesper didn’t have sense nor skill to hide back then. Kaz is exactly the kind of person who’d exploit someone’s first love. The person who’s realize, long before Jesper did, that maybe, he’s not actually completely over—but maybe that wasn’t the important bit then. It went on. And that story about the Darkling—

“You thought I’d help you out of pity?” Jesper would have done, if he hadn’t been so angry—if he hadn’t been already so freaked out by the placid expression, the clothes that looked expressly designed to torture the Kaz he knew, the cell… It wasn’t pity. What is it you feel when a person you knew—maybe not his secrets or his past or his thoughts or what trouble he just dragged you into because he’s a secretive dick, but still, you knew him, it was burned into your heart, his movements and the codes he taught you and just when a heist was about to trigger one of his fears he’d never mentioned and you needed to get him out now… What do you feel, when that person comes back from the dead, and comes back wrong. Like a stag with too many tongues inside its mouths and its hands locked behind its throat. Except the other way round, because Kaz Brekker was terrifying, and what he was made into or what pretended to be was only scary because it wasn’t. Anyway. Kaz is a manipulative commandeering asshole again, so it doesn’t matter. “You despise pity.”

“It’s a tool, just like everything else. One he couldn’t take. And pride just gave me—pity got me out of the Little Palace, didn’t it?”

“Something did.” Jesper tips his non-existent hat, and Kaz slaps the top of his head to make him stop wriggling. He keeps the hand there this time, knotted tight in Jesper’s hair. It stings, but it’s also… Jesper closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep before inevitably, it’ll leave.

“Pride. It was my fault.” Kaz’ voice almost sounds the way it did back home. Harsh, vicious—and damaged. Human. “I thought I could bear it. He was—the Sun Summoner could have no weaknesses, he said, nothing for our enemies to use, and I allowed myself to think… ‘our’ enemies. I practiced. It was easier, after a while, to bear touch. I thought—it seemed like the best option, to stand at his side, and to make him see me as his partner I should… I was tired of being a prisoner. I thought I could use him.”

That’s bad enough, but… “But you’re limping again,” Jesper hisses. “If he’s forming you like a clay doll to make you his perfect Sun Summoner, he should have started with healing you.”

“They did, when I first came to the Palace. I didn’t want—but I learned to accept it. After my first escape, he broke it again, personally. Had it tailored over, afterwards, every few days. Incentive for cooperation.”

There’s nothing Jesper can do to fix this stagnant, lifeless voice. He could hug Inej, at least, but this—

“It’s what I would have done, too. He was just better than me, and he didn’t need another one, so he had to change me.”

“By dressing you up and making you look like a doll. If you tell me it was a sex thing, at least I could—no, still couldn’t relate. His taste’s shit. That beauty was pretty ugly,” Jesper mutters into Kaz’ thighs.

Kaz pulls at his hair again—probably a rebuke, but the sting travels down Jesper’s spine to—well, it’s time to change the subject rather quickly. What’s there to… oh yeah, his head’s on a blanket. That’ll do. “I just had a great idea,” he says, and—yeah, his voice is still completely normal and steady. A little loud, maybe. Kaz hasn’t moved his hand away, though, so it can’t be too obvious.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off, my bright idea of breaking into the centre of Grishadom to kill you in a murder-suicide attack because what else was I going to do, let the Dime Lions grind me between millstones to press out the fifty thousand kruge I may perhaps still owe them—”

“You what?!”

Jesper powers on, because that’s really a conversation best left for when he’s not lying in a forest with his head in Kaz’ lap and trying to forget, desperately, the way it felt when Kaz pulled his hair. The way it feels when he does it again. “I’m just saying, it saved you. You’re welcome. So anyway. We only have one pair of trousers. I was going to suggest we alternate wearing mine, but we both know I wouldn’t get them back.”

“Your so-called idea is… interesting,” Kaz mutters, voice almost pulled asunder trying for both disturbed and mocking. “But I’m far more interested to hear about the fact you skipped out of Ketterdam without paying your debts. A crime punishable by death in every gang. Every gang in Ketterdam, the city where you want us to go.”

And yeah, that’s occurred to Jesper, but… “That’s a problem for later. You’ll think of something, boss, if we make it that far. You always have a plan. For now… I wouldn’t—well, I would carry you if your legs freeze off, but it wouldn’t be fun for either of us, so… You sewed yourself up constantly back home, and I’d wager sewing is just like swimming. Once you know, you can never forget.”

“Skills are useless if you lack every materia—Jes—”

“Yeah, I definitely can turn a button into a needle now. We just need to tear the second blanket into some vaguely trouser-shaped pieces, and for thread—well, we could just tear up your Sun Summoner robe, it’s useless anyway.”

“Jesper,” Kaz rasps again.

“I’m a genius?”

“No, you’re still an idiot. Why not, though?”

☼

Kaz Brekker disappeared between Sunday and Tuesday night. That’s all Jesper knows, and it’s that precise only because Kaz has been experimenting with the payroll recently. Apparently, handing out wages on late Tuesday maximizes the chances of flushing as much money as possible back into the coffers of Dregs-owned establishments, and he’s also taken to handing out the money personally. Some weird power play that Haskell hasn’t yet forbidden: everyone knows Kaz barely bothers to keep his accomplices informed about the job they’re currently doing, and the big boss tolerates him mostly because Dirtyhands is still more useful insubordinate than dead.

It’s Wednesday now, though. Wednesday afternoon.

And Jesper still hasn’t gotten paid.

Kaz is gone.

Jesper’s in Haskell’s office, inquiring about everyone’s money. Too irritated by the games of Makker’s Wheel he was forced to miss out on last night to perform anything but the most pro forma I remember my boss’ boss is technically my boss and can kill me pleasantries. Instead of promising to kick Kaz’ ass, though, like Jesper hoped, Haskell just tells him Pasko will give him his wages tomorrow.

Haskell won’t say anything else. Just, “That boy got himself mixed up in something he couldn’t handle alone, and it fucked him. You won’t like what you find, when you go looking for the dead.”

#jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x jesper #I'm free! well sort of I have an idea for a coda in which jesper roleplays the darkling so.......#dimtraces makes things #shadow & bone #shadow and bone

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tales-unique · 4 years ago

Text

MEMORIES OF THE WEST III

Needless to say, Dutch is Interested. After the initial shock and suspicion subsides he hounds you with questions, all while marching you over to his tent, motioning two men over with a swift motion. Arthur and Hosea, the same men he had been talking with earlier on. You stand awkwardly between the three, fidgety under their gaze. Hosea seems the most agreeable of them while Arthur is wary of you, if first introductions are to go by, but Dutch doesn't waste another minute with the pleasantries. “Miss DuBois, if you please.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat, eyes flicking between them. You suddenly feel small , but you try to hide it as best you can. “His name is Jebediah Kramer. He’s a gambling man from Saint Denis who, I happen to know, has just come into a large sum of money.” “Just how much money are we talkin’ here? And how do you know about it?” Arthur speaks up, eyeing you suspiciously. He looks intimidating, all broad shoulders and piercing eyes. If it were under different circumstances you might have enjoyed the sight. You give him a tight-lipped smile instead. ”At least a couple thousand, and I know ‘cause the no good, pompous, cheating son-of-a-bitch took it from my brother in a rigged poker game!” The three fall silent. Dutch has his hands on his hips. Hosea crosses his arms with a slow nod. Arthur just watches you with suspicious eyes. “So that’s why you’re more than happy to let us rob him blind!” Arthur breaks the silence, throwing his hands up in the air. “You just need someone to do your dirty work, huh?” He turns to Dutch, a scowl on his face. “I bet it aint even that much money, it’s not worth the risk Dutch! Not with all the heat we already have!” “Easy, Arthur,” Dutch waves his hand dismissively, “any lead is welcome, you know that—” You’re surprised by his support, but none-the-less pleased. “—But I admit, I am curious why you would let us ride away with your brothers wrongfully taken money. Care to enlighten us further?” Now, not so much. “Well, the money wasn’t my brothers to gamble with,” you sigh, fidgeting, “he took it on loan, and was supposed to pay it back, but obviously he couldn't with it all gone. Jebediah, ever the kindhearted rich man,” you sneer, “offered to pay off the debt and give a little more besides for a trade,” your voice tapers off into a murmur at the end, your teeth nipping the inside of your cheek, anger bubbling in your stomach. “Well?” Dutch probes, impatient, “what trade ?” “For my hand in marriage!” You hiss low, stomping on the mound of dirt you hadn’t realized you were shoveling with your foot. “And the damned idiot said yes ! Like I’m some pet o-or a piece of furniture that don’t have feelings or a mind of her own!” Flustered, you take in a deep breath in order to try and calm yourself, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “So yes , it’s a little bit of dirty work on my behalf, but the way I see it you’re the ones who get the better end of the deal. And you can keep anything else you find too, I don’t care. It ain’t mine after all,” you shrug, cold and distant. It’s a little sobering for the men before you but you don’t care. Jebediah is a rich man who doesn’t give two hoots about anyone or anything but himself; he deserves far worse than this, but at least your brother will have learned a harsh lesson and you won’t have to marry that fool Kramer. He’ll be too busy nursing his ruined ego to focus on you, after all. You hope. “Well,” Dutch drawls, breaking the stalemate, “ain’t that something. What do you say, gentlemen?” He asks Hosea and Arthur, both of whom have stayed quiet after your little outburst. “I doubt Miss DuBois would be so, well, so animated over nothing,” Hosea states, “I say we take a look into this Mr Kramer.” He offers you a small smile and a dip of his head, which you return. “And you, Arthur?” Arthur grumbles, shuffling from one foot to another before he shakes his head. He takes out a cigarette, holding it between his lips before looking you dead in the eyes. “Better not be setting us up like fools, Miss,” he growls, striking a match. Through the smoke he looks like one of those mountain men you’ve read about in your books, all rugged and rough. Now you can see why they sell so well among the ladies in the gentry. Dutch nods, a hand coming to your shoulder in a reassuring pat. “Well then Miss DuBois, I think the matter is settled! Now, all we need is a plan .” Reconnaissance — the first phase of Dutch’s plan. A trip to Saint Denis was in order, he explained, to return the stolen bride-to-be and in the process integrate themselves into the business of Jebediah Kramer directly. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, you told yourself, but humored Dutch with a smile and a nod anyway. “We should have taken the train! ” You huff, shifting in the saddle to try and get the blood flowing to your legs. You’ve been riding for a while now and while you’re grateful not to be walking all the way to Saint Denis, you would have preferred your own mount instead of sharing one. Especially with a certain ill-tempered cowboy. “Quit your whining, we’ll make camp as soon as we get to open ground,” Arthur grumbles, growling in frustration when he, too, has to readjust to get comfortable. The large stallion he rides, a hulking Ardennes, snorts in complaint at the unruly riders. You shush him gently, smoothing your fingers out along his neck. “Only if you mean it this time,” you counter sourly. Arthur just chuckles, recalling how you fell for the lie twice before you called his bluff. He does mean it this time though and it’s not long before Arthur picks out a suitable spot to set up camp. It’s just enough for two weary travelers on the road. Two small tents, two bedrolls, and a small fire. You sip at a strange concoction that Hosea gave you, made out of American Ginseng, which he said would help boost you up a bit after your ordeal. It tastes funny, but you do feel better. Arthur is smoking, eyes on the rabbit that he’s cooking. You’re curious of him, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man that enjoys being quizzed and questioned. You decide to do it anyway. “So...” You start, trying to make small talk to fill the deafening silence. Arthur flicks his gaze briefly to you, but it’s soon back on the rabbit. “So?” He repeats when you remain quiet, raising an eyebrow. “So, what’s it like being an outlaw ?” Not the most original question in the world and you know it. You cringe inside and you can see the tension in Arthur's expression. He’s probably been asked that before, plenty of times, by all sorts of people and you feel stupid. He scoffs and shakes his head, distracting himself with the now cooked rabbit. You awkwardly decline his offer for some. You’re too busy hoping a hole would open up and swallow you whole “Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly, “that was, God, that was awful!” Arthur snickers, making you smile. “Well I wasn’t gonna say anything, but now that you mention it,” he teases, the awkward tension leaving your shoulders as you laugh. It didn’t sit right with him, how uptight you were. Especially since he knew it was because of how standoffish he’d been with you in camp. The stress of everything with the law, that mess in Blackwater, and Dutch acting strange was weighing heavily on him but that didn’t give him the right to be mean to you. He could have been civil about it. Hosea always taught him to be, even when disagreeing, not that Dutch ever minded him being more of a brute. And a brute he had been. Until he saw that look in your eye, that is. Like a puppy who was kicked for being a little too excited, a little too much for those around it. With a sigh, he gives you the once over before sitting up straighter. The cooked rabbit meat is stowed away for later, when you’re both on the move again. “You really wanna know what it’s like to be an outlaw?” He asks and you visibly perk up, surprised that he’s answering your question. “Are you really gonna tell me?” You counter, narrowing your eyes. You’re suspicious, but the smile creeping onto your lips betrays your excitement. Arthur finds he quite likes this side to you; maybe you are more suited for this life than he gave you credit for. “Well, it ain’t fun,” he breaths, “I mean, you’re practically living it already. You’ve been kidnapped, starved, hustled into some fools errand by a gang of misfits, and now you’re planning to rob some rich fool blind and get out alive to spend the money!" He chuckles. “All we gotta do is get you in a gun fight and girl you’ll be the real deal,” he adds, smirking. You’re quiet for a moment, studying him, before you break down into laughter as Arthur watches you in amusement, illuminated by the firelight. “You really think so?” You laugh, shaking your head, “I don’t even know how to use a gun!” “Then I’ll teach you,” Arthur says after a moment of contemplation, “you’ll need it if you’re gonna run with us.” The resoluteness of his tone stifles your laughter and you once again look at him with those wide eyes, barely contained excitement brimming within. “You will?” Suspicion radiates from you again but he waves it off dismissively. “Yeah, you’ll need to know just in case things go wrong,” he explains, “but c’mon now, it’s getting late. We should get some sleep while we can.” Stifling a yawn, you nod. Arthur will have you up with the dawn chorus so that you can make good time so you need all the rest you can get. Burrowing down into the blanket on your bedroll you sigh contently, peeking up at the stars as the fire becomes glowing embers. The stillness of the night surrounds you, coaxing you into a restful sleep as twinklings lights above fade to black. Arthur listens as your breathing evens out, steady and constant in your slumber. He stares up at the stars, ruminating on just how it came to be that you were there, with him, about to pull off something daring and downright foolish with the possibility of no pay off. Before he left with you Hosea had told him to have faith in you and your knowledge, but could he really be so quick to trust? Turning onto his side, Arthur watches you with interest. You’re curled up like one of those pretty cats in a basket, soft fur and sweet purrs. Long lashes kissing the tops of rosy cheeks. You’re an honest girl, he’s sure, but the more he watches your peaceful, sleeping face, the more he’s concerned that you’re in over your head, and that just doesn’t sit right with him.

#RDR2 #RDR2 Imagine #RDR2 Imagines #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Red Dead Redemption 2 Imagine #Red Dead Redemption 2 Imagines #Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan Imagine #Arthur Morgan Imagines

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yamithediaperdork · 4 years ago

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It’s a small world after all (Harry potter)

It's a small world after all

Not for the first time since hooking up with potter, Malfoy found himself wondering if the brunette's deep pockets and wonderful vigor under the covers really was worth some of the messed up things he was into. because really, Draco handled the first few kinks with ease. who didn't like a good paddling now and then? and a nice big enema could be fun and do wonders for your bowels! But then it started to get odder and odder and what should of been giant red flags were just ignored when they realllly shouldn't of been. Hence why today Draco found himself shrunk down to the size of a shrimpy 8 year old..and dressed like a 1 year old. He was in black and green light up sneakers, with green socks and then a SHORT pair of black shorts with green trim on the waist and legs,that puffed out from padding Draco was wearing under them, and the shorts had a teddy bear with a green Mohawk on either side. The t-shirt had the same bear on it, but the T-shirt was green with black trim on the waist, neck and sleeves and had the bear saying 'rock on all my little buddies!' as it was apparently a charter from some local baby show called teddy rocks. His blond hair had been grown the cut and fashioned into a mushroom cut and all and all he was less the happy.

"Your a git, you know that right?" Draco asked harry as they walked from the parking lot towards the green grass of the park. "I know I know..but a lovable git who's going to spoil you SO much..as long as your a good boy today." Harry said as now on the green, they headed for the play structures. "oh why wouldn't I be a good boy? I'm only a 24 year old man the size of a 8 year old and dressed like a 2 year old. why would I be in a mood to cause chaos and torment?" Draco huffed and chuckled, having some veryyyy evil plans. step one, find a group of preschooler and tell them the truth about saint nick. step two would be tel- "Right about that. if your a total pain in the ass BRAT, We'll be coming back here tomorrow, with you normal sized and WISHING you had something as mature and cool as that outfit on." Harry said, interrupting Draco's train of thought. '..DAMN IT!' Draco whined mentally. "I was never really gonna do anything." Draco lied out loud and Harry just smirked. "well I suppose it's not a lie if you behave." He said, picking out a picnic table for him to sit at and read, and before taking his book out of the diaper bag he'd brought, he took out a plastic pail and shovel and pointed over to where he wanted Draco to play first: the sandbox. Draco rolled his eyes but his was not to argue in this case, at least till Harry whistled and got the attention of all the other parents and kids around and waved Draco back over. before with everyone all distracted, ignoring him he hadn't worried so much about how much his diaper showed/crinkled, but now with all eyes on him.. Draco was red faced and whining as he got over to Harry. "Now now, none of that. this is what YOU'VE been begging ME for for a month.. no take backies little man. and you almost forgot your paci." Harry said and then clipped a green and black paci to Draco's chest and then popped the nipple in Draco's mouth, kissing red faced boys burning forehead. "Love you little guy." Harry said and then turned Draco around and with a firm pat or too on the tush sent the blond towards the sandbox.

Naturally the other parents wanted to know what was going on, why was Harry's son in diapers and all that jazz. Making use of the fact that there were all muggles and a charm to enhance well..his charms, Harry had them buying every line of the bullshit story he was coming up with on the spot. "So yeah, about month and a half ago I come home and there's my so called big boy who whined to be allowed to stay home without a baby sitter..and he's wearing a homemade diaper made out of towels safety pins and a prayer." Harry was saying. "Little Draco looks up at me and squeaks out 'daddy!' and then the laxatives he'd taken combined with the shock..welll yeah. " the other parents chuckled and nodded. "So getting him all cleaned up, we have a talk and he says he misses being treated like a little guy and wanted the full experience..which included this trip to the park..Among a few other things." Harry said.

Draco glared over at Potter and while he couldn't make out what was being said, he was positive 90 percent of it was bullshit. His own reception at the sandbox had not been as fun, with two 5 year olds that at his current size looked semi fordable, blocked his entrance. "Sorry, ya gotta be potty trained ta get in here." Said the left boy, with dirty blond hair. "mmmfffh mm fffmmm." Draco protested around his paci. he knew from experience that removing it on his own was a bigggg nay nay. "pffft, what are you trying to say diaper boy?" the other kid asked, a brown haired boy who reached and tugged the paci out of Draco's mouth. "Phleg..I said I AM potty trained!" Draco huffed. "Right..mister massive pampers and a dummy is potty trained. Blond said, rolling his eyes. "I-I'm not diapered!" Draco lied. for some reason suddenly it felt super important to get into the sand box. "I-I just have a MASSIVE butt!" the younger boys exchanged a look, but just because they were young that didn't mean they were stupid. "Alright dummy boy, we'll give you a chance to prove your claim. drop your shorts." Brown said. "I..What!?!" Draco yelped, wetting himself a little. "You heard him. if your NOT a diaper wearing baby then you'll be in undies. So drop your shorts and show us!" the Blond said and then moved in. "or we could take'em ourselfs." "N-No! wait It's ok! I don't need to play in th-" Draco yelped and turned away to waddle back to Harry when he felt the waistline on his shorts being grabbed by two sets surprisingly strong hands.One pair went to the left and one pair to the right and the poor shorts that had been struggling to maintain the bulk of Draco's diaper ripped wide open. Now everyone on the playground could see the sesame street print diapers Draco was wearing, and watch as Big bird, cookie monster and others faded from the front. "Bobby Micheal Landrew!" Roared a blond lady. Ike James Jone!" Added in a brunette. the five year olds went from looking happy and high fiving, having been about to torment the diaper baby but then heard their mothers voices. "run?" Bobby asked. "Run." Ike agreed and so they did, though were caught in short order. All of this was a back round blur to Draco as with his nappy on display and the laughs and giggles coming up he could feel his bowels kicking into over drive. 'N-Not here..not now....' Draco thought, seeing people come into focus as he henched over and let out a loud fart. "Is he going to.." Came a girls voice. "Bwhahahaha what a loser!" "gross big baby." "Poor kid, " all this and more filled Draco's head and as a large load started to fill the back of his diapers he threw back his head to bawl for daddy, but harry was already there, hugging him.

"Shhh it's ok." Harry coo'ed. He was still waiting on Draco to finish loading his diaper., be a little more stable before he moved him for for his diaper change. "I'm pooping my diapie." Draco whimpered and whined, hugging Harry and burying his face in Harry's shoulder. "well I didn't think you smelled like this all the time." Harry joked and got a small chuckle out of Draco. "your not funny." Draco said and sniffled and rubbed a eye, looking like any other upset little boy coming around, trying to keep a pouty face but flashing toothy grins instead. "Well Humor is tricky like that. Ready for me to move you little guy?" Harry asked. Draco bit his lip and looked over his shoulder at the massive load he'd made, the diaper was sagging big time, and gulped. "Is it even gonna stay ON till we get back to the car?" Draco asked. "welll good news and bad news on that front." Harry said, having already figured out what was just dawning on Draco. "Bad news, no it won't hold up till the car. Good news: it'll hold up till we get to the picnic table." He went quiet to let that sink in and watched Draco's face. confusion played on it at first, then slowly a dawning, ..there we go he figured it out and then a even worse all face red blush took over and Draco yelled. "YOU ARE -NOT- CHANGING ME IN PUBLIC,ON THAT TABLE! YOUR JUST NOT!" As he yelled and huff, stomping a foot Harry had to bite his touge to keep from laughing. the other adults and kids didn't have to be that polite so the park filled with the sound of laughter again as Draco glare and huffed, stomping his feet as he screamed at everyone to stop laughing at him. harry noticed one of Draco's shoelaces had come undone and went to yell out a warning but it was too late. tripping forward Draco showed a amazing amount of agility to turn it into a roll of sorts and ended up sitting on his squishy butt, mouth open and eye twitching. "I-I shoulda..taken..the blow to the noggin." He whined and conked out from humiliation overload.

Draco woke up and rubbed his eyes, then slowly opened them. "Man, Ron you would not believe the nightmare i-" Was what Draco was trying to say but as he got his eyes opened he realized he was looking up at the sky..at the park. which meant that his horrible humiliating nightmare wasn't a nightmare, it had really happened!!! Looking around he noticed there were a lot of the other parents semi surrounding the table though some of the older kids were there too. 'what are they..' Draco wondered then it dawned on him. 'Of course, they're making a human wall so no one can just walk by and see my junk..' with that grim reminder Draco sat up some to look down, realizing he had his paci in his mouth. "Hey sleep head, we're just about done. I was starting to think you were gonna waste the rest of the day in sleepy town." Harry coo'ed. "mmmffh mmk."Was Draco's witty reply. with Draco all cleaned up and the two boys who had made him basically mess forced to carry the dirty diaper to the furthest away trash can,It was time for Draco's next diaper. His junk had been on display for a little longer then he was comfortable with (and that was a clock that only went at micro seconds) and as a breeze blew over the lunch table Draco's little nub twitched once..twice.. then a spurt of pee came out and Harry BARELY ducked out of the way. "Knew I should of brought the pee guard." Harry chuckled and Draco whined and wiggled. spotting a stuffie not that far away Draco snagged the stuffed bear and put it over his face to hide. "Aww it's ok little guy. happens to big babies like you. at least you didn't hit anyone." Harry coo'ed and rubed Draco's tummy. 'not helping!' Draco thought though that was somewhat of a lie. the tummy rubs felt nice.

With Draco re-diapered and it being somewhat MORE bulky then the las, He was forced to full on toddle like a 1 year old while trying to go anywhere in the park. This meant he'd take all of 7-10 steps, slowly, arms out for balance and ended up plopping on his butt while the crowd watched and chuckled. ALSO super not helping was the fact that harry had decided since everyone had seen Draco's diapers, why bother with the spare shorts to cover them up? when Draco when to polity (Read: Have a fit) over this and demanded cover, Harry had held up a skirt and Draco shut up fast. After falling on his butt for the 20th time Draco just stayed there, sitting on the grass and arms crossed while Harry and the parents laughed..and the other kids didn't exactly hold back either. "Awww what's wrong buddy?" "Done falling on my butt!" Draco huffed and pouted, then pointed to the sand box. "Carry me!" this, while meant to show everyone Draco wasn't a roll over and Harry was his bitch..instead got MORE laughter as Harry signed. "Well I suppose." he teased and lifted Draco up and carried him over. After setting him down in the sandbox and making sure Draco was good, Harry decided to stay with him to make sure that no more bullies came over.

Draco was blushing, fuming and mad, but as he played in the sandbox he felt all of that just drifting away as he lost himself in the fun. Making sand castles and showing them off to harry he really did feel like a little boy more then once. Including when anther boy, a 6 year old who had a pull up sticking out of the top of his shorts asked if he could join in. For the next few hours the pair of not quite potty trained boys took over the sandbox with Harry and the boys dad hitting it off and the only break being for juice boxes and cookies.

The only downside for Harry as Draco made a big baby buddy was while Tyler and his dad were nice, there was a whollle park he had wanted Draco to explore. Still with Draco in a natural little mode Harry couldn't break himself to break it up and there WAS always tomorrow anyhow. "Draco buddy, time to go." Harry called as the sky was turning orange in the evening. Draco naturally, pretended not to hear him and kept playing with the dino's that Tyler had brought to the sandbox. "Draco Malfoy Potter, I'm speaking to you." Harry said again. in the sandbox Tyler was trying to get Draco's attention, apparently it going over the kids head Draco was ignoring him on purpose. Tyler's dad was watching in amusement. "Draco unless you wanna be my little baby girl for the rest of the summer, out of that sand box now." Harry said and fought back a laugh at how Draco froze hearing that and then there was a puff of loose sand going up from a muffled fart. "Uhhh Tyler it was nice meeting you, I think it's time for me and daddy to go home." Draco said quickly and turned to waddle out of the sand box only to plop back on his butt. between the girth of it before, multiple wetting and the sand that had ended up in the diaper, Draco was helpless! "D-Daddy! Help!" Draco whined. '...that's in, I'm never letting him be big again. too damn cute.' Harry thought and came over, picking Draco up hands under his shoulders and eyes flashing. Just like that Draco's face scrunched up and his bowels went into over drive as he was there in Harry's arms. "A-Ah Daddy daddy I'm gonna-" Draco tried to yell out a warning but instead let out a massive loud fart that echoed and then with Tyler and his dad getting a good view, filled his diaper with massive lumps, crying out and gasping as they made their way out. "You're gonna what?" Harry asked, laughing and pulling the smelly boy in. Draco glared and went to answer but his paci was popped back into his mouth. "I know what your doing silly. too bad I got to bring any changes with me beyond that first one." Harry lied. "You'll just have to ride home stinky..of do you wanna stop for a happy meal on the way home?" Harry was asking now, heading for the car and bouncing Draco on his hip now. "...Want nuggets n fries." Draco mewed. "Good boy~"

The end

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scarfacemarston · 4 years ago

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Postpartum depression is okay - about Tilly and Abigail

I brought up not too long ago how it would be realistic how Abigail and later Tilly would have a very normal postpartum body. Basically having more representation in the matter and how your “beauty” doesn’t change when you have a child. Your value doesn’t change. But the other big thing is postpartum depression. I had several of my family members go through it and some friends as well. I myself cannot have children, but I do know that even people who adopt have something similar to postpartum depression. It is so highly stigmatized by society. Postpartum is not someone “mopey” or someone who is actively going to harm others. It’s a very real disorder and so many people suffer in silence. It’s partially a chemical imbalance, some of it may also be situational or both. Let’s talk about the two confirmed mothers in the series. (Granted Edit, counts.) We see a very happy Tilly in the epilogue. She is truly living her best life in Saint-Denis. We don’t see much of Tilly and how she is treated, but she is happy talking to John and gushing with excitement. We see her later pushing a pram. We know she has what appears to be a very loving and supportive husband. I’m so happy for her. She deserved the BEST. Tilly may have planned her family. But who knows how she felt after having her child.

Even with all these factors, maybe she had postpartum, maybe not. It can happen to anyone. Who knows. I’m not going to say it did or didn’t - just that even people who have it “all right” may have it. But Abigail is easier to talk about because we have more info. Abigail didn’t have the same support. At all. We don’t know how serious she and John were at the time. Abigail was very serious - enough to give up prostitution when she met him. I don’t know about John. Maybe he was serious, maybe he wasn’t. IDK. John was there for the pregnancy and Jack’s first year before taking off. Who knows how kind he was. He was having a meltdown himself because his mother died giving birth to him and his father was a horrible man. Abigail was in a do or die situation as dramatic as that sounds. I won’t go farther than that. It just sucks for anyone pregnant that can’t afford to walk off. Then she’d have to worry about her health, people judging her, etc. She explicitly says she wasn’t ready yet. As you all know, a gang is no place to raise a child. Abigail talks about how she didn’t want to be a mother and how she never wanted to be one. (She does flip flop on this. This is normal for mothers and those who give birth to children, especially those with no support. She clearly loves Jack. I think part of her problem is that she’s the outcast. She knows she can’t contribute in the same way that she used to. She knows people judge her and gossip. She used to plan cons and was praised multiple times for being one of the best thieves. It’s not like she wants to sit at camp all day because she says she doesn’t. In fact, her audio files show her leaving camp. She has audio for riding horses (besides what we see), and all the animations for using different types of guns. She has a rifle, she can use her knife, and is coded to loot. (Everyone is.) I don’t know why Rockstar decided to change this except they ran out of time or money. A lot of things changed last minute. Even if she didn’t leave camp, I still think she was an outcast. I do not think for a second she likes begging for money from Arthur and depending on others. She seems to think it’s humiliating. Think about it. She’s strong and independent. She’s proud when she can do things for herself and help others. Look at the epilogue. She’s happy cleaning a doctor’s office. She’s happy shoveling horse manure. She wants to work. You know what? She’s not alone. It’s totally okay to be a stay at home mother. It’s totally okay to want to work, too. Yes, she asked for help with John in Colter, but when he was in prison, guess who was the one to beg and volunteer to go save him? Abigail. Who calls Dutch out for his shit along with the others? Abigail and she does it EARLY. Who stole Dutch’s key? Abigail. On top of that, She’s not going to burden someone with babysitting Jack, either. She knows that it is not their responsibility . No one talks to her very often except for Arthur, John, Sadie, Hosea, and Tilly. The others are polite, but that’s kind of it. We do see her talk to Molly sometimes. But I sure as hell can’t blame her for feeling this way. Now for the epilogue. It’s clear the epilogue is a little messy with how John’s model is, the broken dialogue, the bugs, etc. I feel like there was also more story.

I headcanon that she is more reluctant to have her daughter because she knows she is older and that there is still the chance for complications. We know today that being older doesn’t usually affect pregnancy conditions. A lot of people have children in their 40′s, but medical knowledge was rather rudimentary back then. But I think Abigail knew she’d have John’s support, but I don’t blame her for probably thinking “What if he changes his mind?” “What if I don’t fall in love with the child immediately?” “Am I doing this just for him?” etc. These are all normal thoughts, btw. It’s just an idea.

#rdr 2 #tilly jackson #abigail marston #abigail roberts #john marston #van der linde gang #red dead redemption 2 #tw pregnancy

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kingofdirtandnothing · 4 years ago

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@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Three

“You know, I didn’t expect retirement to be this good.” Jack can feel the sway of the dock beneath him, the slow and steady slosh of the waves where it hits the wood. The sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blushing pink and soft yellows. It’s paradise, plain and simple.

Even the breeze was gentle, soft and sweet and scented with the salt of the ocean without that heavy fish smell that came with being too close to the dock.

And the only reason he’s here is sitting beside him in a matching folding chair, a little streak of aluminum white sunscreen still visible on his nose, just below where his glasses have slid. Jack doesn’t make any effort to look down at the book in Daniel’s lap, he knows he wouldn’t get it, even on the off chance it was written in English.

Knowing Danny, it was probably in Aramaic or something.

For all the overflowing bookshelves in their little condo, if Jack had to guess how many of them were in English, he’d guess twenty five percent or less. There were German fairy tales and Polish fantasy novels, and even some Russian crime novels shoved on the far end of the shelf. Jack picked them up when he saw something interesting in the book store. It was a game, trying to see if there was something Danny couldn’t read.

And on those few times he found something Daniel wasn’t fluent in, the stubborn bastard would sit there with a dual language dictionary and a notebook and puzzle his way through the whole thing. Then he’d flop down on Jack in bed and give him a smug review of whatever it was.

Jack just hoped Daniel never cottoned on to the fact that Jack liked those smug book reviews more than any he’d ever read in the paper. All that skin against his skin while he was listening to Daniel talk didn’t hurt either.

“I thought...frozen dinners and too many days in a row in front of the TV watching the game.” Any game. Hell, Jack had stooped so low a time or two that he sat there and watched things like shuffleboard and darts. Because that’s what his retirement had been the first time around, after Charlie died. The silence of an empty house, his marriage bed cold and his son’s old bedroom a mausoleum. The only sound that ever broke the silence was the sound of the tv. Jack hadn’t turned it off for two years.

He’d gone through the motions while the divorce finalized, and even got in touch with a lawyer. Jack had a decent pension from his time in the service, and a nice sized life insurance policy. He’d just been waiting to make sure that putting a gun in his mouth wasn’t going to take all those things from Sarah.

After what he took from her, the least he could do was make sure she was taken care of financially when he was gone.

More than a few nights had been spent with the same sidearm that took his kid from him sitting on the arm of his recliner. Just in case he was ready.

Jack never could work up the nerve to be ready.

It’s not a story he’s ever going to tell Daniel. Some things were just meant to be kept to yourself. But he thinks about it now, about how much he would have missed out on if he let his grief pull him over the edge and into the darkness.

Sarah had told him once, long after the divorce and with tears in her eyes, that Charlie wouldn’t have wanted this for him. That he wouldn’t have wanted his dad to be miserable for the rest of his life. That he could grieve their boy but at some point, he would have to move on with his life. (Sarah was a saint of a woman. She never blamed him for something that was his fault. That was alright, Jack would blame himself enough for the both of them, for the rest of his life.)

It was her words in his head that made him even pick up the phone when Hammond called. Jack had ignored a whole lot of calls from a whole lot of people before then. He and Hammond had been in the Air Force together, and even worked a couple of missions on the back end when Hammond was riding the pine pony and before Jack’s forced retirement took him out of the service altogether.

It was Hammond who said he had a security company that he was starting up, and that he could use a fresh pair of eyes to make sure he was covering all his bases. Jack didn’t manage to have that conversation without asking Hammond if Sarah called him. He was too raw, too pissed off at the idea of being forgiven to leave it alone.

Hammond, God bless him and rest his soul, had deadpanned all the way through the phone wire. ‘Son, whether she did or not doesn’t change the fact that I’m asking you to do me a favor here.’

So Jack let words like favor and friendship coax him back out of his deathly silent house in Colorado and halfway across the world. Rich folks always needed someone to look after them, regardless of if they actually needed someone watching their backs at night. It was easy pay, most of the time.

And then Jack got saddled with a sarcastic archaeologist who got a bodyguard courtesy of the university, after one of his failed students tried to put a hit out on him on the internet. (Jack always wondered how you even started looking for someone to kill another person. Did you type ‘hitman for hire’ in a search engine or something?)

The rest was long, complicated history. A whole lot of time and miles and sitting in on lectures until Jack stopped zoning out and started listening. Dr. Daniel Jackson was smart, that was never up for debate. Jack knew that the second he laid eyes on him. But listening to him talk, Jack started to realize how much more than just an egghead that Daniel was.

He was clever, and he was funny. God, Daniel has a whip smart sense of humor and Jack enjoys it just as much now as he did when he first started seeing it unleashed on poor and unsuspecting entitled assholes at colleges where Daniel was going to speak. Dr. Jackson took no shit, but he did it with a smile on his face and left a lot of confused people in his wake.

And how was a guy like Jack supposed to turn a blind eye to that? He’d settled down with Sarah, sure, and he loved the hell out of her. (He loved her so much that he was pretty sure he’d never be able to fall in love with a woman again.) But he’d had more than his fair share of foxhole fornication with the boys before he and Sarah got married.

So spending his days shadowing a smart mouthed professor started being an exercise in repression. Because above all else, Jack was a professional. He wasn’t going to let his slow slide from respect to fondness to Feeling get in the way of doing his job. Hammond deserved better than that.

Daniel did too.

“You don’t have the best long view on the world, Jack. You’ve been known to be a little short sighted.” It’s sharp, and a little wry, and Jack loves the way that Daniel puts his index finger right on the line that he was reading so that he won’t lose his spot while he shoots a playful, loving look at Jack.

“Yeah yeah, rub it in why don’t you.” Jack gestures around him, encompassing the blue skies and the white sand beaches and the handsome fella sitting next to him all with a wave of the hand that would do Vanna White proud. “This is all here because of you.”

Because Jack might have had decades worth of practice when it came to repressing the things in life he couldn’t deal with at the time, Daniel Jackson had never met a puzzle that he couldn’t solve. And Daniel had looked at Jack and seen a Gordian knot that he was itching to get his fingers on, convinced that if he could find the right string and tug, that he could unravel him.

Smug bastard was right, too. Jack came apart like a house of cards in a hurricane the first time that Daniel cornered him in an elevator, a hand pressed flat against his chest and the smell of his cologne in Jack’s nose. ‘I want you.’ Daniel said, in that same knowing way he talked about the pyramids and the ancient Egyptians. ‘And I know you want me too. So why don’t we stop circling each other like some kind of alpha predator and actually do something about it?’

That had been peak Daniel. An argument rushed out on excitable words that Jack couldn’t think of a good excuse to argue back with. It didn’t hurt that they were coming to the end of Daniel’s contract, and his shit for brains ex-student hadn’t so much as sent a threatening email since the cops got involved.

And in true Daniel fashion, he dug and he dug and he dusted off all the broken vase pieces of Jack’s heart and he treasured them just as they were. No need to be glued back together, or polished. Daniel loved him as much academically as he did emotionally, and Jack loves the son of a bitch so much for it that it keeps him up at night sometimes.

Literally.

Just the other night, Jack had lain there, tipped over onto his side because Daniel slept like the damn dead, and watched the way the filtered light from the street outside played against Daniel’s cheekbone, and felt that knot in his chest go taut. Daniel was the reason Jack got out of bed every day.

(And in the morning, while Daniel was shoveling oatmeal into his mouth without looking away from the translation in front of him, Jack had let slip ‘Charlie would have liked you’. And he meant it, too. Charlie had been whip smart, too. He would have loved Daniel.)

“No short jokes from you, junior.” It’s a lazy back and forth, and Jack digs at his own thoughts for a second until he can find the words that Daniel had used for it in one of his lectures last week. Call and response.

Jack wasn’t getting paid to sit in on the lectures now. But he still liked to take up a spot in the back row and do the crossword with the ebb and flow of Daniel’s voice washing over him, the same way the sound of the sea was washing over him now.

“I would never.” But Daniel’s voice trails off, the same way that his attention is fading, already shifting back to the book in his hand. If Jack was a betting man, he’d bet that tonight would be one of those nights that he’d have to roll out of bed with creaking knees and crackling ankles at two in the morning and usher Daniel into bed. He was close to a breakthrough, and Jack knew that getting much else out of him today when his brain was in Translation Mode wasn’t going to happen.

“Yeah yeah.” Jack repeats, his own kind of absent as he reaches over to squeeze Daniel’s knee, careful not to bump the book where it sits in his lap. He turns his own attention back to the rod and reel he’s been ignoring through this stroll down memory lane, giving it a little tug on the line.

Nothing was biting at the moment, but that was alright. Jack had nothing else to do, and there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

#ch: jack #polyfacetious | daniel #polyfacetious #queued #v: expats row #carlota's christmas drabbles

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queenlists · 5 years ago

Text

trainwreck.

A/N: I couldn't find a gif that fit this story really, so I stuck you with shirtless gifs of the two. Don't act hurt! 🤣 WARNINGS though: Implied sex and alcohol. This involves a very very toxic relationship involving Dean, Sam, and the reader. No implied wincest, dirty dogs! I was going in a different direction with this story, but it just got away from me and I went this direction instead. (p/p) stands for preferred pronoun. I hope you all enjoy this story. Remember, requests and messages are always welcome! Thank you for the support! I appreciate it all.✌

Post date: 11/04/2019

BEEP BEEP BEEP

It's my cue. 4:30 AM. Every morning. Wake up at 4:30 to slip into my room before Sam gets up to start his day. Why he has to wake up and take a jog every morning is beyond me. I gently nudge Dean who responds by waving me off. Jerk. I scoff, standing up and throwing a pillow at him nailing him right in the face. He mutters something under his breath before flinging the pillow across his room, hitting the wall. I roll my eyes and try to use the flashlight from my phone to find my clothes from the previous night. Failing to do so, I turn the light on which seems to infuriate the sleeping dragon. Dean shoots up from the bed, kicking the covers on the floor in the process "What, (y/n)? What do you want? Attention? Didn't I give you enough last night?" I roll my eyes, flipping him off "Not everything's about you, Dean! I need to find my clothes, so I can go. The faster I find them, the faster I can leave." Dean walks over to a pile in the corner of the room and throws the clothes at me "Here. Goodnight." Dean turns his light off and flops back into bed "Close the door on the way out." Any normal (p/p) would be crying or shouting, but not me. That (p/p) isn't me anymore. Dean's broken me out of it because no matter what reaction I give him, he doesn't care. I'm just an easy thing for him. I can't cry for sympathy because I'm far from a saint.

I quickly throw on the clothes that feel a little too tight on me. I slowly creep out of his room, keeping look out for Sam. I check out the clothes as I walk down the hall. Yup, they definitely aren't mine. I want to turn around and yell at him for cheating on me, but we aren't dating. 'It's not technically cheating if we aren't technically dating, (y/n)'; That's what he always tells me. Sam comes out of nowhere as I turn the corner to my hall, I stumble back and let out a gasp before laugh "Sorry, Sam!" Sam smiles, looking at me weird. "What?" I watch his eyes trail down my body. Sam shrugs and shakes his head, looking at me "Nothing. I..just was getting to my jog." I nod and start walking past him before looking back at him again. He's still standing there, watching me. Creep.

I finally get to my room, closing my door and pressing my forehead against it. I take a big breath and lock my door before turning my back against it, sliding to the ground. I sit there staring at the space in front of me. My laptop screen is black on the floor in front of me, so I see myself. My pathetic self. How I ended up with Sam and Dean? I couldn't tell you it's all a blur. The going was great in the beginning, but now it's complicated. I slam my laptop shut and kick it under my bed, grabbing the bottle of whiskey next to my nightstand. I never drank before. In fact, I only ever had enough sips to fill a shot glass over the course of years. Now, my liver counts it as a healthy week if I only drink myself into oblivion twice. I press the cold glass against my lips, raising the bottle. The liquid inside is cold, but I know it'll make me feel warm instantly. Out of habit, I close my eyes, feeling my body clench as the whiskey flows down smoothly. My body is feeling warm now and I keep drinking. I drink until my body is cozy. I drink until my broken heart is temporarily mended with invisible bandaids. I drink until my regrets are forgiven. I drink until my life is forgotten.

BANG BANG BANG

"Open the door!"

My eyes flutter open, but I stay seated on the floor, hugging the whiskey bottle a little closer.

BANG BANG BANG

"(Y/N)!"

It's Dean.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

"I'm going to kick the door down in two seconds!" His voice is booming through the door. "Okay! Hold on. Jeez." I hide the bottle underneath my bed and stand up, opening the door. Dean's standing there, his face hard as a rock. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are burning circles into my head "Sammy saw you this morning?" I roll my eyes, walking to my bed slowly crawling into it. "You were too busy lingering around instead of getting out of my room. I had to tell him nothing was happening between us. What happened to not telling anyone?" His voice is too loud. I cover my ears and close my eyes tightly. My head is pulsating at every word he says. He's too loud. He's talking too much. "(Y/n)? (Y/n)! You're pathetic." He slammed the door shut behind him.

This is what my life has become. I had dreams. I wanted to be someone in this cold world. I wanted to be talked about for centuries from now. Taught about in classrooms. Adored in many generations. I had ambition, but then I got older and that eagerness seemed to lessen year after year. As the years went by, my expectations of myself diminished, but even a month ago I wouldn't have seen myself a drunken mess who stays with two brothers that could care less about (p/p). I don't remember much about myself, so I wouldn't know if I had a family run to. If they cared, I would've been at home right now.

I don't know what time it is, but I feel my bed move. I open my eyes, but I remain still. I feel hands trailing my body. It's dark, but they're being gentle. I feel soft kisses and warm breath against my skin with every small kiss. I slowly turn around to face him and of course, it's Dean. "Look, (y/n), I'm not ready for Sam to know about us. I overreacted. Let me make it up to you." He moves on top of me, kissing me. I know he's apologizing, but my day in and day outs are rinse and repeat at this point. Empty apologies. Empty promises. I feel my stomach gurgle; I need something to eat.

"You're my only" my head snaps to Dean. My eyes search what glimpse I can see of his. He's never said that before. I can't tell if he's lying. Does he mean it? "I'm in love with you, (y/n)" I feel my mouth go dry and my body start to shake. He loves me. "I love you too" the words spilled out of my mouth. I didn't mean to say it back. Not yet. I needed to know if he meant it. I wasn't ready to be vulnerable to him yet. He doesn't hesitate to pull the shorts down. I realize I'm still in those clothes that aren't mine. I shake the thoughts out of my head. Maybe they were mine and I just don't remember, some of my clothes could be tight I suppose. I hear his belt buckle clink and clank as he removes it and the zip of his zipper going down. I feel him on top of me. I feel him slam inside of me. No warm up. No warning. I slam my eyes shut, squirming underneath him, but he pushes his palm into my shoulder hard to keep me still. I wince from the pain, but he doesn't seem to notice; I can tell this moment is for Dean and not for us.

After it's done, he gets up and throws on his clothes. I instantly sit up, reaching out for him "I love you, Dean. I meant it." I stand up and wrap my arms around him, but he pushes me off "Okay? I just wanted you to forgive me" He laughs in my face, turning around walking out. I feel a lump develop in my throat. I stand there, breathing heavily. Feeling like I just got punched in the gut, I hold my stomach in pain and disgust. I storm out after him yelling out "You're disgusting! I hate you!" He keeps walking down the hallway, not bothering to turn around. I feel dirty. I cover my naked body in shame with my hands and rush into my room.

My stomach continues to grumble, but all I'm giving my body is whiskey. The bottles empty now, the swigs I'm taking are all gusts of flavored air. I can't muster up the strength to move. I can't muster up the courage to risk facing Dean. He's probably in there shoveling pie in his mouth, unphased by the hurt he's caused me. My back is against the door and I can hear footsteps echoing closer. The footsteps stop right at my door. I put the bottle down, sliding it underneath my bed. I listen to it clink against the dozens of other empty glass bottles underneath my bed. Listening for the knock, I hear the footsteps start again, this time walking away. I manage to stand up and open the door. The only thing down this hallway is a plate of food and a bottle of water right by my door. Hunger takes over my body as I fall to my knees, feasting on the food right there. I feel like an animal. I need to do better. I have to.

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

Finishing my drink, I slam the glass down and slide the money over to the bartender. "You calling it a night, (y/n)?" She starts clearing my spot as I get up. "Yup. I'm just a little tired. Plus Sam decided to stay in tonight, so I'm a bit bored." I smile at the bartender and we wave goodbye. The past two weeks, I made it a point to get out of the bunker. Dean wasn't too happy about that, but Sam was. I started going on walks with him in the mornings and the bars at night. Tonight, Sam decided he wanted to take a break from the routine and catch up on a case he's been hearing about. Walking down the road past an alley, I hear moans and groans. I laugh to myself. People just do whatever, whenever, and wherever! Curiosity got the best of me as I peeked further into the alley. I felt vomit race up my throat as I puke up the last ten drinks I had at the bar in the past two hours. Dean and a perfect little blondie out in the open for all to see and hear. I walk up to them, pushing her away from him "Dean!" He rolls his eyes, breathing heavily and he pushes me to the side "We're not together, it's not cheating. Go study with Sammy. We could get this case done and over with after you two find out what needs to be found out. Don't worry, I'll save some stamina for you too!" He smirks at me and pulls the blonde, who doesn't seem to care about my presence, in closer. "You can stay for the show" He laughs at me. I shake my head and run off not wanting to witness anymore of it.

For the first time in a long time, tears drench my face. He lied to me, he cheated on me, and he doesn't care. I push the bunker doors open and walk to the library. Sam's head is buried in a book, but he looks up at me and stands up quickly "Hey, what happened? Are okay?" I rush over to him not wanting to hear anything he had to say, kissing him hard. Sam pulled away staring at me in disbelief, his eyes searching my eyes for some kind of approval before crashing his lips against mine. Our clothes were a mess on the floor in seconds. Books were flung off the table in minutes. I didn't need sympathy. I didn't need a shoulder to cry on. I needed to be Dean and Sam needed to be the blonde.

Two can play at this game.

#sam x reader x dean #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x reader #sam x you #sam x reader #sam x y/n #dean winchester imagine #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #supernatural #fanfiction #fanfic #fantasy

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