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sylvie-writes · 3 years

Text

Dr. Husband

word count: 5278

pairing: doctor steve rogers x wife reader

warnings: talks about heat exhaustion? there’s nothing graphic, but if the hospital theme bothers you, then this isn’t the fic to read!

prompts (from @/fluffyomlette): “Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?” and “You’re not supposed to pick favourites, doc.” “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

a/n: this just popped in my head about a month ago and i had to write it for no explainable reason. i really couldn’t think of a title oops. if you all have a better idea please tell me so i can change it lol.

please excuse any mistakes!

Summer was finally in full force, blazing sun rays beamed down on the dry ground and once gorgeous flowers drooped in dire need of water. Sounds of children playing outside, pool water splashing as a result of cannonballs, while lawnmowers whirled to life and laughter from the watching wives resounded this afternoon. In your neighborhood, it was tradition that the women would get together every other Saturday and have drinks in the cul-de-sac while their husbands had unsaid competitions of manicuring their yards. Unfortunately for you, your husband was a doctor and that meant little time for him to do the yard, and you didn’t have children at the moment that could go play with the others. The women who were your neighbors were a bit too picky choosy for your taste. They only seemed to bond over their children and sitting around home, two of which you didn’t have or do, so you weren’t ever truly invited to their day-drinking. It was actually fine with you as these people were so hot n’cold and you were just tired of trying to fit in with faux friends. You had plenty of true friends and then your husband who was a child of his own.

For three weekends so far, Steve had told you he’d cut the lawn and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew that he was so exhausted from work and being on call a majority of the time, that he would never find the hours to do so. That was okay with you because what he did was important and you weren’t gonna be on his ass like the feds about the yard when you could easily do it yourself. It wasn’t like he was just sitting around, no, he was working so you just decided to cut the lawn yourself, something you’d done plenty of times before.

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Unfortunately the day you chose to do so, the sun was out blazing and a simple walk out the door was a trip to an off-brand hell. Instead of making a wise decision and waiting to cut the grass in the evening, you chose the latter and decided to cut the grass at noon, the very time the sun was in full shine.

Dressed in attire for yard work and having already eaten a sandwich for lunch, you headed out the garage door to tackle the mess there in hopes of finding the push mower within. Steve’s father, Joseph, had given you both a lot of his lawn equipment, but the riding mower was broken at the moment and you (again) stupidly decided to push mow the almost two acre lawn. It took a good half hour to get the darned thing out on the driveway and while doing so, you noticed that your neighbors, the wives to be exact, had decided to come out for one of their occasional and somehow spontaneous get-togethers which consisted of unattended kids drawing with chalk as their mothers sat a few feet away dipping their feet in the small splash pool. You often found the idea both inventive and funny.

For only a second more did you let your attention linger on the group before returning back to fill the lawn mower with gasoline. After doing so, you tossed on a pair of sunglasses and went full steam ahead with cutting the grass, disregarding the rising, and very unsafe, temperature.

About an hour in, the temp had already risen to be above 100 and something no one should have spent any longer than half an hour in. Steve had always said you were stubborn at all the wrong times and boy was he right. You had just finished up half of the front yard and quarter of the back yard. It was mad that you were actually thinking about pushing mowing two acres, especially in this unruly weather.

You were so determined and when your mind was set on something, you let all other matters slip away, including regards for your own health. The unusual amount of sweat on your skin seemed to go unnoticed by you as well did the growing headache.

Finally, about half an hour later, more of the backyard was finished and your inner saboteur continued to influence your goals.

“Just finish this half and you will be close enough to the end,” translated into “Just finish the whole yard, you might as well since you are this close.”

This was the worst mindset to have, especially with the given circumstances as you had been out here for at least two hours, no drinks of any sort, no real breaks aside from fueling the lawn mower, and no cares to the worsening symptoms that now included noticeable dizziness.

The lawn mower eventually ran out of gas and you went to refill it once more. Making your way through the front yard, your unknown adrenaline rush came to an end along with the machine’s power. It wasn’t until your vision started to star and blur that you finally noticed your decline in health, but by then it was too late and you were on the plush and groomed grass of the front yard. Ironically, you noticed the fruits of your labor since you were currently laying on it.

Five minutes had passed since your drop to the ground and one of the ladies out in the court, Genevieve, noticed your figure, quite the contrast to the viridescent grass. Despite that she thought you were “demented” for cutting the grass yourself, she knew you weren’t unhinged, so to say, that you would just lay on the grass as it would serve no purpose to do so. She didn’t take you for a nature lover either so this was not normal.

Genevieve squatted down in the lawn, her sparkly sandals reflecting in the sea of green. Unknowing of what to do, the woman in a panic threw the back of her hand to your forehead and you burned hotter than a metal kettle. By time she stood, the other ladies had gathered around and were now circling in mass hysteria as if they were staring at a dead body and not your unconscious, yet breathing frame. Many long seconds later, Priscilla, who was Genevieve’s closest friend and who despised you as much as you did her, decided to call 911. The other moms then left to go usher their children away from what they described as a “traumatic experience” and back to their large homes for some sort of last minute luncheon.

Eventually, an ambulance arrived in your usually quiet neighborhood, something that was clearly displayed as almost every neighbor popped their heads out of their houses in sheer curiosity. Their nosey nature often bothered you but was normally put behind some sort of service act such as a baked cake or bottle of wine just to be invited into your house. You didn’t miss the way your neighbors would study your house when they were finally welcomed in. Steve was much better at hiding his cross nature and would return some compassion of his own while you struggled to bottle your annoyance and sealed it with a forced smile. As luck would have it though, you were knocked out and couldn’t give them a piece of your mind for staring because heavens know this would’ve been the last straw and no one could have stopped your rant.

It was when you were in the red wagon and being attended over by paramedics that you noticed you were on the way to somewhere that wasn’t home.

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At the hospital, the doctor and nurses hydrated you back to reality and suddenly you appeared in a bed, a doctor standing at the side with a clipboard in hand allowing your mind to draw up a million conclusions before you remembered what you had done last.

The doctor spoke a fast introduction and he then moved on to fill you in on what had happened as confusion still painted your face although when he told you Genevieve’s account of what led up to your ultimate passing out, you visibly cringed at such carelessness that ended up bringing you here. Hundreds of falls, burns, and bruises thanks to your clumsy nature, but this had to be the one thing to send you to the hospital. Some sort of twisted joke it sure was.

Moving to roll a stool to your bedside, the doctor passed you a cold bottle of water before bringing his eyes to give your IV a quick check as a nurse had put it in not too long before you awoke.

“Luckily, Mrs. Rogers, your neighbors found you in time and you only experienced severe heat exhaustion. Had you prolonged your exposure anymore you could have experienced a heat stroke. For now, I ask that you rest and I’ll come back to release you.” The doctor expressed his reassurance with a kind grin before walking out of the plain and boxy room that could make one go insane with its lack of liveliness.

Staring out the open doorway and into the empty hallway, you knew that Steve worked on this very floor, but honestly what were the chances that he’d see you? At one point he’d eventually find out about today’s mishaps, but that was a problem for later when you were more conscious and caring. Letting your worries temporarily go (something that was only happening thanks to your fatigued mind), you slightly shifted into a somewhat “comfortable” position on the stiff bed and rough cotton sheets. Albeit that there was an IV uncomfortably stuck in your arm, you fell into a much needed slumber.

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Lunch break at last.

That was all that had been on Steve's mind for the past three hours which had been extremely hectic. Granted, he was used to this fast-paced workplace having worked here for almost a decade, but today was absolutely out of control with injured patients coming in left and right. It wasn’t some sort of bad omen, rather just an unlucky day for many Steve had assumed. He had just finished up with a pediatric case and was now on his way to enjoy the leftover baked chicken salsa that you had made just for him last night and packed for his lunch this morning. You knew how busy his week had been and you took the liberty to make his favorite dinner dish to compensate for the work that had left such a toll on him. A smile immediately overtook his face when he walked in the house last night and that’s when you decided that you would gladly cook anything he’d like over and over again just to see that look of adoration. As Steve held you in his arms at that moment, he kept thinking how he really didn’t deserve you and little did he know, the same thought ran in your own mind. Yet, in reality, you both went together like a puzzle piece to a puzzle. Without the piece, the picture would never be completed and without the other, you and Steve would have never enjoyed life to the fullest.

Strutting down the never ending hall, Steve passed many doors, some he had been in just a mere hour or two ago. As he walked past an open door and did a double take as he saw a patient asleep, but no sign of anyone else in the room. If he were that patient, he’d want the door shut for some privacy, something which the man highly valued, so he crossed the short distance and closed the door. He didn’t mean to look at the patient for so long as they weren’t in his care and that would be awfully creepy, but Steve could help but do a double take and noticed that the familiar face was, in fact, you. From first glance it didn’t even look like you and that was coming from the man who had studied your face just to commit it to his memory. In a loving way, of course.

He slowly walked in your room, taking in the image before him of you lying in a hospital bed. His mind had assumed that the worst thing had happened to you and for a moment, Steve’s breathing ceased and his legs were glued to the ground. As his eyes scanned over your body again, his fears were calmed when there were no visible wounds and you just seemed to be resting. Although as a doctor, he unfortunately knew anything could be possible.

Hunching over the top half of the bed, Steve smoothed your stray hairs away from your forehead and placed an awakening kiss there. You were a light sleeper a majority of the time and your spouse knew that this small action would wake, but not startle you. Every night he’d come home from work and do the same thing except then he knew you were safe and sound. Now, he was just filled with uncertainty.

“What happened?” Those were the only words he was able to get out and you gave him an answer, just not one that he was looking for. You were already getting defensive and he could sense it.

“Genevieve saw me pass out in the yard and overreacted, Steven. You know they all don’t exactly have good track records with medicine.” You rolled your eyes at the last statement remembering how your neighbors have often nonchalantly tried to get Steve to diagnose them when it came to something as simple as a scrape. Then again, all of your neighbors were in the business industry so that explained their lack of medical knowledge or at least that is the excuse you drew up for them.

“Nice try, (y/n), but you do have a medical chart and it’s over there,” Steve pointed over his shoulder and towards the doorway where a plastic chart holder sat mounted on the cream wall. “You didn’t just pass out, and the neighbors did not overreact. They did the right thing despite how much I know you hate that. Now, either you tell me the truth or I go read that file.” His tone was serious, but not condescending. Hidden in his eyes was a tad sprinkle of mischief.

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t respond and folded your arms over your chest in a form of defiance.

Against what is probably legal, Steve picked up your medical chart to read what had happened as you wouldn’t disclose the information to him. Your husband was a worry-wart sometimes and while you appreciated how he doctored you when you were sick, he could be a bit overbearing. A great example would be the time when you were cooking dinner and burned your forearm when taking the casserole out of the oven.

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“Babe, dinner is ready!”

The timer on the oven was currently beeping and you walked towards it. Turning off both the oven and the timer, you grabbed a short oven mitt and reached in to grab the casserole dish off the top rack. As you did so, you lifted your arm a bit too high and hit the side of your forearm on the interior roof of the oven. The temperature was ridiculously hot and the pain was immensely strong that you immediately pulled your arm back, the casserole long forgotten.

Steve came running in at your string of curses and came in to see you holding your arm and hissing a bit as if that would relieve the pain. He walked closer to you as you leaned up against the island. Your husband delicately took your arm in his hand, raking his eyes over the burn that was soon to blister.

After a short inspection, Steve placed his other hand on the small over your back and led you to the sink, flipping on the cold water and running it over your burn. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see you squeezing your own eyes shut in pain.

“I know, sweetheart, it hurts, I’m sorry.” He continued to rinse your scalded skin, but turned his head to sweetly kiss your temple.

A few minutes passed and Steve was content with the rinse job as you had finally opened your eyes, even engaging in some of your jokes that were always said at the wrong time. From the kitchen, the man guided you down the hallway, through your bedroom and into your joined bathroom. He sat you on the edge of the bathroom tub while rummaging through your unorganized medicine cabinet. It was barely ever touched and when it was, it was often in a state of panic hence the messiness of it. Fortunately, Steve found a tube of bacitracin and some cotton dressings from God knows how long ago. At this point he could care less and would rather have you cared for.

You curiously watched him as he dug through the cabinet and a loving smile grew on your face. How lucky were you to have this man. You were really appreciative of him in times like these especially.

Said man returned and crouched before you, distracting you from your thoughts as he softly grabbed your hand once more.

The doctor worked his magic and in no time was your arm wrapped up and lathered in ointment.

“Wow Doc, you did a great job.” Steve was still holding your hand as you quietly giggled in content. He placed a kiss on top of your knuckles and peered up at you with those gorgeous (and borderline seductive) sapphire eyes. Chuckling, Steve murmured against your skin, “Only for my favorite patient.”

As always, you decided to play along with Steve’s playful banter. “You’re not supposed to pick favorites, doc.”

Your husband knew your clumsy nature and seemed to have the perfect response, “Trust me, if I didn’t, you’d be dead by now.”

With your non-injured hand you went to hit his shoulder and he grabbed it in faux hurt.

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“You know, Dr. Rogers, that is a violation and I can actually report you for it.” You lifted your line of sight to see Steve who looked back at you with his lips pressed in a fine line. He shook his head disapprovingly after reaching the end of the report and now looked like he was going to sit back in the seat beside your bed.

“Hey, what are you doing? They already examined me and I am about to get released.” The man ignored you and instead leaned over the flimsy bed railing. Steve rubbed his hands together in a warming manner before placing two fingers on your next in an attempt to find your pulse. He unfortunately carried that common trait among doctors of having hands that were colder than that of a penguin’s ass. You knew very well this pulse check was useless as you were in conditional health and that he was probably doing this to annoy you.

“Well I like to do a check of my own. It never hurts to get a second opinion, darling.” Blue eyes squinted at you and you returned the patronizing gesture.

The free hand that was not on your neck had found its way to hold your own hand and when your husband pulled back, he wore a smug smirk on his lips.

“Your pulse is a little high. Is it because I’m holding your hand?”

“You know, your shoulders must hurt from carrying such a big head all the time.” Steve had the nerve to laugh at your elementary grade insult and even though you weren’t really mad, your face would have said otherwise to anyone else.

“So I’ll take that as a yes then, wifey.” He then quickly dropped to press a chaste kiss to your lips before releasing your hand and sitting down in the chair.

Looking to the clock on the wall, you focused your vision on the distant numbers to read that it was most likely Steve’s lunch break.

“Are you spending your lunch break with me?” Your tone was now sweet and soft as it usually was towards Steve and his heart leaped at the progress being made.

“It seems that I am. ‘Was really looking forward to that chicken salsa, though.” A heap of blonde hair rested on your hand that Steve had now laid his head against, still holding tight with both of his own hands. You giggled at his dramatics and ruffled a free hand through his greasy hair.

“I haven’t eaten anything, you think you could spend your lunch break with me?” His head popped up at this and his face held the eagerness of an energetic puppy.

“Of course, sweetheart. We can head to the cafeteria. Hopefully they have something good for my girl.” It was now your turn for your heart to swell at his words. Not even a second later though, the sentimental moment was replaced with Steve’s usual sarcastic humor.

“See, I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice my precious chicken salsa just to have lunch with you. You should be grateful to have me as your husband.” Steve’s pearly whites beamed at you in a cheesy smile and you gave a dismissive wave of your hand.

The two of you talked and enjoyed the rare time together for the next ten minutes until Steve noticed you shifting to sit up against the pillows. He thought nothing of it until suddenly you were throwing your legs over the side of the bed and making to get out of the so called cotton prison.

Waving a finger, Steve tutted you and hurriedly scooped your legs back onto the bed. You looked absolutely peeved and Steve knew it was from the way that he was treating you like a child or better yet, a patient. His wife, the fighter and he, the doctor. Two unlikely personalities but ones that worked best together nonetheless. This made Steve laugh whenever he thought about it.

“You can get up the minute you get released by the doc, okay?” Caring eyes now gave you a pleading look and you felt a small tinge of guilt crawling up your chest at how mean you had been to your husband when he has only been trying to help.

A knock on the wooden door signaled a visit from the one person you had been waiting on for what seemed to be ages.

“Speak of the devil.” Muttering the phrase so only Steve could hear you gave him an “I told you so” kind of look.

The Doctor looked up from the same clipboard as earlier to greet you once he made it in through the doorway, but he was surely surprised by the figure sitting in the chair beside you.

“Oh Dr. Rogers, what a surprise! So this is your wife I presume? I guess I should have put two and two together,” Your doctor of the moment laughed with Steve who added in a chuckle or two of his own.

“Yep, this is Mrs. Rogers!” Steve didn’t look at you, but lovingly squeezed your hand that was resting against his, “We are quite the handful so I am surprised you couldn’t tell that she was my other half.” A snicker ended his words and you couldn’t help but do the same.

Once the short introductions were over, the doctor walked over to do a speedy final exam on what was necessary as Steve watched from the sidelines still getting used to the idea of not being the one doing the examination. He hadn’t been in any other position in the hospital for such a long time that it took some time to get used to the fact that he wasn’t the one diagnosing and rather waiting for the diagnosis.

The doctor pulled away from hovering over you and now sat back on his rolling leather stool, scooting his way over to the computer and desk.

“Well I must say, (y/n), that you definitely live up to some of the stories your husband tells.” The other man in the white coat finished up his typing before turning back around to face you and his colleague.

“Ah, I hope he’s giving me some good street cred,” You teased and from the side you saw Steve shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

“I assure you that they were all good things.” With that, the doctor formally released you, walking out of the room to give you some time to redress and such.

You went to get out of the bed for the nth time, but finally succeeded. Your legs felt a bit wobbly upon the first step, and Steve noticed this. He came up to stand beside you and placed a hand on your lower back with the other out in front in case you did fall. Placing your own hand on his scrub clad chest to steady yourself, you silently thanked him with a tender pat.

With Steve’s guidance, you went to change out of the wretched paper gown and into your shorts and shirt from working outside. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering outfit but at this moment you could care less for the only thing on your mind was getting out of this room.

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The ride in the elevator seemed to move slower than a snail and almost stopped on every floor. You were so crammed by the time you were only on the fifth floor that you used this as an excuse to lean up against Steve. He rubbed your arm and enveloped you in a side hug and planted a kiss on your head. The two of you never cared for PDA but neither of you had realized the onlooking eyes.

You found it mildly comedic when some of your fellow passengers seemed disgusted that a doctor was handling a patient in such a way. It was definitely gonna be a joke for later on.

Eventually you made it to the first floor and begrudgingly pushed yourself out of Steve’s warm embrace when the smell of garlic bread hit your nose.

“Huh, they never cook spaghetti around here. They must know we have a special guest today.” Steve pressed his lips against your ear to jokingly whisper to you as he ushered you out the elevator doors.

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Standing in line with a plastic tray at the cafeteria made you have flashbacks to middle school lunch and you shuddered at the thought. The memories played back in your mind like a movie and were interrupted (much to your relief) when Steve tapped your shoulder.

“You want this?” Steve held one of the plastic salad containers in hand, the white sleeve of his lab coat draped on top of the other stacked bowls in the open air freezer.

You nodded and he placed it on your tray, slightly bumping your hips as he walked past to grab a drink.

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For a good twenty minutes, you and Steve sat in comfortable silence in one of the booths until clicking clogs came closer and closer. So close that a shadow loomed over your table conveying that someone was here to speak.

“Dr. Rogers, I don’t think it’s entirely wise of you to have lunch with your patient. Actually, it’s quite inappropriate.” The older woman in burgundy scrubs pointed her gaze to the hospital band on your wrist and both you and Steve started laughing upon noticing. So that explained all the weird looks.

“Oh no, Dr. Williams! This is my wife (y/n),” You politely beamed up at the woman and set out your hand for a handshake. At this, her unenthusiastic expression changed to one of apologetic and she shook your hand with much grief as Steve continued on with his introductions.

“(y/n), this is Dr. Williams. She is the medical director for my department.”

“Wow! I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Dr. Williams.” She went to return the praise before a beeping in her coat pocket signaled the time for her departure.

“Duty calls, but I’ll have you know this one here never shuts up about you. It was nice to finally put a face to a name, (y/n),” You glanced at Steve and noticed he was sheepishly grinning and turning redder by the second. So much so that he was hiding his face in his palms.

““I hope you have a quick recovery as well, hon!” The standing woman gave you a nod of her head and then turned to your husband whose face had finally regained its color. “As for you Steven, I will see you later. You have another resident to deal with today.” Dr. Williams sighed at the thought, waving you both goodbye and soon enough she was out the double doors of the lunch room.

“Ooh babe you’ll have to tell me how all of that goes.” Spooning some spaghetti into your mouth, you goofily raised your eyebrows at Steve.

“Trust me, it is not fun at all. When I was a resident, I would have never acted like some of the people I’ve trained!”

You snorted, “Uh huh. Sureee.”

“No really,” Steve’s eyes widened and he leaned over the table like he was sharing some sort of secret with you, “The audacity of some of these people.”

“I think you are just an old man now, Stevie, and can’t keep up with the times.” The blond screwed up his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you.

“Oh hush and finish your food, Miss. ‘I am soooo young’.” A napkin flew at Steve’s chest and the two of you laughed at the childish antics that had just ensued.

Just as both of your styrofoam containers became empty, an unpleasant ringer sounded in Steve’s pocket, just like the one of Dr. Williams’s departure. Once he gave the screen a swift peek, he looked back up at you with a long face.

“You gotta go?” Golden strands bobbed up and down as Steve nodded and you grabbed his hand.

“It’s alright! Thank you for spending the time with me today, though. I really appreciate it. Thanks for putting up with me, you know how I am sometimes.”

The larger hand encompassing yours gave a sympathetic squeeze.

“Oh darling, anytime, you know that. If you need anything, call me okay? I will try my best to answer.”

The temporary silence that filled the room was now replaced by annoying buzzing from the device that Steve had silenced for the moment. He irritability took it out and shoved it back in his pocket. Normally this didn’t bother Steve because this was his job, but since you were here, having just been sick, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything and focus on you. Knowing that was impossible, he tried his best to juggle both yet it seemed that the world wasn’t gonna wait on him.

“Do you want me to call Ma to come get you? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Her and Dad love your company.” For the moment, Steve appeared to look like he was ignoring the constant beeping, but you knew internally he was already out of the cafeteria and sprinting down the halls.

“No no, I’m fine, honey,” The doctor stared at you as if he didn’t believe you. “I mean it, Steve. I am fine. Now shoo.”

Dr. Rogers shared another laugh with you before pecking your lips and running out the room shouting, “I’ll see you later!”

He really was too good for this world.

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a/n: i really enjoyed writing for doctor!steve, so if anyone has any ideas that involves him and that you’d like me to write, send it in! <3

taglist (is open!): @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline @siriuslyslyslytherin @sushiinmidnight @patzammit @iwik3it

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers x y/n #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #doctor steve rogers #doctor steve rogers x wife reader

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

traitor

Summary: It was only one night, no strings attached, just two friends working through their grief together. Steve went to live his life with Peggy and within two weeks of returning, he peacefully passed. Unimaginable things happen everyday, jokes have negative consequences, and protection doesn’t always protect from the possibility… the possibility of carrying a child. He would have stayed if he knew, everyone agrees with this, so why is the world calling Steve Rogers a traitor?

One-Shot (with a happy ending)

Pairing(s): Avengers x Fem Reader; brief Steve Rogers x Fem Reader

Warnings: Unexpected pregnancy; serious talks about abortion; brief mention of suicide (if you squint); mentions of Endgame deaths; strong language; minor descriptions of actual birth; ANGST but with a happy ending! This is purely fanfiction.

Word Count: 6,600+

A/N: So, Olivia Rodrigo’s album just came out and dude, jfc every song is magical. like... wtf. This is essentially a ‘song fanfic’, but ehhhh not quite. The lyrics don’t match the fanfic lmao but the melody does??? idk this is a shit ton of angst, be warned. It was from a request I got a while back, so this is kind of a request fanfic.

Up until the moment Steve pressed his soft lips to yours, you were certain you had never experienced such a wonderful sensation of magic. You had been witness to actual magic, to beings from other worlds, and yet Steve’s gentle touch was enough to erase any other image, to completely overpower your senses, a kind of magic that dug deep into the trenches of your heart and settled in its new home.

No, you and Steve were not a couple. There were some flirty remarks over the years, some fantasies that lay dormant, but there was never the craving to actually act upon them. But when half the world disappeared and the remaining Avengers came up with a plan five years later, the loss of a teammate prompted the sudden push of two touch-starved individuals. The rest of the team had gone to sulk in their own corners of the compound, some hard at work at constructing the final piece to the puzzle, and you and Steve ventured off to the kitchen. Two cups of tea each, silent but heavy tears mixing in with the sugar and milk.

You were the first to break, shoulders crumbling and knees rocking under your weight. You fell to the floor, sobs and hiccups forming into a full-blown attack, your hands scratching at your neck. Steve fell beside you, pulling you into his chest and rocking you back and forth. He cried too, the final words of his best friend ringing in his ears like a dreaded song on repeat. See you in a minute. See you in a minute. See you in a minute.

Time was irrelevant, you had enough of counting time, estimating it, time-traveling through it. If you could sit there all night, all week, another five years huddled close to Steve Rogers, then so be it.

‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ you had sobbed.

‘I can’t believe it either. I can’t,’ he had cried back.

You had simply lifted your head and turned his face toward yours, searching his eyes for any hesitation before you had leaned in first. He had returned the intimate gesture almost immediately, gripping you tightly. Tears dripped in between your moving lips, sobs caught inside breathy moans, grips becoming tighter and tighter as each of you shared your first time together. No other partner up until that point had ever pulled such a pained but grateful cry from your throat, no other human being had ever made you feel so safe and peaceful.

The final battle was over, you had lost yet another teammate, but the world had a chance to start over. And Steve had pulled you aside a few days before he returned the stones, letting you know that he wasn’t coming back the same man. He had been so scared of telling you, of possibly betraying you, but when your palms cupped his cheeks and you gave him a kiss on the lips with a soft whisper of ‘Be with her. Cherish her. Be happy. We’ll meet again’, his worries instantly shattered. He could only rapidly nod his head, grabbing your hands that were soaked in his tears, and kissing them until he said his final goodbyes.

And he returned such a different man, but with a smile you had never quite seen before. Yes, he was older and you only had a few seconds to actually process that, but he was happy. He had been happy. He finally lived the life he deserved.

Sitting in that pew two weeks later, both sad and happy tears streaming down your face, you felt at peace for the first time in a long time. You simply gripped Wanda’s hand as they carried the casket down the aisle, a sad melody drowning the church.

The first round of sickness hit you the day of the funeral, but you obviously didn’t think much of it. It was the fits of sadness and grief, the hot coil in the middle of your stomach, you thought. It had to be. It wasn’t until your breakfast was regurgitated into your toilet only a few minutes after enjoying it that you were suddenly worried.

You sneaked to some liquor store a subway ride away, careful of not leaving a trail. This was embarrassing, it was insane, it couldn’t possibly be real. You gave the cashier your money and ran to the stall provided, peeing on the stick the best you could before placing it on the dirty sink in the corner. You patted your hands on your thighs repeatedly, careful to not touch any other thing in a goddamn liquor store bathroom.

‘Friday?’ your voice was so defeated, tears already stinging your eyes.

Your little bluetooth sprang to life, ‘Yes, Y/N?’

Your bottom lip was trembling wildly, hands now shaking. ‘Can you stay active with me while I read the results? I can’t… I can’t be alone right now.’

‘Yes, Y/N. Anything you need, I’m here.’ You sobbed openly, thanking her under your breath. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to contact anybody else?’

‘I can’t face them. I can’t face them if it’s positive, Friday.’

‘Okay, it’s alright,’ her voice was so delicate, so quiet and reassuring. ‘Just keep talking to me, Y/N. I think the results should be ready now.’

You inched closer to the test. ‘I’m scared, Friday.’

‘I know,’ Friday sighed, ‘But you will get through this. No matter the result.’

Grabbing the small device from the sink, you swallowed so much saliva that it actually hurt. The plus sign was so clear, so evident in its visibility, and your ears only registered the loud cries escaping your painful lungs because Friday was practically yelling in your ear.

‘Please, calm down Y/N! Your heart rate is too fast-” she was stuttering, an AI was stuttering. ‘I’m calling for help. You need someone to be here with you. I’m sorry.’

It took ten minutes. Ten minutes of banging outside the bathroom door from the cashier, ten minutes of blurry vision and a strep throat. Sam broke through the door as quickly as he could, eyes flying around the small bathroom until he saw you huddled in the corner, a pregnancy test clutched in your small hand. He crouched down beside you, hands extended but not exactly touching you, and eyes trying to lock with yours.

‘Y/N, Y/N?’

Just the sound of his voice, the voice of someone who didn’t need this added pain in their lives, it was just too much. Another weight added to your shoulders.

‘I don’t know why,’ you choked out, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Sam’s face contorted into a pained expression, eyes brimmed with salty tears. ‘What are you talking about? No one is blaming you for anything. You’re safe, I’m here.’

You shook your head violently, ‘I didn’t mean to.’

But as quickly as those words left your mouth, the pounding in your head had become too unbearable. You collapsed into Sam’s arms.

You woke to a single doctor who was monitoring your vitals. She was just sitting beside your bed, clicking random buttons on the screen in front of her. You whimpered slightly, the bright lights temporarily blinding you. The doctor quickly stopped what she was doing and removed the tube from your nose, allowing you to breathe on your own. You ignored the weird scratch that caused, and asked her the question you needed to have answered by a true medical professional - not a liquor store device.

She confirmed what you already knew. There were no ‘congratulations’ or even ‘I’m sorry’s’, just the fact that you were pregnant and it was very early on. There were still options for you, it was healthy so far, you were healthy so far-

Wait, options?

The team were all huddled outside, nerves all over the place. They didn’t know what was going on. Sam knew but it wasn’t his information to pass on. It wasn’t until Bucky’s angry demeanor actually turned violent, a hole forming through the hospital wall. You were all on a private floor, completely displaced from the reality down on other levels, so any freak-outs were only slightly justified. Slightly.

‘Sam, you gotta tell us. I made a promise to Steve, Sam! I promised to take care of her!’

Bucky’s words gripped Sam’s heart in a metaphorical vice. ‘She’s gotta tell you guys, man. It’s not my place.’

You had curled in on yourself, the doctor’s words echoing louder and louder.

‘Abortion is an option. At this rate, it would be quick and safe. I can promise you that. It’s your choice.’

You wanted to die. You wanted the world to swallow you up and bury you alive. You wanted to disappear. If you had died in the snap, this wouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened.

The ride back to the compound was a quiet one, with Sam driving you and the radio on low volume.

‘Are you going to tell them?’

You bit your lip, ‘The doctor said I had options.’

Sam’s breath hitched and he tried to mask it, but you had heard it. You felt guilty, disgusting, like you betrayed Steve and the rest of the team. They had just lost him, you had just lost him, and you were carrying his child. And if Steve would have known, he would have wanted it. He would have encouraged you to have it, he would have been so happy, he would have been such a great fa-

‘The choice is yours, Y/N.’ He glanced over at you, ‘Can you at least tell me who the father is?’

The wrecked sobs were like second nature now, choking you with their strength. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Sam pulled to the side of the road and quickly took off his seatbelt, sliding over in the connected front seats to pull you into his chest. ‘Shh, hey. We are not going to be mad at you. Everything’s going to be okay. It may not seem like it now but-’

‘Sam!’ you cried, clutching his shirt in a tight fist. ‘I swear it was an accident! Steve didn’t know! He didn’t know, I swear he didn’t know!’

Sam’s mouth dropped open, an almost embarrassing noise of surprise sounding from the depths of his soul. He ran his hands through your hair, eyes rapidly searching for a single viewpoint. But he couldn’t focus on any one thing, not when you were shuddering against him and apologizing nonstop.

Steve didn’t know.

The team had reacted in a similar manner. They so desperately wanted to wish you a congratulations, it was the norm for this kind of thing. Especially with such a rough few years - bringing life into this world could be considered an ultimate blessing. But this was Steve’s child, his baby, his only baby in this timeline. It was a part of him, something he had unknowingly left behind.

The team took a few days. The pain of losing Natasha, of losing Steve, of losing Tony. The gift of life. It was just too much.

And you found yourself in front of Wanda’s bedroom door, hands clutching your night robe closed and knees wobbly. She brought you tea, she laid underneath the covers with you, she spooned you until you stopped crying.

‘We weren’t together.’

‘You weren’t?’

You sat up, muscles straining due to your thousandth crying session that week. ‘No, it was one time. It was a mutual thing. We just… felt safe. And we made love.’

Wanda shut her eyes briefly, only to open them for two parallel tears to slip. ‘That sounds beautiful.’

‘We used protection. It really was an accident.’

Wanda interrupted, ‘No, don’t try and justify yourself. It happened. It’s done.’

You whimpered, reaching out to grab her hands. ‘I feel so guilty for even talking to you. I don’t know how you did it. I’m so selfish to be pouring all this on you-’

‘Hey, hey,’ she whispered, ‘But I am the only one who can truly understand. I have lost more in my lifetime than anybody ever should. But I am going to help you get through this, Y/N.’

You pulled her into a hug, ‘I missed you so much. I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.’

Wanda slowly pulled away, eyes cloudy and touch of red twinge flying in her irises. ‘Alright. I won’t leave your side. No matter what you decide.’

The chair was cold, the room was cold, no matter how inviting the hospital tried to make this room. It was decorated in the most neutral colors, so delicate in its designs, pamphlets and books scattered on every available surface. It was made to make the pregnant person feel secure, to feel comfortable in the hands of their doctor, but it just made you sick.

And when the doctor asked if you would like an ultrasound first, that it wasn’t actually necessary for you to view it, you found yourself saying yes. You were at six weeks, it would be there. Wanda clenched her eyes shut, because even if you were strong enough to do that, she wasn’t. But she was here to hold your hand. She would hold your hand no matter what.

It was the size of a grain of rice. That fuzzy, white figure off a little to the right of your uterus was the size of a grain. A literal grain of rice. The monitor shifted and the doctor cleared their throat, the slimy device absentmindedly being circled around your lower abdomen.

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered, eyes locked on the place the doctor had their finger. Wanda brought her hand up to her mouth and looked away.

That’s when you heard it.

The steady rhythm of a strong heartbeat.

Your chest started heaving, tears staining your cheeks as you listened to the beautiful sound.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the doctor mumbled, ready to pull the monitor’s plug to end the live video but you gripped their arm before they could.

‘No, no!’ you yelped, the heartbeat still sounding, so early in its actual life that this was for sure Steve’s child.

You turned to Wanda, face contorting into one of agonizing regret. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Steve.’

Wanda gulped and took in a ragged breath, ‘Y/N, Steve’s not here.’

‘No,’ you whined, head turning back to look at the monitor. The monitor with yours and Steve’s child on it. ‘This is the only real part of him we have left, right?’

Wanda opened her mouth but shut it again, unable to formulate a proper response.

‘This is Steve’s child,’ you stated, sucking in a breath through your sobs. ‘This is my child.’

The team was alerted of your decision the minute you walked into the common room. They had known what you left for, dread itching in their souls and morals twisting greedily, but they hadn’t stopped you. They couldn’t do that to you.

‘Hi,’ you mumbled, placing your things on the counter. Everyone kept their heads down, lumps growing in their throats as each second passed. ‘I’m okay.’

Clint was the first one to speak. ‘Did everything go well? Did they hurt you?’

You smiled with your teeth for the first time in weeks, ‘No, they didn’t hurt me. They didn’t even touch me.’

For a few seconds, no one caught on to your words. But Bucky was the first to register them, to etch them deeply into his brain, to stand from his seat and walk to you cautiously. ‘You decided-?’

You smiled wide now, happy tears falling over your strained cheeks. ‘I’m having a baby.’

The team erupted, cries and cheers deafening you. Bucky stumbled over and hugged you close, arms wrapped over your shoulders and face buried in your neck. He had to bend his knees to keep that position. He weeped into your shoulder and thanked you repeatedly, his own body rumbling with broken sobs. You held him close, fingers digging into his shirt and the skin of his back.

‘We promise, Y/N,’ Sam said off to the side, waiting for his turn to hug you. ‘We promise to take care of you and this baby.’

A few more long-awaited congratulations were shared. ‘Guess I’m on desk duty for the next nine months, huh?’

Bucky held you tighter.

The first four months were certainly eventful. Wanda insisted on taking pictures of you every few weeks. She had you model with a nice tight shirt to show off your growing stomach, different props in your arms as the weeks passed on. Flowers, sporting equipment, random Avengers inventions, signs that read the number of weeks you were at. You even did couple shoots, with your teammates posing behind you with their hands on your stomach and an equally bright smile.

She had them printed out and framed, the compound common rooms now littered with random photos of you and your growing child. It was like a timeline, a museum considering you would catch someone inspecting the photographs. This time it was Scott, casually eating his cereal and balancing it in his hand as he walked the hallway. He had this silly smile on his face the whole time, milk dripping from his bottom lip. In his photo, he was posed behind you with a giant smile, back arched and head thrown back while you were trying your best to arch your back as well. And then he saw you watching him, eyes falling from your face to your stomach, and that silly smile growing wider.

Happy insisted on doing yoga with you every other morning, his chosen playlists actually Tony’s. Half expecting the songs to only emit the essence of rock and roll, you were surprised when the playlist only contained acoustics. Happy winked at you, ‘He was a man of taste, Y/N. He, too, had those sad driving songs.’

Peter was hesitant to visit at first. He was still mourning Tony, as you all were, and seeing everyone again was certainly a hard thing to do. But he managed, and the moment he saw you there, trying to balance a plastic bottle on your tiny stomach, he burst into a fit of giggles.

‘Oh, oh! I almost got it!’ you encouraged yourself, stomach not yet protruded enough to quite get it.

Peter rushed over and caught the bottle as it slipped, ‘You’ll get there. How do you feel?’

You grinned at the kid, ‘Like I’m pregnant.’

Peter chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t know, so.’

‘It’s weird,’ you admitted, turning back to your abandoned bowl of fruit. You popped a piece of pineapple in your mouth, ‘But I just remind myself that they’re gonna be an angel when they come out.’

‘All slimy and angelic.’

You swatted at Peter, ‘They’re healthy. That’s all that matters.’

Peter placed his hand on your stomach, half-expecting something to happen. ‘I can’t believe you’re having his baby.’

You bit your lip, willing yourself not to cry. Steve should be here experiencing this. ‘Me neither.’

The next month had come so quickly. Your friends - your family - made sure to keep you occupied. Whether it was to shop, to nap together, to eat together, to exercise together, anything, they were by your side. It was so overwhelming at times, but not wanting to scare anyone, you took time for yourself whenever you could. You’d settle in your room, in a nearby cafe, in Natasha’s room, and just sit and breathe. With one hand on your stomach, you couldn’t possibly fathom the luck on your side. It always tore your heart in two when you realized Steve would never meet his child, absolutely mutilated it. But the realization that this child was going to have such a massive family, your family, uncles and aunts who would die for the kid - that realization was sometimes too much.

The thunder from outside startled everyone. The quiet night everyone was having was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a certain god, hair now cut and beard trimmed, running into the common area. He was practically hyperventilating, his quick pace halting as he scanned the room. ‘Is it true?’

‘You got my message?’ Wanda asked, shutting off the water from the sink.

‘I’m sorry, I was away. I just got the message and-’

Thor lay his eyes on you, your obvious stomach, and he started crying softly. ‘It’s true?’

You smiled at him, opening your arms for an embrace. But Thor fell to his knees in front of you, forehead resting on your stomach. ‘This is a miracle.’

‘It really is,’ you laughed, wiping away a few stray tears. ‘The condom broke.’

Laughter sounded almost instantly.

Thor looked up at you, eyes red and eyebrows furrowed. ‘He didn’t know?’

You shook your head, ‘No, Steve didn’t know. I promise.’

Thor nodded, believing you. He stood slowly, encasing you in a tight squeeze. He hadn’t changed much since you last saw him, but he did seem to be drinking less. ‘After so much loss, the Heaven’s send us a gift from a beloved friend.’

Bucky seemed to be the happiest. Although he shared your beliefs that Steve should be here to experience this, to cherish this, to be the father he had deserved to be, Bucky couldn’t help but feel grateful that you decided to keep the baby. He knew he needed to stop relying on Steve to fix his mind, this he had to do on his own, but the bundle of joy inside of you just added to his undying love for his best friend. This was a piece of him, a true half of Steve’s heart that would soon be breathing air and opening its eyes.

He was currently laying beside you, just woken up from a nap and lazily drawing circles over your clothed tummy. You were still asleep, deep breaths a little ragged since you were twisted slightly to your side. You had given up trying to sleep on your back nowadays.

‘Hey there,’ Bucky whispered, a funny smile forming on his face because he can’t believe he’s talking to your literal stomach. ‘You know you’re a miracle, right?’

There was no response, obviously. But Bucky just positioned himself to lean on his elbow, temple resting in the palm of his hand. ‘We’re going to love you so much. Steve would have loved you so much.’

He placed his metal hand on your stomach, careful not to apply so much pressure. He was hesitant though, the metal hand now from Wakanda but still something he didn’t entirely trust. Still, he rubbed smooth circles on your side. ‘I already love you so much.’

Kick.

Bucky widened his eyes, a hitch in his breath. Was that real?

‘Did you just respond to me?’ Bucky asked, a little laugh escaping his lips. ‘Should I say it again?’

Nothing happened for a long while. He switched hands, rubbing a little deeper now. It was a free massage for you, anyway.

Bucky bit his lip and looked up at your face, still peacefully dreaming. He leaned closer to your stomach and repeated his earlier confession. ‘I love you.’

Kick.

Bucky shot up from his spot on the bed and covered his mouth, a loud laugh accidentally escaping and startling you awake.

‘W-What?’

‘They kicked! They kicked!’

‘Seriously?’

Bucky was shooting through the stars, because even though it was a long shot, he felt like somehow Steve was telling him he loved him back.

Sam’s leg bounced madly as he watched the doctor slick up the generator. You repeatedly tried to calm him, tell him that it would be quick and simple, and there was nothing to be worried about.

You were six months now. Belly now protruding to the point where you could only see the tips of your toes when you glanced downward, and the baby was positioned farther into your back. If anything, you were having a giant freaking baby. He was a product of a super soldier.

You remembered having that scary conversation with the doctors, your whole family beside you as they heard and relayed the information.

‘Your baby is perfectly healthy. The serum isn’t affecting it. His lungs are forming less quickly than the other organs but there’s no serious worry.’

Bucky had literally cackled at that, confusing everyone in the room. ‘Steve and his shit lungs.’

But now you were finding out the sex. Only one person was allowed in the room this time, and Sam had literally begged you with his eyes to choose him.

‘Are you two ready?’

You each nodded at the doctor, waiting for the monitor to spring to life. After a few seconds, the heartbeat was detected. You gripped Sam’s hand in yours, a quiet ‘thank god’ passing through his lips.

Then the giant image of a literal baby appeared on the screen. It was so surreal. It resembled a quick sketch, like one Steve would have casually drew, and you couldn’t help but imagine him drawing that very image from memory.

‘Y/N, I-’ Sam cleared his throat, smiling at you.

‘Would you like to know the sex of the baby?’

‘Yes, please,’ you answered, gripping Sam’s hand harder.

The doctor moved the generator a few times more, hitting the spacebar on the computer to capture the image. ‘Congratulations, you’re having a boy.’

You shuttered a tiny laugh as Sam flew out of his seat, arms extended upward for a moment before he brought his hands down to kiss them over and over.

‘I’ll print this out for you,’ the doctor smiled, leaving you and Sam to celebrate.

Everyone had gathered later that night to find out the news. You had printed enough copies for everyone who wanted one. Bets were placed, a multitude of gifts already mounted in online shopping carts.

‘Don’t keep us waiting!’ Rhodey shouted, champagne bottle at the ready and propped up on his thigh for when you made your announcement.

Sam was standing beside you, a massive grin plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes at him and urged him on, telling him that you were fine with him saying it. Sam didn’t need to be told twice.

‘It’s a boy!’

Pop! Drinks were poured and hugs were shared, with even Friday coming over the monitor to congratulate you.

Even in the midst of all the excitement, you felt a little empty. But you enjoyed your pre-baby shower, happy that everything was so unbelievably working out.

It was midnight when you alerted Friday to call Happy to your room. You needed a ride.

Happy was slightly irritated at being woken up, but once you told him where you were heading, he obliged. The ride was silent, comfortable, with Happy glancing at you once in a while to make sure you were okay.

You walked across the grass slowly, hands resting on your stomach and just a little waddle in your walk. You flashed your phone light over the headstones even though the headstone you were looking for was in a secluded area. Happy trailed you, keeping a respectable distance.

You stopped in front of the small building, the fence somewhat blocking your path. But there was no security around, and even if you were caught on camera, your face let everyone know who you were and your connection to Steve. You had no worries.

You broke the lock easily and opened the door. It was almost entirely marble, a good deal of Steve’s actual aesthetic. So simple, not overly patriotic, and secluded. He had refused to be buried in Arlington.

You sat on the bench provided, the three names in front of you standing out like they were begging to be read out loud. So you complied.

‘Sarah,’ you muttered, smiling as the name rolled off your tongue. ‘Thank you for sending everyone a literal angel.’

You muttered his father’s name as well, but felt no personal connection to it. You spent at least ten minutes building up the courage to utter his name, to say his name in front of him again. He was buried right underneath your feet, his name the only thing for you to see.

‘Steve,’ you sighed and rubbed your stomach. ‘Steve.’

You sobbed silently and watched as the tears fell on top of your resting hands. ‘I don’t regret it.’

You were met with silence. ‘I don’t regret any of it. God knows why he did this. But you lived your life, and I just can’t believe I have to bring life into this world without you here.’

‘It’s a boy, Steve. A lovely little boy.’

You brought your hand up to your mouth to bite the side of it, throat clenching. ‘Everyone is so happy. I am, too. I promise you.’

You lowered your hand back to your stomach. ‘I just wish that you could feel that happiness.’

The moonlight moved slightly, shining on his name brighter now. ‘He’ll know about you, don’t worry about that.’ You laughed.

You didn’t want to keep Happy waiting. You stood from the bench slowly, feet sore. You walked closer to him, wishing you could easily bend down and give him a kiss. But you physically couldn’t right now, so you blew him one instead. ‘Thank you.’

Somehow the rumor got out that an Avenger was pregnant. And when Wanda was seen outside without a large stomach, all fingers were pointed at you.

The news went ballistic, most positive and raving, while others pondered just who had gotten you pregnant. You had been seen with everyone in paparazzi photos, so no actual conclusion had been made.

Until a picture of you at Steve’s gravesite was leaked.

It was constant bombardment, timelines were stitched together, magazines and their headlines were having a field day. Rhodey had tried to cancel these news stories, to threaten lawsuits, but to no avail. The world was now cursing Steve’s name - ‘how dare he leave her while pregnant?’, ‘how could he leave her pregnant and for another woman?’, ‘did he even know?’

The team had done everything in their power to try and clear yours and Steve’s name, but no one was having it. Steve’s love story was now tarnished, with many calling him a traitor and a deadbeat. It was no use.

You struggled to climb the stairs, inwardly cursing the staff for not installing a ramp instead. The flashes were blinding, the lights were hot, and the various microphones placed on the stand were comical.

Everyone hushed, looks of sympathy and pity slapping you in the face.

‘I know what you’re all thinking and what you’ve all been saying,’ you started, eyes wandering to the far corner of the room where your team were huddled. ‘But I need to clear a few things up.’

‘Steve didn’t know.’

The crowd erupted, questions flying at you like fast bullets. They were silenced after a few moments. ‘We shared a moment with each other before we brought everyone back. I didn’t know I was pregnant until after his funeral.’

The crowd murmured amongst each other. ‘He told me he was planning to stay in another timeline. To live his life. I encouraged him. He did not leave me alone and pregnant. He truly didn’t know.’

You finished, they didn’t deserve a deeper explanation. You ignored their calls for questions, some even trying to crowd you at the doors. But you pushed through them, cradling your stomach with a newfound sense of pride.

It was time.

You sat up in your bed and quickly wiped away the hard crusts from the corners of your eyes. You sat there for a few seconds before you felt another harsh twinge. ‘A-ah!’

You didn’t know why you paused, legs now thrown over the side of the bed. They felt like menstrual cramps, it could be false labor. You let out a heavy breath and pushed yourself up, legs wobbly. But the moment you did, it was like something snapped. Your legs were wet and a tiny puddle had started forming on the floor.

‘Friday!’

The lights in your room turned on immediately, ‘Y/N, is it time?’

You moaned at the uncomfortable cramping, ‘Yeah, I think it is.’

‘I’m waking and alerting the team right now, Y/N. Sit back down, please.’

You listened to Friday, sitting at the edge of your bed for a few moments before you realized you had to pack a bag. You shuffled across your room and grabbed the duffel bag Scott had left for you a few days ago. You packed a pair of socks, sweats, underwear, vaseline and your toothbrush, hairbrush, and phone. You zipped your bag just in time for both Bucky and Sam to throw open your door, Sam struggling to put his shoes on and Bucky slipping on a jacket inside-out.

‘Y/N, is it really time? Are you ready? Are you okay?’

You ignored the cramping in your back and laughed at them, ‘Yes! My water broke, I’m in pain, it’s time.’

With both Sam and Bucky at your sides, they held onto you as you all stumbled down the hallway. Thor was already waiting with the elevator open, the biggest smile on his aging face.

‘Wanda and Bruce are preparing the room. Scott already called the doctor. Clint’s in route,’ Bucky reassured. The three men huddled into the elevator with you, all instructing you to breathe and to squeeze them if you needed to.

But even though you were in pain, albeit not as extreme as it was going to inevitably get, you were so incredibly happy. They were all so loud, so chaotic, and you were as calm as a cucumber.

The elevator dinged. ‘Good luck, Y/N,’ you heard Friday call after you. You pinched your eyes closed, the thought that Friday was ultimately a part of Tony’s consciousness - Tony was wishing you good luck.

The pressure in your hips was starting to build and you didn’t know how long this would actually take. Some people had quick births, some people lay in labor for hours, some for a day. But it seemed like this was going to be pretty quick, because your next scream was completely involuntarily.

Bucky winced, leading you to the bed Wanda had just lay sheets on. ‘You’re doing great, Y/N. Absolutely perfect.’

You laughed at Bucky and gripped his hand in silent thanks before slipping into the bed and trying to get comfortable. Before you could truly feel like you made it, like the first hard step was done, you sat up quickly.

‘Wait, wait! Nat’s sweater! I was gonna wear Nat’s sweater!’

Thor was already out the door, ‘I’ll get it! Don’t worry!’

You smiled at the ceiling, beads of sweat now rolling down your forehead. ‘Oh, this hurts!’

It was an hour. Once you shimmied into Natasha’s purple knitted sweater, you lay there trying to control your breathing. Everyone had piled into the room one right after the other. The room was big enough, spacious enough for even Bruce to roam freely. Although you were in an immense amount of pain, you still focused on your team.

Scott was on his third cup of coffee, sipping excitedly as he conversed with the others. Bruce was constantly checking your vitals and wanting everything the doctor was saying repeated. Wanda was beside you, a hand gripping yours and the other running ice chips along your lips. Bucky was on your other bedside wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts because it still smelled like him. His logic was that if he was wearing something of Steve’s the first moment he held your baby, then the first thing he smelled would be the remnants of his father.

And Thor was practically speechless, silent in his own little corner and feeling like the god’s really did bless everyone in this room after such turmoil.

Clint arrived with Peter trailing behind him just when the doctor instructed you sit up - you were at ten centimeters.

‘You gotta push, Y/N! You gotta push when the doctor says push!’

You yelled until your lungs gave out, head almost rolling back but Sam held it in his palm. ‘C’mon, Y/N! You’re doing great!’

You usually had perfect pitch when you sang, never faltering when it was time to hit a high note. But your voice was cracking at the most unusual times, throat rubbed raw as you felt your hips splinter open.

‘He’s crowning!’

Wanda traded places with Sam real quick, deciding that she wanted to see the baby when he was finally out. Bucky had a death grip on your hand, tears flowing freely and a smile to match Thor’s.

‘Push, Y/N! Push!’

‘I’m-I’m! I’m sorry! I can’t!’

The doctor was working her hands around the head, trying to ease the baby out easier. ‘Trust me, Y/N. One more big push and the shoulders will be out. That’s the hardest part.’

The doctor’s words were starting to drown out, and your head lolled back again. You felt tiny smacks on your cheeks, ‘C’mon, Y/N. You can do this. Everyone believes in you. You’re so goddamn strong, Y/N!’

That was Bucky’s voice. Bucky.

You opened your eyes, delirious for a second. ‘Steve?’

Bucky whimpered and nodded, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing kisses all over. ‘He’s here. I feel him, Y/N. You can do this.’

And you could feel him. You could see your family but you could feel him. It was so light, like a gentle whisk across the cheek, a promise that this truly was a miracle.

You screamed as you pushed under doctor’s orders, feeling numb and abused but satisfied. His shoulders slipped out and along with them came his arms and torso, legs and all ten toes. The doctor caught him quickly, lifting him up vertically to let you see him. He was already crying.

‘He’s here!’

You sobbed and smiled widely, laughter rattling your chest as the team bombarded you with quick hugs. Sam remained at your side, his eyes motioning for Bucky to go see the baby.

‘Who’s cutting the cord?’

You looked around the room but you knew. You answered the doctor’s question. ‘Bucky.’

Bucky was truly confused. Not because of your decision, but because he couldn’t possibly be worthy of this. His hands, those hands that had killed so many people involuntarily, had almost killed Steve, those hands were now gripping a pair of medical scissors to cut the symbolization of new life entering the world. He turned to you for permission one last time, before he gripped the cord in his hand and cut where the doctor pointed.

His shoulders felt a million times lighter. Like he was set free all over again.

They cleaned the baby up quickly and swaddled him. The doctor placed him in your arms, all warm and utterly safe, to look back up at you with the same blue eyes as his father.

You sobbed happily, brushing your fingers delicately along his pink cheek. ‘Hi. Hi there.’

He was no longer crying, just staring up in pure astonishment at the various faces staring back at him.

‘Y/N, he’s beautiful,’ Clint said, tissue already in hand.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ you spoke softly.

‘Do we have a name?’

It was like everyone said it in unison. ‘Steve.’

You snuggled into the bed and Natasha’s sweater, somewhat aware of the doctor still fixing you up down there. You would try feeding later, but for now your newborn needed to be passed around the group and be awed at.

You carefully guided him to Bucky, holding his head gently in your palm. Bucky took him, arms instinctively curling in the correct position. Once Bucky had him in his arms, it was like everything that happened in the world was worth it. Absolutely everything.

Bucky watched in fascination as the baby curled deeper in his chest, little fist clutching Steve’s sweatshirt. He took the sweetest little intake of air…

xxMoni

#steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #angst fanfic #happy ending #avengers x you #captainsimagines #platonic relationships #pregnancy fanfic #marvel fanfiction #by Moni #one shot #avengers oneshot #trigger warnings listed

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hollywillows · 3 years

Note

can u do an xavier x reader? the reader finds out xaviers dead and she doesn’t want to leave him but he makes her so she finally goes but rigjt before she leaves she gets killed? so really angsty but ends w a happy ending?

thank you for the request! i hope you enjoy this 🤍this is my first time writing for xavier <3 also, i don’t think any pronouns were used for the reader in this imagine, so you can picture anyone you like

forever - xavier plympton x reader

you’d teased xavier when he asked you to be a camp counselor with him. “seriously, x? summer camp? what are you, twelve?”

he chuckled and shook his head. “very funny. it’s easy money, and, you never know, it could be fun.”

“fun?” you raised a brow. “yeah, i’d rather not spend all of my summer teaching sticky kids how to make friendship bracelets for other kids they’ll never meet again.”

xavier handed you your aerobics bag, raising his hands in defense. “i’m just saying, you’ll miss me too much if you stay here.”

“oh, will i?” you countered, a smile playing on your lips. your relationship with xavier had always been complicated. the mutual pining and casual teasing from the two of you drove your friends insane, and they never understood why the two of you didn’t just date.

xavier wrapped an arm over your shoulders, leading you out of the studio. “we’re all putting our lives on hold for this, but it’s gonna be worth it!”

“fine,” you gave in, watching him punch the air in victory, “i’ll go to your stupid camp.”

things had started off alright enough; you giving xavier directions in the car while playfully teasing the over-confident chet. it wasn’t until the car hit someone that you realized things were going downhill.

“we can’t leave him here.” brooke said, kneeling down to help him. you helped her get him into the car, reasoning that you were close enough to the camp to get him help there.

when you pulled up to the camp’s entrance, you had to admit that something felt wrong. camp redwood the sign above you read. you bit your lip, looking over at xavier. you had no idea what you were getting into.

you had to admit that you were spooked by margaret’s story. “this is just great,” you said to xavier, “we’re on the set of friday the 13th!”

for the rest of the night, you were on edge. things really went to shit, though, when the serial killers showed up. mr. jingles, as far as you knew, was at the camp somewhere. the whole night became a blur, and you could remember the fire, xavier’s burned skin, and getting knocked out.

you woke up in a bed in a cabin by yourself, slowly sitting up. your eyes adjusted to the darkness, scanning your surroundings to confirm that you were alone. “xavier?” you groaned, putting a hand to your aching head.

he then came into view, kneeling on the ground next to you. “hey,” he said softly, reaching out for one of your hands, “you’re okay. you passed out, i brought you here.”

you say back up, looking over at him. you brought a hand up to his cheek, your eyes scanning his face. “what.. what happened to your face?”

the burns that had covered his face before were gone, and his skin was, once more, perfect and in tact.

xavier smiled, tilting his head to gently kiss your palm. “the burns went away!” he said happily, looking up at you.

your brows furrowed in confusion as you shook your head. “what? how?”

his smile fell, and he avoided your gaze. “y/n.. i think.. i think i died. and i think i’m a ghost.”

you tilted your head to the side. “how is that even.. how is that possible?”

“all i remember is i saved margaret’s life, and then, next thing i knew, the bitch stabbed me. i woke up in the forest all alone, and i came here to find you.”

you shook your head, trying to comprehend all of that. “but.. how could that even..” he took both of your hands in his.

“i don’t know.” he replied. “but you have to get out of here. margaret is dangerous, and she’s killing all of us in some killing spree. not to mention jingles being out here somewhere.”

“no.” you replied, shaking your head. “no, xavier, i’m not leaving you here.”

he frowned. “and i can’t let you die.”

you bit your lip, sniffing as tears began to cloud your vision. “i can’t just leave you here. not when i’m in love with you.”

xavier’s eyes widened at your confession, and he put a hand on your knee. “i love you, too. that’s why i can’t let you stay here. you’re in danger. you need to go and live your life, not waste it on me.”

“i don’t want to live my life without you in it.”

“y/n, no, you’re just saying that-“

“no, i’m not.” you said firmly, a tear falling down your cheek. “xavier i can’t leave this place knowing that you’re stuck here. i can’t.”

his gaze softened. “yes, you can.” he said with a smile, wiping a tear from your face. “yes, you can.” he repeated as you shook your head. “it’s my fault you’re here to begin with, and i wouldn’t be able to ever forgive myself if you got hurt because of me. please go.”

you looked down at him, feeling your heart ache. “i don’t want to leave you.”

xavier smiled. “it’s okay,” he said, “once you’re out of here you can call the cops, maybe get someone to come save everyone that’s still alive. i’ll be okay.”

reluctantly, you nodded. “okay.”

he walked with you to the entrance, looking out at the road before looking back down at you. “i love you.” he said, a hand cupping your cheek. you leaned up, removing the distance between the two of you. his lips felt cold against yours, as did the rest of his body.

“i love you, too.” you said as you pulled away. if you didn’t, you were worried you wouldn’t ever want to leave him.

as you took a step forward, something rattled in the bushes. an arrow, the same as the ones xavier had used to fight, and temporarily kill jingles, hit you in the chest.

you gasped as your knees gave out, and you fell into xavier’s arms. “no, no no no.” he whispered, eyes scanning your body and the arrow that stuck out of it. “you’re going to be okay.” he said, though it sounded like he was convincing himself more than he was convincing you.

“it’s okay!” you said, smiling up at him despite the pain in your chest. “it’s okay, xavier, i’m okay!”

he shook his head, holding you close. “i’m so sorry, this is all my fault.”

you coughed as you shook your head, resting your head on his lap as you closed your eyes. xavier shook you once you stopped breathing, his eyes wide. “y/n, please wake up, please..”

your ghost appeared infront of him, and he looked up at you. “i’m so sorry.” he said, standing. “this never would’ve happened if i hadn’t asked you to come with me here.”

“x, it’s fine.” you smiled, wiping his tears. “i’m here with you, and that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

he looked down at you, a small smile creeping onto his face. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.” you said as you pressed your lips to his, feeling your body warm up again. “forever.”

#hollywillows #xavier plympton imagine #xavier plympton #americanhorrorstoryimagine #americanhorrorstory #ahsimagine #ahs imagine #ahs 1984 #cody fern imagine #cody fern

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magicalicefairy · 3 years

Text

𝔹𝕖𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕄𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔸𝕘𝕖𝕤 - ᛒᛖᛃᛟᚾᛞ᛫ᛗᛃᚦᛋ᛫ᚨᚾᛞ᛫ᚨᚷᛖᛋ

Chapter 1 “The Beginning”

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornsson x OC / Tyr x Persephone

Warnings: strong language

Word Count: 3.8k (sorry, not sorry)

Chapter 2 AO3 Wattpad

The floor I was sitting on was wet, cold, and slippery. The room was dark and I could barely see my surroundings. How long have I been down here? Two days? Curse this priest! Thinks I'm a witch just because I know how to take care of wounds and heal light illnesses by mixing a few herbs. “Witch!” He screamed and then locked me down here. Now I am waiting for my execution, which fortunately has not been approved yet. Apparently King Alfred had better things to do than sentence young women to death for mixing herbs. If I ever get out of here, by the gods, i will strangle this priest with my bare hands. But how i high are the chances that I would ever see daylight again? Was it the day I was brought to the scaffold? But I couldn't think any further, because my thoughts were disturbed by the ringing of the bells in the church above me.

I heard screams. What was going on here? I moved a little to slide closer to the dungeon door, but I couldn't get very far because iron chains were holding me to the wall. I heard hasty footsteps and trampling outside. Clinking noises, metal on metal. It was a fight! The soldiers of this abbey seemed to be fighting off a battle. Hopefully the attackers didn't come down here, because then they would surely give me a quick death, but before that the bandits would surely assault me. I heard footsteps coming down the corridor and the rustle of a bunch of keys. The priest! That bastard! What was he doing down here? Trying to hide? I heard nervous rustling at the door lock, hasty steps behind him and the roar of angry men. The next moment the door flew open, slammed against the wall with such force that it fell off the hinges and crashed onto the floor with a loud thump. The priest who held me prisoner flew through the door and a bearded northerner with an ax followed him. Blood dripped from the weapon and the silver seemed to light up the dark room. The north man pressed the priest against the wall.

"Where do you hide your treasures?" He said aggressively while holding the ax on his throat.

“You stupid pagan! You will burn in hell! ” He just screamed and wanted to insult him again, but the blood was already spurting from his throat and speckling the ground with red paint. The lifeless body fell to the ground like a sack of flour and lay there like an empty shell.

"That's what I wanted to do," I said, without even thinking about what was going to happen next. The north man noticed me for the first time and if I hadn't said anything, then I would probably have remained hidden in my dark corner.

"That would have been a bit difficult for you" He pointed with his bloody ax at my hands. These were still chained to the iron.

He took a few steps towards me and I had to admit that my heart was racing with fear.

"They have a big chest with treasures down here in the crypt," I quickly gushed out.

He just grunted something unintelligible and then he came closer to me. I pressed myself against the wall and watched every step oh him.

"Why are you locked up here?" He said to himself rather than to me. "You must be special" he knelt next to me and I could smell the blood that was all over his clothes.

"The priest" and I nodded my head to the sad piece of meat that lay lifeless on the floor next to us. "Thought I was a witch just because I know how to treat sick people and I mix herbs"

"I understand. You can heal wounds. So you are a kind of a healer? ”He asked, tilting his head. I hardly recognized him, but he seemed to have light eyes.

"Yeah, I think i am something like that." I replied, trying to sit up, not wanting to show my fear.

"I have a friend who needs help with a stab wound, can you treat something like that?" He turned the ax in his hand.

I paused for a moment and wondered if I could help him, maybe he'll let me live and I can go? Or he would kill me afterwards, but what choice did I have? To remain chained here while the bodies of at least 20 priests and two dozen soldiers rotten in the sun above. No, I had to take the chance and assure him of my help, that was the only way to get out of here alive.

I nodded and held out my hands to him. "If you have a solution, then I'll be happy to help." He grinned and showed me his silver ax. Was he really going to use it to break the chains? Is he insane? That’s going wrong. Never and eve-

I heard a loud clink and already felt the chains slip from my wrists. He did cut the iron with one precise blow. I rubbed my hands and got on my legs. Getting up quickly made me dizzy and i staggered a little.

"Are you okay?" The man held my arm to support me.

I just nodded. “Yes, I just got up too quickly and my legs are a bit shaky, but otherwise I'm fine.

"Good," he muttered and let go of me. "If you take care of my friend, you're free to leave" I nodded in agreement.

We went to the door and climbed the stairs. The light of the sun hit me like a blow. My eyes ached from the brightness, but what else should I expect?

I haven't seen the sunlight for two days and now I was exposed to it ruthlessly. Little by little, my vision improved and I saw the appearance of my Savior for the first time. He was a little taller than me. He had blond hair that he had tied in a braid and the sides were shaved. His clothes were covered in blood and he had a few splatters on his face. His blue eyes fascinated me, they were deep blue and reminded me of the waves on the sea, wild and untamed. He seemed to be staring at me too and I looked away.

"Follow me" and pointed to the massive wooden door at the end of the room. It led into the front yard of the abbey and when we got outside I inhaled fresh air for the first time in a long time. But there was not only the smell of fresh flowers in the air, no, there was also iron, blood, to be precise. And then I noticed that a few dozen corpses were spread out in the courtyard. This man's men had done a neat job. We went out of the garden, down the hill to the river. The huts of the priests and sisters burned and the smoke rose far into the sky. The fire could be seen several kilometers away. I heard the men before I saw them. They stood together in a group. The treasures of the abbey, gold and silver, which could certainly be sold or used well, passed through their hands. A man was sitting on a bench not far from them, his hand on his lower stomach. That had to be my Savior's friend that I was supposed to help.

"Eivor! There you are! ”His call sounded pained and his features cramped, but he tried to smile. The blond rescuer responded to his call. So his name was Eivor.

"Dag, I brought help with me" and he pointed at me.

The man named Dag looked me suspiciously.

"She's a healer, she can look at your wound," said Eivor, kneeling next to Dag.

“It's nothing, believe me. It's just a scratch. It'll be all right soon. ”But he was still holding the wound and it was definitely not just a scratch. The blood was on his clothes and on his hands. The wound seemed to be deep.

"That looks bad to me," I said to him and also knelt next to him. "I have to look at it, otherwise it could get worse."

"Is she one of the nuns here?" He looked at Eivor and raised an eyebrow.

Eivor was about to answer when I said: "No, as he had already said, I am a healer and not a sister."

He growled like a bear. Eivor assured him that I just wanted to help him and Dag agreed. He raised his hand and immediately blood came out of the wound. It was deep, but it had been stabbed clean. I should be able to treat his wound with a couple of bandages, but we weren't in the best situation for wound care. Materials for treating the wound were probably burning in the houses around us.

"We have to get him out of here, there are no clean cloths or clean water to treat the wound with," I said while looking at Eivor.

Eivor looked around and decided I was right.

"We have to get Dag out of here, let's go home!" Eivor roared through the crowd and pointed to two men who helped Dag up and took him to the river shore.

I wasn't sure what to do. How far was their home from here? How would it go on for me? And would they kill me after that? I had to take care of this man because I owed something to Eivor, he had taken me out of the dark dungeon and saved my life.. But Eivor didn't seem like a man who killed innocent women, since he got me out of there, he had been quite neutral, if not friendly, to me. I decided to follow them. Eivor walked by my side and we arrived at a large longship. The men helped Dag in and he sat down. Eivor stepped into the water and I followed him. The water was freezing and I got goose bumps. I pulled myself awkwardly into the boat and sat down next to Dag. I tore off a piece of my dress and folded it up.

“Here take it, press it on the wound. It will stop the bleeding temporarily. ”I held out the folded piece of cloth. He still looked at me suspiciously, but carefully slid his hand away from his wound. I immediately pressed it onto the open area, took his hand and pushed it onto the fabric.

"The wound looks bad, but I can manage it" I smiled at him and tried to give him some courage.

He just mumbled a little thank you and turned away.

I looked around and saw Eivor standing on the stern of the ship. The men took their places and hit the river bank with the huge rounds. We drove downhill and the abbey got smaller and smaller. By the gods, what exciting minutes those were.

"Are you scared?" I heard Eivor ask and he pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Well, you've just robbed an entire monastery of its soldiers and the treasures too. I was helpless and unarmed, and even with a weapon I would certainly not have been of great help. Of course I'm scared. I wonder what will happen after i helped Dag. ”I looked at Dag, who was watching me with a curious look. I'd prefer to get out of this alive. ”I look at Eivor seriously.

"You really think that after I got you out of there and you helped my friend, i'm going to kill you?" He seemed amused. "I could kill you on the way to the river or leave you in the dungeon"

He was right about that. He was still smiling at me. Did he find the whole thing funny?

"What's your name anyway?" He asked.

"Ella, my name is Ella" I replied.

"Ella? You're not from England, are you? "

"No, neither are you," and I showed my sarcastic smile.

He laughed and agreed with me. I let my gaze wander over the water. The river was dark and the water was clear. The drive wasn't long and I saw a village approaching in the distance, but it wasn't really a village. It was more like a bunch of tents and run-down huts. The boat docked at the dock and the men began to heave the chest and boxes out of the ship. I climbed out of the boat and followed Eivor into the village. In the center was a large oak, the branches of which hung heavily. She looked just beautiful. Behind it you could have a look at a very large longhouse. It seemed well preserved. I suspect the northerners hadn't been here long. There were a lot of different people here. Men worked in the harbor, women chased their children around. We passed a house where a tall man was working on a sword.

"Ahh Eivor, back again? I hope you found something nice, ”he laughed.

“Gunnar! Yes, we found a lot, you are welcome to take a look at the longship. Dag is injured, we'll take him up to the longhouse. Ella ”he pointed to me“ will take a look at the wound ”

Gunnar’s gaze wandered from Eivor to me and a smile formed. He seemed like a warm man to me. “Welcome Ella! Nice to meet you! "

"Nice to meet you too" I replied with a smile.

Eivor and I said goodbye to Gunnar and went to the longhouse. As soon as we entered it, I noticed the long tables and the benches. At the end of the hall on an elevation stood a single chair. It was adorned with furs and appeared to belong to the leader. Where was he? Would he tolerate me here? If not, could Eivor prevent that? How high was his position here so that he could change the mind of the leader? Again I was torn from my thoughts. Dag sat down on a bench and Eivor called me over to him.

"What do you need for the wound?" He asked.

"I need a bowl of clean water and clean cloths, please," I knelt next to Dag and took the provisional wound pad from him. It was not bleeding as badly as before, but I should quickly make an envelope.

Eivor ordered one of the men to fetch the required utensils. He apologized and disappeared into the room behind the throne.

Dag was breathing hard, probably because of his pain. After a short time the man appeared with the requested materials and I started my work. I cleaned his wound and made a poultice that I put on him. “So that should be enough for now, but I would need a few more herbs to cleanse the wound and take some of the pain away from you. You shouldn't try so hard now. "

"Oh, I'm fine," said Dag, trying to get up, obviously in pain. But he slumped back on the bench. "Okay, maybe not"

He looks up at me and I raised an eyebrow.

"I told you"

"Yes, yes, I know," I heard him say grimly. "Thanks"

I looked down at him and nodded. "With pleasure"

I heard footsteps behind me and saw Eivor approaching us, accompanied by another Northman. He was tall, illegally tall. He was almost two heads taller than me, had rust-red hair that, like Eivor, wore in a long braid. There was a tattoo on his forehead, as well as on his shaved sides. He had a beard that was neatly trimmed. His eyes were a beautiful light blue-gray. They had something like bright rain clouds. I don't know how tosay it, but this man knew how to an appearance. I knew right away that this man was in charge here.

"Dag, you don't look really good," he patted Dag gently on the shoulder.

“I'm fine Sigurd, just a small stab wound. But thanks to Ella, that will soon be a thing of the past. He whispered and looked first at Sigurd and then at me.

Sigurd followed his gaze and now noticed me for the first time. His gaze made me shiver. A smile played on his lips. “Yes, Eivor mentioned you. Got you out of the abbey. I am Sigurd, the Jarl of Ravensthorpe, ”he said. "Thanks for helping Dag"

So he was actually the leader. The Jarl. I knew it.

“Eivor saved my life. I owed him something. And my name is Ella. ”I explained. "But I still have to treat the wound with herbs."

"Where do we get them from?" Eivor asked. I could hardly avert my gaze from Sigurd. He just looked impressively handsome.

“I have some in my hut. But I don't know whether it is still there. After the thing with the priest. ”I said, looking at Eivor.

“Where is your hut located? Is it far from here? ”He asked.

I told Eivor that my hut is near Grantebridge in Grantebridgescir, but that the Danes had been evicted there.

"I suppose my house was ransacked, but it would be worth a look." I look from Eivor to Sigurd and he clapped his hands.

"Well, off to Grantebridgescir!" He said to the group.

Eivor seemed confused and said: “Are you coming with us? Isn't it better if you stay here? "

Sigurd shook his head. "The more the better" and he looked at me with a grin. What was going on in his head right now? Eivor agreed, with the look from Sigurd to me and we made our way to the longship. We took the ship for a while and the crew sang a beautiful Nordic song. I didn't understand a word of what they were singing, but I thought it was very good. The landscape passed us. Green and Fresh. The sun warmed my face and I enjoyed the wind in my hair. Eivor and Sigurd were talking about something, but I couldn't hear what they were talking about. I watch them for a while until they both looked at me. I smiled and looked at the water, embarrassed to have been caught staring at them.

After what felt like an hour we arrived at the Scir and after a short time we were standing in front of my hut. If you could still call it a hut. The roof had burned down, the door kicked in, and the front yard trampled. It looked worse inside. Every chest and cupboard was cleared, items were scattered on the floor, and some of my notes were torn. I knelt next to a torn recipe and slowly picked it up. What kind of men rob a woman of all her possessions just because she helps people. This priest deserves what he got. I let my gaze wander around the room sadly. I didn't live here for long and I didn't build a real life here, but I had something and now that had been taken away from me. I tried to gather the remaining pages when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Eivor had knelt by me and was helping me collect the scraps of paper.

"I'm sorry about what happened here Ella," he said sincerely.

“It's okay, I wasn't really at home here. It's just a shame cause all of my recipes, but I can still use some of them. So it isn't that bad ”I assured him and gave him a grateful smile. He replied. It didn't seem as bad as I initially suspected. Where was Sigurd anyway? His presence makes me nervous and I didn't know why.

"Do you have what you need?" I heard Sigurd call from outside.

"We'll have it in a moment!" Replied Eivor and stood up to hand me the pages.

I folded it carefully and put it in the bag that i found in a corner of the room. Fortunately, it was still intact. I opened it and discovered dried herbs that I could still use for Dag’s wound. Unfortunately, the rest, including the one in the front yard, had been completely destroyed. Eivor had already gone outside and I looked around again. To say goodbye, I think, because I couldn't stay here. The Saxons would get me back and probably kill me right away. I looked one last time at the broken furniture and decided to go outside.

Eivor and Sigurd were talking when I stepped into the sunlight and they saw me, they both fell silent immediately.

"I have everything, we can go." I let them know, pulled the strap of my bag tighter around my shoulder and held it tight.

Both nodded. We were silent on the way to the ship, nobody said anything. Until Eivor broke the silence.

"Ella? Where will you go after you helped Dag? ”He asked.

That was a good question. Where should i go now? I had nothing left. No family, no friends and no home. I would probably have to look for work somewhere. so i don't have to sleep on the street.

"I dont know. I can't go back. The Saxons will look for me and then probably kill me. ”I said and my steps felt heavy.

"I see" Eivor stopped. “You know, Sigurd and I talked earlier. Our settlement is still young. We only got here 3 days ago and we could use a healer like you. You'd have a roof over your head and food in your stomach. In return you help the people in Ravensthorpe.

"What?" i looked surprised from him to Sigurd, who just nodded. I didn't know what to say. First he saved me and then he gave me a home. "I don't know what to say .."

Sigurd laughed and said, "How about yes?"

I had to smile and Eivor held out his hand. "Deal?"

I didn't think twice and accepted. Sigurd held out his hand to me and I took it too. When our hands touched, I could literally feel the sparks spray. My head was buzzing. It felt like I was in a different place. I saw golden fields of wheat, green meadows and I felt like i was at home. Then I was in a city, made by gods and a man held my hand. He smiled and then I was back on the river bank with Sigurd's hand in mine. I let go of him and looked at him. Did he just experience the same thing as me? His look said nothing, but something just happened between us. This is going to be interesting. I was sure.

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ha-hatdog · 4 years

Text

to narnia / edmund pevensie

first narnia request hehe. the request was a little too vague like so i don't know exactly what plot you want but this is my take. hope you enjoy hihi

edmund is aged up to 16 here and so is reader. this is after they had returned from narnia in the first movie

requested by @darkladyslytherin : Hi! Are you busy? If you don't mind can you write a Narnia fanfic Edmund Pevensie x reader where the reader is his girlfriend and he was wondering whether he could bring her to Narnia. Thank you ily ❤️

dear @darkladyslytherin do you know that you’re one of my favorite readers? just saying. i always take notice of those who really follow and comment on my stories in quotev hihi. although i haven’t seen you much lately in quotev, i just wanted to show you my appreciation. love you and thanks

UNEDITED

Edmund was different.

After reuniting with him when he and his siblings had temporarily left to live in an old mansion miles and miles away, you noticed immediately. How can you not? He was your dear lover, and even the slightest change in his expression couldn't escape your eye. He looked the same, the same Edmund Pevensie that you last saw descending from the train with his sibling to wait to be picked up, but at the same time, he was not.

He felt different and acted differently - the naivety was gone, replaced with a steadfast regality and maturity, his decisions no longer driven with the need for adrenaline and fun, but thoroughly thought out. This was not the same Edmund you have last seen. But you loved him nonetheless, and nothing could change that, even if he was no longer the Edmund you knew as of late.

His siblings were in the same boat as him. They interacted with each other differently. Although Peter and Susan already had that air of maturity, they somehow felt older. Peter has become more assertive than commanding and Susan was gentler, yet still being able to uphold her duty as an older sister. Even sweet little Lucy seemed more mature than you, and she was ten.

You cannot help but wonder if something happened to the four of them when they were in the mansion, when they were apart from you. They had moments when they fell silent when questioned about their stay with Professor Digory Kirke, suddenly looking sorrowful and solemn, and more than once have you seen them gather and converse in hushed voices, and you knew they were deliberately being secretive and out casting you from those particular exchange as they scatter once you attempt to insert yourself into them.

Something most definitely happened back with Professor Digory.

You raised your concern with the eldest sister, asking her if there was an occurrence when they were temporarily residing with the old man. Susan was usually the most open person with you (Lucy was too, but you feel like, despite her suddenly having mature qualities, she was still ten), but when you asked her that question, she expertly dismissed it and diverted the conversation in a different route. She may think that she had done excellently keeping you in the dark, but that itch in the back of your head wouldn't go away, not until you found answers.

You were lounging in the sitting area with Susan, your hand tapping a pen on a table while Susan sat on a cushioned and high backed chair, a large book in her dainty hand.

You let out a sigh as you dropped the item within your grasp on the smooth surface, earning the eyes of your friend. "Something wrong?" Susan questioned as she set her book down on her lap, eyeing you curiously from where she was positioned.

"Nothing," You puffed out, and your eyes vision fell back to the table. "I'm just bored."

"If you're so bored, why don't you hang out with Edmund?" Suggested Susan, and when you did not respond, she took this chance to continue speaking. "He misses you, you know."

You flushed at her spoken statement and averted your gaze from her. Shame pricked at your heart as your heard the your lover's name, but even so, your remained steadfast, unfaltering, just as Edmund was to you.

You took the pen back to your hand, scowling slightly. "Never mind." You grumbled out, and Susan sighed in disappointment and exasperation to your defiant answer against her proposal.

"You're still ignoring him." It was not a question, it was badgering remark of a fact, and you were quiet, as what she had spouted was not incorrect.

You were not stupid. Before you asked anyone else, you bluntly came forward with your concern to your boyfriend - Edmund Pevensie - interrogating him about his time spent in the mansion, but he dismissed you with a shake of a head, stating that nothing out of the ordinary has happened. But his barriers has shot up immediately after the question, and your suspicion and curiosity arose. You have chased him with this question upon your lips, but he was as consistent as you were with denying you the right to know. And in retaliation to his constant rejection, you evaded his presence like the plague, just like how he evades giving you the answer you sought for, making it a point to show him that you were not giving up until he tells you something, anything, about the trip.

"He won't tell me anything. So I won't tell him anything." You retorted to Susan, sight flitting over to her. "Unless you fancy telling me - "

Susan shook her head, brown locks billowing with her movements. "There's nothing to say. Nothing happened."

You scoffed. "I'm not stupid, Susan!" Your hollering voice stunned her, and even you were shocked with your own boldness. "I know something happened but you keep making me out to be the insane one here!"

"That is certainly not the case." Denied Susan and a curtain of solemnity swung over her. She turned away, suddenly reclusive and losing the air of regality she always had around her after their return in London. "If anything, you'll think of us as the insane ones."

Confusion wrapped you in its finger. "Why would I? I have been the outcast here ever since you four came back. You always made me feel like it. Never telling me anything when really, something is going on and none of you would say something. Not even Lucy, and she's the most honest person on your lot."

Susan pursed her lips, agitated. "I'm sorry we have made you feel this way but there's nothing to say. People change, (Your Name). Slowly, quickly, they just . . . change." She murmured. "You can't stop it from happening."

"I don't mind change, Susan. But if this change means cutting me off your family, then it would be much better if Edmund and I break up, and I leave your family for good." Your words took Susan aback, and she nearly dropped her book to the floor. And yet you continued, spouting claims that supported your previous statement, unaware of the presence that has descended from a nearby flight of stairs. This new arrival stood by the last step, a food precariously tipped on the edge of the step and a hand holding on to the wooden leverage beside him.

"Peter changed, Lucy changed, you changed, and Edmund changed! I have not once complained about the four of you changing but this is too much! After we have reunited, I thought all would be fine now. The war is done, and we're going back to school in a few months but it feels like we're miles apart." You let out, frustrated. You stood up from your chair and abandoned your task. "Even Edmund feels like a stranger! He used to tell me everything, from his issues with Peter and to that little bug that keeps flying near his ear when he's sleeping! No matter how insignificant they are, he tells me and now he can't even look at me without his eyes screaming - hey, I have a secret that's eating me up from the inside and my siblings have them as well!"

Susan did not speak.

You scoffed. "Silent again, I see. Not surprised. That's all you've been whenever I'm around. I don't even know why I'm still hanging with you lot." You gathered your belongings and stuffed them inside your bag which was located underneath the table. As you continued taking items and putting them inside your bag, you went on, still unable to detect the concerned eyes of your lover staring at you. "It's obvious you'd rather keep everything to yourself, so I might as well leave and let you do that in peace."

You zipped your bag in a swift motion and turned to head towards the front door only to come to a skidding halt once you came face with a broad chest. Looking up, you saw Peter looking down at you, a conflicted expression on his mien and behind him was a concerned Lucy.

You tried going around him, to continue your short travel towards the the front door but Peter followed your movement, effectively blocking you from your intention.

You stomped your feet stubbornly at Peter, the presence of your significant other beyond your awareness. "Will you please move?" You requested, voice laced with irritation.

"No," Adamantly answered Peter, causing you to roll your eyes. "Is that how you really feel?"

"Oh," You chided, brow lifting. "Now you're finally paying attention to me. Guess all it had to take was for me to get full of your negligence. Thank you, I guess."

Peter opened his mouth to interject, but he was cut off, and you stumbled back when Lucy flung herself to you, arms wrapping around your middle and burying her face on your clothed stomach. Susan advanced towards you to pull Lucy away, but the younger girl spoke before she could be interrupted with her affectionate embrace, "No, please don't leave us!"

A curtain of shame and regret swathed you as you stared at the lass pulling you close to her, but nonetheless, you turned away, eyes closed. "I can't stay in a place where everyone avoids me as if I'm the plague. I'm going."

Lucy tore herself away from you and turned to the elderly siblings, tears springing up at the corner of her eyes. "We should just tell her!" Exclaimed she.

Peter frowned. "Lucy, we talked about this with Professor Kirke - "

"So, you're just going to let her leave us?" Asked Lucy. Susan and Peter did not respond, only looking away as they too have no answer to her inquiry.

"She's right." Everybody turned to the source of the voice, and your eyes bulged upon seeing Edmund standing by the doorframe, shoulder slouching and eyes blank with nervousness. But there was also a peculiar sort of hardened resolve in them, the some resolve that you had last seen when he promised to meet you again after the war has come to pass. You swallowed, turning away as he continued. You can feel his eyes on you, burning against your skin. "We need to tell her." He stated with finality. "I need to tell her."

Peter ventured a step forward to his younger brother, an arm extended. "Edmund," He blathered. "Professor Kirke said - "

"I know what Professor Kirke said. I was there with you, okay? I know what he told us. But I'd rather break his rule just once. I'm not going to lose (Your Name). And I know you don't want to as well." You inhaled as Edmund walked up next to you, and his hand clasped over your shoulder. You looked up at him, and you saw the hopeful shine in his eyes. "Come with me, I will tell you everything. I promise."

You opened your lips to protest, to tell him that he did not need to tell you anything if it was really against his will, but the plea in his eyes - how can you say no to him?

"I won't keep anything away from you anymore."

***

You and Edmund left the house to find somewhere private to talk. His room would have been ideal, but despite having your significant other make his siblings promise not to eavesdrop, there was no guarantee that they would hold the end of their promise and so, both of you elected to venture outdoors and find place where you were, for sure, to have your privacy. You two walked in silence through the streets, tension both burdening your shoulders.

This was not like you two, at least before. There was always laughter and sarcastic exchange between the two of you. But now, even holding his hand seemed like a task your mind can longer comprehend. Your hand stiffened and quivered whenever it tried to reach for his and you sulked in dismay, accepting your defeat.

But Edmund, although he too was absorbed in anxiety with what was to come, noticed your apprehension and how your hand moved near and away from his own. His mind was set not to intertwine his hand with yours as the small monster in the back of his mind said it would be terribly improper to instigate any form of affection when a row was settled with the pair of you. But his hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it reached out to take your hand in his hold. He felt your hand squeeze him, and he smiled and returned the gesture.

Everything will be fine. I'm sure.

You two found a field after a several minutes of walking, and decided to settle under the shade of the fee trees sprouting on the vastness.

You sat down on the ground, and Edmund was left standing, his back to you as he overlooked the plains and the hillocks in the distance. You brought your legs to your chest and embraced them, trying to abate the loneliness that was creeping on you. Now that you're alone with him and had the reassurance that he will tell you everything, the loneliness you have repressed inside of you with sheer strength alone for so long was beginning to overflow.

You glanced down at your hand, the same one he held before. I miss his hold already. You thought. I want to hold his hand again.

Quiet swathed both of you, not a word exchanged. You grew antsy as the stillness of the situation prolonged, and it looked to you that Edmund was not going to do anythimg but stand there and avoid looking at you but you knew him. He wasn't avoiding locking eyes with you - he was trying to think of a way on how to go about broaching this sensitive topic he had not touched for so long, the same reason your relationship has become rocky. You were not familiar with this mature attribute of his for the Edmund you knew would merely spout anything that comes in his mind, but you have concluded that after his abrupt change, his actions and approach to anything woukd be far from before.

"Are you going to say anything?" You questioned, fed up with the silence. He still did not look your way and you let out a sigh. "Edmund."

"I - " He exhaled, and you curled your tongue to stop yourself from talking. But he did not continue his sentence and fell speechless again. And after a little while, he picked up on his pending thought. "I don't know where to start." You saw his shoulders move as he laughed and you cannot help but smile. It has been a while since you've heard him laugh, even if it was a nervous one. "You'd think after being a king and ruling a whole country for many years I'd be sure of myself and be capable of having a simple conversation with my girlfriend."

His words failed to register in your head. You heard him loud and cleat, yet what he said made no sense and it served as a great fuel to your perplexity. You blinked, arms loosening their hold around your legs and back straightening from the arch it formed. "What?" You chimed in, puzzlement evident. "Do you mind repeating what you said? I thought I heard you say king and ruling a country, but that can't be right." You stated. "Sorry, Ed. I think I'm not in the right frame of mind right now and I think I'm hearing differently. How about we talk tomorrow instead?"

"No, you're hearing is fine. You heard right." Edmund turned towards you, solemnity encrusting his mein. You had never seen him this serious before, and it worried you just as it made you curious. Edmund walked over to you, looking down at your seated figure. "You asked me what happened in the Professor's mansion? I was a king, (Your Name). I ruled a country before I returned here."

Your confusion intensified. Brows burrowed, you regarded him warily. "Ed, I don't understand." You confessed. "What do you mean you were a king and ruled a country? Is this some kind of metaphor for something? You don't want to outright say what need to be said so I have to decode this . . . this, this something?" You were unable to find the right term for his statement. "Is that it?"

Edmund lets out a sigh, eyes fluttering to a close. "I knew this would happen. I'm aware of this but seeing it unfold right now, it's harder than I thought." He admitted softly and opened his eyes to look at you. "I know you don't believe me. I sound like a completely delusional child but you wanted the truth, so here I am, saying the truth no matter how stupid it will make me look."

His eyes shone, and you stared back at him, rid of the capability to speak out your judgement or thought.

You let out a gasp as Edmund knelt down and took your hand in his, and the warmth that left your palm as returned suddenly. He took in a deep breath, the amount of oxygen taken in making his chest expand before he eased. He seemed to be trying to calm himself. "Before I say anything else, before I make a fool of myself," He cleared his throat, gazing back at you heatedly. And there they were, the desperation, the pleading, in his eyes, but what got you pursing your lips was the love in his eyes. "I want to apologize for ignoring you, for not telling you the truth earlier. I thought it would be for the better you didn't know anything that happened back in the mansion, but I knew that was impossible. If there's one person I could never ever lie to, I could never keep anything from, it's you. I didn't want to hurt you, but I did, and to me, it was just me trying to protect you. I didn't realize it was a kind of breach in trust."

You said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

"I promise never to do that again." Edmund stated with firm finality, taking you aback. Edmund was never the one to be so sure of things unless he knows he definitely has something to gain from it. This firmness - an unbreakable promise. "I don't want to hurt you like this again, to make you feel unwanted, insecure. Never again."

Your heart swelled. You cooed, "Edmund," You brushed the back of your hand on his cheek. "I forgive you. All I wanted as an apology and an explanation."

He chuckled. "I haven't even said anything."

"I mean you did say you were a king who ruled a country." You laughed, not noticing the way he swallowed the saliva that accumulated in his mouth. "King of a country club, for sure."

"(Your Name)," Began Edmund, and you halted your antics, looking back at him. The solemnity was yet to subside from his visage. You mirrored his expression and sentiment. "Whatever I say to you, promise me that you'll believe me. No matter how ridiculous everything I say may seem to you."

"Of course, Ed." Concern overtook you and you leaned forward to inspect him. "What's going on?"

"I mean it, (Your Name). Promise me." Edmund bellowed, his hold on your hand tightening. "Promise me you'll believe no matter how crazy I might sound."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just promise me, please."

Edmund have always hated how others fabricate his identity and made him out as someone who he isn't. He definitely hated being called insane or a maniac, so hearing him begging you to believe him in fear of having you see a distorted view of him - it hurt you.

"I promise," You affirmed. "Now, tell me - what happened back in the Professor's place?"

Edmund moved and nestled himself beside you, hand leaving yours and back slanting against the tree trunk. He stared off at the distance first before locking eyes with you. "You won't believe me - "

"Oh, bloody hell, Ed," Your quip startled Edmund. "I already said I will believe anything you say no matter how ridiculous it may sound. Let's not go back and forth and just tell me already."

Edmund observed you for a second, then another, and then, he continued. "When we got to the mansion, for the first day at least, everything was normal. It was just four siblings trying to get used to the place they were going to stay at." He began. "There wasn't much to do. We can't go out to explore and play, so we decided to play hide and seek - don't look at me like that - it was Lucy who suggested it - " He rebuked once he saw your smile appearing.

"But you had fun, right?" You pressed on.

Edmund nodded. "Yeah, I guess," But soon after, he halted. "For the first few minutes, I guess. Lucy found this wardrobe to hide in, and literally seconds later, she came out from it like she was gone for hours." A pause. "She said something about meeting a Faun. You know, half man - "

" - half goat, yeah, I know." You replied.

"Yeah, she said she met a Faun named Mister Tumnus because apparently, there was an unknowm world inside the wardrobe called Narnia and a witch had cursed it. They had tea, listened to Narnian songs, and exchanged stories of their own world."

It took you a while to process everything he was saying. A Faun? A witch? Curse? Wardrobe? Narnia? What in the world?

"Imagination is strong. It's understandable, Lucy is still young." Remarked you, and you waited for Edmund to agree, but to your surprise, he did not.

"That's what I thought too, that's what Peter and Susan thought too. Just someone who had a strong imagination. Until," He took in a deep breath. "I also found Narnia."

You didn't know how to take this. How were you supposed to take in this kind of information? Edmund was not like to say things like this, magical things, and if he did, it was out of jest. But there was no humor right now. Just a plea for you to listen, and you did.

"When I got to Narnia, I met the witch, the White Witch. The witch who put Narnia to an eternal winter for a long time." He went on and all of a sudden, you were more than just invested. Something happened with him and that White Witch. You can tell by how his eyes darkened at the mention of her. "She was kind and warm - I know, weird for someone who put an entire country to winter - and that should have been a warning itself, but I still trusted her, just as she wanted."

Edmund took hold of the end of his shirt and pulled it up, revealing the scar on his torso. You flinched at the sight of it. You haven't seen the initial damage to the skin, but you knew the wound had been deep, and must have been a large gateway for his blood. You wondered how much in pain he was.

"Remember this?" Edmund queried.

"Yeah, you said there was an accident in the kitchen." Edmund told you something happened in the kitchen in the mansion when it was his turn to cook but you knew this was a complete and utter lie. His explanation of the accident was too bizzare, and you asked Susan if there had been turns on cookinf and there was none. And, Edmund did not know how to cook. "I know it's a lie, Ed."

"Perceptive, as always. Want to know how I really got it?" He questioned, and you nodded. "I got stabbed, by that Witch."

A gasp of horror escaped your lips at what you heard, back straightening and a hand finding its way to his arm. He sent you an appreciative smile but he still did not let his shirt cover his wound. In fact, he seemed to be transfixed by this ugly scarring and you did not blame him, for the story behind it must have been awful. He was yet to tell you what exactly transpired in this world he called Narnia, but Edmund, regardless of how much he denies it, shows more emotions than he thought.

"Well," You started. "She's called a witch for a reason."

Your little joke bubbled a genuine laughter from Edmund and it enlightened your spirits, even a little. But the inkling hatred for the witch drove your blood to a boiling temperature that you were surprised you weren't squirming on your position with the need to release your pent up aggravation. But Edmund knew you as much as you did with him, and he knew you were effectively masking your anger.

And then reality caught you and your eyes fell - Why am I angry with a witch I don't even know is real? Everything Edmund is saying is so unreal. A world called Narnia inside a wardrobe where his sister met a Faun and he met the, uh . . . White Witch who put said place to winter, a long winter. Nothing sounded real. It's like listening to a children's book. You thought, gulping. But Ed could never fake his feelings. Not to me.

"That happened many years ago. You don't have to worry about me. I'm over it. It's just that . . . the memories, you know." Edmund grew silent again, and you waited for him to speak. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

You breathed out. "No, not at all."

"But you don't believe me."

And you found your mouth unable to move. Nothing he said made sense, nothing of what he told you could be applied to the real world. There is no such things as Fauns and witches and eternal winter and his explanation of how he got his scar in the so called accident in the kitchen made more sense than what he had expounded earlier. All you heard was a fairytale, a make believe made for children. But the way Edmund spoke, the way his eyes shone and darkened, the way pure joy lit his face whenever he mentioned Narnia - this could never be a fairytale, and it shall never be one. You had never seen that look on his face before, this was the first time you have seen him so joyous. He had never looked at you like this, not anyone.

Whatever this Narnia is, you want to see it, you want to experience this indescribable happiness you can see on Edmund's face, you want to know and learn everything about Narnia, with Edmund. You want this joy with him.

But as of the moment, you could feel nothing near of it. Nothing but the strong pull Edmund was emitting.

Logic grounded you, but something - something very close to magic - was tearing you away.

"No, I believe you." You declared. "I really, really do. It might be stupid to say that but - " Your hands clenched. " - I believe you."

You took in a deep breath. "It may be hard but I believe you, and I believe in this Narnia place you're talking about. Plus, you promised me you won't lie anymore, right? I don't have the heart to doubt you." You wanted to believe him. Edmund stared at you with dilated hues, eyebrows raising as astonishment struck him. You smiled and took his hand, this time you were the one enveloping him with your comfort. "Edmund," You began. "I trust you."

Edmund breathed out, relieved. "I trust you too."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "So, can you tell me how long you've been a King? And just how did you become one?"

Edmund took you by surprise when he pulled you to him, connecting his lips with you. You responded back after while and once the two of you pulled away, Edmund chuckled. "It wasn't only me who was royalty and ruling Narnia. There's Susan and Lucy too. I'm King Edmund, the Just. Queen Susan, the Gentle. Queen Lucy, the Valiant."

"What about Peter? Was he not a king?" You questioned.

Edmund feigned confusion. "Who's Peter?"

He laughed when you smacked his chest. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Spouted Edmund. "Peter wasn't only a king. He was the High King Peter, the Magnificent."

"Ooh, High King Peter, the Magnificent. Sounds like something that would make his head big." You jested.

"It did, but he was a great leader who won many battles against neighboring kingdoms and countries who wanted to wage war against Narnia. He's a dependable High King."

"So you all got your maturity from Narnia." You murmured.

"Yeah, we became adults there and we ruled over talking beasts and magical creatures and wow," Edmund breathed out. "I can't believe I'm talking about Narnia so freely with you."

"You don't have to it all inside of you anymore. You can tell me everything about Narnia and how you lived there." You said. "But I never asked you," You began again. "If you loved Narnia so much, then why did you leave?"

Edmund lets out a sigh. "I don't know either. None of my siblings know either. We were just . . . back here, and back to our younger bodies. We spent many, many years there but in this world, it felt like we had only been gone for an hour of three." He briefly took a moment to collect himself. "We tried going back but . . . "

You smiled sympathetically at him. "I'm sorry."

Edmund regained his composure and chuckled. "You sound like Narnia got killed or something. Don't worry, I know it's still there." He stated. "We're just waiting for it to take us back in."

He smiled. "Plus, it's not all bad. I mean, I'm finally back to you. I missed you when I was in Narnia. All I could think of was you."

Realization sets place. Edmund said he lived in Narnia until he was an adult. "Hey Ed,"

Edmund frowned at the sudden change of tone. He shifted, puzzled. "What?"

"Did you . . . " You curled your lips, pouting. " . . . never mind."

Edmund nudged you. "Come on, spit it out. If I can't keep anything from you, then you shouldn't keep anything away from me, That's how it works."

"I can't disagree with that. Blimey, you usually overlook this sort of things."

Smugness overtook Edmund's face. "I've been negotiating with royalties for years, (Your Name). I think I can pick up a thing or two from my experience."

You let out a sigh. "When you were in Narnia," You began, red tinting your cheeks. "Did you have someone else?"

Edmund stared at you blankly for a few moments, not a nudge of expression on his visage, and before you could conclude you broke him or worse, he was thinking of how to tell you that he had another woman back in Narnia without hurting you, until he burst out laughing.

"Are you jealous, (Your Name)?" Asked Edmund chortling. "Oh, this is gold!"

Redness tinted your cheeks as his laughter travelled through the plains, and you turned your head away in embarrassment. Stammering, you spoke up, “I-It’s a reasonable question to ask! As someone you have apparently left for years without me knowing, I have to know!”

Edmund startled you when he wrapped his arms around you and tugged at you until your back is flush against his chest, his legs on either side of you, bent. “You don’t have to be worried because I had no other woman. There’s only one you.” He confessed. “I’m more surprised you still got to ask me that kind of question when literally seconds ago I said you’re all I could think of.”

“I’m all you could think of?” You hummed out. You turned to look at him, a playful smile on your brims. “Sounds like you’re in love with me, King Edmund, the Just.”

Edmund scoffed. “I think that should be obvious. I was the one who confessed to you, remember?” He leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of your head and you closed your eyes in delight, relishing in his affection. “Now if you say something about this, no more Narnian stories for you.”

You pouted, eyes narrowing at him. “Unfair. Tell me more about Narnia!" You pushed. "Come on, after a long time of keeping it from me? You need to make it up to me right now. Tell me more, tell me more, tell me more," You recited over and over, shuffling on your spot.

Edmund shook his head at your antics. “Of course, I will. I’ll tell you everything about Narnia.” He ran his hand through your hair, and a comfortable silence wrapped the both of you. You wanted to say something but you did not want to shatter the serenity between the two of you. “Or maybe I don’t have to.”

You looked back at him again, neck craning. “What?” You questioned, aghast. Where was this sudden change coming from? Earlier it was all too ready to tell you everything he knows and remembers of Narnia. “Edmund,” You turned around to face him, knees on the ground and hands on his chest. You stared in his eyes deeply. Edmund stared back at you just as intently. “What are you talking about? You just said you’d tell me - “

Edmund took your hands in his own pair and had you wrap your arms around his neck. He put his hands on the small of your back and embraced you. “What if you came to Narnia with me?”

Your eyes glittered at his proposition. “Go to Narnia? With you?” You murmured, hopeful. But then you shook your head, realizing the insanity. “No, no. That’s impossible.”

Edmund frowned, his hold around you loosening. “I thought you believed me.” Asked he, and the hurt and hopelessness in his voice breaking your heart. “I’m confused, (Your Name). Are you playing with me?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You reprimanded firmly, voice hardened with the need to correct him immediately and Edmund was rendered quiet. “I told you I believed you, Ed.” Your eyebrows met in the middle, showing him the disappointment in your eyes. “I believed you in a short amount of time and that might be stupid to others but I choose to believe you and your words. Don’t doubt me now.”

“Right, sorry.” Whispered Edmund. “I guess deep down inside of me I know Narnia is still a hard thing to believe in if I told anyone about it.” He cleared his throat. “Then what do you mean?”

“I mean is,” You hesitated. “I-I mean . . . if Narnia didn’t want me in the first place, what makes you think it’ll accept me now?”

Edmund took your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing the sides of your face. His touch was gentle and you closed your eyes. “You believe in Narnia, don’t you?” He asked, voice dead serious.

You let out a shuddering breath. “I do.”

Edmund offered you a large smile, and your heart fluttered. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes glistening as well as yours. “Then you’re sure to get in.” He claimed. “I’m not going to leave you for the second time.”

You giggled and rubbed your nose against his, and he wrinkled his nose. “Stop being a baby, Edmund. I thought you were a king!” You pulled away, still giggling. “Where did your maturity moments ago went? You should be taking all my affection with bravery of a royalty!”

“A king still gets flustered every now and then.” Remarked Edmund, and he inhaled. “(Your Name),”

You hummed. “Yeah?”

He poked your nose lightly. “I can’t wait until you experience Narnia with me. With you there, I think Narnia will be more than a just paradise.”

“Cheesy, and cheeky.” You teased him, but in reality, your heart was palpitating with thrill. You wished to see Narnia more than ever, and you knew sooner or later, you will, with Edmund. Everything that took place in the house vanished in thin air, and the strain in your relationship has been lifted and you could breath more properly now. “So, King Edmund, the Just,”

“Oh great, I’m already regretting telling you about this whole Just thing.” Edmund complained as he rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s cute and fitting, shut up.” You tittered, beaming. “So, can you tell me about what happened to you in the Professor’s house to Narnia? Every single detail of what happened, tell me. I’m very curious.”

Edmund began running his hand through your hair again, droning. “I suppose I can tell you. But you’re only going to hear the side of my story. Peter, Susan, and Lucy had other experiences than me. Especially in the beginning.”

“I’ll be sure to ask them their own story.” You promised. “Tell me, now. Before I get impatient.”

“Hmm, where do I start?” Bellowed Edmund. “Perhaps I can first start everything by introducing Aslan.”

At the mention of the name, you felt the wind pick up and it howled in the plains. Your eyes glimmered as the name echoed in your ears.

Edmund chuckled. “You have the same reaction as the other three did.”

“Oh shush, Ed, just tell me about Narnia and this Aslan man.”

“He’s actually a Lion.”

“A Lion? A Lion! Tell me more!”

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #narnia x reader #narnia #chronicles of narnia #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie

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the-middle-grounds · 3 years

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So now that I have energy and have rewritten this about 5 times! Blind (and colorblind) Batfam!

*I tried to be as sensitive about how I wrote this since I’m not 100% familiar with the blind community (I know basic etiquette) so if I did something bad or inappropriate, send me an ask with where and what can be fixed!

BRUCE

Bruce’s occipital lobe was severely damaged during the murder of his parents, and he was blinded as a result.

He got Ace, a service dog, to help him with the trauma, as well as helping him get around whenever he wasn’t in the mood to be with Alfred. The two of them are close.

Bruce eventually started hearing about echolocation in humans, and started to learn about that and even using it. He’s so proficient in it, he doesn’t even really need Ace anymore, but there’s not a chance in hell he’s getting rid of his best bud.

People know Bruce Wayne is blind, and they try to use it to their advantage. Bruce is smarter than that, and is very much aware of how shallow people are.

Most people don’t know that Batman is blind, however. Catwoman is one of the notable people who know, and whenever she’s being playful, she likes to sneak up on him and surprise him.

The Justice League also know, but don’t treat him any differently because why would they? Dr. Mid-Nite exists for one.

DICK

Dick lost his vision when Hayley’s Circus was set on fire. While escaping, he was hit by debris and blinded. By the time he’s a young adult, the scarring is pretty much gone.

In an effort to help out Dick, Bruce helped developed a device that could pinpoint noises. Dick then proceeded to thank Bruce by using it to get into trouble and play hide-and-seek.

Bruce eventually stopped using Dick as a guinea pig, and offered up the tech to the public. Dick still kept his, however; even when he left to join the Teen Titans.

Since Dick likes to drop several dozen feet off buildings, Bruce actually shed a few tears when Tim gave him more advanced echolocation tech. Dick will never admit how many times he miscalculated because of rain.

Bruce has seen his hospital bills; he knows.

JASON

Jason was born blind, and since he was a street kid with not so great parents, had to learn to get around by himself. He was pretty good at it too, and was stealing the Batmobile’s tires when Batman arrived. Jason tried to beat him up, and he made a real good effort too.

Jason got used to using the tech after a while, though he prefers only using it for fighting.

When he came back to life, he ended up becoming better at hand-to-hand without the use of technology. But he does use it for accuracy whenever he aims.

People have lied to Jason and told him he’s put his helmet on the wrong way around. These same people have gotten said helmet pelted in the direction of their face.

TIM

Tim and Cassandra both have a degenerative eye disease. When Tim found out Batman’s identity, he insisted that Bruce take him on because they weren’t too close from different.

Tim later ended up improving on Bruce’s tech, and even customized some for the others.

Tim eventually went completely blind, but he’s adjusted just fine.

His favorite thing to do is get carried by Kon for a flight. That and doing a Dick Grayson and gliding off buildings.

Tim is very much still tech savvy, working off muscle memory and occasional assistance whenever he needs it. Admittedly, it’s pretty rarely. But you will never see him ask Barb or Steph for anything involving colors.

BATGIRLS

Barbara has monochrome colorblindness, and Bruce didn’t realize it until he realized she kept describing colors by how dark they were. This led to a bunch of reminiscing about colors, and Dick even joined in to describe colors to her.

Whenever Bruce pisses her off, Barbara realigns things ever so slightly. Bruce could care less, but Dick will trip over something and play it off like it was a stunt.

After her incident with Joker, Barbara took to the moniker of Oracle, and her colorblindness was hardly a hold back for her.

Cassandra did manage to retain some of her eyesight. As it stands, she can see somewhat, but it’s all pretty blurry. She wears glasses most of the time, but prefers fighting with the tech Tim designed.

Because they can’t use sign language with Cass, she had a rough time learning to fit in. Eventually, they learned to communicate through morse code and occasional fingerspelling.

Even though Cass learned to speak, she still prefers morse code with her friends and family.

No one (except Barbara) actually realized what form of blindness Steph had until she asked Barbara if waffles were pink. It turned out she had Tritanopia.

Steph and Barbara tried out colorblindness glasses once and Barbara lost her shit.

“I THOUGHT THIS WAS PURPLE!” “I don’t know what to tell you except that that’s 110% dark blue.”

Cass has to tell the other two which colors they’re looking at whenever they hang out. Specifically when they start debating colors.

DUKE

Duke, like Jason, was also born blind. He’s also the only one who uses a cane for when he walks.

Unlike the others, however, Duke doesn’t need to use any external devices to see; his powers work well with sound and allow him to move around just fine. (I know his powers focus on light, which would require him to see, but I changed it slightly for this AU.)

Rather than ‘seeing’ in color/definition, Duke perceives shapes and figures in something like a bunch of different parts of sound altogether.

Duke has the ability to ‘steal the light’ out of people’s eyes, and temporarily blind them so they’re on the same playing field.

People typically know when Duke is coming because of the sound of his cane moving around. But he once scared Bruce because he didn’t use it and Bruce didn’t hear him coming.

Duke is still a great writer, though he obviously writes in braille. His teachers love him.

Some people don’t even realize Duke is blind unless they watch his eyes; they’re unfocused and occasionally ‘wander’.

DAMIAN

Damian lost his sight as a young child. Talia was regretful, and put a lot of attention on Damian to help him. Damian disliked the babying behavior, and felt as though Ra’s was disappointed in him.

Talia sent Damian to Bruce because she knew about how he had learned to adjust to his disability.

Damian was LIVID. He hated everything, he would throw fits, and he hated every- oh hey is that a dog.

Damian got Titus, and over time, began to settle into the family.

Damian initially refused the echolocation tech, but took it because it was helpful for fighting. Over time, he learned how to work with and without it.

Damian once offhandedly admitted to Jon that he couldn’t remember colors, and Jon sat with him for over an hour describing colors.

Eventually, Damian started getting into abstract forms of art and presented them to everyone. Since he couldn’t see what he drew, he took to 3D pieces for his family and friends. No one even cares what they look like, they all love everything he makes.

Jason is jealous that Damian got a dog but he didn’t.

MISC

They keep playing hide-and-seek and Bruce is tired.

Except for Barbara and Steph, everyone is very sensitive to sound, and it is most definitely their biggest weakness. Meanwhile, Barb and Steph keep getting blinded by flash bangs and other bright things.

Damian keeps sneaking animals into the house because he knows they won’t see it. What he keeps forgetting is that roosters scream in the morning, and they can hear that.

In-family fighting is an absolutely insane event. Things have been thrown and people have fallen down things that shouldn’t have been fallen down. Dick once tried to pull apart a fight between Tim and Damian and he honestly can’t tell if he slapped Tim or if Damian did it.

They can all tell each others footsteps apart easily, and can even tell who’s arguing even if their in the Batcave and the argument is in the attic.

Someone keeps moving containers out of the typical places, and the finger pointing is always at optimal level. Alfred is just as frustrated.

Bruce is tired.

They also save a lot on electricity!

#Blind as Bats AU #Batfam #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Barbara Gordon #Tim Drake #Cassandra Cain #Stephanie Brown #Duke Thomas #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne

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stahlop · 4 years

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Making a Memory (7/?)

This chapter guys! This chapter was hard. So hard. I rewrote part of it yesterday, and it was hard. But it's where I want it to be now, and I think you'll all be pleased.

Thank you to my betas, @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite all their help with this chapter because I really needed it.

And please give love to @gingerchangeling for her fabulous banner.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6

Ao3

Killian thought Emma would ride over to the campsite with Henry in his Prius, but she got back into his Jeep and rode with him instead. They were silent for most of the ride over until Emma took his hand. She didn’t hold it, but instead looked at it, traced over the lines.

“I’m not a touchy-feely type of person,” she stated as she continued to look at his hand. “The foster homes were not a great environment for hugs and kisses. More of a defend-yourself situation from mean foster siblings or violent foster fathers.” She paused and took a deep breath. Killian desperately wished he could look at her, convey that he understood, but he had to keep his eyes on the road. “With Neal, unless it was part of the con, he barely touched me in public. I look back on that now and realize how desperate I must have been for love to be in a relationship where touching wasn’t part of it unless it was in bed, or mainly a car in our case.” She grimaced slightly at that. “But when I’m with you, it’s like I’m not afraid anymore. I want your hand holding mine, brushing against the small of my back, pushing my hair off my shoulder. It just feels right. Doesn’t it feel right?”

Killian knew he had to tread lightly, so as not to scare her off, although they were in a car so it’s not like she could go anywhere. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the road to look at her and to tell her he felt exactly the same way. Instead, he smiled slightly and just said ‘Aye.” She took his hand and held it the rest of the way until they reached the campsite.

The sound of their cars on the gravel outside the tent had the girls scrambling out and running into their respective parents’ arms.

“Papa!” Alice flew into Killian’s arms and practically knocked him over as he barely made it out of the car.

“Oh, Starfish.” He sniffled. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt?” Killian checked her over looking for any bruising or cuts. Alice brushed him off with a scoff.

“Of course not, silly. Henry would never hurt me. He’s my brother.” She said it so matter-of-factly that it stunned Killian. He looked into her face looking for any trace of doubt in what she had just said, but he didn’t see any. His sweet Alice, always so trusting. He hoped that her trust wasn’t falsely placed.

“Hey mom.” Hope gave a small wave. Killian could see she acted as if being taken from sleepaway camp by her brother and made to camp out in the Maine forest was an everyday occurrence. Hope was definitely more reserved than his Alice. Where Alice was all smiles and hugs, Hope seemed to be trying to put a wall around herself. To show that she was mature, and that what had just happened wasn’t such a big deal. He was sure she’d got that from her mother, even though he hadn’t seen that side of Emma in the short time they’d known each other. Or was it, as Henry said, because he knew her from before and just didn’t remember?

‘Hope!’ Emma ran from the passenger side door of the Jeep and almost knocked her down, just as Alice had done with him. “Henry took you on quite an adventure, didn’t he?” Emma said with a watery smile. Hope’s face fell for a moment into a look that seemed as if she were about to burst into tears, but then she composed herself and just nodded her head.

“Mom?” Hope said so quietly that Killian almost didn’t hear her. “I’m worried about Henry.” Emma held her tighter. Killian could understand. The things Henry had told them should not be possible, but he and Emma couldn’t deny the picture album, nor the visions that had surfaced.

“I think,” Emma said hesitantly, “I think we might need to hear Henry out on this. I’m not sure what exactly is happening here, but we need to keep an open mind before we make any major decisions or judgements.” Emma finished. Hope’s eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe what her mother had just said. It was obvious to Killian that Hope didn’t believe all the nonsense Henry was spewing like his Alice did. And like it seemed Emma might. Killian was still on the fence. The picture album had been pretty damning, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that it would mean all his memories were a lie. This situation that they were all in was a tricky one.

Hope pulled away from her mother, confusion written all over her face. She looked at Emma, then at Alice, then at himself, before she finally drew her gaze over to Henry. Her face had quickly gone from its natural state to practically purple in an instant.

“I don’t know what bullshit story Henry has been feeding you.” Hope started yelling. Killian saw warring emotions on Emma’s face. She immediately wanted to comfort her daughter, but at the same time she also wanted to give her the space to work out whatever was going on in her own head. “But this whole thing is ridiculous. Mom, you would know if you gave birth to twins. You would know Alice’s father if you did. You wouldn’t lie to me about who my father was all these years.” Hope’s voice had started wavering as her strong facade started crumbling. Both Emma and Henry instinctually started towards Hope to comfort her.

But it wasn’t Emma or Henry who got to Hope first. It was Alice who pulled away from him and ran to the girl who she was convinced was her sister. She tentatively stepped toward Hope and put her arm on her shoulder, just to show her that she was there. Hope expressed her surprise at Alice coming to reassure her, almost pulling away immediately. Killian stood fascinated, watching his daughter try to comfort this other girl who looked exactly like her yet was so different.

“Please let me help you.” Alice said so softly that Killian was surprised he could hear it. Hope barely gave an affirmative nod before Alice enveloped her in a hug.

A stillness went through the woods. No wind sang through the trees. No birds chirped or animals chattered. Killian wondered if he’d temporarily gone deaf, although there was no reason for that. He was about to ask what was happening, wondered if Emma and Henry were hearing this strange phenomena too, when Hope finally returned Alice’s hug and a whoosh of light burst from between them.

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Emma suddenly found herself on the ground along with Killian and Henry. Killian seemed just as shocked as she was, but Henry, well, Henry was grinning as if it were Christmas morning. The stillness that had surrounded the woods before the girls’ hug was gone and replaced with a cacophony of sound. Emma felt like she was in the middle of a war zone.

“What the hell was that?” Emma cried out. She got up to check and see if whatever that force had been had affected the girls at all. Hope and Alice had separated from their hug. Alice had a smile that stretched across her entire face and looked extremely giddy, while Hope looked completely stupefied, as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry over the strange occurrence.

“Henry?” Emma yelled behind her as she ran over to the girls, but stopped short when she saw the sparks of light coming from their fingers. She briefly wondered if lightning had somehow struck near them and this was a weird side-effect from being too close, but scanning the sky, there wasn’t a single cloud near them. It was a serene blue.

“Love is strength.”

“Mom?” Hope’s voice was eerily high pitched. Emma recognized it as the one reserved for haunted houses or airplane rides (Hope was a terrible flier). “Would someone please explain what is happening to me right now?” Hope said getting even more hysterical. Both Emma and Killian started towards the girls. Emma couldn’t even fathom how she could explain this away.

“This is amazing!” Alice exclaimed as she watched the pale pink sparks coming from her fingertips. Emma couldn’t help but laugh at the girls' different reactions to whatever was happening. Alice continued to pinch her fingers together and watched the sparks get longer and shorter the farther away and closer her fingers got. Meanwhile, Hope was trying to brush the sparks off onto her shorts, as if they would magically go away.

Magic! That’s exactly what it seemed like to Emma. Like there was magic coming from their fingertips. But that wasn’t possible, magic wasn’t real.

Henry was lying in a hospital bed. He wouldn’t wake up. She’d been convinced he was poisoned by his mother. “But I’m his mother.” Emma thought. She was rummaging through his backpack trying to find something, anything that would attest to his collapse. The doctor was telling her that it couldn’t be something he ate. And then Henry’s book fell out of his backpack. “But he just published that. How could he have it as a little boy?” And she knew. She knew that magic had to exist. The second she touched the book she was assaulted with memories. Her parents in a castle? Fighting black guards? Putting her in a tree? And then she simply knew that Henry was telling the truth and magic was real.

“Magic is real.” Emma said so softly she wasn’t sure it wasn’t just in her head. But Killian turned toward her.

“What was that, love?”

She thought her voice might betray her, because repeating the revelation again was so ridiculous. And yet, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt that it was the truth.

“Magic is real.” She stated. Emma looked into Killian’s eyes, begging him to believe her. Begging him to not think she was as insane as Henry had sounded to them. He stared back at her, searching her face for any hint of irony or humor. He looked back at the girls with the pink still sparking from their fingers, and then back at Emma.

“I’m a fan of every part of you.”

“Aye” He replied. “I think you might be right.”

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It was Henry who interrupted the moment between them.

“I didn’t think that could happen outside of Storybrooke!” Henry said, obviously excited about this new development.

The name Storybrooke sounded familiar to Killian. He couldn’t figure out why though. He’d never been to any place with that name that he could recall. It sounded like a perfect place for Henry’s fantasies, although he was beginning to wonder how much of Henry’s fantasies were in fact true, what with his daughter and supposed twin sparking electricity from their fingers.

“You didn’t think what could happen outside of Storybrooke?” Emma asked, her face twisted in confusion.

“Magic!’ Henry announced as though it was obvious. “I mean, I’ve only seen one magical thing happen outside of Storybrooke, but those were special circumstances, and partially caused by multiple wishes.” Henry ran his hand through his hair in a way that was similarly eerie to the way Alice was currently running her hand through her hair, which Killian had been told was akin to the way he ran his hand through his hair. And now that he was really looking, he could see a slight resemblance between them. Nothing he could put his finger on. The curve of the lip. The rise of the cheekbones. The arch of the brow. All features he’d assumed come from Milah.

A reptilian man stood before him. He wanted Milah, but he wouldn’t let this creature take her. She was dressed in what looked to be lady pirate gear? Her long, dark hair down around her shoulders and not the ponytail he recalled her favoring. He was also dressed like a pirate, complete with a high collared leather duster and a sword. And they were on a pirate ship! He knew this as well as he knew himself. The reptilian man was getting more and more angry at Milah, yelling at her, berating her. She was trying to calm him down but the man (imp?) was growing more and more irate with her. He finally reached into Milah’s chest! Killian tried to run to them, tried to save her, but the man, the Dark One, threw him with magic against a mast and tied him there with ropes. He finally managed to free himself with a rigging hook, but it was too late. The Dark One had taken his Milah’s heart. She fell into his arms and looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes that he loved, eyes that he always thought Alice had inherited from her, and told Killian that she loved him. Then the Dark One crushed her heart before Killian could tell her he loved her back, and she was gone.

Henry still looked as gleeful as ever as Killian came back from the scene that had flitted before his eyes. Emma had gone over to the girls and was looking at their hands that were still sparking. His mind couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening. Magic wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

Was it?

Killian had always prided himself on being practical. While he tried to create for Alice every fairy tale and fantasy she enjoyed (he would buy her fairy tale dresses and pretend to be the evil villain she would save herself from), he knew that those things weren’t real. He knew that wishing on a star or praying to a deity didn’t make miracles happen. He’d known that ever since he lost Milah in that fire. Or had he?

Between whatever had happened with the girls, the photo album that Henry had shown him and Emma, and the visions (or possibly memories) that were flashing unbidden through his mind, Killian wasn’t sure what to think anymore. But he did know, without a shadow of a doubt, that something was not right.

His mind was warring with him over what he knew to be the truth and what seemed to be pure fantasy. The more he tried to remember his past, the more these new visions danced in his head.

He was buried underneath a mass of bodies. All dead except for him. He was waiting for the one called The Savior. He knew she would come. Cora had promised (Cora? Why did that name seem familiar to him?). Knew she couldn’t resist saving a handsome scoundrel like himself. He put on his best act of playing the scared blacksmith who just happened to have hidden under bodies to avoid being killed by Cora. But she saw through him immediately. He could barely get a lie out before she had a knife to his throat. And while most men would find this intimidating, he always did love a challenge.

“Enough!” Killian shouted. Henry, who had been looking at the girls’ hands stared at him with wide eyes at his outburst. Hope had a slight bit of fear behind her already terror-stricken eyes, but Alice just huffed and glowered at him the way only a teenage daughter could. The blood was pounding in his ears, there was too much going on. Between the possibility of magic, his memories being false, and the visions that popped into his head, his head felt like it was about to burst.

He was angry.

“Have I told you a lie?”

Angry that his once simple life was no longer simple.

“Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt, right”

Angry that his memories were betraying him.

“Perhaps there’s a man that you loved in the life that you lost.”

Angry that he was unable to control himself in front of Emma with his outburst.

“I’m going to choose to see the best in you.”

Angry that he couldn’t control his anger around Alice, when he’d always been the calm one.

“You have to let me go, let me die a hero.”

Emma was suddenly in front of him, and her hands were on his shoulders. Her touch was feather light, but just the nearness of her helped to quell the anger that simmered within him. He lifted his head and unexpectedly stared into her eyes, emerald with flecks of hazel. “It’s going to be alright, Killian.” She whispered as she practically stared into his soul. A sense of calm flooded through him at her words, and then suddenly it was. Just her voice and touch calmed him, like she’d done it a million times before. Had she? It just felt right, like she had said in the car ride over. Could Henry be telling the truth and he and Emma had once been a happy couple in a different life?

Emma believed that magic was real and he’d agreed. Why?

Killian peered past Emma to see the girls and Henry in a hug. Alice lapped up the attention, but Hope still looked concerned about the events that had just transpired. Their fingers no longer flickered with the pink electricity.

Henry separated himself from the girls and pulled out a slightly flattened scroll from his pants pocket. Hope eyed it suspiciously while Alice looked like she was going to explode. Her whole body vibrated with excitement over the scrap of paper.

“Is that what I think it is?” She asked, her hands under her chin. They rubbed furiously in anticipation. “Is that the Snow Queen Scroll from the sequel?” Her voice was reaching dog hearing only status with her enthusiasm, something that Killian heard from her often since she got excited very easily. But Killian had no idea what a Snow Queen Scroll was or how it pertained to their current situation.

“Oh, Alice!’ Henry sighed in contentment. “I’m so glad you really paid attention to my book. Yes it is.” She beamed at him.

“NO!!” Both Henry and Alice screamed.

Their screams startled Killian. Henry he might have thought would object to them leaving, but Alice? Emma looked stunned that Henry wasn’t going along with her plan. And Hope, well, Hope looked royally pissed off.

“What is wrong with you?” Hope screamed. Killian noticed that she was directing her anger toward Henry and not at Alice. “We played your little game! We left camp! We stayed in the woods! We read your books! You still haven’t explained anything about anything that’s rational! What else could you possibly have to tell us that would make us stay out here in the middle of nowhere?” She knelt on the dirt road with her head in her hands and tried to stifle the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

They all turned to Henry for an explanation. Out of all of them, it seemed Hope was the least open to magic as an answer. Henry opened his mouth, but before he could even get a syllable out, Alice grabbed the scroll from his hand and opened it

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Alice hadn’t been sure that Hope would accept her hug, but she went to her anyway. To her twin. Her sister. Her missing half. She knew Hope still found this whole situation crazy, but Alice knew that it was right. Felt it in the depths of her soul.

“Please let me help you.” Alice whispered. Hope was very skittish right now, she knew with animals you had to speak softly so as not to scare them off, and that’s exactly how Hope was acting right now, so Alice felt the same principles applied.

Hope nodded and Alice wrapped her arms around her in a hug.

“I love you.” Alice said softly into Hope’s ear and barely touched her lips to her cheek. Hope melted into her at the words.

“I love you too.” She said, returning the hug.

And then the world exploded.

A burst of light that seemed to come from within them burst from them, and Alice knew exactly what that meant.

She knew that it meant that despite Hope’s reluctance about the situation and insistence that magic didn’t exist, that part of her believed. Otherwise, True Love’s Kiss (yes, with all the capitals) wouldn’t have worked.

The burst of magic had separated them, and Alice could see the look of utter confusion that clouded her sister’s face. Alice could not have been happier. The moment she had found out the truth from Henry’s book she had wondered if she and Hope held magic in their veins. If their mother had magic because Snow and Charming were True Love, then it held true that she and Hope must have it since the book had said they’d been proven to be True Love in the Underworld (the fact that her Papa had once died and then been brought back by the Greek God Zeus himself was one of the few revelations from the book that she had trouble wrapping her head around). Plus, how else were she and Hope supposed to defeat a descendent from Gaia without magic? Maybe that’s why Zeus had brought him back? And speaking of her Papa, Alice could see that he looked awful worried about what was going on.

Pale pink sparks were now emanating from her fingertips, similar to the pictures of Emma wielding her magic in Henry’s book. “This is amazing!” Alice stretched her fingers, watching the electricity shorten and expand like slime. It was the most amazing thing she had ever seen in her life. Her whole body now hummed with the addition of the magic, and while Alice had thought finding out she had a twin, plus a brother and a mother who was still alive would make her feel complete, the magic that had now bubbled up inside her felt like the final piece of the puzzle falling into place.

Hope did not look happy about the fact that she had magic radiating from her. The panic in her eyes made it obvious to Alice that Hope was clearly terrified about what was happening. And Alice almost had to laugh as Hope tried to wipe her magic off on her shorts. It was coming from within them, it wasn’t something that could be hidden. It was as much a part of them as their blue eyes and blonde hair.

“I didn’t think that could happen outside of Storybrooke!” Alice heard Henry exclaim. From what she’d read in Henry’s book, she hadn’t thought it could happen here either. But Alice had always known the world worked in mysterious ways. Why else would she have drawn pictures of people from Henry’s storybook before finding out that they were people from her past? How else would she and Hope have been randomly brought together at a sleepaway camp of all places? The stars had all seemed to align for them to meet and to be together at this particular place where their magic could surface in the ‘real world’. Emma had finally made it over to them and was gingerly inspecting their hands, as if she would find some explanation for why magic was suddenly appearing in them. Henry bounded over to get a closer look as well.

Alice turned toward her Papa, excited to show him the magic, to show him that this was real, but he seemed to be staring at something that wasn’t there. Something that made him look confused in one moment, then angry in the next. Henry had told them that when he told their parents the truth it might bring up some memories, but how they perceived them could confuse them. No doubt her Papa was seeing something from his past that didn’t seem like it was in the possibility of what he considered real. She could only imagine how disoriented it must be making him feel.

“Enough!” Papa shouted, and Alice couldn’t help shooting him a look that told him she did not approve of this outburst. He was supposed to be the calm one. But then she noticed the anger sweeping over his face. He reminded her of a volcano right before it was about to burst. Alice knew that this could lead to a panic attack, something she hadn’t seen from him in years. Suddenly, the magic coming from her hands was not as important as helping her Papa before he went over the edge.

But then Emma stepped forward. Alice could see the anger draining away and his body relaxing under Emma’s touch. In that moment, Alice knew, without a doubt, that these two were True Loves and even a curse that made them forget each other could never sever the connection that they had (so take that Gothel).

An arm reached around her, pulling her into a side hug as Henry squeezed her as tight as he could. Hope was on his other side getting the same treatment. Alice sighed in contentment; so this is what it felt like to have a brother.

Henry’s hug seemed to have calmed the magic down, though Alice could still feel it just under her skin. He pulled out a flattened piece of parchment tied together with a faded, red ribbon. Her ebullience about what that piece of parchment was and what it meant made her all aflutter. If Henry was pulling that out here it meant Storybrooke was here.

“Is that what I think it is?” Alice couldn’t keep her hands still. She tucked them under her chin, but the prospect of being this close to a place she’d only thought was part of a fantasy book only a few days ago had her bursting at the seams. “Is that the Snow Queen Scroll from the sequel?”

Henry confirmed that it was. It was here! Storybrooke was here!

“Ok, Henry. Enough of the theatrics. Let’s load up the girls and head home. We can call the camp and the police on the way back and let them know this was all a big misunderstanding.” Emma said, as she gathered Hope in her arms. Hope who, regardless of everything she had just seen, still would not allow herself to fully believe.

“NO!!” Alice screamed. And she realized that Henry had yelled it too.

And that’s when Hope lost it. “We played your little game! We left camp! We stayed in the woods! We read your books! You still haven’t explained anything about anything that’s rational! What else could you possibly have to tell us that would make us stay out here in the middle of nowhere?” She screamed and ranted and raved before she fell to her knees and tried not to let out all her anger in the form of tears.

Everyone looked to Henry for something resembling reason and Alice knew that if she didn’t take this chance the adults might stop things before Henry could do what he intended with the scroll. Before he could even attempt to get a word out, Alice snatched the scroll from his hands, opened it, and eagerly anticipated the results as she noticed a ripple in the air ahead of her.

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

Hope could hear Henry laughing and it was making her even angrier than she already was. He was laughing at her. She couldn’t believe she’d gone along with this crazy scheme. She’d listened to Henry. She’d listened to him go on and on about fairytales being real. She’d stood by while Alice lapped up all the nonsense about them being twins and being separated by a curse. Hope read his damn stories looking for any clue as to what was really happening. She had assumed the stories were a metaphor for whatever had really happened. But Alice and Henry were talking about them like they were the absolute truth. Which couldn’t be true. Magic wasn’t real. Fairytales weren’t real.

She realized that no one had spoken a word after her rant. She was surprised. Her mother should have been comforting her. Or possibly yelling at Henry for upsetting his sister. Or telling him how ridiculous all this was. Or making him apologize to Alice and her father for dragging them into his delusion. But there was nothing, just silence.

Hope finally lifted her head from her hands and saw everyone staring at the road ahead. When they had driven up, Hope had thought it strange that Henry had decided on this spot to camp. There weren’t any facilities around. They were literally in the middle of nowhere. The only object marking the spot was a large boulder on the left side of the road. Except now when Hope looked toward that boulder, two signs sat on either side of the road. On one side was obviously the back of a sign, but on the other, opposite from the boulder, with a red line running in between, was a large white sign that said “Welcome to Storybrooke”.

And now, Hope was wondering if she had finally joined Henry in his insanity.

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @cssns @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @qualitycoffeethings @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake

#cssns #cssns20 #captain swan supernatural summer #csff #Captain Swan #captain swan ff #gingerchangeling #inspired by the parent trap

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animemangasoul · 4 years

Text

Why Me?

Summery: Boris and Kai are stuck together in Hiwatari Enterprise trying to not get themselves killed by hired mercenaries. Boris so did not sign up for this.

Chapter: 1/2

“Say something,” he hisses, fingers not quite able to grasp the other’s forearm without shaking. “Hiwatari, fucking say something.” Leaning closer he breathes. “Anything.”

But there is nothing. Kai isn’t moving and....

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

Lifting up the other’s shirt, he traces a stained finger over the makeshift bandages. Thankfully it’s still holding strong so Kai wouldn’t at least bleed out too quickly while he tries to get them out of this clusterfuck.

“I knew those bastards were shady the moment they fucking walked through the door. I just knew it,” he says furiously, pulling the previously white shirt back down before wrapping his own tattered suit jacket over him. “But does anyone listen to me, nooo.”

Climbing back on his feet; a hiss escapes his lips as his knee almost buckles under the sudden pressure. “Fuck.” There was no way either of them would get out of here alive if he didn’t come up with a plan and soon.

Kai was in no shape to make a run for it and, grimacing down at the brace secured around his leg, he once again curses the slow healing process of the human body.

If he’d only gone on that assignment a week earlier, maybe they would have stood a chance. But with his knee busted and Kai in his current predicament.

They wouldn’t be able to---

Shuffling over to the door, Boris presses his ear against the cold, hard metal, counting his heart beats along with the number of footsteps running over their heads.

It didn’t look good.

This whole mess stank like Ivan’s unwashed socks.

“Wh--what?”

His head snaps back so quick Boris vision blurs for a second. “Hiwatari?” Stumbling over, he’s down on his knees before Kai’s unfocused gaze can even lock onto him, biting back a grimace. “Hiwatari!”

Kai blinks slowly, eyes flittering this way and that, lips parting to let out confused murmur of utter nonsense. “Hiwatari? Boris repeats, this time trying to keep his voice soft. “You with me?” But Kai doesn’t seem to be hearing him. Just continues to mutter something under his breath; fingers clenching and unclenching.

The longer, whatever this is, went on the closer Boris came to snapping.

They didn’t have time for this.

Kai couldn’t fucking lose it now.

This....

Boris couldn’t carry him out of here on his own. The idiot was welcome to go ahead and turn batshit insane when they found Yuriy. His redhead friend was after all occupied to handle him but Boris, this wasn't his fucking job.

“Kai,” he hisses. “For God’s sake. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Something in his voice must have registered somehow because suddenly, lavender eyes are burning into his own making him stiffen. “Boris?” Kai looks..... scared. Confusion bleeding through his glassy-eyes and he doesn’t seem to quite register why Boris was there in front of him. “Boris?” The words are nothing more than a whisper and “Boris what’s going on?”

Taking a deep breath, Boris tries very very hard not to freak out. “We’re trapped inside your stupid company and mercenaries are here to kill you. Questions?”

“What?” Kai’s tone is frosty, confusion temporarily leaving room for annoyance.

And Boris grins, because finally there is some life behind those eyes.

“You heard me.”

When Kai’s fingers shoot out to curl around his wrist in a painful tug, Boris only snares back.

“What is going on here.”

Boris doesn’t answer, just holds his gaze, and when Kai glares, he returns it tenfold, and when his former teammates tries to stumble back to his feet in an angry mutter of curses, he presses two hands on his shoulders and refuses to let him up.

All the while hostility is written clear as day across his face, but....

The utter relief flooding his system almost manages to drown out any resentment he harbors for the traitor. Kai wasn’t gone. He wasn’t.... and probably wouldn’t, die here. And Boris wasn’t going to be responsible for his pathetic demise.

They could still get out of here and when they did-

“You’re bleeding out idiot,” he snaps, forcing Kai to stay still. “Do you wanna die before we’ve even attempted an escape?”

All he gets for his trouble is gruff, colorful insult, topped off with the infamous Hiwatari glare.

Boris doesn’t budge.

“You’re injured,” he repeats himself, keeping his hands firmly on the other’s shoulders. “And my knee isn’t all there right now, so how about we don’t rush this shit and actually think this through?”

Kai huffs. “You, thinking? Today is just full of surprises.”

What a little shit. Boris really really hates him.

“I ain’t Yuriy, Hiwatari,” he snaps back. “I will leave you to die. Don’t test me.” Kai tries to say something back; probably something that’ll make Boris want to hit him, but before any word so much has a chance to leave his mouth, he coughs. Once, twice and then descends into an all-out fit.

To say that Boris freaks out was an understatement. “Fuck! Hiwatari, Hawatari.... just breath. Just, just try and breathe ok? Hawatari! Kai!”

But Kai doesn’t stop, he keeps coughing and it sounds all the more painful each time, the only break in-between the coughs coming from a hitched inhaling of air before he goes right back to coughing his lung out again.

Curling into a ball, Kai scoots into the corner of the basement, arms coming up to gingerly wrap around his stomach; his bandaged gunshot wound stomach to be exact.

Safe to say, Boris couldn’t let him do that.

“Hey, no. Stop that,” he says, pushing himself forward till he can reach the other teen to pull his arms away from his left side. “Hiwatari,” he finally hisses when he sees no end to the coughing. “Hiwatari just.... please.” The last word comes out as nothing more than a whisper, and he doesn’t know why he says it, it’s not like Kai can hear him. Not with the pain he is going through. Not with the way he is doubled over, and not with the trails of tears leaking out of his tightly shut eyes.

But----

“Fuck fuck fuck, damn it. Hiwatari?”

Nothing.

Fingers still gripping Kai’s forearms; holding them away from his stomach, Boris tries to even out his own breathing as he takes note of his increased heartrate. “Hiwatari you--” but there he stops, because what is he supposed to say? What is he supposed to do?

“I’m going to get you some water,” he finally decides, scrambling back to his feet, ignoring the sharp flair of pain flashing through his leg. “Just stay here.”

But before he can even take a step away from his fallen comrade, Kai latches onto his hand and holds him there. “Don’t,” he gasps, eyes firmly shut and chest heaving. He looks paler than Yuriy and the feverish tint to his eyes when he opens them sends off warning bells. “Don’t.”

Boris shakes him off, albeit gently. “Hawatari--” he starts, but a quick shake of Kai’s head cuts him off.

“It’s not” a cough. “safe out there.”

His coughing seems to be subsiding and his breathing is evening out slightly, but Boris doesn’t feel comfortable leaving it like this. Water would do the idiot some good. Still, he knew how dangerous going out there to scavenge for something would be. The makeshift bandages had already been risky enough.

If only he knew the building outline. If he’d just scouted ahead instead of letting himself be railroaded by Yuriy. He shouldn't have even been here, but Yuriy had asked him to, because whether or not Kai liked it, he needed the back up. Especially when dealing with scum like Vitaly.

Still, keeping a close eye on Kai’s sweat soaked figure, and the slowly reddening shirt, Boris could do nothing more than curse profusely under his breath.

“Can you hang on till we get out of here.” It’s more of an order then a question and Kai seems well aware of it for his only answer is a glare.

“Don’t belittle me Boris,” he hisses; glazed eyes blinking slowly, bottom lip bitten raw and a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. “I can handle myself.” The words come out with confidence despite the waver in his tone and the light shaking of his hands.

It suddenly hits him like a truck, what he’s been trying to avoid thinking about.

Kai desperately needs medical attention or he isn’t going to make it till tomorrow.

Somehow that..... he swallows thickly.

An echo of something painful dragging through his heart like thousand knives piercing flesh and Boris finds himself ruthlessly breaking it down and shoving it back to the very corners of his mind.

‘Compartmentalize,’ he tells himself. ‘Don’t think about unnecessary things.’ And just like that the walls come back down and his heartbeat evens out.

Ok then.

“Do you know the building outline Hiwatari?”

It takes Kai a second to process what he’s just said, and the momentary confusion in those lavender eyes makes something frantic claw up Boris throat.

“Yes,” Kai finally answers; blinking slowly and sinking lower down the wall. “Yes... I do.”

Boris swallows. “Great.” Leaning forward he drags Kai back into a better position “I can work with that.”

He could, work with this.

They just needed to get out of here. Avoid Kai’s would be killers and somehow depend on the very same; bleeding out, probably dying Kai, for directions.

Yup, this would definitely work out.

Reaching out, he taps the other on the cheek, startling Kai awake. “Don’t sleep,” he snaps, and if there is the tiniest bit of fear laced in his words, well, Kai is probably too out of it to notice. “Now, tell me what you know and let’s get out of here.”

1, 2

#Beyblade #beyblade fanfic #Kai Hiwatari #boris kuznetsov #Bryan Kuznetsov #bakuten shoot beyblade #beyblade fic #fanfic #chapter 1

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tanzanite-zircon · 4 years

Text

Collabwithmyself Chronicles: The Ace Powerpuffs Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Starting today, You’re a Father

Phoenix groaned as he regained consciousness. He fought to re-open his eyes, despite the pull to just lull back to sleep. He was finally able to open them to a squint. He could barely make out the night sky through his limited vision and tears. He grunted as he slowly pulled himself back to a seated position, rubbing the back of his head.

{Ugh, how long was I out? Ow, my aching everything.}

“Daddy?”

That made Phoenix’s eyes shoot open and his back straighten, ignoring the waves of pain that shot through his body as he did so. His eyes fell onto the child in blue. He wanted to protest being called daddy again, but he stopped as he met their eyes. They had heterochromia eyes, just like he did, but the positions of the blue and brown eyes were switched. Phoenix’s focus broadened as he took in the rest of the child’s appearance. They have brown skin and very curly brown hair. The blue color came from their clothes, which consisted of a blue dress with a black stripe around their waist. They also had white leggings and black shoes.

“We looked all over the house,” they mumbled, “but we couldn’t find anyone else in the there. Maybe your friend got out before we found you.” Phoenix felt his heart dip a bit in his chest.

{They couldn’t find Kristoph in the house. … THE HOUSE THAT IS ON FIRE! I LET THREE KIDS GO INTO A HOUSE THAT IS ON FIRE!} Phoenix’s heart and mind began to race as he struggled to get on his feet, but he couldn’t even manage to get into a kneeling position. His back protested in agony, but he had to make sure the other two kids were safe! Phoenix suddenly felt his body begin to lift. He turned his head to see Blue flying behind him and lifting him to his feet. All he could do was stare at the kid in shock and amazement as they began to steady him on the ground.

“Is that better Daddy,” they mused. Phoenix was just captivated by the child’s strength and adorable smile that he temporarily forgot about the house.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, “T-thank you. That was … incredible! How did you …”

{THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE YOU IDIOT!} His brain screamed at him to snap him back to his initial task. Phoenix shook his head as he turned back to the house.

“N-never mind, you can tell me later! Right now, we need to get the other two out of the … burning … house?” The burning house … wasn’t burning. Actually, from the outside, you couldn’t even tell there was even a fire. The white, two-story house was spotless; there was no smoke rising from the open door or within the windows.

“W-where … where’s the fire?!”

“You mean that warm, reddish-orange stuff,” Blue pondered, “Red sneezed on the black stuff that came from it and one of the fires just went away. We saw that they didn’t like air stronger than them, so we blew the rest of them out!” More shock and amazement coursed through Phoenix’s body as he turned to look back at Blue.

“You … you three blew out a house fire!?”

“Yep! … Are you okay Daddy? Your mouth looks ready to fall off!” The instant they stated those words, Phoenix could feel his wide-open jaw threatening to lock up. He quickly closed his mouth, fighting the urge to rub his cheeks from the sudden and fast movement.

{Man, I’d hate to see what they’d do to birthday candles.}

“I-I’m fine,” he stuttered, “I … I just … This is just too much at one time.” Phoenix could feel his brain begin to ache from all the excitement he just endured. He didn’t get the chance to even attempt to process what was going on when Blue grabbed his hand and started pulling him into the house.

“C’mon Daddy,” they giggled. Phoenix could hear a high-pitched sound, along with his own terrified shriek, as the child literally flew both of them through the house and into the kitchen. Phoenix could only catch a brief glimpse of the living room and part of the upper floor as he was rocketed into the house, but he could see that the areas did not have any fire damage. It looked like the fire stayed within the kitchen. Phoenix could feel his feet touch solid ground as Blue let go of his hand. He stumbled from the momentum, but was able to keep himself from falling forward.

“Hey, you’re back!” Phoenix snapped his head down to where the voice came from. This kid was wearing the same dress, leggings, and shoes as Blue, but it was in yellow. Their skin was a more medium shade and their eyes were a soft, light blue color. They also had bright orange hair that was tied into a side ponytail by a bow the same color as their eyes. They flew up into the air and stopped once they reached his eye level.

“How are you feeling,” they inquired, “We saw you take a nap once we put out the weird, warm, orange thingies.”

“Daddy says it’s called fire,” Blue interjected.

“Oh, so that’s why you were trying to call a fire department,” Yellow declared.

{Can you please stop calling me daddy?}

“I still don’t see anyone.” Phoenix jumped at the voice behind him. As he turned around, he saw the last of the three kids fly into the kitchen. Same as the other two, they wore the same clothes, but theirs was in red, almost pinkish. Their skin was nearly the same color as Yellow’s, but was tanner. They had short brown hair with it styled to have two horns sticking up and their eyes were brown. They froze once they saw Phoenix.

“Oh,” Red gasped, “H-hey mister. … I’m sorry, but … we looked everywhere in this place like three times, but no one’s here but us.” Red rubbed the back of their head and averted their eyes from Phoenix’s. Phoenix couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in his heart as he stared at Red. He remembered how worried this one looked when he mentioned Kristoph being inside when the explosion happened.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Phoenix reassured as he placed a hand on Red’s shoulder, “I can see that you all searched the house very carefully to find Kristoph. I’m just glad that you three are ok. … And so is most of his house.” Phoenix turned and took notice of the state of the kitchen. Some of the cabinets were just hanging on their hinges and their doors were splintered on the floor. The top of the stove was chard, but surprisingly still had the black cooking pot seated on top of it, Kristoph’s beakers and containers were broken on the floor, along with a few remnants of Phoenix’s cereal, and the walls were stained with the soot from the fire. But there was no sign of Kristoph anywhere. Phoenix could feel both relief and worry wash around in his heart.

{The kids said that there was no one else in the house and there are no Kristoph bits anywhere. They have to be right; he must’ve gotten out. … But where did he go? Is he okay? What on earth was he even making? Why did he leave me in here? Where did these kids even come from? How did …}

“Uhh, mister? Are you okay,” Yellow asked, “Your heart sounds really sad and confused?” Their voice snapped Phoenix out of his varying thoughts.

“Oh, uh y-yeah, I’m fine,” Phoenix stuttered, “I’m just trying to wrap my head around … wait, did you say my heart sounds sad and confused?”

“Yeah, I can hear it,” Yellow exclaimed, “It’s telling me you’re upset.”

“And we noticed you chewing on your lower lip and running your hands through your hair when you looked around the room,” Red added pointing to Blue, “We can see that you’re really worried sir.” Phoenix stared at all three kids with wide eyes, full of awe.

{… These kids can fly, are fire proof, can carry a full-grown man with ease, Red and Blue can read bodies, and Yellow can literally hear someone’s heart! This is insane! How did they get these powers? How did they even get here?}

“Daddy,” Blue called, “you’re doing it again.” Phoenix could suddenly feel his teeth on his lower lip and released it. He looked back to the kids and each of them looked concerned. Phoenix took a deep breath to calm his thoughts.

{Okay, I accidentally ruined Kristoph’s project, blew up his kitchen, Kristoph is missing, these three mysterious superpowered kids suddenly appeared, and Blue keeps insisting that I’m their daddy … Yeah, I have no idea how to put these together. … But maybe these kids can shed some light about what happened. Just take it slow Phoenix, you don’t want to make them more worried.}

“Umm,” he began as the kids looked on, “W-well, firstly, t-thank you getting me out of the house and searching for my friend. I really appreciate it.” The kids smiled, seeing that he wasn’t as jittery or sad as before. Phoenix continued, “This night has been … interesting to say the least. … I hope you three don’t mind, but I’d like to ask you three some questions about you and what happened when you found me. … Oh, and I guess I should also introduce myself. My name is Phoenix. Phoenix Wright.”

“Hello Phoenix Wright, it’s very nice to meet you,” all three kids beamed.

{Awww! I was too out of it to notice at first, but these three kids are adorable!} Phoenix couldn’t help but give a warm smile back to them.

“Heh heh. It’s very nice to meet you too … uh, wait, what are your names?”

“… I don’t know,” Yellow shrugged, “Do we even have names?” The other two shrugged their shoulders in response.

“You … you don’t have names,” Phoenix gaped, “But w-where did you come from?”

“From that,” Blue stated as they pointed at the black pot. Phoenix did a double take once they said that.

“W-W-WHAT,” he screamed, “Bu-but how?”

“We don’t know,” Red replied, “The last thing we remember was waking up above that thing and seeing you slumped by the wall.” Phoenix slowly walked over to the pot, the overly sweet scent slightly lingering around it. Phoenix thought back to what the pot was doing when his cereal fell into Kristoph’s concoction: the primary colored sparks that flew from it, the way it nearly bubbled over, the bright light that shown from it before it exploded.

{How did Kristoph make something so … dangerous? What was he even trying to do with it?}

“Kids,” Phoenix stammered, “Did you find anything while searching the house?”

“Well, the house was mostly empty, but we did find some books and a blue block thing in the other room,” Blue shared, “We put them in that box over there.” Blue pointed over to a medium sized cardboard box on the floor by the back wall. Phoenix carefully made his way over to the box with the three kids following behind, carefully stepping over the broken glass and bits of cereal oats and marshmallows. Once in front of the box, Phoenix knelt down and shuffled through its contents, briefly wincing in pain from his still hurt back. He stopped when he saw a familiar item, the blue box that Blue mentioned.

“My phone,” Phoenix gasped. He snatched it up and quickly stood up, making another wave of pain shoot through his spine. He grunted in response, but quickly pressed the up-direction button, holding his breath to see if the phone was damaged and no longer usable. A sigh of relief exited his lungs once the light of his phone screen came on.

{Thank God, it still works!} He quickly selected his contact page and scrolled through the few names he had listed.

{C’mon! Mom … Dad … Miles … Larry … D-dahlia … Kristoph!} Phoenix quickly pressed the select button and called Kristoph’s number. He held the phone to his ear, listening to it ring and praying that Kristoph would pick up.

“Bring … Bring … Bring … Bring … Hello, this is Kristoph Gavin.”

“Kris,” Phoenix sighed in relief, “Oh thank God, I thought that you were …”

“You have reached my cellular voice mail. If you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I’ll see when I can get back to you.” The relief vanished. Phoenix could feel his phone leave his ear as he let his arm fall back to his side.

“… Mr. Wright,” Red cautioned. Phoenix turned back to the kids, sharing in their concerned stares. No one could muster up any words as the voice mail message sounded.

“At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or press one for more options. … Beep.” After the beep sounded, Phoenix slowly returned the phone to his face, thinking of what words he should say.

“… K-kris, it’s Phoenix. … Uhh, good news! Your house is completely fine! … Well the kitchen will need some new cabinets … and probably a new stove top … and your chemicals will need to be replaced. …” Phoenix paused. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He looked back to the kids; the worried expressions still present on their faces. He breathed in and exhaled slowly, attempting to speak again.

“… Kristoph, I’m so sorry. Please … call me back to let me know you’re ok. There’s … a lot that I need to fill you in on. Something … amazing happened.” Phoenix gave the kids a soft smile, which the three returned. Phoenix turned off his phone and placed into the front pocket of his hoodie before returning his attention to the contents in the box.

{Calm down Phoenix. Just because Kris didn’t pick up doesn’t mean he’s … He’s gotta be okay.}

“Maybe something else in here can help us out,” Phoenix muttered. He slowly knelt down to the box and recognized some of the books as his old college textbooks, notebooks, and sketchbooks. Kristoph allowed to let him keep them at his house, as long as they didn’t take up too much of his space. Phoenix carefully shuffled through the books until he came across a notebook that he didn’t recognize. It was a plain beige color and had very neat handwriting. Phoenix gasped as he recognized the handwriting as Kristoph’s.

{These must be the notes he was talking about! Now we can know what he was working on!} Phoenix picked up the notebook, careful to not lose any of the note cards sticking out between the pages. He slowly stood up and read the cover of the book: “Project: Chemical X.”

“Chemical … X,” Phoenix questioned. Phoenix opened the notebook to the first page and began to read.

March 24, 2016

I have secured a benefactor to fund my research, and Wright has agreed to be my assistant. He is the only person in Los Tokyo who actually believes in my work and doesn’t refer to me as crazy. Quite ironic that an art major can recognize the brilliance of my work while the chemistry majors at Ivy University are blind to it. His enthusiasm and puppy-love state can be sickening at times, but at least I’ll have someone to run errands and perhaps provide some form of companionship.

I’m completely dedicating myself to perfecting the compound that I created during my experiments back at Ivy: Chemical X. My Chemical X is a powerful mutagen that can react with nearly any substance, albeit unpredictably. Its chemical reactions produce interesting result, be it completely destroying the substance or creating a new one. It is my current goal to perfect my recipe and make it more stable. With that in hand, I can test it against non-organic and organic materials. It is my hope that I can utilize my mutagen to be used for materials, medicine, or, if push comes to shove, weapons to use against the multitude of gangs and madmen running rampant in the city.

Phoenix paused after reading the first page.

{Chemical X is a mutagen! I can’t believe that Kris invented this stuff!} Phoenix turned to the next page to see if Kristoph wrote down another journal-like entry, but all he saw was a scribbled-out page with only a few substance names and amounts left alone. Phoenix could make out what looked like a recipe.

{Right, Kris wrote that he was trying to find the perfect recipe to make Chemical X. This must be a failed one.} Phoenix continued to flip through the pages, seeing mostly pages with angry scribbles covering them. There were the occasional sticky notes with bits of information on how the mutagen reacted to certain substances, such as one that stated “Sugars make Chemical X bubble.” Phoenix kept flipping the pages until he reached one that wasn’t scribbled out. Phoenix could read the latest recipe, but he could not understand what each substance was.

{This must be the current recipe! And this must’ve been what was in the pot when I … dropped my cereal …} Phoenix could feel his blood chill. Chemical X reacted unpredictably with any substance it came into contact with. And his cereal definitely caused an unpredictable reaction. But, could his cereal really have created these three kids? Phoenix looked to the floor, staring at the oats and marshmallows coated with the sugar and cinnamon.

{Did … did I really make these three kids with sugar, spice, and … marshmallow cereal?} Phoenix thought back to when he bought the cereal at the convenience store and remembered what the name of the cereal was: Everything Nice.

{Wait … sugar, spice, and everything nice. … That was a rhyme used to describe what girls were made of! … Oh my gosh, could I have really … But how can life be made from food?!} Phoenix went through the book again, reading each non-scribbled out word and sticky note to hopefully find an answer. He stopped at a page near the last one with a single sticky note on it which read: “Important note! Anything with DNA has been shown give the product of the reaction life or life-like qualities. In theory, when stable, Chemical X combined with any DNA will result in the making of a living thing of the DNA’s sample.”

{DNA … If memory serves me right, it’s the building blocks of life for everything on Earth. But, if Kristoph found that DNA really could produce life if added to the Chemical X …how did it get into …} Phoenix paused again as his blood cooled again. He realized how DNA could have gotten into the Chemical X: himself. Phoenix remembered when he first made that bowl of cereal, he had spooned some out into his mouth to taste it and had somehow decided that it wasn’t sweet enough. He put his spoon into the cereal as he went to add the sugar and cinnamon. His spit must’ve mixed in the everything that fell into the Chemical X, giving the concoction the DNA needed to make the three girls.

{I … I can’t believe it.} Phoenix leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself from his realization.

“Mr. Wright,” Red cautioned. Phoenix once again met the eyes of the kids … his kids.

“You … you were right,” Phoenix stuttered, “I … I did make you. I … I made three little girls.”

“… I’m not a girl,” Red complained. That made Phoenix jolt out of one shock and into another one.

“Y-you’re not,” Phoenix questioned.

“No,” Red replied, “… At least, I don’t feel like a girl. I … think I’m a boy. Why did you say that Mister?”

“Oh! Uh. Well,” he sputtered, “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that there is an old rhyme about what girls are made of: sugar, spice, and everything nice. It was these things that combined with the Chemical X to make you three. I just assumed that’s what you three were.”

“… Well, maybe boys are made of the same thing,” Red asserts.

{… Is … is Red saying they’re transgender? … Well, that rhyme is pretty dated. And Red does not look comfortable when being addressed as a girl. I’d hate to make them feel more uncomfortable. … Well, if Red says that he’s a boy, then he’s a boy.}

“… Correction,” Phoenix replied, “I made two girls and a boy. … Uh, you two do feel like you are girls correct?” Red’s face brightened at Phoenix’s words while Yellow and Blue nodded in response. Blue suddenly gasped in joy.

“You made us,” she cheered, “so you really are our Daddy!”

“HUH,” Phoenix shrieked, “W-well, I uhh … t-that is …” Phoenix’s mind raced with all of the information that he had just learned and his body slightly shook and chilled.

{W-what am I going to do? What can I do?! I made three kids! With Kris missing and no job, how can I even provide for them, let alone myself? Am I even qualified to be a father? How can I …} Phoenix’s racing thoughts were stopped by something pressing against his chest. Phoenix looked down to see Blue hugging him, nuzzling her head against the fabric of his hoodie. Phoenix looked back up to see Red and Yellow. Yellow flew over and carefully wrapped her arms around him as well. Red was a bit more aloof, but Phoenix could make out a hopeful look in his eye and slight smile as he came closer and placed a hand on Phoenix’s arm. Phoenix could suddenly feel a warmth appear in his heart, and he could feel it overpowering the chill. Just seeing these three kids warm up to him so quickly and how kind and considerate they were made Phoenix’s nerves relax. He could feel a soft smile break onto his face as he stared at the kids with gentle and loving eyes. He carefully wrapped his arms around the kids, returning the hug. His mind still felt a few pings of panic, but he breathed in and out slowly to carefully think.

{… There’s no doubt about this anymore. I made them. I made three children. I … I’m a father. I’m a father. … Along with finding Kristoph, taking care of them is my new priority. I’ll have to name them and I need to find a job or two. I’m sure many places are looking for workers with everything going on. I’ll also need to enroll them into school. They look like they’re around six years old, so they should qualify for kindergarten. … Miles … Maybe he can enroll them into his class. … I’ll have to talk to him first. … I haven’t really talked to him much after what … she did to me. … I’ve been meaning to talk to him about that … and apologize for being so cold and distant. … One thing at a time Phoenix. I think the first thing I should do is give them names.”

Suddenly, a familiar jingle broke the silence of the room. All four of them jumped in surprise. Phoenix was quick to figure out that it was the Steel Samurai ringtone of his phone.

{It … it could be Kristoph!} Phoenix scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket and answer it. Ignoring the caller ID, Phoenix pressed the accept button and placed the phone by his ear.

“K-Kristoph,” Phoenix blurted, “Is that you? Are you ok? Where are …”

“WRIGHT!” Phoenix flinched at the screaming voice and thrust the phone away from his ear, somehow managing to still hold onto it. He could feel a cold sweat begin to drip from his forehead as he recognized the voice. Calling him was his shifty land lord, that shared a pretty scary resemblance to himself: Furio Tigre.

“M-Mr. Tigre,” Phoenix squeaked, “W-what a surprise! Is this about the rent? I already paid this month’s …”

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, WRIGHT,” Tigre roared, “ALL TENANTS NOW HAVE TO BE IN THEIR APARTMENTS BY MIDNIGHT OR THEY LOSE THEIR LEASES!”

“W-WHAT?! You didn’t say anything about that this morning!”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER! YOU’VE GOT AN HOUR TO GET HERE OR I THROW YOUR SORRY ASS ON THE STREET!” With that, the call ended. Phoenix growled under his breath. Furio Tigre was always doing things like this to his tenants, and Phoenix was one of his favorite targets. It seemed as if Tigre found a new way to make Phoenix’s life more hell every week, from suddenly raising his rent to withholding his water or electricity. To make matters worse, there was nothing he nor the other tenants could do. The city wouldn’t send anyone over to check the apartments, no matter how many times they complained. The crime wave stretched the police thin. Even if someone were to come, Furio could either scare them away or charm his way out of it.

“Who was that Dad,” Red asked.

{Well that was fast. The others are already calling me dad.}

“That … was my landlord,” he sighed, “I’m sorry, but we have to get going if we’re gonna make it to my apartment by midnight.”

“This isn’t your house Daddy,” Yellow puzzled.

“Well, no,” he replied, “This is Krisoph’s house.”

{Well, I guess it is partially mine, as I help with the mortgage when he forgets to do it.} Before Phoenix could explain any further, he once again noticed the state of the kitchen. He groaned at the mess. He didn’t want to leave Kristoph’s kitchen in this state. It was about a 20-minute bike ride from Kristoph’s place to his apartment, so if he hurried, he could at least sweep up the broken glass, cereal bits, and wood splinters off the floor tonight and finish the rest tomorrow.

“Kids,” Phoenix began, “as I said, we have to go. I just need to clean up the kitchen a bit.” Red, Yellow, and Blue looked around the room and nodded to each other.

“Don’t worry Daddy,” Blue grinned, “We’ll take care of it!” Phoenix’s vision was suddenly filled by streaks of Red, Yellow, and Blue light flying all around the room as the same high-pitched sound from before fills his ears. Phoenix squinted his eyes from the sudden bright lights, but managed to still see what the kids were doing. With lightning fast speed, the kids swept up the debris from the floor and even found a way to get the black stains off the walls. It looked as if the explosion never happened! Phoenix, once again, could only just stare on in shock and amazement. What would’ve taken Phoenix at least 15 minutes to sweep up the floor, the kids cleaned the entire kitchen in less than 15 seconds!

“Is this better,” Yellow inquired.

“Umm, y-yeah,” Phoenix stammered after a few seconds, “Th-thanks. … Uhh, well, I guess we should get going now. I’ll … just grab the box and we’ll leave.” Phoenix figured that he could keep Kris’ notes safe with him. It should be safer than just leaving it in the house when Kris wasn’t there, and not even knowing where he was. Phoenix began to kneel to pick up the box, but stopped as he winced in pain from his back. He could still feel the deep pain in his back muscles from when he was blasted back. Before he could even attempt to pick it up again, Blue flew by and lifted it up in her arms.

“I got it, Daddy,” she beamed. Phoenix jumped in surprise at her suddenly appearing in front of him, but before he could respond, he felt his body lift from the ground. He yelped in surprise and turned his head to see Yellow lifting him up with one hand.

“Don’t strain yourself,” she warned.

“You’re gonna hurt your back,” Red added. Before Phoenix could even attempt to reply, the kids began to move out of the house, with Yellow still carrying him.

“W-whoa, whoa, kids,” he shrieked, “W-what are you doing?!”

“You said that we had to go to your apartment, Daddy,” Blue declared, “So we’re going to your apartment.”

“Bu-but you don’t know where it is,” he gulped

“You can just tell us where to go,” Yellow said.

“But, w-what about my bike,” he quivered as the kids exited the house and stopped on the front lawn, “I’m sure I can …”

“I’ll carry it Dad,” Red offered, “Besides, we’ll get there faster this way.”

“Bu-but …”

“Trust us Daddy,” Blue gushed. Not even Blue’s hopeful voice could quell Phoenix’s nerves as the kids angled themselves toward the night sky.

“Hold on tight, Daddy,” Yellow grinned. With Blue holding the box, Red holding Phoenix’s bike, and Yellow holding Phoenix, the kids took off into the sky. The sound of their high-pitched flying and Phoenix’s terrified screams penetrated the quiet stillness of the night.

The new family of four took off, unaware of the pair of menacing eyes watching them from the back of the house. They have been watching them since Phoenix first entered back into the kitchen, seeing and hearing everything that had happened. The figure stepped out from their hiding place to watch the beams of the kids’ light fade away.

“… Interesting.”

Author’s Note

Here is the second story from the Collabwithmyself Chronicles. Collab has also written his vision of his au, so consider this my re-imagining of the au he has written so far. You can find his writing on his Tumblr page under the ppg au tag.

#collabwithmyself #collabwithmyself chronicles #ppg au #ace attorney #the ace powerpuffs

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holdmeicant · 3 years

Text

A Newsboy and his Bullets (Willy Wonka x OC) | Prologue

Elmer Stanley’s ‘World of Candy’ (A heavily edited screenshot of the movie, haha...)

ONE YEAR AGO

“It is with Mr. Willy Wonka at forty-million, Elmer Stanley’s World of Candy, right here.”

Elmer Stanley’s beats per minute had never been the same. Forty-million. At the town’s art auction. And luck? It was incredible it did not choose to leave his side. What was more fortunate than needed cash, as well as your art being admired by the world’s most favoured chocolatier?

Mr. Willy Wonka was perhaps the most commendable leader in the candy industry’s history. Elmer Stanley’s heart was longing to jump out of his untamed chest. Soon after the crowd disappeared would be his likely chance of finally meeting the man. And, he guessed, from watching bits and pieces of the news, the man was not only shy, but… strange. Strange was the nicest way to put it, the nicest umbrella term for everything he perhaps was. And of course not with negative intent. It was merely another unique factor for appreciation, because after all, Mr. Wonka was the youngest man in history to lead such a vigorous industry such as the confectionary’s, with such rareness in prosperity. In Elmer’s eyes, you were downright crazy if there wasn’t at least a hint of you interested in Willy Wonka. Not that he was anything more than admirable.

Blimey, Elmer mentally nudged himself. Don’t go too far with this. You’re here for the money.

But with what distinctive and strange clothing the chocolatier donned (a cherry red Edwardian overcoat, an Edwardian-collared shirt, a top hat), it was impossible for him to become a blur. Peripheral vision or not, he was always the freestyle musician in a room full of classical artists. So, when Elmer glanced at the line of candidates, he decided it was quite obvious who was sticking their foot the furthest forward to win his painting.

Elmer, from the rows of seats, felt his facial muscles tense as Willy Wonka, the amazing chocolatier, waved to the wild audience.

“Forty-million is the bid! And the piece is,” the auctioneer bellowed with a bang on his podium, “sold!”

Everything had fallen into its correct place, if not to say the least. In a pale corridor outside the auction room where many conversed and sped past, Elmer’s mother of middle age had her thick, tan arms wrapped around her son’s neck, pride written all over her smile.

“See, boy,” she mused. “Don’t you ever think about giving up again.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, mum.”

Elmer rubbed his mother’s back in reciprocation. Who better to support him than mother Stanley herself? A true artist herself, one of compassion and altruism. It was hard to believe she’d been through more than Elmer would ever dare to say himself.

The flashing and clicking of cameras seemed to gradually near, and Elmer had suspected the press’ wish to take more photos.

He spun around to find himself face-to-face with Willy Wonka.

“Goodness! I - I am so sorry!” Elmer stammered, heat rushing to his face. “I didn’t see you coming...”

Willy Wonka merely beamed, wide eyes darting from Elmer to his mother. With gloved hands, he held onto Elmer’s (now-wrapped-in-protective-paper) World of Candy like a certificate of his own. To Elmer, this meant a great deal. He glanced at his mother, who seemed to be left in utter awe. Though it was quite irrelevant, he remembered her humorous wish to romantically associate with him, had she been his age. Anyway, Elmer too was in awe, and realised that from up close, Willy Wonka’s aura of intimidation had disappeared. He also appeared to be at least an inch shorter than Elmer himself, minus the fancy heels he strutted in. What was the pounding heart for?

The longer Wonka’s bizarre stare on Elmer’s mother, the more he found it a tad uncomfortable. Elmer’s mother returned her son’s gaze and smiled sheepishly.

“I get it,” she whispered apologetically with a wink at Wonka. “Pleasure meeting you, sir.” Elmer himself felt a tinge of offense towards the candy man, but swallowed it. His mother turned her heel and went off to chat with a photographer.

Now, he was left with Wonka. And, the press.

“Could we get a picture of you two?” a photographer asked impatiently.

Wonka smiled a phony smile, pearly white teeth gleaming, while Elmer chose to awkwardly and ever so slightly lean in. Wonka still held onto Elmer’s work as though it was his own.

“This way, please,” another requested. A turn of heads in the same direction.

A lanky reporter turned to Elmer. “Tell us how it feels to have your painting bought by Mr. Wonka.” He shoved the microphone in the young artist’s face.

Elmer was a nervous train wreck. “I… it feels great. It’s – it’s such an honour, I-I-I mean, never in my wildest … dreams would I have imagined Mr. Wonka himself to like my art so much, to buy it at such a high price. I mean, I was so sure it wouldn’t turn out great … but here I am! To be remembered for candy, too, I suppose.”

“And what does your art mean?”

“Y-you know, like, ever heard of Candy Wonderland? I’ve had several dreams of it; I guess I couldn’t tell you explicitly what it means. I just wanted to see it come to life.”

He cast a glance at Wonka, whose smile no longer seemed phoney. Elmer quickly turned back to the reporter.

“Right on OK,” Wonka murmured as he rested his arm around Elmer’s shoulder temporarily to guide them both around and away from the press. Elmer followed him at least five meters past his mother, feeling himself sweating profusely.

“It’s great to finally meet you, Mr. Wonka. I think I said this earlier, but today’s events are – were – just unbelievable! I’ve always admired you – your work, it’s truly an honour.”

Elmer was wrong to expect reciprocity, or even more simple, acceptance.

“Young man,” Willy Wonka began, although Elmer knew full well that he was the older one, “you’re eating your words. You really should–” Wonka dropped his jaw far, then clicked it back up, “–open your mouth when you speak.”

It was hard to deny that Wonka himself had perfect diction. If anything, it was a slap in the face.

Wonka then shook Elmer’s quivering hand almost a little too aggressively. “Congratulations, my dear friend.”

“For what?” The chocolatier’s grip was insane.

“Well, for winning the auction, of course!”

“But I really should thank you for help–”

“How do you feel about working for me, Mr?”

Elmer stopped in his tracks. At once, the overlapping voices silenced. Suddenly, any confusion in conversation vanished. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out until about ten seconds passed.

“You mean, like, wrapping? Or making the candy?”

“Absolutely not.”

There was a long pause, Wonka staring deep into nothings.

“... Then what?”

The chocolatier adjusted the brim of the top hat he was wearing, gripping the painting tighter with his other arm. “You know what? These people have me moving my jaw every second to speak, eventually I’ll have the mandible of a chewing gum champion! Now…”

“You mean the press?” Elmer guessed. “Don’t you like interviews?”

“Oh, no, I hate interviews. They drive me nuts. People are the weirdest thing on this planet, and I say that with precisely no regret.” Wonka grimaced, eyeing the people around him. Then he leaned in. “Now, do be careful with what you say. To anyone. I could sue you, you know.”

Sue? What in the world had Elmer done illegally?

“Sorry?” he frowned. “I’m so confused.”

The chocolatier hesitated. Withdrew himself, seemingly taken aback. “Yeah, but in a few weeks time you won’t be.” He finished the vague sentence with a falsetto tone. That was when he began to trail away, distancing himself with a tip of the hat to Elmer. He clutched that painting tight across his chest, Elmer noticed.

And with that, Willy Wonka spun on his fancy heel and called, “Keep an eye out for that gosh darn press. Hehe!” before he left.

To be fair, it was so wrong of Elmer Stanley to think his first encounter with Willy Wonka was to be positively memorable; normal, perhaps. And at that time, there was resentment, mostly confusion, that stood as a barricade for those next few weeks.

But one year later, Elmer would see himself, along with a hundred other excited folk, setting foot past the handsome and tremendous gates of what was now dubbed as The World’s Greatest Factory Ever.

Elmer Stanley had so much to offer.

#elmer stanley #willy wonka #willy wonka x oc #catcf fanfiction #catcf 2005

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blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

A Family Affair

Characters: Frank Castle x black!reader

Summary: Based on this imagine

Warning: Implied smut, a lil angst, language

“Wow,” you exhaled, after Frank skillfully coaxed out multiple orgasms from you.

“That good, huh?” Frank chuckled.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of agreeing with him, you mushed his face instead. “Whatever, Castle.”

Frank rolled on top of you, trapping you in between his hands. “Fine, don’t admit it. I’ll just have to prove it to you again, sweetheart,” he whispered against your ear.

You pushed against Frank’s broad shoulders. As much you wanted another round, you had to get ready for your meeting and he knew that. “Frank,” you uttered his name as a warning.

He took that as his cue to stop and gave you one last kiss. As he sat on the edge of the bed and put on his sweats, you kissed the scars that decorated his back. Some old and some new, but each reminding you of his dangerous life.

“Water,” he asked, making his way to the kitchen.

“Yes please.” You responded, searching for something to wear temporarily. When you settled on one of Frank’s many black henleys, you heard Frank’s voice and another’s. Automatically, you reached for your gun and carefully approach the kitchen.

Frank had his own gun drawn out and who he was pointing at left you in shock.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Dad?” Frank repeated, looking back at you.

Tony Stark was standing in your living room and had one of his Iron Man blasters pointed at your vigilante boyfriend.

“No, the question is what the hell is the Punisher doing in your apartment half-naked?” The impromptu meeting of Tony and Frank left you speechless, which left time for Tony to take in your lack of proper clothing. “Did he do that to you?” Tony ready to blast Frank once he saw the bruises on your thighs from you and Frank’s lovemaking.

“Trust me buddy, she wasn’t complaining.” Frank smirked at Tony.

“Frank!” You admonished him, not wanting to give Tony anymore reasons to actually shoot him.

Frank finally put his gun on the island and held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, baby.” Then he faced Tony and walked to him slowly like he was approaching a cornered animal. “I’m Frank and I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.”

“BOYFRIEND?” That revelation made Tony retract his blaster and stew in his thoughts for a moment. One thing your dad never was speechless, well except with Peter, but that was different.

Scared that maybe he was maybe experiencing an aneurysm or a heart attack, you called out his name. It was enough to shake him out of his shocked state. “You two dinner tonight at 7 and no backing out!” Tony yelled and then stormed out your door.

Hours later you and Frank were getting ready, but you weren’t talking to each other. After Tony left, Frank asked you why you didn’t tell him and when your ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t sufficient enough, he left as well. Now you were watching Frank struggling with putting his gold cufflinks on.

Deciding to help him you gripped his wrists, despite the grunt he expelled. “You knew I had a hard time growing up. I got tired of the group homes, so I ran away. I survived by pickpocketing people. One day, I saw Tony Stark and saw a big score and was able to steal his wallet. Eventually, he found me, and the rest was history. I can’t explain, but there was some insane connection with him, and the team and they just took me in. It just naturally progressed to call him dad. And the reason for not telling you is, I thought you would run once you knew my connection to them.”

After clasping his cufflinks, Frank pulled you into him, resting his chin on top of your head. “You could’ve told me. I couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to.” Standing on your tippy toes, you kissed Frank and whispered, ‘I love you.’

Looking at the time, you decided you had enough time to thank Frank properly. Just as your knees sunk to the floor, FRIDAY announced that the car Tony sent was downstairs. Reluctantly, Frank pulled you to your feet and escorted you downstairs.

“Okay, since Stark is your dad, does that mean that Potts is your mom?” Frank asked on the car ride.

You held Frank’s hand and laughed. “Oh no, Steve’s definitely the mom. Him and Tony argue like an old married couple anyway.”

“Please don’t tell me you call the Captain America mom?” Frank questioned.

“Oh, hell yeah I do! And he may act like he hates it, but he secretly loves it.”

Once you were in the elevator, you became more aware of Frank’s nerves. His hands were shaking, and you grabbed one to stop him and kissed his cheek. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Frank squeezed your hand and kissed you back, just as soon as the elevator door opened, revealing Peter.

“Parker, what the hell are you doing here. Don’t you got homework?” You asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“And miss you get in trouble? No way. This time Steve and Tony actually agree for once. Nat, Wanda, and Thor think everyone should mind their business and let you date him. Sam, Rhodey, Clint, and Bruce are mostly siding with Steve and Tony, but are willing to give him a chance. Vision doesn’t care either way and Bucky is out on a mission,” the kid you considered a little brother rambled on.

Frank leaned down to your ear and whispered while eyeing Peter suspiciously, “Is he on drugs or something?”

“No, he’s always like this.”

Peter led you into the lion’s den, you called the dining room. Once the three you caught everyone’s attention all conversation ceased. Frank let go of your hand and went to each person to shake their hand and formally introduce himself. You could tell Tony was already over it, but at least Steve had the decency to fake it.

As expected, he saved Steve for last. Frank always talked about how he admired Steve and what he did for our country. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Captain Rogers.”

“Please just call me Steve.” Then, he motioned for Frank to sit down.

Tense was one way to describe the mood as everyone sat down. No one knew how to steer the conversation. “This isn’t some type of jungle fever is it?” Tony blurted out.

A chorus of Tony’s was said across the table and the accused showed no remorse. “Listen, I just need to know. He’s not just about to use our girl, because he wants to try something new.”

Despite Tony being an asshole Frank kept his cool. “No sir. Y/N could be any damn color and I still choose her.”

The same moment you kissed Frank’s cheek was the exact same moment Bucky walked in. “What the hell is this?”

You turned to Peter and whispered yelled to him, “I thought you said he’s on a mission!”

Peter shrugged his shoulders in obvious surprise, “I thought so too! Maybe he, um, finished early.”

“You think?”

During your exchange with Peter, Frank and Bucky were staring each other down, readying their bodies for a fight.

“This just got interesting,” Tony said before sipping his drink.

Not wanting to deal with a fight, you pleaded with the more reasonable man. “Buck, please. Not right now.”

Bucky’s murderous gaze softened once he looked at you. He nodded his head in agreement and took a seat between Sam and Steve.

“So, what’s a murderous madman doing at our dining table?” Bucky asked nonchalantly as he prepared his own plate of food.

You rolled your eyes, because you knew Frank wouldn’t be able to back down. Thankfully, Nat interrupted whatever Frank was about to retort back. “You were in the marines, right, Mr. Castle?”

Frank turned his gaze from Bucky to Natasha and responded to her. “Yes ma’am and please just call me Frank.”

“As long as you stop with the ma’am stuff,” she smirked back.

From there, the conversation stayed on more safe topics until Steve decided he wanted to get to the meat of it.

“Frank, you know why you’re here. Y/N is like a daughter to us and most of can’t seem to shake the idea of you dating her.”

Holding your breath, you looked at Frank as he set down his silverware and thought about his answer. “I get it, sir. She’s your little girl and I’m a wanted criminal, but Y/N’s my everything and that means something, Captain. There was a time I thought I wouldn’t feel this way again, but she proved me wrong.”

Bruce spoke up for the first time. “No one’s doubting your feelings Frank. We all can see it-” A grunt from Bucky slightly interrupted Bruce, but he continued on quickly before Frank could get his hands on him. “But you killed people and not out of self-defense, but you targeted them.”

Frank leaned back in his chair and rolled his tongue around his mouth. “Have you ever been betrayed by your country? The ones who were supposed to have your back since you risked yours to keep it safe.”

You stared at Bucky, pleading with your eyes for him to understand where Frank was coming from. Our country may have not taken everything away from him like Frank, but they sure did make him out to be the bad guy when he was the one done wrong.

“It doesn’t explain why you killed all those people!” Tony interjected

Having enough of Tony’s bullshit, you stood up and threw your napkin down. “Really, Tony? All this coming from the person, who didn’t talk to his best friend for 2 years because he protected the man who was brainwashed to kill your family,”

Frank gripped your wrist and try to pull you down to your seat, “C’mon on baby, don’t argue with your father.” But instead of following his advice, you wrestled your hand from his grip and continued.

“Or what about Ultron and Sokvia, huh? Did anyone come out unscathed in that? Because I remembered the team was broken up for two whole years, because you felt guilty about dropping a whole country, since you wanted to play mad scientist!”

Steve backed out of his seat, “Ok, that’s enough!”

“No, fuck that! He wants to bring up Frank’s past, let’s bring it up, since you know so much, dad. Did you know it was a CIA official, his commander, and his best friend that had his family killed?”

Tony’s face dropped, but that didn’t stop you. “Of course, you didn’t, because sometimes you can be a selfish, self-absorbed asshole. Yeah, you save the world and that’s the big picture, but what happens after? what about the organized crime taking over the streets? What about all the dirty cops and corrupt politicians? Oh, I know what you do, you throw a lavish fundraiser and that makes everything better. I know Frank’s methods seem inhumane and extreme, but unless you lived on those streets you wouldn’t understand. I’m just asking you to not judge him too harshly, because what would you do if someone took Pepper and Morgan away?”

Done with your rant, you moved your hand in front of Frank signaling him to grab it. “C’mon babe, let’s go.” Frank followed your lead to the elevators, and just as you were about to enter you heard Tony’s voice.

“Wait!” Both of you stopped in your tracks and faced Tony. “You’re right, Y/N. I don’t know how tough the average person has it, but I do know I don’t agree with Castle’s methods.” You opened your mouth to say something back, but Tony raised his hand to stop you. “You said your piece let me say mines, okay. Although, I may disagree with your boyfriend, I see the way he looks at you and he loves you. So, I propose this: you bring him around for our weekly family dinners, so we can get to know him and after you and I come up with some ways to help the community. Sounds good?”

Before the smile reached your face, you rant to Tony and gave him a hug, thanking him and apologizing to him for your hurtful words.

“You won’t regret it, Mr. Stark,” Frank called out as you hugged your dad.

Tony pulled you from his front to his side, still hugging you, but with a clear view of Frank. “Castle, I promise if she so much gets a papercut because of your extracurricular activities, you’ll be the one being put down.”

Frank smiled at Tony’s threat and then offered to shake his hand. “Fair enough.”

Finally, with all the drama put aside, the rest of dinner went on smoothly. Now all the veterans at the table were comparing their experiences in the service, with the occasional joking of how one’s branch was better than the others. Only time it would get awkward is when Bucky would have a smart remark to whatever Frank would say. Frank would brush it off, but Bucky pushed him one last time and Frank decided to open his mouth. “Man, you must’ve messed up real bad.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms, “Excuse me?”

Frank cracked his neck side-to-side, rolled his shoulders, and leaned on the table, “You dated. You and Y/N, it’s obvious. And if you ended good, you wouldn’t be taking pot shots at me the whole night, so you messed up. Now either you shut up or we can do something about it.”

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for this showdown the whole night!” Tony claimed. From the corner of your eye, you could see both Pepper and Steve hitting Tony in the back of his head.

Bucky followed suit and leaned on the table as well. “I doubt it’ll be an even fight. You don’t have those guns you love so much.”

Frank cracked a crooked smile, “I don’t need a gun. I prefer knives. I like to get up close and personal with my enemy.”

“Me too,” Bucky claimed and both men stood up out of their seats.

“Oh, hell no!” You interrupted the two. You pushed Frank back down in his seat and rushed to Bucky, “In the kitchen, now!” you gritted through your teeth.

Before you knew it, you felt your fist flying towards Bucky’s face. “Really, Bucky? This is how you’re gonna act?”

Easily, Bucky shook the punch off. He was about to say something charming to get on your good side, but then he noticed the tears welling in your eyes. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong, doll?”

“You, Tony, Steve, heck everyone. I need my family to get along with Frank. Even you, okay. I love him and he’s gonna be around for a while. So, either get with the program or don’t ever talk to me again.”

Buck had to admit himself he was being an asshole. To see you with another guy was hurtful, but to see you with a guy that he could identify with and that could open up to you in a way he couldn’t broke his heart.

“Alright. I’ll be nice for now. But as soon as he messes up, I’m kicking his ass and never letting you go.”

Ignoring the last part of his statement, you ran to give Bucky a hug. “Thank you,” you whispered into his chest.

Reluctantly, Bucky let go of you and guided you back to the dining room. With bated breath, you watched Bucky approach Frank.

Frank stood up, warily eyeing Bucky when he stretched out his hand for a handshake. “Sorry for being an asshole earlier.”

Tentatively Frank shook Bucky’s hand. “It’s okay. I’d probably act the same way if I were you.”

Glad the two men finally made up, you let out a deep breath. You were about to go sit down until you heard Bucky threaten Frank. “You hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

“He’s joking,” you told Frank, hoping to defuse a potential argument.

“I’m not.”

“Fair enough,” Frank responded before shaking Bucky’s hand.

“Now that’s everything copacetic, can we get to that basketball game Y/N promised? I gotta teach the youngin a couple of things.” Sam asked, reminding you of your bet that you could beat him at basketball no matter what team you’re on.

“Ok, let’s do it, but you got Buck on your team,” you bartered. Both men outwardly groaned, upset that they’re always paired together.

Looking up at Frank, you asked, “Want to play?” Leaning down within an inch from your lips, he replied, “Oh yeah,” before giving you a sweet chaste kiss.

“Oh god, no! None of that please. Just no!” Tony complained, disgusted by your pda.

For good measure, you gave Frank a deeper kiss, which made Tony gag. “Ready to hang with this crazy crew?”

Frank shook his head yes, and you pulled him towards the gym, hopefully for the first of many games.

Tags: @titty-teetee @ladydragonpurplefire @cocooned-butterfly @dannixchristian @pananegra @black-mcu-imagines @blackreaders-assemble @queenwinchester27 @meishaabae @marvelmaree @marvell0usmaximoff @yes-ladymyah @scarlett-berserker

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greyfen · 3 years

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Mithra 01: Looming Shadow

Been a long time since I posted any writing on here but in case there is anyone still interested in what I occasionally come up with these days, here is a bit of writing. It’s from the perspective of Mithra Hyndell, an elven druid who I play in a D&D game on Sundays, this scene took place at the conclusion of the first arc the party experienced. After we’d gotten stuck in a house full of time magic, a vampire and a whole host of other weird shenanigans. For context, Mithra is the last remaining (as far as she knows) druid of a place called the Verdant Thicket, a forest that has been overrun by some sort of magical corruption. At this point in the story she is working with the group in the hopes of speaking to the personal alchemist of the Queen of the kingdom they are in so as to find a lead on how to fix the Thicket. For those wanting a read, enjoy!

The walls felt as if they were closing in.

Mithra wasn’t sure how she got here, it had sounded pretty simple: work with a few mercenaries or other interested parties, do a favour for the queen and in return gain the information that could help her home that she desperately needed. Instead, in a short period of time she’d been attacked by orcs, met a man claiming to be a god, visited an impossible mansion and got trapped in a vampire’s castle.

For all her own pride in her abilities, she’d felt increasingly out of her depth since arriving at the town outside the estate of Lord Cartwright, the eternal night the vampire seemed to have conjured around the town and area, the tortured prisoners they’d found and escorted to safety and the bizarre time magic that kept everyone who spent too long on the estate trapped in some sort of loop; a fact they’d only recently discovered when electing to temporarily leave. It went entirely beyond her own experiences, she’d felt increasingly caged, something that the circle of the moon within her railed against in the back of her mind. It had taken a surprisingly understanding Nilsa to snap her back to reality earlier when she’d dropped into a panic; now she was here on the top floor, looking at the dead bodies of her friends.

No, not my friends, some… vision of the future perhaps. Gods this must be hard for them, how do you even comfort at times like this?

The smell of mold and decay hung in the air throughout the library, both musty books and the aroma of rotten flesh; the dead paladin’s skeleton was slumped against the wall, the ominous barred door led to the greenhouse and more bodies. The dark corridor their new companion refused to let go down altogether, shaking her head frantically when traversing it was suggested. Their new companion was an enigma too; an older version of their warrior friend Fiora, older, tired and worn, seemingly unable to speak or communicate beyond the written word and frantic gestures, the last survivor of a group that failed.

That had died.

Around them the ghosts of the Lady Celeste and her killers played out their repeated macabre performance, the same murders and fights over and over again, every hour. Even with all kinds of insanity around them, Lilli dashed off to a side room and Mithra intended to follow but found her eye resting upon a body in the greenhouse with the remains of Zenn, another companion. When she saw it, all thoughts of everything else deserted her mind as a creeping suspicion and fear began to gnaw at her chest.

That figure; the garb looked elven, druidic even, but it wasn’t what she wore; as the wraiths wailed and argued she tuned them out, even the conversations and frantic questioning of this strange future version of Fiora failed to register as she looked the skeletal remains over. Patting down the body, gently at first, then more frantically as she became more and more sure that the body was not her own.

Another might have felt relief to avoid the sight of their own remains, but not Mithra. Death was not the worst thing that could bring an end to a druid from the Verdant Thicket. She found a token, a simple cast leaf denoting rank within her circle, but it wasn’t hers.

A heavy weight set on her stomach as around her the ghosts played out their argument, the daughter and father who’d come here to save her, even if she didn’t want to be saved, the looting of the mob that accompanied him. To Mithra it was as the wind in the grass, of no importance and mere background noise as she made her way back to the older version of the tiefling she’d met only days ago.

She nodded at the paper in her friend’s hands, her eyes meeting Fiora’s directly, almost unblinkingly as she kept her voice level, Nilsa a spectator as the two women gazed at one another.

“Fiora, was that me in the greenhouse?”

She already knew the answer as the older Fiora scribbled down something frantically on her paper before holding it up.

‘NO’

“Am I dead? Is that why I’m not here?”

A solemn nod was all she received in answer as the tall tiefling woman looked at her, eyes full of pity, loss and more, a sense of loneliness; Mithra was used to solitude, but the type she saw looking out of Fiora’s eyes chilled her. As much as she felt for this lost soul however she also felt the creeping dread rise from the pit of her stomach, like a weed, choking her level breathing as it came.

“Did.. Did something take me? Is that why I’m not here?”

‘YES’

Nilsa looked on, concerned and confused and tired at the back and forth, opening her mouth as Mithra turned, her head spinning as her fears seemed almost confirmed. Walking, or was it staggering, five paces back towards the centre of the room. That sick feeling grew, reaching her lungs and biting down her fears she turned again.

“Was it my home? Did the sickness, the curse of my home take me too?”

A pause.

‘YES’

After that, Mithra didn’t register a lot of what happened next, it was like everything happened at once, their friend of the future had been waiting, waiting for Lady Celeste and her father to be near the window and then threw both them and herself out of it. Ending the loop, the curse all of it; saving both herself and her friends, even if it wasn’t the same friends she’d been through hell with. In the aftermath, everyone took a moment to recover, but Mithra could stand to be in the house no longer.

Catching Nilsa’s attention while the others took a few moments, Mithra smiled a pained mirthless smile that hid none of her internal torment. Her words tumbled out of her mouth at a rapid pace, uncertain and troubled; in her core fear had seized her heart and wouldn’t let go.

“I.. I need outside, I can’t be in here, sorry but I have to breath fresh air. Or as fresh as it gets here.”

Nilsa looked at her and then said something that she didn’t expect, the steely gaze meeting her own.

“That’s fine. I can come with you, if you need it.”

And Mithra said yes.

Minutes later Mithra was sitting on the grass, staring at the dark sky and opening up a part of her history and soul to the paladin beside her. She told her of her fellow druids, the curse that affected not just land and tree but animal; how the druids had feared that their connection to animals, to the forest might leave them vulnerable too.

How it looked like at some point, she was going to turn into a monster if she did not find a way to negate its effects, find a way to save her home.

Nilsa gripped her shoulder and promised to help her, a gesture from the taciturn paladin that was not lost on Mithra, but even in that moment a cold feeling settled inside the druid.

Despair.

She had no idea where to start, she was not powerful, she was not wise and she was out of her depth.

As the rest of the day passed she found herself buoyed by the others, their presence and made a silent vow to herself. In one world she had already failed, but she would not give up: she would fight tooth and claw until her last breath to save her home, to save the others, to save herself.

#DnD #Mithralla Hyndell #Mithra #druid #5e #original nerds #greyfen writes #high elf #circle of the moon #dungeons and dragons #dnd writing

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the--blackdahlia · 4 years

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The Hunters Chapter 14

Title: The Hunters Chapter 14

Summary: What happens when four idiots get together? Nikki’s looking for his dad. Tommy’s trying to get out of his mom’s shadow. Vince is along for the ride. And Mick is just trying to keep them alive. Which is harder than it sounds when then Winchesters join the fray.

Warnings: Language, violence, m/m smut, canon divergence, character deaths (temporarily), wincest if you squint (may add more tags as I go)

Tommy dialed his mom and dad’s number and leaned back against Nikki as he listened to the ring on the other end. Nikki rubbed his back gently as he waited. Tommy expected the machine to pick up. He did not expect his mom to actually answer.

“Hello?” Voula answered as she picked up the phone.

“Mom?” Tommy asked. “You’re awake?”

“You caught me on a water run,” She explained. “It’s two in the morning. Tommy, are you okay?”

“I…” He gulped a little. “There was a demon in the apartment mom. A demon that was after me.”

“Το μέλλον του. Για να είναι η καλύτερη πηγή για τον βασιλιά αγόρι. Για να εξυπηρετήσω τον κύριό μου ... και είμαι σίγουρος ότι δεν θέλετε να μάθετε όλες τις βρώμικες λεπτομέρειες. (His future. To be the best resource to the boy king. To serve my lord and...well, I'm sure you don't want to know all the dirty details.)” Played in Voula’s head as she thought back to the day that made her take Tommy and head to America.

“γαμώ! (Fuck!)” Voula called out. “Γι 'αυτό εγκαταλείψαμε την Ελλάδα. Ήθελα να το αποφύγω. Οι γαμημένοι δαίμονες έρχονται μετά το αγόρι μου και εγώ… (This is why we left Greece. I wanted to avoid this. Fucking demons coming after my boy and I…)”

“Mom,” Tommy cut her off. “I can’t understand you when you get hysterical. What’s going on?”

“I’ll come explain it to you later. Right now, I need you to call Bobby Singer. He’s going to find someplace safe for you,” Voula told him.

“Bobby? You know Bobby?” Tommy asked. “Mom, what is going on?”

“Thomas! Quit arguing with me and do it!” Voula yelled at her son. Nikki could hear and saw the way Tommy cringed at her calling him Thomas. “I will be over in a few hours. Did the demon give you a name?”

“No,” Tommy shook his head. “The lore in your journal says demons have black eyes though, right?”

“Most demons. There are expectations based on ranking,” Voula explained.

“Well, this one had yellow,” Tommy told her. Voula was silent on the other end. “Mom?”

“Did...did you say yellow?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah. Why?” Tommy asked.

“I’m coming over there right now and you’re coming back home,” Voula told him.

“Mom, no,” Tommy told her. “I don’t want to come home. I just want you to tell me what’s going on.” He heard her sigh and the phone shift.

“I don’t want to explain over the phone,” She told him, which caused Tommy and Nikki to look at each other. The entire time Tommy hunted with Voula, and the entire time Nikki had known her, she had never been one to shy away from telling things over the phone. “Call Bobby. Explain it to him. I will see you in a few hours, okay?”

“Okay,” Tommy nodded.

“I love you honey,” Voula told him.

“Love you too mom,” They both hung up. Nikki watched Tommy’s hand tremble as he rested the phone back in the cradle.

“I’ll call Bobby for you,” Nikki told him. Tommy just nodded. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. As long as I’m here, nothing’s gonna hurt you.” He kissed Tommy’s temple. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep while I call Bobby?”

“Yeah…” Tommy sighed. He kept thinking about what the demon had said, about special children, and then his mind drifted to the girl, Carrie, and the way she pushed him away using her mind. Was she one of them? Who else was? There were so many questions rattling around in Tommy’s head as he let his eyes fall closed and rested against Nikki’s chest.

****

Nikki didn’t sleep after he hung up with Bobby. He’d be lying if he told people he wasn’t extremely worried about all this. He had seen one demon in his life. Bobby and him had used it to find out where Frank was, but the demon knew nothing. That’s when he learned a rule of thumb for dealing with demons.

Demons lie.

No matter what they say, you don’t believe it until you can prove the truth. Even though, Bobby did explain to him that they will tell the truth if it hurts more than a lie will. Or if they are in extreme pain, such as during an exorcism or when being bathed in holy water.

“Are angels real?”

“I’ve never seen one, but don’t get your hopes up, kid,”

“Hey, I’m making some coffee. Want some?” Vince whispered from the kitchen, not wanting to wake up Tommy.

“Yeah, I’ll take a cup,” Nikki nodded. He gently moved Tommy so he was fully on the couch and stood up to stretch his back and let his knees pop. He went to the small kitchen area where Mick had brought an old coffee maker when he moved in with them. Vince was making coffee while Mick was warding the house.

“This is all insane,” Vince told Nikki as he poured him a cup of the black brew. “Tommy has visions, demons are real. What next? Mermaid in the bathtub? Tooth fairy wondering the strip picking up knocked out teeth from a fight?”

“That’s some...really vivid imagination there Vince,” Nikki shook his head. “Bobby told me he’ll talk to Rufus and find us a place to hide out.”

“If he can track him down,” Vince told him. “Rufus has been known to be a little elusive at times.”

“How do you know Rufus?” Nikki asked, leaning on the counter. Vince sighed and turned to the fridge, pulling out a half-empty bottle of Bailey’s and pouring it into his coffee. “Wow, going Irish?”

“It was a camping trip,” Vince told him. “Mom and dad and me. It was supposed to be fun but these things that I later found out were vampires, they got us. Rufus and this other guy, I think he said his name was Gordon, they showed up to help us out. But Gordon, he thought my parents had been turned and he…” Vince closed his eyes. “He killed them. He…”

“Oh god,” Nikki whispered.

“Rufus took me. He kept me safe from Gordon. I never saw his face, and Rufus never made me be around him. He helped train me to be a hunter, and he sent me to school, where I met Tommy. And I found out he was a hunter when his mom and Rufus took us on a hunt together.”

“That’s awful,” Nikki told him as he watched Vince chug his drink. “My dad walked out on me when I was two. I went through a cycle of abusive stepdads, being dropped off with my grandparents, etc. I didn’t find out my dad was a hunter until years later, when Bobby saved me from a wolf.”

“Our lives man,” Vince shook his head. “Mick doesn’t really talk about his past or anything. And I don’t push it.”

“I can’t believe how things played out,” Nikki told him. “I honestly was hoping to be a rockstar at some point, but I’m pretty happy with our little cover band.” Vince was about to speak when a noise was heard from the living room. Nikki looked at Tommy to see him moving in his sleep.

“T-Bone?” Vince asked. Tommy whimpered and thrashed before he screamed.

*****

“You’re a monster,” A woman with long, grey hair, hissed at a girl. “The bible tells me I have to do this.”

“Mama no,” Tommy looked at Carrie, who had blood staining her skin. “Mama please.”

“Monster!” The woman hissed. She went to stab Carrie with what looked like a box cutter of some sorts, when Carrie, who was tied to a chair, used her mind to rip the knife from her hands and plunge it into her mother's heart.

Forever Tags: @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk @tommyleeownsme @marvelismylifffe @mrslogansixxpixx-deactivated202 @jaxl-road

Motley Crue Tags:@primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @sweet-dreams-on-butterfly-wings @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @scarecrowmax @anyasthoughts @bandaids-not-groupies @ilovetomkeiferslips-deactivated @kaitieskidmore1 @useyourillusion @xpoisonousrosesx @slash-me-up @hauntedapricoteggsclam @lucyboytom @reigns420 @solopadawan @frehleys-mint @madamsixx @appetiteforstradlin @acdcmutual @wildsiide

#the hunters #motley crue #supernatural #tommy lee x nikki sixx #terrorcest #fanfiction

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technicolordeams · 4 years

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So some things happened this past week since I wrote my last entry and I'm rethinking my stance on leaving or not. I was able to talk to the one girl who is befriending me and my pastor had a long talk about what makes me me and what I struggle with. I followed what my therapist told me to be which was to be more assertive. I felt very awkward and scared to do it but if I didn't, I'd end up right back where I was feeling anger and abandonment. So for now, I'm still on hold on what to choose to do.

But a couple other things popped up. Not too big but unsettling. My mind just blanked on one of them so I'll just type about the one that's stuck out the most to me right now since it happened literally within the past hour.

So obviously I have problems eating enough to keep my weight stable, let alone gain any without a LOT of work. I've been struggling with it since my gallbladder decided to take a shit on me and demand to be removed which happened on my birthday. During that time I started getting suicidal again and I hadn't dealt with those intense emotions regarding it in several years. But since December it decided to rear it's ugly head and bite into me as hard as it could ever since. It's been 8 months now with very little improvement. And during that time span my health has tanked. I developed breathing problems after my surgery which was horrific enough as it was (imagine not being fully awake but aware that you are out of control of your body and unable to utilize your coping techniques. Just like having a massive panic attack like seizure feeling but you are barely able to be aware of anything besides the viceral fear and blackness because I couldn't wake up. Just... Out of control. And you have no idea how long you were in that state before the nurse could sort of pull you out of it and even communicate more than like two words and slowly peek my eyes open a fraction. Yeah, that's what happened. I had major fear over that for at least a month. Sleeping was hard enough from the surgery and adding in that... Yeah no.) Anyways, since that started up and obviously after surgery it's hard to eat and stuff like that normally. But after the surgery I was (am) having breathing problems. I would have endless coughing fits that would even hit me and make me unable to take a full breath without coughing horribly whatever air I could get right back out. It also made me almost throw up several times (which is my biggest phobia that triggered my eating disorder to go out of control and send me into hospital stays and feeding tube hell). So at least I lost 10lbs since the surgery or even before that. I creep closer to 15lbs though most likely. I haven't been keeping track of it very much because of how much distress I've been dealing with. And I've been dealing with A LOT. Things I wonder if I will be able to get up from without more intense medical help that I probably can't get because of covid.

I've gone through several tests to see why I'm having coughing fits and every answer is that they don't see anything wrong. Well, the ENT appointment I went to the day before I went to see the pulmonary doctor really screwed me over tbh. The ENT doctor gave me steroids that day that I took that same night and told me that the pulls wouldn't affect the asthma test they were going to perform next day. It did. So I had to wait like two months before I could go back and be re-tested. But then covid hit and those practices have been closed ever since. So I can't get an accurate reading on what's going on. They did spot that I had some breathing abnormalities but because of the steroids, they couldn't say for sure. Mind you I had to literally book these doctor appointments and tell my dad you have to take me to these because he didn't think it was that important. Which has pretty much been like everything doctor related that has come up this past year. Just had to put my foot down and tell him I NEED to go to these and I'll be going whether you agree with me or not. Which adds to the distressed feeling and like I'm overreacting and being too paranoid or some shit. Also because I couldn't get actually tested for asthma properly, my regular doctor had to prescribe me with an inhaler but insurance won't help because I have not been diagnosed with it. So I had to cough up (almost literally) over a $100 for medicine that we don't know is right for me or not or whatever.. so that's like $60 every two months? Idk. Which is a lot considering I have a bunch of other bills to pay which includes when I got my wisdom teeth removed (ALL FIVEEE because I'm that extra) which cost $3,000. I have to pay my mom back for another at least year? I don't even know anymore at this point.

I've also been dealing with vision blackouts recently where I almost pass out when I get up here and there. My blood pressure tanked and went to like 70/52 and pulse all over the place. That's better now at least. Chronic fatigue, dehydration, can't sleep very well... Etc. Vitamin D and B12 are on the lower side of the normal range and my body isn't producing enough carbon dioxide.

Now along with all of this bag of shit, I have lost every friend I thought I had and the feeling that I can call anyone friend anymore. I am terrified of calling anyone a friend now because I am afraid that if I let someone in, I will be taken advantage of and lied to like I have in almost every type of relationship I've had since I was little. I am afraid of speaking because I am afraid what I say will offend or upset or whatever someone when all I do is mean well (usually unless you're an asshat). It has made me regress back to my childhood where I couldn't trust anyone and I had nobody except for a penpal on the east coast to keep me company through msn messenger, emails, or rarely phone calls. She was the only one I could call my best friend for a long time and the only one I could open up to about things and the only one who tried to consistently cheer me up when I was hospitalized at 16 by spamming me with emails. I will forever love her and no matter how far we've drifted apart over the years, I will still love her and respond to her as quickly as possible if she ever needed me again. But if we never talk again I'm okay with it. We were there for each other during really bad times in out lives and I like to think we kept each other somewhat sane. She has done more for me than I could ever ask anyone and I'll always be grateful to have "met" her.

But since all of the shit happened with my ex friends... I don't feel safe to get very close to anyone or open up to anyone. Even the girl who defended me and stuff when I was being bullied and manipulated hardly speaks to me now. I wouldn't want to talk to me very much either if all I had to talk about were extremely negative and talk about dying. I can hardly go to my parents about things. I am home alone with just my puppy that likes to get into mischief about 80% of the day. Hardly interact with people online. Usually I just now watch YouTube videos about what's going on with people. I find very little satisfaction playing video games or anything honestly. I have lost art, something that I loved dearly and way too much. I cannot go out most often due to my health. I am stuck at home. I can hardly go outside too. It's too hot (sometimes heat can trigger flashbacks), I found out I'm allergic to grass, and last week I broke out in hives from God knows what so I can't go outside even more. I was put on steroids again for 6 days which causes your immune system to weaken so it won't produce histamines that causes the INSANE itch because every topical and oral medicine OTC would barely help at all. All I do each day is very basic hygiene, sleep when I can, eat as much as I can, and try and relax while taking care of my puppy.

Only two good things has come from all of this: one, I can finally work with a trauma therapist. Hopefully she can help me. Two... Ah I forgot what the second one was actually. Maybe being able to talk to my psychiatrist more frequently? Not sure. I'm very tired right now again lol.

All I know is that I feel very much alone and there's nothing I can do about it. The world outside is extremely dangerous and I am trapped inside my mind too frequently. And there is no extra help I can get.

So all of this led up to my main grievance for today- so far at least lol long ass story to tell just to explain what I'm upset about. My mom earlier asked me if she could give me advice. I told her it depends on what it's about. But she said it anyways. Told me to check my weight each week. She knows I'm not in the most stable state of mind and she knows that me checking my weight constantly can cause a panic attack of it goes down. (thankfully it hasn't really in a month. Only reason why I know is because I had to go to my doctor's twice the past month) I told my dad what she said and he just told me to say okay and leave it at that.

I know I don't want to go back to the state I was in in 2017. I don't want to go through that hell again. Even if I did want to, there'd be way more restrictions with the threat of covid ravaging our place and infecting everyone there. When I pass the eating disorder clinic that I was forced in when I was 16, there is literally nobody there. Maybe a couple cars but they obviously are not treating kids right now. I may be wrong but it would be very dangerous. I know over at the ERC I went to in 2017 is extremely limiting any visitors from coming. The apartments when you graduate to living in temporarily while you go to just a day program only allow maybe two people to stay there at a time and instead of walking to the van pickup spot, they pick you up at your apartment. Psychiatric wards here, or at least one of them that my therapist and I talked about going to, is still slightly operational, but it's over Zoom. So you literally can't get very good support. If you fall off the deep end while at a meeting nothing can be done to help you right there and then if you run away from the meeting.

My psychiatrist told me that if I do feel that I'm in grave danger (I think the trauma therapist I met also said the same) was to go to the ER. But I am afraid to go to the ER and then be turned away quickly and also take a chance that I might catch Covid while there, not to mention the price... And since my parents are essential workers, any one of us could come down with it at any time or be a carrier without knowing. So I'm isolated from people in real life and I don't feel safe talking to anyone online as well. Even if I had someone who wanted to talk to me to begin with that isn't some creepy horny guy wanting pixel sex... I can't think of anyone who I could potentially talk to about anything in my life... I'm just so lost and afraid of both the virtual and real world... Who can I turn to besides my therapist, psychiatrist, or maybe parents depending on what is bothering me, and of course God? I'm told I need a support system. But I can only talk to the doctors so much and my parents aren't very good at being compassionate... I have no one.

I also think about how badly I want to be hospitalized for a little while just so I can get fluids and rest and proper care but that most likely will only happen unless suicide was a big risk.

I am utterly alone...

If anyone reads this long post to the end, you're a crazy human being. xD Going to stop rambling now and put the dishes away and put the pup away for his nap and try and get one in myself.

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kalluun-patangaroa · 5 years

Text

Suede

SKY magazine, December 1993

written by Simon Witter

"HELLO! WHAT HAVE WE GOT HERE?!" asks Brett Anderson rhetorically, staring at the fluff he has just removed from his ear. "I haven't taken these earrings off for about nine years."

It may seem an incongruous moment to ask the 27-year-old indie pin-up about his personal style, but hey, that's the kind of guy I am. "Tatty," replies Brett with a wry smile. "I haven't been able to get out and go shopping."

Brett Anderson, frontman of Suede – the British pop sensation of 93 – is hotly rumoured to have a great dress sense. Today however, perched uncomfortably behind an executive desk at the central London HQ of his record company, his head inadvertently framed by a halo of Right Said Fred promotional balloons, he is sporting a navy blue jeans'n'top ensemble he accurately describes as "just anything". Brett has been telling me how he spends most of his time with people who work in shops or are unemployed – "real people, not in the business" – so I presume this boutique bonding provides a clue to his supposed, though temporarily non-evident, style savvy.

"Oh no," he gasps. "Not clothes shops! Most of my friends are in food shops. So I know a good bit of brie when I see it."

The thought of Brett Anderson having, at any point in his life, ever eaten food, conjures images of pigs flapping their trotters as they sail past this second floor window. But we press on with the personal style enquiry.

"I want to change it at the moment," he says. "I'm sick of wearing second-hand things. I used to have a grudge against new clothes because I don't like wearing things that another thousand people are wearing. It's nothing to do with being into clothes from years ago, or tatty clothes at all. I'm quite keen to toy around with my style until I eventually find something, to have clothes made for me. There's never anything, when I go out and look for clothes, that I really love. I've got quite a strong vision of what I want, which would be very, very well fitted things. I don't like baggy things. I like lots of ethnic looks. I really like the Spanish look, that sort of matador thing." By way of explanation, Brett strikes a pose, clicking imaginary castanets above his head. "I like that shape. Prince wears a really brilliant little thing sometimes. When I kept getting my bellybutton out, it was really a desire to achieve that shape more than anything, nothing to do with flaunting my navel."

It's well worth flashing your bellybutton while you still can, I assure him, a rueful hand on my own expanding waistline.

"Yep," he smiles. "Well I can't anymore. Not after that chinese last night."

In May of 1992 Suede released their first single, 'The Drowners'. They had already been on the cover of Melody Maker – before they had a record out – and would grace 18 other British magazine covers over the next year, including the cover of Q on just their second single. Their eponymous debut album, released last March, went straight to No. One in the charts and went on to win the Mercury Prize, and last autumn they released a full-length concert video Love & Poison. At this rate, it will be time for their memoirs by easter.

Within the bizarre, incestuous fishbowl of the British music media, Suede have become almost self-damagingly important. After a couple of wilderness years spent faffing about, finding their feet and being universally loathed, their overnight transformation into the most hyped band in the world was nothing short of miraculous. Yet it created impossibly high expectations of their music. A German friend told me how surprised he was, after long distance exposure to their media glare, to discover how average Suede sounded – a judgment that casual discovery of the first album would hardly have elicited. And while touring America, their support act the Cranberries famously outshone them by an enormous factor when it came to album sales. Yet phase one of Suede's career has been – or appeared to be – so extraordinary, that they are going to be hard-pressed to follow it up with anything similarly momentous.

For now, we have 'Stay Together', a new, epically long single. As a measure of Suede's magnitude in the reality-starved world of British indie pop, I am treated to an absurd preview of the track the day before meeting Brett. Before entering the listening room I am subjected to a bag search to check – I kid you not! – that I'm not carrying a concealed tape recorder.

In LA, the world capital of muso control freakism, I was played U2's Desire, the immediate-follow up to their 15-million selling Joshua Tree album, eons before its release without anyone thinking twice. Yet now, without a hint of humour or irony, I am being treated as if I not only know anyone who cares what the next Suede single sounds like, but would be willing to pay for a tape of it recorded through a leather bag.

After regaining consciousness, I join in the fiasco, insist on a full body search (well, at less reputable establishments you'd have to pay good money for this touchy-feely experience) and am seated. The label boss places two speakers on each side of my head, facing my ears from about 20" away, turns it up LOUD, and begins to do that embarrassing, pseudo appreciative in-chair grooving that only people who work in record companies and recording studios have the gall to indulge in. "It's not pompous," he assures me, "even though it's eight minutes long."

Of course any pop song – as opposed to dance record – that lasts eight minutes is by definition pompous. 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was gloriously, defiantly pompous with a side order of pomposity to go. But, despite the circumstances, 'Stay Together' sounds like a fine, many-hued song, liberally doused with Bernard Butler's life-saving guitar, that is destined neither to win many new fans nor shock the devotees.

"It's about a sense of unrest I feel about the world," Brett tells me the following day, in an ill-advised shot at an explanation. "An attempt to make some sense when everything seems to be going slightly insane. I do get a real sense of impending doom, but not in a depressing way, not like we're all gonna die, let's go and rape people. I feel quite content with it. We're living under some shadow, and I'm not quite sure what it is. It's a bit like the fears I felt when I was growing up, when things were unstable and there was the threat of nuclear war, or the fear that your parents could die of aerosol poisoning."

Brett grew up, together with Suede drummer Mat Osman, in the soulless satellite town of Haywards Heath, between London and Brighton. According to Osman, if they'd been the tea party fops people make them out to be, they would've formed a grunge band. They only wanted to be really glamorous because of their stultifyingly dull working class backgrounds. Some might say that that would lead to the three-Es-a-night, dance-and-forget syndrome, rather than the formation of a glam rock band.

"Hopefully we're not a glam rock band," Brett shudders defensively. "You can escape those surroundings by taking a load of Es and ignoring it. Another way is to create your own myth, to try and become romantic in your own eyes, to create something beautiful out of the rubbish and the shit. It all sounds very Oscar Wilde, but that's the way we did it. None of us were brought up in workhouses, but we haven't had easy lives at all."

Suede claim to be obsessed with fame because they were excluded from it. Yet surely fame is the one classless thing people aren't born into?

"Lots of people are constantly privileged," says Brett, who has clearly spent an unhealthy amount of time pondering the abstract qualities of fame. "If you're born in Soho to rich professional parents, and you've got Jonathan Wotsisname coming round to your house every night to see your father, then you've got this world that you slip easily into. When you're excluded from it there's a desperation, you're desperate to have it. It doesn't come as second nature to you, like professionally famous people who hang out in Beverly Hills. It's not something you're comfortable with, but that mutates it into something far more interesting, a bit prickly and far more creative, because you're not just sitting there lapping it up."

Suede's appearance coincided not unfortunately with the post-Madchester 70s revival. But was their styling something more than just the result of being unable to afford new clothes? Personally, I had thought the emergence of Gary Numan had killed off the idea of anyone ever again wanting to be David Bowie (not to mention Bowie's recent records). Then along came Suede, with their rough guitars, their androgyny and their theatrical singer.

"I never thought of ourselves as '70s," Brett insists. "David Bowie is a genius, but the rest of all that rubbish I always found laughable. As for the clothes, I always thought we looked more 60s than 70s. It's all tied up with this whole kitsch thing, this Magpie and Porridge and rediscovering the culture of British music journalists' youths. Kids of 14 didn't know what anyone was talking about, it was just that the people in power had reached a certain age where they were getting sentimental about their youth and started remembering Magpie. That's all it was, all a complete load of rubbish. As soon as we were aware that this scene was going on, we wanted nothing to do with it."

Brett's voice is a highly variable instrument, perfect and beautiful on slow numbers like 'The Next Life', but occasionally, when he affects that archly operatic Bowie yodel, a whiney, sneering sound like Rik Mayall on speed boring into your brain – absolutely maddening. It goes without saying that his delivery owes much to the most overrated British pop star of the last decade, Morrissey.

"I forced my voice in that way because of how we were born, musically, playing shitholes. It was the only way I could make myself heard. I didn't want to sing in the murmuring way that was the style of the time. I wanted to project my voice, because I was writing songs that I wanted people to hear the words of. I wasn't just writing about fluffy little clouds, which is what everyone was doing at the time. People read into my intonations a theatrical seventiesness, but it was a complete accident."

Overworked as the subject is, it's hard to avoid asking why Brett thinks his androgyny caused such a fuss. It's not the first time it has been done; it's not even the tenth time. Genderless, mincing fops are to classic British pop what hairspray is to American rock, a staple ingredient. Brett, by comparison to most, is pretty tame.

"I don't know," he sighs. "We certainly weren't thinking 'oh let's be androgynous', it's just the way we are. I'm naturally quite an effeminate person – not all the time, I do play on things. I think it was because, at the time, people were so incredibly boring. We had been through five years of the cult of non-personality, and we never wanted to go with the flow. When everyone had their heads down, chugging away, we wanted to twist things a little bit. It's like at school, when you find that something annoys someone, you keep on doing it more and more. And that's what happened really."

A female psychologist wrote recently about the overt sexual expression of pre-pubertal girls at pop concerts, the way in which, amidst the non-contact hysteria of the pop experience, they could sometimes experience their first orgasm. She was, admittedly, talking about a Take That show, but I can't help wondering if it looks like that from the stage to Brett Anderson?

"No, nothing like that," he purrs, "nothing sexual. I always feel like people are putting it on."

Having their first fake orgasm?

"It's a bizarre thing in my head. I know they really like me, but I can't really take it seriously. When I'm onstage, and it's working, I feel like I can do absolutely anything. I feel as though there's no limit, even in the sense that I could fall asleep if I felt like it, because I'm that relaxed. I feel much more comfortable on stage than walking down the street. I could go off into a corner and do a crossword or shave my head. I feel ridiculously relaxed. I really enjoy the power of being onstage. It's to do with the circuit of the flow between the audience and you, when it's an audience willing you to be good. Your own power is an expression of how the audience is feeling, but I can't say I ever feel sexual, even if it looks that way. I think that to call the power purely sexual is to belittle it. When I've been to incredible gigs, it hasn't been a sexual thing, it has been something far more magical than that. "

Brett and Osman came to London in the mid 80s to study, respectively, architecture and politics at UCL and LSE. Suede began after they placed an ad in the NME in 1989, but initial concerts had audiences shouting "Fuck off!", critics calling them effete wankers and record companies running for the hills - a three-pronged invitation to eat shit and die that would have spelt the end for most bands.

"That X factor that made people despise us," muses Brett, "was something we managed to turn around in our favour. It's like being in love with someone, and exactly the same things you adore about them, completely horrify you when you've fallen out of love. We went away and learnt how to write songs, and came back transformed. And those qualities that originally pissed people off, we transformed into something provocative. I think the fact that we went through all that rubbish was a fucking good thing for us. People forget that the Beatles spent five years in Hamburg. No one would touch them in England, cos everyone thought they were an utter load of shit. They spent five years getting it together, suffering a bit and fighting for it."

A typical lyric from those hard years was Brett's line about "shitting paracetomol on the escalator". When they were recently described as chemically saturated, I had assumed more interesting chemicals were involved.

"That's about pure mundanity, being off your face every night and your staple diet coming from your bathroom cabinet. It's a metaphor for a humdrum life, going up and down the London underground, which I spent five years of my life doing."

In many ways this – Suede's poignant soundtracking of new depression Britain – is their strength. But if they are Her Majesty's equivalent of slackers, it hasn't made America any more amenable to their cause. Indeed, despite Brett's avowed loathing of the British character – "negativity, small-mindedness, lack of faith" – there may well be a Britishness about Suede which prevents America from getting the point.

Brett makes the mistake of quoting a Smiths song to me – something about innocence, fragility and trust – forcing me to point out that American audiences don't want to be trusted with something precious, they want to rock out with their cocks out. Evan Dando may wear a dress and pigtails, but the wider American market is notoriously unkeen on sexual ambiguity. Queen were big in America until the early 80s, when Freddie Mercury started appearing in full clone gear. They never toured America again, and didn't have a single hit until after his death (and then only thanks to Wayne's World). In fact, America's association of guitars and manliness make Suede fundamentally unsuited.

"No!" storms Brett. "I don't think we're fundamentally unmanly. All you have to do is come and watch us live. We're about sexuality, power and emotion, things that everybody feels."

Whether or not America is destined to fall for his Morrissey-meets-Larry Grayson stage persona, Brett's much-aired desire to move to America (and less well-known plan to live in Paris) has, for now, been replaced by a much smaller act of bedouinism.

"I've moved from Notting Hill to Highgate," he announces proudly, "from a fashionable place to a place where you're living in the last century pretty much. I was living in a very small flat in Notting Hill and it was driving me insane, I couldn't write and was being bombarded with nonsense all day long. I needed the peace and quiet, and now I have a bigger flat with a studio room in it and I'm writing quite prolifically. It's more serene, there's more space to think. It's quite a beautiful place, but you do feel like you're living in the last century, like you're some sort of oddity, or in a play. You keep going into these odd characters. But it's a great place."

In person, and despite the affectation of much of his thought processes, Brett Anderson is quite charming. An endearing smile – which seems to hibernate when cameras are around – plays constantly around his face, suggesting shared confidences which, to some extent, he delivers. Like so many people cocooned by over-protective minions, he is refreshingly open and approachable. I like him. But he is deeply shocked and incredulous when I paint a picture of the special treatment afforded him by those he works with.

"They treat me with the respect I deserve," he jokes defensively. "I don't have tea with Lenny Kravitz. My best friend works in a chip shop, and that's why I like it, it's a complete escape. One of the beautiful things about being successful is that it can rub off onto your friends as well. Not fame and all that bullshit – the really brilliant thing about being successful is the self-confidence, the sense of life having a purpose, that life is a wonderful thing. You open the shutters in the morning and the sunshine pours through. That sense of vitality about life can completely rub off on your friends. Sometimes it doesn't, it can go the other way, with friends ignoring you cos they think you don't have time for them, but that never happens with your proper friends."

And yet, engulfed in the sweltering perversity of his peer group, Brett has come to hold some pretty crap views, views that seem utterly irrelevant beyond the borders of saddo indie land. He worries about being thought a sell-out, thinks Suede are radically honest because they admit to having ambition – as if people didn't get over all that bollocks a decade ago – and, worst of all, that people don't talk enough about music in interviews. Oh dear!

But, despite all this, Brett's public image remains unshatterably cool. He exudes waves of sultry, sulky hipness. I feel an urge to know what naff items lurk in the corners of Chateau Anderson, his ownership of which will shock Suede devotees to the core. Brett tells me he's been to see Aladdin, listens to jazz music, likes The Orb and Verve and has just bought the new Shamen single. To prove it, he even does his Mr C impression - "Comin' on like a vibe, y'know!". This won't do at all.

"I like Terence Trent D'Arby," he admits, trying harder. "I think he's really good."

It's good, but it's not right.

"I bought Billy Joel's River Of Dreams album. I like that one."

Aha – as Inspector Clouseau used to say – now we are getting somewhere! What about films?

"No, I've got impeccable taste when it comes to films."

No feature length On The Buses video stashed chez Brett?

"No. I have got Crocodile Dundee."

Bingo and Bullseye! So much for impeccable taste.

"Well, my perennial favourite is Performance," he flusters wildly. "I can virtually quote the whole film from start to finish. And there's a brilliant film which I've just discovered called The Shout, with John Hurt, Alan Bates and Susanna York. It's about a man who has spent years in the Australian bush learning the secrets of the bush doctors coming to this ridiculously reserved Cornish village and turning two people's lives upside down. It's like an animal alive within this village, and when he shouts, everyone within a mile radius dies. If Alan Bates' part had been played by Vincent Price, it would've been laughable, but it's incredibly powerful, one of those great lost films."

It's a nice try, but nothing can erase the impression created by Billy Joel and Crocodile Dundee.

#suede #brett anderson #press #interview #sky #1993

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