#Jesus actually split that particular hair from what I can tell | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

punk-in-docs · 2 years

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Hi love! I’m not sure if I requested this here or not (so if I did please ignore this and know I’m terribly sorry for asking again, I have a garbage memory) but if I didn’t, can I request an Eddie x reader fic where they’ve been in an established relationship (maybe like a year or 2). How do you think they would celebrate their anniversary? Like how do you think Eddie would be in particular, cuz I can see that lovable goofball being an anxious mess because he wants to do so much. But I’m interested to see what you think would happen in this sort of scenario, cuz you write Eddie so damn good ;)

Ok ok hear me out on this one cause I can so picture something: and it goes a little like this-

🍁love is kinda crazy with a spooky little boy like you🍁

Eddie yowled in front of you like a startled cat. You’d swear if he could, he’d raise his spiky hackles on end.

Does that thing with his arms, where he goes all shrivelled and squirrely. Mouth wide and shaped like a kidney bean as he shrieks.

Bravely though, batting the stuffed clowns cackling head, that just sprang out the shredded walls at you.

You’re lost wandering deep within the twisted seedy belly of the haunted house maze.

He punched his fist into the soft squish of the dummies head. Tufts of coarse blueberry coloured hair. Bulging chilli red eyes popping out at the pair of you. Grin all macabre on its stupid rubbery painted face.

He hates clowns. Doesn’t even like the one in that Bowie video.

“Fucker.” He hissed as he swiped at it again. Heart racing hummingbird fast in his throat.

Crushed his metal rings into it again, just because. Grits his teeth. He’s on edge.

Why did he agree to this scare jumping, spine chilling fuckery again-

Cause it’s stupid and fun. Get in the Halloween spirit. You’d said.

Then gave him a deep, beautiful kiss that was all toffee apple and pink pink cotton candy. Your tongue furred with sugar and, damn, how he suddenly forgot why he was ever mad. Haunted what? Scared, who?

“I do not like this.” He tells you.

Kept telling you, actually. His eyes go darting around corners. Gaze scanning ahead like you were tiptoeing enemies in a live war-zone.

“You’ve said that already.”

“And you apparently didn’t want to listen. So I’ll say it, once more, with feeling- I DON’T like this.” He repeats. Voice rising to a pitchy squeak.

He jiggles on the spot. Cagey. Jesus H Christ.

“Never again. I promise.” You smooth a hand to his chest and pat him on his Judas Priest shirt. Leaves warmth where you touch him that he’s too scared to enjoy right now.

“I mean what’s so wrong with the fucking bumper cars, honey? They don’t have dead fake mangled things everywhere with stuff popping out the walls- shit.”

He backs away sidewards, whimpers, edges away sudden, the wall next to him is broken wood slats and nails, with stubby zombie hands now poking through. Black rotting nails all split, half eaten flesh all green, yellow dirty bones exposed. Grunts of the undead leak through from the other side. Searching for your living juicy meat.

“I ain’t got any brains for you to eat. Morons. Go swivel.” He defends. It makes you smile.

“You like horror movies, Eddie, I thought you’d find it cool.” You try to offer in your own defence for getting you both in here.

His hand squeezes yours. Tight. Clammy with sweat.

“You can turn a movie off. Princess. You can press pause or take the video out, leave the room. It’s a small screen you can manage. I didn’t say ‘yeah sure, honey, drop me onto the fucking set of Night of the living dead. I don’t mind’.” He snaps quickly in parody. He doesn’t mean it nastily.

Despite everything, you can’t help it. You chuckle. He looks at you with a very specific look in his eyes.

You feel his hands grip for your hips in your pretty dress. He comes up right close behind you. You feel his hair brushing dry at the back of your neck. His lips skate against the crown of your head.

“Oh you’re so in for it if we make it out of here alive.”

“Theres optimism.” You rib at him. Reaching back to cup your hand over his cheekbone.

“Vamonos.” He encourages. Sneaking down and patting your ass softly.

You pass along a section of hallway where the lights blink, maniacal Vincent Price-esque laughs bubble up all around you. Rolling through the maze and snatching at your running heels.

Ghosts in jangling dragging chains with arms outstretched. Apple green eyes glowing under the white sheet. Groans and wails. The lilac purple gothic room full of creepy eyeless dolls, a chirpy lullaby from a demented music box tinkling away.

‘Help’ crudely scrawled on the walls in sticky fingertip blood, hand smears too, in the mouldy white tiles of the crazy surgeons dungeon. Screams pierce. Fake amputated limbs scattered across the operating table. Blood tinged saws and knives.

Now. He goes into his famous Munson defence mode. Scurrying along and keeping you pulled behind him. Arms braced out with you bracketed between them. Pulling you into his back and offering his own front as your shield.

The Dio vested Knight he was, all chivalry and manners, putting himself at risk for love of you. His maiden. His one. Maid Marian to his Robin Hood. Or more likely, as he liked to think of it, Marianne Faithfull to his Mick Jagger. Much cooler.

You looped your fingers through his. Pulling him back to your side.

“Don’t worry. I’ll always protect you, big boy.” You wink at him. Makes his heart squeeze and flash faster when you do that. You lean in and nuzzle a kiss onto his jaw.

He pulls you in closer. Your chest brushing into his. A twitchy sort of frenzy on his face.

“I just want you to know. If we weren’t in this hellscape. I would be making out with you so hard right now.”

“Noted.” You beam. Pulling him along again, shadows roll and flick over a movement down the corridor in your peripheral. You strong arm him away before the chain saw guy with the peeling rubber face and “human skin” mask could catch you.

That split cherry soft of your grin. He’s so soft for it. Lips pink from that watermelon balm you use that he never lets linger for too long. He would be lying if he said he didn’t like the silky taste.

You laugh and shriek when a guy in a skeleton costume, comes bursting cunningly out the slanted shadows of a corner.

“Leaving so soon?” He snarls.

“Eat shit, bonehead.” Eddie fairly screeches, and tugs you along with him. Body blocking you. Reeling you along to, hopefully, the fucking exit of this creepy hell hole.

Halle-fucking-lujah. It’s up ahead on the right. The lovely big green arrows pointing to the exit. Salvation. Freedom.

He yanks on your wrist and you run full speed towards it. Ghoul hands painted blue make one last attempt to rip at your clothes. Eddie bats them away.

Not today fuckers. Me and my lady getting out of here-

It’s definitely a relief when you come to the cooling wash of night air outside. It was stuffy inside. The cramped space choking with the smell of warm tacky plastic, and stale air lining the horror laden walls. The night air is so thick and blue out here you could drink it. Sticky opium of a bruising fall night.

The air is throbbing deep with autumnal scents. Warm bubbling cider. Fried funnel cakes. Buttery caramel popcorn and soft pretzels studded with salt. That definable gooey orange scent that comes gouged out the insides of pumpkins, pitted with seeds.

The wind isn’t threaded with a biting cold yet, but it promises too, as the treacly night drags on. Leaves, the colour of gold and apricot, crunch and snap under your feet.

Your favourite time of year. The best. The slice of the cold that has you reaching for chunky sweaters. Cold knifing rain on grey dour windows and gloomy days. Splashing your boots into autumn puddles mucked with leaves.

Horror movies, carving pumpkins, and baking orange and black sprinkle cookies with Eddie in the trailer.

He always went full tilt overkill and added way way too many sprinkles. More sprinkles than cookie, really. Lacing the place with the scents of sugar and vanilla dough. And home. Sitting out on the porch with a warm cider in your hands chatting to Wayne as he smokes. Laughing at Eddie whining about washing the dishes- getting excited that the cookies were rising too.

Eddie takes a deep breath. Scanning up at the haunted house maze you’d just stumbled through. His hand still very much clutched on yours. He meant what he said. He’d never let go. Eddie keeps his word.

Although the truth be told, he made you promise you wouldn’t let his hand go the second you stepped inside that maze.

You hadn’t let go of this hand for two years. You weren’t planning to start now.

And yes, the full fact of being here again is crashing into your gut. Making you all mushy swooning and sentimental. It was your tradition after all-

“Come on. Handsome. Let’s go. I’ll buy you a corn dog as a reward for being so tough back in there. Protecting me.” You nudge his arm to bring him in.

He steps towards you and curls you into them. Rubbing his arms along your sides. Looping hands around the back of your waist. He doesn’t say anything but he’s definitely smiling down at you. His belly pressed to you. Tilts his head. Pensive look on his face.

You’re touching in so many places. All tangled and wrapped up in leather and denim like you usually are around him.

“What is it?” You ask him. Scanning that maniacal face and those deep puddles of oozing chocolate eyes for an answer.

“It’s been two years. To the exact day.” He says softly. His thumbs smoothing over the backs of your hips.

You smile at his recounting it. “Believe me. Munson. I remember.”

“We were arguing. On top of that very Ferris wheel. Two years ago. When I first asked you out.” He points behind your hip with his finger.

Up towards the huge circular ride studded with yellow and red bulbs all the way around. A huge golden eye of dragging slow metal brushed against the navy sky.

“I was winning the argument by the way.”

“You always do. Cause I’m such a peach. I let you.” He winks. Grins all big. Shiny teeth.

Mainly he loses cause he just skips up to you like a jester, spins you around, and kisses you until you’re smiling again.

“…And it was the fourth time you asked me out. To which I finally relented, and said yes. Only if I can pick the movie and we can get cotton candy afterwards.” You beamed.

“You didn’t tell me you very vehemently hated heights.” He teased.

“I went on that ride for the excuse of being sat next to you for ten minutes, you dope.” You tell him.

It rips a chuckle out that pillowy lovely mouth. You slip your arms around the back of his neck. Sway into him. Narrow your eyes when he laughed.

“It worked. I got to kiss you and I got a date. Even if you did break all the bones in my hand you squeezed it so hard.” He recalled. He had blue knuckles for three weeks. Swollen sore. He couldn’t play guitar for a month.

He drags one curled knuckle over your cheek. Those eyes of yours he loves - the eyes he’s a servant too - are brimming golden, bursting with the fairground lights glimmering all around you. Threaded chilli red in your hair too.

“And you bought me the most huge pink cotton candy I’d ever seen.”

“Shaped like a fucking heart.” He smiled.“You feral little thing. Ate it all in ten minutes.”

“You helped.” You pointed out.

He leaned in and brushed his nose across your cheek. Into the nest of your hair. Kisses your jaw. You chuckled and slipped your arm up his back.

“Kissed most of it off your lips.” He remembers in a soft mumble, with a waggle of those brows. Lips planted against your cheek. Tone dipping naughtily into flirt.

Kissed and kissed until the sugar made him feel sick. Now he knew what the term lovesick meant. His metal and thorn wrapped rocker heart you had cupped safely in your hands. He’d never have it any other way.

You yank your hand into the back of his wild hair. Hold him still as you devour his lips with yours. Taste the Marlboro smoke that lived at a permanent address on his tongue. Pipped with the sweet toffee from the apple you’d both pecked at earlier. He’d kissed and bitten his pieces of apple right out your offered mouth.

Tasty as fuck, he’d said. He hadn’t even meant the apple.

He moans and you feel it shoot and slice to your belly. Gut punch love. His moans- they are better than music.

He cups you and keeps you yanked firm against his front as he kisses you back. Sneaks his tongue into your mouth, and the way it brushes yours makes your knees whirl all useless.

Damn his tongue should be criminal to be that good-

You don’t care that crowds of people are cutting around where you’re making out with your boyfriend. It was a carnival. High schoolers were dating and kissing horny all over the damn place.

What was one more star studded couple with hearts lodged in their eyes?

You cross your arms around the back of his neck. He tips into you. Skims his big warm hands up the backs of your smooth thighs. Resists cupping your ass in public- he should really get a medal for that. C’mon-

When you pull back, he chases after your mouth. Greedy and always so. Not ready for it to be over yet. He’s never ready to stop kissing you.

“Kettle corn. A pink lemonade. And a corn dog. Final offer.” You smile at him. An effective bargaining chip you kept in your pocket. Plying him with food as persuasion.

The way into Eddie Munson’s heart was occasionally via a funky reroute to his stomach.

You’re shameless and it works.

“Sold.” He grins. Enjoying the hell out of the way your tits are crushed to his chest right now.

“…Then the Ferris Wheel, honey.” He smirks with a pure maniacal grin of evil. “You can break my fingers again. I’ll let you.”

“This is you getting your own back for the haunted maze isn’t it.” You wilfully decide. That stubborn jut of your chin. Unimpressed eyes scratching daggers at him.

“My hand hasn’t left yours for two years. Sweet cheeks. Not gonna start now.” He beams.

He loops an arm over your shoulder. Steers you towards the corn dog stand. You tangle your steps alongside his. Slide your arm across his trim waist. His leather arm cold around your shoulder.

“Then after the food and the Ferris wheel. I’m gonna take you back to the van. And do filthy filthy things to you, whilst the firework show bursts across the sky.” The way his lips brush the shell of your ear makes your thighs wobble and shoot with sensation.

“Filthy you say?” You ask with hot blood gathering up in your cheeks. Gold lights bloom in his dark eyes like round petals. Dazzling.

“Yep.” He pops the p.

“Gonna lick you real slow. Make you yelp. Then just gonna slide my tongue right in, far as I can, I’m not gonna be stopping until you melt. Right into my mouth.” He decides with a playful little kiss to your jaw.

Goddamn it this boy knows how to make your pussy throb and clench.

“Is this all part of your grand revenge plan?” You seek.

“No. Baby. Just a damn good way to spend a Friday night with my favourite chick.”

Your heart is all melty. Slipping down the insides of your butter soft ribs. You do so love this man with every single tiny atom of your being.

“I thought your guitar was your favourite chick?” You play.

He grins. Chucked all sweet. “Nah. You feed me. You win hands down babe.”

Tagging some Munson babes; @indouloureux @youaremyfamiliar @fujiihime @groupie-love-71 @stiegasaw @thelyingpierrot @munsonquinns @captain-tch @ramona-thorns @starbxcks @morganamoonstone

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ellewriteswrongs · 3 years

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picking favorites (a @tsbandau drabble)

if y’all aren’t emotionally invested in @underdog-arts ‘s band au, idk what y’all are even doing /j

anyway, here’s a wholesome family drabble insp. by the band au and my (not-so) subtle obsession with remus and janus. also subbing to their patreon is the best $5 i’ve probably ever spent, no joke

“Honey, you can still pick up Ry, right?” Janus called down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry on each hip before depositing them in the hallway to put away later. Remus was seated in their shared office catching up on emails as Janus began packing up leftover pasta into containers to take to their show scheduled that night.

“I told you I got ‘em,” he agreed, banging the last clumps of his protein shake into his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I’m gonna’ jog to V’s and grab the van.”

Janus nodded to themself out of instinct before faltering, their brow furrowing.

“Wait—Re, that’s like three miles,” they challenged, dumping the dirtied dishes into the sink. “Just take the fucking car.”

Remus’ snort laugh was audible from down the hallway.

“They asked for the van!” Remus cackled. “And I, for one, do not disappoint. Apparently making my kid’s friends think they’re cool is worth a three-mile jog.”

Janus rolled their eyes, albeit fondly. This was, unfortunately, not news.

Riley was having an…interesting phase. It wouldn’t be abnormal for kids their age if it weren’t for the fact that their parents were ridiculously competitive, and all of their parents’ friends were eager to get in on it.

As soon as Remus attended career day in Riley’s first grade classroom, resulting in the entire class of six-year-olds marveling at the fact that their friend’s dad was a “rock star.”

Janus loved that conversation over dinner that night.

They weren’t jealous. No, in fact, it was probably overdue for Riley to have a bit of a “Daddy’s kid” phase, considering how joined at the hip they were with Janus for multiple years now. But they wanted to win.

Riley could make their own decisions about picking a favorite parent. As long as that decision was Janus.

“You’ve gone so-oft,” they sing-songed, smirking as Remus appeared in the kitchen behind them, wrapping one hand around their hip and pressing a kiss to their temple. “Ry’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Remus have a flash of his crooked grin.

“Yeah, well…at least I know where they get that from.”

Janus rolled their eyes, trying to hide their reddening face.

“Sap,” they grumbled fondly. “Hurry up and get on with your run before you’re late to pickup. And tell V I said hey.”

Remus gave an exasperated chuckle and affirmation, but pocketed his keys and wallet nonetheless.

The jog to Virgil’s apartment wasn’t a particularly strenuous three miles, being downtown and all, and Remus was far from out of shape. Still, three miles was three miles—especially in the late afternoon sun. Needless to say, Virgil wasn’t thrilled to have a giant sweaty man on his doorstep, but he handed over the keys nonetheless.

The van was old, still clinging to its axels from when Remus himself purchased it from an old neighbor and declared it the band’s “tour bus.” It was nice enough at the time, especially for the price he paid, but it certainly wasn’t still around for anything more than sentimental value.

Mainly just Remus refusing to get rid of it.

That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, Riley thought it was the coolest thing ever.

The drive wasn’t long, only the sitting in traffic of other parents in minivans trying to get into the school parking lot. He…wasn’t a fan of that part of being a parent, that’s for sure. He could do without any other parents, thank you very much, but at least it was fun to see how obvious all of them were in their distaste of both him and Janus, compared to how much their kid absolutely adored them.

A fact that was only proven when Remus eventually made it to the parking lot and exited his van, only to be met with ear-splitting squeal of “daddy!” and an armful of six-year-old.

He can’t deny how, even after all these years, the title still makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like…he is a dad. That’s his kid! How fucking rad is that!

He happens to spot a few other parents, along with some of Riley’s friends that he recognizes, and he offers a quick wave with the hand that isn’t mussing up his kid’s hair.

“You brought the van,” Riley points out with a toothy grin that Remus can’t help mirroring. He can’t help the knot in his throat when he spots the gap in their teeth from their first ever lost tooth—which only meant they were getting much too old and Remus would really appreciate it if they would slow the fuck down.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Riley nods, bouncing on Remus’ hip just a bit out of excitement. “I gotta’ warn you though, JJ’s getting pretty jealous.”

Riley laughs before sticking out their tongue and making a fart noise in Remus’s face.

Remus is, for the thousandth time, bewildered at how Riley couldn’t possibly be more like Janus if they tried. And mostly smitten. He has the coolest kid on Earth, after all.

“They can suck my butt!” Riley squeals and Jesus Christ, Remus is going to have a heart attack right there in the parking lot. He’s gonna’ have to grill Jan again to make sure those two aren’t secretly biologically related.

“Hey, your words not mine, squirt,” he smirks, opening the van door and strapping them into the car seat. “And your early bedtime if you let JJ hear any of that.”

He finishes with a pinch on their nose before closing the van door and getting back in the driver’s seat.

Riley, as soon as the radio turn on, starts protesting very aggressively to listen to “your songs, daddy! Play your songs!”

Thankfully, he has a CD burned with some of their…cleaner songs for that exact purpose.

Riley, for lack of a better word, was ‘singing’ along at a volume that Remus would’ve otherwise found hilarious and impressive if it wasn’t right in his ear. Still, there was a certain fondness that came with watching his kid’s excitement over his work—something that, as usual, was paired with thrashing within the confines of a car seat and headbanging their little heart out.

Along the drive Remus made every attempt to stop the barrage of the screamo singer in the making, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. At least…until he pointed out one particular building out of a strip mall assortment.

“Hey, you see that store right there? The one with the red sign?” He spoke up, catching Riley’s eager attention in an instant. They placed both hands on the van window to look out.

“What is it?” They asked, squinting to try and read what was on the sign.

“You know the snake on my leg?” Riley nodded, quieting down. “That’s where JJ took me to get it.”

They paused, seemingly putting some pieces together in their head.

“How come you only have one?” They asked, still kicking their legs against their seat. “JJ has lots, how come you don’t have lots too?”

Remus chuckled, continuing along the road as the light turned green.

“‘Cause I don’t need another one. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re a wimp?”

Remus choked on his own spit.

“N-no,” he choked out, laughing. “No I’m not, I just think it looks better this way.”

He didn’t bother looking into the backseat to see what Riley thought of that answer, but if the return to karaoke that followed was any indication, they were not impressed. Still, he’d probably take the teasing over the screaming, but kids are kids.

Even as they pulled into their driveway, Remus had to strategically dodge Riley’s flailing limbs in order to un-fasten the seatbelts on their car seat and actually get them in the house. Apparently the music was not as vital to the ‘sing-along’ as he’d hoped it was when he turned the car off.

“Alright, alright, calm those legs down before you knock my teeth out, will ya’?” Remus teased, placing Riley on his shoulders where they instantly took fistfuls of his hair to hold on. Riley toned down the velocity, but otherwise did not stop. “Careful, squirt, if you wanna’ kick so bad, I’m signing you up to play soccer.”

Riley stopped almost instantaneously, gripping Remus’ hair even tighter as they headed back inside the house, Riley’s tiny backpack slung around Remus’ forearm.

“Nooo,” they wailed, half punctuated by laughter that echoed through the house.

“What are we complaining about?” Janus spoke, leaning against the doorway across the room with a fond smile.

“He said if I kick him in the teeth I have to play soccer,” Riley whined, attempting to climb down from Remus’ shoulders on their own. Janus snorted a laugh before swiftly crossing the room to collect their child and place them on their hip.

“Wow, your daddy’s so mean,” Janus agreed, raising a challenging eyebrow as they stood in front of their husband. Remus pouted before bending down to steal a kiss.

“Gross,” Riley giggled, pressing a hand on each of their parents’ faces to separate them.

“Gross?” Janus smirked. “Well in that case, maybe your dad was being a bit unfair.”

Riley turned to Remus to stick out their tongue at him.

“I mean, soccer? That’s just ridiculous,” Janus continued, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “We’ll obviously have to sign you up for football instead. A punt like that has got to be put to good use.”

Riley immediately went back to their dramatized complaining, this time reaching desperately for Remus to get him to take them back from Janus—to which Remus just held up his hands in mock innocence.

“No can do, kid,” he smirked. “The punishment has to fit the crime, after all.”

Riley continued their attempts to wiggle out of Janus’ unyielding grip.

“Never!” They declared, trying a different approach of reaching over Janus’ shoulder to escape from behind. “I won’t! I won’t do it, I promise!”

Remus and Janus both knew they wouldn’t actively try to hurt either of them, but sometimes it was just more fun to assert rules when it came with shrieking laughter and climbing their parents like a jungle gym.

“Well, now you know where we stand,” Remus spoke in false authority, reaching for one of Riley’s tiny shoes and holding it up to address it as if it were in control of their legs. “I better not see you around these parts again, ya’ hear?” He added in an over-the-top western accent, gesturing to his face.

Riley squealed with laughter as he held out his hand for a handshake and they shook it with their accused foot.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Janus intervened with fond exasperation. “Snacks are on the counter, take it or leave it.”

Riley whipped their head around to peer into the kitchen, cheering when they spotted two plates on the kitchen counter, each with a toaster waffle piled high with blueberries.

“Second…breakfast!” They cheered, drumroll-ing on their leg before whooping and slinking out of Janus’ grip and climbing up onto the kitchen barstools. Remus, giving a fond eye-roll at the enthusiasm, turned to drape his arms over Janus’ shoulders from behind, perching his chin on top of their head.

“They get it from you, you know,” he mumbled, smirking at the scoff it earned him.

“Shut up,” Janus grumbled, the smile evident in their voice. “That is all you.”

“Babe, sports are a threat in this house,” he teased. “You’re telling me that came from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that one,” they chided, turning around to face their husband. “As long as you’re aware that the energy, the volume—honey, that’s all you.”

Remus quirked his brow with a proud smirk.

“Or maybe it’s the fact that they sleep for fourteen hours and we haven’t even had eight in the last six years,” he challenged knowingly. “You know, I happen to remember that back in the day…that bed was hardly even for sleeping.”

Janus snorted, their face reddening slightly.

“Is it bad to think of those as the ‘good old days’ already?”

Remus swept a piece of their hair out of their face.

“Hell no, dude. We lived like kings back then,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this—I’ll get Ro to take ‘em to the park or something this weekend and I’ll dick you down just like old times, ‘kay?”

Janus sputtered out a cackle, smacking Remus on the chest before covering his mouth with their hand.

“Fucking christ, they’re like two yards away,” they hissed, still laughing. “I am not going to be the one fielding questions about what getting dicked down means, oh my god.”

“You say that like they listen to anything when there’s food in front of them,” Remus countered, nodding in the direction of their kid as Janus rolled their eyes with a chuckle.

“Now that, is from you,” they grinned, jabbing him in the side with their elbow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re serving up delicacies like toaster waffles,” Remus said, raising his hands in mock defense.

Janus gave him a look before crossing their arms.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I know you can’t go two hours without food. Go on, there’s one for you, even if it’s probably cold by now,” they teased as Remus excitedly kissed their forehead before practically running to the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, folding each toaster waffle like a blueberry-filled taco before funneling them into his mouth.

Janus followed close behind—at a normal pace, thank you very much—and took the actual seat next to their kid, sipping at the cup of tea they had left on the counter before the two had returned home as they listened to Riley regaling their day at school.

———

Realistically, Remus probably should’ve seen it coming. He was a couple days past his previous record of days as Riley’s “favorite” and he knew he likely didn’t have much longer before Janus dethroned him again, but he certainly hadn’t expected the scene he walked in on that night.

He had heard hushed laughter coming from one of their house’s bathrooms that evening, assuming at first that Janus was just handling Riley’s bath or something like that, but as he cleaned up the mess from their dinner and finished washing the rest of their dishes, he was surprised to find they were still in there. So obviously he had to investigate.

He knocked on the door, rolling his eyes fondly as shushing and giggles came from within.

“Everything good in there?” He teased, leaning against the door. “I gotta’ say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get invited to whatever club this is that hangs out in the bathroom.”

More giggles followed by the oh-so familiar sound of Janus’ shushing.

“I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself what all the fuss is about,” he sing-songed, slowly creaking open the door before letting out a snort laugh at the scene before him.

Janus was seated on the edge of the bathtub, wash cloth in hand, as Riley sat on the sink counter, covered on all limbs with temporary tattoos. At least the pieces of tape that Janus had cut into circles and colored black to look like ear gauges were admittedly cute.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smirked from against the doorframe.

“JJ said you’re a wimp,” Riley proudly announced. “I was right.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and made a spitting noise and…yeah, that was their kid alright. Not that Remus would have it any other way.

#anyway.......i would die for them #my writing #tsbandau #sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus

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paperpocalypse · 4 years

Text

red.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 20. Washing their back/hair in the shower.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,662 words

Warning: Implied/referenced murder

[A/N: No shower, just sticking Five’s head underneath a sink faucet. Also Villain!AU :)]

It really was too bad.

You had liked Elliott – honestly, you did, and you don’t like a lot of people. Sure, he was ridiculously paranoid, and his Jell-O molds boasted flavors that could alter the timeline all by themselves. But he had been a nice man, a harmless man, and you don’t like killing nice, harmless men unless you have to. Personally, anyway.

If only he had been cooperative for a few more hours …!

“What a shame,” you murmur, tucking the last corner of the blanket underneath his head. At least taking a bullet to the heart was almost as quick as being incinerated by a nuclear missile. Somewhat. In any case, you think to yourself as you stand up, he’s as good as gone; Diego and Luther will probably want to bury him once they get back. Societal convention, and all that.

“Anybody still here?”

(Speak of the devils and they will appear –)

“In here,” you call out, smoothing out your clothes and hurrying into the kitchen before the two brothers – mainly Diego – can make their own conclusions about the living room. As expected, they greet you with suspicious frowns as you come to a stop in front of them.

“What’s going on?” Diego demands.

“Hello to you, too,” you reply lightly. The man only narrows his eyes, and you scratch the back of your head, absently wondering if he does, in fact, like you enough not to turn you into a knife block. “So … things got a bit out of hand with Elliott while you guys were out.”

“What do you mean?” Luther asks.

You shrug. “I had no choice.”

“No choice?”

Diego’s jaw clenches, and he pushes past you towards the living room. “What did you do to him?”

“What he would’ve done to me if I hadn’t shot him first,” you reply evenly. You linger on the boundary between the kitchen and the living room, staying a respectful distance away as they stare down at the covered body. “If it makes it any better, it was quick. I didn’t torture him or anything like that. Not that I know how to.”

“Lucky for him,” Diego retorts. Nevertheless, his expression is calmer that you thought it’d be, and it puts you less on edge. It’s obvious that he’s still upset about it, however. “At least he didn’t suffer too much.”

“Yeah. He didn’t have much time left, anyway.”

The two brothers nod reluctantly, glancing at each other and then down at the body. You cross your arms, fingers brushing the hand-sized weapon just above your hip as Diego turns and bumps past you towards the door again. Probably to find a shovel. Luther, the big old softie, lifts Elliott from the red-leather sofa where you had wrapped him up.

He moves toward the front door as well but stops in front of you, uncertain. “You wanna …?” he starts, motioning the body towards you slightly.

You shake your head. “You two should do it. I already did my part.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I know you got along with him pretty well, and –”

You cut his rambling off with a pat to the back, ushering him along – if you look at the Elliott-shaped cargo in his arms any longer, you might actually start feeling guilty. “I’m one hundred percent positive. Just hurry up, yeah?”

He blinks down at you, then nods. “Okay. Just – come down if you change your mind.”

“Sure thing.”

With that, the hulk of a man wanders away with Elliott, and you walk over to the now vacant couch. Sitting down, you press your palms down into the leather. Is it still slightly warm? You resist the thought of standing back up and lean into the backrest instead. Jesus, you’re getting soft. He was expendable. There’s a thousand more Elliotts out there in a thousand more timelines, anyway.

Inhaling deeply, you take your pistol out. The barrel has, of course, cooled down by now, and you inspect it with careful fingers. But before you can take aim at one of the UFOs tacked onto the far wall, you hear a sound downstairs.

“Five?”

His footsteps are nimbler than usual as he climbs up the stairs. You put the pistol down and push yourself out of your seat, blinking in surprise as the teenage, bloodstained face of your partner comes into view. Everything about him is bloodstained, actually.

Save for the black suitcase gripped like a lifeline in his hand.

“So that’s where you disappeared to?” you exclaim, immediately taking the suitcase from Five and placing it on the coffee table as you shepherd him to the bathroom. “A killing spree without me? I had to settle for the conspiracy man.”

“You did it already?”

“It was in self-defense.”

Five scoffs lightly, shedding his jacket and leaving it on a chair as the two of you walk through the kitchen. “I’m sure it was.”

“It’s true! I mean –” pushing the bathroom door open, you consider, “fine, I got a little stir crazy while everyone was gone. But I didn’t think he’d pull the rifle on me.” You turn on the sink and feel the water run through your fingers, cold and then warm. Perfect. “But enough about me. Whose blood did you bathe in?”

Five loosens his tie. “The board’s,” he tells you.

He keeps his expression professional, but there’s no mistaking the pride just begging to surface in his tone. You raise an eyebrow and hum, tugging him closer to the sink by his tie.

“Impressive. But there’s more, isn’t there?” you guess, trying not to sound like an eager child. Your eyes rove over his profile. “Here, let me wash your hair. It’s getting crusty.”

He rolls his eyes but leans over the sink nevertheless, grunting a bit when you push his head underneath the faucet. Pink water streams down onto the white porcelain and into the drain. As you lather up a bar of soap and begin scrubbing his hair, he speaks, his voice somewhat muffled by the lip of the sink. “I offed the Handler, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A grin spreads across your face. You rinse the last of the bubbles from Five’s hair. “It was.”

“You sound happy.”

“I’m ecstatic.” Running your fingers over his hair one last time, you force your hand off to grab a towel. “Almost everything’s in place now, isn’t it?”

“All there’s left to do is reset the suitcase, have Vanya blow up something next to JFK, and then all of us can head to Commission headquarters.” Removing his head from underneath the faucet, Five holds out a hand and you place the towel in it. “Smooth sailing from there.”

“Well, I do love a good boat ride.”

He huffs out a chuckle as he finishes drying his hair, running the towel under the water again. Your heart turns soft and goopy when his eyes dart to meet yours knowingly, just for a split second, before he wrings the towel out to wipe the blood from his face.

It’s a moment you’d like to savor a little longer, but the image of the suitcase in the living room inevitably shakes you out of it.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it while I work on resetting the suitcase,” you tell him. “Shouldn’t take too long – ten minutes or so. I hope all of your siblings are back by then.”

“Highly doubt it,” you hear him mutter as you head out the door, and you don’t bother to hide a snort. Each one of the Hargreeves – Five included, even though he often acts like he’s above it – has a fondness for wreaking their own special kind of havoc on each timeline. Might as well have some fun before pulling the plug on humanity, after all. Burn your name into the book before it closes.

You slip into Elliott’s bedroom to grab a hangar, then head over to the living room. The suitcase sits innocently where you had left it; you carefully undo the latches and open the case just enough to sneak the hook in. Each one of this particular model has a sweet spot – and you could find it in your sleep. You had helped design the damn thing, after all. Not that your contributions were ever appreciated.

No, Dr. Geraldine Tynnsdale had to be a “true kindred spirit with the vision of the Commission” for the past twenty-five years.

Taking credit for everything.

After some careful prodding, you feel a satisfying click.

“There we go,” you praise the suitcase, withdrawing the hangar and popping the lid open. A sense of adoration fills your chest, replacing your feelings of malice as you stare at the familiar array of knobs and buttons. Beautiful. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Just as you thought, it takes less than ten minutes to get everything in order. The bathroom door unlocks just as you finish inputting the coordinates for headquarters, and you look up at Five (who’s now sporting a freshly cleaned uniform, at least for the visible bloodstains) with a self-satisfied smile as he approaches the sofa. Overwhelming pride for a job well done fills your bones; you had missed your projects dearly these past two weeks.

“Ready?” He tilts his head contentedly, hands in his pockets.

“Ready,” you echo, standing up. “I suppose we’ll have to round up your siblings now.”

The flat look on Five’s face makes you snort again, and you pick up the suitcase while placing your other hand in the crook of his elbow, escorting the two of you towards the back door where Luther and Diego had gone.

Soon, you think, you’ll be free. Free to do whatever you like, make whatever you like, with Five at your side and no one to answer to but yourself.

A smile graces your face as you squeeze Five’s arm. Whoever said that happy endings don’t exist for people like you?

#wordless ways to say i love you #source: @50-item-writing-prompts #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #tua fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #fluff #villain!tua #they jump from timeline to timeline to cause apocalypses as a family #on purpose this time lol #fun stuff :)

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jungshookz · 4 years

Note

ok anyway build-a-bear employee!jin who meets y/n bc she comes in to make a new friend after a breakup and he teases her for being an adult by herself in the store and after she starts tEARING UP he’s like okok no!!!! and helps her make the cutest lil guy and records a cute message to put inside

➺ pairing; kim seokjin x reader

➺ genre; employee!jin, i brought you to build-a-bear so obviously this is going to be very floofy (sfw!!)

➺ wordcount: 4k

➺ what to expect; “…turning twenty-two soon and you’re buying yourself a teddy bear?”

➺ note; when i told u guys that jin always gets the cutest drabble requests i wasn’t LYING!!! i have my own bear from build-a-bear named blu (he’s dark blue with white stars!! at the age of eight i was not very good at coming up with creative names) so obviously i had to write something for him and his homies

»»————-　🧸————-««

jin has a love-hate relationship with his job

you would think that working at build-a-bear would be pretty fun - and it can be, sometimes! - but jin can confirm right here right now that it’s not aLL that great

on one hand, he loves the dramatics of build-a-bear because he’s given the chance to act like the whole store is whimsical and that the tiny little heart that he stuffs inside of the bear is full of magic and hope and happiness (he majored in acting in university so his degree is surprisingly very useful here)

but on the other hand… he works at build-a-bear.

this isn’t where he thought he’d be!!! not at all!!!

he’s basically almost thirty and he works at a frickin build-a-bear

this wasn’t part of his plan!!!

his plan was to graduate from university, get famous from acting in a small commercial because of his devilishly handsome face, and then immediately get signed onto some fancy hollywood acting deal and become internationally known

but, no!

he graduated from university, didn’t get any roles in any small commercials, and had to find a way to make money so had no choice but to find work at his local mall

and to make things worse, his boss is literally five years younger than him

he has this bratty little twenty-two year old constantly up his ass and he haTES it

“you forgot the whipped cream on my frappuccino.” jungkook looks up at jin from where he’s sitting behind the counter before raising his drink, “am i blind or are you just bad at listening to instructions? where is the whipped cream, seokjin? WHERE?”

jin clenches his jaw before leaning forward, “they were busy, i guess they just forgot. and i’m not your slave. i only got you that drink so you’d give me a day off tomorrow.”

“well, since there’s no whipped cream on it, you don’t get a day off.” jungkook kisses his teeth before shrugging

“wha-“ jin resists the urge to reach down and wrap his hands around jungkook’s neck, “are you kidding me right now?? i spent forty-five minutes out of my fifty minute lunch break lining up at starbucks to get that for you! forty-five minutes!!!”

“i don’t know what to tell you,” jungkook hums as he kicks his legs up onto the counter and leans back against his chair, “now get back to work. and remember to smile! after all, build-a-bear is where best friends are made-“

“the new slogan is ‘the most fun you’ll ever make’.” jin raises a brow, “you don’t even know our slogan! how did you become the manager?”

jungkook takes a slow sip of his drink while maintaining direct eye contact with jin

sChLuuUuRrRRRr

jesus christ

his life sucks

jin rolls his eyes before turning on his heel and heading back to the main area of the shop

today’s saturday, so the store is a little busier than it usually is - which is great, because jin works off commission and he thinks he’s pretty good at selling teddy bears

on his best day he managed to sell thirty-eight bears in one day

he also convinced most of the kids that their brand new furry friends needed new clothes and a personalised recorded message in place of the usual little red cloth heart

he doesn’t like looking at the parents whenever he’s egging their kids on to buy even more things because they always look at him like they’re going to kill him

anyways

he could’ve ordered like forty frappuccino’s from the money he made on that day

before he left for lunch today he sold eight which really isn’t that impressive

but, to be fair, the mall usually gets busy after lunch, so now is the prime time to make some sales

jin lets out a breath as he scans the store for any newcomers or anyone who’s noT already being bombarded by his co-workers

he can’t help but snicker to himself when he notices yoongi at the stuffing station conducting a heart ceremony

“-and now you can go ahead and give your heart a little kiss-“

he looks up for a split second and jin takes the chance to blows a sweet little kiss at him

he snorts to himself when yoongi’s eye twitches

yoongi hates giving heart ceremonies but he’s actually pretty good at it!

he’s good with children whether he wants to admit it or not

alright, enough making fun of yoongi >:-)

time to hunt down a new customer…

jin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he walks around the store slowly

ooh, a little boy and his family just walked i- aaand they’ve been swept up by jimin

okay, no problem!

how about those twin gir- nope, too late, taehyung’s approaching them

damn

that would’ve been a good sale, too

it’s fine

he’ll get someone!

oh, wow

build-a-bear has really upped their game since the last time you were here

to be fair, the last time you were here was like more than ten years ago, so you’d hope that they make some changes to the store

…are those star wars themed teddy bears??

that is most definitely a princess leia teddy bear

and she even gets her own little light sabre!

wow

this is a whole new world

“excuse me, sorry…” you manoeuvre your way through the crowd as you continue looking through your options

is it weird that you’re in here by yourself?

the thought of trailing behind a random child in order to blend in with everyone else crosses your mind for a split second

although… a grown woman creeping behind a child they don’t know probably isn’t going to sound good to the judge when you’re standing in court, so maybe you shouldn’t do that

okay

you know what

it’s fine

it’s totally fine that you’re in here by yourself!

stuffed plushies are for people of all ages!!

it’s not just a kiddie thing

you’re FINE

and you have a perfectly legitimate reason to be in here

the only reason why you’re even in here is because…

well, the short and sweet version is that you got dumped two weeks ago.

which means that you’ve been cooped up in your apartment for the last fourteen days

which means your bedroom was starting to smell a little ripe so you thought it’d be good to air out the place and give your poor bed a break

(also, please, for the love of god, remember to wash your sheets when you get back home later today.)

anyways

you thought that a trip to the mall for some retail therapy would make you feel better!

so far you’ve only been the food court but you helped yourself to a cheeseburger, some onion rings, and a vanilla milkshake

food always makes you feel better

you could honestly go for another round of onion rings right now

there’s nothing quite like the pain of having your heart broken nudge you towards the direction of binge-eating the pain away, is there?

you were about to head into a victoria’s secret to splurge on pretty panties (that no one but yourself will be seeing for a long time) but this build-a-bear caught your eye

a cuddle buddy you could ugly-cry into for the simple price of $35?

obviOUSLY you had to come in

the only issue now is that there are way too many options to choose from

who do you want to take home??

pawlette the bunny?

toothless from how to train your dragon?

you could even take pikachu home if you wanted to

“timeless teddy…” you mutter to yourself as you dig out a teddy bear skin (also, it’s very unsettling that they’re called ‘skins’. like, you know that’s what they technically are, but the phrase ‘i’ve picked out my skin!’ just makes your skin crawl.)

you lean forward a little to read the label on the wall

teddy bears are a timeless way to share love with every hug! timeless teddy is a classic teddy bear with shaggy brown fur and an adorable smile. personalize this classic teddy bear with outfits, sounds and accessories for a huggable gift they'll cherish forever!

perfect!

a classic teddy bear sounds perfect

there’s nothing wrong with going back to basics

also, you’re assuming the ‘they’ll’ they’re referring to here is a child

…

you are doing this

you will buy this teddy bear!

your other option was to go and adopt a cat from the shelter but you can barely take care of yourself right now so that wouldn’t be a good idea

“hello!” you jump three feet into the air when you’re suddenly being greeted by one of the bright-eyed workers, “can i help you find anything?”

you turn around quickly while clutching your teddy’s skin (gag) to your chest with wide eyes, “h-hello!”

hello indeed

you feel your heart drop a little when you realise that you probably look disgusting right now

you weren’t expecting to bump into a veRY attractive super handsome boy today!!!

very attractive super handsome boy with sweet brown eyes and soft-looking hair and the poutiest lips you think you’ve ever seen in your entire life-

thank god you decided to wear the sweatshirt that doesn’t have any stains on it, right?

the one thing you remember from your previous build a bear experience (once again, 10+ years ago) is that the workers here are usually overly perky sixteen year old girls

this guy is not an overly perky sixteen year old girl

well

maybe he’s the perky part

but everything else??

wowie

he smiles brightly at you before tilting his head, “hello. i’m jin!” he points at his name tag, “i’d love to help you out today. were you looking for anything in particular?”

“hi! hello, jin. i’m, um, i’m y/n. i was, uh-“ you clear your throat, “i was actually just browsing, so…”

“oh, perfect!” jin claps his hands together, “let me tell you all about our collections. there’s the summer fun collection, the rainbow friends, the promise pets, the heartables, the classic build-a-bear collection-“

yeah okay

he’s definitely nailed the perky part of the job

“-DC comics, dr. suess, marvel, my little pony, how to train your drag-“

“you know, i-“ you smile sheepishly after interrupting jin, “thank you so much, but i’ve actually already made my decision, if that’s alright.” you hold your teddy’s limp, hollow carcass up before pressing your lips together

“of course that’s alright!” jin takes the skin from you before shrugging lightly, “i figured i’d just let you know of all the other options in case your younger sibling wanted something more extravagant than just our timeless teddy. follow me to the sound station!”

you don’t get a chance to say anything before jin spins around swiftly to head to the back of the store

he thinks this bear is for your younger sibling

okay, you can work with that!

you can pretend like you’re in here for your non-existent younger sibling and certainly not for yourself

“you can choose a pre-made sound from here,” jin gestures to the bins of plastic hearts (there’s a sound option for an ‘into the unknown’ snippet from frozen 2 which is insane), “or we can go ahead and record a personalised message. what’s your sibling’s name?”

you look up at him immediately

“wha- um, why… why do you need to know my sibling’s name?”

“oh! i was just asking so i could give you an example.” jin hums as he tosses the skin over his shoulder and places his hands on his hips, “like, you could say, hey there… sibling’s name, it’s me, your big sister! i love you! or something like that.”

“ah, right!” you nod to yourself, “that makes sense! my sibling’s name is totally normal information that i have no problem giving to you.”

jin raises a brow when he notices you continuing to ramble about how your sibling’s name is something that you will be telling him soon because you definitely know the name of your younger sibling whomst’ve this bear is for

you’re cute but you’re a little odd

“-my younger sibling’s name is… paulette!” you catch a glimpse of a pink pawlette bunny being stuffed before looking back over at jin, “yep. that’s her name. sweet, sweet paulette. sweet little angel.”

“hey, our iconic bunny is named pawlette!” jin beams, “wouldn’t you want to get paulette her own pawlette? instead of a bear?”

the smile immediately drops from your face

oh god

you’ve never been very good at lying

one time in middle school when you wanted to get out of PE you told the teacher that you were in pain and that’s why you couldn’t do anything on that day

and when he asked you what hurt, all you said was ‘…bleeding out of my butt?’

you don’t even know why you said that!!

you could’ve told him you had a headache or something but nO

you told your teacher your asshole was BLEEDING and that’s why you couldn’t participate in baseball

so yeah

lying has never been your forte

but you don’t want pawlette!!

you want this bear!!!

although, it would make sense to get paulette her own pawlette because that’d be an adorable coincidence…

what are you-

what are you even sAYING

PAULETTE DOES NOT EXIST

“okay, you got me!” you raise your hands in defence and jin’s eyes widen in surprise, “paulette isn’t a real person. i don’t have a younger sibling. i’m in here for me. the bear is for me. the timeless teddy is mine.”

“oh…!” jin purses his lips before nodding slowly, “alright! totally get it. the bear is for you.”

why has everyone he’s ever been attracted to turned out to be a little cuckoo?

the expected demographic of build-a-bear are children aged 3-10 (a child aged below three isn’t interested in stuffed teddies because they don’t really do anything but sit there and a child aged over ten isn’t interested in stuffed teddies because… they don’t really do anything but sit there.)

and you… well, unless you’ve experienced some kind of insane growth spurt, you certainly don’t look like someone aged 3-10 years old

“phew! it feels good getting that off my chest.” you breathe out as you lean over and place your hands on your knees, “there was a lot of pressure there to keep lying to you but-“

“how, um, how old are you, by the way?”

jin doesn’t mean to sound like a judgy bitch

he’s just genuinely curious as to why a 21-23 year old would willingly go into a physical build-a-bear store to buy themselves a stuffed plushie

you could’ve purchased one off the online website

also, aren’t there better things to spend your money on?

like… literally anything besides a stuffed plushie??

“turning twenty-two soon!” you get back up onto your feet, “why do you ask?”

“…turning twenty-two soon and you’re buying yourself a teddy bear?” jin snorts before raising a brow, “i mean, really? didn’t you graduate this year?”

“ah, well…” you reach up to scratch the back of your neck as you feel the tips of your ears beginning to heat up, “i mean, yeah, but like…”

“i’m not judging! some people go on grad trips to party and get wasted after they graduate, and other people go to the mall to build themselves a $35 teddy bear-“ jin laughs to himself before turning around to plop the skin down on little counter attached to the stuffing machine, “anyways, were you thinking about choosing a sound or recording something?”

he spins back around and his eyes widen when he notices that your eyes have gotten red and are starting to water

uh oh

what’s going on?

what’s happening??

are you…

are you crying??

why are you crying??

he was totally kidding!!!

that wasn’t supposed to be mean!!

that was supposed to be playful banter!!!

“oh- oh, god no- wait-“ jin immediately walks over so that he’s standing in front of you and jungkook won’T be able to see that he just upset a customer, “don’t cry!! i was kidding!! i have, like, ten plushies on my bed! i’m twenty-seven and i work at a build-a-bear, if anything, i should be the one crying-”

“i just-“ you reach up to wipe at your eyes as you begin to blubber, “my boyfriend of one year b-broke up with me two weeks ago and i- i just th-thought that a teddy bear would make good company because god knows i’m not in the right mental state to be taking care of a real animal-!”

jin winces when you let out a particularly loud sob and he quickly drags you over so that the two of you are behind the stuffing machine and out of sighT from everyone

crap

he doesn’t even have any tissues on him!!!!

maybe he can pull some fluff out from the machine and you can dab at your tears with that

actually, the cotton might stick to your cheeks if you try wiping your tears away with a fistful of stuffing, so maybe not

“i-i know it’s stupid and humiliating for a grown-up to be in here buying a stupid teddy bear for herself but there’s so much in my life that’s just out of my control right now a-and making this teddy bear seemed like the only thing i could control and i just-“

“y-yes, of course!” jin pulls you into a tight hug (your sobbing is getting a little loud and people are starting to notice so this is the only way he can think to muffle your crying) and strokes the back of your head comfortingly, “i’m so sorry, i had no idea! that makes total sense, of course you can get this teddy bear for yourself…”

he continues to hold you until your sobs reduce to little hiccups and gives a warning look when yoongi mouths whether or not they should call mall security on your ass

when you pull away your eyes are a little puffy and the tip of your nose is red

if jungkook asks, maybe jin can get away with saying that your allergies acted up in the middle of the store

you don’t look like that because he made you burst into tears

not at all!!

“how about we… record a special message for your new friend?” jin digs through the tub to pull out an electronic heart

“i-“ you hiccup, “i don’t really h-have anything i want to say…”

jin purses his lips in thought

stuffing the bear with a heartbeat heart seems way too basic

this is an important bear!

ah!

“why don’t you let me take care of it, okay?” he reaches over and rubs your shoulder gently, “you wait here and i’ll take care of everything. for his stuffing, would you like a soft cuddle bear or a plump one?”

your bottom lip starts to quiver again and you let out a light laugh, “a soft cuddle bear sounds really sweet.”

“then a soft cuddle bear it is.”

“and this is for you.” jin hands you the box over the counter and you take it from him with a grin, “thank you for your purchase! and… sorry about making you cry-“

“oh, god no-“ you snort, “i’m sorry for bursting into tears and loading all of that on you-“

“it’s totally fine!” jin shakes his head, “you’re definitely not the first person to start crying in a build-a-bear, so there’s absolutely nothing to feel bad about.”

“right! right, of course.” you nod and press your lips together, “anyways, thanks for helping me out today, jin.”

“of course! it was a pleasure.” jin clears his throat

it’s pretty clear that the two of you want to continue talking to each other, but…

jin doesn’t usually practice his flirting skills when he’s at build-a-bear, so pardon him for being a little rusty

“so… see you around!” you chirp, “i’m just gonna-“

“wait, uh-“ jin wipes his hands down on the back of his pants, “i… i don’t know if maybe this is a little too soon for you or… and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, but… maybe i can treat you to an apology corndog or something sometime? i don’t know. this mall doesn’t really offer fine dining, so a corndog is really all i can-“

“yeah, i would love that!” you nod enthusiastically, “an apology corndog with you sounds great. i mean, a regular corndog would be fine too, but- d-do you… want my number?”

also

this isn’t you rebounding or anything

this is the first time in two weeks where your mind hasn’t been clouded with thoughts of your ex-boyfriend

this is the first time in two weeks that you’re actually happy

jin seems genuinely sweet and you wouldn’t mind getting to know him :-))

also you’re glad that hE was the one who asked

because if you were the one who asked, it’d probably make you look that much more pathetic

and you’ve already made a fool of yourself once today!!

you sigh happily as you slam the car door shut

you’re about to shove the key into the ignition when suddenly you remember that your bear has a personalised message inside of him

“oh, right!” you reach over to open up the cardboard house that he’s been shoVed into

!!!

you wonder what soundbyte jin picked out for you!!!

you pull him out and smile fondly at the sight of his chubby arms dangling over your hands

cute :-))

this was money well spent for sure

okay, now how do you activate the sound…

there’s a bit of squeezing and poking but you manage to find the little heart inside of him

you perk up when you hear a muffled crackle

“hi, y/n! it’s me, your furry friend… uh… jin bear! if you’re listening to this, it probably means you’re super sad… cry into my stomach to muffle the sound of your violent sobs! …oh, god, probably shouldn’t have said that- anyways, um, i hope you feel better soon! and remember to give me plenty of cuddles - i promise it’ll make you feel better!”

that was actually a pretty good message

(you hope jin texts u soon)

“okay, jin bear.” you murmur quietly as you buckle him into the passenger seat, “time to take you home.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

requested drabbles masterlist

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heavenunderthemoon · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains {Chapter Four}

Warnings: None, I believe.

Prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

Nevada 1992

"I'm thoroughly spooked, can we go now?"

You rolled your eyes at the ten year old beside you. His whines had risen an octave over the last five minutes, the cause most probably being the increasing proximity to the house before the two of you, all of them had been ignored as you pedaled faster, hoping to reach the dilapidated structure before sunset.

The boy's scrawny arms looped around your waist, tightening to an almost suffocating degree every time you rode over a pothole and almost making you wheeze from discomfort. Spencer's bike was out for repair- 'out for repairs' was just a silly way of saying Spencer had all but begged your older brothers to take a look at the broken chain and then paid them $15 (probably too much, but he was desperate) to fix it. The bike was being looked at now, actually, but that still left the Reid boy without transportation. You had practically had to force him onto yours.

'I hate when you steer, you ride into every puddle you see and I didn't bring my rain boots-'

'Jesus, Sherlock, I'll go around them-'

'But, you don't have a helmet-'

'You can borrow my dad's-'

'Is your bike even registered?'

All of his questions had made you groan, almost pulling out your hair and all but shoving him onto your bike, taking up the front while he stood on the pedestals allocated for passengers in the back. Your bike wasn't anything flashy. In fact, it was a hand-me-down from your brothers, the seat sitting just a bit too high at the moment, though your dad claimed you would grow into it.

You pulled over, your worn tires coming to a halt in the over-grown grass, weeds poking up from every direction and basically engulfing the lawn before you.

"We just got here, Spencer, please, five minutes?" You shot a pleading look to the boy behind you, your father's helmet consuming the entirety of his head. His glasses, cracked from when Peter Thompson had socked him in the lunchroom the other week, slid down his nose and he pushed them back up as he hopped off the bike. His hands went to his shirt, wiping them across the material as he sighed. You liked when he did things like that, kid things.

"Fine, five minutes." He seceded, and you put the kickstand in place before hopping off the bike yourself, leading the way to the sagging building.

1497 Columbia Drive.

The house was practically a local hub for folklore. All ghost stories for the children in your community originated from this house in particular. Your dad said it was all hocus pocus, nothing of substance. It was probably just a bunch of kids trying to get a good laugh out of scaring the little kids, he even lectured you on the history of the house, no murders or strange incidents ever occurring on the property. But still, you had asked Spencer to come with you to check it out.

Your feet crunched the gravel beneath it, poking around the house here and there.

"What do you think you're going to find, Y/N? A ghost hiding under the rock?" His tone was condescending, as it was sometimes. Though, that was something he didn't quite know he was doing. You knew that. You knew that if he knew that he came across like that, like he thought less of you, he would never do that. His attitude was a little bit worse today than usual. His mother wasn't doing too well, her rants becoming longer, her paranoia keeping the boy from hanging out with you on most days. You had taken to climbing into his window to hang out, or sneaking him out when you could. But the tone still stung a bit. "This is stupid." He continued.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you kicked at a rock, shoving your hands into your pockets. "How come everything I want to do is stupid?" It was petty. Petty, and emotional, and a million other things you never were because you liked to keep things in, but your insecurities began pouring out of you like a broken spout. "Why are you even friends with me? I'm too dumb for you, you have to explain things to me a million different times and even then, sometimes I still don't get it. You're gonna go away someday, because you're smart and you're better than...than here. Than this. So, why do you even hang out with me?" The words fell sloppily from your lips, only angering you further because you knew how eloquently Spencer would've been able to express his thoughts.

And this was something that had bothered you for a while. Since you had met him, actually. Because you were different. Spencer Reid was different. And while everyone else in town thought that him being different was a bad thing, you saw it as something good. Good, because he was going to be something. He was going to be something big, something bigger than anything you could ever be, whatever he wanted, whatever he wished for, because he could. Because he was Spencer. And you were just...you. You didn't skip grades or read books super fast or have a photographic memory. You weren't a genius, your brain didn't move a million miles per minute, and how boring it must be for Spencer to have to hang out with you.

Your eyes stung with tears, quickly welling and spilling hotly down your reddened cheeks and you were grateful that your back was still to the boy because he had never seen you cry, not even when you broke your index finger playing baseball two years ago, and you weren't entirely sure that Spencer would know how to comfort you if he saw you crying.

But, he did know. He didn't say anything to acknowledge it aloud, probably because he feared you might turn around and deck him right then and there if he did, but he noticed. He saw the way your shoulders had tightened as you spoke and then began shaking lightly when you finished. He noticed the tremor in your voice, the small sniffles escaping your figure. He noticed your clenching fist, your nails digging into your palm, and the stiffness in your body, as if pleading with yourself to stop. He had never seen you cry. Come to think of it, he had never seen you sad. And it was then that he realized that he had never seen you sad because you tended to turn that sadness into anger. You turned your tears into insults and your wounds into punches because it was easier that way. He realized that you weren't as invincible as he thought. You weren't some fearless, perpetually angry girl who finished every fight she started. You were human, you were vulnerable. And this revelation made him feel better, as much as he hated to say it. Because he had always felt incredibly inferior to you. He felt inferior when he saw you speaking to your other friends at the park or the library. He felt inferior when he saw your family, two brothers and a father (all of which seemed to speak in grunts and were constantly shoving food into their mouths whenever Spencer saw them). No matter how cave-man-like your family was, they were there. They were present. They weren't grabbing your shoulders, screaming about aliens, or the government, or tiny microscopic societies that he couldn't see- something Diana did often. He felt inferior when you stood up for yourself, or for him, when you weren't afraid to tell people to shut up, or ask for help, which was something he could never quite bring himself to do.

And this, these tears, these insecurities, brought you down to his level, gave you a fall from grace that was just enough to make him brave, even if it was for a split second, to grab your shoulder, and pull you into his embrace. His hug was bony. He smelled like cheap laundry detergent, lemon shampoo, and a bit of sweat. He had begun growing, just the tiniest bit, that year and it was enough to put you both at the same height. Two ten year olds standing in front of that allegedly haunted house, a scrawny little boy with a brain far too big for his own good and a girl who had been previously crying but was now just standing there, stunned, unsure of what to do in Spencer's embrace.

"What are you doing?" And for once you weren't loud. You weren't loud, or obnoxious, or confident. Your voice was tiny, small, and confused, because Spencer didn't like touching, and neither did you, really. You didn't hug each other. You gave each other high-fives, or fist bumps, or small nudges to the other in greetings or farewells, but never hugs.

Spencer didn't move, keeping his stance the same, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his cheek to your shoulder. "Why am I your friend? Why are you mine? Everyone in town thinks I'm weird, and they tease you just for being my friend. Why put up with that? Why be friends with the kid who has to make multiple trips to the library each week and gets upset when he has to return them? Why be friends with the kid who can't even act like a kid. I get along better with adults, and those are the ones who don't talk about me behind my back. Why are you friends with me? Because I'll tell you why I'm friends with you. Because you ask me to explain things to you a million times, because you care so much about what I'm saying that you want to understand it too, even if its boring or complicated. You listen when I talk about nerdy things, and you ask my mom how she's doing- you aren't afraid of her like every other kid in your grade."

Your tears had stopped now, and you weren't entirely sure if it was due to the shock of Spencer hugging you or the shock of Spencer practically yelling as he let go of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you in the eye.

"You're my best friend, and I'm sorry I said this was stupid. I would much rather do a million stupid things with you than be a genius alone."

He was a little breathless at the end of it, eyes still glued onto your face for some kind of sign that you weren't still sad, or angry. But it was blank, and suddenly his mind was rewinding through everything he said. Did he say something wrong? And just as he was going to apologize profusely for hugging you, you were pulling him into your own embrace. You were strong, his body hitting yours with a thud. You smelled like mechanical oil, probably from your dad's garage, and a hint of vanilla. Your hair, collected into a pony tail, though baby hairs clung to your forehead in a pool of sweat, brushed his nose and tickled his nostrils. You squeezed him when you hugged him and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you in reassurance. He had never had a friend apart from you, never had a person to tell about his day, about his dreams, about the weird thing he read that day. He had you, and he didn't now what life would be like without you, but the thought scared him. It terrified him to think about a future without you in it, and so he clung to you tighter.

"Let's go home. Nothin' special about this house, anyways." You pulled away, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, the tiniest of smiles on your face and he beamed, because he did that. He made you smile.

"Eh, I thought it was pretty cool." Spencer said with a shrug, walking back to the bike.

QUANTICO, January 2012

The plane ride back from the case was bumpy, turbulence instantly shaking the large aircraft, causing it to be physically impossible for the team to sleep on the way home- well, unless you were Rossi. You could swear that David Rossi could sleep through just about everything. After grabbing his usual drink from the jet bar, the old man had chosen his usual window seat, only a couple rows back from where you sat with JJ, Derek, and Emily, snoring peacefully within twenty minutes.

You groaned in envy, tilting your head back to rest on the cushion as you did so. The blonde to your left chuckled at your dramatics, having gotten used to your behavior by now, Derek and Emily in tow. The three were the trio you had found yourself most acquainted with on the team, well, them and Penelope. You had a soft spot in your heart for the quirky technical analyst, the woman all but forcing herself into your life by digging through your personal files and inviting herself over for breakfast before long cases. How strange it had been to open the door to your apartment and find Penelope and Derek on the other side.

"Good morning!"

Your hair was sticking up in about twenty different directions, something the two agents found rather astounding, but chose not to comment on. At the office you were...put-together, to say the least. You were professional, a military woman through and through. You showed up to work early, your paperwork was always done, your shirts were always ironed, your laces were always tied. Penelope would argue that she never saw you blink- something that had made Derek laugh and JJ roll her eyes at, but Emily secretly agreed, because, man, did you?

At this point you had only been working for the BAU for a week or so, and still, they knew nothing about you. And so, here she was, gift-basket in hand while Derek carried along three steaming hot lattes that you could smell even from this distance.

Your eyebrows knitted together, head tilting in a manner that was scarily akin to their boy wonder- another thing they chose not to comment on. After that first day, the introduction between the two that had gone very strangely and the obvious avoidance on both of their parts, the team had chosen to skirt around the Reid boy and the Y/L/N girl. Things like that had a way of working themselves out. Besides, it hadn't affected their work and so personal matters were to remain...well, personal.

"Uh, good morning?" You stepped aside, allowing the two agents to enter your apartment. It was a one-bedroom, close to work so the commute wasn't too bad, and extremely empty. Penelope could've guessed it would be that way before entering. Your desk was the same way, only a picture of what she assumed was your dad and your brothers and you in your uniform to adorn your small space. Furniture, a lonely sofa, beige and boring, and a coffee table severely lacking anything other than a newspaper that Derek could see was three days old. The crossword section was flipped open, only three words filled out. Strewn across the floor were boxes, emptied out, mostly, but the few that remained full were labeled 'BOOKS' and 'SUMMER ClOTHES". The latter gave the two agents a headache, the very action of attempting to envision you in anything other than your usual jeans, leather jacket, and boots too difficult for their brains to process.

Your apartment was pristine, another thing that was predictable. It smelled of coffee, and as the three agents ventured further into the apartment, it was apparent as to the source of the smell; a half-empty pot sitting on the marble countertops.

"I'm sorry there isn't breakfast, if I would've known you were coming over I would've made...cereal."

Derek's eyebrows scrunched at the food choice and you let out an awkward chuckle.

"I can't cook. I'm horrible, like, burn down the house horrible." Your hand grabbed the coffee he was extending, giving a grateful nod as you looked to Penelope.

"Sorry for the short notice-"

"No notice, actually." You corrected with a smirk, eyes looking over the rim of the coffee lid as you took a sip.

"Right- no notice. I just, I figured if I gave you notice it would give you a chance to say no, and that's fine! if you want us to leave or anything we can, but we really need more women in the office and you seem like some badass, aviator wearing, leather jacket having, military chick and I really feel like we cold be good friends! I always text back, and I, for one, am I a good cook, so I can help you with that...oh, and I am amazing at remembering birthdays! I brought a gift basket too! I wasn't sure if you liked chocolate, or cheese, or fruit, this has all three-"

"Give her a second, babygirl." The Morgan shook his head, throwing a look to you. It was kind, an understanding look that meant he understood just how overwhelming his blonde counterpart could be but but also pleaded for understanding. Understanding of how Penelope was, of how good of a friend she could be.

But he didn't need to do that.

He didn't need to ask you to understand, or to be patient, or to give someone a chance He didn't need to because she reminded you all too much of a scrawny little kid with his nose in a book, a mouth far too smart for his own good, and a lack of any defense system.

The paper cup landed onto the countertop gently as you placed it down, arms crossing over themselves. Your arms were a bit chilled, nothing but a t-shirt and boxer shorts worn to bed, and a lazy smile quirked at the corner of your lips at the strange, kind, lovely blonde before you.

"I like cheese and chocolate and fruit." Penelope visibly relaxed at the comment. "Stay, I'm in need of some good friends."

"I'm tired." You mumbled grumpily, chin coming to rest on your hand.

JJ snorted, digging further into the small bag of chips she had managed to snag from the vending machine at the airport before the jet had taken off. "You could sleep."

With a click of your tongue, you smiled sarcastically, nodding your head. "Good idea, I didn't think about that." As another snore reached your ears, you tossed a glare back to the sleeping Rossi, rolling your eyes. "Jesus, does he have to rub it in?" You snapped.

Emily tucked a curl behind her ear, cracking a grin. "You can sleep when you get home, the flight's only three hours out."

"No, because when I get home I have to shower first, the plane makes me feel gross." Your shoulders gave way to a shiver that made Derek laugh. "Should I sleep or should I shower? I could sleep in the shower- but I'm also hungry."

A light tap on your forearm alerted you to the chip bag being shoved onto you, an offering by the Jareau woman. Perhaps if you hadn't known her for as long as you had- which, admittedly still wasn't that long, but you digressed- you would have taken one. Yes, JJ was offering, but JJ and her chips was not a love you came between and if you took one now she would tell you that you owed her a chip bag when you next passed a vending machine and the woman, small and kind as she was, was not as forgiving when it came to being owed chips.

With a tired wave of your hand you stood, stretching your arms for a moment, fingertips grazing the jet ceiling, before turning on your heel. "I'm gonna go find some peanuts or something."

You made your way to the back of the jet, toward the coffee machine station and bar set up. Cabinets above and below the both of them had you suspecting that there was a secret stash of peanuts- or, perhaps, a five-course meal that no one else knew about. Day-dreaming of a roasted turkey and baked Mac and cheese you hardly noticed a person exit the bathroom as you searched the cabinets. At the exact moment they had, the jet hit a spot of turbulence.

Your body, too tired to react quickly enough, lurched backward, directly into the body behind you.

Spencer yelped quietly, reacting on instinct and grabbing your body. The momentum of your body in addition to the swing of the jet had him stumbling into the wall, his hands securely around your waist, body pressed tightly against yours.

His touch wasn't foreign, perhaps that was why you stilled the way you did. As if you were frozen in an instant, neither of you moved as the plane shook for a moment, righting itself almost immediately and leaving the two of you staring, eyes entranced in one another.

For you, it was his touch. His touch that made you still, his touch that made you forget the search for food, the whines of exhaustion, the impatience to go home. His touch, one you knew quite well as a child, one you associated with friendship, childhood, and safety. One you associated with trust, and companionship. One that was returned to you in an instant, a feeling that you forgot after all these years- no, not forgot. You hadn't forgotten his touch, or, at least, your body hadn't. No, your body remembered Spencer Reid quite well. Your body remembered climbing into Spencer Reid's window, your hands calloused and hardened from the long climb to the top of the tree beside it. Your body remembered biking around town with him, thighs and calves burning as you pushed yourself harder, the amount of books he had loaded onto your bike because his couldn't fit all of them on his own weighing you down. Your body remembered bloodied knuckles, busted lips, or black eyes, all of them your victory trophies because you were hotheaded, impulsive, and protective when the other children had something to say about him.

And he stilled because of your scent. As strange as it sounded, it hadn't changed after all these years. Unlike you, his mind hadn't tricked him into forgetting it. He didn't think it was possible for him to ever forget it. Mechanical oil and a hint of vanilla. It enveloped him like a warm blanket, a large tidal wave of the familiar scent hanging in the air, threatening to overtake him until the wave broke and it pulled him under with it. The scent consumed him, filling his nostrils, overtaking his senses and for a moment it was too much. It was too much for his brain to process because one moment he was walking out of the bathroom and the next you were in his arms and he was catching you.

You didn't know what to say. What was there to say? You missed him. You saw him at work everyday, you passed by him when you dropped off paperwork to Hotchner, you nodded at him in passing, and you stumbled into him when the jet hit an air pocket. How could you miss him if you did all of that, every single day?

But Spencer Reid was a person to be missed. Spencer Reid was a person you thought about. You thought about him every day, every hour, every minute, because how could you not? How could you just pretend you didn't know him? The boy who read you Sherlock Holmes on hot summer days, or slow danced with you in your father's basement? The boy who gave you pinky promises and made wishes on stars, and taught you the constellations. A boy you had known was extraordinary from the beginning and had turned out to be just that? A boy who was no longer a boy anymore, because the world didn't take well to boys with exceptional minds and sick mothers, the world turned boys like that into men, men who were different, even if just a little bit. That little bit was enough to let all the fears flood back in, the fears of the ordinary, the fears of not being enough. The fears that were solidified in your not-so-welcome welcoming.

The memory coursed through your veins, activating them as if it had been a shot of adrenaline.

Clearing your throat, you moved, standing up properly, pushing yourself out of his embrace and crossing your arms. "Thanks. Turbulence caught me off guard there."

For a moment he had you, just you and him and then you had turned to sand in his hands and once again he was losing you. Your expression had hardened. In another lifetime he had been the one to soften you, a person who had been able to break down those walls you worked so hard to build, but now he was the one locked out.

"What we really need to worry about are microbursts - a sudden downburst of air associated with thunderstorms - but small craft like this one, if we hit one of those at the wrong altitude..." He was rambling at this moment, rambling so badly he wished he could stop but he couldn't. His hands mimicked an explosion, his voice coming out much smaller, more reluctant. "Get pulverized."

Spencer Reid didn't like being vulnerable. And that's what he was around you, vulnerable. And being vulnerable did things to him, made him say things and do things that make him embarrassed, or ashamed, or even feel guilty. Just as he started to simultaneously feel all three of these things, you did something he hadn't quite expected.

You laughed.

"Jeez, Sherlock, ever so morbid, aren't you?" It was a soft chuckle, a tiny little snort, short-lived and gone in an instant, but it was enough to make Spencer grin.

His lips parted to respond. What he was going to say, he didn't know- something, anything- but, he never got to find out.

The pilot bell dinged over the speaker system.

"Passengers, this is your Pilot speaking. There are rough windstorms ahead, I'm receiving advisement to land immediately, please buckle your seatbelts, this will be a rough landing."

TAGLIST: @fangurl215 @lauren2408 @moonstarrnghtsky @uwu-sebastianstan @criminalminds4days @tclaerh

Message me to be added to the taglist! Hope you enjoy:) xx Toby

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds #growing pains

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julemmaes · 3 years

Note

Zero pressure cuz I know you’re working on other things but are u still planning on writing the sequel to I Love You with Cal?

I’m Sorry

acotar next gen fan fic

part two for this one shot here

A/N: I won’t be giving any summary cause it’s 1am and I’m crying cause I just want to be able to sleep, I just hope this will satisfy you all and maybe makes you cry a little cause it was hard to finish it. Please if there’s any mistakes don’t point that out to me, I’ll check tomorrow. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Word count: 3,857

Cal had returned home shortly after dinner. His family had already finished eating and he just wanted to get some rest after the long day he'd had with Raina.

They'd stayed up all night the day before because her parents hadn't been home, and during the day he'd found it difficult to focus on his classes, so much that he'd skipped one in order to take a nap in the university gardens. All of this, of course, hadn't stopped him from going straight back to Raina's house to spend more time together, and while they were supposed to be studying for the upcoming exam they were both taking, they had decided to spend the entire afternoon doing the nasty.

Now, lying on his bed, he tried not to laugh too loudly at the memes he was looking at, so as not to disturb Ezra who was studying despite the hour. Unlike him, his brother couldn't afford to fail an exam and his mother would surely hit him repeatedly if he tried to mess that up.

He was about to shut everything off and warn Raina that he was going to sleep, when Ezra sighed too loudly to be casual. Thinking it was just for the studying, Cal didn't give it that much thought and opened up the chat with his girlfriend, starting to type his goodnight.

"Fuck it." muttered Ezra, closing the book, "Cal, man?"

"Hmm?" he hummed from his spot on the bed.

"Yesterday after you left, something happened and I think you should know because it's partially your fault too and the rest of us have all apologized already." he said in a tone that was far too serious for the relaxed situation they were in.

Cal's head snapped towards him for a second as he saw Ezra get up and walk towards his bed, before returning his attention to the screen where Raina was telling him she was going to take a shower - and think about him in the process. An idle grin appeared on his lips and he held his breath when she sent him a picture in front of the mirror wearing only a pair of panties.

"Can you please listen to me without looking at your phone?" asked Ezra a little more pressing.

Cal huffed, running a hand through his hair and turning off the screen. He crossed his hands over his chest, smiling sarcastically at his brother, "You have my full attention."

It wasn't true. If he wanted to sleep that night, he too would have had to take a shower to get rid of that uneasy itch between his legs. The picture Raina had just sent him shone brightly etched into his eyelids, but he wasn't going to risk Ezra grabbing his phone out of his hands and seeing pictures of his half-naked girlfriend.

Not again, at least.

"You're not listening to me," Ezra blurted, his voice low.

"God you sound like mom when she gets pissed," he snorted. He pulled himself up on his elbows, jerking his chin, "What?"

"I caught Celia coming out of the tavern yesterday and she was crying," the other said, slipping off his shirt to put on his pajamas, "Mom and dad have already talked to her and me and the girls have apologized more than once, I slept in there with them last night, but-" he cleared his throat, running a hand over his face.

Cal forgot about Raina in a split second.

If Celia had cried and Ezra had felt the need to tell him, it meant it was something important.

"But?" urged Cal to continue, sitting up and setting the phone down on the nightstand.

Ezra looked him straight in the eye as he took off his jeans as well, then looked away, shaking his head, "Before I tell you, it's not your fault specifically, it was a lot of things that built up that made her break down for a moment-"

Cal interrupted him, "Can you get straight to the point, please? You're worrying me."

"It's not even that important, I just think you need to know."

"Jesus Christ, just tell me," he snapped.

"Celia had a complete nervous breakdown last night," Ezra said in one breath, kneeling on his bed without even looking at him. Cal's heart clenched in his chest. "She said we don't love her like we love the rest of us," he sighed, "that mom and dad never have time for her basically."

Then Ezra's icy eyes pierced into Cal's hazel ones, and he knew that whatever he said next would be the heaviest bit to hear. He tucked into his shoulders, breathing through his nose.

"She also said that Nora hates her. That you hate her."

Cal closed his eyes, bringing a hand to his forehead, "Fuck." he muttered, "She mentioned me and Nora specifically?"

Ezra didn't answer and Cal opened his eyes, seeing him nod with a grimace on his face, "Dad told her that's not true, obviously, but I think it would be good for her to hear it directly from you."

"Fuck." muttered Cal again. He put his feet on the ground, leaning forward and taking his head in his hands as he remembered how he'd dismissed Celia not once, but twice in the space of a few minutes when she had needed him.

To go have sex, of all things.

"Why didn't you call me? Texted me?" asked Cal, looking over his shoulder at Ezra, "I would have come home sooner." he sighed again when he suddenly remembered the conversation that had taken place only a couple of hours earlier with Celia.

They had been sitting on the couch in the living room in silence when Cal had asked her what movie she wanted to watch and she hadn't answered him right away. She hadn't even looked at him when she'd said, "You don't have to be pretend like you like to stay home with me." before getting up from the couch and going upstairs, probably to her room. Cal had been surprised by those words, but hadn't dwelled too much on his sister's tone of voice or her hurt expression, continuing to text Raina.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." he cursed himself again, thinking about how much that indifference of his had done nothing but prove her fears. He didn't dwell on the image of a distraught Celia crying that appeared in his head too.

Ezra clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "Listen, if you go in there like this you're just going to scare her," he told him softly, "Calm down for a moment and take a couple of minutes to think, because it sounds like you've been given the worst news you can get, so breathe, think and if you can't get it all done before eleven maybe you should wait until tomorrow morning."

Cal wanted to tell him that it was one of the worst things anyone could say to him, but looking into his eyes he realised that he must have felt the same way the night before.

"Did you find her crying or..?"

Ezra lifted a shoulder, tucking himself under the covers and folding his arms behind his head, "I told you, she was downstairs and I didn't understand what she was doing there, then dad saw her and she burst into tears." a short pause before he resumed speaking in a lower voice, "I haven't heard her cry like that in a few years. She has to be holding it all in for so long."

Cal ran a hand over his face, puffing out his cheeks.

His phone screen lit up with a notification from Raina.

He opened the chat without even checking the last picture she had sent him:

'I'll text you later princess, something came up and I'm not really in the mood to send you pictures. Sorry.'

Her reply didn't even take ten seconds to appear, 'No, I'm sorry, I wouldn't have sent anything if I knew something was wrong. You need me to call you?'

Cal smiled slightly at the phone, 'Don't worry, you couldn't have known.'

The message that followed sounded more threatening than anything else, 'Okay, but you didn't answer my question, do you want me to call you? I can be there in five if I have to. Or you can come back here, you know I'm alone.'

As tempting as that invitation was, Cal shook his head, knowing full well that it held no double meaning, just genuine concern. 'It's Celia. She wasn't well last night and no one thought to warn me.'

'Oh, what happened?'

'Can I text you later? I have to take care of this now. It's nothing to worry about, just, I'll tell you later.'

'Alright.' Cal chuckled. It was just like seeing her, biting the inside of her lip, thinking of all the possibilities.

'Love you.'

He didn't wait for her reply and lay back down on the bed, putting himself in the same position as his brother.

"Do you think I was an asshole?" he asked at one point, looking up at the ceiling.

He heard Ezra moving around on the bed and when he turned around, his brother was lying on his side, his head resting on one arm. He looked so much like their mum. "She didn't really elaborate when she said you hate her-"

"Could you stop saying I hate her as if it were true?" interrupted Cal, frowning.

Ezra arched an eyebrow, "Sorry." then looked at him attentively, "I was saying, she didn't say anything in particular, so I wouldn't know. What did you do to sweep her off her feet like that?"

Cal looked at him with a slightly wide mouth, "For someone who says it's not my fault, it sure as hell looks like you don't believe it."

"I'm just fucking with you, though, she said you kicked her out of the room," then grimaced, "Actually, dad and I did that too, so don't worry if it's true."

Cal shook his head, amazed, looking up at the ceiling again, "We're all assholes then."

"What did you tell her?" asked Ezra again.

"I just told her I'd help her with her homework, I guess, and then I left," he replied.

"For?" Cal turned to him with an expression that said it all. Ezra scoffed, "You could have helped her five minutes, before you went off to fuck."

Cal flinched at those words, knowing full well how true they were, "You could have done the same. What were you and dad doing anyway?"

Ezra took a while to answer, "We were supposed to be fixing the bike, but we were actually playing darts."

"Busted." he muttered, "We should scold dad too then." joked Cal, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"I think he's regretted it enough already," the eldest said in a serious tone, "He barely touched his food at dinner yesterday and then went straight to bed."

"Maybe he was just tired," Cal assumed, trying to kill time before the inevitable.

"I don't think so, he pretty much spent all day staring at Celia like she might break at any moment." he ran a hand through his hair, mussing it, "Sometimes I wonder how they manage with five kids. It must be hard."

Cal frowned, looking at his brother, trying to figure out if he was just playing around or not. When he saw Ezra staring at the ceiling with a lost gaze, he realized that no, he was one hundred percent serious.

That he didn't realize the help he gave his parents? It was true, Ezra was only four years older than Cal, but there was no way he shouldn't be considered some sort of third parent. The eldest of the siblings had taken care of all of them from day zero and had never backed down from such duty.

Cal's eyes widened, deciding not to broach that subject that evening.

One thing at a time.

"Do you think you'll talk to her tonight?" asked Ezra, "I only ask because - even if you don't have to tonight - I think you should go say goodnight, tell her you love her before you go to sleep."

"Give me ten more minutes and then I'll go," Cal murmured.

"As long as you need."

***

"The other day when I went out with Iria and we met one of the boys in her class," Nora said with bright eyes, "he asked me to give him my number and I don't think I should tell mom."

Celia giggled, hiding her face against the duvet on her bed, "She'd definitely tell dad and at that point you'd be quicker to jump in front of a train on your own."

Nora burst out laughing, looking up at her from the upside down position she was in, "Iria said the same thing too."

"What's his name?"

Her sister's face lit up, "Zeke. I don't know his last name." then she cackled, "Maybe I should ask him."

"Is he cute?" asked Celia just as the door opened and Cal appeared.

"Who's cute?" asked their brother, just the instant Nora said, "Don't you know how to knock?"

"An actor." replied the younger one, as any sort of excitement vanished inside her.

She didn't want the strange bubble that had been created over the last few hours to burst. She had finally managed to convince Nora to spend some time with her as they hadn't done in months and she hadn't had that much fun in too long.

Cal shifted his gaze from Nora to her, keeping his eyes fixed in hers for a while before turning back to Nora, "You're not telling me the truth."

"Why are you here?" the older one asked, turning on her stomach and looking at her brother standing in the doorway.

Celia felt herself blush for some reason when Cal's eyes settled on her again and said, "Could you come with me for a moment?"

She arched an eyebrow, "Why?"

The boy seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, "I'd like to talk to you."

Nora yawned, not covering her mouth, "The two of us would be talking."

Cal turned to the older of the two of them, "Stop being so bossy."

"I wouldn't have to if you knocked before coming into our room and then claimed to steal Lia from me," Nora replied tensely.

Celia pulled herself up to her seat, rubbing her hands over her face as she tried to suppress a smile.

She knew they weren't really fighting, but they were bickering to win her attention, her time, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't warming her heart.

"I-" stammered Cal, gesturing to Nora, "What- I'm not trying to steal Cece from you, I just want to talk to her for five minutes."

"What do you want Cal?" she asked trying to figure out what she needed to discuss at this time of the night.

Cal gave her an exasperated look, "Ezra told me what happened last night, I wanted to apologize."

Both she and Nora straightened up, but Celia was the only one who held her breath, blinking a couple of times, hoping to erase any trace of surprise from her expression.

Nora cleared her throat, sitting up, "I think I'll go brush my teeth." she said getting up.

Celia frowned, "You've done that before with-"

"Brush my teeth!" she repeated loudly, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Now only she and Cal stood in the room.

"Cal, you don't-"

He interrupted her before she could say anything else, crossing the room with two wide strides, "I want to apologize."

Celia looked at him, pulling herself up to sit cross-legged as he plopped down on Nora's bed in front of her. She nodded her head to tell him to continue, "You already said that."

"I know," Cal whispered. Then he shifted his gaze outside the window that separated the girls' beds, "I know."

Her eyes fell on his hands and she saw that he was torturing his ring she knew Raina had given him for their first anniversary. A nervous tic that characterised practically every adult in that house. Celia was just waiting for the day when Nora, too, was given a ring and she, too, would start twisting it between the index finger and thumb of her opposite hand.

They were silent for a few seconds and Celia was about to speak, make his task easier by telling him that everything was fine, that it had just been a particularly tiring day, but the words caught in her throat when he looked back at her and in the most serious tone of voice she had ever heard him use, he said, "You know you're my best friend right?"

Celia didn't know how to respond. She wasn't even sure if she was actually breathing. That's why she forced herself to get some air into her lungs. That strained breath must have sounded like a sob or a gasp, because Cal grimaced before resuming.

"I know it's not always like this Cece, but you're my best friend.

"I'm sorry for leaving you like that last night. I was an asshole and I shouldn't have acted like that. I have no excuse for ignoring you and then leaving for Raina's without helping you first, but I want to tell you something." he looked at her with such intensity that she didn't understand how he could speak. She nodded slowly.

"You will always be my sister. You will always be the person I love most in the world. You, Nora, Andra, Ezra." he swallowed noisily, "You are my life and I love you. Understand?"

Celia nodded with slightly wide eyes.

"We're growing up. These years won't be like the ones we had when we were younger, but that doesn't mean I don't love you as much as ever. That I hate you." he shuddered at those words, "Hell, Ce, I could never hate you. Not even if you did me the greatest wrong in the world.

"We'll go back to being close, as close as... as-" he grunted, throwing his hands to the sky, "Like two broad beans in a pod."

Celia chuckled, frowning, "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know, it's not important," he smiled. "What is important is that you understand that no one in this family hates you. No one could ever hate you."

The words were out before she could stop them, "It seems that way sometimes."

Cal contracted his jaw, "I know, I'm sorry," he said in a lower voice, "I can tell you something that will probably make you feel better."

"Alright."

"Ezra and I are essentially five years apart, and," he straightened, running a hand through his hair, "There was a time when I was a senior in middle school, just like you, and when he was a junior in high school at the same time."

"That must have been hard for you," Celia whispered.

Cal nodded, smiling at her reassuringly, "It was one of the worst times of my life, I think. I was sure Ezra wouldn't consider me a friend anymore, just a brother, because he's legally forced to be that, you know." they both chuckled, "But no, Ezra was just growing up and you get to a point where your interests are too different to keep getting involved in everything the other does.

"It definitely happened to Nora with me and it's going to happen to Andra with you," then, seeing the scared look on her face that one day she would make her little sister feel the way her older siblings were making her feel at that moment, he added, "But Cece, that's life. I'm not saying it's easy, but it's not your fault. It happens."

"It still hurts." she pointed out again.

Cal reached out to her, putting both hands on her shoulders, "I know, but I can assure you that the second you get old enough and mom and dad will let you hang out with Nora, you'll completely forget you ever felt that way."

"Was it like that for you and Ezra?"

He nodded, getting up to sit on her bed next to her, "It took me a little longer than it will take you, because of the bigger age gap, but yeah." he nodded, smiling at her, "When Ezra and I started 'playing together' again," he said mimicking the quotes with his fingers, "It was like all the years we were too far apart to actually have fun together faded away. It was like finding an old friend you thought you'd never see again." he put an arm around her shoulders, bringing her against his side, "That's why I'm telling you not to worry."

Celia closed her eyes, muttering, "You were still an asshole, though. And so was Nora. And a little bit Ezra too."

She felt Cal shake while chuckling, "Andra wasn't? At least she's safe."

"Oh, shut up," she said, breaking free from her brother's grasp.

Cal looked down at her, a smile all too similar to their father's on his lips, "I love you, Cece." he said under his breath.

She nodded, feeling her cheeks heat up, "I love you too."

Then Cal laughed, running a hand over his face to stop the giggles and avoid waking their parents.

"What's up?" asked Celia in an amused tone.

"God," Cal breathed, trying not to laugh, "I can't wait until you and Nora are old enough to drink. Ezra and I have to take you to see so many places."

Celia rested her hands on her knees. She still didn't understand all that drinking hype, but she was sure her brothers would give her unforgettable experiences.

Cal let himself fall backwards on the bed, covering his face with an arm, "I'm sorry for acting like that yesterday, I'll try to pay more attention to your needs or whatever you want." he murmured after the laughter was fully subsided.

Celia lay next to him on the mattress, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, "It's nothing, I'm fine now."

"It's not nothing," Cal said, firmly, "The fact that you had to reach such a breaking point that you couldn't hold back the crying isn't nothing, don't even think that as a joke."

When she didn't answer, he took it as an invitation to continue.

"And I know dad already told you, but talk to us before you break down like that."

Celia swallowed, trying to chase away the tears, "I will." she finally whispered.

She heard Cal sigh, "Come here," before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. Celia closed her eyes, letting her older brother hold her, letting him give her the love they all said they felt for her.

Finally feeling the entirety of that weight being lifted from her shoulders, she fell asleep with Cal's voice promising her incredible adventures and memorable nights in a future Celia never imagined would be so close.

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kar-krashew · 3 years

Text

you that i lie with [AO3]

Magnus is a private investigator, and Alec is a master thief. Obviously, they fall in love.

Rated T

Shoutout to @peachygos, @rainyhuman, and @arsenic-creator <3

Magnus sighs as he flicks through the file in his hand for what’s possibly the tenth time today, skimming over each page once again in a desperate attempt to find new information, new leads, new anything— as long as it’s something that will help the case. If Ragnor was here, he’d probably say something about the definition of insanity and doing the same thing over and over again yet expecting different results, and then Magnus would say something about shutting up, Ragnor, and the other would then laugh and hand the file over to him anyway. Besides, Magnus didn’t become a private investigator just to ignore his gut feeling, and he definitely didn’t become one to listen to other people. So he’s here now, hunched over his desk, sorting through pages that he can practically recite by heart.

By the eleventh pass, he’s starting to think Ragnor would’ve been right. Dammit, Magnus is never going to hear the end of this.

“Goddamned Morgensterns,” he swears under his breath. If only he’d turned Jocelyn down all those years ago, when she’d shown up at his doorstep with her little girl and begged for help. If only he’d told her no, then he wouldn’t be caught up between their murderous family feud, watching as the people around him die because he wasn’t able to connect the dots or find a clue fast enough.

God, who is he kidding? He never would’ve said no.

Magnus Bane saves people; it’s one of the worst things about him.

Fuck, he thinks, fuck. Curse his fucking hero complex, curse his fucking job, curse the day he tried helping Clarissa Fairchild. He’s always known it would come back to bite him in the ass.

Magnus exhales, and closes his eyes. Just one more time; he’s sure he’ll find something. He’ll look through the file one more time, and then call it a day. Whatever he finds, he’ll roll with it. Just one more time, he repeats to himself, which is exactly when his fingers stumble upon a slip of paper stuck in between the creases of an old newspaper clipping.

Hotel Dumont, the note reads, L.

“Oh,” Magnus says. His heart flutters as his eyes pass over the three words, once, twice, thrice, committing the messy scrawl to memory until it’s been imprinted behind his eyelids.

Hotel Dumont.

He knew there was something of use in that file. He’s never going to let Ragnor hear the end of this.

The newspaper clipping that Magnus had found the note in was one detailing the illustrious career of Alexander Gideon Lightwood: former heir to the Lightwood fortune, now known amongst the upper class as the city’s most notorious thief. While there are quite a few fantastical urban legends about him, the most popular is that most of his “earnings” go to those in need, while another common one claims that he’s got a particular soft spot for detectives in gold eyeliner. Whatever you believe, it’s obvious he’s a terrible choice for a friend, partner, or anything really; he’s dangerous, reckless, untrustworthy, and Magnus is pretty sure he’s halfway in love with the guy.

“The man is a criminal, Magnus,” Raphael says at the front desk, frowning even as he hands over a room key. He leans over the desk and grabs Magnus’s hand. “Look, just don’t do anything stupid.”

Magnus accepts the key with a flourish and flashes a smile. “When have I ever, darling?” he winks, then abruptly turns around and walks down the line of doors before Raphael can respond.

They both know the answer to that question; especially when it comes to Alec.

He takes a deep breath as he approaches the room. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He just has to hear out whatever Alexander has to say, speak his own piece, and then they’ll split ways, never to cross paths again. It’s a simple plan, and all he has to do to get it over with is open the door.

All he has to do is open—

“Planning to just stare at that key all day, Detective Bane, or are you going to come in anytime soon?” a voice says, and Magnus jolts backwards in surprise before looking up, because he’d know that voice anywhere, and oh, it’s Alexander, standing in front of him with his pale skin and warm eyes and smiling, and Magnus missed him so much, he wants to kiss his face senseless, he’s gorgeous and he’s lovely and he’s—

He’s—

Alec is. . . well, he’s, uh—

“Are you naked?”

Alexander rolls his eyes and opens the door to reveal that he isn’t, in fact, naked; but that isn’t to say that he’s not very close to it, with nothing covering his body other than a towel draped loosely around his hips, riding far too low for it to be doing anything in terms of modesty. In fact, it’s doing the opposite, really, and Magnus is finding it increasingly difficult to look at something that isn’t Alec’s chest.

Oh, god.

“Ah,” Magnus says after a long moment. Alec smiles knowingly and leans against the doorframe, which is not helping, Jesus Christ. “Well! You seem otherwise preoccupied. I’ll just, ahem, I can always come back at a more opportune time.”

He’s just about to pivot on his heel and vow to never return here again when a hand shoots out and grabs his arm, pulling him closer to the man in front of him. This close, he can see the small scar on Alec’s chin, the flecks of green in his eyes, the stray hairs sticking out behind his ear, and his breath hitches as Alexander brings his mouth even closer.

“Don’t worry about it, I was expecting you,” Alec murmurs, voice low and honey-sweet. “You just caught me right after a shower. Come in, I’ll get dressed.” He smiles when Magnus nods dumbly, then turns to head back in the room, treating the other to a full view of his bare shoulders as he moves.

Magnus swallows. He has a horrible feeling that he’s not going to survive this.

“So, Mr. Bane,” Alec starts once they’re inside. He hands Magnus a bottle of wine with a grin, and gestures to two glasses set up on a side table before he turns away. “What brings you here?” He fiddles with the hem of his towel teasingly as he walks towards a dressing screen set up in the corner of the room, and Magnus’s mouth goes dry with the implication of the movement.

No. He’s not thinking about it. He is not thinking about it. He is not thinking about it—

—and Alexander drops his towel to the floor before stepping behind the screen. Oh my god, Magnus is way too fucking sober for this. He’s going to die here, and it’s going to be Alec’s and Alec’s ass’s fault.

Fuck. He’s getting sidetracked.

“I got your message,” Magnus finally replies, coughing awkwardly and shifting his attention to the bottle in his hand. He pops open the cork as Alec hums from behind the partition.

“I didn’t think you’d come, even if you did find the note,” he calls across the room. “I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me you’ve solved the case I gave you earlier.”

Oh, right: Hodge Starkweather, missing persons case. Magnus had received a mysteriously blank envelope in the mail just a few days prior, containing nothing but a picture of the man, the name “Starkweather,” and an “L.” scrawled across the back; Ragnor had found the message pretty much immediately, and made Magnus swear he wouldn’t take the case.

Not that it helped.

“I did find your man, actually,” Magnus says, taking a deep breath. “He’s dead.” The shuffling from behind him stops abruptly.

“Oh.” Another moment passes. Magnus quietly pours wine into the glasses in front of him until he hears Alec clear his throat. “Alright, well, if this isn’t a business visit, what is it?”

“It’s an Alexander-please-leave-this-city-before-I-find-you-dead-in-a-ditch-somewhere visit,” Magnus replies, which makes Alec laugh as he steps out from behind the partition in tight black pants and a button-down shirt.

(Most assume he’d have more lavish tastes with the amount of money he’s acquired, but Magnus has always liked this toned-down version of him. Alec looks young like this, unaffected by the troubles that have touched him, like there’s a bit of foolishness and hope in him that the horrible world outside can never take away.)

“Well, that makes this a social visit, then,” he grins lopsidedly, in that way that makes Magnus want to reach out and touch his mouth with his fingertips, holding out a glass of wine in offering. “Do you really think I can’t take care of myself? This is hardly the first death threat I’ve faced, you know that.”

God, he’s so unbothered and careless about this— doesn’t he fucking get it? “This is different,” Magnus insists. “Please, Alexander, listen to me. Leave. Leave before they can find you,” he begs, but Alec stays unbothered.

“Magnus, it’s fine. Calm down, I’ll be okay.” He rolls his eyes when Magnus frowns, and holds his hand out further. “Have a drink, you’ll feel better,” he says, in a move that’s meant to be reassuring and Magnus just— he snaps.

“Fuck your drink!” he shouts, shoving Alec’s hand to the side. Liquid sloshes over the rim of the glass, staining the carpet, and Raphael’s going to throw a tantrum over it tomorrow and glare at him the whole time, but Magnus doesn’t care, he can’t care, not with so many more important things at stake right now, things that Alexander doesn’t seem to care about at all. “Your life is on the line! Your Robin Hood routine has worked great these past few years, but it won’t mean anything if you’re dead tomorrow, Alexander! I know you’re not afraid, but what if I am? I can’t—” He cuts off with a strangled sound and looks away.

“I can’t— I won’t be able to handle finding you like the others,” he murmurs.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, he wasn’t supposed to say that, it’s too honest, it’s too vulnerable, too open, and now Alec is staring at him, probably getting ready to laugh at him or tell him he cares too much or that he’s insane, and God, that’s always it, isn’t it? He’s always cared too much, and now he’s going to lose the one person who didn’t know that yet, who he hadn’t scared off with all of his stupid fucking baggage, because he messed it up, like he always does with everyone.

“Magnus,” Alec says.

Magnus’s mouth tightens as he continues to avoid eye contact. “Magnus, hey, look at me.” Gentle fingers cradle his chin, tilting his face upwards until his gaze meets Alec’s. There’s a warmth there that Magnus hadn’t expected to see, and it’s startling in how tender it is. Magnus has half a mind to look away again.

“You’ve always saved people,” Alec says softly, still holding Magnus’s jaw. “I’ve always loved that about you. But who saves you?”

Magnus blinks. “What?” he says, but Alexander shakes his head before he’s leaning in slowly, shifting his hand to cup Magnus’s cheek, and oh.

Something dislodges in Magnus’s stomach as he takes it all in: the softness of Alexander’s lips, the emotion he pours into each breath, the gentle exhale he lets out before pressing his mouth against Magnus’s again. It all feels like coming home, like his world’s been tilted on an axis his whole life and it’s finally clicked back into place with the gentle press of Alec’s lips on his.

“Alexander,” Magnus whispers. They’re still close enough that he can feel Alec’s errant little smile against the bridge of his upper lip, both of them unwilling to part further than necessary to breathe, and he reaches out to clutch at his shoulders when the other man leans in for a another small kiss, this one indulgent and sweet.

“If I leave,” Alec says, brushing his nose against Magnus’s, “I can’t save you.” He brings his other hand up to trace Magnus’s lower lip with his thumb. “You need someone to save you, Magnus. The same way you do with others.”

Magnus inhales shakily. “I’m sure I’ll be fine if I know you’re somewhere safe,” he replies, but Alexander shakes his head again.

“You won’t. And I can’t leave you here,” he murmurs. He presses their foreheads together and runs his hand against Magnus’s cheek. “Let me help you, for once.”

Magnus sighs. He thinks about the people he’s lost in these few weeks, the guilt that’s been eating him alive from the inside-out everytime he thinks about them, but he knows Alec won’t leave, the same way Magnus wouldn’t have left if the roles were reversed. They’ve always been like that: looking out for each other. Saving each other. Magnus was foolish to think Alexander would leave now.

“Okay,” he says, and Alec’s face lights up. “Okay.”

“Good.”

He intertwines their fingers, and they stand there for a moment, breathing each other in, until Alec’s smile turns playful. “Now, I had this super sexy plan that involved a lot more of that towel to seduce you into that bed there, just because it seemed like the sort of thing to do,” he says, “but what do you say we just take a nap?”

Magnus laughs. They both don’t have time for things like naps, they both have things to do, entire worlds to attend to, but then he looks back up at Alec and thinks: their worlds can wait for one day. They can have this.

“Yes,” he replies, “That sounds lovely.” He takes Alec’s hand, letting him lead him to the bed, and settles into the sheets, curling his body towards the other as he does so.

“This was a horrible idea. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep when I know you’re here,” Alec whispers after a moment. “I never want to look away.” Magnus smiles, trying to keep the mood light despite the way his breath catches.

“You’re a sap.” He leans in to steal another kiss, and grins. “Also, for the record, I wouldn’t be opposed to the seduction plan later,” he adds, which prompts Alexander to snort loudly even as his eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement.

“Good to know,” he says. “Good to know.”

They’ll probably discuss that more thoroughly tomorrow. For now, they sleep.

#my writing #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #idk what to tag in here aksdj

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

When the World is Free Chapter 2: From My Sinking Sand to Your Solid Ground

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

The first thing Claire was aware of was the pounding of her head.

She groaned loudly, and even that sound made her head split. She roughly rubbed her eyes and tried to open them, then chickened out when the sunlight sent a knife between her eyes.

The second thing she was aware of was that she was stark naked.

Oh, fuck.

That was enough to shake her from her stupor. She sat straight up and searched the room blearily, but John was nowhere to be seen.

Thank God.

She didn’t think she could bear to do a walk of shame in her own bedroom.

She’d thought perhaps it had been a wild, alcohol induced dream. But apparently she really had stripped herself and her homosexual husband naked and ridden him into oblivion. And then cried herself to sleep on top of him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

She pulled a robe out of the wardrobe and wound it tightly around herself, not bothering to dress since she most definitely needed a shower anyway. She emerged from the bedroom, already cringing. The smell of coffee wafted into her consciousness, and it was enough to draw her from the doorway and into the kitchen.

John was sitting at the table with his own cup, staring blankly at the wall in front of him until the pitter patter of Claire’s bare feet caught his attention.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice clipped.

Christ, he could barely look at her.

“The pot should still be hot.”

Claire forced a tight-lipped smile as she shuffled over to the pot of coffee and poured herself a mug. “Thank you.”

He hummed awkwardly in response. Claire sat down slowly with her cup, cringing at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor.

“That bad, is it?”

Claire groaned and rubbed between her eyes, carefully setting the hot mug down in front of her. “Indeed.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several agonizing moments, each quietly sipping their coffee.

“Claire, I want — ”

“John, I should — ”

They both snapped their mouths shut, then began stammering apologies over one another.

“I’d…like to go first. If that’s alright,” Claire said uneasily. John nodded, and she cleared her throat, setting her coffee down again.

“What happened last night…it was unforgivable. Me, I mean,” she added quickly. “That was despicable of me. To use your love for him against you like that.”

She felt her face flush hot with shame, and John averted his eyes, a blush creeping into his own face as well.

“I’m a nurse. I know that…arousal doesn’t always mean you…want to…go further.” She swallowed against a rush of tears. “I took advantage of you. I’m…so ashamed, John. I’m so sorry.”

John put his hand up. “It’s alright, Claire.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“If I’d wanted to stop you I could have.”

She stiffened in shock, her hooded eyes widening for a moment.

“I feel I took advantage of you as well, my dear. You were…quite insistent. But I should have stopped you.”

“John — ”

“So I am sorry. Truly and deeply.” His voice sounded pained, and he looked like he was about to cry.

She knew deep down she did not deserve to be apologized to, but to spare him any further pain, she acquiesced. “It’s alright.”

“I used your body for comfort just as much as you used mine. I admit it makes…far less sense to me than it must for you…but use you I did.”

Claire nodded. “I agree. We…used one another. In a way we shouldn’t have.”

John nodded as well. “I think we should…make an agreement while neither of us are inebriated. Something that we can refer to when one or both of us is in too much pain to stop ourselves.”

“I agree.” Claire straightened and took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I have to say this to a homosexual housemate…” Claire tried her hand at humor, and immediately regretted it before continuing. “But I don’t think we should have any more sex. At all.”

“Agreed. And we must not…” He cleared his throat and sniffled. “We must not use Jamie to hurt one another.”

“Never again,” Claire vowed solemnly, reaching across the table and taking his hand. “I promise.”

“I promise, too.”

They gave each other’s hands a squeeze, but were both reluctant to let go.

“What happened…was not right. I shall probably feel guilty until the end of time,” Claire said. “But I think it was just…something we needed to get out of our systems.” John nodded in agreement. “And I think we can move past this, together,” Claire continued. “For Jamie’s sake.”

He nodded again, and gave her hand another squeeze. “And for the baby.”

Claire’s stomach flipped, and her free hand automatically came to rest on her abdomen. “Yes,” she said, and then swallowed thickly. “For the baby.”

He gave her hand one final squeeze before releasing her and standing up. She quickly swiped at the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

“I’m going to make some porridge, it may help with your headache.”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

——

They began a careful dance, a dance with no choreographed steps, but rather an improvised routine that they both fell into. Sidestepping where they needed, pushing and pulling to avoid stepping on each other’s toes in every sense of the word. At first, they stayed as far away from each other as possible in bed, to the point where Claire thought they would both tumble off if one of them so much as sneezed. She’d even considered pawning off the double bed and using the money to buy twin beds. Maybe then she’d be less tempted to ravage him in grief again.

But then, one night, she woke in the night to use the loo, as she’d started doing about a million times per night to empty her pregnant bladder. When she returned, she heard quiet sniffles and small whimpers.

The poor, dear man was weeping.

She crept back under the covers and faced him, his back turned to her. She couldn't tell if he was awake or not, so she reached out and touched his shoulder.

“John?”

He froze. He was awake then.

“Are you alright, darling?”

He continued sniffling, but the little sobs ceased.

“You can talk to me. It’s…what I’m here for. As your wife.”

Claire knew that her time to be married to the love of her life had come and gone. Love as fierce as her and Jamie’s was not meant to last for a whole lifetime, and she was lucky enough to have experienced it at all. Her time had come now to be something else for someone new. Though their marriage was devoid of carnal love and pleasure, she could not deny the growing tenderness for this sweet, thoughtful man.

She whispered his name again and gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and he finally turned to face her. In the glowing moonlight, she could see the tear tracks, the redness of his swollen eyes. Her hand fell on the pillow next to his face, and she waited.

“I…I dreamt of him.”

Claire swore she heard her heart break.

“It was…very real. And when I woke it was like…”

“Like losing him all over again,” Claire whispered hoarsely, understanding immediately. She’d had many a similar dream.

John nodded, blinking back another rush of tears.

“I wasn’t even…we weren’t even…”

Claire nodded; he didn’t have to elaborate.

“He was with you,” John said. “And I didn't even care. Seeing him smile at you was the greatest joy my heart has ever known. I didn’t even care if that…that look was never meant to be mine. I just…wanted him to be happy.”

Claire let out a tiny sob that seemed to echo until she realized it was John breaking down again.

“I wanted to see him grow old and have children…he wanted to so badly…”

Claire fiercely pulled herself right up against him, cradling his head at her breast and weeping into his hair as he clung desperately to her nightgown.

That was the first night Claire was grateful she shared a bed with someone; sharing a bed meaning something different than she’d ever imagined it could. She’d mused recently that to sleep, actually sleep with someone gave a sense of intimacy, as though her dreams could flow out of her to mingle with his and fold them both in a blanket of unconscious knowing. It was an act of trust to sleep in the presence of another person. If the trust was mutual, simple sleep could bring people closer together than the joining of bodies. She could somehow feel this with John, that just allowing her body to fall away into unconsciousness as he did the same, that building that mutual trust between them in this new way was bringing them closer. Especially since their particular joining of bodies had been the farthest thing from bringing them closer.

Some nights she woke to his weeping, or he to hers. They’d grown accustomed to just reaching for the other’s hand, and they would fall back asleep with several inches between their bodies and their hands clasped between them.

It was a comfort that Claire was quickly growing to depend on.

About a week after they'd been married, John took a job as an architect, the career path he'd been preparing for before the war. While he was gone, Claire taught herself to cook, failing miserably more often than not and serving her husband failed dish after failed dish. She went on walks, she read, she picked herbs and flowers in the park, she tended to a small pot of herbs that John had surprised her with in the window of the kitchen one day. She was a terrible cook, but at least her garlic, chamomile, and peppermint were thriving.

The peppermint quite came in handy when the morning sickness started in earnest. John was quite darling about the whole ordeal, never entering the bathroom until he could audibly tell that she’d stopped retching, but he was already prepared with a hot rag and a glass of water, peppermint tea brewing and nearly ready for her consumption.

It wasn’t right away that Claire began missing him during the day, not right away at all. In the beginning she’d enjoyed the alone time with her plants and any strays she decided to pluck from the side of the road or the middle of a field. She enjoyed the time alone to scream into a pillow and weep until her heart could no longer stand it. She enjoyed the time where she held onto Jamie’s old rosary and talked to him like he could hear her.

But the more weeks that passed, the more Claire realized that she’d grown fond enough of John’s presence to feel his absence when he was gone.

It wasn’t that she was never fond of him to begin with. The times she’d visited Jamie during the war and had drinks with John and laughed with him were truly wonderful. She’d always admired his intelligence, his wit, always respected him and appreciated everything he’d done for the man she loved.

But things had somehow changed in that she was truly beginning to see him as a companion. She was truly starting to feel lonely in the hours that he worked, truly starting to look forward to his return home like she supposed a wife should for her husband.

Claire had always sworn that she would not leave her entire life’s purpose to being a wife, even a wife to Jamie. She’d shared her far-off dream of medical school with Jamie, and he’d kissed her with joy for her eventual success; the memory caused deep pangs of sadness in her chest. So for her to find meaning in looking forward to her husband coming home, however amicable a companion he was, could have felt like a betrayal to her very character.

It didn’t, though.

It was an odd comfort, relying on John, and she supposed he felt the same. They read by the fire in their respective armchairs at night, John occasionally remarking on a particular passage to her. In the beginning, she’d only hum in amusement in response, but as more time went on, she allowed it to open discussion, and she’d even started doing it with her own books, engaging him like that.

After reading, they’d strip themselves of their guises of husband and wife. The only visible remnants of their marriage were shared smiles over books or meals (or lack thereof) or flowerpots. Without those, they were just John and Claire, frightened and lonely as they’d always been, hands entwined under the covers in the wide gap between them.

He actually brought home flowers on occasion, on two or three random days throughout the month. Claire found it incredibly endearing. He strode into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes for supper one night as Claire arranged bluebells in a vase, and she allowed perhaps the first genuine smile in months.

He’s trying, God love him.

Claire kissed him on the cheek as she put his plate in front of him that night at supper, and he kissed hers in bed before rolling away and reinstating the gap between them.

Always touching hands.

——

Before she knew it, Claire’s clothing wasn’t fitting anymore, her stomach finally showing true evidence of the life it grew after months of hiding.

And then she felt it, like a bubbly champagne stuck in her chest, like the flutter of butterflies.

Hello, little one.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Claire said that night over supper. She’d managed a fine beef stew that night, impressing both John and herself. “I don’t want to have the baby in the hospital.”

John comically appeared to choke on his stew. “Beg pardon?”

“Women do do it. Home births, I mean. I had a friend in the army who delivered babies at people’s homes.”

“Isn’t it…” He swallowed a lump of soft carrots. “Painful?”

Claire chuckled. “Well, certainly. But I’d…rather be awake. I can’t stand what they’re doing these days, putting the mothers under with God knows what. I wouldn’t be able to stand it, not knowing what was happening to me for the entire birth. If something were to happen, I would want to be awake.”

“But what if something were to happen?” John said, laying down his spoon.

“If something truly dire were to happen, the hospital isn’t far.”

“God, Claire! What if you died on the way there?”

“Please.” Claire rolled her eyes. “If I was at high risk, I’d go to the hospital from the beginning. Alright? But I truly think everything will be alright. I’d like to have a midwife start coming to make sure of that.”

“What about your friend?”

“Oh, she lives in Glasgow.”

He took up his spoon again, then got a gleam in his eye. “What if I could put her up here, in London?”

Claire put down her own spoon, the corners of her mouth twitching into a grin. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most simple matter in the world. “I can see you’re not to be argued with on this matter, and I’d rather have the woman in charge of your health and the health of our child be someone you already trust. She’s capable?”

Claire’s mind had momentarily gone blank at his casual utterance.

Our child.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Claire jolted a bit, shaking her head. “Yes, yes, just a small dizzy spell…” She cleared her throat. “Geillis is quite capable, I assure you. You won’t find someone more so. And it’s as I said: if she thinks it unsafe for me to not have medical intervention, then I will not argue. I promise.”

John nodded curtly, smiling widely. “Then it’s settled. Phone her tomorrow, won’t you?”

Claire took up her spoon again. “I will.”

Our child.

“What’s brought all this on?” John said, spooning more stew into his mouth.

Claire smiled wistfully, her hand resting on the tiny bump. “I felt him today.”

He almost choked again.

“You did?”

“Yes. It’s…too tiny to feel from the outside, otherwise I’d have shown you already. But he’s…he’s fluttering around in there.” She smiled down at her stomach. “It’s…wonderful.”

“That is…wonderful news, my dear,” John said, his eyes bright with joy. “I’m glad of it.”

Claire allowed a few moments of amicable silence to pass between them, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Did you…mean it when you said…our child?”

For the third time in one meal, Claire thought she had caused her husband to choke.

“God, Claire, I’m…I’m so, very sorry. I didn’t mean…I couldn’t ever…”

“It’s alright,” Claire interrupted gently. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s Jamie’s child. I know that.”

“I know. And I know you know that.” She held his gaze, and she could tell he very much wanted to melt into the floor with shame. “I can’t lie and say it didn’t catch me off guard. Because it did. But it’s…not a bad thing.”

She drew in a long, tremulous breath before continuing.

“Jamie is gone. The father of my child is dead.” Her voice only broke on the last word, and she sardonically congratulated herself in her head. “You are…for all intents and purposes…this baby’s father. And I…I want it to be that way. For the baby. It’s…what Jamie would want.”

John nodded, eyes watering.

“So it’s…it’s alright for you to call him…ours. Because he is.” She covered the small bump with both of her hands, cradling it as if her little child could feel it. “That was just…the first time you’ve said that instead of just ‘the baby.’ So I wanted to be sure you meant it. Or if it was just a slip.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, and she could swear she saw his pupils dilate. “I did mean it, my dear. I wouldn’t say something with that much weight so carelessly.”

Claire nodded, offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Good.”

Their spoons clattered in the thick silence between them.

“Him?” John suddenly said.

“Hm?” Claire looked up at him.

“You keep saying ‘him.’ That sure it’s a boy?”

Claire smiled and chuckled through her nose. “I just…have a feeling, that’s all. A feeling that I’m carrying my little Brian James.”

She could practically see his heart swelling, inflating his chest and causing him to sit up straighter. “For Jamie’s father.”

“That’s right. And for his father as well.”

“It’s…perfect, Claire.” He nodded in confirmation, his eyes wide with something that Claire could only describe as adoration. “Perfect for our son.”

——

John put Geillis up in a flat a few blocks away so that they could walk back and forth to each other with relative ease. Geillis determined that the baby was in excellent shape, and that Claire was a great candidate for a natural birth. Geillis was a bit flighty and slightly mysterious, but that was what Claire had loved about her when they met. She was very reliant on herbs and incense. Claire could tell that her witchy tendencies unnerved John quite a bit, and it often made her giggle to see him uncomfortable in her presence. He didn’t say anything, though, out of respect for Claire’s love for the woman.

Geillis was slightly better in the kitchen than Claire was, so she’d been sharing recipes (much to John’s chagrin; he didn’t trust that there wasn’t something supernatural in anything she fed them). They baked together in either of their flats when John was at work, went on walks together, enjoyed each other’s company. It was refreshing to have female company, and wonderful to have someone to spend time with when she would have otherwise been counting down the minutes until John’s return from work.

Two months after Geillis’s arrival as midwife and friend, Claire was nearly six months pregnant. She was starting to feel exhausted more often than not. She napped quite often, even in Geillis’s flat. Her feet and ankles were constantly sore and swollen, and John had taken to rubbing them for her, having asked her how to do it most to her liking. It was terribly endearing to her.

Claire left Geillis’s flat earlier than usual on one particular day, not wanting to fall dead asleep on her sofa again. She stopped for a few groceries on the way home, not sure if she had enough to prepare the recipe she’d decided on for the night. When she arrived home, she was pleasantly surprised to see John’s shoes and coat by the front door. She didn’t see him in the living room or in the kitchen when she put the brown paper bag down on the counter, so she shuffled into the bedroom to make sure he wasn’t home early because he was ill.

“John, darling, is everything — ”

Claire’s throat went dry and her eyes popped out of her head when she took in the sight on the bed. John was stark naked, cock in his fist, jerking his hips into his hand. He froze immediately at the sound of her voice, covering himself with both hands.

“Oh.” Her cheeks turned pink as she averted her eyes staring at a leaf fluttering by the window. “I’m…I’m sorry…” she stammered. “I saw your coat, and I thought…I’m sorry.”

“I’m…ashamed. Forgive me. I didn’t know you’d be home.”

“No, no. Please don’t be,” Claire said quickly. “It’s…perfectly natural.”

Claire had been very clear with John before they married that she would be perfectly alright with him taking male lovers. She knew she could never provide what he really needed, and she knew this marriage was not for love. He’d thanked her and said he would keep it in mind.

It would appear there hadn’t been any forward momentum on that front.

Claire had no conceivable idea why she was still standing in the doorway staring at the window. “I’ll ehm, just…” She cleared her throat and started to shuffle away, but then stopped herself. “Do you…” she began, only half turning to him. “Want help?”

She looked shyly at him, pointedly only looking at his face. He was beet red with embarrassment, and now looked terribly scandalized.

“The…agreement?” he said, his brow raised in questioning.

“I know. But we’re both sober at the moment, and it wouldn’t really be sex. I…I wouldn’t mind.” She flicked her eyes away from him and wet her lips. “But only if it’ll help. I know I’m not…you know.”

She saw him nod from the corner of her eye. “You, ehm, needn’t trouble yourself.”

“Alright. That’s alright.” Claire nodded curtly and then saw herself out of the bedroom, scuttling back into the kitchen to unpack her groceries.

She did not expect the strange thrill that coursed through her when she heard her name.

Her breathing went ragged as she put down a cabbage on the counter and walked slowly back to the bedroom.

“Did you…call me?” she asked timidly through the crack in the door.

“Yes…you can come in.”

She slowly pushed the door open, taking deep, trembling breaths.

“I’d…like your help. If you don’t mind.”

She blinked back her shock and swallowed against a sandpaper throat before taking slow, even steps across the room and sitting down before him.

He was not as well endowed as Jamie, but it was sizable nonetheless, and had still felt good in that drunken stupor all those months ago. She met his eye and cautiously brought her hand forward. He gave a small groan when her hand wrapped around the base of him. He was burning to the touch, and it fascinated her. She maintained eye contact as she slowly began pumping him, up and down, and he groaned again.

“Is this alright?” she whispered, rolling her thumb over the tip.

“Yes,” he choked out. “Quite…alright.”

Claire smirked and began pumping faster, but not maddeningly so. Not yet.

She had half a mind to ask him what he’d been thinking of before she’d interrupted, but she didn’t need to. She knew.

And she knew how painfully terrible it was to long for the ghost of someone’s touch.

So she didn’t pry, she just worked her hands as expertly as she knew how, until he was panting heavily and jerking his hips up toward her hand. Only then did she double down on the speed, her forearm burning with the effort. He came with a strangled cry, shooting his seed upward, landing on his stomach.

She slowed her hand until she felt him go soft, and then she rested her hand on his thigh, smiling shyly at him. He was laying back, staring at the ceiling as he caught his breath. Claire got up and returned from the bathroom with a towel, and by that time he had seemingly regained his senses.

“Thank you,” he said warmly as he took the towel in his hands, but Claire felt that he was perhaps thanking her for more than just the towel.

“It’s alright, isn’t it?” she said nervously, sitting down. “You don’t feel as if we’ve broken the agreement?”

“No, not at all.” He got up and dressed himself again, though he remained shirtless when he turned back to her. “You were just…helping me finish a job I’d already started.”

Claire nodded, smiling self-consciously, her cheeks blushing fiercely. “Right.”

“You don’t have to blush, my dear.” He closed the distance between them and sweetly kissed her forehead. “You’re my wife after all.”

She nodded again, painfully aware of the heat that had gathered in her stomach and farther down.

“You’re quite warm,” he said, ghosting his fingertips over the apple of her cheeks. “Is it…because…?”

She nodded.

“Ah.” He sat down next to her. “I’m afraid I…wouldn’t be much help. Your knowledge of male pleasure far exceeds that of mine concerning female pleasure.”

“It’s alright,” Claire said gently, covering his hand with hers. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

He smiled gratefully at her, holding her gaze warmly.

Claire had no idea what prompted her to blurt: “You could watch me.”

His mouth popped open a bit, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

“Women can do it themselves too, you know.” She smirked, though she was still blushing fiercely. “I wouldn’t mind if you watched. It may…help.”

He swallowed again, drawing his hand away from hers.

“But you don’t want me to…”

“You don’t have to.” She pushed herself higher up onto the bed and unbuttoned her dress, then slid it over her head. She wasn’t sure how John would feel if she got completely naked, so she left her slip on. She reached under it to remove her underwear.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she said, a warning. Before she really began.

“I…I do. Want to.”

She smiled at him and set her underwear aside, away from him. She let her legs fall apart and ghosted her fingers over the slick, wet folds.

“When a woman is aroused…” she said breathily, taking a stuttering breath as her fingers reached the source of her moisture. “Instead of a cockstand, she gets…wet.”

She withdrew her hand to show him, and he stared at the glistening wetness on her fingers with vulgar curiosity.

Smiling devilishly, she returned to her task, gathering more moisture and setting to work on her clitoris.

“I…aroused you?”

John’s voice brought her out of a haze of pleasure, and she met his gaze with hooded eyelids.

She heard what he left unsaid:

I did…not Jamie?

“You did, John,” she breathed out. “It makes me feel…very good to give a man pleasure.”

It was the truth, really. Jamie was, of course, the subject of her every thought, her every fantasy. In her moments alone, when Geillis was not around, it was thoughts of Jamie’s hands, Jamie’s tongue, Jamie’s cock that roused her to the point of no return. And it was those thoughts that had her weeping in grief after she’d climaxed. But this was different. For the first time, she wasn’t aroused by a fantasy, but rather by the sight of a real man coming right in front of her. By her hand. Did she think of her love in that same position? God, of course. Was she imagining his touch? Certainly. But seeing John, sweet, gentle John, in the throes of pleasure had flipped a switch in her fevered mind.

It was different.

John swallowed hard again in response to her words, and she redoubled her efforts on herself. She did not hold back, allowing her eyes to fall shut and for her desperate keening to get as loud as it would naturally get without restraint. She laid back, neck arching as she moaned loudly with ecstasy.

She picked her head back up when she felt she was close, and made deliberate eye contact with John as she slipped a finger in, still keeping her maddening pace on her clitoris. John’s lips parted and he swallowed again, and with the insertion of a second finger, curling them in and upwards, Claire let out a ragged gasp. Her hips jerked off the mattress, thrusting into nothingness as she continued her rapid assault of her clitoris, her fingers frozen inside her as her walls clenched around them. She let out a sweet sounding moan as her hand finally slowed, and she gradually lowered back onto the mattress, her head swimming and her back slick with sweat.

She kept her eyes closed as she came down from her high, her chest heaving. When she opened her eyes, John was still staring at her, his mouth hanging open. She was still breathing heavily, and she smiled up at him shyly.

“Do you, ehm…” He cleared his throat. “Do you feel better now?”

She nodded lazily, feeling her eyes slide shut again.

“I can finish with your groceries. You seem tired.”

She nodded, eyes still closed, and curled into the pillow, draping her arm over it lazily. She felt like an infant, drugged with sleep after breastfeeding, having satiated herself.

Consciousness was just beginning to slip away from her when she felt a blanket drape over her shoulders, and a gentle peck on her temple.

“Sleep well, my dear.”

#outlander #outlander au #outlander fanfiction #claire fraser #jamie fraser #john grey #lord john grey #john x jamie #john x claire #jjc #john x jamie x claire #throuple #ot3

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phantom-curve · 3 years

Text

find the strength, find the melody pt. 6

okay so I wasn’t originally going to include the entire scene in Lessa’s office but, once again, my words ran away from me. now you get this beast of a chapter. it’s the longest one yet, coming in at a whopping 4,383 words so think of it as an apology for letting my other fic take over for a sec and also taking like a million years to post this.

I started working on Luke’s POV because I am nothing if not a fan of jumping the gun, and his writing style is so different and living in his head is such an adorable journey of Julie Molina obsession. really excited for you to see some of the stuff that’s been going on for our sweet lil soft boy. also, if you notice the dialogue style changing a little bit in this/future chapters it’s so I can have the same scenes without a ton of repeated dialogue in Luke’s POV.

writer’s block anecdote of the day: I keep flipping Luke and Alex’s name in Luke’s POV because one of the main OCs in my novel is actually named Alex and has been since I started working on this novel a literal decade ago. oh and there is also an OC named Owen. someday I’ll learn to give my characters unique names, but not today!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder, @kat-maybe-not, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist

Once they were close enough to risk running into other students, Julie dropped Luke’s hand. She made a point of ignoring the frown he gave her, using her now free hand to reach up and adjust her hat. Only, her hat wasn’t there. Her hands landed on loose, untamed curls instead and she immediately turned to Luke with a small amount of panic already building in her chest. He gave her a funny look, and then seemed to notice her hair and somehow understood completely. His hands reached up to lower hers. He let his grasp linger for just a moment before letting go, leaving her hands to dangle limply at her sides. Only his gaze held her in place.

“I never really liked that hat. Your hair is too pretty to cover up like that.”

He said it like a fact. The sky is blue, the sun is hot, your hair is too pretty to cover up. Julie felt a swell of emotions rise again, threatening to overwhelm her. But then he was off towards the front of the school throwing a very casual, “You coming?” over his shoulder at her. She raced to catch up, emotions beaten back for the time being.

They joined the surge of bodies filtering through the front doors. Alex and Reggie stood off to the side inside the entryway of the school. It was impossible to miss the tall blonde in his light pink sweatshirt standing next to the shorter boy in leather. Luke didn’t hesitate to weave his way over to them, but Julie hung back. She wasn’t really sure what was going on between them, wasn’t sure if she felt comfortable enough to just tag along behind him. She caught sight of Flynn’s hot pink beanie bouncing in the distance and let out a sigh of relief. She could separate from Luke here, talk to Flynn, get some perspective on this whole situation.

Luke glanced back at her then. She saw the question in his eyes, felt her heart race when he gave a little side nod like he was inviting her to join him. She swallowed and gave him a half-hearted smile before jerking her thumb over her shoulder in Flynn’s direction. He frowned, but she was already turning away. She pretended she didn’t hear him call her name, slipping into the crowd of students, letting it swallow her up so she could disappear from his sight. Eyes locked on Flynn’s back she moved farther away from the Sunset Curve boys. Flynn only jumped a little when Julie snuck up behind her.

“Jesus, Jules! You scared the shit out of me!”

Her best friend’s familiar voice washed over her like a comforting blanket. All at once, Julie was word vomiting the entire night.

“Flynn, oh my God. He had Mom’s song and he saved it for like, a whole year, and then he gave it to me yesterday, and holy shit I forgot how beautiful it is. And you’re not gonna believe this but I played, like I actually played the piano and sang, and it was like homecoming, it was like the biggest rush, like my mom was right there in the studio with me. And then, oh my god, now you’re really not gonna believe this, but oh my god, then Luke freaking Patterson showed up out of nowhere and he uh might have stayed on the pull-out couch, and then he uhm he made me breakfast this morning? And we walked here together?? He was like...doing this thing where his eyes were going all starry and soft and he was saying really sweet things and it was...a lot and I really don’t know what’s going on with that but uhm I’m kinda freaking out. Also, hey good morning, how are you?”

If Flynn’s mouth opened any wider Julie thought she might unhinge her jaw. In a sea of bustling students, it felt like they were in a bubble all their own. She anxiously fiddled with the bracelets on her wrists as she watched the gears turn behind her best friend’s eyes. After a full two minutes of silence, Flynn’s hand flew out to latch onto Julie’s bicep. Without a word she dragged her down the hallway and into an empty practice room. Flynn released her grip, Julie rubbing at her arm, jeez Flynn was strong!, while the other girl closed the door and flipped on the light that indicated the room was in use. She whirled around, her eyes drilling into Julie’s.

“You’re gonna start at the beginning of that whole mess of truth bombs and spill every last detail about exactly what happened with Luke ‘freaking’ Patterson. Right now. Starting with the bit about your mom’s song.”

Julie took a deep breath and slowly walked Flynn through the events of the last few days, from the moment she had run into Luke after her meeting with Ms. Harrison to when she ran away from him this morning as he was calling her name. Distantly, she was aware of the bell ringing, but it was only homeroom anyway. What did that matter when she was having an existential crisis? Flynn’s mouth only hung open a little bit by the time she was finished telling the story again. Julie felt her shoulders slump. What an emotional rollercoaster. Flynn was quiet for a long moment. Then, she smirked at Julie with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Hmph. Looks like my girl’s got a crush, and his name is Luke. I cannot believe you’ve been holding out on me like this!”

She was teasing, her tone light with a little bit of a mocking sing-song quality to it. But Julie could hear the undercurrent of worry running through her words. She had become quite adept at detecting that particular vocal quality in the last year. She sighed.

“Whatever. Can we focus on the more important revelation that I played the piano and sang again?”

Flynn, best friend that she was, gracefully allowed the subject change.

“Jules, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you! How did you feel? Alive again?”

Julie laughed, the sound feeling easy and light as it left her chest.

“Yeah, actually, that’s exactly how I felt. It was...honestly, it felt magical. It really did feel like my mom was there with me. There was this sense of peace that just felt...”

She shivered, remembering the sensation of ghostly arms around her shoulders.

“I can’t really describe it. But it was like something just clicked, and I realized that the best way to remember my mom and honor her is through music. The music we made together and the music I’ll make in the future. Rose Molina’s musical legacy will live on in me, and that feels pretty special.”

She couldn’t keep the smile from her face or the happiness from her voice. Peace really had been found out in that studio last night. Julie felt more ready than ever to move out of the darkness she’d kept wrapped around her like a shield for the last year.

“That’s beautiful.”

Flynn pulled Julie into her arms, the two girls sharing a long hug. The bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom, before either girl could say anything more. They left the practice room together, splitting up when they reached their respective classroom doors. Julie swallowed thickly as she settled herself in the back of her Calc class. This was one of the classes she shared with Luke, although she had conveniently forgotten that fact until the moment she sat down at her desk. He appeared in the doorway within seconds, giving her no chance to properly prepare herself. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he started to make a beeline for the desk next to hers before their teacher caught him.

“Patterson! You know the deal.”

Not even Luke’s best pout could win over Ms. May. She simply raised a brow and pointed at the seat he had been assigned at the front of the classroom. Julie let out a small sigh of relief. It was hard not to smile at Luke’s dramatics as he slumped over and slowly shuffled his way to his desk. He dropped into his seat with a loud huff, glancing over his shoulder at Julie with forlorn expression. She rolled her eyes, smothering her smirk behind her hand. The bell rang again, and he turned his attention to the front of the room as Ms. May called the class to order.

He didn’t stop sneaking looks back at her the entire class period though. It made her want to squirm in her seat every time she dared peek at him and caught him watching her in return. He would always give her one of those soft, sweet smiles and then turn back to his work. It was unsettling, especially when she thought of how he hadn’t paid much attention to her in this particular class before today. Although, now that she really thought about it, maybe he had. Julie had basically been living in a fog of grief for the last year. The school could have caught on fire and she probably wouldn’t have noticed it until her clothes were burning.

She was almost grateful when one of the front desk aides appeared in the door to their classroom. Kayla made direct eye contact with her before knocking on the door frame to get Ms. May’s attention.

“Julie Molina is needed in the office.”

A tense silence fell over the classroom. Every single student remembered the last time Julie had been called down to the office in the middle of a class. Even Ms. May’s eyes flickered with pity for a moment before she gave Julie a gentle smile and nod. Julie stood slowly, forcing herself to keep her breath even as she gathered her books and papers into her backpack. 22 pairs of eyes watched her slowly make her way to the front of the room. One pair burned hotter than the others. Julie met Luke’s eyes for the smallest fraction of a second. Just long enough to see the concern rise up in them. Then she was out the door, walking the uncomfortably familiar path to the front office.

“It’s Lessa. And I think your dad.”

Kayla’s quiet voice startled her. She looked to her left, surprised to find the other girl keeping pace with her. Julie had thought she would walk ahead or peel off to deliver other messages. Instead, she got a small but genuine smile.

“Look, I know things are weird because of the Carrie thing, but I just didn’t want you to freak out too much. Frankly, I think Lessa’s kinda a bitch to pull you out of class like that. She’s an idiot if she doesn’t remember...well anyway. It’s something school related, not like a family thing.”

Kayla briefly squeezed her bicep, almost like she wished she could give Julie a hug. Then she was off down a separate hallway, waving the stack of messages in her hand at Julie as a goodbye. Julie watched her go for a second, feeling off balance and surprisingly emotional. Kayla was a Dirty Candy girl. In the battle lines that had been drawn between Julie and Carrie, Kayla’s position was as obvious as Flynn’s. For all intents and purposes, she shouldn’t be looking out for Julie, and yet, she was anyway. Julie wondered how many small protective moments she had missed from her classmates in the last year. Maybe she hadn’t been quite as alone as she had always felt. She took a deep breath and finished the walk to the front office, a little more ready to face what was on the other side.

Knowing it was school related and that her dad had been called down sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine for a different reason. It had to be something about the music program. Not for the first time, Julie regretted keeping it from her dad for this long. She was out of time now. At least she could thank the universe for small favors. If it had been her Tía in this meeting, Julie’s life would be over. Her dad was more understanding. They would be able to get through this. Julie forced herself to square her shoulders and enter the office with more confidence than she felt. Her mom’s words echoed in her mind you can do it. It was all the strength she needed.

At least until the door to Principal Lessa’s office was closing behind her, and she was face-to-face with her heartbroken father.

“Julie. Take a seat, please.”

Lessa’s voice lacked its usual bite. She just sounded tired. Julie felt that down to her bones. She slipped into the seat next to her dad without a word.

“I’m going to get right to the point. Two of us,” her eyes narrowed slightly on Julie who shifted in her seat in response, “knew this meeting was coming. The other one of us has now been informed as to why it was called.”

The weight of her father’s stare was crushing her. Julie didn’t have to look to see the disappointment there. It was rolling off of him in tsunami sized waves. Lessa continued talking despite the uncomfortable tension growing in the air.

“Now. We have several options. As you both know, Los Feliz is at its core an arts academy. We ask that our students participate in at least one of the arts programs. Participate being the key word there. Julie, it’s clear that participation in our music department isn’t something you’re able to do right now. While we were able to offer you a grace period, we have other students applying for the position you aren’t using. It’s only fair to allow them the chance to participate if you won’t.”

Julie was not going to cry. Not here in front of Principal Lessa and her dad, trapped on school grounds where everyone would see her when she left. She bit the inside of her cheek as hard as she could, letting Lessa’s soft but firm voice wash over her without absorbing anything she was saying. She caught bits and pieces: Lessa offering her a spot in the less desirable subset of illustration in the fine arts department with a chance to reapply for the music department the following semester, her dad requesting information about the new program as well as copies of her transcripts in case they decided to move schools, Lessa’s voice softening as she apologized, her dad’s growing even softer as he thanked her for everything the school had done so far. Then the meeting was wrapping up, and her dad was shaking Lessa’s hand, and Julie was focusing on her backpack so she could get the hell out of there. She barely caught the sad smile Lessa gave her as she said, “Good luck, Julie” in that same goodbye tone Ms. Harrison had used on Monday. Julie had never been so desperate for her old hat to hide behind as she was in that moment.

She shuffled along behind her dad. It was obvious the school day was over for Julie. He was quiet as they made their way out of the office and into the empty hallway. Class had been dismissed while they were with Lessa. Julie was thankful there weren’t any other students around to witness her downfall. Her dad almost made it out of the building before rounding on her. Almost.

“I cannot believe you tried to hide this from me! I thought I raised you better than that, mija. You’re lucky your Aunt had a work meeting she couldn’t miss. Why didn’t you come to me?”

It was the overwhelming disappointment in her dad’s tone that did Julie in. She had never been able to stomach letting her parents down. If Ray’s voice was any indication, she may have reached the rock bottom of let downs.

“I’m sorry.”

She was. She truly was. She didn’t know why she had kept it from her dad except that if she had told him then she would have had to admit it was real. She hadn’t wanted to face that reality just yet.

“I just don’t understand, Julie. You still like music, right? Is it the school? We can find a different music program. You don’t have to stay here just because your mom loved it so much.”

Julie opened her mouth to argue that actually that was exactly why she had to stay here, but a different voice cut her off. An annoyingly familiar voice that had her heart racing and her palms sweating.

“Julie!”

She nearly groaned aloud. Never before in her life had Julie wished to disappear as much as she did right now. Just open a hole in the floor and jump right into it. The absolute last thing she needed right now was Lucas freaking Patterson getting in the middle of this dressing down. Hell, she didn’t even want him witnessing it let alone trying to get involved. She clenched her jaw, ignored her dad’s pointedly raised eyebrow, and turned on her heel to meet the teenage boy that suddenly seemed to be haunting her every step.

“Luke. Hi.”

She kept her voice flat, the go away clear in her tone. His steps faltered for a second, but she could tell by the way his shoulders bounced that he wasn’t going to be so easily deterred. She had run away from him this morning and been saved multiple times in Calc. He wasn’t going to let her avoid him anymore. He approached her and her dad with all the cool confidence a 17-year-old boy in a band could muster. Her mouth almost fell open when he bypassed her completely to stick his hand out towards Ray.

“Luke Patterson. You must be Mr. Molina. It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”

His smile was genuine and charming, his lyrical voice all too polite. Julie wanted to scream as she watched her dad fall for it. Could she not have one single embarrassing moment to herself anymore? Was she doomed to play out the moments she came off looking the worst in front of this cute boy for the rest of her life? Her dad’s eyes lit up as he shook Luke’s hand. Julie wished she could bash her head against something.

“Patterson? Mitch and Emily’s boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Only Julie caught the way his smile tightened and his shoulders raised defensively at the mention of his parents.

“Wow, you’ve grown quite a bit since the last time I saw you! Good people, your parents.”

Julie rolled her eyes at the dad-ness of it all.

“I forgot you were in the music program with Julie...”

She couldn’t help but cringe as her dad’s words trailed off. That statement had been enough to remind him why he was here in the first place. He turned away from Luke to give her another heartbroken look. She hung her head to escape the censure behind his eyes.

“I am. Actually, that’s why I was trying to find Julie! She was late for rehearsal.”

Julie whipped her head up to glare at the boy still bobbing in front of them. He was trying to cover for her not knowing Lessa had blown that opportunity sky high not even 5 minutes ago. It was sweet in a misguided way, but it was also a painful reminder of all the things Luke had that she didn’t.

“He knows I got kicked out. You don’t have to lie for me.”

Her voice was sharp, and she was fully prepared for the kicked puppy look she was sure he would give her, but instead his smile only grew. His bouncing became impossibly springier, like gravity just didn’t apply to him. And then he winked, actually winked, at her.

“Awh, c’mon, Jules!”

His whine was just the right amount of playful, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Her heart did a weird flip in her chest.

“I know it was supposed to be a surprise, but the poor man is clearly suffering! We should let him in on our little secret.”

Julie’s glare intensified as she ignored the way the words our little secret hit the softest part of her heart. What the hell was he playing at? He winked again, something that should be outlawed given the way it made her stomach drop and knees weaken. Then he held up his hands in a half-hearted I give up gesture.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to tell him about the plan to get you back into the music program if you don’t want to.”

If this were a cartoon, Julie was sure her eyes would have popped out of her skull completely at those words. As it were, she settled on doing everything she could to keep her jaw from dropping. She had absolutely no clue what he was going on about, but he clearly had some sort of agenda. There was a script to this encounter, she just hadn’t been given her lines. She saw her father shift out of the corner of her eye, arms raising to fold across his chest as he took in the scene unfolding between the two teenagers. Luke was still talking, apparently deciding to capitalize on Julie’s stunned silence.

“I just think it would be helpful if he knew about it. Then we wouldn’t have to sneak around so much. I know you wanted to have it be a big reveal, but we can still surprise your aunt!”

Her dad turned to her with a raised brow, confusion and the smallest seeds of hope growing behind his gaze.

“¿Mija?”

Julie wanted to punch a locker and also vomit. What the actual hell was Luke Patterson doing? She had no frame of reference for whatever game he was playing. No way of knowing if it was serious or some sort of prank. She looked away from her dad to meet Luke’s eyes. He gave her a small, pleading smile, silently begging her to trust him. His eyes became impossibly gentle and she saw that same boy from the studio last night and the kitchen this morning peeking out at her. Ultimately, it was that intimate reminder of his softer side that made her cave.

“It’s nothing, Papí. Just some hair-brained scheme Luke came up with.”

She raised her brow in a challenge, communicating with that one twitch that she wanted to see his endgame here. His face lit up like the 4th of July. She was sure if they had been alone he would have let out a victory whoop. He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets, biceps flexing in his best cool kid impersonation.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Molina. We’re getting just as much out of this as you are.”

She didn’t have time to snap back that she wasn’t sure she was getting anything out of whatever ‘this’ was before he was plowing ahead.

“See, my band and I lost our fourth member earlier this year, and we have our Junior Showcase coming up, but man, it’s been a serious struggle to find our sound without Bobby, and we really gotta nail this Showcase. It’s like the one where managers scout out who they really wanna pay attention to as a senior, so we gotta be the best.”

Julie saw where he was going with this before he actually got there, but it was too late to stop him. That was what she got for playing along with his stupid game in the first place.

“And see, I finally figured out that what we really need is someone like Julie to elevate us to that level. Your daughter is a freaking wrecking ball of talent, Mr. Molina. It took a lot of begging, but she finally agreed to play with us. There’s no way Lessa won’t put her back in the music program after we play together.”

His grin was a mile wide, pride shining from his pores. He was 100% sure of this plan, she could see it in the way he looked at her. Absolute blind faith in her. It was as flattering as it was terrifying.

“I see.”

Her dad’s voice was shockingly contemplative. Like he was actually considering supporting this crazy idea. He looked at Luke thoughtfully.

“Do Principal Lessa and Ms. Harrison know about this plan?”

Luke’s hand raised for one quick nervous scratch at the back of his neck. He gave her dad his most charming smile.

“Sometimes you’ve gotta go into ambush mode. Swing that wrecking ball of talent and smash some rules, eh?”

If it were any other parent, that line would have probably been the worst possible thing to say. But this was Ray Molina, whose first date with Rose had involved a small amount of breaking and entering as well as a large amount of running from cop cars and stealing kisses while hiding in alleyways. Rose had never met a rule worth following, and it was part of the reason Ray had fallen in love with her in the first place. Luke had sealed the deal without even really trying. Julie was doomed.

“I like it.”

Ray’s smile was almost as large as Luke’s. It was scary how similar they looked right now, enthusiasm shining in their eyes with an intensity that was borderline maniacal. There would be no getting out of this now.

“Why don’t you boys come over to the house after school? You can practice in our studio.”

Julie didn’t even get a chance to open her mouth before Luke was agreeing. She watched him shake her dad’s hand once again, some weird kind of bonding look passing between the two of them. Her dad wrapped a tight arm around her shoulder, and then turned them both towards the front doors again. Julie cast one final look at Luke over her shoulder, heart skipping a beat as he bit his lip and gave her yet another wink.

“See ya later, boss!”

Had her dad not been holding her up, Julie would have melted right into a puddle of mush. Yup, she was totally and completely doomed.

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concussed-to-pieces · 3 years

Text

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part One

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: You kids lookin’ for a fix-it? Let’s get it started.

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch @cookiethewriter @pedrosbigdorkenergy @thirstworldproblemss @anonymouscosmos @culturalrebel @karmezii @teaofpeach @crookedmoonsaultpunk @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @nelba @scribblenotes76 @toxiicpop @mstgsmy @misty-possum @gallowsjoker @midnightbeauty35 @lackofhonor @renegademustelid @missfronkensteen

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of pregnancy and general peril. Stay safe!]

"I want the fellow you've got in that cell. The one you're sending up the river." The mustachioed man demanded without pretext. "You boys give him to me and I'll make it worth your while, plus a touch extra."

"Listen mister, I don't know who you are or where the hell you came from, but that feller has five grand on his head. I doubt you've got enough scratch to make anythin' worth our while." The senior bounty hunter sneered, his boots still propped up on the table in front of him.

A sack hit the table, the mysterious man undoing the drawstring slowly. "I've got six grand right here, genuine bill and coin. Count it all if you feel like it, or if you just want to touch it." His smile was mean , like the slash of a knife across his face. "Split between the two of you? Three grand apiece. Five hundred extra each. You boys really so well off that you can turn down five hundred window dressing?" The man queried.

"Hell." The bounty hunter gawked at the money, then over at his partner, and finally back up at the man in front of them. "Jesus mister, you know this feller will probably die even before he reaches justice, don'cha? He's real sick. He was nearly dead on the mountainside as-is, and he ain't gotten better. Hasn't so much as opened his eyes in days!"

"Hey hey, if he wants him and he's willin' to pay that much…" The other bounty hunter trailed off, looking greedily at the bag on the table. "I ain't that inclined to turn the bastard in to the Pinks if I can make a little extra."

"But we was gonna'-"

"Or," the mysterious man sighed, "I suppose I could just take my money and be on my way." He began to retie the drawstring but the first bounty hunter stopped him.

"Hold up there, friend . We didn't even catch your name. Normally in polite society, a feller makin' an offer has the courtesy to introduce themselves."

The man leaned in, sweeping his hat off of his head and offering a stately little bow. "Ah, where are my manners? Gentlemen, my name is Doctor Franklin Craft. Junior of course."

The younger bounty hunter openly stared at him. "Ol' Doc Craft had a son?" He asked hesitantly. "All I ever heard about was the messy business that went on with his daughter's husband."

"Truly, a sordid tale. And she is actually the reason why I'm here." Doctor Craft ( junior, of course ) bowed his head in respect. "Before Irene...made her brief return to polite society, she chanced across the very fellow you have in that cell." Craft's grip on the brim of his hat tightened visibly. "He stole something from her. Something... irreplaceable . And while I may be unable to get it back, I can assure you that this man will be afforded all the comforts I can offer him while he lingers on this earth." He snarled sarcastically. "Now, do we have a deal?"

...

Two Days Prior ...

"Annie, you're a terror! " Irene laughed, scrubbing at the little girl's grubby face with the corner of her apron. "What have I told you about playing in the mud? Only in your mess trousers and only outside, right?"

The child nodded, offering a beaming smile. Irene probably would have fallen for it, had the girl not tracked mud all over the modest dwelling. Anna was only a hair past one year of age, but she had been racing around from the moment she was able to walk. Irene was hard-pressed to keep track of her on her own.

It had been nearly two years since Irene had seen Arthur. Once she realized a seed had been planted during one of their pleasurable trysts, she took great pains to tie everything up neatly. Returning for her deceased husband's money had been her boldest move yet, but there was little the courts could do to dispute her claim to his property. Willie had purported that she was dead so he could remarry, and yet here she stood before them, hale and hearty. It had caused quite the uproar, if only for the unapologetic way that she had addressed everyone's shortcomings in dealing with her reports of abuse.

The railroad bonds he had hoarded so jealously became her failsafe, and it was with careful consideration that she began to invest in various ventures. Subsequently, there was the business of selling off every last thing . Every ounce of property, every stick of furniture, down to the hideous pewter candlesticks in the dining room.

Irene found herself politely turning down suitors left and right. Now that she was a woman of means, it appeared that men were willing to give her the time of day once more.

It wouldn't be long before she would have real difficulty hiding how her body was changing. Irene decided to purchase a simple cottage up in the East Grizzlies, and it was there that she began making a home. A true home. A home of her own.

She planted herbs, chopped enough firewood to last a lifetime, and went fishing and hunting in the nearby woodlands. The self-sufficient woman continued to live in relative isolation, only making the trip to Annesburg when she desperately needed a midwife. All the research and overheard lectures from her father couldn't have prepared her for labor, and she would be eternally grateful for the patient woman who had led her through the agony to emerge on the other side one daughter richer.

She named the baby Anna, her heart full to bursting when the tiny babe clutched Irene's index finger with all her strength. Little Annie Craft , her eyes just as devastatingly blue as her father's and her hair soon growing into a mess of tawny-blonde corkscrews.

Anna held out a small rock to her mother, the muddy offering obviously one of contrition. "Sorry?" The child questioned.

Irene sighed, rumpling her hair and accepting the pebble with a laugh. "Go get washed up, little one. It's nearly dinnertime."

Anna nodded, trotting back outside to the small bowl on the steps that Irene had repurposed as a child-sized washbasin.

Irene took the small stone and wrung out her dishrag, scrubbing at the rock to reveal whatever it was that had caught Anna's eye with this particular specimen. It appeared to be quartz, the dull glitter in the last of the day's sunlight more than enough of a reason in a child's mind to acquire it. Irene smiled a bit sadly down at the small stone on the counter, then scooped it up and placed it carefully on the windowsill with the rest of its contemporaries. A few more pebbles, several dried up leaves and flowers, and the real prize, a snake's shed skin. All the treasures a small child could muster up and then some, proudly displayed.

"Well! Gracious me, where did you come from, little cherub?" An unfamiliar man's voice drifted in through the windows and Irene jerked her head up, startled and dismayed to see a dapper-looking fellow on one knee in the mud of the front yard, her daughter's hand in his own as he presented her with a small paper flower.

The woman fairly bolted for the door. "Annie, love, come here!" She called benignly, trying not to distress the child. "What have I told you about strangers, wee miss?"

Anna nodded, gifting the man one of her signature smiles but not moving. "She is a beautiful little girl." The stranger mused, rising to his full height and moving his hand to Anna's shoulder, keeping her where she was. "Her eyes, in particular! What a lovely shade of blue they are." He studied Irene standing on her front porch for several long moments. "I assume she must get them from her father, since yours are such a pristine hue of amber."

"Indeed she does." Irene replied evenly. "Please unhand my child at once, Mister…"

"Trelawny, ma'am! Josiah Trelawny, at your service."

"Mister Trelawny, release my daughter and you may leave my property unharmed."

"I had dealings with a man who has eyes like your little girl's, Miss Craft." He continued breezily like she hadn't spoken. How did he know her name? "Strong fellow, secretly altruistic, bit of a temper. Fiercely loyal." Josiah paused dramatically. "And currently , almost out of reach."

Arthur . Irene knew she must have let something slip in her expression, for a knowing smile blossomed on Trelawny's face. The man let Anna go, and she toddled across the front yard to the steps. "What is it that you want from me, Josiah Trelawny?" Irene snapped. "Does he have debts that need paying?"

"Heavens, no! That man has paid his debts twice over again." Josiah took a step forward. "Might we converse indoors, Miss Craft? The things I am about to tell you are matters that warrant a certain amount of... discretion ."

Irene hesitated, then reluctantly nodded while beckoning him to approach. Trelawny followed her indoors, not speaking again until they had settled down at her small kitchen table.

"Arthur, you see, is a friend of mine. Though I'm certain he would argue to the contrary." Josiah explained while he helped himself to the grudgingly-offered biscuits and fresh raspberry jam. "Currently, however, he sits in a filthy cell waiting to be judged. The bounty on him was very substantial, Miss Craft, very substantial indeed." He settled back in the chair, biscuit crumbs marring his damask waistcoat. "Five thousand dollars, by all accounts."

" Five thousand? " Irene repeated in horrified dismay.

"Yes. Now, that is undoubtedly distressing enough. That is no simple room and board, ma'am! A man may work his whole life for funds such as those." Josiah leaned forward. "And yet there is something far worse that hangs like the sword of Damocles over his head, Miss Craft. Arthur is abysmally ill. He is plagued by that lunging pestilence, the consumption. Lord only knows how long he's had it, but it is ravaging him now in incarceration."

Consumption . Irene had no doubt that she was white as a sheet at that news. "Why are you telling me this, Mister Trelawny?" She mentally congratulated herself on keeping her voice steady.

"The locals mentioned you are a woman of skill. That you know certain... remedies , though you are not permitted a doctorate so instead you must fall back upon the moniker of hermit witchery." Josiah steepled his fingers. "Then of course, there are the rumors I've heard about you being the long-lost Widow Carson. There was much ado about her in the polite society...why, over a year ago at this point! How time flies." His eyes were narrowed. "The dead woman who came from the wilds and returned to them just as fast, carrying with her a fortune and apparently ," those eyes darted to the oblivious child who was currently playing on the hearth rug, "an outlaw's brat-"

Irene was on her feet in a flash, her palms meeting the table to cut the man off before he could continue. "You shall not speak so rough in front of my daughter, Mister Josiah, or I will make you regret opening your mouth. Mind your tongue while you sit at my table and take my hospitality hostage," she seethed. "What is it that you want from me? Did you simply come here to chastise me for having a child out of wedlock? I fear you're a touch too late to stop me on that front."

"From you , my dear woman? Nothing at all!" Josiah exclaimed, seeming appropriately cowed by her display of backbone. "You misunderstand my intent. I am here because I am in search of a gentleman named Frank Craft ." His contrition gone, the man was watching her like a hawk . "I came across mention of him in Arthur's journal. Frank is... instrumental to a plan I have devised, you see."

Shit . "Why don't you tell me about this... plan of yours and I'll see whether it's even worth Frank's time." Irene challenged him, folding her arms across her chest. Anna buried her face in Irene's apron, the child obviously picking up on her mother's discomfort.

...

Back In The Present...

"Oh well done , sir! Well done indeed!" Josiah praised her roundly when she returned to their meeting spot with Arthur in the saddle in front of her. "You have performed admirably , Doctor Craft!"

"Don't forget your half of the bargain, Trelawny." Irene said sharply, peeling the false mustache off with a grimace. "I expect that money back in my hands in two days."

"But of course! A few more investments in the Kilgore mines and I shall have your payment safely returned."

Arthur, who did not even seem to be conscious , started coughing and wheezing like his lungs were fit to come out. Irene didn't miss Josiah's look of extreme worry. "I'll do my best with him, Trelawny." She murmured. "I can't promise anything. He seems in a bad way."

"The coughing started back in...April, perhaps early May of last year if I recall his journal entries correctly. It's a miracle he's endured this long." Trelawny stated bluntly. He shifted in his saddle, "speaking of his journal, I have that very item with me. Should he recuperate, I imagine he would miss it immensely." He tossed her the leatherbound book, and then tipped his hat. "I'll be off. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Craft."

"Just get me the money, Josiah." She retorted, pulling her scarf up over her nose and mouth before spurring Bluster off in the direction of home. Arthur's mare trotted along behind them serenely, the other animal having always possessed a much more even temperament than Bluster.

Irene pressed her ear to Arthur's back after a time, listening to how ragged and labored his breathing was and her heart broke. She prayed like she never had before the entire ride home, prayed to the Good Lord to let her save this man.

Please God, spare him, he's suffered enough .

As she rounded the final bend in the road before the last thickly-wooded section, she was startled to see an enormous stag barring her way. The beast was a strange amber-white, boasting a many-pronged rack of antlers that would have left many a hunter awestruck. It practically glowed in the moonlight, nigh ethereal as it turned its head and studied the woman with one liquid, pitch-black eye.

Irene cautiously reined in Bluster, who didn't seem concerned with the massive creature. That of all things was what made her uneasy. Bluster, the perennial coward, was wholly unbothered by the hulking apparition that currently sat in front of them. Chase was unphased as well, the mare actually lowering her head to graze the sparse grass. Bluster's breath fogged out around his nose, the air already sharp with the promise of winter, and Irene realized with a jolt of confusion that the stag had no visible haze from its breath around its head.

The deer that towered head and shoulders over her even while mounted turned in the direction they had been heading, and then set off at a stately pace. It stopped after a moment, looking back at her as if to say, " well? "

Irene clicked her tongue, coaxing Bluster to a careful trot. The stag appeared satisfied with this arrangement, soon picking up speed. It led her on a strange path, a bit more of a winding one than she would have taken, but Irene felt weirdly confident that this odd... vision was here to help.

Off in the woods to the left, sounding like it was dangerously close to the deer track she would have taken, she heard a furious crashing of branches and the yowling of a cougar as it chased down some unfortunate prey.

Irene looked wide-eyed at the stag and found that it had turned its head to stare at her once more. Bluster whinnied uncertainly, beginning to fidget as he doubtless caught the noise and smell of the big cat, and Irene urged him on a little faster.

Jesus , encountering a cougar at this hour, her with nothing but her revolver and the limp weight of Arthur further burdening Bluster? They would have been dead for certain!

"Thank you." She breathed, feeling foolish for being disappointed when she received no reply.

The stag finally halted on the rocky hilltop adjacent to the little hollow her stead rested in, still not an ounce of breath fog around its nose or issuing from its mouth, and Irene realized after a moment that it was waiting for her to continue onwards.

"Thank you," she said again softly, grateful even through her disbelief.

The deer folded its legs to lay in the grass, as if to keep an eye out for danger while Irene dismounted and led the two horses down the steep incline. Arthur started to cough again, the noise sharp and hollow as his breath rasped in and out.

"Nearly there Arthur, nearly there." Irene soothed, knowing that he was probably unable to hear her in his delirium. "We'll be home…" her words trailed off when she turned to look back at Arthur and saw that the stag had vanished. "...soon."

Bluster whickered at her quietly after a moment, breaking the spell of her confusion. Right . Work to be done.

...

" The queen will never win the game, for Rumpelstiltskin is my name! "

Arthur couldn't even bring himself to wonder what the hell he was hearing. Some sort of distant nursery rhyme, and he wasn't sure if he was imagining the sound of a small child laughing fit to split their sides.

Christ , he was tired. His body ached and his lungs seared like hellfire. Throat raw from coughing, tongue sour with the iron taste of blood. He had really, really thought he would be dead by now. Guess his body had other plans, the bastard .

He went back under, muddling around in the red haze of semi-consciousness. It seemed like someone was always forcing him to take some kind of medicine. Bitter, scraping his battered throat like knives all the way down. Maybe it was poison.

Some strange salve for his chest, reeking so potently of mint that his eyes watered even though they were closed. It reminded him of the ointments Hosea had soothed the horses with, the damn man probably pious as a pope from all the anointing he did.

A ladle full of lukewarm water pressed to his lips and he drank as best as he could, though some of it ended up trickling down his chin. His jaw was physically sore from the rib-shattering coughing he had struggled through; it was all he could do just to pry his teeth apart.

Christ , he should be dead. He had been surprised enough when he managed to survive getting a hole blown in his shoulder without losing the limb to gangrene, but this was a whole new level of bullshit.

What little life he had left after enduring Dutch's madness, Micah had done his best to beat out of him.

Maybe they wanted him healthy for the gallows. Put on more of a show if he was strong enough to raise his head. Arthur didn't have the heart or breath to tell whoever this was that their care was in vain. He was so far gone…

Nobody could save him. Not even God himself could save Arthur Morgan at this point.

Winter’s Cold, Part Two

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan #rdr2 spoilers #arthur morgan x original female character #rdr2 fanfic #high honor arthur #arthur morgan imagine #oh that's right #back at it again #big yeehell hours #fix-it fic #red dead redemption 2 epilogue #rdr2 epilogue

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makeste · 4 years

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not a cavalcade of Katsuki panels

damn, anon. you stone cold came for me with that last part. and just fyi to all onlookers, this was before I had posted the headcanons ask proving this exact point lmao.

but a challenge has been issued now! so I will do my best to pick a variety of impartial panels featuring a veritable medley of characters. not sure I can really provide much in the way of insightful analysis of symbolism and metaphors and stuff, but I can certainly type a lot of words about the pretty pictures, and about how cool people look when they’re standing around all serious surrounded by clouds of billowing smoke.

why I like it: I figured we’d start off strong. no point in holding back. can the other panels possibly even hope to compete. maybe. we’ll see.

why I like it: because, you see, he punched a giant robot, and it exploded. you see that, there? and the text was all “SMAASH” in humongous comic book letters, and it was pretty cool. also Deku is very tiny and the robot is very big. and just to clarify, most of the time if a tiny fifteen-year-old child tries to punch an 80-foot robot, it’s not actually going to go all that well, and the robot probably will not explode. but in this case it did! and so this is a very novel and unexpected outcome, which makes it all the more visually striking, which is a very good thing to be when you are trying to show off the brand new superpower which your protagonist just inherited, and letting people see it in action for the very first time.

why I like it: so you may have noticed we just skipped a whoooole bunch of chapters lol. this is because there are almost 300 of them, and so I’m going to have to use a bit of discretion. anyway so this is a gorgeous panel. just, everything about it. the lighting; the expressions; Shouto’s hesitation; and his mom facing away, not looking back yet, and us not yet knowing how she’ll react. and the fact that they’re visually separated by as much distance as possible -- at opposite ends of a two-page spread -- and yet they’re so close, closer than they’ve been in years. mm. anyway it’s pretty.

why I like it: first of all because there’s nothing like seeing a deserving character get punched in the fucking face, and few characters IMO have been as deserving as Stain. and second because this is Deku, showing up to save the day out of nowhere at the last minute, because excuse you, but he’s a motherfuckin’ hero. sorry to interrupt your evening plans of stabbing a kid while lecturing him about why, philosophically, he deserves to die. but I’ve got a package here for a Mister Stain. it’s from Mister Smaassh, with two A’s and three S’s.

why I like it: fyi, anon said nothing about a cavalcade of BakuDeku panels. you didn’t think I’d let that loophole go to waste, did you? but nonetheless I will try to restrain myself until we get to the second ground beta fight. anyway, I like this panel because All Might’s canonically 7′2″ self looks about twelve feet tall here, and he is just TOWERING over these two boys, who’ve been tasked with somehow outwitting him during this curiously sadistic final exam. and it’s just an interesting perspective, because we know they both look up to him, and here they are physically looking way, way up, up, up at him.

why I like it: now this is how you do a villain entrance. I love absolutely everything about this. the sheer scale of destruction, and the way he’s just sort of casually hanging out there in the middle of the panel almost dwarfed by all this dust and smoke and carnage, and yet is unquestionably the focus of the page. the way that you can’t actually see his face, not yet. not until the end of the chapter. the way the clouds are drifting so calmly and peacefully in the night sky in stark contrast to the horrific events that are about to take place on the ground. this panel gives me literal chills, especially when I think about All for One’s creepy theme music playing in the background.

why I like it: this panel is so iconic to me that it’s one of the first ones I immediately knew I had to go and find when I got this ask. this entire fight is perfection from start to finish, and there are other panels that are more artistically striking if I’m being honest (in particular, the ones where he’s half-transformed with his face perfectly split down the middle between Muscle Might and Skinny Steve). but there’s just something about his determination in this panel, though. something about the fire in his eyes, and the way he clenches his fist. “my heart is still the heart of the Symbol of Peace.” I remember being sooooo fucking anxious when his true form was revealed, wondering if this was it, if the people watching were going to turn on him, if he was going to lose both the fight and their faith. turns out I was wrong on both accounts. basically what I am trying to tell you guys is that this panel was and is still the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.

why I like it: because he’s just a frail old man doing what he can to protect the last flickering embers of the thing that enables him to fight on. there’s something so fucking desperate and yet so determined about this image. he knows it’s futile, but still he persists.

why I like it: damn it was hard to find a “you’re next” panel with just the right angle I like best. this is probably as close as it gets, but I kind of wish Deku was somehow visible in this image as well. but at any rate this is an amazing moment, and All Might is dramatic af for basically no reason but IT’S BADASS. “no I’m not going to actually look where I’m pointing. it’s cooler this way.” or was it because he wasn’t sure if he could keep the emotion off of his face if he actually turned and looked? in this moment of knowing that it was finally over for him, that he would never be the Symbol again, and knowing that he had no choice but to move on and entrust that burden to the next generation? damn.

why I like it: I... fucking... okay, here’s a fun fact. did you know that I still get emotional over this panel almost a full two years after reading it?? obviously a good 84% of it is the context -- All Might losing his power; Deku being forced to take up the mantle before he feels ready; All Might feeling responsible for him; and both of them being so desperately grateful to have each other in that moment. but don’t underestimate that remaining 16% either though! this is just an extremely well-drawn hug, on top of everything else. All Might pressing Deku’s head to his shoulder with his fingers laced in his hair is some mighty fine fiercely protective hug tropes there, you guys. and the way Deku is clinging to his shirt so tightly his knuckles have probably gone white?? while he cries?? while both of them cry? ON THE BEACH? WITH THE WAVES LAPPING SOFTLY AT THE SHORE IN THE PEACEFUL NIGHT AIR?? jesus fucking christ. this hug contains more emotions than I am capable of carrying inside me at once. I just sort of have to let them flow in and out little by little until they finally subside.

why I like it: you bet I skipped right from Kamino straight to Deku VS Kacchan Part 2. no regrets. anyway, so these two panels are an absolutely gorgeous one-two punch. so much has changed from the days when they were innocent little kids marching off into the woods to have adventures. they’ve changed. their relationship has changed. and yet, at the end of the day, Izuku is still willing to follow Katsuki even without being given any kind of explanation. and Katsuki still seeks out Izuku when he’s on the verge of having a spectacular emotional breakdown. because he doesn’t know who else to turn to. and because despite everything, there is trust there still, on some deep, fundamental level neither of them fully understands or knows how to acknowledge. anyway, so these two panels just give me a ton of feels all about the passage of time and how everything changes and how you can’t get back what’s lost, but also sometimes if you look deep enough you find that parts of it were never fully gone.

why I like it: because in a striking display of dramatic main character energy, these boys decided to stage their life-changing destiny-affirming rival fight on the coolest possible stage in the middle of the goddamn night. and then Katsuki made it even better by producing WAY MORE SMOKE than his attack by all rights should have produced! and then they went and crouched down all symmetrically so as to more poetically make intense eye contact at each other. I really like panels with smoke and/or dust clearing dramatically. there are like four more of them coming up on this list. what can I say. it’s cinematic.

why I like it: I actually had this one as my icon for a while. it’s rare imo to see an action panel that’s so balanced and has so much going on and is so clean and easy to read. both of their poses are so dynamic. I like the way the arc of Izuku’s kick is drawn, and I love the way you can clearly see that Katsuki propelled himself backwards with his quirk in order to dodge it. it’s just a really cool little panel that for me perfectly sums up the general feel of this fight, and its awesome choreography.

why I like it: actually you know what, before I go any further, let me skip ahead a bit and add three more panels with this same energy.

I just really, really love these rare moments when all differences between them are momentarily forgotten and they’re just two teenage boys caught up in the intense pressure of an awkward social situation. the one enemy neither of them is the least bit equipped to handle. anyways Horikoshi clearly enjoys it too because he seems to delight in drawing it over and over and over.

why I like it: because it’s more billowing smoke and dust. because it’s Endeavor, the guy we all swore we would never ever root for, and then 160 chapters later Horikoshi pulls this shit without an ounce of shame. because it’s All Might’s pose, but tweaked juuuuuust enough so that Enji can avoid copyright claims. because he knew that pose well enough to know which arm not to use. because Endeavor is a profoundly flawed human being, wholly incapable of filling the void All Might left behind. and yet he still tries. because it’s better than nothing, and because it’s all he can do. it’s the one thing he can do, his sole redeeming virtue. he tries. he doesn’t give up. anyway so yeah, Horikoshi didn’t have to take the single most unlikable person in the entire manga and give him the world’s most controversial and openly scorned redemption arc. but he did! and I think it’s one of the best things about this entire manga.

why I like it: because nothing in BnHA is just black and white!! it’s messy and layered and complex, just like in the real world. Shouto despised his dad for almost his entire life. with good reason! Enji was abusive and selfish and treated his son more like a prized possession than a person. we as readers are fully aware of all of this, and we sympathize with Shouto 100%, and that’s completely by design. Horikoshi is well aware of this. so for him to still give us this little moment, where Shouto is so relieved that Enji survived that he drops to the floor and presses his face against his hands in this little prayer gesture -- whatever you think it might mean -- is just so fucking powerful, and again speaks to his commitment to refusing to let anything in this series be completely clear-cut and unambiguous. I love that the characterization of Shouto and Natsu hating their dad exists side by side with the equally authentic characterization of them being terrified that they’re about to watch him die. because those two things aren’t contradictory! sometimes that’s just how it is. anyway so this is a beautiful moment of nuance that instantly adds so much to this relationship with just a single panel.

why I like it: for once the symbolism is so obvious that even I can’t fail to miss it! Izuku’s face half in light and half in shadow as he thinks about the power bestowed on him. “All for One’s power.” anyway so in my mind Izuku having AFO could not be any more fucking foreshadowed if he was wearing a freaking t-shirt with the Musketeers saying on it and the background was peppered with little Sistine Chapel-esque images of AFO giving his quirk to his brother lmao. but regardless of how it does end up playing out, this is nicely done.

why I like it: I wasn’t sure whether I should include this image, given that I just made a whole separate post about it a few days ago. but I just really like it, okay. this is one of the all-time great entrances in the series. Bakugou being perched on that pole for absolutely no reason other than to add visual interest. Todoroki’s hair blowing dramatically in the wind. Katsuki’s frayed pant hems and characteristically asymmetrical facial expression. the fact that you just know both of them spent the ride home with their faces pressed to the windows of their taxi cab hoping desperately for an opportunity to break in their brand new licenses, and then lo and behold. that’s amazing you guys. it’s almost like you’re main characters or something.

why I like it: they did great.

why I like it: because I lost my fucking shit at this fucking reveal and can you even blame me?? we knew coming in how much trouble Endeavor and Hawks had dealing with just one of these Noumus, and then Horikoshi goes and divulges that the villains have at least A DOZEN MORE waiting on standby. including Hood right there in the foreground, which is a fantastic touch! this panel, for me, almost instantaneously established the League as a legitimate threat once again, and gave me the kind of spine-tingly evil vibes I hadn’t felt since the Kamino arc. and while the payoff might not quite have lived up to my expectations, the Mirko fight at least was more than worth it.

why I like it: BILLOWING SMOKE AND DUST CLOUDS. you just see this vast landscape of destruction that Tomura has oh-so-casually wrought, and this once-powerful enemy utterly defeated on his hands and knees bowing before him. and it’s just like, oh. Tomura just became a fucking king, didn’t he. he finally stepped up and became the main villain. really the main villain, not just an awkward fumbling NEET whose adopted dad is not-so-secretly pulling all the strings. he did this himself. he went out and conquered and Awakened and won himself a fucking army. and he’s just standing there so cool and casual in the aftermath of it all. and then he goes “oh wait, you guys have money right, that means you can buy us the good sushi.” yes, Tomura. yes.

why I like it: um because this panel is fucking amazing?? hello?? do I really need to explain this one. the detail is jaw-dropping. he’s got the little scars which are either from the head wound that caused his death, or from his Noumufication. his expression is fucking heartbreaking, and the transition from Kumo to Kuro is so subtle and seamless, and yet it distinctly is both of them. this panel is gorgeous and fucking haunting and almost made me gasp when I first saw it.

why I like it: the decision to have the night sky take up so much of the space in the panel was [chef kiss]. nothing says existential like the night sky on a cold winter’s night.

why I like it: this is the best panel in the entire fucking series.

why I like it: dude. showing his actual family holding onto him with their hands in the same spot as the severed fashion!hands was a stroke of genius in and of itself. but combining that with the emotional tension of them desperately trying to hold him back and protect him from AFO?? that’s just so fucking smooth it’s almost inhuman. just how much meaning can you cram into a single image?? sometimes I wonder just how far in advance Horikoshi plans these things.

why I like it: guess I’m just a big fat sucker for panels of Tomura calmly standing around in the ruins of his own senseless destruction. the sense of scale on this one is really great, too. and yet again, those dust clouds. gotta love it.

why I like it: because Tomura literally appears out of nowhere, like he’s ripping a hole through the fabric of time and space. it’s so fucking sudden and he looks evil as FUCK, and Deku and Kacchan are totally caught off-guard, and it is scary. this is one of those panels that made me say “holy shit” out loud. in fact I practically screamed it. and the angles are all funky and weird, and the sky is all BLACK FOR NO REASON, and it really just feels like Tomura could reach right over and just MURDER THEM like it was nothing. just like that. this panel is so incredibly effective at conveying how hopelessly outclassed the boys are. they’re not even in his league, and it’s honestly terrifying.

and on that happy note, we have come to the end of my list of favorite panels! and I gotta say, it’s really gratifying that a good deal of them are from this year alone. I said it in another post a few days ago, but imo the overall quality of the series has been insanely high as of late, and it honestly just blows my mind whenever I stop to think about it. the art is still this good six years into the game. the story is still this good. we are spoiled goddammit.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #all might #endeavor #todoroki shouto #shigaraki tomura #horikoshi kouhei #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

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“Chronosaurus” One-Shot

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Han Jisung (SKZ)

Genre: Science-Fiction, Back to the Future AU

Warnings: Lots of angst, fluff, and many life lessons

Word Count: 9K

Summary: Despite what everyone believes, Y/N enjoys spending time with Dr. Park, the town’s self-proclaimed mad scientist. She’s especially interested in his idea for building a time machine, an experiment Dr. Park has been researching for many years! One night, he attempts to test the machine, but is disappointed when nothing happens. Y/N tries to investigate for herself, but inadvertently succeeds in starting the machine, finding herself in the year 2035! She decides to take advantage of the rare opportunity, but is disappointed to discover that her future self is nothing more than a front desk receptionist at a hair salon. To make matters worse, she’s married to Han Jisung, the nerdy guy everyone always picked on in high school!

Thankfully, Y/N has a reliable time machine to help her rectify those terrible mistakes...

In a rare moment of unpredictability, I had decided to visit Dr. Park before enduring another day of mind-numbing lectures and the endless political debate between our Student Council representatives. You see, once upon a time, I tried to run for school President, but I lost to Bang Chan because everyone thought he had really cool hair (Jesus, he was unbelievably hot) and I was just Y/N, the girl who thought visiting the future was possible and spent way too much of her time around the town’s self-proclaimed mad scientist. Ultimately, I had decided that the outcome was rather favorable for my situation because I could spend less time trying to negotiate with our principal for new gym equipment and more time analyzing Quantum Mechanics.

Dr. Park lived on the opposite end of town, which meant that I was constantly gambling with the possibility of another late slip when I finally found my way to school. However, Dr. Park was on the verge of an imminent breakthrough and I didn’t want to miss a single moment of his genius at work. Thus, I found myself retrieving the spare key from under the mat before walking inside the messy living room, greeting his dog in the kitchen. Dr. Park spent most of his time in the basement since he claimed it was nice to have some kind of separation between his work and private life. Subsequently, I was also well-acquainted with the musty basement smell and the impressive equipment with names that I couldn’t remember.

“Dr. Park,” I said, finding the man in question hunched over his desk. “I’m here.”

“Y/N,” Dr. Park grinned. “Perfect timing!”

I paused next to an odd display of bullfrogs. “What’s going on?”

“I think I’ve figured it out!” Dr. Park exclaimed. “I need you to make sure that you can be here tonight because the invention of time travel is ours for the taking!”

“Tonight? What happens tonight?”

“We unveil my newest invention!” Dr. Park said, knocking aside a few boxes to properly introduce a rather large object obscured by a white bed sheet. “The culmination of my research!”

“That’s great, Dr. Park,” I said while checking my watch absentmindedly, but my eyes widened in horror when I realized the time. “I’m late for school!”

I was instantly sprinting up the stairs, stumbling against the door-frame, and Dr. Park was yelling at my retreating figure. “Did you hear me say midnight, Y/N? And remember to bring a hat!”

The industrial disaster known as my high school was nestled on the opposite end of town in the furniture district aptly named after our town’s founders who made their fortunes selling rocking chairs. It was perfect considering the interesting band of characters who came in after the founders, forming the upper-class suburbs for the eclectic combination of inventors who were once the envy of the scientific world. These days, all we had left of that great renaissance was Dr. Park and their great-great grandchildren, AKA, my darling classmates who proved to be more inept with each passing day.

Thankfully, for the most part, I could use that to my advantage when alluding the students who were supposed to hand out late tickets to the kids like me who waltzed in after the first bell. However, on this morning in particular, I had the misfortune of accidentally running into one the school’s hall monitor. Of course, upon second glance, I realized that it was just Han Jisung which meant that I could probably convince him to let me off the hook. “Hi, Y/N,” he said, shoving his ridiculous glasses further up his nose as he looked directly at the ground. “I like your shoes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, Jisung, just pretend you didn’t see me, okay?”

Jisung managed to make eye contact for a split second before he was nodding his head. “I know you were probably just with Dr. Park.”

I paused, studying him for a moment. “You won’t tell anyone?”

“I don’t want you to get into trouble,” Jisung said and that was all the confirmation I needed before I was sprinting down the hallway.

Subsequently, classes passed by like one of those lazy summer afternoons when my mind was occupied by my daydreams, thinking about my impending meeting with Dr. Park. You see, he had dedicated most of his life to the research known as time travel and he was determined to reign supreme over the explorations of the past, present, and future. Most of the town thought that he was crazy for believing such an idea, especially when most of his early inventions ended quite prematurely, resulting in property damage that once nearly gave our mayor a heart attack when he saw the total cost of repair.

Regardless, Dr. Park was still adamant about the possibility of time travel, forgetting about those early inventions and focusing all of his time on his crowning achievement. I was grateful to come along for the ride, even if most of my classmates often mocked me for my efforts. However, I really didn’t care about their opinions, with the exception of one student who had always held my attention...

When the afternoon bell rang, I trudged to my locker while ignoring the congregation of girls surrounding Lee Minho. I sighed, choosing to watch Minho from the safety of my locker. He was, without a single doubt, one of the most attractive men I had ever seen in my entire life. I often sang his praises to my friends, even if Changbin and Felix would roll their eyes at my behavior.

One of those aforementioned best friends stopped next to me at my locker, following my gaze with a tired sigh. “You’re drooling,” Felix scoffed, handing me a tissue which I gratefully accepted.

“Why is he so beautiful?”

“Lee Minho? Are you still crushing on him?”

“It’s more than a crush, Felix,” I sighed impatiently. “I think we have a real connection.”

“Yeah, it looks like it,” Felix grumbled.

“I’m asking him to the dance this Friday!”

Felix rolled his eyes. “You and the rest of the student population.”

I frowned. “Why shouldn’t I be any more likely than the rest of those girls! At least I don’t swarm him for an autograph!”

“That’s true,” Felix mused thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll have to wait and find out.”

Despite his cryptic words, I still held my high head in determination.

It was bitterly cold that evening, and I tried not to think too much about the ice forming on the sidewalks as I hurried to make my appointment with Dr. Park on time. He was quite meticulous about maintaining a tight schedule, and I knew he would be less likely to tolerate my tardiness as opposed to someone like Han Jisung, our school’s residential nerd. The same kid who I once saw attempting to save a slug trying to cross the street.

I snorted at the memory, finding Dr. Park’s spare key under his mat before letting myself in the front door. The heat inside was welcomed, and I followed the sound of a power drill into his basement. “Dr. Park!” I gasped, squinting my eyes against the unexpected light show emanating from what looked like a phone booth straight out of Dr. Who, but with far less CGI effects.

“Y/N!” Dr. Park exclaimed in return, beckoning me forward with his usual over-zealousness. “Isn’t it beautiful?

“It?” I repeated.

“My time machine!” he proclaimed, eyes wild and exhilarated. “You’re here to help me test it out.”

“Really?” I grinned, rushing down the remainder of the stairs to get a better view of the machine. “You figured it out!”

“Of course, I did!” Dr. Parked chirped, pulling back the blanket on his work station to reveal a pile of what looked like pure gold. “I found the fuel fairly easily.”

“Fuel? Dr. Park, is that real gold?”

“Of course,” he huffed. “Do you think it would run on fake party supplies?”

“The time machine runs on gold!”

“That’s what I said!” Dr. Park groaned while running his hands across the pristine glass of the machine. “It requires a substance of immense value.”

“But, Dr. Park, it’s actually real gold?!”

“Oh, come now, Y/N, since when does something as superficial as profound wealth bother you?”

“I guess you made your point,” I remarked, watching as he continued to tighten the bolts running along the top of the machine.

“Alright,” Dr. Park laughed, tossing the wrench onto the table before opening the door. “Go ahead!”

I carefully followed his direction, forcing myself into the unexpectedly small interior of the bright red phone booth. “It’s small.”

“The measurements are meant for one person,” Dr. Park explained. “Did you remember to bring a hat?”

“Sure,” I managed, pressing myself against the glass when Dr. Park joined me inside, turning around to make further adjustments. “Why do we need a hat?” I asked, trying to ignore my uncomfortable position.

“Well, we may encounter our future selves!” Dr. Park explained. “It’s best to try and disguise our faces before anyone can notice.”

“Right,” I said, nodding my head as he started typing something on the small computer screen drilled into the glass next to the door. “Let’s try...2035? I heard theories that flying cars will be widespread by then!”

“That’s what they keep saying,” I remarked, whining in pain when he accidentally stepped on my foot.

“Okay!” he said, clapping his hands together. “Hold on tight!”

I shivered in anticipation, closing my eyes because I was hoping to open them again and discover the city of the future. However, as more and more seconds continued to pass by with only the distinct sound of the machine’s buttons providing background noise, I began to wonder what was happening. “Dr. Park,” I whispered. “Is this supposed to take this long?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, typing something furiously. “After I press this button...” he trailed off and I held my breath, fully expecting for the machine to start moving, but I opened my eyes again to the same grim basement.

“Did it work?” I asked, realizing the question was really stupid only a moment later when Dr. Park turned around to glare at me.

“No, Y/N, it failed.”

“Well, maybe we can re-check the wires?”

“No, that’s not the problem,” Dr. Park sighed. “I’m a complete disgrace to the name of science.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, sir!” I said, cautiously squirming around the glorified phone booth. “Maybe you just miscalculated something?”

“I never miscalculate,” Dr. Park scoffed. “It’s more than that.”

His downcast features made me wonder if Dr. Park was actually considering the idea of giving up on his dream. “Sir, this is everything you’ve been working on for years!”

Dr. Park shook his head, opening the door and pushing us both out at the same time. “It’s just a piece of junk,” he glowered, already trudging for the steps. “Feel free to stay the night, Y/N,” he said. “I need to sleep.”

“Sir?” I tried again, pouting when he made no move to return.

However, despite Dr. Park’s suggestion, I decided to take matters into my own hands, comparing his meticulous hand-written notes lying on the work station to the machine itself as I slowly surveyed the outside. “It looks right,” I said, opening the door to step back inside. The diagrams were quite complicated, and they probably wouldn’t make much sense to the common eye, but I had been studying under Dr. Park for years and he demanded perfection. “Ah! The turbo muffler isn’t plugged in,” I noted, reaching down to rectify the problem.

I glanced at the computer screen, watching the loading screen analyze the solution before taking a spare tissue from my pocket to scrub away at the fingerprints alongside the glass. It was easy to lose myself in a rhythm, until I suddenly became aware of a strange vibration from underneath my feet. I froze in place, looking down and realizing that the intricate panel of lights were blinking rapidly, and a strange noise was emanating from every corner that faintly reminded me of an over-sized fan. The whirring sound grew louder and I realized that the edges of my vision were growing darker, watching the room spin around faster and faster before I completely lost consciousness.

2035

An unexpected bright light infiltrated my line of vision when I slowly opened my eyes. Everything was hurting, and I realized that it was because I was still cramped inside the time machine, legs curled uncomfortably beneath me. “Why would I do this to myself?” I groaned, gingerly rising to my feet before pushing open the door to allow myself to stumble into the basement.

I felt unusually dizzy, watching the ceiling rotate before settling back into place. I groaned at the feeling. “I guess I just overworked myself or something and passed out.”

There was a newspaper on the table that I hadn’t noticed from earlier and I reached for it without really thinking. The headline was blurry, but the topic of a general store theft wasn’t what caught my attention. I re-checked the newspaper over a dozen times before I was shaking from head to toe. “2035?!”

I quickly dropped the newspaper, reaching for my phone in my back pocket only to nearly lose my grip on the slim case when I realized what was displayed across the screen. “Impossible.”

However, like a sudden dam had been released, I remembered last night’s events, including starting the time machine without meaning to activate the switch. I quickly ran to the window, lifting the blinds only to gasp when something impossibly fast sped by the window. “Flying cars!”

It was like a dramatic transformation had taken place overnight and everything was suddenly monochromatic, bright and pristine as people walked along the sidewalks in strange clothes and talked to holograms projecting from their phone screens. “Dr. Park did it!” I squealed. “I’m in the future!”

For the first time since I discovered the concept, I was convinced that the future was actually going to be extraordinary. “Look at all this cool shit!” I exclaimed, skipping along the sidewalks with my hat tucked low over my face.

I paused at the corner of the street, admiring the traffic of the flying cars, before noticing someone on the opposing sidewalk. “She looks like me,” I noted before I felt my eyes fly open. “That is me!” I gasped, looking both ways before crossing the road, and I continued to follow Y/N, watching as she greeted several people along the sidewalk. “It’s good that we grew out of our social anxiety,” I nodded.

Eventually, Y/N halted outside of a salon, studying something on the phone screen in front of her. I waited cautiously, startling only when I realized that a familiar face was walking in our direction. “Is that Han Jisung?” I groaned, rolling my eyes because, of course, he would still be involved somehow with my future.

Of course, the even bigger surprise came only moments later when Jisung leaned in to press his lips against my unsuspecting person. “What is he doing?” I seethed, only to realize that Y/N was reciprocating his affection. “Why the fuck am I kissing Han Jisung?” I gasped, sprinting around the corner so that I could have my mental breakdown in privacy. “What the hell is going on?”

I took a few deep breaths because I’m sure that the incident was just some kind of futuristic greeting. Everyone must enjoy kissing other people in the future, and it was certainly a better alternative to the idea that older Y/N wanted to actually kiss Han Jisung. “It’s fine,” I reassured myself, bowing politely to a couple who passed by with suspicious frowns. When I looked around the building again, I watched as Y/N waved in Jisung’s direction before entering the salon. “Oh, is this something I do in my free time?” I questioned because I certainly hated going to the salon despite my mother’s best efforts.

I carefully made my way to the large glass panel at the front of the salon, peeking in through the clear display to find my older self standing behind the counter. “What are we doing?” I asked, especially when Y/N answered the phone, speaking into the other end with a bright smile that made me grimace at the exact moment of understanding. “I’m a receptionist?” I groaned, wondering if the universe had allowed me to visit the future only so that it could laugh at my disdain.

“It can’t get any worse!”

However, contrary to my expectations, when the salon finally closed, I decided to follow Y/N home to make sure that I wasn’t living somewhere ridiculous considering the measly salary I probably made at a hair salon. I huffed in irritation because my older self insisted on walking fast down the street as if she was eager for something that I didn’t understand. “Slow down,” I wheezed, seconds away from collapsing when I finally noticed us standing on the front porch of a fairly modest house.

I waited until Y/N was inside before rushing to the door quietly. It was locked, but I quickly found the spare key under the mat which made me roll my eyes considering that I had copied Dr. Park’s tendency to hide his house key in the same location. Regardless, once I was inside, I heard voices coming from the kitchen, so I decided to walk upstairs to avoid the possibility of someone finding me.

The hallway was cramped, and I checked several rooms before finding a larger offering at the end of the house with pictures of myself displayed across the dresser. “No way,” I said, snatching one of the photographs when I noticed Han Jisung standing next to me. “Ugh,” I groaned, returning the picture before looking around the room.

It was becoming clear to me that I had a more complicated relationship with Jisung that went beyond casual strangers meeting in the street outside the salon where I conveniently worked. Eventually, my answer came in the form of an incriminating wedding photo stationed directly next to the queen-sized bed on the nightstand. Jisung and I stood side-by-side in the picture, and I was holding out my hand where a bright silver wedding ring proclaimed my commitment to the entire world. “What the hell, Y/N?” I sighed. “We married Han Jisung?”

Of all the possible scenarios I had once envisioned for the future, Han Jisung was never involved with any of them. He was the class nerd who all the older boys picked on while the girls decisively ignored him. There was simply no explanation for why I was so heavily involved with him in the future!

I snatched the wedding picture from the nightstand, searching for the date in the lower corner. “November 5th, 2030.”

The date was from five years earlier, and a small light bulb suddenly went off in my head. “I know when I married him,” I grinned, taking a step back. “I can stop it from happening!”

I studied the picture one more time, gasping when I realized where we were both standing. “We got married at my parent’s house!”

I slammed the photograph down onto the nightstand because this was my chance to secure my future. Subsequently, I managed to leave my future home without disrupting Y/N who was busy in the kitchen, even though I couldn’t cook to save my life. I shook my head at the strange situation, finding myself back on the streets before retracing my steps to relocate Dr. Park’s house where it still remained after all these years.

The time machine was still waiting inside Dr. Park’s basement, and I only briefly wondered where the man in question was in this bizarre future before I was checking the necessary equipment. There was still some gold left in the fuel gauge, and I typed in the corresponding wedding date and watched as the computer started to process my request.

“I can fix this!” I said, wrenching aside the door of the phone booth. “I’ll just go back a little further in time and stop myself from marrying Jisung!”

I crowded myself into the corner when the machine started to vibrate and groan as the gears rotated in response to the ignition running. It all sounded good, and I stumbled backwards against the glass in anticipation. Suddenly, I was spinning rapidly through the air, unable to focus as I fell to the ground and closed my eyes to forget the unpleasant sensation.

2030

I gained consciousness once again in Dr. Park’s basement, checking the time on my phone. “We should be close,” I said because the picture had taken place during the early evening based on the setting sun in the background. “I need to hurry.”

Thankfully, I had grown up near Dr. Park’s house during my childhood and nothing much had changed regarding our living situations. Likewise, I found myself standing outside of my childhood home, frowning at the sight of guests gathered outside along neat and well-organized benches. I even saw Han Jisung himself standing at the altar while talking to the future versions of Changbin and Felix who certainly defied aging expectations. “Why couldn’t I marry one of them?” I whined because fantasies about my ridiculously attractive friends had been commonplace back when we first started high school.

Still, I was on a mission, and it seemed fate was on my side because the side door was unlocked and I rushed upstairs, determined to find Y/N before the wedding could officially begin. I checked several bedrooms, sighing irritably when each one was left empty. Finally, I paused at the entrance to the attic, wondering if it was possible that I decided to get ready in the same space that I once feared when I was a kid because my father jokingly told me that aliens lived in the rafters.

I shook my head at the memory, carefully opening the door to be greeted with the sight of an older Y/N studying her reflection in the vanity mirror. We wore a beautiful white gown, straight out of my imagination, and it was obvious that great effort had been put into our appearance despite the fact that I usually didn’t care for that sort of thing.

I cleared my throat, attracting Y/N’s attention who turned around only to gasp and drop the make-up brush she had been holding. “What the hell?”

“Hi,” I said, startling when Y/N jumped back from the mirror, eyes wide as she looked at me.

“What’s going on? Am I going crazy?” her shoulders dropped up and down with several deep breaths. “This can’t be happening!”

“Look, can you stop freaking out for one second? I came here to warn you! I’ve seen what our life is like in the future, and it’s nothing like what we dreamed!”

“W-What do you mean?” she stuttered. “How can this be possible?”

“Don’t think too hard,” I grumbled. “Look, I came here from the past. I used a time travel machine that Dr. Park invented.”

“How? The time machine never worked?”

“Sure it did,” I grinned. “I fixed it! Aren’t you proud of us?”

Y/N slowly sat back down in front of the mirror. “Okay, let’s say that I’m not going crazy for a moment.”

“What a good idea,” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? You aren’t dreaming, so can we just admit that I came here from another time and move on?”

Y/N eventually nodded her head, regarding me warily despite the evidence of time travel success standing right in front of her. “Okay, like I said, I’m here to warn you. I’ve seen our future and it’s horrible, Y/N, and I think it’s because of this moment! You’re making a huge mistake by marrying Han Jisung!”

Y/N gasped, eyes widening as she quickly shot over to the window, looking down at the reception where a sweaty Han Jisung stood at the altar nervously, wringing his hands together while he waited for his future bride. “How is that possible? Jisung is so sweet to me!”

“Are you really not going to believe me?” I asked, taking a step back. “It’s me, er, I’m you! Shit, if you can’t believe yourself, then I must be more stubborn than I thought.”

Y/N frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“To stop you from making a mistake! You need to leave him!” I insisted. “Find Changbin or Felix and get the hell out of this shithole town!”

Y/N looked at me with eyes that were suddenly a lot less bright in comparison to when I first entered the room. “I just- I can’t believe that we don’t work out in the future.”

“Trust me,” I said again. “This is our last chance to make things right.”

“B-but what if you’re wrong? What if there’s something else I can do-”

“I’ve been there,” I interrupted her. “Ask me anything about the past. I can tell you things about us and that should prove that I’m you.”

Y/N was hesitant. “The name of our imaginary friend?”

“Cleopatra,” I said. “He looked like a dog, but he could also fly.”

Y/N covered her mouth as the truth finally processed. “Fine, if you are from the past, then I guess you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Why would I sabotage my own future?” I asked, reaching out to take her hands. “I know it might be hard to believe, but I’ve seen everything with my own eyes. This is the moment that changes everything.”

“What happens?” she asked with sad eyes. “Why is it this moment?”

“It’s...complicated,” I managed. “We’re very unhappy, though. I mean, you remember the things we once imagined, right? What if they never came true?”

“And it’s because of Jisung?”

“Obviously,” I snorted. “Why else would I be here?”

“It’s just hard to accept,” she admitted. “We’ve been together for years.”

I wrinkled my nose at the unpleasant thought. “What? Did we get a concussion somewhere along the way?”

Y/N frowned. “You came from a time before Jisung.”

“It still doesn’t negate the fact that I’ve seen the future!” I said. “I was so happy when I saw it for the first time, there were flying cars and holograms and the streets were painted with silver! But, when I found our future self, I couldn’t reconcile that wonderful vision of the future with the life we were living.”

Y/N wiped away a single tear that had fallen during my explanation. “Okay,” she said, suddenly appearing a lot more confident than before. “I’ll leave through the garden.”

“Yes!” I nearly exclaimed, reaching back for the door to the attic. “You have to go now while everyone is still waiting!”

Y/N obeyed instantly, hurrying down the stairs while I followed from behind. I watched her from the living room, waiting until her white dress disappeared into a field of green before returning to the reception outside. I found a good hiding spot in the bushes, kneeling down while I waited for the inevitable discovery that future Y/N had somehow disappeared from the attic.

It didn’t take long as an older woman ran outside with a bouquet of flowers. “Y/N is gone!” she eventually announced to the gathered crowd of family and friends.

“Gone?” Jisung repeated, eyes widening as he froze in place next to the altar.

I watched from the bushes, smiling when everyone started to stand at once, murmuring among themselves and wondering where the bride-to-be had gone. Thankfully, she had taken my advice before it was too late and I resisted the urge to pat myself on the back for a job well-done.

2035

I waited until I was certain that everyone had abandoned their search for Y/N before returning to Dr. Park’s basement. The time machine was still waiting for me, and I shuffled inside for my return to the future with a satisfied smile. “Now, I can return to the future in peace,” I declared, tuning on the ignition before closing my eyes and dropping to the floor. “Maybe this will help,” I whispered, holding my breath until the sounds of the engine finally subsided.

It only felt like seconds later when I stepped out of the time machine and froze, realizing that an older Dr. Park was actually standing in the middle of the room wearing a similar expression of disbelief. “Impossible!” Dr. Park exclaimed. “You look like you did when you were still in high school!”

I rolled my eyes at his observation. “I’m from the past.”

“Well, that’s also impossible!” Dr. Park shouted. “I destroyed this thing years ago!”

“Yeah, but I came from a time when you had just invented the machine,” I reminded him. “Actually, why the hell would you destroy it?”

Dr. Park shook his head. “It ruined so many futures.”

“Really?

Dr. Park nodded sadly. “I learned my lesson about time travel, Y/N. It never amounts to anything good.”

“Oh,” I said, shifting nervously while he continued to look at me as if he were seeing a ghost. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What a minute!” he finally said. “That means you came from the past to interfere with the future.”

“Not necessarily,” I grumbled, but he could clearly see through my lies.

“What the hell did you do?”

“I just changed one little thing,” I assured him. “I was supposed to get married to this guy, but I made sure that it wouldn’t happen.”

“You did what!” he gasped. “Y/N, you shouldn’t mess with a timeline like that! You have no idea what effect you could have on the future!”

“Fine, but can you blame me? My future was terrible!”

“But it still doesn’t give you the right to interfere.”

“I couldn’t let it happen,” I insisted. “It wasn’t what I wanted, especially considering the fact that I was a stupid receptionist! Can you imagine? I’m meant to study Quantum Mechanics not shampoo bottles!”

“It doesn’t matter!” he sighed. “The future isn’t something that you can just mold and shape to whatever you want! Changing one thing will set off a chain reaction that might impact other people and their futures!”

“I didn’t know, okay?” I cried, suddenly anxious with the way he was talking to me.

He ran his hands through his untameable hair. “Well, I guess it’s done now. There’s nothing more to be said.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, suddenly feeling very small standing in the middle of the room.

“It’s only natural,” he sighed. “But let's see what you’ve done.”

Dr. Park held tight to my wrist as we navigated the busy streets. Thus far, I didn’t see any changes around me, but that didn’t necessarily mean that something wasn’t amiss. “I kept up with you through the years,” he explained. “I remember the wedding you visited, and I always wondered why you changed your mind.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I might’ve convinced myself.”

“Nevertheless,” Dr. Park said. “You live in an apartment now in the city.”

“Really?” I asked, feeling a faint glimmer of hope that Dr. Park had overreacted and everything was fine with my future.

“We can take my car,” he said, fetching the keys before pausing next to a sleek, silver sports machine.

“Wow!” I gasped, admiring the delicate paint job before joining Dr. Park inside. I immediately startled when the car suddenly left the ground, hovering above the street before joining the traffic. “When did flying cars get invented?”

“Oh, not too long after the time you just came back from,” Dr. Park said. “I invented them, you know.”

“You did?”

“What else was I supposed to do when I gave up on time travel?” he shrugged. “Besides, it runs mostly on solar power which is a big plus for the environment.”

I nodded my agreement. “What else has happened?”

Dr. Park smiled, glancing at me with a knowing look. “Oh, Y/N, the future is something to behold.”

Subsequently, for the remainder of our trip, I listened to Dr. Park talks about the inventions that defined the future, everything from flying cars to holograms and the small gadgets in between. My personal favorite was the automatic sock warmers that dispelled water and kept your toes safe during the winter months. However, above everything else, I was glad to hear that society was advancing with new technology and medical practices. It was nothing short of exciting, and it only made me want to return to my own time so that I could experience it happen as I started to explore the world around me.

“Here we are,” Dr. Park eventually said, dropping his car onto the street next to a fairly modest building. “These types are the current rage. Most complexes come equipped with doors that open after scanning your fingerprint.”

“Really?” I wondered, following him outside onto the sidewalk.

He opened the door to the lobby, allowing me inside first before he nodded towards the elevators. “10th floor.”

The building wasn’t very busy, and most of the residents ignored us while we stopped outside of the door to my future apartment. “Y/N,” Dr. Park said, rapping lightly against the frame. “It’s me.”

The door opened slowly and I found myself looking into a familiar pair of eyes that widened when they recognized me. “It’s you from the wedding.”

“Well,” I said hesitantly. “I am you.”

Y/N frowned, but opened the door wider to allow me and Dr. Park inside the small apartment. I took one glance around before feeling my stomach fall as I recognized the sad condition of the property. “What happened?”

Y/N sniffled, looking at me with sad eyes. “Our future is nothing.”

“Well, where is everyone else? What about Changbin or Felix?”

“They left years ago,” Y/N said. “Everyone left me after I ran away from the wedding.”

“What?” I gasped, falling back onto the ground. “Why would they do that?”

“Because I broke his heart,” Y/N groaned. “I’m so stupid!”

“Stupid?” I repeated, glancing at Dr. Park anxiously who could only shrug in response. “Tell me everything that happened after the wedding.”

“My mom found me,” Y/N explained. “She told me that Jisung was moving someplace in the city with Changbin and Felix. He told her that none of them wanted anything else to do with me after what happened at the wedding. I was so sad, and I decided to move back home, but I lost the passion to want to do anything. Jisung had always been my muse, and without him I stopped feeling inspired.”

“When did we move here?”

“A year ago,” Y/N said. “I have an office job in the city, but it gets really lonely out here with nobody around.”

“Oh,” I said, aware of Dr. Park’s stern gaze burning into the back of my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Actually, it was you who told me to leave because our future was so bad,” Y/N reminded me. “What happened? Did Jisung do something?”

“Well, not exactly...”

“It had to be something! You said the future was horrible, but I can’t imagine anything worse than this!”

“Okay, look,” I finally relented. “When I went to the future, I saw us with Han Jisung and I thought that it was unfair that we ended up with him. I decided to try and change that, but I didn’t understand what I was doing until it was too late.”

“You had no idea,” Y/N said with a frown. “I guess you came from a time in the past before we knew who he really was.”

“Well,” I sighed. “I mean, who is he?”

“Han Jisung is one of the best people in the world,” Y/N said with tears falling freely. “He was the best thing that ever happened to us.”

By the time we returned to the basement, I was traumatized from my meeting with Y/N, falling against the couch unceremoniously while Dr. Park examined the time machine with obvious scrutiny. “What have I done!” I groaned against the pillows.

“Well, you destroyed your future,” he replied, ignoring the glare I aimed in his direction.

“Dr. Park, I have to go back in time again! I need to undo the stupid shit I’ve done.”

“Is that so?” Dr. Park chuckled, wiping his hands clean as he stood next to me. “You think it’s that easy?”

“Why not?” I frowned. “I know the time and date when I got married.”

“That won’t matter anymore because you altered the timeline!” Dr. Park exclaimed. “At that precise moment in time, you created an alternate reality! It’s impossible to go back now and change everything.”

“Why? Can’t I just go back and stop myself from interfering with the wedding?”

“No! That’s not how time works!”

“Well! What the fuck? I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do! I can’t just stand aside and do nothing!

“Y/N, the delicate aspects of time are extremely convoluted! You should’ve never messed with the timeline in the first place.”

“Don’t you think I realize that now!” I cried. “I know that I ruined my future because I didn’t think it was important enough to understand everything that had happened before 2035. I just...I was surprised because it wasn’t like anything I had ever dreamed about. I mean, Dr. Park, I wanted to be a physicist, not a stupid receptionist! I thought I would marry Lee Minho and we would, like, completely takeover the world together or something.”

Dr. Park was silent for a moment, watching me as I completely broke down in front of him full of regrets for everything I had done. “Y/N,” he finally said. “Can I offer you some advice?”

“I guess,” I grumbled, ignoring the way his gaze grew sympathetic.

“The future is whatever you want to make of it,” he said. “If you want to make it a future that involves Jisung, then you need to make sure that he stays in your life.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know the original story,” Dr. Park continued. “But if you create a new narrative where you met Jisung even earlier and started dating him before that predetermined time...”

“Then I can fix it!” I gasped. “I can change the timeline!”

Dr. Park smiled. “Good girl! It’s all up to you now because you're responsible for the future you decide to make.”

His words were incredibly wise, and I could only hope to follow his advice and reclaim the future that I had so painstakingly changed without fully understanding the consequences.

2020

Hopefully, for the final time, I stepped outside the time machine after returning to the past where I belonged. However, this time I was determined not to interfere anymore, deciding that Dr. Park was right when he explained the fine semantics. After all, the future was whatever I wanted it to be, and I already knew that I was more determined than ever to succeed.

“I’m back!” I exclaimed, looking around the mostly vacant basement. I checked my phone with a gasp because school started in less than an hour. I would need to find Jisung as soon as possible because I had an idea of how I could fix everything that I had broken.

I quickly dialed a familiar number, holding it up to my ear as a tired voice answered from the other end. “Hello, Uber?”

Ten minutes later, I saw a car pull up to the sidewalk next to Dr. Park’s house. “Y/N?” the driver asked, looking at my from behind a dark pair of sunglasses.

“Park View High School,” I said, joining him in the backseat before the driver took off while I searched my pockets for any spare change.

I managed to make it to school on time, just five minutes before the first bell. Still, I knew the chances of finding Jisung before class were slim, so I needed to be patient. “Here,” I said, shoving the cash at the disgruntled Uber driver.

“Gee, thanks,” he grumbled because he was probably dissatisfied with the fact that I didn’t tip properly.

In any case, my perfect opportunity finally arose during lunch when I found Jisung lingering in the hallways as he exchanged textbooks. I took a deep breath to steel my nerves as I hesitantly walked in his direction. “Jisung,” I said, cautiously approaching him at his locker. “Can I ask you something?”

He wore his signature jeans with a loose t-shirt that was way too big for his narrow form. I frowned because my taste in men had apparently evolved at some point in the future. Of course, as I considered him more closely, I realized that there was also a charming aspect to his boyish features.

In the meantime, Jisung had froze in place, eyes wide as he turned around to face me. “Y-Y/N?”

I offered him a smile. “There’s a dance on Friday,” I started, searching his gaze imploringly. “Would you like to go with me?”

His eyes widened, breath hitching as he looked at me. “You want to go with me?”

I nodded. “I think it might be nice to go together. You can even come over this afternoon and we can make our plans!”

“Really?” he asked, appearing doubtful despite the way I had suddenly leaned in closer.

“Please?”

He finally nodded his head and I released a sigh of relief because my plan was starting to formulate right before my very eyes.

Later that afternoon, I opened the front door to my house to find Jisung ten minutes early wearing a much nicer pair of clothes. “Hi,” he said, nervously shuffling in place.

“You made it,” I grinned, reaching out for his hand to pull him inside. “We can go to my room.”

Jisung nodded. “Is this still okay?”

“Of course,” I said, grabbing onto his jacket sleeve to guide him up the staircase. “What do you want to do?”

Jisung didn’t respond, gazing around my room with a look of astonishment written across his expression. “Huh?”

“We can watch a movie,” I said, patting the space on my bed while turning on my laptop.

“Okay,” Jisung agreed, settling down next to me while finding it very difficult to tear his gaze away from me while I pulled up my Netflix account.

“Did you need something?” I teased, enjoying the way he blushed as a result.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, scrunching his nose when he noticed what movie I had picked. “Romance?”

“My favorite genre,” I said, leaning back to tilt the screen in our direction. “I think it’s good.”

Jisung still seemed reluctant, and I found it amusing that he was so willing to accept this unfortunate decision. Nevertheless, I relaxed next to him on the bed, watching the characters on-screen with far less attentiveness than I usually allowed for movie viewings. Because my eyes kept wandering over to Jisung, watching as his expression transformed from disgruntled acceptance to active fascination as he started reacting to the action on-screen.

Still, it only made it that more interesting to watch him blush during the more scandalous scenes, shifting uncomfortably from next to me. “What’s wrong?” I asked, enjoying the way he jumped in reaction.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head aggressively in response.

“Are you sure?” I asked before turning around to properly face him.

Jisung paused and I decided to make the first move, leaning in closer to where I could smell his cologne on the collar of his jacket. “Y/N?” he questioned, but I pressed my lips to his before he could protest any further. And it didn’t take long for him to reciprocate the kiss with a feverish desire that made me realize that I had been overlooking Han Jisung for far too long.

It was almost midnight when I let myself into Dr. Park’s house. Despite the consequences of time travel, there was something inside of me that wouldn’t quite settle unless I determined whether or not I fixed my future relationship with Jisung. I knew the risks, but I needed reassurance that everything would happen the way it was supposed to before I had mistakenly intervened.

I jerked off the sheet hanging over the machine, wiping my hands on my jeans when the sudden flickering of the light overhead forced me to spin around. “I see that you fixed the machine,” Dr. Park said, watching me carefully from over his coffee cup.

“Oh, right,” I started awkwardly. “I guess I did.”

“Well,” he sighed. “Were there any visits involved with your tinkering?”

I knew that I couldn’t lie to Dr. Park, so I explained everything to him, including the advice from his future self and the revelation of the destruction of the time machine. “That’s really all that happened,” I assured him at the end.

“Then why are you going back?”

“Ah,” I pursed my lips. “I think it might be necessary to ensure that everything works out...”

“So you learned nothing from your mistakes?” Dr. Park said. “If you did, then you’ll help me destroy this thing instead of using it again.”

“But...Dr. Park!”

“We should believe me!” he protested. “I’m the smartest person that I know!”

“You don’t even know your future self, yet!”

“Yes, but you’ve met him and he sounds perfectly reasonable.”

“I need to make sure!” I insisted. “I promise, Dr. Park, this will really be the last time.”

He looked perfectly ready to protest, but he continued to study me with that close scrutiny that I had started to associate with him when he was discovering something particularly interesting. “I guess this means a lot to you,” he eventually conceded. “Despite all logic, I suppose that one more time wouldn’t hurt.”

“Really?” I grinned, glancing at the time machine from the corner of my eye. “Do you mean that?”

“But no more interference after this,” he grumbled. “You’ll get your answers and we’re leaving as soon as possible.”

“I agree with you,” I said. “100 %.”

“Well, I suppose it’s also a good time to try out my newest invention,” he said, holding up something that resembled a walkie-talkie. “It’s a tracking device. All it needs is a sample of DNA and it can help you locate your future self.”

“That’s awesome,” I gasped, clutching tightly to the device while Dr. Park started to prepare the machine.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded enthusiastically, waiting next to the machine while he loaded another gold bar inside the fuel tank. “Let’s do this right,” he said. “The way I intended: observation and nothing more.”

“Okay,” I agreed, closing my eyes when the door was firmly shut and the machine started to rotate rapidly as the very space-time continuum was warped to accommodate our travels to the future.

2035

“This is very dangerous,” Dr. Park remarked when the machine was silent once more and a very different version of his basement greeted our arrival. “Hopefully, we won’t run into my future self.”

“Maybe you could stay behind with the machine?” I suggested. “I’ll find myself and make sure everything is back to normal.”

“Fine, but please hurry,” he said, desperately looking around the silent basement like he expected an explosion at any moment. “I might also gamble a chance to look outside, but it’s only for scientific purposes!”

I rolled my eyes at his comment while I lowered the brim of my hat and left the house through the side door leading into the backyard. It was incredibly sunny outside, and I watched several flying cars soar past overhead before I was running along the hedges supporting the fence marking Dr. Park’s property. I pulled the tracking device from my back pocket, watching the screen load before rushing off in the direction of the bustling city scape.

It didn’t take long for the tracking device to lead me into a mostly-deserted park. There weren’t many people around, and I took a deep breath, following the increasing sounds of the beeping before pausing at the edge of a pond. Because sitting on one of the benches next to the water was a very familiar face.

“Y/N,” I said, but she didn’t look surprised to see me.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Y/N said, smiling brightly while she patted the bench next to her.

You have?” I immediately questioned.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ve been expecting this moment.”

I tentatively sat down next to Y/N, shaking my head to try and clear the confusion. “But? How is that possible?”

“I’m you after the new timeline we created,” she explained. “I know everything that happened.”

“Ah,” I nodded. “Well, then I guess you know what I did.”

“I do,” she confirmed. “I can also tell you that our curiosity only gets worse instead of better.”

“Isn’t that what got us into trouble in the first place?”

“Yes, but we learn to make the best of it,” she replied. “Now, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I don’t think we have enough time to answer them all,” I joked. “Of course, there’s only one thing I’m really concerned about.”

“Our marriage to Jisung?”

I swallowed hard. “Well?”

“I won’t keep you in suspense,” she said. “We married him, and we’re very happy together.”

I sighed in relief. “I thought I ruined everything.”

“We came close,” Y/N admitted. “But I think that some things are destined to happen.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? After all, you should already know this, but isn’t Jisung great?” Y/N grinned. “Where did you come from in the past? I’m assuming that we’ve already met him for you to be at this point?”

“He’s still the hall monitor,” I said, wincing when Y/N squealed like it was the greatest thing she had ever heard.

“Wasn’t he so handsome?” Y/N asked.

“The best,” I offered, watching Y/N swoon like she had married a celebrity or something. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Y/N smiled.

“Why did we marry Han Jisung? No offense, but he wasn’t exactly...normal?”

“Yeah? But what qualifies as normal?” Y/N asked. “I think a young girl who spends way too much time with Dr. Park trying to invent a time machine isn’t exactly normal either.”

“That’s...surprisingly a good point,” I conceded.

“Actually, I think I should tell you about him,” Y/N continued. “Han Jisung is the type of person who looks after other people before himself. He’s the thoughtful kind of person who once spent an entire paycheck just to buy me a new jacket after I accidentally left mine behind at the theater.”

“All of that happened?”

“He cares a lot about us,” Y/N said. “Jisung had a crush on us for a long time.”

“On us?” I repeated, eyes widening in disbelif.

"You might naive now, but I think you’ll find out for yourself just how wonderful he really is.”

“But...that still doesn’t explain why we never amounted to anything? I mean, a receptionist wasn’t high on my list of accomplishments.”

“That list was superficial. Our life with Jisung is anything but ordinary. I think you’ll come to realize that sometimes we never understand what we truly want until it actually happens.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I shrugged.

“By the way, the receptionist gig is only temporary,” Y/N smiled. “We’re waiting for a grant to start our research into Quantum Mechanics at the University.”

“No way!” I gasped. “If I had known-”

“Exactly,” Y/N interrupted. “We aren’t supposed to know because it takes the excitement out of life. Isn't it more interesting to think that the future is a blank canvas?”

“Okay, I get it,” I said. “But the temptation was hard to resist.”

“I understand,” Y/N nodded. “However, I’ll also be the first to tell you that even now your future could change. Because nothing is ever set in stone.”

“That’s something like what Dr. Park said,” I remarked, sharing an easy smile with the older and wiser version of myself.

“In any case, being a wife and a mother is my greatest adventure. Trust me, Y/N, our future is nothing short of extraordinary.”

I knew she was right, and I took her hand with a firm squeeze. “I’ll always remember that.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Because I don’t want you to mess this up, okay?”

I laughed. “I think I can manage to create a good future for us.”

“But you might want to hurry up before Dr. Park decides to leave you here.”

I took one more look around the park, admiring the gentle elegance of the calming water. For the first time ever, I was nothing short of ecstatic when I thought about living every second to its fullest. Because life was far too short to worry about what could’ve been when I had the rare opportunity to understand what my life will become.

2020

Upon my return to the present, Dr. Park decided to dismantle the time machine. “It seems necessary to avoid any further mistakes,” he nodded.

“But...what will you do now, sir?”

“Anything’s possible, Y/N,” he said. “We’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“Maybe you should think about cars,” I suggested, offering him a sly smile to which he rolled his eyes.

“What did you see?”

“My lips are sealed,” I chirped, ignoring the way he continued to call my name while I ran upstairs in a rush to finally arrive at school on time without the assistance of an Uber. Graciously, traffic wasn’t as chaotic, so I was able to waltz through most of the crosswalks with little difficulty, waving at the cars passing alongside the road. My adrenaline was pumping, and I had never been so enthused to see the familiar outline of my school building in the distance.

Fittingly, I was actually unable to report to my class on time, but I couldn’t be more satisfied to meet a familiar hall monitor stationed near my classroom. “Y/N!” Jisung exclaimed, eyes widening as he checked behind him. “You can go inside before Miss Adams arrives.”

“Thanks,” I said, but I still paused in front of him. “I want to talk to you about the dance.”

“You don’t want to go with me anymore,” Jisung frowned and I quickly shook my head.

“Why would you say that? I can’t wait for the dance.”

“Really?”

I smiled at Jisung who was blushing furiously. “I’m looking forward to our date,” I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Jisung.”

“Y-Y/N,” Jisung stuttered. “What are you doing?”

“I just want you to know that I think you’re pretty great,” I said, enjoying the flabbergasted expression on his face as I walked inside my first-period classroom, satisfied that my future was truly secured.

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids #skz fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids oneshot #han jisung #stray kids han #han jisung fanfic #han jisung fluff #han jisung oneshot #time travel au

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one-leaf-grimoire · 3 years

Text

“triad”

Chapter 14: the sleeping world

Shorter chapter than usual, but get ready to see the result of all that secret true time magic training!

“Jesus Christ, you’re with a WOMAN now?!” Both Augustus and Sekke look like their eyes are about to bulge out of their faces, gazes snapping back and forth from me and Adeline’s clasped hands and our faces. Augustus splutters incoherently before pointing his sceptre at me accusingly. “I knew it! I knew you were just using Julius for the power! And now that he’s gone-”

“Your majesty-” I cut him off before he can actually start to upset me. “There’s such a thing as bisexuals, you know.”

“JFDSKL WHAT ON EARTH-”

Adeline bites her lip to suppress her words, and gives my hand a squeeze. I glance up at her, noticing that she’s starting to get a little uncomfortable. It’s fair, given that her history with Augustus is less than pleasant. I smile and squeeze back before continuing to walk past Augustus as he has his tantrum. We’ve just arrived on top of a large overlook, in the same area where the Royal Knights exam took place months and months ago. I had some of the royal mages terraform it, creating a large lake, plain, and forest. But from up here, we can see it all perfectly. What is this all for, exactly?

In order to increase morale and get some intense training in, I decided to make the Captains fight each other in a crystal destruction tournament. Not the most original idea, I must admit, but it will do its job. These last few weeks have been absolutely insane. The Devil Banishers/Believers incident was a real hassle to get through, and ended up costing us more than we thought. But it’s all over now, and it’s time to get some real work done before we send our representatives over to the Heart Kingdom.

And for me…

Today, I’ll see if my own intense training has paid off.

“Hey, where’s Fluffy?”

Yami crosses his arms before looking around. He and the other captains are already here, milling around awkwardly. I haven’t told them their teams yet, but everyone is already shooting each other dirty looks. “Huh, that’s weird, Rill didn’t tell me he was skipping.”

“Of course that brat skipped! At his age, he’d be skipping school, too, Keh Keh!” Jack cackles, licking his lips. “I was looking forward to slicing him up…”

“Well, what if he ended up on your team?” Charlotte points out.

“... did I stutter?”

“Please, save the fighting for the battlefield,” Nozel steps in before Charlotte can retort. “You’re going to need all the energy you have.”

Fuegoleon looks very eager to go, bouncing on the balls of his feet and flexing his fiery arm across his chest. I eye his movement suspiciously, getting distracted. “How come your shirt doesn’t catch on fire too?”

He shrugs, but gives me a grin. “Maybe today will be the day I burn so hot it does char my clothes.”

I clear my throat awkwardly before turning away to look at everyone. “Anyway- if Rill is a no-show then it’ll be 4 on 4. Now…” Admittedly, this changes my plans a little, but no matter. “Team one will be Yami, Jack, Nozel, and Kaiser.”

“WHAT? I have to be on a team with this stinkbug-” Yami immediately objects, but cuts himself off as I shoot him a glare. “Fine, whatever.” He catches Charlotte’s eye and suddenly grins. “Heh, looks like you’ll have to fight me, prickly-queen.”

“Good. I’ve been looking forward to teaching you a lesson.” Charlotte’s eyes only harden.

“Ooooh, why do I kind of like the sound of that?”

“Why-” Charlotte quickly turns pink. “You vulgar-”

“SO! Those are the teams!” I step in between them, smiling brightly despite the mounting tensions. “Marx just gave me the go-ahead for the broadcast, so I want you all to go down there-” I gesture out onto the plains. “-and await my signal!”

“Thank you.” Without another word, the eight of them split apart and jump down to their stations, gearing up for what promises to be a spectacular fight. I let out a sigh before turning to walk back to my chair, where Adeline, Augustus, and Sekke are waiting. William didn’t say a word… I don’t even remember him looking me in the eye while I was talking to the captains. Well, that’s just another thing I’ll have to do today.

“Hello?” A screen suddenly opens up next to me, and I see Marx’s face appear. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yep!” Before I sit down, I turn back to the arena. I raise my arm, two fingers pointing up, and set off a powerful blast of magic, a bolt that goes careening into the air with a loud whoosh. It’s the signal to go, and boy… do they GO!

The battle that commences is like nothing I’ve seen before. Each of them knows they’re being watched by the entire kingdom via Marx’s communication magic, so they hold nothing back. Fire, mercury, darkness, plants, and everything in between goes flying, each of them desperately reaching for the other’s crystal while keeping theirs just out of reach. Half of the fight moves into the forest, the trees warping and billowing as William builds his own path out of his magic. Nozel and Fuegoleon only have eyes for each other, Salamander burning so hot that the lake starts to evaporate and steam up underneath it and Fuegoleon.

Their magic heats the air, sends vibrations through the earth, and towers high into the sky.

For a moment, I can’t help but feel guilty.

All three of them… would have made wonderful Wizard Kings. They are men who put their duty first, men who wouldn’t get caught up in the cycle of grief and greed like I would.

They are human men… they could care for this Kingdom far better than I could.

A soft hand squeezes my shoulder. Somehow, Adeline always knows what I’m thinking.

But… at the end of the day… the responsibility falls to me. Maybe I’m running out of time, maybe I’m compromised emotionally, but I made a promise, to Julius, to Adeline, and myself.

I am the Wizard King… and today, I’ll show everyone why!

Right then, without warning, the entire earth rumbles. I reach up and grab Adeline’s hand with one of my own, the other grasping the arm of my chair. Augustus yowls with fear, and Sekke goes tumbling to the ground. “What on earth is that?!” Adeline gasps.

My eyes widen, and I quickly point out into the forest. “Look!” A giant slash of darkness appears, tearing through the trees. A chill shoots through the air, causing every hair on my arms to stand at end. Oh shit! That’s Yami’s Dimension Slash! A grin grows on my face as it dissipates as soon as it appeared, leaving nothing but an eerie silence in its wake.

“Um… are they okay?” Adeline asks, narrowing her eyes as she scans the area. “I can’t hear any more fighting?”

“Huh… did Yami kill everyone?”

Just as I ask the question, I spot a group of people emerge from the forest. A few minutes later, they’re back up on the platform, and drop the shards of their crystals at my feet. I arch a brow, glancing between their faces. “What happened, exactly?”

“It’s no fair!” Dorothy grumbles. “I had Yami trapped in Glamour World, but then he just cut his way out!”

“And he destroyed both crystals while he was at it.” Kaiser gives Yami the side eye.

“Hey! I think our team should win. I did destroy the enemy’s crystal, after all.” Yami looks terrible; he’s covered with bruises and his white shirt is stained with what looks like dirt. His hair is so out of place he looks like a different person.

“BUT! You destroyed your own as well,” Fuegoleon objects loudly. “That lack of care should lead to a loss for your team!”

I can’t help but laugh, drawing their attention back to me. “This sure is a weird circumstance that I didn’t see coming… but…” I smirk as I start to realize my plan. “Maybe we should do a tiebreaker instead?”

“What is she doing?” Augustus was watching from his chair, talking to no one in particular. He glanced over at Adeline for a moment, who started to look very worried.

What is she up to?

“A tiebreaker?” Yami almost laughs at the suggestion. “Do any of us look like we’re ready for a tiebreaker?!”

“For once, I agree with him,” Nozel adds. He doesn’t look as bad as Yami, but his trademark braid is barely holding together after the furious exchange he and Fuegoleon just traded. Fuegoleon’s clothes are crisped at the edges, soot and smoke clinging to every part of him. During this tournament, even his own flames scorched through whatever usually protected him.

“I know you’re all exhausted! At least, you look exhausted.” I smile cheerfully between all eight Captains. “But, like I said, ending this with a tie isn’t all that satisfying… but!” I hold up a finger, finally getting to the point. “You’ll like what I have in mind! It’s easy!”

“Oh yeah?” Despite how tired he looks, Yami manages to grin, his hand already moving to the handle of his katana. “Spit it out, then.”

I keep smiling, almost giggling at his eagerness, but when I speak, my words are deadly serious.

“All you have to do to win… is make me move from where I’m standing.”

The earth stands still for a moment as my words sink in. Yami’s lighthearted expression suddenly fades into worry. Out of everyone here, he’s the only one who knows I’m pregnant, I think, maintaining my smile. He’s probably a little hesitant about attacking me… but the others…

“So…” Fuegoleon frowns. “We just… hit you? Knock you down?”

“If you want!” I reply cheerfully. “I’m sure some of you are angry at me for one reason or another, so…” My gaze sweeps over and lands on William. His eyes widen just the tiniest bit, but for once he doesn’t look away.

“Take out your anger. Make me move, if you can.”

Each of them is tired, exhausted, beaten and bruised, but that gleam enters their eyes as I tell them to come at me. That gleam comes back into William’s eyes. Because, above all, these Captains are the best in this Kingdom… and they want nothing more than to prove themselves. For glory, and for death.

All at once, their Grimoires are out, their faces shining with determination. Spells are being cast, and eight bodies move towards me with as much speed as they can muster. A moment of frenetic fury, because the first of them to hit me will be crowned the victor.

If they can hit me. This is my time to prove myself.

With a deep breath, I close my eyes before any of them can reach me. As soon as darkness falls, I can feel it; mana pulsing from the earth, up through my legs, and out with each breath I release.

The laws of nature… Time is at the center of them all.

I open my eyes, and the spell activates. Mana words, glowing whitish-blue, burst to life around my head in a spectacular double halo. Mana courses through my body; a body that was made for the purpose of holding mana. The body that deems me as inhuman, that houses a broken, dying soul, yet gives me the power I want more than anything.

“True Time Magic… Domain of Thanatos.”

Each rune circling my body spells out the same word: Stop.

And that’s exactly what happens.

------

This ability is True Time Magic: Domain of Thanatos.

Thanatos… the god of peaceful, non violent death.

Julius’s Time Magic had the power to steal and give time as he wished, from any object that he could please. But he could not control TIME itself. Time as it exists in nature, a rushing river, always moving forward.

But even a river can freeze.

This magic gives me control over that river, over the speed that it flows. Although I cannot force it backwards… I can slow it down until it stops.

With this ability, I put the entire world to sleep.

With this ability… no one will ever stop me.

-------

The moment my spell activates, all eight of the captains freeze, and their attacks become suspended in midair. I let out a slow breath, allowing a smile to grow on my face. My hand stays frozen in the air for the time being, because I have to calculate every single move with the upmost precision.

See, the catch to stopping time is that it doesn’t last very long if I just start moving. Maybe two or three seconds at most. However, I managed to find a condition where I can stretch the length of time within Domain of Thanatos; I allow time to start to flow with my movements, so slow and smooth, but just fast enough that I can do what I want.

So… easy now…

One finger. Then the next. And another. Until I’m no longer reaching out; I’m pointing. My first target is Yami.

Sorry… this’ll only hurt for a second.

With each finger, he only twitches slightly, moving forward a mere millimeter.

Flame magic: Solar Bolt.

My attack shoots through him, as fast as outside of this spell.

And now… the others…

I move in a half circle, one by one, casting my bolt and watching them fail to react to being hit. It’s surreal, being here all alone in some weird little world. But I remind myself that this solitude is because I am in control.

Finally, William is hit, the last of my eight targets. I let out a shaky breath, my smile widening. So… now I just have to worry about their spells. Each of them have only moved a few inches, but are now getting dangerously close. With each Solar Bolt I fired, they clipped closer, sped up in time with my spell. I can feel my control weakening, and something that smells like blood is starting to bubble up in my nose. Despite that, I stay calm, letting Blazing Spear materialize in my hand.

And…

I take one last breath of air within Domain of Thanatos.

Release.

My arm swings through the air, bringing the spear along with it, and I slash through the spells, my trajectory carefully calculated due to the observations I made earlier. I have to duck once though, avoiding Yami and Dorothy’s spells. I look up just in time to see the eight of them stumble back and fall, stunned by the instant attack that came from seemingly nowhere.

“Look at that… I’m still standing.”

Yami groans and rolls back up into a sitting position, a curious glint in his tired eyes. “What the Hell was that?”

“I’m wondering the same thing.” Nozel winces, clutching the spot where my bolt hit him. “How fast did you just move?”

I let out a little laugh, a twinkle in my eye. “Actually, I moved very slow… I made everything move very slow.”

Most of them have sat up by now, all of them still shocked and disoriented, but now they’re looking at me in a new way. The look in their eyes is familiar; it’s the same way they all used to look at Julius in battle. The shock, the awe… the admiration.

Are they really looking at me?

In that moment, my pride deflates. Despite the fact that now, maybe, they can see me as more than just Julius’s replacement, I feel so… humbled. These eight amazing people accept me.

Even William, the one I manipulated and betrayed, sits there with a smile on his face. An easy, happy smile that I remember from our days together long ago.

Finally, I clear my throat.

“That… that was true time magic.” I take a step towards them as I explain. “I developed it by applying the Heart Kingdom’s methods to my Time magic. There’s still a lot to explore, but one thing is certain.”

I come to a stop in front of William, then hold out my hand.

Please William… forgive me.

“We can all get stronger… think carefully about who you send to the Heart Kingdom.”

William’s smile fades, but the expression on his face is one of understanding.

Of course I forgive you. You’re my friend.

“This magic is our hope.”

He takes my hand, and I pull him to his feet.

NEXT TIME!!!! Chapter 15: the devil comes knocking. A short time skip into the future, and shit is about to go DOWN.

#fjaksdljfkdls #finally I'm getting into the actual spade arc after this #also LMK WHAT YOU THINK OF LISA"S NEW BUFF!!!!!#triad #fic #oc: lisa #black clover

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ilkkawhat · 4 years

Text

just for the sake of sharing. and since i didn’t get the fic done like i wanted to yesterday. here’s a preview of that haunted mansion fic. feel free to ignore.

They’ve been driving for hours on an impromptu road trip to California, since the lab was being shut down for the week due to unfortunate circumstances that they decided to make the best of, collectively pooling the reaped rewards of their overtime paychecks as well as their rainy day funds to sponsor the vacation. They would hit all the big spots in Los Angeles at Greg’s request, then visit the Sequoia National Forest at Nick’s, all while visiting the big tourist attractions per Hodges’ wish—and then finally, in a half-joke but not really a joke, a trip to Disneyland prompted by Henry.

It was an ambitious quest and one that lost its appeal as highway hypnosis drained their exuberant energies, adding in the fact that they had left rather late to begin with, making little progress in the vastness of the state. Their lighthearted banter turned sour, teasing became tense, and Nick in particular had white knuckles decorating the steering wheel as he pushed a couple digits over the speed limit.

They find a motel, the flickering neon of a broken sign outshadowed by the green tinted fluorescence that engulfs Nick and Hodges as they walk through a thin, floating slab of cloud surrounding the entrance to check in. Greg may as well be alone in the car, as Henry is knocked out in the back, overcome with drowsiness from his motion sickness medicine. As he watches Nick enter the office, he swears he gets some sort of double vision, seeing another Nick standing by the pillar on the edge of the canopy, staring at the car.

The hairs on the back of his head stand up, goosebumps tickling his skin and he keeps wary but also weary-eyed contact with the duplicate, and when Hodges and Nick emerge from the office and he finally blinks, the doppel-Nick vanishes and so he takes it for what it was; a figment of his overtired brain playing to the part of him that is truly unsettled in this desolate nightscape void of the flashing sirens and bustling crowds that he’s used to—this is pure isolation.

That, or the apparition was an omen, warning him of danger, possibly to Nick.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Guy at the front desk said there’s some nasty fog rolling into the valley,” Nick’s voice startles Greg out of his thoughts as he lingers on the empty space, and as Nick pats his back softly he asks a silent question with his eyes, and Greg gives a quick nod of his head.

“Plenty of rooms vacant but none with more than one bed,” Hodges announces, patting Henry awake gently despite his loud voice doing the deed, earning a glare from the awakening man, rubbing his eyes.

So they get two rooms and split up. Henry and Hodges in one room, Nick and Greg in the other—the obvious choices, of course, but also logical as Greg snores, and Nick’s an insomniac anyway.

Yet Greg doesn’t seem to fall asleep so easily, or at all, despite his exhaustion. Plagued with restless dreams of a flickering Nick-less void, there’s an unease churning in his stomach and a thumping concert of paranoia in his heart.

“G? You still awake?” Nick asks from the armchair in the corner of the room, leafing through a magazine in the intrusive fluorescent light bleeding through the thin curtains. His voice perks Greg’s ears, but yet doesn’t soothe the flight response bubbling under his skin.

“Yeah,” Greg grunts, still resisting his urge to toss and turn to the other side, not wanting to be uncomfortably watched by the grumpy zombie in the corner. “How’d you know?”

“Y’ain’t snoring.”

“And how’d you know that?”

“Sara told me. Remember when we had...that case...in Pioche?”

Of course Greg remembers, and finds it odd that Nick didn’t refer to it as the McBride case for the first time in almost five years.

“You and her shared a room,” he pauses, Greg can envision how his tongue is washing over suddenly dry lips, even with his back turned. “Me and Rick in the other. She told me in the mornin’ how badly you snored.”

“So you can remember that...but you can’t remember...” Greg sighs in exhaustion, his eyes finally dropping but then snapping open at the sound of the magazine getting tossed harshly to the ground with a groan trailing after it. Hears the creaking of leather, and knowing Nick, he’s gotten up from the chair to start to pace like a lion trapped in a cage.

“I told ya I’m sorry—”

“No.” Greg’s turn, to bite down on his lower lip and decide if he really wants to have this conversation right now, but they’re both cranky and tired anyway. “No, from what I recall you just promised not to do it again. You never actually apologized—“

“Well, I’m sorry. Happy?”

“You don’t mean it.”

“Greg—of course I mean it!”

Greg doesn’t realize how tightly his jaw is clenched until it seals tighter when he feels the space next to him sink down. He almost rolls backwards into Nick, whose touch indicates a softness not found in Greg’s vision of animalistic anger and places a tentative hand on Greg’s shoulder which quickly retreats when he feels how stiff Greg is.

“I know that...I’m not invincible,” Nick’s fingers curl into the palm of his hand.

“Coulda fooled me,” Greg scoffs.

“And I didn’t mean to accuse you of being...some sort of bad guy, I-I mean, you had a point, that kid was probably gonna kill me—”

“He never would have stood a chance anyway,” Greg admits dully. “But that’s really not what upset me. You were just so...angry.”

“I was almost blown up. Twice!” Nick laughs, dropping the softness in his words and exchanging it for daggers. “What, was I supposed to be prancing around giddy with glee that I was alive? That wore off fast after I was pulled outta hell the first goddamn time, Greg.”

“Cath told me what you said.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘I’m not afraid to die.’”

“Yeah. Well...I’m not.”

Greg spins around, propping himself up on his elbows.

“But maybe I am, Nick!” Greg hisses. “And maybe...I’m afraid of...”

“What?” Nick wipes his nose to mask the escaping sniffle. “What are you so afraid of?”

Losing you.

Greg’s elbows give out, he falls back onto the bed, a hand rubbing throbbing temples while the other shoves down the heart bulging out of his chest. There’s an odd sloshing in his lungs, airways in his nose blocked. If he’s not careful he’ll work himself up into an asthma attack. He turns his head away from Nick to ensure the inhaler is right where he left it on the end table.

“Nothing. Just forget it.”

Nick gets up from the bed, and it’s the sound of clicking—a certain clicking, the one that only comes from the opening of a door, that snaps his head back to the main attraction, the man standing in the opened doorway, ready to escape the suffocating imprisonment of spending the night with Greg Sanders.

“Wait, where are you going—?” Greg sits up, his heart now soaring, telling him to give Nick a reason to say because he knows that really, he’s about to....

“I’m taking a drive,” Nick answers gruffly, popping the collar to his jacket and pulling on his sleeves. “Gonna fill up the car, I’ll be back by morning.”

“Let me come with you—”

“Get some sleep. You need it.”

“Nick—” Greg gestures to the empty space that Nick just occupied, waving a hand for him to come back.

He knows he won’t.

He picks up the car keys instead.

“Save it.”

He walks out the door without another word, and Greg leaps out of bed, boxers be damned he flings the door to call out to his friend.

“Nick!”

Nick enters the car, slamming the door without consideration to the sleeping residents and prying eyes of the motel.

Or even to Greg.

“NICK!”

Squealing tires, a loud gasp—multiple gasps, from his passengers who start shouting in the white noise of panic as Nick veers off course of an almost collision with a shadowy figure ahead—a figure that was short enough to pass for a child, long hair and a faceless face but the curvature of the body under a slender dress registered the humanoid figure as potentially female—but he doesn’t dwell on that for long as he regains control of the car, swerving in and out of the parallel yellow lines—the car almost tips, he doesn’t release his breath until all four wheels touch the ground and he finally tunes into his passenger’s dialogue.

“What was that?”

“Was that a girl?”

“Jesus, man! Keep your eyes on the road!”

He allows himself a few shortened gasps before gulping down the remainder of his adrenaline, forcing calm on himself as fatigue comes crawling from under his eyelids, daring to pull the curtains.

“Sorry,” Nick gulps. He looks at the clock on the radio. Five A.M. He feels as if he’s been on the road all night, but he remembers getting some semblance of sleep in the dingy motel room with Greg after filling up the gas tank, going back and apologizing through pillow talk.

Phantom whispers fill his ears, unintelligible voices but it sounds like Greg. He tries to focus but his attention is taken by the urgency of looking for his almost-fatal victim in the rear view mirror and the returning reaction of panic as his mind unscrambles.

Whatever shadow was there that he almost hit is gone. All that’s left is a thick layer of fog that swirls around the car, trailing behind yet also retreating ahead of them. Thick walls sandwich the car and Nick cracks his window to suck in the cold, misty air as a reminder that he’s not necessarily entrapped so much as they are just...well, okay maybe a little trapped but he doesn’t want to admit it, parting his lips and gritting his teeth as he reels himself in before he unravels further.

“Should we go back?” Henry mercifully asks and breaks Nick’s concentration on his inner self. He’s spun around, looking out the rear window but seeing nothing but the same fog, though it’s much less suffocating to him than it is to Nick.

“Y-yeah,” Nick breathes, then swallows down the last nagging thought of panic. It’s time to be the leader of the assclowns. “But I don’t know if a U-turn is a good idea with this fog.”

“Maybe we should stop. Stretch our legs, we can just take a quick walk down the road, we haven’t gone too far yet,” Greg offers. Nick’s ears perk up, he’d very much like that, and immediately schemes a scenario of holding hands so they don’t lose each other.

“I don’t know, with Lightning McQueen here, we may already be into the next town,” Hodges scoffs, an intrusive finger sliding past Nick’s shoulder to point at the speedometer.

Fifteen over the speed limit. Whatever the speed limit actually is—the sign is masked and as faceless as the road wanderer.

“I don’t think walkin’ in the fog will do us any favors either,” Nick reluctantly growls as he takes his foot off the pedal and bats Hodges’ finger out of the way. The initial appeal of walking around loses to the settling danger of either losing each other, or losing the car, or losing their minds walking around the ceaseless skyfallen ground. He thinks of how Sara described wandering in the desert for hours and hours and hours, while the intense desert heat is the polar opposite of the frigid foggy roads, he still empathizes with the prospect of having no direction, no hope.

Only difference is, he wouldn’t be so alone.

He puts his foot on the brake and pulls off to the side, channeling his frustrated energy into putting the car in park. He swivels in his seat for a full group discussion.

“Well, what’s it going to be then?” Greg sighs, his tone dripping in annoyance.

A beat.

“I’ll turn around. If we find the girl, we’ll pick her up and take her home,” Nick concludes, nodding his head to amp himself up for this more logical plan, rather than the more emotionally driven choice of walking around, stretching the cramping legs that kick at the floor of the vehicle. “‘S why it’s a good idea to drive, cover more ground that way.”

“Think she’ll fit back here between us? And she was walking so slow—” She was walking? Nick thinks to himself, astonished that he really wasn’t paying any attention. “—what if she’s hurt, or diseased or something?”

“C’mon, Hodges, wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a girl between us,” Henry teases.

Hodges begins to stammer, the corners of Nick’s lips twitch up as he does a three-point, as efficiently and cautiously as he can in case there are other blind drivers in the fog, but after nearly ten minutes of driving, there’s no girl in sight.

“There was a turn about a mile back, maybe she went down that road?” Henry suggests.

They follow the road, and reach a dead end with nothing but the road sign sprouting in the sea of fog.

“Guess not.”

They turn around, but the main road is either passed or not reached. They find themselves in a fork that doesn’t seem familiar to Nick.

“Do any of y’all remember seein’ this? Did I run a sign?”

The backseat passengers shake their head, Greg is looking to the left, past Nick.

“Turn left,” he nudges.

“You sure?”

“Positive,” Greg nods his head.

They turn down the road and continue on, Nick’s eyes flicker to the clock. Seven A.M, and no signs of the fog letting up—in fact, it’s somehow more packed, though specks of what might be...snow? Scatter the air—It makes no sense, Nick thinks, this part of Cali doesn’t get snow...does it?

Snow was such a rare occurrence for a young boy growing up in Texas that it was a little more disturbing than it was luxurious. He of course, would often see depictions of children such as himself building snowmen, making snow angels, having snowball fights and so at first, the idea of snow excited him—but it was never enough to stick, never enough to craft meltable creations, never enough to get a cold. He appreciated how lighter it was compared to the heaviness of rainfall, but didn’t quite appreciate how it would disappear just as soon as it fell.

Fleeting, like life itself.

The wind slices across his cheek, waking him from a ride down memory lane to find a more distorted one, winding downward—he doesn’t typically get nauseous when he’s driving, but something sinks and settles to the pit of his stomach, clogging the drain with a tight not that threatens to burst like a geyser out of his body.

The road straightens out, and they reach another fork that’s missing a prong.

Nick keeps driving forward.

“You sure this is the way?” Hodges asks.

“Quit bein’ a backseat driver, I know where I’m goin’!” Nick hushes him, his accent thickening in his annoyance. “The map had a long winding road, just like this one, dinn’t it?”

“Here, I can pull it up on my phone—Oh...maybe not. No cell service,” Greg mutters. “Maybe we should find the gas station, ask for directions?”

Nick puffs his chest, lifts his chin.

“Don’t needta. Fog’ll clear up soon.”

“Well, it hasn’t yet—”

“Calm down, G—”

“I am calm!”

“I think we’re lost,” Henry groans.

“We ain’t lost,” Nick proclaims. “When have I ever steered us wrong?”

“When you rolled the car and sprained Henry’s ankle,” Hodges responds immediately.

“That—That wasn’t my fault, just the rolling—which you laughed at, and hey, if I didn’t, we coulda crashed—”

“When you told me that riding that mechanical bull was as easy as those twenty-five cent kiddie rides at the grocery store,” Henry offers.

“That one just had a screw loose is all—”

“When you, Warrick and Sara convinced me to stage a coup against Catherine,” Greg jabs.

“She betrayed our trust, Greggo!”

“No, she betrayed your trust. You guys kinda forced me into it.”

“That’s not—It wasn’t just—This was years ago and what the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Me? What’s gotten into you? You’ve been all over the place since we got to the motel—”

“Well, sorry I can’t close my eyes for more than a minute without gettin’ nightmares, and therefore, no goddamn sleep!”

“Mm. Suddenly saying ‘sorry’ a lot now, I see.”

“You know, Nick, if you need a break, maybe I can drive—” Hodges interrupts.

“No.” Nick and Greg say flatly, simultaneously.

A terse, awkward silence flitters in through the open window, which Nick rolls down even further. He allows himself a few breaths after a few endless minutes before he speaks again.

“Just...need some food in me or somethin’, tank’s gettin’ empty.”

“So’s the gas tank,” Greg observes.

“I knew that,” Nick mutters, though really, he didn’t know that. He scrunched his face, hadn’t he left to fill up last night?

They reach another fork with no sign in sight. Nick squints and leans, before getting out of the car to do a quick sweep, as if he’d suddenly find the direction along the listless roads, but the only signs are the red ones telling him to stop.

He gets back in the car, flexes his fingers around the wheel, and takes a deep breath.

“I think we’re lost,” Nick admits.

“Oh, really?” Greg sighs loudly in exasperation, tossing a hand into the air to wave at the directionless driver.

“Relax, man, I’m sure we’ll find our way.”

“Then why even bring it up?” Henry whines from the backseat.

“Just to make you whine, buttercup,” Nick teases with a playful smile into the mirror.

#mk.op #mk writes stuff #fic: the day the world went away #i'm giffing some assclowns stuff to get in the mood #it's not working #and like. i know i don't HAVE to have a fic posted every week but #i really honestly don't know when i'm gonna have another fic ready.#i don't know.#i'm sorry #also no italics cause i'm too lazy to fix that #but there's a lot of them

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Crucible (part two)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU 2]

Part 1

Word count: 9240

TW: Child abuse, blood, the r-word again, emotional manipulation, minor implied sexual content (as in: one paragraph and nothing actually happens), underage drinking, vomit

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

-Eve Was Weak-

“Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone

And if he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so alone?”

Mulaney looked up from the notebook, which is studded with doodles of crosses and stars and hearts, and set his gaze on the teenager sitting across from him. Her arms are crossed over her chest again and she’s leaned back in her chair, jaw set thoughtfully. She’s got some sass, but was one of the easiest, most well-mannered people he’s spoken to for questioning before. Plus, she made the examination more fun with her snarky comments, which were even able to make his stoic partner who ran the camera, Madeline, chuckle or smile from time-to-time.

“Any speculation as to who the author is?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Joan Seymour.” Katherine Howard said. That sass mentioned before slipped back into her voice, edging her words in a way that made Mulaney huff out an amused breath.

“What do you suppose she’s trying to say?” Mulaney questioned.

“Probably, ‘help me, my mother’s insane.’” Katherine responded.

“Interesting.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at him, sniffing. She’s poised and waiting.

“Do you consider yourself anti-religious, Katherine?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine snorted a light laugh. “No.” She said. “I just think some people take it too far, that’s all.”

“And you disapprove?”

“Look--” Katherine uncoiled her arms and sat up straight. At Mulaney’s side, Madeline quirked a brow at her change in stance, intrigued. “I’m all for believing whatever it is that you believe, but you say ‘religion’ to me, and I’m thinking da Vinci’s Last Supper. Jesus looks sad. The apostles look miserable. I don’t want to go to that party!”

Mulaney blinked at her logic. Katherine looked back at him, then turned her gaze up thoughtfully. She drummed her pointer fingers against the tabletop.

“Shouldn’t religion be more like Dogs Playing Poker?” She said.

“Dogs playing…”

“Poker.” Katherine finished for Mulaney. “I can’t tell you what any of the apostles are doing in The Last Supper. But I can tell you that the little white bulldog is holding an ace under the table.”

Mulaney unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. Katherine caught it, grinning.

“See?” She said. “That’s fun! I’m engaged! There’s wonderment and awe! That other stuff is just all ritual and punishment. And it’s way too weird and way too serious.” She leaned back again, studying Mulaney and Madeline’s expressions. “What? It is!”

------

Jane Seymour was a woman of many faces, and not in the mentally ill sort of way, although some people assumed she may have been harboring multiple personality disorder within her wretched brain. She had many masks to wear, some cold and stoic, others sinister and wicked, and a few that may have even been sweet and nurturing. When she was at the local laundromat she worked at in town, several customers reported how she would “look at them like she was assessing their souls”, like she was judging whether or not they deserved to go to heaven. She thought most of them were Godless and muttered about it constantly, regardless of if they could hear her or not. She simply did not care.

Many people thought she would never delve into the sexual world of intercourse, what with all her screws loose that warded away most men and her extreme devotion to Christ, so it was quite shocking to hear the screams that erupted from the Seymour bungalow May 13th, 2005. Police were called, but had to wait to get a search warrant, so they, along with several neighbors, sat on the curb for hours, listening to the piercing cries that split the street in two. By the time police finally burst into the house to locate the struggle, they thought they were too late when they reached the master bedroom, which was covered in blood. But then they saw the woman rocking back and forth on the soaked bed, holding a tiny red baby with tufts of whitish hair to her left breast and everything clicked into place.

Several believed this woman was not fit to raise a child for obvious reasons, but police had no right to take a baby away from its mother, so the infant stayed and grew up in the house she was born in. It wasn’t like there was any place she could go, anyway. Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found.

Henry Tudor is--was--had been a mountain of a man. His arms were like truck tires, round and firm to the touch. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a huge body to go along with his already giant frame. Coppery gold hair framed his head and his bright sapphire blue eyes struck a stare that could put someone six feet under. Every single aspect of the man’s body boasted of an indestructible juggernaut.

And yet, he hasn’t been seen in fifteen years.

Rumors bubbled up. They always did. Some speculated he ran away to avoid the burden of taking care of a child or to simply get away from his insane wife. Others, mainly rowdy teenagers itching for drama, said Jane killed him and sacrificed his body to the Lord. Because of that, stories of the Seymour bungalow being haunted were created, although there was no proof of anything of the sort. Because they weren’t true. But Jane Seymour had been out to kill.

Her girl-spawn had barely been a few months old at the time. She laid in her homemade crib, gurgling and laughing, staring with strange blue eyes up at a mobile that was made for her. Jane crept up to her and aimed a knife for her throat.

Henry stopped her.

“You shall name her Johanna,” He had rumbled, easing Jane’s hand back to her side. “Joan for short.”

“Like Joan of Arc.” Jane had observed.

“Yes,” Henry had said.

“Hm.” Jane had peered down at the wriggling little beast. “I suppose that does make it slightly less Godless.”

“Yes,” Henry had said again. “Wait and see.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the night and never coming back.

Jane should not have let him stop her.

The child, of course, did not know this.

Joan slipped through the front door, but not without noticing a few neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. The whole neighborhood, possibly even the entire city, was always so interested in every little detail of the Seymour family’s lives. At least a few of them actually had the decency to duck back inside when they saw her coming up the sidewalk. One didn’t even notice her, it seemed, because he was still staring when she disappeared inside, while another was only pretending to not snoop while she fussed unnecessarily over her rose garden. Joan shot the flowers a sharp look, willing them to burst out of the ground and bite the lady’s nose off, but the front door closed behind her before she could see if anything happened. From the silence outside, she assumed nothing did.

(damn stupid woman wish she’d just go blind)

The smell of cinnamon was drifting through the entrance hallway. Maroon and orange (never red) candles were lit up throughout the downstairs area; Mama always preferred their warm glow over the harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights. Mama’s favorite radio station, WORT Radio, could be heard playing from the kitchen, along with the sound of singing.

Mama’s singing.

“Jesus, possess me!

Sweet savior, be my shepherd

Bless each endeavor

Till I finally join you forever”

A giddy tingling sensation zipped up through Joan’s spine. She always loved the sound of Mama’s singing. Her voice was so silken and honey-slicked, like the gentle croon of an angel. Joan said she should join a gospel, that she would be the best singer in the entire group, but Mama would always wave this off with a dismissive hand and a chuckle.

Joan ventured further into the house, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. She entered the lounge, where a Black Forest cuckoo clock clucked peacefully on the wall. There were many religious pictures and crucifixes in here, but Joan’s favorite was the photo of Jesus leading a herd of baby lambs through a beautiful flowered field. It radiated so much innocence, unlike all the other paintings of punishment and hellfire and sin. It was hung up beside the huge wooden cross with reddened edges over the unused fireplace. Joan did her best to never look at that decoration in particular.

Weaving around the brown felt couch and two moth-eaten velvet throne chairs facing each other, Joan glided into the kitchen. It was an old kitchen indeed, with an oven that squealed like a dying pig when opened and a sputtering gas stove, but everything worked perfectly fine for the two of them.

Two…

“Fly me free of temptation

And the flames of Hell's devastation

Then He will take me

And wash me in the river

I will make celebration

In the joy of final

The might of final

The fire of final Salvation!”

There was Mama, singing along to the song playing from an old radio on the counter, her back to Joan.

She was a moderately sized woman, but had a strong, corded neck and incredibly muscled hands from years of working at the local laundromat. Honey blonde hair framed her face, which was quite beautiful in a weird, overzealous religious way. Reaching brown roots slithered like snakes from her scalp, with only a few white hairs visible. Despite being in her forties, her complexion was more weathered by hardship and discipline than age. Piercing golden brown eyes flickered when she finally noticed her daughter standing there and a smile broke out on her pale pink lips.

“Mama,” Joan said breathily, unable to bite back her giddy grin.

“Ah, Joan,” Mama said, “there’s my sweet girl.” And then she opened her strong arms out wide and Joan darted into them instantly, nestling into her embrace. Mama smelled like honey and laundry detergent. “You’re home early.”

Joan felt her lower stomach twinge and she leaned a little closer into Mama’s chest. She would keep her mouth shut about the incident at school for now. Mama was in a good mood; no need to go and mess that up.

“School--ended sooner than usual.” Joan said, internally wincing. She hated lying, always fearing that she would be struck dead the moment the fib rolled off her tongue, but she would correct herself and tell the truth soon.

Mama hummed. “I see.” She pulled away and turned back to the counter, where she had been shaping bread dough with her wolf-like hands. “Dinner won’t be ready for awhile.”

“That’s okay,” Joan said. “I can wait.”

Mama hummed again. Joan fidgeted anxiously behind her.

“Is everything alright, my darling?” Mama asked, concern in her smooth voice.

“Yes, Mama,” Joan answered. “Just-- umm-- may I go shower?”

Mama chuckled. “Of course, dear.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Joan gave her another quick hug, then scurried up the creaky wooden stairs to her room.

Filthy. She suddenly felt so filthy. She had showered barely an hour ago, but grime seemed to be crawling all over her. Would Mama be safe from it? Was it bad that she touched her?

She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her. About this being…

“Normal.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s perfectly normal, Joan. Every girl goes through it.”

Joan whimpered. The spattered mess between her legs had been wiped away by Miss Aragon, a humiliation she would never be able to live down, and she was now fully dressed again, but her clothes felt too tight, especially around her groin. It felt like there were eels alive and writhing inside of her. She squirmed on the grey couch she was seated on in Miss Aragon’s office, a place where most students were forbidden to go into.

“My skin feels weird,” Joan whispered. “I-I’m hot…”

Miss Aragon frowned. Joan looked up at her with shiny, wet blue eyes and a glazed expression.

“It hurts,” She croaked.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“What did I do?”

“What?”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. Guilt surged through her, along with another painful sensation in her lower stomach. She whimpered again.

“What did I do?” She asked again. “D-did I sin? Is this my punishment?” Miss Aragon looked baffled, and Joan wasn’t sure how she should feel about that.

“No, no, Joan,” Miss Aragon said quickly. “You didn’t--you didn’t sin.” She made a face, like those words tasted funny on her tongue, but it disappeared quickly. “You’re a very good girl. All women go through this, like I said. It’s completely normal.”

“But--but I’m bleeding!” Joan cried woefully. She could feel drops of blood squeeze slickly out of her vagina and she cringed. “You shouldn’t-- it’s not-- I-I’m gonna bleed to death!”

Miss Aragon is frowning again, and Joan easily recognized it as a frown of pity. That’s the expression most adults wear when they look at her.

“You aren’t, Joan,” Miss Aragon said patiently. “It’ll stop in a few days.”

Joan squirmed again, wanting it to stop now. She looked up at Miss Aragon helplessly.

“What did you do?” She asked. “To get yours? How did you sin?”

Miss Aragon sighed and Joan instinctively shrunk away. Instead of being struck, however, her coach eased an arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her in close against her side.

“Oh, Joan…” She murmured, stroking her wet hair. “You poor, poor girl…”

Miss Aragon had then gone on to explain the process of the strange word called ‘menstruation’, telling her how she would bleed for four to seven days at a time every month for basically the rest of her life. It sounded awful. How could God curse females with such a horrible bodily function?

The sharp ache in her lower stomach returned like a tug on her small intestines. She put her hand between her legs, but drew no blood (this time). A new feeling rose in Joan’s sore chest, a yearning, an ache. She felt suddenly cold, as if the sun could no longer warm her. This was it, then, the change was here.

Would she still be Joan after it was all over? When she shed the last of her “uterus lining”, as Miss Aragon had said, would she still be herself? Or would she be someone new?

Would being someone new be all that bad?

Joan swiped some looser, fresh clothes from her dresser and then scurried her way into the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights, so she lit a few candles instead, letting their warm glow fill the small space.

With muscles that were weak with fatigue, she slowly began to undress herself. First her overalls, then her white and baby blue flannel, her cream colored bra, and finally her underwear. The puffy sanitary napkin--a “pad”--that Miss Aragon had put in for her was spotted with large dark red, almost black stains that looked like gross bodily jelly. It was wilting already, so she carefully removed it and replaced it with one of the many others she had been given, remembering how Miss Aragon had told her to always change them whenever she got the chance or she may get sick.

After throwing away the pad she wadded up with toilet paper, Joan stepped into the bathtub and cranked the faucet handle.

Showering was agony.

Although the hot water had offered her a brief respite from the deep, otherworldly chill that had settled into her body, there was no escaping the pain. Each beating droplet against her limbs felt like a fresh wasp sting stabbing into her muscles and the flesh on her stomach, taut and uncomfortably bloated, pulsed and throbbed with agony every time she moved.

Like before a few minutes ago, like at school, she reached between her legs, and it came back sticky and red.

The smell of the blood was pungent and unnatural. It was nothing like real blood at all. It was more like the rot from her deteriorating insides as her sin caused her to rapidly decay. It made her feel sick, so she stuck her hand under the spray of liquid fire shooting out from the shower head and didn’t pull it back until all the blood was gone.

The smell remained on her hand.

Joan scrubbed vigorously between her legs, which seemed to be permanently stained. Crimson would smear across her pale flesh each time her vagina bled again and she did her best to wipe the trails away with an itchy sponge. By the time she finally gave up, her inner thighs felt chafed and raw.

Joan took to just watching the water and beads of soap run down the slightly rusted drain. Slowly, she sat down, knees bent up to her chest, legs spread slightly. Red drools down the floor of the shower to join the suds down into the pipes.

This reminded her of a time when she was eleven and was violently ill in the shower. She remembered looking up, slumped heavily over the rim of the tub, still in all her clothes, and seeing Mama in the doorway. She had been shaking her head, but had a morbidly amused glint in her eyes. Then, chuckling darkly, she was saying, “You shouldn’t have gotten--”

“--drunk,” Said Joan, her fists clenched determinedly at her sides and her heart hammering in her throat.

The figure in the armchair in front of her turned to look at the doorway and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better.

Joan stared back through the thick mop of white-blonde hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it.

She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the house she’d grown up in, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly.

“...You're what?” Said the figure slowly, her weathered, thick-knuckled hands clutching a periwinkle embroidery and a shiny sewing needle.

“I’m drunk, Mama,” Joan said again, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering.

Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at, or sent to her closet, or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn't that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was.

The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had.

From the worn-out old armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the embroidery.

“This is why God has left you,” Said Jane Seymour, dismissively.

And then Joan had trudged off, disappointed by the lack of reaction. Usually her Mama would throw an absolute fit over the littlest things she did, but the night she drank alcohol was barren of any dramatics.

An hour later, she would violently heave up all the whiskey she ingested from her system in the shower. It burned more than it did on the way down and made her cry helplessly for her Mama, who knelt by the bathtub and stroked her hair like she was a dog while she threw up all over herself. Mama had cradled her head against her chest when she was finished, mouth and chin still dripping with vomit, and told her what an evil little imp she was in a voice like sweet caramel.

Joan shook her head, scattering droplets across the shower walls and curtain. She looked down and saw a small sea of blood rippling around her feet. Her nose curled in disgust and she backed up further against the back of the tub.

Minutes passed. Joan’s mind was fuzzy and blank for most of the time she sat in the water and her own blood. Her vagina began to hurt at one point and throbbed steadily with her beating heart.

When it was eventually time to get out, she found that the heat of the water had soaked the energy right out of her, and it took everything in her to get dressed again instead of just curling up naked in a corner of the shower and passing out.

The cuts splattering her figure, those that hadn't scabbed over yet, were gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. They burned faintly as she stepped back out of the shower’s steamy shelter and into the cold air of the rest of the house.

The light from the candle flames cast her gaunt features in harsher contrast when she peered into the mirror. Her hollow cheeks nearly became empty holes and her sunken eye sockets were black caves. Still, the shiny blue of her eyes was visible even in the cavernous puncture. The fire’s glow reflected off the stygian liquid steel of rolling droplets over her emaciated frame.

The sight of the deathlike girl would send anyone but Mama screaming into the night.

------

“Good news, Kitty!”

Anne came out of nowhere, flinging her arms around Katherine and causing her to jump. They staggered, nearly falling right over, but managed to stay upright in the crowd of students leaving the school. Katherine laughed.

“What can it be this time, Annie?” She asked, shifting her backpack onto one shoulder after Anne pulled away.

“It turns out we are going to college together after all!” Anne declared, smiling widely. “I just got the text last period!”

Katherine felt a surge of happiness go through her, but still couldn’t help but tilt her head.

“Wait-- I thought the Royal College of Music turned you down?”

Just saying the school’s name sent flutters of joy and excitement and awe through her. She still couldn’t believe that SHE, Katherine Howard, got accepted into THE BEST music school in England. Maybe even the entire world!! She couldn’t wait until she got to explore the castle-like campus and fulfill her dream of being a real performer, and although she had hoped that her dear cousin and best friend would be a part of that, she didn’t actually think it would have happened.

But here Anne was, shrugging nonchalantly with a radiant look in her dark brown eyes.

“Yeah, well,” She waved a dismissive hand, “Daddy pulled a few strings and now I’m in.”

Katherine couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly when her Uncle Thomas was brought up. She could only pray for the poor soul at the Royal College’s administration board that must have met the other end of his needle-sharp words.

“We get to be roomies together!” Anne said. “Isn’t that great or what?”

“It’s AMAZING!” Katherine declared, hugging Anne. “I can’t wait!”

The sound of a car broke their embrace and the two of them, along with a few other students in the courtyard, turned to look at the shiny dark blue Ford Mustang honking at the curb. The driver’s side door popped open a second later and a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty or twenty-one, with lush olive skin and curly brown hair came sliding out. She lowered her electric blue Burberry sunglasses and hickory brown eyes swept over the crowd of high school kids in disdainful amusement.

“CATHY!!” Anne cried gleefully. She launched herself at Catherine Parr and the two immediately melted into a heated kiss. Katherine sputtered a laugh.

“Classic Anne,” Maria said, coming up beside Katherine with Maggie and Bessie. “Always can’t wait to jam her tongue down her lady’s throat.” She’s elbowed in the ribs by both Katherine and Bessie for that, making her snicker. “What? It’s true!”

“Come on,” Maggie said, and they all crossed over to the couple. “Alright, children! That’s enough PDA!”

Anne parted from her girlfriend to stick her tongue out at Maggie. Cathy chuckled and turned her gaze to the others.

“Hello, kids,” She said languidly.

“Hey, Cathy,” Katherine smiled at her. The other three greeted the other woman as well. “How are you?”

“Bitchin’ good,” Cathy rumbled, her lips twitching upwards. The lipstick coating them was a dark red color; Katherine believed it was called “Nibble” if she remembered correctly.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Anne suddenly said. She perched on the hood of the Ford Mustang and spread her hands out in front of her like she was about to tell a grand fairytale. “Can you guys believe the stunt in the shower earlier?”

Like that, Katherine’s good mood dropped away and icy guilt slammed into her once again. It made her feel so stupid, as all her friends burst into giggles around her, enjoying the funny memory while she just felt sickened by them. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

“What?” Cathy looked at all of them in confusion. “What happened?”

“Oh, Joan Seymour happened,” Anne told her. “Sixteen fucking years old and that stupid retard just stood there having her very first period.”

Katherine winced at the use of the slur. Why did it suddenly hurt to hear? She hadn't cared when Maria said it earlier in the pool. Was she just now realizing that it was wrong to say?

“I think she’s fifteen, actually,” She said.

“Who cares?” Anne said. “Doesn’t change anything! I knew when I was 9!”

“Wait--” Cathy said, and then she exclaimed, “Gross! In the shower?”

“Oh yeah!” Anne nodded her head enthusiastically. “Blood was just dripping down her legs!”

“All the blood ran into my stall!” Maggie joined in excitedly.

“And she sat in it!” Bessie added.

“All while squealing like a fucking pig!” Anne chortled. “WEE WEE WEE WEE!!!”

“Anne, enough!!” Katherine shouted over all the laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

Anne looked at her and then said, “Hey, you guys! Stop! Stop! Kit is right. It’s not funny.”

All the giggling died away instantly. Katherine breathed out a sigh of relief--

“It’s fucking hilarious!”

--that was quickly replaced with a sharp intake of breath.

Anne slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aww, sweetie!” She nuzzled her cheek with her nose. “There’s a runt in every litter! A nobody. And our nobody,” She chuckled darkly, “is Joan.”

------

The smell of freshly baked bread hit Joan’s nose when she walked down the stairs and her stomach growled so loud it caught Mama’s attention in the kitchen. Her face flashed dark red, her blush bright against the pale backdrop of her white-blonde hair, and Mama chuckled in amusement.

“Someone’s hungry,” Mama said.

“J-just a little…” Joan stammered shyly.

She really, really was, though. She skipped lunch because she had left school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which had just been two pieces of plain toast, but she felt like she was starving. Like it’s been a lot longer since she ate anything. She set her hands on her lower belly and wondered if hunger was another bitter side effect of menstruation.

“Joan?” Mama noticed the way she was holding her stomach. “Is your tummy alright, darling?”

Joan felt an intense flash of fear

(she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows)

lance through her and she inhaled sharply. She nodded, dropping her hands limply to her side.

“I’m okay, Mama,” She said. “Just hungry.”

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Mama told her. Joan could smell the casserole in the oven and her stomach growled again. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and set the table?”

Joan nodded and hurried to wash her hands off in the kitchen sink before retrieving the plates and utensils from various cabinets. She took them to the dining room, a dimly lit room filled with more crosses than anywhere in the entire house. A huge iron one hung above the table, where Jesus’ petrified face of agony could always leer down at her when she was trying to eat. The only other decoration was a wooden picture frame laying face-down on a small shelf. Joan glanced at it and remembered the last time it had been filled by...

...a photograph of Mama’s wedding.

It had been a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating over the wedding ceremony. In the picture, the newlyweds were standing on the top of the stone stairs leading to the chapel. Above their heads was a tall arch decorated with beautiful white roses, handpicked by the maid of honor. The bride and groom held each other’s hands, the picture of matrimonial bliss.

This was the first time Joan actually saw what Daddy Henry looked like. Mama didn’t talk about him very much, and when she did, it wasn’t ever in a good way.

But these two in the picture looked so happy.

Daddy Henry’s wedding tuxedo had to be one of the largest ever designed. He was herculean, with a behemoth body and golden blonde hair. Dazzling sapphire blue eyes stood out brightly in the photo, so much like Joan’s own. He had a massively wide smile on his bearded face, grasping his bride’s hands in his own huge ones.

Mama was in a beautiful white gown gown that hugged her every curve, with sterling silver feathers sewn into the sleeves and into the frills of the wedding dress. Her lips were painted ruby red and were curled up into a blissful smile as she leaned into the wall of muscle that was her husband, her hands lost within Daddy Henry’s colossal grip.

...Were these really her parents?

Joan had found the photo hidden behind one of Jesus’s birth when she accidentally broke the frame while playing. She was ten at the time, and itching for mischief, so she hid the photo from Mama, despite all the questions she wanted to ask.

It had been a complete accident that Mama found out she had it, when she saw it in her room after she forgot to put it away.

For a long time, Mama didn’t speak after she found the photo. She just gripped it tightly and stared at it with wide, bulging eyes.

“Where did you find this?”

Joan flinched at the edge in her voice. Trembling, she stuttered, “I-I broke a picture frame a little while ago. You didn’t notice, so I picked up the broken glass so that we wouldn’t get hurt. I found it behind the picture of baby Jesus.”

Mama took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. Joan swallowed thickly.

“M-maybe it could help us look for him?” She said timidly.

Turning abruptly, Mama stormed out the bedroom and downstairs. Joan ram after her, crying, “Wait! Mama!”

Mama strode into the lounge and began roughly throwing firewood into the fireplace. Joan skidded to a stop behind her, her eyes wide.

“Mama!” She shouted. “Stop! We have to find Daddy!”

But Mama didn’t stop. She just kept tossing in wood until the fireplace was full, then moved to dousing the logs with an alarming amount of lighter fluid. Joan lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she lit a match and flicked it in. The flames roar to life instantly, illuminating the cold look in Mama’s golden eyes.

“No.” She hissed, and then threw the photo into the fire.

“NO!!!” Joan screeched.

She threw herself at the fireplace, dropping to her knees and shoving her hands into the burning logs. Flames licked at her skin and she howled in pain, but didn’t pull back until she grabbed the smoldering remains of the photograph. It disintegrated in her fingers and she wailed in anguish right before Mama grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her backwards.

“What are you doing?!” Mama cried. Her eyes are even wider now, and Joan saw that she was scared. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.

“That was going to help us find Daddy!” Joan yelled, tears running down her cheeks. Her hands hurt so badly. Pink and scarlet criss crossed together over her charred skin. “We were gonna find him and he was gonna come back!!”

“No he wasn’t, Johanna!”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING KEEPING HIM AWAY!!”

In an instant, the scalding hot blood in Joan’s veins turned to ice-water. She started to comprehend the implication of Mama’s words, and the tears came out from her eyes faster and faster. She wilted like a daffodil, crossing her burnt hands in front of her chest and grabbing her arms, squeezing them tightly as she bowed her head and doubled over on her knees. The crown of her skull cracked against the hardwood, sprawling her hair like a waterfall of white-gold all over the floor.

“No… No… No...” She wept again and again.

“He doesn’t want you, Joan,” Mama said ruefully. “He didn’t even want me.” She took a deep breath, sadness etched in the grooves of her words. “He doesn’t want either of us.”

Mama knelt and took Joan into her arms, rocking her slowly. Joan tried to grip onto her, but just let out a pained wail when she moved her hands.

“Mama!” She cried. “Mama, it hurts! It hurts!”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Mama said sadly. “Shh… It’s going to be okay, my darling angel. It’s going to be okay, Joan…”

“...Joan? Joan?”

Joan jolted, backpedaling into her mother, who looked concerned. Mama gently cupped her cheeks.

“My dear angel,” She murmured, “what’s wrong?”

(tell her tell her tell her)

Joan swallowed thickly. “S-something happened at school today. Something terrible...”

Mama frowned and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Joan’s face. “Terrible things are the Lord’s way of testing us, Joan.” She said wisely.

“I know, Mama, but the other girls--”

“You aren’t like the other girls.” Mama cut her off.

“But I am, Mama! I am!” Joan said. “I never thought so, but--”

“You aren’t, Joan. You aren’t. You’re special.” Mama’s lips twitched slightly. “Special.”

“You aren’t listening to me, Mama…”

“I’ve heard all I wanted to hear, now finish setting the table, please.” Mama said. She glided past Joan and went back into the kitchen to check on the casserole. Joan slowly laid out the plates, then looked over her shoulder.

(tell her tell her tell her)

“Mama, in the showers today…”

Mama whipped around instantly, her eyes suddenly lit up like hot coals. Joan thought she might have seen a flicker of fear somewhere in there, too.

“What have I told you about showering with the other girls?” Mama said.

“I know, but--” Joan floundered.

“What have I told you?” Mama shouted.

“It’s a sin! It’s a sin!” Joan gave in.

“And as such--”

“But Mama--”

“It is--”

“I STARTED TO BLEED!!”

Silence.

Stillness.

The platter Mama had been holding slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wooden floor. White and blue pieces exploded out in every direction. A few chunks cut Mama’s slipper-clad feet and ankles, and blood slowly began to bud out like blooming roses in May, but Mama did not move. Or flinch. Or even blink. She just stared very intently at Joan like she was hoping she would burst into flames if she leered hard enough.

And then, her face did something strange. It twitched, like all her expressions were falling off one by one, so it looked like a mask for a moment. Then, the skin rippled and creased and wrinkled, and her soft features were eroded away by furious and sinister ones. A sick white light ignited behind her golden brown eyes, like twin lightning bugs of insanity inside the sockets. Joan backed up against the dining room table with a whimper.

“Mama, I started to bleed in the showers and the other girls-- they laughed at me and called me names and threw things at me!” She said woefully. “I was so scared, Mama! I thought I was dying!”

Mama’s face twitched again, and this time her head jerked a little with it. The veins in her neck bulge out of the flesh and pulsed monstrously. Her eyes suddenly looked a lot less golden brown and a lot more brown-red.

“Mama, why are you looking at me like that?” Joan asked softly, quaking.

“The curse of blood,” Mama said quietly. There’s an awful, dry chuckle edging her words. Joan blinked like an oblivious pure white heifer about to be sacrificed to God.

“Mama, you’re scaring me…”

Mama’s entire head twitched this time and then, a split second later, she’s striding across the kitchen with her right hand held high. Joan didn’t have any time to react before she was backhanded across the jaw by pointy, spike-like knuckles. She yelped out in pain and shock, tottering sideways and careening right into one of the dining table chairs. Her body unceremoniously crumpled into it, and she and the chair both crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“You’re a woman now,” Mama said above her. Her eyes are wide and gleaming, but there’s no emotion in them. “Pray to heaven for your wicked soul.”

“Wh-what did I do?” Joan stammered, rolling over onto her back. She could already feel her jaw welling up with a fresh bruise. “M-Miss Aragon said it’s something all girls go through. Even y--”

Mama hit Joan again, and blood splattered out in a bright red line across the floor. Joan whimpered sharply, tears of pain springing to her eyes. Her tongue instinctively flicked out against her newly busted lip and it stung in response to being licked.

“And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Mama said like she was in a trance. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was the Sin of Intercourse. So the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood.” She leaned down to Joan and her words were suddenly washed with potent venom, “Say it, woman.”

“No, Mama--”

Joan was struck a third time. Smears of her blood are left on Mama’s knuckles.

“Say it!” Mama bellowed.

“No!” Joan cried. She turned sharply and scrambled away, but Mama pursued her and delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling on her back.

“And Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden and into the World and Eve found that her belly had grown big with child.” Mama droned on. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on Joan’s stomach, pinning her to the ground. Joan yowled in pain when a cramp seized her at that very moment, deepening her anguish even further. “And there was a second Curse, and this was the Curse of Childbearing, and Eve brought forth Cain in sweat and blood.”

“Mama!” Joan sobbed. The tears were flowing free without resistance, now, and creating small pools on either side of her head. “Mama! Stop it, please! Listen to me!!”

But Mama did not listen. She just leaned down, applying more pressure to Joan’s poor belly, like she was hoping to make all the blood come out now. Joan threw her head back and screamed in pain.

“And following Cain, Eve gave birth to Abel, having not yet repented of the Sin of Intercourse. And so the Lord visited Eve with a third Curse, and this was the Curse of Murder. Cain rose up and slew Abel with a rock. And still, Eve did not repent, nor all the daughters of Eve, and upon eve did the Crafty Serpent found a kingdom of whoredoms and pestilence.”

“Mama, listen!!” Joan yelled. “Stop! It wasn’t my fault!”

“And Eve was weak,” Mama said flatly. “Say it.”

“N-o!” Joan squirmed underneath her mother. Her hands, rough and scarred permanently from the burns she got five years ago, flew up and grabbed Mama’s leg. Two of her fingernails jabbed into one of the cuts on Mama’s ankle she got from the glass and Mama jerked away with a hiss.

“You vile demon!!” She screeched.

Joan fled as quickly as she could, but Mama went after her, just like last time. Just like all the other times.

(if i had a nickle for every time she made me cry in here...)

Her wrists are seized and they both fall to their knees on the floor in the lounge. The impact rattled Joan’s frail body and she could feel more blood drip out onto the sanitary napkin in her underwear.

“Mama, let me go!!” Joan cried frantically. She struggled, but her Mama was much stronger than she was and was able to restrain her. Mama’s body hunched over her, her belly pressed against her rigid spine, practically crushing her frail daughter. “Please! Please, Mama! I’m sorry!!”

“Say it, woman,” Mama whispered harshly in her ear, her words biting like serpents.

Joan sniffled and, with words that were thick with blood from her busted lip, choked out shamefully, “And Eve was weak.”

The grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Mama’s hot breath tickled her ear when she breathed out a dark laugh. A sloppy, halfhearted kiss was pressed to her temple.

“Good girl,” Mama whispered breathily. She leaned back and twisted Joan around so they would be facing each other, but did not release her child from her ironclad grip.

“Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Joan asked. Her icy blue eyes are filled with tears and sorrow, so much sorrow. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought I was dying!”

Mama shook her head and looked up ruefully. She squeezed Joan’s hands together and exclaimed hugely, “O Lord! Help this sinning woman beside me here see the sin of her days and ways!”

“Stop it, Mama--” Joan squirmed uncomfortably.

“Show her that if she had remained sinless the Curse of Blood never would have come on her!” Mama brayed on.

“Mama--” Joan whined. “Mama, please stop! I don’t understand! What did I do?” She squirmed harder. “Mama, let me go!!”

Mama shook Joan violently, then drew her in close, eyes flashing.

“Ask for forgiveness of your sin.”

“No, Mama.” Joan said, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t sin, you sinned. You didn’t tell me and they laughed.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Darkness overtook Mama’s features like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Her face twisted with disgust, and she suddenly looked like she hated her child with every inch of her being. She dug her fingernails deep into Joan’s brittle wrists.

“I did not.” She hissed lowly. “I did not--sin.” She carved off chunks of Joan’s flesh with her nails. “Go to your closet and pray.”

Joan stiffened, her eyes bulging hugely in her skull. She whimpered and shook her head, shrinking down into herself.

“No, Mama,” She whispered fearfully. She could see her prayer closet from the lounge, the door fitted underneath the staircase. It was cramped and dark and hot in there, just how Mama liked it for her. “D-don’t wanna go…” She couldn’t look away from it.

“Pray.” Mama said. “Ask for forgiveness.”

“Please, Mama,” Joan begged, looking up at her mother desperately. “P-please don’t make me go. I-I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry!”

But Mama’s uncaring look of hatred did not change, and inky black dread poured out through Joan’s organs like a thick, dark oil spill. Her breathing began to hitch and pick up, but Mama didn’t seem to care about her worsening panic attack.

“Please, Mama,” Joan wheedled hoarsely. “I-- I’ll bring the Stones again!”

This time, it was Mama’s turn to look scared. But then it morphed into intense enmity and she began to beat Joan senselessly towards the closet.

“You monster!” She howled. “You spawn of the devil! Why must I be so cursed?!”

“The Stones!” Joan yelled as she was kicked and hit and slapped. She rolled to the side, but Mama beat her back down to the floor, slowly getting her closer and closer to the wretched, evil closet. “I’ll bring the Stones, Mama! I’ll bring the Fire!”

And then a powerful kick drove into her belly and her words pitched into a shriek of agony.

“MAMA!!” Joan screamed. “MAMA-- MAMA, STOP!! IT HURTS!! Y-YOU-- IT HURTS!!!”

Mama grappled onto Joan’s arms and began dragging her across the floor to the closet. Even with the sharp, unbearable pain in her stomach, Joan fought her, kicking and struggling and screaming bloody murder, but it was futile. Mama shoved Joan into the prayer closet and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly.

“NO!!” Joan shrieked. She threw herself at the door, causing it to rattle heavily on its hinges. “Mama, let me go!!”

“Pray, little girl!” Mama ordered. Madness curled from her lips like poisonous vipers. “Pray!”

“Please, Mama!!”

But Mama did not let her go. Her footsteps retreated somewhere into the house and Joan sunk to the floor, weeping. Panic started sticking to her lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Mama was so angry… What if she never let her out?

Dread sped up her thoughts, racing through her veins, filling her with desperation.

No one would even hear her screams, her last dying words, her final prayers…

She began to wheeze, the thick, musty air brushing against her lips. The oppressive stench of her own fear and blood and piss from other times in the closet burned her nose.

Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care?

Pain lighted in her belly again as her chest contracted with her heavy breaths.

Would her teachers, so quick to look away from her black eyes and limping figure, even call and ask where she was?

Joan began to scratch on the door, the frame, the hinges, scrambling to escape, her instincts pitching her action into a fury of movement.

What would they say when her body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of a closet made for holy purposes? Perhaps she would be the talk of the town, even more than usual. The poor Seymour kid, whose Mama went mad after her husband left and God could no longer satisfy her. Who killed her only child, slowly starving her tiny daughter to death one evening while she sewed a new blouse for a customer at the laundromat and listened to her religious music.

Joan’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the wooden confines of her holy coffin. She could feel the warmth of her blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of her panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as she clawed frantically.

What if she didn’t starve to death? What if she suffocated? Could that happen? No, she’d read about that before. There was enough air filtering in here, probably. She’d die of dehydration first. Already she could feel her throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked her vision. Tears ran down the side of her bruised face, mingling with the sweat now coating her skin. She felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

“Mama, let me out!” She begged coarsely, the words scratching at her throat.

She could take the hitting or yelling or cursing. Anything but this.

“Mama…”

Joan slumped to her side, shuddering. She looked up and gazed around at the horrors that littered the closet. There were so many paintings of Jesus’s death, all in great, graphic detail. When she was little, they used to give her awful nightmares about evil men nailing her to a cross or Jesus’s bloodied body chasing her through a ruined dreamscape, welding a wicked-looking crucifix made of barbed wires and yelling at her to join him on his cadaverous crucible.

They still gave her nightmares, she hated to admit.

The dead eyes of Christ bore down on Joan’s pathetic, shaking frame. Jesus’s face was contorted into the same expression of disgust and pain as Mama’s had been, like even he knew that she was the worst thing to ever grace God’s green earth. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, not wanting to meet his scornful gaze anymore, and began to pray through her haze of tears.

------

Moonlight cast silver streams on Anna’s smooth, glowing skin, making her look like a goddess of the night above Katherine. Her soft touch sent pangs of pleasure crackling through Katherine’s body like lightning bolts of lust, soothing her mind of all its worries with her warmth. Everything felt good and okay and wonderful again when Anna was with her, holding her, talking to her, loving her. She thought that nothing could possibly bring her down when her girlfriend was there by her side.

And yet, she still couldn’t get the image of Joan Seymour’s naked body covered in blood on the floor out of her head.

Katherine sighed heavily and Anna pulled back, blinking.

“Am I really that bad?” She said, then looked at her fingernails, inspecting them closely. “I thought I got them down to the perfect length this time…”

Katherine managed to laugh. “No, it’s not you, you big silly,” She nudged her playfully. “It’s--something else…”

Anna tilted her head. “What is it?” Worry flashed across her expression and Katherine couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love flap in her chest. She loved when her girlfriend got like this, all concerned over her, even over the littlest things. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Katherine said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. “It’s just-- I did something...not good today.”

“Oh no,” Anna gasped. “Not good?”

Katherine shoved her. “I’m serious!”

Anna laughed slightly. “I know! I know!” She said. “Come on, tell me about it.”

They got dressed and stepped out of Anna’s red Jeep so Katherine could get some fresh air that would hopefully help her tell the shameful story. It was a warm spring night and they were parked on the side of a small grove that had a trail that led to a hiking trail and some camping grounds. Katherine ducked under a tree that was wrapped in blooming vines of pink-white dog roses, pale ghost petals shivering in the breeze. Anna came up beside her and they both sat on a low-hanging branch that was practically grown for the purpose of sitting and telling your girlfriend about the awful bullying you participated in today.

“Did you...hear about the Joan Seymour incident today?” Katherine eventually choked out hesitantly.

Anna actually thought for a moment, as if a fifteen year old girl getting her first period and thinking she was dying hadn’t been the talk of the entire school.

“Vaguely, yeah,” She finally said. “I don’t get into that kind of drama, though. I tend to stay away from it, you know?”

Katherine did know, and that sent fear ricocheting through her body when she remembered it. Of course Anna didn’t like discourse- she’s told her several times before! How could she be so stupid?

Anna peered at her closely, and she knew it was too late to turn back now.

“What does Joan Seymour and her period have to do with you?” Anna asked her.

Katherine swallowed thickly. Fear pounded heavily at her brain, fear of Anna breaking up with her when she told her and leaving her all alone--but didn’t she deserve that? What she did was horrible. She didn’t deserve a girlfriend after harassing a poor little girl, ESPECIALLY when she herself was eighteen and technically an adult.

“I--” Her words caught in her throat for a moment, but Anna’s patient, loving gaze made them all come tumbling out. “I was in there. With her. In the locker room.” She lowered her head in shame. “I--yelled at her with everyone…”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, moonlight glinting in her caramel brown eyes and making them look like they were glowing. Then, she sucked in an impressed breath and said, “You’re right. Not good.”

Katherine felt a cold slicing of fear slash through her, but then Anna’s grave expression shifted into a thoughtful smile. She ran a hand down an ivy-coiled section of the tree and mused, “I kicked a kid in the ribs one time.”

Katherine blinked at her.

“I did!” Anna said, then shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Reed Mulligan. Big white kid who’ll probably grow up to be a robber or something. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me once in Year 7. And then, in Year 8, he picked on the wrong kid and got his ass handed to him. Everyone ran when he dropped to the ground, but first I gave him a good kick in the ribs. Felt terrible about it afterward.” She peered at Katherine closely. “Are you gonna apologize to her?”

Katherine snorted dryly. “Did you apologize to Reed Mulligan?”

“Hell no!” Anna said. “But there’s a big difference, Kat.”

“There is?”

“This isn’t Secondary School anymore.” Anna said. A flurry of snowy pink petals swirled down from the tree and over their shoulders. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you?”

------

The prayer closet lock clicked and the door creaked open after seven long hours. Joan stopped crying for her Mama after the first hour and fell silent for the rest, not even asking to eat or go to the bathroom. Probably because she was asleep, curled up into a little ball on the floor, pillowing her head with her arms. Mama knelt down to her, setting one hand on her shoulder and raking the other through her white-blonde hair. Joan’s eyes shot open instantly, and they seemed to glow in brilliant shades of blue in the candlelight.

“Did you finish your prayers, little girl?” Mama asked.

Joan nodded.

“That’s my good girl,” Mama cooed. She kissed Joan’s cheek, saying nothing about the dark indigo bruise bloomed on her jaw. “It’s time for bed.”

“Yes, Mama,” Joan whispered. Slowly, she uncoiled from her position on the floor, shaking out her numb limbs as she did so. Mama watched her with a sharp eye as she rose to her feet.

“Joan?”

“Yes, Mama?”

Mama took a deep breath and stood up, practically towering over her little daughter.

“I know I sometimes do things that I can’t explain,” She said, “but know that my feelings for you never change. Even--if you have sinned.”

Joan winced, but she shook her head and managed to smile wryly up at her mother.

“Mama, you don’t have to say that,” She said. “You love me. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness from me. I know you do what you have to.”

“Yes,” Mama said slowly, nodding. “We have no one except each other, Joan.”

Joan shivered. Her heart ached fiercely in her chest, and she so badly wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, that there was someone out there who wanted her, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Fifteen years, and the only person who didn’t throw her away was her Mama.

“I’m the only one who cares about you.” Mama said. “No one will ever love you except me.” She cupped Joan’s cheeks and looked at her with maddening adoration and love flickering in her eyes. “You will always be a monster to everyone else.”

And Joan nodded, knowing this would always be true, and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”

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