#and in fact I think it's now swung around to being *too* forgiven for its flaws after the new one came out

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Soft Target - Ch. 2

Not strictly Zemo x reader, but so close they could kiss.

Chapter summary: Our girl meets Zemo properly, Sam gets to explain himself, and we all love Jurassic Park.

Chapter warnings: Language

Chapter 1: Link

Thanks for all the support so far! Likes are beautiful, retweets are blessings, and comments keep the Depression Beast at bay. nvtaliaromanovv, I don’t know why it isn’t always showing up in the tags, alas!

*I’m using original villains in this for reasons, but they’re very simple and quickly explained in this chapter.

She tried not to think as they ran down the alley, across a street, and around the corner. So, of course, she thought about everything. She thought of the heavy grip on her arm and the way her knife pushed through the thick resistance of muscle and tendon to reach the bar’s hardwood. She thought of the hesitation in Barnes’ posture and Sam’s careful words. She thought of the stranger leading them away from a place she’d thought so safe and wonderful a mere hour before.

But, as she thought, her feet moved, and soon enough they reached their ride, a black SUV a little too sleek for its class, but reassuringly large. If they were pursued, their hunters would have a challenge forcing the massive thing off the road.

The man in the ridiculous coat took the driver’s seat, and Sam rushed to take shotgun, leaving her to slide into the back with Bucky. The vehicle swung away from the curb before she’d even finished fastening her seatbelt.

“Are we being followed?” Sam asked.

Barnes, with his eyes fixed on the rear window, shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Behind the wheel, the stranger hummed. “We’ll take the long way to the airfield. Just to be safe.”

A beautiful voice. His accent sounded familiar, but she had too much on her mind to place it. Eastern European, but beyond that…

Wait.

“Airfield?” Her eyebrows rose. “You have access to a plane?”

The man chuckled, and Sam rolled his eyes as he answered, “Yes. For all the good it does us right now. We’re out of leads.”

His eyes flicked her way, and she felt rather than saw Barnes turn to the window. No one had to explain. They came looking for an asset, not a friend, and every instinct she had during their earlier conversation had proven true. Damn it.

She took a deep breath, reigning in the urge to do something rash – like jump out of the fucking car. This could be worse, but she had to remind herself of the fact, so it couldn’t be much worse. Like it or not, they’d involved her. The man who grabbed her wasn’t the sharpest crayon on the pack, but he wasn’t operating alone, and he definitely had resources. She needed to resolve this before it boiled over into her private life.

Still, before she threw in her lot with the old married couple and their third wheel, she needed to know. This couldn’t be an intentional manipulation. Oversight she’d accept. Misjudging their relationship – fine. Even intentionally using her could be forgiven under certain circumstances. But if they knowingly put her in the line of fire…

“Before I give you anything, you need to answer a question.”

Sam turned in his seat to meet her gaze, firm but sincere. A second pair of eyes kept flicking towards her in the rearview mirror, and Barnes’ solemn attention burned against the side of her head.

“Did you know that would happen?” she asked. Sam looked like he needed clarification. “Did you know those men would follow you? Were you hoping one of them would touch me?”

“No.” Sam was a man of his word, and the weight of his sincerity pulled his voice deep. “That wasn’t supposed to happen, Triss. You were supposed to have a choice about all this, and I’m sorry.”

So, it was all another accident of circumstance. Why couldn’t these hero types cross a few more lines so she could hate them with a clear conscience?

A weak smile fluttered across her lips. “Apology accepted.”

Barnes squirmed a little in his seat, clearly torn. “So, did you get a lead?”

“I got a lot,” she scoffed. “But, yeah, I got some useful things. We’re heading to Lexington, Kentucky. I hope you like bourbon.”

It was enough for the moment, and an uncomfortable silence settled in for the rest of the ride. She couldn’t quite bear more eye contact at the moment, and her emotions fizzed in her gut, building towards an inevitable explosion. Conversation would make the pressure worse, and she’d hate to say something she’d regret since – apparently – they were stuck together for the time being.

Her gaze hopped from streetlight to streetlight, letting the beams lull her into transitive mindlessness. It wouldn’t last. Best to seize the quiet while she could. Sam and Bucky must’ve felt the same way. Everyone kept their eyes on the windows as they moved out of the city and past the suburbs. But she felt him looking. His attention moved from the road to her reflection in the rearview several times, but she only glanced back the first time his focus turned her way.

It felt like he was measuring her up for a fight, and not necessarily as part of his team.

As in the bar, he became a problem to prepare for. What had she given him to use against her so far? Very little. She knew the superficial analysis – blue hair, tattoos, and a strappy black harness dress to show them off. It was her professional look, but she doubted that was what he’d take away from her appearance. Men weren’t so great at distinguishing those kinds of details. He was welcome to his assumptions. They may keep her safe.

The last few minutes of the drive were particularly dark as they approached the small airfield. She tried not to read into it, her jumpy imagination summoning monsters from the shadows under the suffocating weight of the void. When she knew they were out to get her, and she couldn’t see a threat, she’d invent one. As they finally approached their destination, the lights lining the field, strip, and hangars offered relief. Even walking into hell, she liked to see where she was going.

The man behind the wheel parked them – seemingly at random – near the field’s edge, and everyone jumped out as he cut the engine. Backpack over one shoulder, she followed them not to a military aircraft, not even to a beat-up prop plane, but to an actual private jet.

Oh, she wanted to ask. They owed her answers, but if she held her tongue, she’d probably get them without asking. This wasn’t something Sam or Bucky could afford. That left the third man, and she didn’t want to show him her hand. She’d bury her curiosity for another day and trust her patience would pay off.

An elderly butler greeted them at the ramp, welcoming the stranger in a language she vaguely recognized as Sokovian. That explained the accent. Well. One answer given, a dozen grown.

The stranger replied in the same tongue, and she couldn’t help enjoying the sound. She wasn’t at all fluent, but she recognized “Lexington” and “Kentucky” when they popped awkwardly against the language’s natural cadence. A wave of goosebumps crept up her arm as he spoke more than a hasty sentence for the first time in their acquaintance. She’d always had a thing for voices – harmless in the end – and she’d long since learned how to accept such feelings as they moved through and beyond her. It was like they knew there was no point sticking around. Nothing could come of her crushes.

Sam followed the stranger up the stairs, and she followed him, Bucky bringing up the rear with a wary eye roving the dark field and shadowed hangers. Even if he didn’t think they’d been followed, he’d be ready in case they were. It brought her a bit of comfort, actually, having someone else prepared for the worst-case scenario.

The cabin was all oak paneling and creamy leather seats. Clearly expensive. A little dull. The muted environment made her three companions stand out, though, like dark sketches on a blank canvas. Sam and Bucky chose seats catty-corner across the aisle, ensuring she wouldn’t have to sit beside their… frenemy? Despite the distance, once they were settled, he reached forward for a handshake with the kind of smile she saw tossed around during professional networking events.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced,” he said.

She heaved a deep sigh, glancing at his hand as she folded her own against the impulse to reach out. “You don’t want to do that.”

His head tilted to the side. “Pardon?”

“Touch me. You don’t want to touch me.” It felt like a test, or at least investigation. He must’ve seen what happened at the bar, and he certainly heard her discussion in the car with Sam. He had an idea, but he wanted details. Threat analysis.

“Ah.” He pulled back. “A personal preference?” He made the question sound friendly, though he watched for her reaction like a seasoned interrogator. Fishing for information.

“You don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to,” Sam interjected. “This is Zemo. You might remember him from the news. He blew up the U.N. and murdered the king of Wakanda. Those are just the highlights, but you get the idea.”

Instead of arguing, Zemo ducked and raised his hands in a kind of shrug. “An oversimplification, but loosely the truth.” His eyes, a little sharper this time, returned to hers. “And may I have your name?”

She wasn’t about to give him anything. He’d turn it against her, claim some kind of power with it like a faerie.

“You already heard Sam call me Triss, right?” she asked. “You can call me that.”

His dark eyes sparkled with a cold fire as his smirk creased up into a smile. If her standoffishness irked him, he didn’t show it. He could even be pleased, like she’d just handed him a challenge, or a puzzle to beat.

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” She said it without heat, weary from a long day’s work and rough night’s escape.

As the plane accelerated down the runway and inertia tugged hard on her stomach, she chewed her lip, watching the watcher as she balanced her thoughts.

“What have they told you?” she asked.

He didn’t even blink. “Nothing.”

Honesty was the best policy. How long would he keep to it? Probably only as long as it suited his ends, and she had no idea what those were. She could play by those rules.

“I imagine they have a reason for that.” She leaned back, fighting to ignore the helpless feeling of freefall that haunted her gut during takeoff. “You want to know about my condition, right?”

Sam jumped in again. “Triss, you really don’t have to –”

“If we’re working together, he needs to know. Don’t worry.”

He would worry. Of course he would, so would Barnes, and – frankly – she was counting on that, but at a certain point, good intentions became impractical. The sooner she dealt with this, the better. All three men watched as she straightened in her seat, Zemo raising a hand to his chin so one finger could sweep across his upper lip in thought. Even before she began, she must be telling him something.

“Skin to skin contact gives me unfiltered access to your head. What you think and feel, I sense and hear. I can’t turn it off, so a handshake would be a lot more intimate than you intended. Nothing personal.”

“I appreciate your discretion,” Zemo agreed. “And I think I understand why Sam thought your abilities would be… invaluable for this mission.”

“About that.” She turned her full attention on the Falcon, eyebrows up, ready for an explanation. “I think you owe me a story.”

But Sam wasn’t the one to answer.

“We’re hunting super soldiers,” Zemo said. He continued the instant he had her attention, before either of the other two men could do more than splutter. “James was kind enough to break me out of prison to assist in their efforts to track the source of the serum and prevent the remaining soldiers from escalating.”

Sam jumped in, giving Zemo a nasty side eye. “There’s a friend of mine, air force, who noticed a weird trend. Long story short, someone’s been running black ops without official sanctioning, and when we finally crossed paths, they hit harder than they should.”

She subconsciously touched her forearm, sure it would be black and blue by morning, as Zemo picked up the saga.

“We found the source of the serum,” he said, tone neutral, despite the dark glances exchanged by the other two men. “But a powerful figure in Madripoor already sold five doses to a private American security firm. We hoped to find them before they found us, but…” Zemo motioned to her. “You know how that story ends.”

“Yeah.” She combed her fingers back through her hair, massaging her scalp. “Sounds like a mess.”

The plane was leveling out, and as much as she liked this dress, she was ready for something with fewer straps and more give. She rose from her seat, bag in hand, and asked, “Is there somewhere I can change?”

Zemo, the gracious host, rose as well, ushering her towards the back of the cabin. “This way.”

Bucky twitched, like he might follow them, but she waved him down. No point starting a fight in a pressurized metal tube thousands of feet in the air, especially with the man who apparently owned said flying tube. The fact Sam didn’t jump into action assured her it would be fine. Apart from a warning glance in Zemo’s direction, he didn’t even acknowledge the interaction. Discussing their mission seemingly reminded him that he had his lead, and his phone claimed his attention as he tried to research ahead of landing in Lexington.

A discreet door in the paneling at the back of the cabin swung in to reveal a smaller space with a narrow bed to the left and a second door to what she assumed were the facilities on the right. Assuming the second door would have a lock – because trust be damned in close quarters with people she barely knew – she thanked him and ducked through.

She was right. It was the largest lavatory she’d ever seen on an aircraft, and she took full advantage of the space. Lock engaged and backpack on the counter, she set to work transitioning between work and leisure attire. Away with the dress and on with the jeans – much better for running, and fighting, and swimming neck-deep in someone else’s shit. When she tugged her faded Jurassic Park tee from the bottom of the bag, a pack of old make-up wipes fell out – not as wet as they could be, but still serviceable. Some groping deep in the side pockets brought up a surprising amount of makeup. Tubes of mascara, eyeliner pencils, and powder long believed lost returned to the light. She wiped off one face to replace it with another. Although the idea of keeping her maroon lipstick and heavy, winged liner tempted her, she knew it would only look messy in a few hours, and it would draw attention where they were going.

Ready to face the world again, she pulled open the door – and found Zemo waiting in the little sleeping area. She’d surged forward, eyes on her feet, and nearly ran into him.

“Ope.” She stumbled a step back. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, a lock of his hair falling softly across his forehead with the motion. It drew attention to his face, devoid of a smirk, and she only looked away when he extended his hand.

She glanced down, an excuse ready on her lips, when she realized he’d donned a glove.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, “I’d like to try introducing myself again.”

“Why?” Consideration usually came at a cost, and she wanted to know his before she shook on it. Literally.

“Because some things should be done properly.” His devastating voice masked any insincerity beautifully.

She trusted him as far as she could throw him, but he had nothing in his hands, and the boys were just a shout away. Besides, she thought she might like this version of him better than the smirking menace he became in other company. He had more than one reason for cornering her alone, and it wasn’t just good manners.

But she took his hand anyway.

A small, firm shake brought a smile to his face, though nothing so vulpine as what he wore before.

“Baron Helmut Zemo,” he purred. “Again, a pleasure.”

Well, fuck. Didn’t that just explain it all. Of course, he was a baron. Of fucking course. Shaking her head, trying not to laugh, but definitely smiling, she said, “I’m still just Triss.”

“And that is more than enough,” he assured her.

He hadn’t let go. She realized she hadn’t either, but she made a point to slacken her grip and glance down at their joined hands. A whisper of the nefarious smirk crossed his face, but he buried it under a polite nod and the release of her palm.

“Apologies. I believe our companions will think I’ve eaten you if we linger any longer.”

Interesting word choice. She tried not to mull over it as they rejoined the others. They found Sam and Bucky with their heads together, leaning half out of their seats as they argued over… something. Bucky, who’d taken the rear-facing seat on Zemo’s side of the plane, saw them coming first.

“Everything okay?”

She shrugged, dropping her ass to the seat and her bag to her feet. “Fine, Barnes.”

Complicated emotions churned over his face at the use of his last name. Had she actually used it out loud before? It was how she most often thought of him. He was only “Bucky” with other people. Steve. Sometimes Sam. And he’d never given her permission to use the nickname. They really didn’t know each other, and he was lucky she didn’t use an honorific. She knew, because of their introduction, that he’d always associate her with Steve, and that may be a shadow she never shook off. She could empathize with that, really, she could, but if he wasn’t sure what he wanted from her – friendship, distance, support – she couldn’t give it.

She pretended not to notice how attentively Zemo monitored the exchange.

Sam took one look at her shirt and shook his head. “Damn, you’re a nerd.”

“Shush. That’s my childhood you’re insulting.” She was unspeakably grateful for the break in the tension and an opportunity to snark with someone who wouldn’t hoard every word out of her mouth as ammunition.

“Your childhood?” Sam asked. She could practically see the numbers rolling behind his eyes. Like a man suddenly feeling his age, or realizing that he was approaching an age to feel.

“Like it’s a surprise I’m the youngest person on this plane.”

Across the aisle, Barnes chuckled. “Be real careful what you say next, Sam.”

“Hey, I wasn’t going after anyone’s age,” Sam defended. “Just taste.”

“When I want fashion tips from the Junior Birdmen, I’ll ask.” She pulled up Google on her phone, ignoring the scoffing fallout of her parting shot as she looked up fragments of images and impressions from her time in the fucking super soldier’s head. The bar he’d thought of, the Clover, was easy to find.

She handed her phone to Sam, who took the change in her expression in stride. “What’s this?”

“Place our burning man used to hang out. Got banned or… something. I think he hurt someone. They may have a record of his tab, and that would at least give us his name.”

“And if they don’t?” Bucky asked.

A deep breath quashed her immediate urge to glare, and her palms rubbed up and down her thighs as a proper response came together. The texture of her jeans helped ground her as her mind spun with possibilities.

She’d been wondering how long it would take them to ask. They meant to at the bar, and Sam had insisted he wanted to give her a choice – and she still had one. She could leave them in this mess and hope no one thought to hunt down the weird little bartender who disappeared with the trio of snoops. She could depend on someone else’s oversight to keep her safe, or she could further involve herself. The fake I.D. she’d used for her old job wouldn’t lead the bad guys anywhere interesting, but their connections… Someday, she’d like to walk confidently through an airport again, and she couldn’t do that while goons with ties like Sam described had her name – real or otherwise – on their shit list.

A rock and a hard place – neither a destination she preferred.

“Then I’ll ask,” she replied.

As Sam leaned forward, probably to thank her for signing onto the team, she raised a hand.

“I will only ask, and I’ll only accept what I’m offered.” She let the pause hang, grateful none of them leapt to fill it. This mattered, and involved or not, she would stonewall them if they broke her rules. “I am not your interrogator. Do we understand each other.”

“Perfectly.” Sam nodded. “Thank you for helping us.”

He was so damn polite, and he worked so hard to stuff each word with grounded sincerity that it bordered on patronizing at times. Nothing intentional.

Then Barnes had to open his fucking mouth.

“We won’t let anything happen to you.”

She closed her eyes, taking the deepest breath she’d drawn all night, and wondered if it was too late to jump out of Baron Helmut Zemo’s ostentatious jet.

“Don’t jinx it.”

Chapter 3: link

Tags List:

@dweeb-central​ @nvtaliaromanovv​

#Zemo #helmut zemo x oc #zemo x reader #zemo x original character #baron zemo x oc #helmut zemo #baron zemo #fanfiction #fan fic #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #original character #oc #zemo x oc

[gifted-burnout-archive]

we can never be friends

Requested?: Big mash up again... Oopsies. Someone wanted angsty luke smut, someone wanted the phrase ‘well i fucked your girlfriend and there’s nothing you can do about it’ implimented, someone else wanted a lil fake dating to get back at an ex, bad boy luke, the sex scene from charmed, y/n is a witch... also decided to make y/n a child genius to sweeten the pot.

Word Count: 10.2K+

Author’s Note: this story is brought to you by machine gun kelly, and the songs ‘bloody valentine’ and ‘why are you here’. i stumbled across the songs by mistake, and can’t get them out of my head, so now you get luke smut based on them.

also, everyone is aged up by like six-seven years, this takes place over a period of like a year and a half ish? yeah, read the nonsense and take from what you wish my doods. and a part two might come along if y’all want it, so like, lemme know.

song featured is ‘bloody valentine’ by machine gun kelly.

Warning: smut, drug and alcohol misuse, infidelity. and when i say smut i do mean smut. like oof smut. enjoy...

masterlist, i write more stuff like this sin.

--

It was always a mistake, whenever they got together.

Of course, it never felt like it in the moment: when his body was pressed up against hers, his lips on her neck and marking what was his, her fingernails clawing into his back and doing the same, it didn’t feel like a bad idea. It felt like euphoria, it was sweat and teeth and passion and sex. And for the first few moments after, as they came down from their highs and his arms pulled her close as they both caught their breath, there was a moment when they both wondered if they could actually work, they could actually be together.

“You’re thinking it again.” She muttered softly, pressing her lips to his once more before slipping out from under the satin sheets, making a beeline for the hotel bathroom. It was just chance they had run into one another in New York, what with them both calling Los Angeles, California home. But she had been called to Columbia University, and he had a habit of appearing where she least expected him to be.

For all the years Y/N had known Luke Patterson, he had never failed to surprise her.

“Is it so bad to think it? It’s not like we’re ever going to act on it.” He responded, biting his lip as his eyes scanned over her figure. He threw off the covers, recovering his boxers and slipping them on before walking after her, his thoughts giving him away, though he knew that already. “You sure you can’t stay for another hour?” He asked, leaning against the bathroom’s doorway as she freshened up. ‘Maybe this time I could fuck you against the window…’ her eyes shot up, a scowl upon her pretty face as she walked past him and back into the bedroom, quickly collecting her clothes.

“You really ought to control those thoughts of yours, Patterson. One day they might get you in trouble. Besides, I have an early lecture in the morning.” She muttered, pulling on her underwear, pausing to look for her second stocking. Luke walked over towards the door, lifting the hosiery from atop a lampshade.

They had been in a rush to get into bed.

“Crazier things have happened than you missing a lecture, Y/N.” He reminded when she came over to collect her second stocking, sitting on the bed and slipping it on quickly, the pair sharing glances.

“Not when I’m the one giving the lecture, you asshat.” She reminded, and Luke grinned. He forgot sometimes how unbelievably clever the girl before him was, and as she pulled on her dress, Luke took a step forward to zip up the back for her. One of his hands came to hold her waist as his lips pressed down on the exposed skin of her collarbone, his cold breath fanning over her skin and causing the girl to shiver and goosebumps to form. “This can’t happen again, understood?” She breathed out, the last of her words turning to a moan as Luke nipped at the crook of her neck, his free hand coming down from her shoulder, his fingers brushing faintly against her skin as their hands finally met.

He spun her around, bringing the hand he held to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles, his eyes locking with hers, his lips quirking to a smirk when she blushed at his actions.

Luke loved the effect he had on her. Y/N hated it.

“It’s cute how sure you are about it.” He remarked, moving away and breaking their touch, Y/N trying not to frown at the loss of his cold hands against her warm skin. “I mean, we’ve been saying the same thing since high school.” He swung open the hotel room’s door for her, and she quickly rid herself of any feelings of affection for the man before her: he always knew how to annoy her.

“And this time it’ll stick.” She snapped back, locating her purse with haste and slipping on her heels before marching for the door.

‘I like when you scream my name, Princess, don’t you?’ The intrusive thought belonged to the boy leant against the door, and Y/N scoffed as she walked out into the hallway, the carpet underneath a crimson red, something she hadn’t bothered to notice on her way up to his place.

“Get out of my head, Ghost Boy.” She ordered, not looking back as she made her way down the hallway, though she heard Luke laugh behind her, one of his smug chuckles that made her blood boil.

“I think it’s the other way round, your Highness. Rude to listen to what other people are thinking.” He called back down the hallway, earning a rather offensive hand gesture before Y/N stepped into the golden-door lift at the corridor’s end, the girl refusing to turn around until the doors had closed behind her, sparing her from his haunting gaze, those green eyes that managed to steal into her soul every time.

Luke watched the doors close at the end of the hall, letting out a soft sigh at the loss of the girl from his sight, though his moping was shortly interrupted by the sound of another room along the hallway opening its door, a scowling face looking back at him.

“You’re looking at me like I did something wrong.” He commented, walking back into his room and grabbing his jeans, that had landed on the back of the dining chair in the suite some five metres from the rumpled sheets of the bed. He pulled them as a set of footsteps approached, Luke again met with the disapproving expression of his band mate.

“Luke…” The concern dripping from Alex’s tongue with just his name had the guitarist shaking his head, walking across the room to grab his shirt, pulling it on quickly. “Luke, you know this is going to end badly.” He continued, taking a step further in the room while Luke grabbed his jacket. “Just like it did last time, and the time before that.”

“Alex, it’s fine, alright?” He said quickly. “What we have is good, it works.”

“It’s stopping you from finding someone you’d actually get along with.” The blonde disagreed, following Luke out into the hallway as the brown-haired boy started for the elevator. “Where do you plan on disappearing to? You remember we are meant to be on a plane in four hours?” He reminded, the other boy slowing to a stop, halfway between the golden doors and his friend.

“Is it really that late?” Luke asked, a smug look on his face, his iconic smirk and raised eyebrow causing Alex to roll his eyes.

“If you want a drink, order something up. Preferably, don’t order anything at all. Last thing you’ll want to be on an eight hour flight over the ocean is hungover, Luke.” He had always been the one with common sense, and Luke wavered on the spot for a moment, eyes fixed on the door. A part of him was sure he could catch up to her, that the pair could get a drink at the bar downstairs together. A part of him was sure she was waiting just beyond a press of a button, that she too was hoping he would join her.

“We’re bad for each other, aren’t we?” Luke found himself sighing happily, turning on his heels to face Alex once more. “God, she’s an asshole.”

“Most geniuses are.” Alex remarked with a smile, Luke taking one last glance back at the elevator before he headed towards the drummer’s room. Alex followed him in, walking to the drinks cabinet and pouring them both a drink: vodka, good stuff from what Luke could see, having taken a seat by the balcony windows. “You know, Julie’s got a friend you might like…”

“I don’t date, Alex. We’ve established this… Last thing I need is to break another one of Julie’s friend’s hearts. She’s only just forgiven for the last one…” Luke paused and nodded in thanks as Alex came over and took a seat across from him, handing over a drink. “Fuck, what was her name? It was something like Ruby or Pearl or Opal…”

“Crystal.” Alex corrected with a grimace and cold chuckle, finding the humour in his superior knowledge of Luke’s exes compared to the man across from him. “So, what? You’re going to spend the rest of your life like this, your closest encounter with romance being a girl you screw twice a year?”

“I mean, I see her twice a year… There are multiple rounds of sex involved each time.” Luke corrected with a strained laugh, downing the liquor in his glass. “I’ve really fucked myself over, haven’t I?” He asked, and Alex’s expression softened a little.

“Luke, don’t tell me you’re in love with her…”

“No, no… But it wouldn’t be the wildest thing, would it?” He asked, looking up at his friend for some sort of guidance: Alex was, after all, the one of their friendship group who had been dating his boyfriend since, God, since Julie’s senior year of high school. How far they had come since then…

“Everyone knows that you wouldn’t work out… For the obvious reason you’ve both been avoiding.” Alex sat straighter, picking up Luke’s empty glass and walking back to the cabinet to refill it, bringing the bottle back with him that time. “You may be alive again Luke, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re not actually alive, and that we don’t mix with…” He trailed off, and Luke nodded, accepting the second glass and downing it in one, the alcohol in his veins the warmest thing about him.

He knew all too well what Alex was inferring, though in the guitarist’s defence, he hadn’t been privy to the rather large secret Y/N had until about a year into their… relationship. She had figured out his backstory rather quickly of course, but she had the advantage of reading his mind. Yes, Luke may have been a ghost, and that should have been complication enough.

But Y/N also happened to hold the title of supernatural being. It was just Luke’s luck, wasn’t it?

Just his luck to end up screwing a witch.

--

If there was anything to know about the intricacies of supernatural species, it would be that some of them didn’t get along very well: vampire and werewolves, mer-people and sirens, angels and demons. Amongst the long list of rivalries one might find in their research, one of the oldest and most conflicting pairings was that of witches and ghosts.

Witches, in practice, have one job: banishing spirits from the mortal realm. Alongside all the candle lighting and chatting with deities, witches like Y/N spent their lifetimes on earth getting rid of lingering souls. And with her family lineage and standing amongst the American covens, Y/N was rather good at what she did. Alongside her shocking intellect and undeniable beauty, she took on the part-time role of vanquishing ghosts to purgatory before they did anything stupid like come back to life.

Y/N hadn’t expected to find out her classmate Julie Molina was a medium halfway through their sophomore year, nor had she anticipated the arrival of three ghost musicians who could be seen by mortals when they all sang together in a band. Of course, her seeing them too didn’t help things, and her conflicted feelings over banishing the very attractive guitarist had led to a delay in her actions, and before she knew it, Julie was bringing them all back to life, or as alive as ghosts can be.

Noticing a resurrected ghost was nearly impossible: they age, they appear human, and if they avoid utilising their previous ghost powers, the only thing that would ever raise suspicions of a mortal, or any species for that matter, was how cold ghosts stayed.

It was a common misconception that vampires were ‘cold as ice’, popularised by teen movies that suggested the bloodsuckers sparkled in the sunlight, when it was ghosts who in fact held that trait (vampires were actually constantly warm from the excess of blood in their system). To touch a ghost was like shoving the body part into a freezer, there was an element of pain to it if the feeling was continuous, and it worked the other way around. A ghost touching the living could hurt, something that could perhaps be compared to the nipping on skin just a little too close to an open flame.

Y/N and Luke had found a loophole to that, of course: the heat of sex tended to offset the cold, mixing the inklings of pain with waves of pleasure.

Their relationship had been a complicated one from its beginning: there’s a certain level of tension that comes with the possibility that Julie’s pretty friend could destroy you and your friends with the same magic Caleb had threatened them with all those years ago, but when a year passed of the boys being present on earth, both invisible and visible to the human eye, and Y/N having done nothing to report them to her coven, the boys were sure they were in the clear.

And they were almost right…

--

“I need your help, Ghost Boy.” The words had Luke spinning on the spot as he stood under the early autumn sunshine. He had been waiting for Julie, tasked with picking her and Flynn up from school that day. Ever since the boys had stopped being dead, they had taken on chores in the house to help out Ray as a thank you for him letting them stay in the garage. Luke had expected to find Julie or Flynn, or anyone for a matter of fact: just not Y/N. The pair rarely spoke, most likely to do with the fact she should have reported him to some magical authorities over a year before.

“What do I owe this pleasure, Miss Magic?” He asked, his chipper tone and easy smirk causing Y/N to frown further. She disliked that she found him attractive, though it was exactly why she was approaching him that warm September day of her senior year. “Aren’t you meant to be at college?” He asked with a raised brow, and she sighed, folding her eyes.

“My academic schedule is none of your business.” She was, in fact, meant to be at college that day: Y/N had simultaneously attending high school and working towards her first degree, her parents insistent on her growing up amongst peers despite her summer having been spent working on her final dissertation for her first bachelor’s degree. “I am going to make this quick, Patterson, simply because talking with you makes me nauseous and I worry I’ll catch a cold if I stay close to you for too long.”

“You always had a way with your words, Princess.” Luke grinned, leaning back against the car’s bonnet and folding his own arms, his eyes quite blatant in their racking over her body: the sundress she wore leaving just enough to the imagination to leave the boy intrigued. “What can I do for you?” He asked, and Y/N snapped her fingers in front of his face, frowning.

“I can hear what you’re thinking, asshole… But you’re not far off.” She muttered, and Luke’s eyes widened. His thoughts had been far from pure. “I need you to come with me to Carrie’s party on Saturday, alright?” She exclaimed, clearly upset that she had resorted to asking assistance from the ghost. “My ex is going to be there, he’s an asshole, and if you say no I do have the means to banish you to purgatory.”

“I don’t get much of a say then, do I?”

“No, you don’t…”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

--

There was one thing certain about the relationship Luke Patterson shared with Y/N Y/L/N: they could never be friends.

After six years of casual sex in high-end hotel rooms and bathroom stalls; six years of cheating on ‘significant others’ with one-night stands; after Julie and the guys signed their multi-record deal and began touring and Y/N found her own level of moderate celebrity thanks to her genius brain; after all of it, they knew each other too well to like one another, and saw each other too little to develop anything beyond their physical encounters.

Because even though Luke annoyed Y/N with every smirk and his scoffing chuckle, and Y/N drove Luke to the edge with her superiority complex and constant need to prove her intelligence, it couldn’t be helped that whenever the pair found themselves faced with the other, all sanity went out the window. They became different people, and for the few hours they were in one another’s arms, who they really were didn’t matter.

Luke hated her a little bit for it, the effect she had on him, the same way Y/N hated him. There was no love lost between the two, there was no love to begin with. It was just convenience and desperation that had transformed into a primal hunger for one another. Neither had had better sex with someone else, no matter how hard they both searched. It wasn’t a secret that twenty-five year old Luke Patterson of Julie and the Phantoms, the four-time Grammy winner, was a ladies’ man and the free spirit of the band: it was plastered over every tabloid magazine across the globe. And while her fame was lesser than that of the rock star, the sophisticated twenty-three year old Y/N, the scholar who seemed to be headed straight for becoming a household name, was notorious in academic circles for her love affairs: at least two tenured ivy-league professors had slept with and left their wives for the young woman.

In recent years, concern had grown amongst their shared friends, mainly being Alex, who witnessed the rather undesirable parts of their relationship play out to their fullest. It wasn’t just that the pair used one another for sex, they were fine with that: but there was suddenly this need to impress the other, a competitiveness between the two. There was enough heat on Luke’s love life, but whenever Y/N came around, that seemed to escalate to excessive drinking: and one time, Alex and Reggie had to haul Luke into his apartment after he decided to get high on some sort of pill with the witch.

Despite disagreeing with one another on everything but sex, it was almost comical how quickly they could give in to one another. Constantly, even when they weren’t in the same country. It was too common of an occurrence that Y/N would be on the TV as the younger generation’s voice of science, sat on some couch in a studio in LA or New York or Paris or London, or she would be another key note speaker at an event: she had even managed to get herself on the cover of Vogue, an exclusive interview with Anna Wintour herself titled ‘The Sex of Science’. Luke saw all of it, of course, and like clockwork, he would then, for some reason, make it his mission to get another scandal on the front page of tabloids, like he was trying to one-up her.

And he was, and in a way, it was a form of foreplay for the pair. Luke’s insufferable gloating transcended physical presence, he was in every shop Y/N walked into, with a new girl on his arm. Y/N retaliated with success, building the brand she had been working on since high school as the country’s new scientific mind, acting like she was too above the rest of the world to even care to know who Luke Patterson was…

One year.

One whole year since that night in New York, and the band were back by personal invitation. With their third world tour finally finished, and their fourth album in the works for release later that year, the guys and Julie had been riding a high, not quite sure if they’d ever fall down.

Their half decade of commercial success had handed them their third invitation to the Met Gala, a PR opportunity to promote themselves, according to Flynn. Their manager was flown out from LA with Willie, Reggie’s girlfriend Kayla and Julie’s girlfriend, the group opting to share a plane with Trevor and Carrie Wilson, almost a reunion for them all. It wasn’t often they all got to see one another, with the band constantly on tour the past years, but it felt like there was no better place to catch up: over $1,000 champagne as they all talked about the clothes they wore.

“And stepping out onto the carpet now we have the Phan-tastic Four themselves, Julie and her Phantoms!” It was the first voice Luke heard as he stepped out of the limousine and onto the red carpet, suddenly joined by a barrage of questions and flashes of cameras, hundreds of reporters and fans calling out his name. He gave his signature smirk and a wave, opening the car door wide and holding out a hand to Julie, helping her onto the carpet and smiling as gasps sounded around them.

She was a vision, dressed in a tulle ballgown, a mixture of blues and greens and yellows layered on one another, decorated with butterflies like she was some type of goddess. The theme for the year was Sense and Sustainability: Fashion of the Planet, and she had hit the nail on the head with the help of their designer that year. The boys too, had gone for the blue and green tones to match their lead singer: Luke was in a dark blue suit, Reggie in an emerald three-piece and Alex in a topaz shirt, all of them looking like they were straight out of some utopian alter-reality.

“You know, Luke, I think it’s my job to help Julie out of the car.” A voice spoke, Julie’s girlfriend emerging in a white tailored piece, she too decorated with butterflies, a flower the same colours as Julie’s dress proudly displayed on her lapel.

“He has a habit of coming to these things alone, he just likes having something to do.” Julie teased her friend, giving his hand a quick squeeze before letting go, turning her attention to the girl by her side, the pair sharing a soft kiss, the camera surging into another frenzy.

“Honestly, it’s like we’re famous or something.” The next car pulled up, the voice this time being Reggie’s as he jumped from the still rolling car, assisting his girlfriend Kayla out the vehicle, she a beauty in purple. The pair were quickly followed by Alex and Willie, who both looked like they belonged on one of the Vogue runways instead of the red carpet.

“Divide and conquer, meet back at the steps?” Alex suggested, taking in the extravagance of it all, the constant flashing lights and the noise of it all. “Flynn and Carrie texted, they’re already inside.” He alerted on top of his question, the group sharing glances and nodding in agreement.

“Don’t say anything stupid.” Julie warned them all, the group breaking apart to make their ways down the carpet, towards the Met, respective partners in tow.

The next forty minutes were a slow crawl down the carpet amongst the world’s superstars, and Luke did his very best to answer the questions posed to him by prying reporters: he stuck to talking music, and the band and touring, and whenever questions about his love and sex life came up, he quickly laughed them off and changed the subject, a tactic that seemed to work quite well. He wasn’t the only person the journalists were looking to interview, and with each evaded question he felt the weight in his chest get lighter and lighter.

He had promised Julie and the guys, after all, that the night was about what really mattered: they had been asked to play a few songs for the event’s official after party, as well, their popularity shared amongst celebrities alongside the general public. Despite it being a fashion event, that night was about the music for the four.

“So, Luke, correct me if I’m wrong, but tonight is almost a school reunion, no?” The reporter asked, Luke stood to her left as the camera rolled, live feed of the night going straight onto TVs across the country.

“Well, yeah! I guess it is. It’s the first time we’ve had the chance to all be together since before the tour, and you can-” Luke was interrupted by a squeal, he and the reporter turning around to catch Julie and Flynn hugging in the centre of the walkway, coos coming from nearby celebrities who watched on as the girls embraced around the volumes of Julie’s dress fabric. “You can tell we’ve missed each other, can’t you?” He said, turning back to the reporter, who’s eyes flicked down to his arms and back up. He had forgone his suit jacket about twenty minutes before, the shirt underneath sporting sheer sleeves that showed off his biceps quite nicely.

“It’s uh.” The reporter cleared her throat. “From what I gather, the Los Feliz alumni make up over 1% of attendants tonight, and considering we have guests here from across the world, seems like there’s magic over at that school.” She suggested with a raise of the eyebrow, and Luke found himself chuckling. If only she knew…

“I should say hello to Miss Harrison actually, best music teacher in the world.” Luke waved at the camera quickly, and his eyes quickly surveyed the space. His friends had found themselves nearing the steps, and he was quite set on joining them.

“Of course, not all of the reunion class are in the music industry though, are they?” The reporter posed, and Luke frowned a little in confusion.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me there…” He admitted, though his wonders were quickly answered as another car pulled up at the end of the carpet, yells and cameras flashing making it hard for Luke to focus on the person stepping out of the car, though it soon became rather clear with reporters crying out her name.

Plus, Luke knew Y/N’s body like the back of his hand.

There had to be something said for showing up to the biggest fashion event of the year in black, and more so for showing up in the iconic Coco Chanel fashion of a little black dress. There weren’t many people who could pull it off, but as she walked down the carpet, passing reporters begging for her attention, adorned in the form fitting dress that just passed her knees, the boatline neck putting focus on the gold chain necklace she wore, her stilettos red bottoms to match the crimson lipstick she wore, her hair in its natural waves and framing her face beautifully: no-one could have garnered more attention.

“Will you excuse me?” Luke asked, but before the reporter could speak up he was already making his way across to the centre of the carpet, a lazy smirk on his face as he looked her over, and she came to stand before him, the pair staring one another down. ‘You should’ve told me you’d be here, Princess’, he thought, a smile quirking on her lips as she held out a hand, Luke taking it in his own and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, his cold lips giving her goosebumps.

“I think your friends might be waiting for you.” She said softly, the pair breaking their hold on one another and beginning a walk for the steps, Y/N gasping softly at the sight of Julie in her dress. “My goodness, she looks stunning.”

“Yes, you do.” Luke responded, the pair sharing a glance before Y/N started up the stairs, Julie descending to meet her halfway as the pair held onto one another, Luke watching as they seemed to communicate telepathically: they had learned rather a lot from Y/N about Julie’s gifts, ones she had inherited from her mother, and Julie’s ability to see and speak to the dead also seemed to have the added bonus of receiving messages from witches. Y/N could read minds, Julie could mirror the effect.

“Oh, you haven’t met Hannah!” Julie exclaimed suddenly, the girl in black shaking hands with Julie’s girlfriend in white. “Why, how are you here?” The question seemed to perk more than Luke’s interest, microphones held out across the barricade by reports to try and catch a snippet of the words soon to leave Y/N’s mouth.

“Who do you think suggested the theme? The fashion industry is one of the biggest pollutants in America, and where better to flagship the reusable movement than at the biggest fashion event of the year.” Y/N giggled, Julie’s arm linking with hers as they began to walk again, a vision of colours against black. They complimented one another, strolling along the ways old friends do, Flynn coming across to greet them as Hannah and Luke followed behind, the four making their way for their waiting friends. “Besides, Anna owed me a favour.” Y/N added with a smirk, Luke catching the words and raising an eyebrow.

“Are you here on business, Y/L/N?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and coming to a stop beside Alex and Willie, the former of whom glanced over at Luke with warning: the last thing they needed was Luke on another front page, this time with the brightest young mind in America.

“Wintour has… Bouts of lycanthropy, and a problem with the undead hanging around museums.” Y/N explained in a low voice, glancing over and spotting the iconic magazine editor, sending her a polite wave from across the way. “I promised to do some banishings if she would kindly assist in the environmental progress movement. An endorsement from Anna Wintour goes a long way.” She shrugged. “It seemed like a fair exchange.”

“I’m sorry, can we backtrack for a moment? Banishings and lycanthropy?” Hannah asked, the group turning to look at her, Julie taking her hand as they decided who might explain. She was the newest addition to the friendship circle, her and Julie having been dating for just over a year and a half. She had joined the band for a leg of the tour, met Flynn.

Y/N was not a person Hannah knew very well, and the sudden talk of magical things, quite understandably, made the girl uneasy.

“So, you know how we told you about us being the g word? And Julie’s a medium?” Reggie said, throwing an arm over Kayla’s shoulder and pulling his girlfriend closer. When Hannah nodded, he continued. “And you know how there was the dead magician who tried to kill us again when the band first formed?” He stopped again, making sure the girl was keeping up with him. “Well, Caleb was a witch when he was alive, and Y/N over there, the one in black, you two have met. Well, Y/N was the alive witch who was meant to banish us and didn’t, thank you for that.” He nodded to the girl, and she smiled slightly, her eyes more focused on Luke across the circle from her. “And now she’s the science girl that everyone talks to on TV since Bill Nye is too old.”

“So… Potions and spells and candles and stuff?” Hannah asked, the group joining in a light chuckle as Y/N nodded.

“Indeed, though it’s a lot more logical than myth has people believing.” Y/N said, her attention diverting from Luke as their host approached, the young men and women all finding themselves straightening up at the sight of her.

“Dr Y/L/N, it’s lovely to see you again. Might we have a word?” Wintour asked, removing Y/N from the group with the words and a quick wave goodbye, the young woman sending a wink Luke’s way before disappearing with the chief editor of Vogue, the pair stopping for an interview further down the stairway.

The title was one that made Y/N smile every time she heard it, the hard work of her youth paying off with respect from elders. It was important for her public persona too, people tended to believe you more if you had the suffix, and for someone so young, it helped her appear mature. There weren’t a lot of perks to getting your first of two doctorates at nineteen, the whole process of being a wunderkind leading up to it had been stressful to say the least, not to mention the added pressures of being groomed to lead the coven one day, but she made it work.

“So, Dr Y/L/N, perhaps we should talk about why you’re here?” The reporter’s question brought Y/N back to reality, stood beside Wintour with a practiced smile to the camera.

“Well, Monica.” Y/N was sure to use the reporter’s first name with a smile. “When Vogue made the move to promote sustainable fashion and opened the bid to make the top designer brands carbon neutral by 2030, I simply couldn’t refuse.” She had rehearsed what to say, she always did. Her appearances were important, her time on screen needed to mean something to viewers. “We are saving our planet, our economy, our livelihoods one step at a time here, this move to recycled materials is predicted to create thousands of new jobs globally within the fashion industry. And as someone who studies these things for a living, probability and the effects of pollutants, the political climate on these issues, I know that I’m here representing the entire scientific community tonight, approving of the incredible work done by our designers, our celebrities who help spread awareness, and by the people at home.”

“You know, I still can’t get over how young you are, I apologise.” The reporter responded with a light laugh, Y/N offering a soft smile back.

“Young, but wise beyond her years. She’s the one we need to listen to.” Anna interrupted with a nod to Y/N. “Two doctorates and five degrees under her belt, not to mention the sense of style.” She complimented, and the reporter rounded off the interview as the pair walked away. “How long until the banishing is over?” She whispered, the pair ascending the staircase to enter the hall, celebrities by the dozen milling around, finding their tables, sitting themselves down for the dinner soon to be served.

“Surely you can trust me to get the job done in a timely fashion, Anna.” Y/N remarked, hands clasped behind her back.

“You’re a witch, of course I don’t trust you.” She muttered, the pair sharing masquerade smiles as they quickly separated, the rather cruel thoughts wandering around the fashion icon’s head causing Y/N to smirk. Her night was just beginning, of course, and as she made her way towards the security corridors on the far side of the hall, her eyes scanned over the room to find Luke looking right back at her, that smug look her hated on his face, arms folded as he rather blatantly checked her out.

’12.05?’ Luke asked as they shared the gaze, the time meaning something to them both. When she nodded, Luke’s gaze focused back on his table of friends, leaving Y/N to disappear in peace, though her mind was once again at war.

She just couldn’t say no to him.

--

It was a fairly desperate call for Luke to have to rope Y/N into something, but she owed him a few favours from the year before, and he was not going to be the only person at the Halloween record label party without a date: especially not when his ex-girlfriend was going to be there.

As much as he disliked it, Luke was quite certain he needed the hottest person he knew, and it was, rather unfortunately, the witch. It helped that Julie, Flynn and Carrie had banded together that summer to reimagine their friend’s wardrobe: they had fitted Y/N with a style somewhere between ‘if looks could kill’ and ‘you wish you could’, outfits that all looked like they belonged on the cover of a couture magazine, with elements of the witch theme laced in. And while Luke and the band hadn’t seen Y/N in months, what with them recording in LA and her studying at Stanford, just outside of San Francisco, he was hopeful that he could salvage some shred of dignity if he had a pretty girl on his arm.

His breakup with Alice had been front page news for weeks, a mess of lies and cheating and constant scandal that had worked in everyone’s favour, even if it left Luke feeling worse for wear. It was the same as his relationship before Alice, and then his relationship before Alice and Rita… He was quite committed to swearing off romance until he hit forty, at least then he’d be avoiding the front page if things went south.

He arrived at the Fall Down Records HQ coming close on eleven o’clock, a slam of his car door echoing around the street as cameras flashed and caught him on his way in. He blocked out the bright lights and noise, the questions of how he was coping with the breakup, of how he was feeling about Alice’s new boyfriend: by the time the new month started, he had no doubt his tragic affair with the country singer would be overshadowed by the mysterious girl who had arrived at the party earlier that night.

“Luke, you made it!” As the boy entered into the lobby of the building, decorated from top to two in Halloween décor, Trevor welcomed his friend with a smile and quick hug. It was weird, Bobby now being Trevor and Trevor being the same age as Julie’s dad, perhaps weirder that he helped run the label JATP was signed to, but apologies had been handed out and late statements made by Trevor to credit the guys on his first album, so he had sort of just become an uncle now. He was older, wiser, changed from the kid Luke had known, but he still cared about him and Alex and Reggie, just instead of getting them fake IDs and letting them crash in his old garage, now Trevor read the fine prints of the band’s contracts and offered free use of his helicopter.

“Did a pretty girl dressed as an angel show up?” He asked, getting straight to the point. He himself was dressed in an all-black number, sleeveless of course, and had managed to put in some red contacts, a modern take on the Devil.

“She’s with Julie, doing a rather good job at outshining your ex-girlfriend…” Trevor muttered, gesturing to the left of them, Luke’s head turning to locate the girl he had effectively hired to date him for the night.

And she took his breath away.

Y/N stood at Julie’s side by a karaoke machine, the two singing to one another as crowds cheered them on, his ‘girlfriend’ looking like she could’ve quite literally come down from heaven: she had flat out refused to dress up as a witch, and when Luke suggested that their dressing as angel and demon could also be construed as cultural appropriation, Y/N had laughed until she cried. He had asked what was so funny, and she had asked if he had ever seen an angel in person.

It was safe to say that the fluffy white wings and halo mortals had commercialised was a far cry from the true essence of angelic powers: they more resembled blobs that floated, one large eyes in the middle, usually surrounded by rings of heaven fire and something one might describe as spinning wheels of death. All spikes meant to destroy anything impure that came close.

Safe to say, Luke didn’t plan on going to heaven any time soon.

As the song ended, the girls turning to the crowd to bow, Y/N’s eyes fell on Luke at the far side of the room, and she took the opportunity to pay him back.

“You’re here!” She squealed, sending a quick wink Julie’s way, their friend aware of the favour, before putting on her best performance: rushing through the breaking crowd to jump into Luke’s arms, his own instinctively wrapping around her waist to hold her up as he spun around to gain his balance again.

‘Happy to see me, Princess?’ he raised an eyebrow as she read his thoughts, Luke’s eyes drifting over to land on Alice, who watched from the corner of the room rather intently. ‘She’s looking at me…´he thought, Y/N glanced back as Luke placed her back on the ground, a thought coming to her head.

“Let’s give her something to gossip about, yeah?” She suggested, pulling Luke close to her by his collar, planting her lips on his in front of the entire room, making quite sure to embarrass the girl who decided to cheat on Luke Patterson.

--

“How’s everyone doing tonight?!” Julie called out, the crowd filling the Bowery Ballroom cheering back as she took the stage, microphone in hand. Julie had opted to change dress, her ballgown replaced with a white strapless number, keeping to the theme of butterflies that night and now matching her girlfriend, who stood in the front row of the crowd encouraging her on with a thumbs up.

The evening had been more than a success, with the crowd of celebrities migrating from the Met to the music venue she stood on the stage of as the formalities quickly came to a close. JATP had been begged to play a show, many of the celebrities that night major fans of the young rock stars, and after a DJ set from a mix of the Billboard 100’s top producers, Julie found herself taking the stage with the promise of a song.

“I just want to say thank you, on behalf of myself and the guys, for letting us play. And… Well, we’ve decided that for such a special occasion, we ought to give you something new.” Another chorus of cheers echoed in the space, Julie walking round to place her microphone on the stand by the keyboard waiting for her. “The guys and I have been working on album number four, and this song was one Luke wrote last year just after we left for the World Tour.” Julie paused, looking out into the crowd, her eyes finding Y/N’s as she watched from beside Flynn. “It’s called Bloody Valentine, and we hope you like it.” She finished, the cheers and applause dying down when a sudden guitar riff came from out of nowhere, Julie joining in with piano chords alongside a bassline and a drum beat from Alex, the sounds filling the air despite three of the four musicians being absent.

“The simulation just went bad, but you're the best I ever had. Like hand prints in wet cement, she touched me it's permanent.” Julie sang out, another swell of cheers as the crowd began dancing to the fast paced drum beat and guitar riffs of the song. A flash of light, and Reggie appeared on stage, no longer in his emerald suit from the event, but changed into a silk shirt of the same hue, a pop of colour under his trusty leather jacket and tucked into his ripped skinny jeans.

“In my head, in my head, I couldn’t hear anything you said but in my head.” Reggie took the melody line, Julie harmonising on top, moving away from the piano and crossing the stage to sing with her friend, the two beginning to dance along to the music they made. “In my head, I’m calling you girlfriend what the-” the curse word meant to finish the phrase was overshadowed by a drum fill as Alex appeared on stage behind the pair, his topaz shirt now half open, his hair a mess and his sticks hot from the sheer speed of his hands.

“I don't do fake love, but I'll take some from you tonight. I know I've got to go but I might just miss the flight.” The three sang the first half of the chorus together, Julie jumping up onto the drum stand with Alex to rock out as he played an sang, leaving room on stage as their final member flashed onto the stage, his suits pants switched for a pair of jeans and sneakers, his shirt now without it’s sheer sleeves, showing off Luke’s arms as they flexed, the guitarist taking lead on the song with a complicated guitar riff.

“I can't stay forever, let's play pretend, and treat this night like it'll happen again. You'll be my bloody valentine.” Luke sang to the screams of the crowd, a smile on his face as he sang, his eyes roaming the crowd for the girl dressed in black, stood a row or two from the front, sending her a wink as he performed. “Tonight.”

“I'm overstimulated and I'm sad. I don't expect you to understand. It's nothing less than true romance or am I just making a mess?” Luke and Julie found themselves singing together, his friend dancing across the stage and leading him along with her microphone as they played for the hundreds before them, Julie switching to the harmony line as the second pre-chorus came back around. “In my head, in my head, I'm laying naked with you, yeah. In my head, in my head, I'm ready to die holding your hand.”

“I don't do fake love, but I'll take some from you tonight. I know I've got to go but I might just miss the flight. I can't stay forever, let's play pretend and treat this night like it'll happen again. You'll be my bloody valentine tonight.” Luke took the second chorus by himself, while Julie hyped up the crowd, Alex and Reggie going hard on drums and bass behind him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting over to Y/N as he sang, the girl stood there with a smirk on her lips. He wondered if she was reading his mind, if she knew what he was thinking, if she knew the song was about her, about them: about the chaotic and borderline toxic relationship they had developed over the years. He wondered if she remembered the year before, the night they shared in New York before he vanished off for a World Tour, before she had fully accepted her role as America’s Greatest Scientific Mind.

The instrumental break had the crowd going wild, Luke, Reggie and Julie harmonising on their separate instruments while Alex improvised on the drums, quickly bringing the tempo down and starting a roll on the snare, Luke coming back to his mic to sing.

“I can't hide how I feel about you. Inside, I'd give everything up tonight, if I could just have you be mine. Be mine, baby.” Luke’s voice had a gravel in it, something raw and powerful that took people’s breath away. He glanced over to Reggie and Julie as he sang, the three sharing smiles until Reggie glanced out at the crowd, his grin dropping to a frown, Julie’s soon following. Luke tracked their gazes as he held onto the microphone for balance, every piece of joy in him suddenly filled with rage.

There, in the third row back, was some guy, dressed like he’d just come from a giving a university lecture, with his arms around Y/N’s waist, his chin resting against her shoulder as he pressed kisses to her neck.

“I can't hide how I feel about you. Inside, I'd give everything up tonight, if I could just have you be mine. Be mine.” Luke continued, dropping back from the mic once he had sung the last of the bridge, leaving Alex to another drum fill, a chance to show off that Luke had before been so excited to hear. Now? He just felt numbing anger, it was clear on his face: he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Y/N, who seemed to be refusing to return his gaze, her eyes anywhere but on him.

“I don’t do fake love but I’ll take some from you tonight. I know I’ve got to go but I just might miss the flight.” Reggie and Julie took over singing the last chorus, trying not to show concern as they performed, trying to remain professional. They both wondered exactly what Luke would do once they got off stage, wondered if Reggie and Alex would need to hold their friend back while Julie attempted to talk him down, but it seemed like Luke’s frustrations were coming out on his guitar and the song. He stepped up to the microphone again, green eyes piercing into Y/N’s very soul as he played like he wouldn’t get another chance.

“I can't stay forever, let's play pretend and treat this night like it'll happen again. You'll be my bloody valentine tonight.” Her eyes finally looked up, her face one of blank expression, and it almost gave him hope. She almost look annoyed, though he couldn’t tell if it was at him or the man who’s hands had begun travelling across her body.

“No not enough, no not enough, no not enough, no not enough no just tonight.” The four sang, repeating the line over again as the song came to a close, Luke swinging his guitar behind him as Alex drummed them out, heavy breathing in a mix of adrenaline and wrath.

The moment the song ended, the crowd bursting into applause, with significant others quickly rushing to the stage to congratulate Julie, Reggie and Alex, Luke watched Y/N slip her way out of the mystery man’s arms, making a beeline to a door by the stage side. It took Luke a second, setting his guitar on the stand and following after her, ignoring a call of ‘Luke wait!’ from his bandmates as he slammed open the door walking down the backstage corridors.

He was hunting, following the scent of perfume, that sweet mix of apple and lemon that made him lightheaded, the echoes of stilettos on concrete. It wasn’t often that he used his ghostly gifts, more because he had gotten used to being human again, but it a moment of frustration at the endless hallways and rooms that seemed to filled that backstage of the Bowery, he poofed with Y/N in mind.

She had expected him to follow of course, they had agreed it earlier that evening. While Luke hadn’t been paying attention to the time, he appeared in one of the Bowery’s backstage bathrooms just as the clock hit 12.05, finding Y/N perched on the sink with a window cracked open and a cigarette between her blood red lips. She blew the smoke out the window, turning back to look at him, reaching out a hand from him to grip onto as he steadied himself. He hadn’t jumped like that in years, the feeling foreign to him.

“Luke…” She said softly, sincerity in her voice that was rare: she wasn’t a woman prone to expressive emotion.

“You could have fucking told me you were with someone before I got on stage.” He hissed, cutting off any type of apology she might have tried to give, not that she was known for them. “I mean, I knew you were a total bitch, Princess, but do I not get any warning?!”

“We don’t do feelings Patterson, you know that.” She whispered softly, taking another drag of the cigarette before stubbing it out and tossing it through the window, the smoke she blew out hanging in the air.

“Are you really going to sit there and act like we don’t have something?! Really?” Luke exclaimed with an angry laugh, running a hand through his hair in disbelief at the girl before him, who sat stoic, straight backed with her legs crossed one over the other, like she was being interviewed on one of those stupid news shows.

“It doesn’t matter what we have if it would never work, Luke!” She finally let her temper break, yelling the response back at him despite her perfect posture. “We aren’t friends! We can never be friends! We’re two different people leading two very different lives. And to be quite honest with you, Jackson fits into mine.” She admitted, trying to stop her bottom lip from quivering. The last thing she was going to be was weak.

“Jackson, so that’s his name.” Luke scoffed, taking a step closer to Y/N, and another. “Tell me something, Princess.” He muttered, his hand lifting her legs apart for him to get closer, his cold demeanour matching the chill that exuded from his body, causing goosebumps to form on Y/N’s arms and legs. “Does he have the same effect on you that I have?”

“No.” She confessed, her head hanging low as she let out the word. Luke’s thumb and forefinger caught her chin, raising her face to look him in the eyes, the smirk on his lips prompting Y/N to add to her confession. “But I suppose that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Can you tell me honestly that you can give this up?” Luke posed the question, and for a moment Y/N had to pause, to gulp, the closeness of their bodies all too tempting. “You know, you may be the smarty pants young doctor out to save the world around everyone else, Princess, but I’ve heard you scream my name before.” He whispered, his lips centimetres from making contact with skin. “You like this, you love this. Us…Late nights in hotel rooms and sneaking out before morning.” A hand finally placed down against her thigh, the cold skin against her flushed body almost shocking had it not been a feeling Y/N had craved. “You like the adrenaline that comes with going back to what ever pencil neck you’ve wrapped around your little finger while my cum is still on your thighs, marks I left still on your neck.”

All of it was true, but of course Y/N had no intention of admitting it, of boosting that asshole’s ego anymore than she already had. She shouldn’t have agreed to even meeting him, no matter how badly she craved the feeling of Luke’s body against hers, of his hand around her neck as he fucked her senseless.

“Let go of me and I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.” She promised, to which Luke laughed, the hand he had on her thigh pushing her skirt higher and higher, coming down towards the inside of her thigh, brushing the lace of her panties. Her breathing hitched, her body betraying her.

“Face it, Y/N…” He said softly, moving back to look her in the eyes as a finger hooked under her panties and pull them down her thighs, Luke biding his time, waiting for the fabric to fall to his feet before continuing. “You need me as much as I need you.” He assured her, his eyes flicking between hers and her mouth. He silently asked permission, Y/N giving it to him when her hands moved to the belt buckle on his jeans, quickly undoing it and letting Luke’s pants fall slack.

Luke didn’t hesitate any longer, taking her face in his hands and pressing their lips together, his tongue fast into her mouth and dominant. He often took control like this, something Y/N could never quite bring herself to resist, and she was almost immediate in her reciprocation of the kiss, her hands coming to the hem of Luke’s shirt, unbuttoning it quickly and pushing it off his shoulders as their lips collided.

Kissing him was like jumping from a cliff into waters one would assume were warm, only to land and hit the freezing sea below. It was the taste of salt on his tongue, the tug of his hands in her hair, the way she panted for breath between kisses like she might drown in him.

Y/N was always the one to make the second move, it was how they worked. Luke always initiated, she always responded, it was a back and forth. They didn’t speak, they knew each other so well they didn’t need it. Her hands coming to his boxers briefs and palming at his stiff member through the clothes, asking for him to take his turn, prompted Luke to do so, moving aside the last piece of clothing separating them from the thing they both begged for.

Luke lined himself up with her entrance, breaking the kiss to pull Y/N to the very edge of the counter, pushing her skirt completely past her ass. His body between her thighs spread her legs, Luke smiling as she whimpered.

“You asshole, don’t make me wait.” She moaned out, giving up on trying to feign resentment, her hand coming to his locks and pulling him in for another kiss, Luke pushing himself into her as they lips collided once again.

A year without one another, Luke had missed the feeling of her walls clenching around his cock. He had missed the way she whimpered curse words under her breath as he set a hard and fast pace. She clung to the counter top for some sense of stability, letting her head fall back as a moan racked her body.

“Fuck Princess, so good for me.” Luke groaned, his lips coming to her exposed neck and pressing down on her sweet spot, making sure to leave a mark, to tell whoever saw her next that she belonged to someone else. His eyes trailed over her in the vulnerable state, taking his cock like the good girl she always was once he had her panties on the floor. He admired the site: her tight cunt spread around his girth as he pounded into her, evidence of her arousal catching the dim lighting overhead.

“Luke… F-fuck…” Y/N whimpered, one hand coming round the back of his neck, pulling him deeper as she began chasing her high, the knots in her stomach slowly beginning to form, his body against hers beginning to burn with each touch. They weren’t meant to be compatible, and yet sex never felt better than with one another. “Baby, don’t stop.” She gasped out, her eyes widening as he bit into her skin, a guttural moan leaving her body, unable to fight back against the smug look on his face.

She had forgotten just how good he was, just how much she wanted him. As the knots in her stomach tightened, the tension in Luke’s abdomen increased, both chasing towards euphoria, Luke’s breathing grew shaky, his pace turning sloppy, his thrusts deeper and deeper.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” Luke muttered, a hand coming down to rub circles against her clit, the action throwing Y/N over the edge, into the waves of ecstasy as the knots in her stomach unfurled, her eyes squeezing shut and her head falling onto Luke’s should as he too spent himself inside her.

They stayed like that for a moment, ragged breathing and Y/N’s rapid heartbeat seeming to pound hard and loud enough for someone two rooms over to hear. She found herself holding onto him, letting herself relax for a moment, even enjoy it, as Luke’s hand came up and petted her head, only moving back when her cheek burned too much from his icy skin.

‘I think she’s in love with me…’ Luke’s intrusive thought wasn’t one he meant to think, but it seemed to be the one Y/N heard. She pushed him back to the other side of the small bathroom, Luke unable to rid himself of the smug expression he wore as he tucked himself back into his boxers and pulled up his jeans.

"He doesn't make you happy." Luke’s voice almost sang in victory, leaning back against the wall as Y/N cleaned herself of their scandal, their affair. Once she had finished, flushing the secret they shared down the toilet with the toilet paper, he reached out and pulled her close to him. His hand came up to her mouth, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip, ego inflating when her felt her tremble slightly in his grasp.  "You know he doesn't…"

"Yeah, well at least he doesn't make me sad, Luke." Y/N snapped back in response, interrupting him from finishing his sentence, a stray tear rolling down her cheek as he held her in his arms, catching Luke off-guard and forcing his hands to drop away, his mind to go blank. He didn't think he had ever seen her cry before, but then again, Y/N never had cause to feel shame. She didn't have cause to feel it until then, storming out of that bathroom, knowing for a fact she would do everything in her power to stop herself from loving Luke Patterson.

--

Tags: @siennanoelle01 @epikskool @eries45 @thesweetestsinner @fangirlangioma @moviesbooksandfandoms @ohyoureaqueenbutuncrowned @saroo-hawks @charliessunset @lanasfandoms @bigdesi @avngrsinitiative @emotionalbruv @lolychu @lazydaisy19 @korydickson @sunsetpatterson @uglypeachh @reggieandthereggies @rogersangel @izzyhogue @writerinlearning @independentgirl @delicatelukepatterson @melsucks1 @uhmitstori @mon-charmante @writingforphantoms @musicconversedance @mjflower @heimdoodle @kcd15 @-episkey- @walkingonshunshine @obxmermaid @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @kristencoontz @n0wornever @simp4madi @aliciameix @kinda-just-chillin-here @jatpfan99​ @blueyed-one​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​ @ghostlyb1tch​ @leahstypewriter​ @daisiesforlacey​ @valntynegillespie​ @ritz-hell-hotel​ @reggiesleatherjacket​ @hemmingsness​ @ssprayberrythings​ @whitemanshoe19​ @mishapned @lukespaterson​ @caitsymichelle13​ @dovesgrangers​ @morganayennefertyrell @kissing-thunder​ @localfangirlx​ @queenxxkiller @sunset-swerves​ @dmcfarland1​ @cherrymaybank​ @fireballdaisy​ @theatricalfangirl​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @kaylinfayezink​ @crappy-unicorn​ @all-in-fangirl​ @hologramband​ @calamitykaty​ @dxlanhxlland

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson smut #luke patterson x y/n #jatp luke x reader #jatp luke #jatp au #jatp #julie and the phantoms #angsty smut #smut #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfiction #julie and the himbos

[night-fallz]

We’re Tired of Him

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Description: 

It was pretty easy to dislike Damian Wayne. He was an arrogant, stuck-up brat. So when the Titans get a chance to gain blackmail material on him, they took it, along with his brother's eagerly joining in.

They couldn't wait to see the look on Damian's face when he realizes that they know every little secret he has. Who knows. Maybe they can finally get the brat to shut up or if they're lucky, they might be able to force him to quit being Robin.

Or that one time Damian's teammates and brothers decide to spike his drink so they could use Damian's secrets against him.

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

Ao3 // Wattpad

previous II next 

We’re Tired of Him (Part 1)

Wally does not remember a single time where the Titans have completed a mission without him feeling annoyed or irritated at Robin.

It wasn’t a secret to anyone in the superhero community that speedsters weren’t patient people. They had too much energy pent up in their system to sit still for more than five seconds.

Which is why you shouldn’t expect much from them when you bring them to a discrete, cover-ops mission.

Everyone knew that.

At least, everyone except Damian fucking Wayne.

Wally never liked the new Robin and he didn’t try to hide that fact.

He’d make snide comments behind the kid’s back, purposely being loud so that Damian knew what he thought of him.

Hell, he’s even told Damian straight to his face that no one liked him. But the kid wasn’t affected; he only dismissed Wally with a roll of his eyes and a simple ‘tt’.

As if Wally was nothing but an ant standing in his way.

It annoys him that the kid doesn’t respond to his remarks, but he doesn’t regret making them.

In his head, Damian deserved it.

Who in their right mind decides to abduct someone to force them to join a reincarnation of an old superhero team.

At least come up with a new name!

Wally never wanted to join the brat’s team anyways and he might’ve changed his mind and stayed in the end, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he was forced to be in it.

Despite the fact that the kid might’ve apologized, Wally still hasn’t forgiven him. And frankly, he thinks that he never will.

Especially if he kept it up with the attitude.

The moment the rest of the team stepped into the main lobby, he couldn’t stop the complaints that rolled off of his tongue.

“He’s such a brat,” he couldn’t help but growl out, the disgust clear on his voice. “Like how can someone be such a dick!”

Wally felt some of his anger vanish as his words caused the room to be filled with laughter. It was always nice to know that he wasn’t the only one that had a strong distaste for their team leader.

Though, to be fair, a lot of people didn’t get along with Damian Wayne. He knows for a fact that a lot of them just put up with him because his dad’s Batman.

The more Wally thought about it, the more he wondered if the brat actually had friends.

While Damian was rather close with Djinn, along with Superman’s son, Jon. They were also some of the sweetest people that he’s ever had the chance of meeting. So maybe they just felt bad for the kid.

It made sense in his mind.

After all; who in their right mind would want to be friends with Damian?

Emiko’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “What did the kid do now?”

He couldn’t contain the smirk that made its way onto his face, he loved it when they bonded over how much they disliked the new Robin.

And judging by how Emiko and Crush mirrored his expression, he knew that he wasn’t the only one that felt that way.

“He goes and gets mad at me for being incompetent or something. Like it’s not my fault I wasn’t raised by a crazy old hot assassin lady.”

Wally knew that he wasn’t being fair. That Damian couldn’t control how he was raised. And that there was a high chance that Damian could hear him- could hear them- tearing him apart.

But in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted the brat to hear him. He wanted the kid to know that even if he was Batman’s son, a majority of them still didn’t like him.

That they only put up with him because they had to.

Not because they wanted to.

There’s a fucking difference between the two and Wally needs Damian to know that.

Crush jumped on the couch, imitating Damian’s pose as she mocked his words, “If you don’t halt your tongue you useless speedster, you will perish under my sword.”

She swung her imaginary sword into the air, pretending to slice Wally’s neck.

He played along, fanning his face as he forced his eyes to roll back before his back hit the soft cushions of the couch.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Djinn and Roundhouse trying to hold in their laughs.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised that they were so reluctant to make fun of their so-called leader, out of everyone in the Titans, they were the ones that tolerated the brat the most.

He saw Roundhouse’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he tried to hold in a groan as he heard the uneasy tone come out of his teammate’s mouth, no doubt feeling bad for laughing at the expense of ridiculing one of his favorite heroes.

“Why are you guys so mean to the small man?”

It was such an innocent question, but it made Wally’s blood fill up with such rage.

What they’re doing isn’t mean. It was well deserved. Plus, if Damian cared, he would’ve yelled at them already.

They’ve never been quiet when it came to mocking the youngest bat.

Emiko snorted, her dark hair framing her face, “Please, that wannabe is barely a man.”

He hid a smile, muttering a “That’s all he is, though. A wannabe.” as he stared at the floor.

A wannabe friend.

A wannabe leader.

A wannabe hero.

Sure Damian was trying, but that didn’t mean he was succeeding.

He would never be as charming as Nightwing.

He would never be as good of a fighter as Red Hood.

He would never be as smart as Red Robin.

He was just Damian.  

The kid with the big attitude that everyone around him had to put up with.

Emiko leaned her back onto the couch, arms on the back of her head. “You guys wanna know what Roy told me,”

Wally found himself nodding, along with the others as she continued. “He said that even his own brothers don’t like him. They just put up with him to make their dad happy. Actually, probably even his own father doesn’t want him.”

“You’re probably right.” Wally laughed, not registering just how hurtful his words could be. “I mean, didn’t his mom just force Batman to take him. The guy probably didn’t have a choice.”

It wasn’t like what he said was wrong.

He remembers Dick complaining to him about it. How an assassin came out of nowhere with Damian and just gave him to Batman, who gave Dick the task of training the spoiled brat who just wouldn’t listen.

Those were Dick’s words, not his.

“That must be tough,” he heard Crush huff, “Being tossed around like trash.”

Wally found himself nodding in agreement, “He probably deserved it.”

Djinn cut in before his mouth said something he would regret, “That’s just plain mean.”

The look she gave him actually made him feel bad so he found himself muttering a quiet, “sorry” before sitting next to Emiko on the couch, who looked like she was holding in her laughter.

Roundhouse spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention towards the blue-skinned kid. “If you guys don’t like Damian so much, why don’t you just leave.”

Emiko only shook her head in amusement, “I’m still friends with you guys,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m not going to leave just because a kid is acting like- well, a kid.”

And even though Wally knew it was wrong. He couldn’t stop the dark thrill that curled up his stomach to know that even if Damian was the chosen leader for the team, he would never acquire the close bond that they all had with each other.

Crush rolled her eyes, “The kid’s a spoiled brat. And that’s it. No explanation needed.”

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you guys just try to get to know him more?” Djinn asked, “I know that he’s not as bad as you think he is.”

Wally held in the laugh threatening to come out of his throat- Damian Wayne? Not being as bad as he thinks he is.

If anything, Damian was probably worse.

Roundhouse bobbed his head in agreement, “Yeah, he’s usually pretty nice to me.”

Crush, Emiko, and Wally exchanged uncertain glances with each other.

Wally doesn’t believe it; Damian Wayne, being nice?

Are they even talking about the same Damian Wayne? The one trained by fucking assassins.

He knows for a fact that his brothers won’t believe it either. And out of everyone else in the superhero community, they’re probably the ones that know Damian best.

But then again, that was only because they had to spend the most time with him. Whether they liked it or not, Damian was a part of their family.

Wally found himself genuinely feeling bad for them.

Djinn tilted her head, “So will you do it? Actually, try to get to know him?”

Crush immediately shook her head, “Yeah. No.”

Djinn furrowed her eyebrows at the instant rejection, “But why not?”

“Damian is well- he’s just Damian.” Emiko intervened. “Even if we put in an effort, he might not put the same amount back.”

“Yeah,” Wally added on. “And unless he’s drunk and shit, we won’t get anything out of him.”

Crush raised an eyebrow at the two, “Why do you think we never invite him when we hang out?”

Roundhouse faltered, giving Djinn a hesitant look. “I just thought he didn’t want to join us.”

“That's probably true as well.” Wally pointed out. “If he did, he would tell us that he’d want to join, you know? He probably thinks that he’s too good for any of us.”

Djinn frowned in disagreement, but this time, she kept her mouth shut.

No one said anything for a while before he noticed Emiko turning to him, “About that comment you made, what if we did get the kid drunk?”

Roundhouse stared at the girl, eyes wide, “Is that even allowed? Or legal? Is that even legal? We’re superheroes. We can’t do illegal things.”

The archer shrugged, “I mean, yeah it can be legal. We just need a trusted adult’s consent. And lucky for us, two of his brothers are legal adults.” she met Wally’s eyes, “You know them better than any of us. Do you think they’ll allow it?”

Wally eagerly nodded, “They probably will. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that they don’t like him that much either.”

That was an understatement.

With all the complaining he’s heard from them, Wally had a feeling that they hate Damian even more than he did.

And he hated the kid a lot.

“Wouldn’t that be betraying his trust?” Djinn asked.

Crush leaned forward, her eyes full of mischief before it quickly disappeared as soon as she met the young girl’s eyes, “Let me tell you a secret, this is something Damian might call a training exercise.” she slowly explained to the two youngest heroes, “In a way, we’re technically gathering information on our target. And in this case, our target is Damian.”

Wally could tell that they were close to convincing them so he softly added on, “Plus, isn’t this technically just a faster way for us to get to know Damian? That’s what you wanted.”

The girl nodded, her lips pursed, and after a few minutes she spoke up, “Okay, let’s do it.” her eyes soon grew troubled. “But what if his brothers end up saying no?”

The speedster waved off the girl’s concerns. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, “This is an opportunity that they probably won’t be able to decline. Trust me.”

Wally’s was confident that they’ll agree to it.

Roundhouse had the biggest grin growing on his face, “We finally get to know more about Robin!” he excitedly said, “He’s always by himself. And he’s quiet. Really quiet”

His eagerness died down, sadly looking at the floor. “Does this mean he doesn’t like us?”

Crush snorted, “I don’t even know kid, I stopped trying to understand the brat a while ago.”

Wally and Emiko nodded in agreement.

The only times they willingly interacted with Damian was on the field. Because even though the kid sucked; he definitely knew what he was doing.

Emiko took her phone out, “I’m pretty sure that the bats have a game night in their little cave tonight.”

The team stared at her confused, “What does that even have to do with the discussion?”

Emiko rolled her eyes, “What I’m trying to say is that all of Damian’s eldest brothers are in their little Batcave.” she spoke slowly like she was talking to a bunch of babies. “Together. Playing a game. Probably without Damian.”

Roundhouse caught on, “So all we have to do is go to the cave and ask them if we can get Robin drunk.”

“How do you even know that?” Crush asked Emiko.

“Roy talks.” The archer shrugged, “A lot… especially if it’s about Jason.”

Crush jumped out of the couch in excitement, “That means we might be able to do this tonight!” She pointed at him, “Wally, go!”

“Right now?”

“Obviously, you dolt.”

“Why me?” he cried out, “You know how protective the bats are of their precious little cave.”

“Wally, go,” she repeated.

He didn’t budge. “Batman will kill me.”

“Batman doesn’t kill.”

“If someone just randomly enters his cave, he will.”

Crush looked like she wanted to punch him, “Wally, I fucking swear. Aren’t you and Nightwing like besties?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Just text the dude in advance,” Roundhouse suggested. “That way no one gets killed, and we get to learn more about Robin.”

Wally sighed, leaping to his feet as he spoke, his tone filled with faux-excitement. “Great, I can’t wait to go-“

His voice trailed off, noticing Damian walking in.

It looked like the brat was about to go use the zeta-tubes but he stopped, his head tilting as his gaze landed on the team, “Can’t wait for what?”

Wally looked around, his eyes desperate for an answer.

Luckily, Djinn answered for him, a bright smile on her face as she addressed Damian’s question. “We’re going to the movies! We wanted to do a bit of team bonding.”

That response made Wally want to laugh.

Don’t get him wrong, it was a believable excuse. It’s just-

He can’t even think of a single time that they invited their “leader” to a team hangout.

He wondered if Damian noticed the fact that they went out of their way to exclude him from everything except for missions.

And If he did, did he care?

His eyes watched as the kid nodded in acceptance. As if they even needed his permission to hang out.

Damian turned his back on them, calling out a “have fun” as he disappeared in a flash of bright light.

Well, that answered his question. Damian looked like he could care less. He didn’t even give them another glance.

He just immediately turned his back on them, walking away as if he owned the place.

It made Wally’s blood boil. Did the brat even notice that no one wanted him around?

He couldn’t wait and see just what secrets the brat hid underneath that perfect, little mask of his.

And Wally couldn’t wait to tear that mask apart.

————————————————————————

Note:

guess who finally started writing the one fic that almost everyone was waiting for.

me!!!

To be honest, I was kinda confused on how I was going to write the events of “I’m fine” from the other’s POV, then I realized that I could just write it using multiple chapters, so that’s what I did.

I know that a lot of people were waiting for this version, so hopefully you guys end up liking this installment, and if you have any comments, suggestions, and feedback, make sure to comment on them.

Also, I feel like I need to mention that, yes- I know that some of the characters are “out of character” in a way. Though, Damian does receive a whole lot of shit from them in the comics so at the same time they kind of aren’t ooc, if that makes sense.

I genuinely just wanted to write a Damian Wayne whump fic that I can go back too and cry about later. So if you don’t like it, then just don’t read it. No need to waste your energy writing hate comments that I’ll probably only laugh at later.

#batfam #batfam angst #Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne Robin #Damian wayne angst #Titans #robin #Wally west II #DC Heroes #Teen Titans #angst #damian wayne fanfic #damian wayne fanfiction #Damian Wayne deserves better #batman #batman fanfiction #Damian Wayne is bad at feelings #batman fandom #emiko queen #xiomara #william wu #djinn #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Tim Drake #damian wayne needs a hug #he's trying so hard #Damian wayne needs love

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N:  the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate.  Art is by @lunaescribe​ and @swanpit​​

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?” 

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off. 

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades. 

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had. 

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?” 

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time. 

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground. 

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel. 

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted. 

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did. 

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.” 

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition. 

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment. 

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since. 

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun. 

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart. 

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo. 

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly. 

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself. 

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost. 

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time. 

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time. 

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together. 

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz  that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place. 

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.  

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand. 

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward. 

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs. 

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine. 

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone. 

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto. 

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected. 

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider. 

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest. 

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling. 

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away. 

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins. 

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams. 

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina. 

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat. 

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance. 

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there. 

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again. 

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him. 

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot. 

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat. 

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped. 

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!”  the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese. 

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now. 

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it. 

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back. 

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope. 

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back. 

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another. 

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said. 

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and… 

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison. 

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again. 

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose. 

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know. 

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine. 

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest. 

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name. 

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo! 

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

[Back]

[Next]

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #fake priest au

[tinyboxxtink]

"Doppelganger" *Part 23*

WHOO, y'all. I don't know what it is about this story but I am just...rolling it all out with the tragic backstory. No angst, I promise-- It ends happy chill out. But damn. Maybe I'm working out my own issues in here...lulz.

This gif will make so much sense you have no idea.

PART 22

Part 24

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

------

“....And how did that make you feel?”

You tried not to laugh out loud as the question left Dr. Crestview’s mouth. Did she really just ask you that?

“...I mean it makes me ‘feel’ bad,” You rolled your eyes with a laugh while looking out the window. When you turned back to the doctor she was not laughing, and she was writing something down.

“...That was a joke,” You clarified.

“Oh yes, I get it,” She nodded as she continued writing.

“Do you?” You asked her frankly. The question caused her to stop writing and look at you.

“Mrs. Barba--”

“Ms. YLN,” You corrected. “I’m not married yet,”

“...Hmm, interesting,” She wrote something down. Seriously? She even had an insight on what-- technicalities?

“I’m sorry, was that some sort of test?” You asked sarcastically.

“Actually, it was,” She said to your surprise.

“Excuse me?” You looked at her, baffled.

“You know when most women get engaged, they start imagining their last names as their husbands. You know such as changing their signature, gathering documents, and the like,”

“...Are you serious?” You laughed again. “This is 2021 lady, half the women I know didn’t even take their husband’s last name at all,”

“And is that what you’re going to do?” She asked. “Keep your last name?”

“...If I say yes are you going to psychoanalyze that too?” You crossed your arms.

“In my experience Ms. Y/L/N, women who don’t want to change their last names tend to do so because they want to keep their independence, their…’identity’. They think taking a man’s last name is ‘giving up’ something. Giving up their identity,” She explained.

“...And?” You gestured with your hand as if waiting for her to continue.

“And in my educated opinion, it also signifies a woman going into a marriage with one foot out of the door already,” She simply stated.

“Wow,” You shook your head with a sarcastic laugh. “Did I come here to resolve my trauma, or for marriage advice?”

“I think they’re one and the same, Ms. Y/L/N,” She stayed completely calm and emotionless.

“Are they?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Given what you’ve told me in our last few sessions, you’ve given off a tone that you don’t think you deserve good things. Maybe you’re keeping on foot out of your relationship so that when it falls apart, you’ll be ready,”

“Wow....wow,” You started to stand up and storm out of the office, but she stopped you with a question.

“I’m sorry if I offended you with my observation Y/N, but be honest. Am I wrong?”

You thought about all the talks you had with Rafael about ‘not being good enough’ for him, or ‘stealing his love’. And on the one hand you felt that you were ‘connected’, you felt safe and secure. After everything you’d been through, it was almost impossible not to be, right? Right?

“....And what is your magic solution to this feeling, doctor?” You crossed your arms.

“You need to forgive yourself,”

“...Jesus Christ,” You rolled your eyes with another laugh as you paced the room. “Really? That’s your solution? Telling me something I already know?”

“No, my solution is this: You need to apologize to your parents,”

“EXCUSE ME?” You practically screamed.

“You blame yourself for their death, correct? You think that because of their desire to make you happy they risked their lives driving into the city and therefore got into their accident,” She looked over her notes from past sessions with you.

“...Right,” You looked down at the floor.

“And I don’t think that you have ever forgiven yourself for that. And in not doing so, you haven’t forgiven yourself for anything you’ve done since then. All these things you say you’ve ‘done’ to Mr. Barba that you should be ‘punished’ for-- he doesn’t see it that way. Other people don’t see it that way. Your parents' accident wasn’t your own doing, getting kidnapped wasn’t your fault. I think that you need to find closure with your parent’s death before you can even begin to ‘forgive’ yourself for whatever transpired between you and Nevada Ramirez,”

“....So you want me to apologize to my parents? How are they going to ‘forgive’ me?” You asked her.

“I think you’ll find Ms. Y/L/N that just the act of apologizing will bring about its own form of forgiveness,” She smiled.

“.....Right…” You tried not to sound condescending, but for a shrink she sure sounded crazy.

“Or don’t listen to me, I can’t force you to do anything. But that is my advice,” She shrugged.

“Noted. Thank you, doctor,” You nodded and walked out the door.

----

You walked out into the streets of the city from your doctor’s office and thinking about just how or when you’d have a chance to go to your hometown where your parents were, when you were stopped by a young girl on the street.

“Oh my god...you’re Y/N!” She gasped.

“...Yes?” You stared at her blankly.

“You’re that girl who killed Nevada Ramirez!” She squealed, causing a few people to stare and take pictures of you as they walked past.

“Oh good lord…” You muttered nervously. “Yeah well um--”

“Can I get a selfie with you?”

“Um--” You looked around, not sure of what to do. You wanted to run down the street screaming, but you thought better of it. You turned back to her with the fakest smile you could form.

“Sure!” You threw an arm around her and smiled as big as you could as she snapped a selfie with her phone.

“Thanks!” She beamed at you. “ And by the way, your fiancé is REALLY sexy,”

“Oh girl I know,” You faked a laugh and a toss of your hair as she walked away with a laugh.

It really creeped you out that girls were ‘fangirling’ over your fiancé. As if you weren’t worried about keeping a hold of him all on your own. Also how did she even know what he looked like?

The article.

You grabbed your phone and did something you told yourself you’d never do: You googled yourself.

The first thing that popped up was an article on the NYTimes.com front page:

“Fairy Tale Romance Or Horror Movie?”

...What the fuck?

The article contained your video as the main focus. Then under it the article basically dictated the video, with Tasha’s opinions thrown in here and there. Then most of the photos from the photoshoot of you and Rafael were at the bottom of the page. They were gorgeous, you had to admit. Granted you were both airbrushed to hell, but Rafael in a suit drove you nuts. Even if it was just on a screen. You dialed his number as you continued walking down the street.

“....Hola, mi amor. How is my pinguino feeling?”

“Well she’s currently feeling like she’s got the sexiest man in New York City,” You grinned.

“Oh really? And why’s that?” He asked you curiously.

“Check out the picture I’m texting you,” You grinned as you texted him one of the photos from the spread.

“Oh Christ…” You heard him mutter through the phone, causing you to giggle.

“Oh yes, you even have your own fangirls now,” You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“No I do NOT,” He argued in disbelief.

“Yeah I’d be careful leaving your office there counselor, a group of tweens might be waiting outside,”

“Oh my god...they’re breaching the doors!” He acted terrified, making you laugh harder.

“Oh I think I see one,” You whispered as if you were sneaking up on someone. “She’s holding a ‘Barba 4Eva’ poster board,”

“You better be kidding,” He warned.

“No, in fact I think she’s right outside your door,” You bit your tongue with a smile.

“Oh well I’d better call security then,” He chuckled as he sauntered over to his office door and swung it open.

“Oh my Gooodddddddd it’s Rafael Barba!!! The sexiest ADA in New York City!!” You giggled wildly, jumping into his arms like a crazed fan.

“I should definitely look into some armed guards at my door,” He laughed as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you.

“Oh most definitely, wouldn’t want to let the crazies in,” You nodded as you kissed him again.

“Well I think it’s too late for that…” He teased you while tousling your hair.

“Shut up,” You playfully hit his hands away.

“Speaking of crazy, how was therapy today mi amor?” He asked cheekily.

Wowwwww, sexy AND sensitive, how did I get so lucky?” You rolled your eyes. “Actually, she gave me homework,”

“Did she?” He inquired.

“Yes,” You suddenly got very serious. “She um, she told me I need to go see my parents,”

“...Your parents?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, something about needing to ‘apologize’ to them or some weird shrink thing like that,”

“....Do you think it will help?”

“I mean...” You sighed and looked out the window. “I don’t know. But I’d like to try,”

“Bueno,” He nodded walking closer to you and kissing the top of your head. “So are you going to go now or--?”

“Well I was kind of hoping you’d come with me,” You bit your lip. You didn’t know if asking him to come along on your shrink homework assignment was allowed, but you knew you couldn’t do this alone. Maybe that was the point.

“Really?”

“I mean, I met your family,” You half laughed, trying to make light.

“Right,” He nodded his head with a chuckle. “Well then, let’s go,”

“...Now?”

“Why not?” He started to walk towards the door.

“Don’t you have a job?” You pointed to his desk.

“Oh they just like to pay me to sit in here so nobody robs the place,” He joked as he grabbed his coat. “I have nothing going on today baby, they won’t miss me.”

“Okay then,” You shrugged uneasily. “Guess we’re going to Jersey,”

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

After a train ride and a taxi later, you arrived in your small town of Shallow Meadow.

“Christ Almighty, I knew Jersey was in the dark ages, but not even having Uber??” Rafael grumbled. He hadn’t been in the back of a dirty cab in such a long time, and now he remembered why.

“Alright Daddy Warbucks, chill,” You laughed as you started walking with him through town.

It was a quaint little town; one stop light, one grocery store, two bars, something out of an old movie really You know the movies where the car breaks down in the tiny shitty town and all the townspeople are flesh eating zombies or something. The people of Shallow Meadow were pretty much like that. Well, to you anyway.

“So why didn’t we just have the Mayberry Express drop us at the cemetery?”

“...Because we don’t have roads you can drive on up there,” You answered with a nervous smile.

“...Right,” He shook his head as he noticed people coming out of shops to stare at the two of you. “...Do I have some kind of weird sign on my back that says NEW YORKER or what?”

“No, but that thousand dollar suit screams “moneybags” out here,” You smirked. “Besides, they’re not staring at you they’re staring at me,”

“...What? How do you know that?”

As if it was answering his question, a girl with bright red hair dressed in farm clothing and holding a baby on her hip came sauntering up to the two of you.

“Well lookie here,” She smirked. “Miss Prissy Pants brought back herself a Prissy Papa,”

“Excuse you?” Rafael was taken aback by such rudeness by such a poorly dressed person.

“Marla back off,” You scowled at her. “Just because you’re upset I found treasure and you’re stuck with trash--”

“OH, is that what we are now? Trash?” Marla spat. “You have a lot of nerve coming back here and saying that, murderer,”

“WHOA,” Rafael stepped in front of you. “I’m sorry, what-- what did you just call her?”

“Did she not tell you the story? Oh no wait I bet she did, her version. The version where she’s the victim and we’re all just the villains. Isn’t that right, Prissy?” She glared at you.

“...I never said you were--” You tried defending yourself.

“Really?” She scoffed. “Then why did you not even bother to show up to your folks’ funeral? Their ONLY daughter, the ones they DIED for. Couldn’t even be bothered to leave her high rise in the city to pay respects to the parents she KILLED,”

“It wasn’t like that and you KNOW it, Marla! And why was I going to come back? The only two people left in this town that tolerated me were gone--” You got up in her face.

“AND WHY IS THAT, Y/N?” She got back in yours, her baby almost falling out of her arms.

“Alright lady I don’t know who you are, but you’re going to back the hell off my fiancée--”

“Oh good God, your fiancé?” Marla laughed. “You would find yourself a sugar daddy, since you killed yours,”

“Alright you know what we’re leaving--” You grabbed Rafael’s hand and stomped away towards a huge hill that had a sign reading “CEMETERY” at the top.

“I hope you’re heading up there to beg their forgiveness Y/N, ‘cuz you sure as hell ain’t getting any down here!” Marla yelled angrily after you.

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

“...Well I think we just figured out where your forgiveness issues came from,” Rafael tried making light of the situation.

“Ya think?” You nodded.

“This whole time,” Rafael shook his head. “This whole time I thought you just had it in your mind that you were responsible for their death. But-- but you had an entire town telling you that,”

“...Yeah,” You shrugged.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything, baby?” Rafael took your hand as the hill got steeper.

“Because I thought they were right, Rafael!” You said in a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I tell you that an entire town thought that I was a murderer? That’s not really a selling point on a partner,”

“...You thought they were right?”

“...Well, yeah,” You nodded softly with a small smile.

“And now…?”

Before you could answer, you reached the entrance of the cemetery. Luckily it wasn’t that big; you were ashamed to admit you didn’t even know where they were buried. But you found them in a small corner under a shade tree. You walked up to their mutual headstone:

“Y/M/N AND Y/D/N: Beloved Husband And Wife, Mayor and First Lady.”

“...Mayor?” Rafael looked at you in surprise.

“Yeah, well--” You shrugged. “You see why they were so beloved, and I was the hellish daughter that killed them?”

“Y/N…” Rafael put a hand on your shoulder.

“I was supposed to want to ‘take over the city’, like I would ever want to be in charge of anything in this stupid backwards hick ass town,” You scoffed angrily, tears stinging your eyes.

“...But didn’t you say that your parents wanted you to go to Juliard? Pursue your dreams?” Rafael asked in confusion.

“They did! My grandparents-- they had a different view,” You shook your head. “The...the hierarchy here it’s-- well it’s not really a democracy,”

“...How so…?” Rafael raised an eyebrow.

“Because everyone just loved and accepted my family as, I don’t know, the ‘royal’ family?” You felt so stupid comparing your family to the Royal Family, but you didn’t know how else to explain it.

“The Mayor and First Lady titles were just...passed down, in my family. And not because they were dictators or something,” You quickly added the last part, you didn’t want Rafael to think any less of your family than he probably already did.

“People here are just...simple,” You sighed. “They accept things the way they are, they hate change. So it was just assumed that my family would always be... "the family’,”

“But you didn’t want that,” Rafael said again.

“Of course I didn’t want that!” You scoffed. “I didn’t want to just get a high school degree and then marry some ‘Cletus’ redneck man from here and have ‘heirs’ just to keep the family going!”

“But your parents understood that,” Rafael reiterated.

“It didn’t matter what my parents did or didn’t understand. My grandfather had more clout with the townspeople here,” You rolled your eyes. “My dad was the ‘mayor’, but his dad controlled everything. His father had been the mayor for over thirty years before he passed it onto my dad, who didn’t really want it either” You walked up to the headstone and ran your fingers over your father’s name.

“....So when he tried to ‘save’ me from that life, my grandpa wouldn’t hear it. He blamed me for...for manipulating them into giving me anything I wanted, like I was a spoiled little child. He blamed me for them giving me their life savings to go to Julliard instead of putting it back into the town treasury. Then he blamed me when they got killed, and he just reinstated himself as mayor! Which, I haven’t checked but I’ll be damned if he isn’t still rattling around his old ass bones in our house! He’ll just haunt this place forever!” You threw your hands up and looked down angrily at the town down below.

“Carino…” Rafael came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You took his hands in yours and kissed them before turning to face him. You looked into his sparkling green understanding eyes for a moment, before directing your attention back at the headstone.

“....This is Rafael Barba, mama and daddy,” You pulled him gently forward. “We’re getting married soon,”

“...Nice to meet you folks,” Rafael said awkwardly.

“...Raffi they’re dead,” You smiled jokingly.

“Right, right,” He shook his head with a small laugh.

“...He’s a very good man, daddy. I know you always wanted that. And he’s very handsome, so you’ll have beautiful grandchildren mama, just like you wanted,” You smiled while Rafael softly chuckled.

“...I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come,” You finally said with tears rolling down your cheeks. “I should have been here sooner,”

“But you’re here now,” Rafael softly rubbed your back.

“Yeah…” You nodded softly. This was the hard part.

“...I’m---I’m sorry, that I made you feel like horrible parents that night,” You tried not to cry, but the memories of that night flooded your memory the more you spoke.

“I’m sorry that you thought you needed to come see me, that you weren’t good parents if you didn’t,” Your lip trembled, you fell to your knees.

“...I’m sorry the last words you heard from me were ‘I hate you’,” You finally broke down sobbing.

“Y/N…” Rafael knelt down next to you and held you in his arms as you cried.

“Do you get now why...why I don’t think I deserve you? Why don't I think I deserve anything? Why I think I have to take everything? Fake everything? Because I am such a terrible person my own parents died thinking I hated them because I was that horrible to them!”

“They didn’t think you hated them, carino,” Rafael rocked you back and forth. “They knew you loved them, I know they did,”

“You know you’re probably right, Rafael. But it--I needed them to hear it,” You nodded at the gravestone.

“And?”

“...And I feel a lot better,” You smiled as Rafael wiped tears from your face.

“Really?”

“Yeah…Really,” You chuckled. “I guess that therapist really knows what she’s doing,”

“She should for the amount of money I pay her,” Rafael shook his head with a laugh as he helped you stand up.

“...Thank you for doing this with me, amor,” You sniffled, pressing your forehead against his.

“Of course, penguino,” He kissed you softly. “And, for what it’s worth--” He added as you two walked back down the hill towards town.

“I think that if your parents were alive, they would be proud of you,”

“Oh, I know my mother would take one look at you and be DAMN proud,” You both laughed at that.

“And I also think they would be appalled to see how their townspeople treat their daughter,” He glared at the town.

“Yeah well,” You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore,”

“I’m glad to hear it,” He took your hands as the sun started to go down in your sleepy little town. “Now can we please get back to the city before I catch something out here?”

“Yes,” You giggled, staring at him lovingly.

“Let’s go home,”

#rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #rafael barba fanfiction #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction smut #doppelganger

[gumnut-logic]

“On the surface, Gordon Tracy is a simple man. A sunny smile, always likes a joke, give him a body of water and you can lose him in it.

“Any body of water.

“I once lost him in the bath.

“Though, you could probably relate that back to point number two and the liking a joke thing.

“Yes, Gordon is a simple man.

“On the surface.

“But only on the surface, because really, he is anything but.

“Meeting that smile under those laughing brown eyes and strawberry blond hair, you could be forgiven for thinking he is a joker out to make fun. You could miss the assessing eyes, the grace with which he walks, the hidden tells of experience and trial. You can’t see the scars; you can’t see the knowledge or the training.

“You could shake his hand and share that laugh and not know how many times that hand has reached out to grab another, to offer another chance, to save a life. You’ve never watched it dance across a control panel leagues under the ocean surface in the dark. You’ve never seen it push down on a ribcage to keep a heart beating.

“You’ve never seen it gently cup a handful of seawater to save a tiny fish caught in a drying rock pool.

“If you shared that joke, you would not know its history and how such jokes kept him from the edge during some of his darkest days.

“You could know of his brothers and the billions, of International Rescue, the Olympic Gold Medal, the party scene he played for all of six months in his teens. You may even know of his military career with WASP.

“But you won’t know Gordon.

“Because the laughter and the jokes? They are only his facade, a method to cope, a philosophy to guide his life. They are a reason to laugh rather than cry.

“Underneath there is a man of great feeling, a young mind full of wonder that has been slapped back so many times that now getting back up is the default.

“You could look at him and think ‘a billionaire, what does he have to worry about?’ But really, it only takes one life changing disaster to crush a man. Gordon has faced so many more.

“He has four brothers, a sister and a grandmother all of which it is obvious he cherishes deeply. He has friends and heroes and a growing love that needs nurturing like a flickering flame. But he is ever aware that these things are temporary, that they can be taken away suddenly and irrevocably. He has seen the glassiness of death and faced down the reaper himself.

“So.

“The laughter.

“The dye in the shampoo.

“The pillow in the pool.

“The itching powder on the bath towel.

“The hell let loose on April Fool’s Day every damn year.

“They are but a symptom of the man you are facing, and yet so why you are going to regret what you are doing.”

Virgil blinked and as if on cue, his brother stepped out of the shadows behind Virgil’s tormentor and, with a move Kayo would have applauded, wrenched his arm behind his back, took his knees out from under him and pinned him to the floor. Another blink and the man was restrained and gagged.

A pair of russet brown eyes swam into his vision, dark in the sharp shadows of the harsh lamp light. “Hey, Virg, that was some speech. Who knew you could be so eloquent under pressure.”

“He’s strong. He’s going to kick your ass.”

“Hey, hey, Virgil. I’m Gordon, remember? The joker guy you said was going to save your ass.” There were fingers fiddling with his restraints. “C’mon, we gotta get you out of here. Won’t be long before they discover I escaped.”

“Don’t underestimate my brother. He’s funny, but he’s so much more.”

“In any other circumstances, I’d be lapping this up, but Virgil, we need to get you onto your feet. I’m strong, but not strong enough for your heavy lifting. C’mon, up you get.” He was being pulled up. His body creaked.

“Gordon is going to come. You’re going to regret it.”

“Yes, yes, help me here, Virgil. I did come. I’m here. It is time to go.”

“You’re going to regret it.”

“Okay, arm over my shoulder, we gotta move!” A grunt. “What the hell did they give you?! Some kind of truth serum?”

“You want to know the truth?” Oooh, the world was wobbling. “Gordon can be scary. You’re going to regret it so much.”

“Ah, yeah, you’ve mentioned that, Virgil. Um, you’re going to have to be quiet for a bit. We have to sneak past some bad guys.”

“Bad guys want to hurt Gordon. Can’t let them hurt Gordon. Tried to kick their asses, but I’m not like Gordon or Scott, couldn’t do it. Too many. Now they want to hurt Gordon. Can’t let them hurt him. No, no, can’t...”

“Shit. Virgil, shhh! Just be quiet for a minute, please.”

Quiet. He blinked. Augh, the world was even wobblier. Gordon was coming. Gordon was coming. “Can’t let them hurt Gordon-“ There was suddenly a hand over his mouth. He panicked and struggled. A muffled yell and he found himself falling, the world spinning until his head hit something hard and he saw stars.

The world became only sound from then on. Voices, more yelling, the thud of flesh hitting flesh, a gunshot. Virgil jumped at its sharp crack. Someone swore. A snap that could only be bone. A thud and then silence.

The world began to drift away.

“Virgil?! You with me? C’mon, bro, please.”

A slow blink. Blurry images. “Gordon?”

“Yes. You with me?”

“Knew you would come. Kick their ass.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.” A sigh. “Can you stand?”

Another slow blink. “Don’t mess with my brother, he’ll kick your ass.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe.” Gordon was tugging on his arm, so Virgil tried to stand. Woah. The whole world tipped on its edge and swung him around. “Shit!”

“Sorry, bro, but we gotta move now. You can throw up on my shoes later.” And then he was in motion.

The blurs burred together. He squeezed his face shut and clung to the man holding him, desperate for it all to stop.

Make it stop.

“Not much longer, Virgil, I promise.” It was little more than a whisper.

Another stomach churning drag across a blurry room and suddenly everything went green.

Oh.

Oh.

He knew that green. That smell. Oh, his beautiful ‘bird.

“Sit here.” He was being lowered onto a hard surface. “I’ll be back in a moment.” And Gordon was gone.

Gone.

“Gordon?”

A yell, followed by a scream and a thud. A litany of curses he didn’t know his brother even knew.

“Gordon?”

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Hands on his. “We’re okay, but we need to be fast.” He was pulled up again, his arm wrapped around shoulders and they were moving.

He lost a moment only to find himself sitting in a chair. A familiar chair with a familiar roar building in his bones. “Two.”

“Yeah, Virg, we’re on your ‘bird. Hang tight, because I’m afraid I might have to scratch her paintwork.”

“You wouldn’t do that. We only joke about it.”

“Well, I’m not in a joking mood right now.” The sound that followed that statement cut through the roar.

Her laser. He was using her laser.

He forced his eyes open and yes, he could see the red glow through the blur. “What are you doing?”

“Cutting our way out of here.”

“Where?”

“They stole your ‘bird, Virg. Remember?”

Voices on the edge of his hearing. Yelling. Another gunshot. Men.

It had been a trap and they had been caught and Virgil had been separated from his brother. His little brother. Please don’t hurt his brother. Please!

“It’s okay, we’re escaping. Another five seconds. Hang in there, Virgil.”

But Gordon was strong. He would kick their asses.

Oh god, please don’t hurt him. Please don’t. I tried. I really tried. Not enough. Not enough. Please don’t hurt him.

A loud crash and his body was shoved back into the seat. His head spun again.

His Thunderbird roared. Her rear thrusters kicked in and sung in his bones. His body lifted from the Earth and tore into the sky.

He let out a gasp, the sudden familiarity heart-stopping.

“Thunderbird Five, you there?”

“Gordon! Thank, God. What happened?”

“Brief you shortly. I need to get Virgil to a hospital, but first I want to put some distance between us and the bastards who hurt him. Please advise Wellington that we will be...”

His brother’s voice faded out, taken by the blur and the hissing of blood in his ears.

-o-o-o-

“C’mon, Virgil, I know you’re in there. Time to wake up.”

What?

“Viiiiirgiiiiil.” Gordon. It was Gordon and he was singing his name.

Ugh.

He shoved his eyes open and glared at his brother. “What?!”

“Ooh, welcome back to the land of the living. Nice entrance.”

“Gordon, what the hell? Let me sleep.”

“Nope.” His lips popped on the ‘p’.

Virgil’s eyes closed a moment and it took him a second to realise they had. He shoved them open again.

Ceiling tiles.

He was in hospital.

“Why am I in hospital?” He searched his slowly booting brain, but found no recollection of injury other than...

He sat up in bed. “It was a trap! They stole my-“ And the world caught up with him and whacked him around the head.

Two sets of hands caught him as he fell back towards the pillow. “Shit.”

“Take it easy, Virgil, you’ve been through quite a bit.”

His body sunk into the bed. Scott. Thank god. So happy to hear his brother’s voice.

He frowned. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“Callout. Central Texas. Gas explosion. No fly zone. It was a trap. Nabbed me. Nabbed Gordon. Wanted Two...” He frowned. “Gets fuzzy. A fight. I lost?”

“We think so. You have quite a lot of bruising, a couple of cracked ribs and two head injuries.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, and you also had a bloodstream full of some nasty chemicals. They drugged you pretty bad. Took the doctors some time to identify with exactly what. You’ve been mostly out of it for a couple of days.”

“Days?!”

“You were unconscious for most of it.”

A frown. “Most of it?” He didn’t remember any of it.

“Yeah.”

He eyed his eldest brother and was somewhat unnerved by the fact he wasn’t keeping eye contact. “What did I do?”

“Nothing of importance.”

“Like what?”

“There was some delirium. Look, Virg, you were ill. Don’t worry about it.”

He stared at his brother a moment longer. Perhaps not knowing was a good thing, but then...perhaps he could third degree his brother later when he had more stamina.

“How did we get out?”

Scott nodded in Gordon’s direction. “Gordon got you out. Five couldn’t find you. They had tech enough to baffle our sensors.” And it was obvious that Scott hated that with a passion.

Virgil turned to his younger brother. “You got us out? How?”

“Oh, with my wily skillz and sense of humour.” Gordon grinned at him.

Virgil’s lips thinned. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me, or that I should nag you until you do?”

“Have at it, big bro, and we’ll see how it slides.”

Augh. He so did not have the energy for this. “Gordon!”

“Yessssh, Massster?”

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth. “Fine. We will discuss it later.”

“Cool. I’ll bring snacks.”

A sigh and he opened his eyes to assess his little brother. “You okay?”

“Yep, just fine and dandy. You’re the one sporting all the bruises this time, bro. You’re the one who will have to be nagged to rest regularly, eat regularly and get tortured by Grandma’s home cooking.”

Virgil stared at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yepper doodles.”

“What?!”

“Virg, don’t you worry your little head about it. Just rest and take it easy.” A hand landed on his arm and squeezed gently.

He was still staring. “Scott, did he get checked over?”

“He’s fine, Virgil. Stop worrying.” A sigh. “He’s just being Gordon...and if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to kick his ass.”

Kick his ass.

Virgil blinked. “You got us out of there.”

“That I did.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, bro.” A grin split his little brother’s face, but something flickered in the depths of his eyes for just a second. Virgil frowned, but it was gone too quickly. Gordon’s grin took over everything.

“Anytime.”

-o-o-o-

This is The Joker. Here is the WIP sequel - The Hero. Sooo much WASP!Gordon.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #nuttyfic reblog #the joker and the hero

[plus-size-reader]

Youth

Negan x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1899 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: The reader recalls all the good and bad times with Negan when they were young. 

——————————————————————————————————

What you were doing was immature.

You knew that, even before Negan told you, but you didn’t care. You and Negan didn’t fight very often but when you did, it was hard for you to look him in the face. He was a quick talker, and always had the perfect thing to say.

It wasn’t going to work today though.

You had locked yourself in the bathroom, knowing that no matter how hard Negan huffed and puffed, the door between you wasn’t giving in. You had something that you needed to say to him, and he was going to listen.

He wasn’t going to get to you until you let him in yourself.

You both knew it but maybe that was the whole point. Maybe that was why he was in such a sour mood right now. Perhaps for once, he realized that he’d gone too far and there was no coming back from what he’d said.

“It’s funny, I used to blame myself when it would happen” you groaned, throwing your head against the back of the door as you thought about it.

You and Negan were married pretty young, and there was definitely a learning curve to the whole relationship thing. However, what no one could have prepared you for was the fact that Negan refused to stay faithful to you.

There were so many women.

You never once doubted that he loved you, of course, you knew that but sometimes you wanted to just give it up. Maybe you should have, years ago, because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

When he was good, he was great but when he was bad, there was no making up for it. Sometimes you just got tired of it, and today was one of those times. You didn’t want to deal with this anymore.

“They all know, don’t they?” you wondered, after a few more moments of silence from the other side of the door. You didn’t have to clarify, you didn’t have to say anything else, Negan knew exactly what you were talking about.

You’d watched him flirting with her, and there was no way that you had misconstrued that conversation. You had seen it a million times before, not that that changed the fact that Negan tried to assure you that wasn’t the case.

Whatever it was that was going on between the two of them, all of his men likely knew about it, if the rest of the people living in the sanctuary didn’t.

You just felt like you were the last to know, and for some reason, that hurt more than anything else.

“I told you I was sorry, now can you please come out so we can talk about this?” he huffed, sliding down the back of the door in defeat. It must have been such a funny sight, the two of you in the same spot, on opposite sides of the door.

…Or at least it would have been funny, had you not been holding back tears.

If only Negan’s men could see this.

If only they knew that he was terrified of losing you, of making any more mistakes than he already had. He knew that he had taken you for granted when you two were young, but this was different.

The world was different.

In this sense, Negan would probably never recover from your loss. If you had left him in the old world, it would have hurt of course, but at least he would know that you were okay.

Out here, that just wasn’t the case.

If he pushed you too far, he would have to wonder about your health and safety for the rest of his life. It would be terrible, and there was no way that he was going to risk that, it just wasn’t going to happen.

“I don’t want to talk about it, there’s nothing to talk about” you sighed, desperately trying to make him understand. Negan was strong, he was completely himself all the time and you loved that about him, you always had but he could be so ruthless too.

This world had made him something that you didn’t recognize when you looked at him.

He made you regret everything that you had become. He made you regret loving him, as much as you did. Hell, sometimes Negan made you regret not giving up when this all started.

It just felt like nothing was ever going to change and there was no good way to figure this all out.

Negan had made a mistake, he’d made it very clear that you were the only one for him but you’d seen him all over her.

He acted like you hadn’t been married for upwards of fifteen years, and you weren’t sure how you were just supposed to move past that.

You stood by him through everything, and even still, he could hang all over her like it was nothing, you didn’t get it.

“Honey, it's not gonna happen again, I promise”

There it was.

That was what you were waiting for.

If there was anyone in the world who knew when he was lying, it was you, and that was definitely a lie. You had heard that hundreds of times before and it was always the same.

Nothing was going to change the way he was, especially not the end of the world.

“Don’t bother-” you tried, but he kept talking before you could even get the words out. Negan knew that you didn’t believe him because he hadn’t given you a reason to but it was a mistake.

He loved you.

“Come on darlin’, just come on out here” Negan tried, his voice close through the wood, and full of emotion. You had no doubt that he loved you and that he was genuinely upset over what had happened, but you had also had this conversation before.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to do as he asked just yet.

This wasn’t the first time, and you weren’t sure if it would be the last, but maybe that wasn’t the most important thing to focus on.

Whether you wanted it or not, you knew that marriage was complicated and being married to a man like Negan was even more so.

He understood that the two of you were in this predicament because of him and there was no amount of blame he could place on you but his patience was wearing thin. Even you knew that you would have to leave the bathroom before too long.

You were sure that if you didn’t choose to go on your own, eventually Negan would get tired of waiting and have one of his guys pull the door from its hinges.

It was probably better you dealt with this between yourselves, there was no good reason to bring his men into this. Not if they already knew about what he was doing and let you stay in the dark over it.

So, as annoyed as you were, you stood from the floor, only to find your reflection in the mirror.

Your eyes were swollen and puffy, something you could already tell before looking due to the slight throbbing in your face.

On a typical day, you would have worried about how bad it looked but the way you looked right now was the least of your problems. Even if you looked horrific, you didn’t care.

Instead, you had to deal with the look on Negan’s face when you opened the door. It was just a crack, but it was more than enough to alert the man of your presence, who swung around toward the motion immediately.

He had no idea what to say at first, which was new for a man like Negan but when it came to you, he was used to it.

You always found a way to stun him, for better or worse.

That was just what happened when you fell in love with someone, but at times like this, he’d always had a bit more trouble with that. There was so much he needed to say, so much he should have said, but the words just weren’t there.

A large part of you wanted to yell at him.

You wanted to tell him just how upset he had made you or how hurt you were but you didn’t have the capacity for it right now.

This whole thing had taken it out of you and you were tired.

More than anything, you just wanted to sit down, so that’s exactly what you did. You crossed the room without saying a word, right past him, and crawled into your bed.

You were accurately aware of the sound of Negan doing the same, standing from the floor with a groan and shuffling across the floor before the bed dipped toward his side as he sat down, not as close to you as he normally would be.

He didn’t want to push it, after all.

“What happened to us?” you wondered, not really sure if you wanted an answer or not. Your words hung in the air for a few moments, almost as if both of you were trying to figure it out at the same time.

You really had no idea.

When you were younger, the two of you could have a million different conversations at once. You could fight, then make up, then fight again within a few hours and not break a sweat.

It seemed like that was a different life, and maybe that was because it was.

The two of you weren’t the same as you used to be, you were older, Negan was older.

“This was so much easier when we were young, y’know” he agreed, thinking back. It wasn’t really easier of course, with you tossing things as he yelled, but it seemed simpler because the time was simpler.

You were younger, and compared to right now, the entire world was simpler. You could have never imagined the dead walking among you, or losing everyone else in your life.

Negan was all you had.

Even when you were upset with one another, you had the wherewithal to acknowledge your common ground. You had so much history between you, and you could always come back to that.

It was one of the nicest things about having been married for so long.

“Yeah…”

There was more silence between you again, too lost in the memories and thoughts to form anymore words, before you finally made up your mind.

“You aren’t forgiven just yet, but I’m done talking about it for the night” you decided, curling up against your pillow before patting the spot beside you, Negan’s side, to tell him right where you wanted him.

You were still mad and you would be for a while, but it was late and you just wanted to go to bed. As angry as you were with him, you both knew that you wouldn’t be able to sleep without having him there by your side.

That was one of the worst things about having been married for so long.

Even when you didn’t want to look at him, you were too used to his even presence by your side to live without him. After all, neither of you was as young as you used to be and you needed your rest.

#negan #negan x reader #negan x plus size wife #negan x plus size reader #negan imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x plus size reader #the walking dead x ps reader #the walking dead imagine #twd #twd x ps reader #twd x plus size reader #twd x reader #twd imagine

[trickstercaptain]

POSEIDON’S TOMB  /  ‘YOU CUT ME YOU CUT THE BOY’ DRABBLE

tl;dr; here i am torching the entire canon version of this scene nearly four years later. it’s actually been a creative urge of mine for a while to revisit this part of dmtnt, but i finally got around to it after a little nudge from @lighthouseborn and therefore this is specifically dedicated to hannah <3

                                                               ~ ~ ~

          If Henry uncharacteristically barrelling towards the two of them hadn’t been the first sign of something being amiss, then there were two others: the boy’s speed, and his stance. Henry’s tuition with the blade was something of a patchwork of several different influences back on Shipwreck, one of which being Jack’s own ( whenever the boy wasn’t more content to scrappily solve an altercation with his fists, which was always his go-to preference ). While not being the superior swordsman himself, and having adapted his form and bent the rules of the engagement over the years to suit his own whims, Jack knew the boy’s approaching stance right now was one of somebody who had been schooled in the art of precision fencing for years ---- more akin to the boy’s father or even the man with whom Henry shared a name. It most certainly was not, could not, did not belong to the lad who he’d had to chastise on several occasions for holding a sword more like a blunt instrument than a tool --------------

          No, Jack knew who this was. He didn’t know how it was possible ( when did he ever? ), but he knew.

          The next few seconds passed by in a blur. Jack could only remember drawing his own blade, shoving Carina aside, and throwing himself forward ( in a rash move that would no doubt win him both Henry and William’s approval ) to meet Henry’s first strike with a shattering clash that rung out throughout the length of Poseidon’s tomb.

          The fact of the matter was that Captain Salazar was a much better swordsman than him. He also had the benefit of years on Jack if he was indeed using Henry as some sort of vessel, as well as a seething, roiling anger at the supposed injustice dealt to him that would see his stamina extend further than it might have done otherwise. These were all the things that Jack was sizing up as he went through the motions, parrying each blow as it arrived, trying to figure out his strategy to buy Carina enough time to get herself over to the trident and solve the final part of her diary.

          And then there were the things not to size up, but to swallow down and put to the back of his mind. That this was Henry staring him down with the look of a man who had wanted him dead for decades. That this was a familiar, always warm, always loving set of brown eyes now regarding him with such contempt. It was difficult to meet them and not contemplate the less rational questions of the moment. How Salazar had accomplished this. How Jack might even start to think about reversing it. Whether there was a chance in Hell that the Trident might in fact help matters, not make them worse.

          How he was planning to live with himself should the unimaginable happen.

         The last question was enough to re-align his thoughts like tacking a sail back to windward. Emotion made you vulnerable to mistakes and sloppiness. Much like Salazar’s anger exposed his own weak spots. And, as Jack raised his blade to block another blow and, in doing so, push the boy away from him, he spotted the opening.

          It was a mere flesh wound, a nick across the boy’s cheek in the hope that it would enlighten him as to the limits of this particular brand of magic. But perhaps that in itself had been too great a risk to take given the potential consequences. Perhaps it was too reckless. Too callous. Particularly when the halt in Salazar’s counter-strike, and the words he levelled back at him made the blood turn to ice in his veins.

                  “ You cut me, you cut the boy, Jack. ”

          Jack faltered, and Salazar advanced. With every frantic block and step backwards, all he could focus on was the way his freshly-inflicted cut blended in with the mottled, cracked flesh on the side of Henry’s face. On the side of Salazar’s face. Despite the confirmation that was lodging itself somewhere in the levelheaded part of his mind that the two of them were now one, now connected, the conclusion he subsequently reached of this making the Spanish captain human was meaningless. Not when he could see that fresh mark on that face, and could feel the revulsion rising in him that he was the one to put it there.

         Jack didn’t care how fallible this made him. Not when the fallibility was Henry’s. So, that left him no choice but to try a different approach, and summon up the guile from somewhere to make it convincing.

        “ Shame that he won’t let you kill me. ” Said with much more confidence than he felt as he planted his feet and met Salazar’s blade with another loud clang. Leaning towards the gap between their crossed blades, Jack lowered his voice. “ He’s still in there, Capitán, Kicking and screaming and attempting to thwart all that you’ve fantasised about for years. ” At least, he hoped that Henry was in there still. If he was, then he most certainly was fighting, and perhaps that meant that this assumption wasn’t entirely --- well, an assumption. “ Reckon that makes it two against one, and I don’t fancy your odds on this one, mate. ”

         It seemed to anger him. Salazar --- or rather, Henry ---- pushed Jack away with his blade and, with a cry of frustration, renewed his offensive. The back of Jack’s boot came into contact with a coral rock, and as he carefully stepped around it, he only just managed to parry the force of his opponent’s next blow. “ Did he make me do this, Jack Sparrow? ” He swung again, with even more power this time --- and for the first time Jack caught sight of the man’s crew at the ocean’s edge, waiting on both sides of where it had parted to reveal Poseidon’s tomb. “ Or this? ”

          The distraction was the first time Jack had let his guard down. It took a moment for the injury to register: a slash from just below the nape of Jack’s neck to his collarbone, but when he spotted the blood soaking through his shirt and waistcoat the potential severity of it became clear. How many times had he aimed for the same area, hoping to sever the vein that would swiftly put an end to a fight? Of all the people to think of in that moment, Jack saw Robby Greene’s face in his mind’s eye, and the warning he’d given him after his first duel to the death.

          If that had gone an inch or two deeper, you’d have been lying there dead, right beside Christophe.

         Was this how he would come full circle? Certainly, in this case, he very much hoped that it hadn’t gone any deeper ---- and for now, the adrenaline was stopping the wound from doing little more than stinging at the spray from the rushing ocean beside them. The more concerning matter at present was his own laboured breathing, in comparison to Henry who was barely breaking a sweat. He was half-tempted to glance over his shoulder and verbalise his frustration at being the only one here to pull his weight. Has Carina not worked the bloody thing out yet?

           Whatever was going on behind him, Jack was running out of options for the problem in front.

           “ Then why make it a fight at all? ” He noticed that Salazar’s ( or was that Henry’s? ) gaze was, for the moment, preoccupied with the growing bloodstain on his shirt, giving Jack enough space to briefly catch his breath. To glance around him. To look down at the lightly bloodied sword in his hand and debate his next choice. One that he should have made hours ago, when the Pearl had first encountered the Silent Mary and Salazar’s crew. One that, until now, he’d been too cowardly to make. “ All you’d have to do is let Henry go and I might just stop resisting altogether. ”

            “ No, no no no, Jack, don’t you see? ” There was a peculiar softness in the way the words were spoken, an intimate whisper between the two of them that was the most he’d sounded like Henry since this had started. Salazar didn’t raise his sword to strike again. Instead, he crossed the scant distance between them, and pressed his ( Henry’s ) hand into his blood stained waistcoat. Jack hissed, and fought against the black dots dancing around in his vision, but otherwise didn’t say a word. “ Don’t you see? ”

           Jack might have been forgiven for thinking that there was something kind in Salazar’s expression, then, but it didn’t last. The look on Henry’s face quickly morphed back into rage, and a hand tightened with surely supernatural strength around Jack’s throat.

           As things went, it wasn’t the first time that someone had tried to strangle him, but having had experience of such things never made it easier to resist the urge to struggle. Ringed fingers rose in a desperate attempt to claw the hands ( Henry’s hands ) off of his neck and release his airway, but it ended up not being his efforts at all that spared him. Instead, it was the loud, rushing noise of the Trident being released from its perch; loud enough, and promising enough, it seemed, for Salazar to momentary abandon any desire he may have had to finish Jack off.

            Besides, it wasn’t as if Jack was in much condition to resist being finished off even if he’d wanted to. As the air rushed back into his lungs, so too did the sea floor rush up to greet him. And only when he’d finally pulled himself up into a sitting position, using one of the rocks on the seabed as an aid, could he finally turn his gaze on the commotion at hand: Captain Salazar picking up the Trident, and Henry seeming to slide out of his control and physically collapse at his feet.

          Carina was nowhere to be seen, but he knew where, or indeed whom, the focus of the Trident’s ire was about to be directed towards. He also knew that, physically speaking, he was just about spent.

          He could have rushed to Henry’s aid, but he didn’t fancy his chances of being intercepted before he got there. Or whether he’d even like what he found.

          All he could do, really, was wait. And it took but mere seconds before Salazar’s eye was once again trained on him ---- though this time, more importantly, looking much more reassuringly like his unnervingly ghostly self.

          Jack steeled himself. You’d better have a bloody plan, Carina. He drew a deep breath, carefully pulled himself to his feet, and had just enough time to slip the girl’s diary under his waistcoat. Just below the bleeding wound. Just above his breastbone.

           One final gambit.

#&. the more that people know of you; the more of you those people feel belongs to them ( drabble tag. ) #trying to decide where to wrap this up was a Challenge but i figured i didn't have the energy to try and make #jack getting attacked with the trident more serious than it is in the film lmao #but this scene that immediately comes before it would /drastically/ change under the better canon that jack and henry know each other #and are close #and the more i wrote the more i had to keep writing so #hence why this is a 1800 word monster lmfao

[adasttrawrites]

The Boombox - a Dramione one-shot

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751569

Hi! I’ve been part of the Dramione fandom since I was 13 but I’ve never written anything - this is my first attempt, ten years later. Let me know how I did!

This little one-shot is set in an AU, one year after the Second Wizarding War, where the surviving teenagers are given the option of coming back for an eighth year to complete their studies. The war criminals have been Obliviated (and are under strict observation) and all those found guilty of minor crimes have had mandatory therapy and thorough rehabilitation. 

Eighth-year students have been given a seperate common room and dormitories to allow them privacy from the rest of the school. 

xx Tina

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

It was 5 o’clock in the evening and the common room was half-filled. Several eighth-years were on their shifts to monitor their old house common rooms and patrol the hallways, Harry Potter and Ron  Weasley included.

Hermione Granger was sitting in an armchair. She was sitting incorrectly, Draco Malfoy observed from his seat on the sofa. Her back was resting against one arm and her legs were swung over the other. She was engrossed in a book, but when Seamus Finnigan set down a large contraption on the coffee table, both she and Draco snapped their heads in his direction.

“Oh my Gods, is that —?” Hermione stood up, walking over to Seamus.

“A boombox!” He looked at it proudly. “My da bought it for me! It’s charmed to work without electricity.”

Draco didn’t know what a boombox was, nor electricity, nor why Hermione Granger was so excited about the strange contraption.

“Do you have any cassettes to play?” She pushed a button and static fizzled out of the the box.

Seamus rifled through his trouser pocket and produced what Draco assumed was a cassette. By this time, everyone had gathered around. Draco watched as Hermione fiddled with the box and suddenly, music poured out of the machine. She jumped to her feet in joy.

“I love this song!”

“What is it?” Neville Longbottom asked. He was curious, having never seen a boombox, either.

“It’s a Muggle music player.” Seamus explained. “This is a Muggle song. It’s by one of the best Muggle bands in the world.”

“It’s the best band in the entire world, Seamus.” Hermione corrected, getting up from her crouched position. She addressed her fellow classmates. “It’s called ‘All My Loving’ and it’s by The Beatles.”

“Beetles?” Blaise Zabini gave Draco a funny look. The handful of students in the room who knew the song had gotten to their feet and started dancing with each other. The Slytherin students didn’t, obviously. Draco watched as Hermione grabbed Neville by the hands and pulled him over to a clear space to dance. Luna Lovegood was standing by the fireplace, wiggling her arms in the air, a distant look on her face. Draco had to admit that the song wasn’t terrible, and he found himself almost smiling when Neville dipped Hermione over his knee. Her face was pink and her curls touched the floor.

“Draco?” Pansy Parkinson tapped his shoulder. “Won’t you dance with me?” She looked nervous, but he knew she was trying to be amicable. She was making an attempt to be involved, like all the Slytherin students in their year. She had even let Ginny Weasley braid her hair the evening before.

“Uh,” Draco glanced back to the scene in front of him before tearing his eyes away to look at Pansy. He didn’t want to look like an idiot, but his rehabilitation officer told him to make a better effort in socialising. “Sure.”

They awkwardly tried to figure out how to dance to the Muggle song and were making little progress when someone touched Draco’s elbow. He turned, embarrassment flushing his face, to see Neville and Hermione smiling at him.

“Do you want us to show you?”

He could see Pansy swallowing her pride. She let go of Draco and took Neville’s hand. Draco was left with Hermione standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly. Just as he steeled himself to place a hand on her waist, the song changed. It was slower. He looked at the boombox, panicked. Hermione put one timid hand on his shoulder and the other into his free hand, forcing him to look at her.

“This one is called “Can’t Fight This Feeling”, she murmured, starting to move her feet. He followed her directions and tried very hard not to pay attention to her fuzzy cat socks or the lyrics of the song. Suddenly she twirled as the chorus began, and before long, he realised that he was leading. They were dancing.

He was dancing with Hermione Granger in front of everyone, to a love song.

“You’re doing great!” A voice broke his reverie and he looked at his dance partner, who shockingly seemed to be enjoying herself. For the first time since they met as first-years, he smiled at her sincerely. A laugh to his left made him look over to see Neville and Pansy dancing like they were the best of friends. It was odd. Oil and water mixing should have been more chaotic, but for whatever reason, coming back to Hogwarts to finish their studies was effortless. Maybe it was the fact that all the captured Death Eaters had been Obliviated, his father included. Maybe it was the desperation to cling to some normality after the previous year. Maybe it was people on both sides realising that enough of their loved ones had died. Whatever it was, Neville and Pansy were laughing and dancing in each others’ arms. As were Blaise and Ginny Weasley. As were he and Granger. He noticed that she was close enough for him to smell her shampoo. It was fruity. The music changed again.

Many times I tried to tell you

Many times I cried alone.

“Granger,” he spoke softly, barely audible over the sound of the music. Her eyes were glazed over, her gaze fixed on a button on his shirt. She looked up. He looked at the smattering of gold flecks in her brown eyes.

Always I'm surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone

Don't want to leave you really.

“What is it?”

We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder

We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under.

“Thank you.”

She smiled up at him, and he wondered why he spent so many years trying to make her cry.

“For what?”

Maybe it's a sign of weakness when I don't know what to say

Maybe I just wouldn't know what to do with my strength anyway.

“For teaching me how to dance.”

She just smiled again, and let go of his hand to place it on his shoulder. Automatically, he dropped his hand to her waist and suddenly, they were closer than before. Now he could actually feel the warmth coming off her body and he wondered how someone so full of life and light could bear to be so near to someone like him, someone so cold.

We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder

We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under

Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better

We belong, we belong, we belong together.

His face must have conveyed the questions running through his head because she lifted a soft hand to his face, her palm against his jaw.

“Don’t think so hard, Draco.” His name tumbled out of her mouth so casually. Like they were friends. He shot a nervous glance at Pansy, who was plastered to Neville, swaying against him like she was drunk. Actually, she did look drunk. Drunk with happiness. Blaise had picked up Ginny and was spinning around. Luna had convinced Seamus to dance with her. Everyone was dancing. It dawned on Draco that they were all drunk on happiness. This was the first time they had done something carefree in months, maybe years. It was certainly the first time in a long time for him.

We can't begin to know it, how much we really care

I hear your voice inside me, I see your face everywhere.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I did.” The words were out before he could think. He gently clutched her arm. The raised lettering made him shudder and he focused on her with an intensity that made her blush.

“You didn’t do this.”

Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better

We belong, we belong, we belong together.

“Then I’m sorry for what I didn’t do.”

For standing by.

For not being brave.

For not saving her from Bellatrix.

For being a coward.

“You know,” she pulled his neck down and whispered into his ear, “I forgave you long ago. It’s over now. We’re fine, you and me.”

He reared back slightly, stunned. How could she? How could she forgive so easily? How could she let go of the pain and suffering that his side had caused her? Was it so easy for her? Was she so good?

“I don’t deserve it.”

His shoulders were tense and he knew she could feel it. Her hand found its way to his cheek, again, and he revelled in how the warmth could make his whole body feel warm. She continued to speak softly.

“Everyone is trying to move on, Draco. So many people died for us to be here today.” She lookee down at the carpet and he knew the dead were still haunting her. She looked up at him, again. “If I hadn’t forgiven you, they would have died in vain, and we would still be fighting. I don’t want to fight anymore, do you?”

He shook his head. He wondered if she had always been this wise. A know-it-all, yes, but wise? Perhaps he wasted so much of his effort on being cruel that he never stopped to think of how valid she was. A witch, more deserving of the title than most, and a good person with a heart of gold, he knew that to be true with no doubt in his mind.

“Thank you.” He absentmindedly tugged one of her curls and watched it bounce back to sit on her collarbone. “Thank you for everything. I don’t deserve it.”

She shrugged. “Thank you.”

“What do you me— why are you thanking me?”

“For letting me teach you how to dance.” She winked at him.

He offered her another smile and, suddenly unsure why his heart was beating so hard, dipped her as the song finished. She stood back up and laughed. It was a lovely sound, one he had never heard before. They weren’t dancing any more, just standing far too close to each other, still holding hands. Over her shoulder, he saw Weasley and Potter enter the room. Potter looked confused, the Weasel looked horrified. Before either of them could cause a scene, Draco bent down to brush his lips against Hermione’s knuckles and smiled, gratefully.

“Another time. Your friends are waiting for you. Goodnight, Hermione.”

Before she could say anything, he was walking away towards the male dormitory. She stood there, amazed at how warm he was, and how cold she felt without him holding her.

“Hermione, what the fuck were you doing?!”

- written by Tina (@whyboyfriendwhenicecream) 

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #harry potter au #dramione au #hermione x draco #dramione one shot #harry potter one shot #one shot #fanfic #dramione fandom #eighties music #dancing #slow dancing #fluff #dramione fluff #neville x pansy #ginny x blaise #blaise x ginny #luna lovegood #neville longbottom #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #ron weasley #seamus finnigan #ginny weasley #hg x dm

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

Nothing is what it seems

No hunting, no world-ending discovery, silence. Dean being, well, Dean will have none of the sorts.

Deano the rhino Winchester x reader.

Viewer beware you're in for a scare: with the amount of, fluff, angst, fairytale ending of happiness, language, some sexual remarks (I mean, c'mon, its dean.) Oh! you may need to call in a dentist, for how tooth-rotting cute this is.

(The gif is kinda misleading ngl..)

Twenty-eight days, six hours, forty-two minutes, and twelve seconds. Is the amount of time the world has been silent. No monsters, no world-ending demise. Nothing. Ultimate and absolutely quiet, the type that was too suspicious to not be questioned. Yet, you may think the world went unnervingly serene, it didn't go out with a bang which was impossible to escape for the Winchester clan. Although the word impossible was a challenge to them, nothing was and nothing will ever be impossible for as long as they lived. The story is going off track, the silence happened gradually, as most disastrous events would. Everything seemed normal, to say the least, normal didn't seem to come across to hunters. Hell, it never existed in their vocabulary, to begin with. It was hell. Literal. Hell. 

Demons had been cascaded across the entire U.S. Billions. Possessing the nearest occupation they could inhabit. It was dreadful, but when it actually happened it was even worse than you would have ever imagined. It was going to be a huge loss for everyone, then the bargain happened to send all of the torturous torment that hell had released back to where it came from. Dean being Dean sold his soul to the man of the beholder. Chuck, himself. Dean thought of it to be harmless, but nothing ever was. Was it? 

That being said the deal he sealed his soul with, was that he had twenty-eight days until the great fight was over and he turned to the lord. Chuck wanted him to be his right-hand man, to kneel when said to. To kill when directed. Dean honestly didn't know which was worse being a demon or Chuck’s pawn. Dean didn't care at the time, when did he ever? But all of a sudden when he turned his head to see where your tattered clothed. Shattered and torn skin form stood. Broken and teary-eyed. As he saw you only a few times during the many years he's hunted alongside you. But never like this. You were not crying, your head not bowed and hiding as it usually is if you were. Yet, your head was held high, shoulders back and chin tilted upwards as your darkened eyes lured him to his inevitable loss of remorse. He knew you would never forgive him for this, he gave his word that he would never get into one of these deals again, yet, here you are once more.

It had been a few days since the ”incident.” You refused to call it any different because that's all it was an incident. One of which will take months, one of which Dean didn't have to make you forgive him. You gave him glares as he walked past you to sulk in his bedroom, the glares that were driving daggers into his heart. He felt so shitty for what he had done, but it was either that or millions of people who were better than he could ever be. And he'd be damned if it was him over them. He would give his soul and life any day to save at least a couple of people in a week, to him that is a definite win. With Cas being gone along with Jack to try to ”fix” the child of the powers of a God. Sam also being away on a whim of what looked like a couple of measly ghosts. 

That usually seems to be the aftermath of what had happened prior. His self-hatred was only cooking itself as he glanced over to the photos he stabbed to his desk. The only thing that had caught his attention, the photo had captured his adolescence, his hair caught in his eyes. He locked his legs on an old bright wood tree fort that appeared to be at a freshly new park that had just been installed. His short legs swung as he tried to pull himself up. His small hands grasping against a few splinter filled ledges. He remembers the day so vividly, it was engraved in his mind, he remembers that it was one of the rare days that his dad was off on a hunt with Bobby. He was too young to go so his mom took him to the nearest park to waste some time, she wore a sundress behind that camera that had captured so many memories of his and some of Sam’s life. The bright red-lipped smile she held when he finally gave his last attempt to push himself onto the fort but failed as he fell, his feet flailing above him as his tiny bruised filled arms tried to grasp onto something, anything, to soften the fall against his wishes. His head shifts to the side as he groans the air leaving him as his head tilts and he watches her walk to the petite restaurant across the street. Then it came to him, he needed to go back there. To the place of his childhood.

You persisted against the idea when he first initiated it, but when you saw him in the driver's seat smiling so high that his face should've hurt but he didn't care. The thought of sharing this place with you was too much. He loved the thought that he could show you this that he could show you that he was comfortable with you. Hopefully, you could see it, to understand where he was coming from. He hated the tough guy act never letting you know that he cared. Here he is only a few days left in his time glass and wanting to show you that he's not the bad guy that you always see. His thoughts drowned him until he stopped rambling on about how Metallica simply is not better than Led Zeppelin.

 He looked out the window, the one that you were occupying and saw the fort in all its glory. The year's catching up to it but it stood still all high and almighty in all its wake. The wood is now dull grey and slightly inclined. His eyes brightened in the forest they are, as they scanned the tire swing that he remembered making Sam push him in. ”Holy shit, ” he breathed out in disbelief as to how it survived. You smiled at how silly this all was but giving in to the joy he was having reliving his childhood. He lowered the volume as he stared at you, taking you in. You were always easy on the eyes but today was something different, no make up which was usual as you were a hunter, while you wore one of his flannels he gave you (well, you stole) and some distressed blue jeans that the holes became the jeans from deteriorating over the years. He wanted to so desperately tell you that you look beautiful in the Orange glow of the setting sun. He opted for the smoother approach. Softly grabbing your hand, your soft features with a few scars here and there. He still loved them; he loved everything about you at this point. His lips pulled into a lopsided smirk ”we’re here, sweetheart.” 

You couldn't push the feeling of happiness down when you watched him go on about all the memories he shared with Sam and Mary throughout the years they spent at the park. But you couldn't help thinking that why was John never brought up, why did John never bring Dean to the park? You couldn't help think about it but then another wondrous thought bloomed. Where the hell did Dean go? You at first thought it was a practical joke of him toying with you. You sighed as you got up from your peaceful lounging on the soft, dewy grass. Then you began your hunt to find the disappearance of Dean. You called out his name, although you knew it wouldn't help. You began to become discouraged and you stopped. Your hand brushing along the torn faded wood, the thorns, and bark poking against your scarred skin. You walked towards the end of the fort anxiety becoming you.

 You jumped when a form lurched down from the fort, it hung from its feet, as you realized it was your suspect you scoffed and hit his chest and heavy laughter ran through him. You stalked back to your spot in the grass shortly after in disappointment, but you should’ve known that the man child would pull something like this. He bellowed out ”I KNOW YOU LOVE ME,EVEN IF YOU CAN'T LOVE YOURSELF!” you rolled your eyes at what the most self destructive man in the universe just said and at the chuckle you let out.

It was a few hours later and Dean had joined you on sitting on the grass, (we are so not going to talk about the fight about how, he couldn’t sit by you because apparently, you in fact have cooties.) Yet to his dismay, his bowed legs crossed one another and his left arm perched as he picked at the strands on your jeans. Your left hand was in his hair playing with the hair on the back of his neck. You wished things were different, more simple, more relaxing as if every day could be one like this. His face is softer and more relaxed, comfortable even. He never got like this; it was very rare for him to let his guard down. You couldn't help the motion as you pressed your lips to his forehead and that made him know that you have forgiven him. He smiled and looked up and glanced up at you before he tackled you in a hug pressing sloppy kisses all over your face. 

You scrunch your nose and lightly tried to push him off for air. ”Dean!” you let out in a gasp as he nipped your neck finally getting off you. He pushed his hand out to help you up, shortly after you dusted the pesky grass off of you dean watching you with the most shit-eating grin ”ya know, I can help with that, ” he said in a smart ass tone. You whirled around mouth wide open ”excuse me?!” you shrieked. After you collected yourself you gave him a look that said he was in trouble and before he took off running all you could hear was ”IM SORRY” over and over again. 

You were once on the road again and sat closer to Dean than you were before, his hand rested on your knee gripping every now and then to remind you that he's there. His other hand resting lazily against the wheel, your head rested on his shoulder as you watched the road go on taking to where Dean knows where. You were drifting in out of consciousness. The last thing you felt was his soft lips on your forehead and words forming around them shaping into; ”I think I love you, sweetheart.”

The engine fumes stopped and the car jolted to a halt when you realized you've finally come to your destination for the night. Dean shook you softly ”Baby, wake up, ” he whispered softly trying to wake you as gently as he can. Your eyes fluttered open yet you still snuggled closer into his chest. He stroked your hair  ”c’mon, sweetheart. Don't do this to me.” He spoke hoarsely the night catching up to him. He shifted and opened the door, laying you softly down in the booth of baby. He adored the stars as he walked to the ledge of the cliff and sitting down, the ocean crashing against the rocks below him. The moon's glow shimmering across its surface. 

Through thick and thin he was happy, content with what's going to happen. He thought it was well overdue for him, he's lived his life and he's glad it's coming to an end. The lives he's saved and the less fortunate ones he couldn't, but in the end, he was going to be one of the ones who had gotten away from him. His boot-clad feet rested against the dirt, his hands running across the grass, the one that matched his eyes. He closed his eyes, his head tilted to the darkened sky. He let out a sigh and a smile, he loved you and that's the only thing that he’ll miss when he goes, your smile, your bright eyes that he'd gotten countless times lost into, your broken skin that he loved running his eyes across. He fell hard. Quite literally the face of the ocean coming to his back, as he fell his eyes watching above him watching your form, on the top of the cliff fall away from him. Even though he was submerged he could still see your distorted form watching him drown.

He screamed but water still ran into his lungs as he jumped out of his twin-sized bed. Sam’s face in his as he spoke; ”I told you, son, if you didn't wake up I was going to get the bucket.” Sam growled out, acting as if he was their father. Dean ran his hand through his now drenched face as he glared at Sam in the doorway, laughing, as he watched his brother's fear stroke form. He groaned and fell back onto the drenched bed, defeated. Sam leaned against his brother's door frame taking in his state, ”You had another dream about her didn't you?” he spoke quietly as if he spoke any louder it would scare him, but the fact of the matter was he did dream of ”her” again and he hated that this wouldn't be the first, not the last dream he’d have of you.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #xreader #x reader #DEAN BEING A LITTLE SHIT #dean winchester x reader fluff #Sam Winchester #john winchester #mary winchester #so much fluff #fluff #angst #supernatural #fanfic #cuteness #cute butt #deans a warning of his own #dean winchester x reader angst #spn

[ohdearhiddles]

TITLE: Angel of Death

CHAPTER: 3/? (Chapter Masterlist)

CH. SUMMARY: Loki wants nothing more than for you to be free.

WORD COUNT: 2998

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: Hello hello!! It's been a week (I think?) since I last updated, but trust me I was mostly brainstorming away. It's like every time I tried to focus on this chapter, my brain went "OH HEY BUT HOW ABOUT THIS IN THE NEXT CHAPTER" and so it took a bit longer than expected. This is partially unedited, but I hope you enjoy it all the same x (AO3 LINK)

TAG-LIST: @inumorph @literally-anythin​

Monsters. What is a monster? You wondered, eyes trained on the vulnerable man before you. Was a monster an eight legged beast with fangs dripping with venomous fury? Was a monster the shadow lurking beneath the children’s beds, waiting for the moment they can steal them away? Was a monster the murderous fiend that you had been accused of being? Was a monster Loki? Or was a monster just a normal person, hiding in plain sight, ready to attack at any given moment?

If all of these were considered definitions of monsters in some form, then doesn’t that mean no one was safe? Does that not mean that every living being is considered a monster? 

For the first time that night, you felt a weight come off your shoulders like a demon who had lost interest in its prey. Suddenly, you were not alone. This moment, this vulnerability, this exchange was a taste of freedom that the both of you had longed for.

“No,” you whispered. “You are not a monster, Loki.”

His eyes that were once filled with worry now contained galaxies of unending gratitude. The words the god had longed to hear had finally come forward. He stepped forward, his eyes boring into your own. “And you are no more a monster than I, Y/N.”

You shook your head, refusing to believe him, but Loki only continued.

“If I, a tainted god that has been burdened with his past, can be forgiven by a mortal who resides in a city I nearly destroyed when I am not worthy of such forgiveness, then why must you be a monster? You have done nothing but mourn over events that are not your fault. Do you not think that you have punished yourself more adequately than any other mortal could have?” The backs of Loki’s fingers brushed against the skin of your cheek, and your eyes fell shut at the calming touch.

“Have you not punished yourself enough, little one?” Just like before, his words made you feel small. Not small as in inadequate. No, Loki’s words made you feel like you were cared for despite all you had done - a lost child with no path besides the one fate had made for her. As the words faded, you felt yourself growing inexplicably tired at the soft touch of the God of Mischief. Within seconds your world went black.

***

The music played as the double doors began to open. The light was incredibly bright, emphasizing the shadows of at least a hundred individuals. As you came into their view, the shadows stood up, wide glistening smiles on their indistinct faces. It was terrifying almost. It was almost as if you were about to walk into a room filled with dozens of cheshire cats that had been waiting patiently for your highly anticipated arrival. Footsteps resonated around you, coming closer with every passing second, and before you knew it there was a man standing by your side.

“Shall we?” He asked, his wide smile the only visible feature on him.

Even without knowing who the man was, you followed his movements. He offered you his arm, and as you grasped it, a familiar warmth overwhelmed you. It took a minute to process why it felt so warm, so familiar. You and the strange man walked into the room, looking at all the smiles around you all the while.

It was so strange. The music was strange, the people were strange, and when you looked down to see an ivory white ball gown adorning your body, you realized that you were also very strange. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of an altar, the man beside you now holding your hands tightly. When you looked up to gaze at his face, it was a face that haunted your memories and dreams.

“Dad?” You whispered, your eyes already brimming with tears. His eyes were cold as he looked at you. The grip around your hands tightened as he frowned at you, mouth opening as he began to speak.

“You plan on marrying him?” He seethed, eyes glancing at an unknown presence behind you. “Are you going to seal the future with a kiss and kill him in the process?”

The tears began to fall freely as he spoke. You shook your head, a sob escaping your lips, “Dad, I’m so sorry.”

“No, Y/N, I’m sorry,” your father glared. “I made you into a monster.”

Your father turned away, walking to an empty spot among the many faceless shadows. His features slowly faded into black, and you found yourself attempting to remember every small detail of him. Watching him fade was almost like watching him die a second time. Part of you yearned for him to stay even if that meant he hated you until the end of time. 

A hand rested gently on your shoulder. You turned quickly, eyeing the suspicious stranger. Is this who you were meant to marry? Is this the man cursed to be with a monster? When he fully came into view, you were confused. The man was still only a black shadow, but you could see him slowly fading into something more. It was as if everything came into focus from the bottom to the top.

The mysterious man’s body was covered in black leather with gold accents, an emerald green cape flowing freely down his back . It was attire that you had never seen before, and you were quite certain no one in their right mind would wear such clothing on this planet. His figure was lean yet intimidatingly strong, and you could feel your heart race as if you had loved this man all your life. As his face began to reveal itself, a loud hum began to emit from the ground. The hum only grew louder as the two of you stood at the altar, and pretty soon, the mysterious man turned to you completely, his face still too dark to truly recognize. His lips moved, and his grip tightened, but you couldn’t hear him at all. The deep hum within the earth began to vibrate your surroundings, threatening to break apart the terrifying paradise around you. You shut your eyes tightly as you felt the man’s hands tighten around yours. The hum only grew worse with every second, almost as if you were about to become deaf from it.

Suddenly, it stopped. You opened your eyes to see darkness. The darkness was as black as the shadows that once surrounded you. In fact, darkness didn’t seem to fully describe it. No, this was more of an endless void. It felt like nothing. There was no warmth, no chill, no presence discernable in it. If you were honest, it felt like the absence of everything - light, sound, feeling, and life.

Your hands were still in someone, or something’s, grasp. You looked up, frantically searching for the source of the pressure holding your hands in place. It was right then that you saw the glowing sea green eyes of a man you had come to know. The void overwhelmed you and him until all you could see was the man in front of you among the infinite darkness.

“Loki?” You asked, watching as his eyes widened in fear. He took a step back, his hands flying up to grab hold of his neck. There was no sound, but you could see him gasping for air. His skin began to turn blue, ridges and veins clearly visible on his hands and his face. He took one glance into your eyes before collapsing to the ground, his once vibrant eyes dimming.

“You killed him,” a voice whispered.

“You murdered him,” another yelled.

“You ended his life,” a third voice called from the darkness. The area around you illuminated with wide cheshire-like smiles. Each word they said felt like weights crashing down on you, pulling you down into the fiery depths of hell. 

“I trusted you,” a chorus of voices spoke from all around you. When you looked around, twelve sets of eyes surrounded you. Twelve men. Twelve victims. Twelve dead. 

Twelve murders.

***

You shot up in bed, forehead glistening with sweat as you analyzed your surroundings. It was outrageously dark - too dark. Were you not just in your living room moments ago? For a brief moment, you believed you were still in your dream. Perhaps the voices, the men you had harmed, had come back for you. Perhaps they would end you like you ended them. Fumbling for your phone on your nightstand, you glanced at the time.

03:33.

Sighing, you sat up. As much as you wanted to believe that the timing was far too convenient to be coincidental, you let yourself brush the thought aside. The last thing you needed was to feel spooked during witching hour. You began counting in your head while staring off into the corner of your room.

Minutes passed as you steadily realized that sleep would continue to evade you. You swung your legs off the side of your bed before stepping onto the cold floor below you. The world swayed as you felt blood rush to your head and you found yourself stumbling a bit to counter the gravity that had befallen you. You walked the few steps it took to get to your bedroom door before slipping out. As you walked to your kitchen, your senses began to heighten. Every sound outside as well as inside made you jolt in caution as if you were waiting for a vengeful predator to make its presence known.

The walk to your kitchen had never seemed so long before, yet here you were, walking infinitely slow just to get to a room down the hall. When you finally reached your destination, you decided to pull a mug out of a cupboard. If you could just make a nice cup of tea, maybe sleep would welcome you back with open arms. 

You hauled yourself on top of the counter, swinging your legs like an innocent child as you waited for the hot water to finish boiling. Every couple seconds, your feet would tap on the cabinets below, causing a startling bang. The water had just begun to boil when you heard someone clear their throat. Turning immediately, you met the curious gaze of Loki.

“What are you doing?” The god asked, an eyebrow raising.

You jumped down from your position, eyeing him suspiciously, “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?”

Loki stood still, eyebrows furrowing as if he either had no idea why he was there or he had no idea why you would ask such an absurd question. Without looking at what you were doing, you reached for the pot holding your now steaming water. A sharp pain jolted through your hand as you glanced down to see that you had grabbed the hottest part of the metal. You cursed under your breath, holding your burnt fingertips to your mouth before turning to run some cold water on the affected area.

The God of Mischief was quick to come to your aid. His hand encapsulating yours while he held your hand up to see the damage. “You asked me to stay, do you not recall?”

Confused, you pulled your hand away. Had you really asked him? Seconds passed as you tried to remember asking him to stay the night, but nothing came to mind. If you weren’t shuffling through your memories in order to find the moment such a thing occurred, you would have noticed the soft green glow that surrounded your entwined hands. You would have noticed the soft kiss Loki left on your fingertips after the glow subsided, and you most certainly would have noticed the lack of pain pulsing through your hand.

When you finally finished trying to remember, Loki’s face was very close to yours. Too close. You could feel his cool breath on your cheeks as he seemed to slowly inch closer until his lips were less than a centimeter from your own. Your eyes widened in shock as your hands flew up to cover your mouth. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, stumbling backwards until your back was against the counter. Loki made no movements towards you; instead, he shook his head and turned off the running water. For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a pained look on his face at the sudden rejection.

“Nothing,” he responded, still facing the faucet.

“I don’t remember asking you to stay tonight, Loki,” you said. Every second you thought more about it, the more you realized that you couldn’t even remember getting to bed. You were still wearing your dress from earlier, and you weren’t the type to fall asleep in your day clothes - ever. “I don’t even remember going to bed.”

You heard the god sigh with his back still turned to you. He turned slowly, meeting your cautious gaze, “I put a spell on you.”

“A spell,” you stated. It was by no means a question, not now when you knew he was capable of such magic. “What spell?”

“I simply put you into a deep sleep. For days you mentioned that you were not able to sleep well, and now that I know why, I decided to do what needed to be done,” he spoke, arms crossing against his chest. It was at that moment that you realized that he was still wearing his suit. No wonder you hadn’t seen him when you walked into the room - the god was dressed in complete black. He was practically dressed as the darkness itself.

“So,” you started, an eyebrow raising in scrutiny, “You put me to sleep without even asking, when we were talking?”

“Yes,” Loki answered.

“Don’t do that.”

“And why not?” The God of Mischief took a step forward. “If I were to have let you continue on the conversation, leaving shortly after, would you have slept?”

You stood silently, knowing very well that you would have tossed and turned throughout the night like you had for the past six years.

“I saw a window of opportunity, and I took it.” He continued, the silence answering his previous question. “Better for you to fall asleep in my company than in the company of your personal demons. If you were standing in my position, you would have noticed how undeniably exhausted you were. How was I meant to let you push me out the door when I can clearly see how much you needed rest without interruption, without fear of being dragged into your past?”

You hesitated. Glancing at the sincere look in his eyes, you sighed in defeat. 

“Just,” you started to say, waving a hand in the air, “Don’t do that without asking first next time, okay?”

Loki nodded, “As you wish.”

You kept your distance as Loki poured the hot water into the mug that you had placed on the counter. He grasped a tea packet from a jar next to your stove before handing you the warm cup. As you took the mug from him, you smiled. Loki, God of Mischief, had just helped you make some tea. If that wasn’t the most absurd thing to have ever happened in your kitchen, then you weren’t quite sure what was. 

“Would you like some?” You asked, holding the cup slightly higher to indicate that you were speaking about tea.

He shook his head, “I’m not overly fond of tea in the middle of the night.”

The two of you stood in awkward silence before you motioned to the couch in the adjoining room. Loki nodded, following behind as you made your way over to sit down.

“Is it normal for you to wake in the early hours like this?” He inquired as you sipped on your tea. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” you responded, placing the mug on the table. “I don’t sleep peacefully anymore.”

Loki nodded in understanding. He, too, was plagued by nightmares. He dreamt vividly of the events that he had taken part in, and with every passing second spent asleep, he was only ever reminded of his repulsive status among those around him. However, as the god watched your shaky hands reach for your mug again, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. There was something about you that made him protective, and he could not be certain as to what that was, but he knew that you were a being to be watched over.

Loki knew the pain of being riddled with demons, and he knew how hard it was to sleep with the voices telling you that there would be no greater monster than yourself. He understood the torment and the endless waking hours. He could recall all the nights in which the cold sweat dripped down his neck as he woke from the unspeakable just to find that the nightmare never ended. Loki knew far too well, and although he recognized these troubles as something he would give away in a heartbeat, he found himself wanting to take away your pain and make it his own.

In his mind, he could not fully understand why you, of all people, were plagued with such abilities. You were kind. You were forgiving. You were everything the god considered himself not to be, and that in itself was the reason he could not understand. Loki could understand and relate to everything you were going through, but he could not fully comprehend why it was you that met this fate. He did not want to see you suffer or for you to be afraid that someone would come around to drag you away. No, Loki would not allow those thoughts to plague you. He needed to protect you.

And for the first time in a long while, Loki found himself wanting to save someone. He wanted to save you from yourself even if it meant that it could be his downfall.

(Chapter 4)

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki imagine #loki #loki fanfic #loki fandom #soft!loki #soft loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x mutant!reader #mutant!reader #mutant powers #slow burn #angelofdeath #reader insert #ohdearhiddles imagine #ohdearhiddles imagines #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic

[thecorteztwins]

(In which Fabian takes issue with the fact the Alt Marauders have been taking all the attention on this blog!) An extremely important issue on which everyone had a differing individual opinion was taking place on The Marauder, with each of the crew’s stance being a deep and profound reflection on their character. it was a dramatic, pivotal moment, the outcome of which would determine the course of their journey, both in terms of the ship’s course---and of people. It was at the climax, when a decision was about to be reached and tension was at its most gravid, that Fabian Cortez burst into the cabin. “BEHOLD! Your better, Lord Cortez, has found you thieving scoundrels at last and shall drag you before the all-seeing eyes of justice---and JUDGEMENT!” He made a dramatic figure indeed, his hand clutching at the air in an upturned claw, his mouth in a grim setting, his eyes ablaze, his figure backlit by the red-orange sunset so that he seemed to glow from behind. He had timed it VERY carefully for this effect, and thus he let it linger a moment so that their inferior brains could process the glory before them. And indeed, they were in stunned silence! “How did you get here?” Claudine asked after a few seconds. We’re on a BOAT,” Madelyne pointed out in bafflement. “Which is private property,” Sebastian added. “Can I HELP you, Fabian?” asked Shinobi snottily. “You KNOW him?” Pyro said, having run into the fucker before too. “Are you alright?” Haven asked, approaching him in concern, as he looked upset. “Well you should ask, m’lady” Fabian inhaled, then exclaimed,  “For I have been WRONGED! Grievously wronged! By---ALL OF YOU!” He pointed dramatically at all of them, who looked bored and disgusted except Haven, who then asked him what had happened, to the protest of everyone else they protested because they knew he’d go off, at length. Which he did. Throwing his arms into exaggerated gestures, he pontificated, “Too long the spotlight has swung towards you lot! I am a generous man, I can allow some attention to go even to those who do not deserve it, but this has gone too far! You glory hogs, you vain popinjays, you histrionic self-aggrandizing false gods, I come to take back what is mine and warn you not to try and take again what does not belong to thee!” Yet again, there was silence. Then a small, cringing “Oh my god” from Claudine, who had put her forehead to her hand. “You recognize me! “ Fabian sounded pleased now, “I knew the fairer sex amidst you would! You ladies, fear not--you are forgiven! I know you were only swept along by these cads in hope this slight would make me notice you! But you never needed to resort to this! I promise, Lord Cortez has enough love to go around for all!” Sebastian sighed, getting up from his seat, “Well, I’ll do the honors, I suppose.” “Thanks,” said Madelyne, “Cuz I don’t even wanna touch him with telekinesis.” Claudine added, “Same for me and telepathy.” “I could phase him through the bottom of the ship,” said Shinobi, “But like...that seems super mean to the fish.” “And uh....my way might be too messy,” Pyro flicked a little flame over his thumb. “No one is going to hurt Mr. Cortez,” Haven said, looking at the others, “I think we should include him if he feels left out. There’s room here for another.” “So you wish me to be your captain? Very well, I acceptEEEEEEE!”” “I’m NOT hurting him Ms. Dastoor,” said Shaw as he grabbed the taller man by the ponytail, eliciting an extremely high-pitched screech, “It’s his LANDING that’s going to hurt.” And, against all laws of physics, tossed Lord Cortez all the way back to Krakoa.

#fic #writing #alt marauders

[dat-town]

CODE Z3RO | CODE 11

characters: BTS & Red Velvet genre: thriller, futuristic au warning: grief, somebody being an asshole as always, death summary: The twelve most ambitious and promising university students are welcomed in Choego, the world’s first entirely artificial intelligence-driven city, to compete for five job contracts that could change their life. But what if something goes wrong? What if they get trapped? What if the city suddenly turns against them? Can they find a way out before the countdown reaches zero? words: 4.7k tagged: @philosopher-of-fandoms​

➼ Chapter Index

Yerim watched silently as Namjoon mourned.

The memory of Seokjin's death came back to haunt her with renewed force. The wound seemed both too fresh and sensitive but old and scarred at the very same time. It was almost as if years had passed since they had first stepped onto the island of Choego. For one, she definitely felt as if time had taken its toll on her and it wasn't only about maturing. It was also about getting tired of seeing people die all around. It was something people only experienced from their sixties and maybe soldiers at war. Losing her brother in such a brutal way and surviving without him by her side was how she supposed warriors that had left a battle felt. The loss had left its ugly marks on her soul but also hardened her heart. No other death could have hurt her as much, not even the always kind and helpful Wendy's. However, out of all of them it was her who could understand the engineer guy's heartbreak the best. She could relate to that lifelessness taking over his body. She also knew the only reason why he was still fighting and not giving up wasn’t because he wanted to live so bad but that his deceased girlfriend would have been disappointed if he didn’t. It was the same for her with Seokjin. Her brother would have never forgiven her if she didn’t keep on.

Maybe driven out of guilt or because she needed something to do, Seulgi cleaned the pool of blood up as thoroughly as she could and even finished the meal Wendy was preparing while the guys took her body to the park. Namjoon insisted on burying her under flowers because deep down he wasn't so sure they could make it out alive at all. And he wanted nothing less than leave his girlfriend's body to shrivel on the floor of a random restaurant in this murder city. Yerim supported his idea because it was something she wished she could have done to her sibling, after knowing that the researchers all died in their building from the lack of oxygen and probably nobody was coming to get them, this was something she immensely regretted: not being able to say proper goodbye to her brother. Seokjin would have deserved so much more.

Though, watching Wendy’s funeral, the crying, agonized Namjoon and two boys, Jungkook and Yoongi standing by his side injected bitter feelings into the young girl’s foolish heart. She knew she shouldn’t have blamed them, because back then they didn’t have time but still, paying respect to one of their dead friends felt unfair towards all the others. Not just her brother, but the girl in the dorm whose name she hadn’t even learned, Hoseok whose girlfriend waited for him at home, Jimin who had come from a wealthy family and had been taken away before he could have led the successful life he was expected to and Joohyun who had never said a bad word about her. They had been all someone’s sons and daughters, siblings or lovers and they had died so frivolous death, it made her heart churn in sorrow.

“What the fuck they’re still doing? It has been an hour already!” Taehyung snorted after a while because he couldn’t seem to keep quiet and still for any longer. It had already been an hour since they had found Wendy’s body on the floor and after Namjoon’s mental breakdown, the situation among all of them became quite tense. Some of them ate, forced a few bites down their throats but not all of them could do it without vomiting up the content of their stomachs and they couldn’t just move on because the always reasonable engineer boy cared about nothing else but having his girlfriend buried properly. Giving him what he wanted in exchange for peace was a small price to pay in this killing game they unintentionally got themselves into.

Only Taehyung didn’t like their so-called weak attitude but by now, nobody cared about a word he said. He was better off complaining by himself because his harsh words no longer seemed to have any effect on the others. Yet, he didn’t run off, facing Choego’s artificial intelligence by himself. All talk but no bark, as Jungkook kept reassuring Yerim who had once trembled like a leaf when the Marketing guy had told her off. But she wasn’t the same little girl anymore. She wasn’t that easily scared after all that had happened to them. At this point, she swore she wouldn’t be afraid of a boy when the city itself was much more dangerous.

Taehyun huffed out an angered aish loudly when nobody answered and went back to the kitchen, looking for something to drink... or to break based on the noises. Yerim and Seulgi exchanged a quick glance until the girl averted her eyes and scratching the back of her hands she went back to clean the last bit of blood off of the doorframe. They both knew it didn’t matter. They would leave soon enough and destroying the evidence changed nothing about the fact that Wendy died but if she needed that in order to keep her sanity, the journalist girl wasn’t going to say anything. She merely turned her attention to the notebook in front of her on the table and with slightly quivering fingers she hastily wrote down a few more thoughts. This was her way of coping.

Ten more minutes passed, two more small pages filled with her childish handwriting and the rest of the guys walked back to the restaurant. Namjoon came last, head hanging low, face pale. Yerim’s gaze followed him to the toilet until the door swung closed behind him. Then she dared to speak up while shoving her little note book back into her backpack.

"Did she run into the door so fa–" she mumbled to the close-by Jungkook but the worn out boy shook his head in disagreement.

"There's no speed she could run into it and die from it," he said, years of physics studies finally paying off. He turned his gaze towards the once bloody door warily as if it was an arm of a sleeping monster that could grab them any moment. He felt uneasy just thinking about all the ways a system like this could hurt them. "I guess it moved by itself because of some mechanism. This freaking smart city.”

There was so much resentment in his voice, so much hatred towards something once admired that Yerim felt it resonate deep within her bones. The more time they spent here, the more she hated being here because this place was full of ghosts and memories she wanted to get rid of. She prayed that the main computer that they were looking for was really the key to the solution. She didn’t know what she would have done if they had lost the last bit of hope they had.

“We… we can stop it, right? I mean, it’s just wires and computers, isn’t it? We can shut it down before it kills us all, right?” she asked in a small voice from the boy next to her. Maybe it was the anticipation in her or because of the eerie silence surrounding them but she started having doubts. It felt as if a storm was going to break out, it made the hair stand on the back of her neck.

Jungkook turned his head towards her, deep brown eyes boring into her lighter caramel ones and the girl still blushed as they held eye contact. She felt silly for getting these giddy butterflies in her stomach despite the slaughter around them. How could she still think about holding this boy’s hand just because his eyes always seemed to soften whenever he looked at her? How could she wonder about snuggling close to him, seeking peace and safety in his arms from the world itself? But no matter how much she tried to hide these feelings and bury them deep in her heart, knowing well it wasn’t as important as getting out of here, she couldn’t control her heart, it had a will on its own. And no matter how mature she tried to act, she was still just a teenage girl at heart.

“We can. We will,” Jungkook told her as firmly as he could and Yerim tried her best to believe him. She forced a smile onto her face, a trembling curved pink line between her pale cheeks. She only looked away when he heard the others talking suddenly. Her head snapped towards the IT guy whose hoarse voice filled the void.

“Where to next?” Yoongi turned towards the architect girl who had been picking on her nails with not having anything better to do. Her eyes were like dark and panicky like a deer’s caught in the headlights. Being put on the spot, into the spotlight must have pressured her a lot but there was nobody else to turn to. Everybody knew that and yet, this time it wasn’t Taehyung who always found something to pick on but Namjoon.

“Really? Are we still following her?” he snorted black-heartedly as he glared at the little group, judging them for their blind trust.

“Namjoon, she is our best chance...” Yoongi reasoned in a forced calm voice but the engineer wasn’t interested in his explanation.

“No, I don’t care. She would only lead us to death. Don’t you?” he snapped his head towards the girl suddenly and Seulgi could only shiver under his cold stare. Yerim felt bad for her because it really wasn’t her fault, it was none of theirs, they had no idea what this city was capable of.

“I’m sorry,” the older girl mumbled, eyes brimming with unshed tears as she stared at the floor. Her voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible when she continued. “It must have been an anomaly. A mistake in the algorithm.”

She was probably right since the sector was still intact, the electricity still ran and the rest of them was physically in a good shape. Mentally not so much.

"You told us this is the safest place in town! You said this, so why? Why did she have to die? Will you take responsibility for it? Will you?" Namjoon raised his voice screaming at Seulgi, totally out of it, reaching the anger phase of the grieving process. Being there not too long ago, Yerim knew that in reality he didn't blame Seulgi, he just needed someone to take his anger out on. Seulgi was the easiest victim.

“Stop it!” Yoongi said in a stern voice, standing between the fragile girl and the guy with a much bigger built. Though, the IT major looked so intimidating with that fierce look in his eyes even Namjoon backed out.

“Whatever,” he muttered under his nose and shoved everything down from the closest table. The clashing sound of cutlery falling on the ground and the breaking noise of glass piqued Taehyung's interest enough for him to come back inside. He glanced on the floor seeing the mess and then at the little group gathering around. This time, he was smart enough to shut up.

“We’re going to the main computer. If any of you doesn't want to come, then don’t. You’re free to stay. But if you come, don’t forget, we’re a team, together in this,” having no other options, the brown haired masters student took the leader position once again and nobody objected when he led them out of the restaurant, back to the park, following a pretty flower road heading right to the heart of the Eastern part of the island.

Yerim started the tiring promenade by Jungkook's side, though she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulders on Namjoon's resigned figure lagging off at the back. She took a deep breath, considering that moment the last when she could have changed her mind but eventually she slowed down her steps enough for the guy to catch up. She didn't miss Jungkook's confused gaze on her either as she fell into step with the silent engineer.

“Wendy wouldn’t blame Seulgi,” Yerim quietly spoke up after a few tense minutes passed.

“I know,” Namjoon let out a resigned sigh. He looked exhausted as if he had used up all his energy in that earlier breakdown. The journalist girl didn't even want to force him to talk to her, she was okay with walking side by side, so she was the most surprised when the guy eventually spoke up. "I… it's just so hard, you know? Out of the two of us she had always been the strong one. Without her, I don't… I don't know if I can do it. She should have survived and not me. She would know what to do."

Hearing his monologue, Yerim's lips trembled with the force of held back tears. She wasn't ready for the wave of missing her brother hitting her with such impact. Out of them, it was also Seokjin who was rather made to survive. It made her wonder who would be the last one standing if this program was made to kill them all, if it was a grotesque modern version of Battle Royal? Or if it took the five contracts too seriously and didn't stop until then? Then one more of them had to die.

"I know what you mean," Yerim said quietly, nibbling on her teeth and she looked ahead at the boy leading them all. He took the leader role after Seokjin's tragic end and the young girl couldn't help but foresee him dying to save them all. Or a special someone, she noted as she spotted Seulgi close to him once again. They had somehow gotten closer during the day. She was probably way too busy with her own messy emotions to notice but now it was clear that the shy, reserved girl found peace in the presence of the seemingly cold guy.

Or would it have been Jungkook? Her eyes shifted to the boy in that worn hoodie in front of her. The way he consoled her and stayed by her side after her brother died, she guessed it was because he felt bad, guilty over the happenings and she was way too weak and foolishly lovesick to reject his affection just because of her pride. Whatever the boy’s reason was, she was glad she didn’t have to face all these terrible situations alone. However, she would have never wanted Jungkook to give up something for her, she would have never expected anything of him either. She could only hope he also knew that, so when Jungkook glanced behind over his shoulder, she flashed him a reassuring small smile. She didn’t want him to worry about her.

Little did she know that he worried nevertheless.

Even though Yerim seemed a lot better than a few hours earlier but the sight of her broke down and barely able to move because of the mental pain she suffered was still clear in his mind and he couldn’t get rid of this image. It haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

He got to know Yerim as a very soft, kind-hearted girl with endless trust in the world and its people and if someone she didn’t deserve to be treated so cruelly and unfairly. He might have thought of her as a dead weight but in a surviving game like this, power or hard-skills weren’t the only needed things. Wendy had also proved that a little kindness could go a long way and seeing Yerim willingly give Namjoon a shoulder to cry on reminded him of the med student’s helpfulness. And look how she ended up. Her wide, frightened, lifeless eyes still haunted the boy’s thoughts. The flower petals they buried her under didn’t help at all.

Jungkook shook his head as if he could have gotten rid of this mess in his head so easily. Unfortunately it wasn’t as simple as hitting that Delete button on a computer keyboard. People were more complicated than programmes no matter the algorithm behind them. This is why he could see by now that Choego was the perfect weapon for a massacre. An artificial intelligence wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse as it did only as it was told. It scared him to bits. What if they were just walking into a trap? Due to the CCTV and the nano-sized cameras all around, their steps were predictable. Whoever controlled the main machine could have wiped them off the chess board as easily as if they had been bugs on a car’s windscreen.

The thought kept bothering Jungkook ever since Yerim asked about it. Sure, they were going to the main computer since they had no other choice. But their latest hacks weren’t too successful not to mention their bracelets didn’t work anymore. How could they have shut the computer down like this? Were they going to just cut the cables?

Aish, why was this so crazy? He felt like they were walking on eggshells.

“Do you have a plan? On how to stop it?” Jungkook blurted the straightforward question out once he caught up with Yoongi in the front row. He casted a glance at the startled Seulgi but didn’t apologise. Polite manners seemed like useless decorations under these absurd circumstances they were given.

Though, the IT guy didn’t appreciate his eager but not helpful at all attitude. He sighed. 

“We don’t even know what we’re going to face,” he shook his head, voice filled with bitterness. “And it’s not like our plans had been working out so well.”

So spontaneity it was. Maybe it was for the better, Jungkook thought, it would be harder for an AI to guess their decisions if even them didn’t know about them.

“Right,” he murmured under his nose, turning his gaze to the ground. The cement under their feet was perfectly evened, the park was bright as if it was blooming spring and the sky was as blue as the clearest oceans over sandy beaches. At first glance, it really was the perfect place to live. But not to die. Not in the embrace of a heartless monster made from metal and glass.

Soon they reached the end of the huge park and the last of the green space had become lost within this jungle of artificial monuments. These buildings were even taller than the ones in the residential area on the west side and the Sun glinting on glass was blinding even.

“How far is it still?” Taehyung huffed impatiently as they kept passing by buildings but Seulgi shook her head at each one. No, they weren’t the one they were looking for.

“Would you shut up if you don’t have anything useful to say?” Namjoon snapped at him because he had run out of patience. He had only been holding himself back so far because of Wendy but now, with her gone, there was nobody who could have stopped him from teaching that arrogant prick a lesson.

“Hah, as if your girlfriend knew when to shut up,” the marketing major sneered at him and every one of them froze in that moment. Saying such an inconsiderate thing was way too much and the tension snapped in the air like a poked out balloon.

“I’ll kill you, asshole,” the engineer jumped on him, grabbing the guy’s collars and smashing him to the closest building’s wall. No one had the right to talk about his girlfriend like that. Especially not a jerk like him who looked down on everyone.

But in that moment, pressed close to the hard cold wall even Taehyung’s crazy smile fell from his mouth, eyes coloured with something akin to fear because it was obvious that Namjoon was stronger than him and out of anger he could have really hurt him even if he didn’t mean that. Maybe that was the reason behind the others immediately moving to separate them. Yoongi and Jungkook put all their combined force into pulling the angered guy off the other with twitching lips.

“Namjoon, stop. He isn’t worth it,” the IT guy tried to reason but the grieving boy seemed so blind to reasons that they could only hold him back with sheer power. That is, until Yerim quietly spoke up.

“She wouldn’t want this,” she whispered which made heads turn towards her. Even Namjoon’s tense muscles lost a bit of their hardness. “Wendy wouldn’t want you to do this.”

Jungkook stared at the young girl after she spoke those firm, confident words and he was quite impressed. Even more when the elder engineer let out a devastated yell and let go of the Marketing guy.

Taehyung fell onto his knees coughing but nobody felt remorse towards him.

Even less when a quiet voice shattered the sudden silence into pieces.

“Guys… this is it,” Seulgi whispered staring up at a building close to them. It was made of solid material, barely any windows but it was hard to tell what made the girl with photographic memory claim that this was the one so surely. At least until Jungkook’s eyes also found the sign beside the door saying Power distributing center. It wasn’t a baseless idea to say this was probably the main computer’s place.

“Okay. Now we just need to get in,” Yoongi sighed and Jungkook honestly couldn’t tell whether he was actually relieved or said it ironically. Nevertheless he followed him up the stairs to the door and eventually they all did.

“Unauthorized personnel,” the robotic voice informed them when the IT guy touched his bracelet to the control panel and Jungkook started to have really enough of that voice.

Neither of them seemed surprised at all that it was all in vain but they didn’t give up. Yoongi whipped out his laptop once again, mouth pulling into an unsatisfied grimace when he saw that his battery was very close to dying. But at least he could connect to the closest WiFi point which came from the inside of this building. Thanks to that he could also use their earlier method to get into the server. Not the main computer’s though, that must have been on a different one because it was too easy to hack into this. Not to mention that its file system was full of useless documents and pictures. But weirdly the trash bin folder was the biggest in size out of them all. When he opened it, a bunch of files welcomed them. System vulnerabilities. Security gaps in Choego’s artificial intelligence. Unsafe error handling and dozens of other documents with titles like these laid there in front of them, proof that someone in this city really didn’t want them to get the spotlight. Yoongi tried to open them but unfortunately each one was either encrypted or his access was denied.

“They knew...” Namjoon whispered dumbfounded. “They knew it’s not safe and they still started this stimulation.”

Oh how awful human greed can be! Now they have a bunch of dead researchers and college kids at their hands instead of the fame and success they dreamed of.

“We have to stop it before it gets even more out of hand,” the IT guy whispered even more terrified from the possible consequences now they read these than before. The youngest boy could understand why and he also knew why the elder didn’t dare to voice it out. Choego used its own energy and it had its own, independent network but what if the city’s artificial intelligence found a backdoor to connect to Korea’s telecom system? What if it didn’t stop killing? Gosh, and he always thought that Avengers’ Age of Ultron was such bullshit. “We need to find a way to get inside. One that doesn’t messes with the door system.”

Jungkook looked around searching for anything to start with and he was also surprised how quickly his gaze stuck on a gridded opening on the wall.

“I have an idea but you won’t like it,” he spoke up and before he would have said anything stupid, he pointed at the filesystem on Yoongi’s computer they managed to connect to. “Can you open the 3D layout of the building?” he asked because earlier he saw that in one of the folders and their unsaid leader gasped at the realization as he followed his instructions.

“Oh. I think I know what you want.”

Once the huge picture loaded and he was able to spin it in all X, Y and Z axis, he zoomed onto the entrance where they were.

“Look, through that air-drain we could get to the basement level easily,” he hummed but looking at the tight opening he realized why Jungkook said they wouldn’t like it. But was there any other way? Like this, at least they could avoided the doors and windows.

“There’s a two door security entrance there,” Seulgi suddenly pointed to the middle of the layout and they all knew what it possibly meant. This was their best chance. This was their only chance.

There was no need of democratic voting or even questioning it, they all walked to the air-drain’s entrance. Two guys prised it open, throwing the lid onto the ground. Then they just stood there, uncertain because of the darkness inside.

“It was your idea, genius,” Taehyung murmured under his nose and Jungkook closed his eyes for a second. Then through gritted teeth he let out a sigh and he was the first one who started to crawl. He was followed by the girls and Namjoon on Yoongi’s instructions. The eldest of the group decided to be a human barricade between Namjoon and Taehyung just in case.

The marketing major guy just rolled his eyes at their behaviour and followed them lastly, grimacing at the stale smell inside. He put his phone on flashlight mode into his mouth and he climbed after the others. 

The journey was suffocating and uncomfortable but luckily after a while the passage widened giving them more space to breath. And yet, somehow it became harder to get oxygen.

It was Yoongi at first, probably because of his asthma, coughing suddenly but it didn’t take long and Taehyung also felt those little thorns in his throat as if something was scratching his insides. He could barely swallow some fresh air because whatever he inhaled, it made the itching in his throat worse. All of them were slowing down because of the suffocating effect this whatever serum in the air had on them. It made his lungs burn and his lips parched. And it scared him more than anything: dying slowly and painfully. So no, he wouldn't die because of these imbecile, incapable idiots, he thought. No, that wasn’t going to happen with him.

He easily passed the guy gasping for air in front of him and hissed at Namjoon when he passed by him.

“Get away, loser,” he sneered and climbed faster, pushing people aside to get to the front.

He started getting dizzy and he didn’t think ahead at all when he pushed the lid off an exit of the air-drain. He took a deep breath from the fresh air hitting him from the outside and he didn’t pay attention to the burning smell metal. Not until it was too late.

The passage echoed from the scream Yerim let out before burying her face into Jungkook’s shoulder once they reached the exit and looked down.

On the floor there laid Taehyung in the pool of his own blood, limbs and head unattached from his body as his flesh and bones were cut through by the same type of laser that burned Jimin alive according to Hoseok.

Oh how awful human greed can be... Because of it, one causes others’ death while others run into Death’s open arms oh so willingly.

#series: code zero #bts fanfic #bts thriller #bts x red velvet #btsvelvet

[make-it-mavis]

Cousin-in-Law (part 1)

Wreck-it Ralph fic ('Mavis Lives' AU) 6006 words Drama Characters: Make-it Mavis, Felix, Calhoun, (Ralph and Vani briefly) Content Warnings: dirty jokes/language, brief violent imagery

Premise: Turbo died, Mavis survived. She was sentenced to life imprisonment in her old game. Felix and Calhoun are engaged to be wed, and Mavis is none-too-pleased about it. Following one of her chaotic whims, she decides to crash their date night and properly meet her cousin-in-law to be.

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It was late summer, with 2013 well underway. Gamers young and old were still braving the Californian August heat to come play their days away, bleeding quarters in Litwak’s inviting air conditioning. But there was a finality to it. Soon, September would rear its inevitable head, and with a large portion of the customers occupied with school and homework, daytime business would slow down, attracting mostly adults hoping to get some kid-free arcade time. Sprites who worked the arcade games had divided feelings on the season changing. Some preferred the kids, the hustle and bustle, the full work days. Others liked the quieter adults, the vacation from mayhem, the chance to relax a bit. Some honestly did not care either way.

For the most part, Make-it Mavis was in the third column. No longer being involved in gameplay at all, it hardly made a difference to her day-to-day. Slower business only really meant that her cousin, Fix-it Felix Jr., might have had more time between gamers to visit with her, which was both good and bad in its own right.

Really, as the year crawled on, her thoughts only turned more to the approach of November, and with it, the anniversary of her life crumbling around her.

Now imprisoned in her original game, a life sentence for a life of crime and cruelty, she made an effort to hang onto the last companionship she had. She and Felix might have been very different and not always seen eye to eye, but she believed he was the last sprite alive, or at least, the only one she could see anymore, who really loved her. Several times in her thirty years, life had made a point of teaching her not to take that for granted. While she may not have been ready to fully open her heart to someone again, she could at least spend time with him.

So, on a Thursday night, just a couple hours after the arcade closed, Mavis sat with Felix at a quaint, round table in his brightly lit, yellow apartment that barely seemed different from when she last saw it in the 90’s. They each had a plate of delicious cherry pie taken from a quarter-empty tin in the middle of the table, although Mavis had barely touched hers, and Felix had around half left, having slowed down to be polite. They had been talking -- that is, Felix had been talking. In their visits, Mavis had preferred to listen, only piping in now and again. There just seemed so little to say. They had lived in two worlds completely apart from each other for fifteen years, so they both had plenty of stories to tell. But at least Felix’s stories were not supremely awkward for Mavis to hear. She could not have said the same for the other way around.

Besides, any distraction from the grief was a good one. Even if he did tend to ramble.

“But, as it turns out,” he said to her, taking a moment to eat a single cherry, “as it turns out -- my toolbox? It was buried in Duck Hunt the entire time.” His brows raised and his fingers spread out a bit, putting extra oomph behind the underwhelming reveal.

“No way,” she flatly humored him, still managing a half-smile.

“I know,” he said, sharply gesturing at nothing. “By golly, I never would’a found it if Ralph didn’t confess. Needless to say, I unfortunately had to have Mr. Peepers banned--”

“Aw.”

“Yes,” he sighed, delicately picking up his cup of coffee with both hands. “But at least our ducks have felt a whole lot safer since. I don’t think they’ve ever forgiven Ralph for letting a dog in.”

Mavis would have liked to point out that the Dev-forsaken wrecking ball did not deserve forgiveness in any form, but she bit it back. There was no point.

Felix sipped his coffee and gingerly placed it back down on its coaster. “Anyhow, Mavy,” he lightly clapped his hands on his lap. “If you’d like to finish that pie, now’s the time. My lady-love will be arriving shortly.”

She smiled vacantly. Yes, his lady-love. His freshly caught towering beast of a woman. Tamora Calhoun, protagonist of the game where those metal insectoid hellspawn came from. Mavis would still have a life, if Calhoun’s game was never plugged in. Mavis was not a fan.

To make things even better, she would soon be her cousin-in-law.

“Loud n’ clear,” she sighed lowly. In one fell swoop, she took the piece of pie in her hand and shoved the entirety of it in her mouth, only missing a few crumbs and smears of syrup. As she swallowed parts whole and chewed the rest, she looked to Felix, who was now the one wearing a vacant smile.

“Is it good?” he asked quietly, passing her a napkin. She took it and wiped the mess from her mouth.

“Mm,” she grunted through a dangerously full mouth. “So good.”

She then stood, gulping down the contents of her mouth and straightening her clothes. “Well, I guess I’ll be takin’ my leave,” she drew her brush from its golden holster and stepped towards the window. Felix got up and strode over.

“Thank you for coming, as always, Mavy dear,” he sang, a real smile on his face.

Having trouble accepting the smile, she let her gaze wander from him. Still, she found enough manners in herself to smile back, at least a bit. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Thanks for the pie. As always.”

“You take care of yourself, now,” he instructed. “Take it easy.”

“Felix, chill. I’ll be fine,” she said, hinting with a couple scoots toward the window. “Worry about your fiance, yeah?”

His smile showed a hint of uneasiness. “Of course,” he mumbled. There was a brief pause, and Mavis knew very well that this would have been the point where he hugged her. But by some miracle, he had learned to respect her boundaries. 

He, of course, did not know that she had overcome her touch aversion as Pyrite. But for whatever reason, hugging him was still hard, so she would reveal that fact to him later.

In lieu of a hug, she lightly punched him in the shoulder. He flinched a bit and rubbed it, but took the gesture with a strained grin. As she sat on the window sill, she nodded to him. “Seeya, Felix.”

“Bye-bye Mavy,” he waved a tiny bit. Just then, there was a knock at the door. He leapt up like a spring, suddenly fully beaming. “Oh! That’ll be her! I hate to shoo you off, Mavy, but--”

“I’m out,” she rolled her eyes as she swung her legs around to dangle them outside the window, off the height of Niceland that once seemed so tall, but after visiting the royal chambers of the candy castle so many times, it barely seemed a foot off the ground.

That was when an unsavory sound reached her ears, and movement caught her eye. Down below, on the massive expanse of bricks, rubble, and garbage, Wreck-it Ralph and his new friend Vanellope Von Schweetz were goofing off. It looked like they were rooting through the trash, pulling up random items and showing each other or throwing them at each other. They looked to be having a hell of a good time, as Ralph got up and started chasing the kid around with a big fistful of garbage. There were flashes of blue as she glitched and dodged. Their laughter and shouts seemed to echo through the whole game.

Mavis’ knuckles turned white as her fingers curled into claws under the windowsill. Deep, visceral hatred shook her insides, and instantly, she felt sick. It was their fault. It was all their fault. Almost nightly, she dreamed of taking revenge for the life they brutally murdered. She dreamed of the twig-like snap of that glitch’s puny neck, of letting that hulking ape bleed out slowly, feeling the warmth of his blood pooling at her feet.

Those dreams soothed like nothing else.

But, seeing as Sugar Rush needed a ruler, and seeing as Ralph could not die in his game, and seeing how being in the same vicinity as them, but unable to act, felt like psychological torture…

Felix’s voice called from inside the apartment, proddingly, “Goodbye, now, cousin-o’-mine!”

Impulse took over.

“Y’know what?” she said sharply, turning to crawl back inside. Felix had frozen just a few feet from the door. Mavis smiled with her eyes. “I’ll stay.”

“Wh-Wh-Wh-” he stammered, looking at her like she suddenly transformed. Mavis had no doubt that he secretly wanted her to leave so that he could have alone time with his ‘lady-love’ -- a perfectly reasonable thing to want. But he would just have to wait.

“I just figure it’s time I meet my future cousin-in-law,” she stepped fully into the apartment again, holstering her brush. Then she paused, and shrugged, aiming right for his weak spot. “Y’know, unless… you don’t want me here.”

There was another knock. Felix screamed a bit inside his mouth.

“No, no, that sounds fine and dandy, Mavy,” he said, rushed, through gritted teeth. He then elected to not keep his love waiting, and bound over to open the door. Mavis rested a hand on the back of her previous chair, quietly observing the exchange.

The woman was so damn tall, she had to duck her head a bit to see inside. Of course, her eyes were immediately on Felix, who opened his arms enthusiastically.

“Hello, Tammy-darlin’!”

Calhoun smiled and crouched, letting her shortstack fiance hop into her arms for a tight squeeze. “Hiya sweetums,” she purred. The two pulled apart enough to share a quick peck on the lips, and Mavis audibly cringed under her breath. There was something so wrong about seeing anyone kiss her cousin. She had never even taken into account that he could ever have been in love. Not that he did not deserve it. There was just a grossness to it.

When they separated, Calhoun stepped into the apartment as she stood. Somehow, she still managed to avoid seeing Mavis. Felix was, apparently, just too captivating. Mavis shook her head.

As Felix closed the door, Calhoun asked him, “So, how’d your day go?”

“Uhhh, well,” he smiled nervously, obviously in anticipation of the awkward meeting about to happen. Her head tilted a bit as he looked up at her, wide-eyed, and then his eyes darted over to Mavis. Calhoun followed his gaze. Once she saw Mavis, she stood a bit straighter, merely looking confused.

“Oh.”

Mavis flashed her a split-second smile. Calhoun gave her a small nod, and glanced down to Felix questioningly.

“Tammy, my dear,” Felix began, voice a bit wobbly, “you know my cousin, Mavis.”

Calhoun glanced at her again, and lifted a hand briefly. “Hey, Mavis.”

“Hey,” she nodded back.

The couple then began muttering to each other. Mavis could not fully hear them (her ears not being what they used to be, having worked with fireworks and explosions her whole life), but she gathered that Calhoun wanted to know what was up, and Felix explained that his cousin wanted to meet her. She did not seem to think it was a good idea, for reasons Mavis could not hear, but Felix reassured her.

Mavis yawned.

Finally, the two fully faced her. Felix prompted Mavis with shaky hope in his voice, “C’mon Mavy, come meet your… cousin-in-law!”

“Future cousin-in-law,” Mavis muttered. Calhoun squinted at that just the tiniest bit.

“I’m not gonna bite ya, kid,” Calhoun said, putting her hands on her hips.

“‘Kid,’” she gave a falsely sweet smile. “I’m thirty years old. How old are you, again? Ten months?”

The snark did not quite break the skin on the toughened military woman. She frowned, but her brows raised, and she nodded slowly. “Uh huh…” she said deeply, looking down at Felix, who looked like he could have started shaking. “You sure you two are related?”

Growing tired of being spoken of as if she were not there, Mavis quickly painted feathers on her heels and rose up to be at eye-level with Calhoun. Even if this woman had not played a part in the destruction of her life, she never liked meeting anyone at hip-level, or having them crouch down to talk to her, as if she really were some kind of kid. She was a grown-ass woman and would meet everyone eye-to-eye.

She floated over to hover at arm’s length from Calhoun and really get a good look at her. The first time Mavis saw her, she had been staring down the barrel of her oversized gun. Calhoun was, after all, the first to find her slinking around the reaches of Sugar Rush a couple weeks after the incident, during a routine patrol to make sure all the Cybugs were really gone. Since then, Mavis had made a point of avoiding her, of avoiding even seeing her. She just triggered some truly terrible memories. However, seeing her outside of her armor was just a little different. That night, she looked… pretty normal. White tank, camo cargo pants, shiny dog tags. She looked… almost approachable, even with her formidably muscled frame.

Mavis stared into her warm brown eyes that were partially obscured by her messy, yet somehow perfect blonde hair. Calhoun met her gaze with no ounce of fear, no nerves. There was a challenging look in there somewhere, and Mavis met it readily.

Smirking a bit at Mavis’ floating and its obvious intention, Calhoun extended her hand between them.

“Sergeant Tamora Calhoun,” she said in that gruff voice of hers.

Mavis paused, staring at her hand for a moment before locking eyes with her again, stone-faced.

“Oh,” Felix piped in quietly. “Tammy, dear, Mavy really doesn’t like touch--”

Cutting him off, Mavis clasped Calhoun’s hand tightly, and felt a firm squeeze grind the bones in her hand in return. “Make-it Mavis,” she smiled flatly, shaking her hand. “Formerly known as Pyrite, who was formerly known as Make-it Mavis.”

“Pleasure,” Calhoun smiled with her teeth. Mavis noticed that she was not letting go, and decided that she would not let go, either. As their handshake carried on an inappropriate length of time, she noticed the cold touch of metal in her hand. Calhoun was wearing an engagement ring -- simple, elegant, with small diamonds laid into the band. Mavis would have expected Felix to get her a ring with a diamond the size of a skating rink, but she supposed that would be impractical under armor.

A quick glance at Felix revealed that his jaw was slack, staring at the effortless skin-to-skin contact she was making. She snickered at him. 

Once the handshake really had gone on for a frighteningly long while, Felix threw his hands up and exclaimed, “OH, mercy me, the pie’s gettin’ cold! C’mon you two, let’s chow down!”

After just another moment of intense eye contact and painful squeezing, they moved to pull away from each other. But, to Mavis’ surprise, Calhoun actually caught her hand for one last second, turning it over to look at it.

It would have been hard to miss the abnormalities on Mavis’ left hand. Fairly young-looking, horizontal pink scars scored her hand and palm, slicing rows that disappeared up into her sleeve. Most notably, out of her fingers that were also speckled with smaller cuts, the last knuckle of her ring finger was missing, cut off in the middle of the second digit. 

Acid simmered in Mavis’ stomach as she yanked her hand away, but she gave Calhoun nothing more than a sharp look of warning. She saw Calhoun’s eyes narrow before she turned away to approach the table.

As they continued to eye each other, Felix had somehow already cut each of them a slice of pie, and he was nervously babbling to himself.

“One for you, dear-- and one for you, dear-- Oh, seems it really has gone cold, I can go microwave-- Ooh, no, wait, I should get some ice cream to go with-- Oh, no, that’s right, I’m out of ice cream-- Oh, but I’m certain Mary will have some and be happy to share. I should go see-- Oop, nope, nope, I should definitely not do that…”

“Honey,” Calhoun reached to touch his shoulder and gently direct him into his seat. “Sit. You’re fussing.”

Felix smiled nervously and shifted around in his seat, trying to settle in. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, it’s just that I’m…” he clasped his hands together on the table, “...so excited… for my fiance to be meeting my… lovely cousin properly… I’m… so happy…”

A dreadfully awkward silence fell over the three of them as they ate their pie. Mavis sort of relished in it. She was still unsure of her motive as far as staying went, but at the very least, inflicting an uncomfortable situation on Calhoun was enjoyable.

“So!” Felix piped in, startling them both. “Did you two see that sunshine comin’ in today? Oh, it was gorgeous, but talk about blinding! I gotta tell you, it’s a good thing the gamers were tellin’ me where to go, because golly, I could not see a thing!”

Calhoun grunted. “That’s nice, dear. Too bad for me, I don’t see any of that through the first person shooter.”

“Yeah, Felix,” Mavis jabbed, meaning to mock Calhoun’s tone. “Don’t you know anything about Hero’s Booty?”

Calhoun shot her an unimpressed look. “Duty.”

Mavis cocked her head. “Doodie? Please, Tammy-dear, we’re eating.”

Before Calhoun could react, Felix interrupted with loud, anxious laughter. “HA-Ha-ha--!! Oh, Mavy, what a kidder you are!”

“I’m not kiddin’,” she smiled, pointing at him with her fork. “I think she’s gonna ruin your appetite.”

There was a clang as Calhoun put her fork down on her plate. She placed her elbows on the table and laced her hands together in front of her chin, looking at Mavis the way a parent would look at a difficult child.

“So, Mavis,” she said calmly, “why don’t you tell me about yourself. What’d you do before becoming a murderer and stealing Sugar Rush so you could crush a child’s dreams?”

Picking up her cold, nearly full coffee, she only took a second to consider that. “Buffs, mostly.”

Felix whined.

Calhoun squinted. “...Buffs.”

After taking a sip and being weirdly delighted at how gross the cold coffee was, she continued, “Yeah. Buffs, booze. Vandalism. Petty theft. Destruction of stolen property. I used to play music as a job. I liked dancing. I really liked sex. Rough sex. Quite often in public places. I was really into masochism -- for a long time, my favorite thing was getting choked--”

“HAha--!!” Felix interrupted with a horrified, wobbly laugh.

Mavis looked at Calhoun. She was still just squinting through her bangs, and Mavis could not have been sure what reaction was coming. She was surprised to see her burst into barking laughter. She slapped the table hard, rattling their plates as she leaned back in her chair.

“Felix,” she said, grinning at him. “You didn’t tell me she’s funny.”

For a second, Mavis gave her cousin a sharp look. “You didn’t?” 

Felix flinched, and Mavis fully processed what Calhoun said. She looked at her, raising a challenging brow. “Y’think I’m joking?”

“Oh, no, I believe you,” she scoffed. “It’s just that you’re sayin’ all that to try n’ shock me, or make me think you’re some kinda grisled old badass, but all that’s coming out of such a pretty little face. It’s like having a kitten tell me its shanked five guys. It’s just funny.”

Mavis could feel her hackles rising, but she put on a lovely smile anyways, and batted her lashes. “You really think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah,” Calhoun leaned forward again, her voice flat and sarcastic. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

“In that case, why don’t we go splay out on one of the picnic benches and I can find a few more ways to make you laugh?”

Calhoun sputtered and wheezed, once again giving the table a good slap. “Oh, wow,” she chuckled, before looking at Felix, who looked built purely out of anxiety. “I like her.”

“You could say that to me,” Mavis muttered quietly behind her teeth, not loud enough for them to hear. They were still looking at each other, smiling sweetly, the anxiety on Felix’s face being soothed just a bit. Something awful churned around in her insides, and it only spiked when Calhoun reached over to tweak his cheek slightly. The amount of love shared between them was truly palpable, and it was more than she could bear. A horrid hybrid of grief and jealousy rose up in her throat.

“Speakin’ of looks bein’ deceiving,” she said loudly, snapping them out of their gross staring contest and leaning her elbows on the table to mimic Calhoun’s previous position, “what is the deal with you two, huh?!”

Calhoun spoke, “Uh--”

“I mean, we got this skyscraper of a woman here sniffin’ around a guy nearly a third of her size -- what’s the problem, sweetheart? Not up to giraffe beauty standards, so you gotta go around beggin’ field mice for a piece of action?”

That got her. The sergeant snapped to attention, straightening up, her eyes hostile. “...You sure you wanna do this, pint-size?”

Mavis just laughed insincerely and turned to Felix, who was trying to find a subtle way to wave his hands in a ‘STOP’ motion. “And you! C’mon, man, what the hell? A sergeant from an FPS who shoots bugs all day? I have literally seen you cry over accidentally stepping on a butterfly. Is it ‘cause she’s hot?”

“M-Mavy--”

“Come to think of it, that marriage does seem to be comin’ up quick, don’t it?” she hissed a laugh. “You’ve known each other, what, ten months-- Oh! Wouldn’t ya believe it! That’s just about as long as you’ve been plugged in, ain’t it, Tamora?”

Calhoun’s fist was clenching the blue tablecloth hard, her eyes practically on fire. A nasty grin grew on Mavis’ face. It was just as she thought -- the otherwise steely sergeant was a bit touchy when it came to her relationship with Felix.

She was almost completely sure that Calhoun would not hurt her, because hurting her would hurt Felix. With nothing to lose but teeth, she decided to continue to push that theory.

“What, you get plugged in, and right outta the code space, you’re on the hunt for some shrimp dick? Or did ya just hop on the first guy who was nice to ya? You ain’t even a year into the world, n’ still, here you are, engaged?” Sick grin still wide, she looked to Felix and pointed towards his fiance. “You really gonna sweep a gal up before she even knows what marriage is?”

Calhoun reacted quicker than Mavis had thought. She leapt to her feet, her massive frame nearly tipping over the table, sending Mavis’ fork tumbling to the floor. Her stance was poised forward, ready to reach over and grab the offending little shit, but Felix sprang out of his seat and braced his hand against her hip.

“Tammy,” he said hushed and quickly, “Tammy, darling, it’s alright. It’s okay. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. Please, sit down.”

Mavis, of course, did not know what it was that she supposedly did not know. Although she was curious, it came completely from a place of nosiness. No part of her really cared.

“Aw, now look what you’ve done to my fork,” Mavis scolded Calhoun boredly.

Calhoun remained standing, but bent over the table to lean one outstretched arm against it. The table was far too low for it to be an intimidating gesture, but she owned it anyway. With a deep breath and a testy smile, she pointed one finger at Mavis. “Okay, pipsqueak,” she growled. “You’d best take a hike right about now, if you know what’s good for you.”

Mavis held Calhoun’s burning gaze for a few long moments, emanating nothing but spite. Beside the sergeant stood her cousin, watching her with clasped hands and pleading eyes that just begged her to comply. But, over the time of her life, she had made an art of letting Felix down. 

She feigned a yawn. “Y’know what? Nah.”

“No?”

“Nah,” she shrugged as she tilted her chair back to cross her dirty shoes on the side of the table. Putting her hands behind her head, she said, “This my game. In Hero’s Booby you can try to boss me around all you like, but in here, you can’t make me do boo.”

Felix gasped.

“I don’t feel like leavin’,” she continued. “We were havin’ a conversation, weren’t we? Like, I get why this gal rushed into the marriage, y’know, bein’ a lovestruck ignorant dumbass, but you, Felix? Ain’t you grown outta that crap yet? Or-- or, no, I get it. I get it. You’ve always been a wait-until-marriage kinda guy. You’re just real eager to get into her armor, huh? Which, I mean, really? Look at you two, how good could it possibly be? Are y’all even gonna feel anythin’ when you consummate, or is it gonna be like tossin’ a hotdog down a hallway?”

That just tore it. In a blink, Calhoun lunged and roughly seized Mavis’ collar.

“Woah--!!” Mavis yelped a bit as she was yanked out of her seat with more force than she was expecting. Felix shouted in protest, but before he could take any action, Calhoun had dragged Mavis right across the tabletop, knocking all of its contents to the floor, to hold her right up close and try to pierce through her skull with a single look. Feet dangling high off the floor as Calhoun held her at eye-level, a smile slowly crept onto Mavis’ face once again. Maybe Calhoun really was going to hit her. If so, she could not help but look forward to it.

The two were grinding their teeth, ready to rip into each other at any second.

“TAMORA!!”

Felix’s raised voice smacked them both in the side of the head. They paused, and both heads turned to look at him. He was standing close by, red in the face, breathing hard, body shaking, looking and sounding ready to cry. He shouted again in a volume he saved only for dire emergencies, “DON’T HURT HER! PLEASE! SHE’S MY FAMILY!”

Calhoun stared at him, and her shoulders relaxed a bit as her expression turned apologetic… at least to Felix. Mavis, however, knew she had hit the nail on the head. The big, scary sergeant could not harm a hair on her head, not so long as she loved Felix. This was a delicious fact, one that would no doubt serve her well.

“Tch,” Mavis scoffed a bit, singing in a hushed voice, “trouble in paradise…”

“AND YOU!!”

Mavis startled. She never liked it when Felix really got shouting. It was weirdly eerie.

He stomped over, pointing a trembling finger, his voice still high and frightful. “Can you just-- just-- ju-- sh-- sch-- SHUT UP FOR ONCE?! THERE! THERE, I SAID IT!”

The women said together, “Wow.”

“And look! Look what your fighting’s done!” He stepped back and gestured widely to the gore of their cherry pie dessert, splattered over the carpet, oozing out from under overturned plates. What was left of their coffee spread wide, dark stains across the floor, and the tablecloth and placemats were almost entirely tossed off the table. “The pie! The carpet! Our EVENING!”

Weirdly enough, Mavis actually did feel kind of bad. The pie did not deserve that. Neither did Felix, really. She had long since retired from intentionally causing her cousin genuine distress. Calhoun, however, seemed to have never even been in the business at all.

Calhoun let go of Mavis’ collar, but instead of dropping to the floor, she elected to continue floating in place. She watched as the other woman crouched next to the very distressed Felix, her aggression dying down as she whispered what must have been apologies and reassurance. Felix was slowly soothed, taking deep, steadying breaths as he held both her hands.

Even if she did feel bad, Mavis was not stable enough to ignore her deeply-rooted nature. Folding her arms and crossing her legs, she cleared her throat.

Calhoun did not look at her, not fully. She merely turned her head towards her shoulder for a moment, and growled, “Just go. Get out.”

“Hello-o?” Mavis sang. “We were havin’ an altercation, here?”

Turning a little more this time, Calhoun barked, “I said, get out!”

Felix leaned to peer around Calhoun at Mavis. He looked a little calmer, but no less red. “Mavis, it’s okay,” he said softly, but insistently. “We’ll talk later, I promise. We just need a little space right now.”

Mavis’ muscles seemed to go rigid just from pure stubbornness and spite. She hardly felt like she could have moved, even if she wanted to. So, she just let her eyes fall nearly shut, and replied, “If ya want me gone, get rid of me.”

It did not take Calhoun any convincing. In a blink, she was upright again, and she stormed back to yank Mavis by the shirt again and drag her through the air to the window. “I can’t believe--” Calhoun hissed under her breath, before fully growling, “What is your major malfunction?!”

Mavis grunted as she was shoved backwards towards the window, but she braced her hands and feet inside, shaking as she pushed against the strong hand of the sergeant trying to force her back through the gap. “My malfunction?!”

“YES!” Calhoun yelled with a hard shove. “Your PROBLEM! What is your PROBLEM!?”

Mavis could almost physically feel a sharp sting inside her as the frayed cloth holding everything back was punctured. As things began to tumble out, the hole only expanded, and she could feel everything about to crash down at once. It was not going to be pretty.

At least there was a chance Calhoun would be buried in the landslide.

“My problem?” Mavis hissed breathlessly through a quivering, joyless smile. “My problem?! You wanna know what my problem is?!”

“YES! Enlighten me!”

“My problem,” she spat, volume growing, “is that I should be at home, eatin’ dessert n’ makin’ eyes with MY partner right now, but I can’t, because thanks to YOUR game, I can never go home again, and my partner is dead! He’s DEAD! I had to watch one of YOUR monsters EAT him, and turn him into-- into a-- a--”

Trying to access the thought, horrible pain spiked through her head and red static crackled through her ears and vision. She really was falling apart, so much that her body was having trouble keeping her pixels together. The glitching grew so intense that her senses were all but gone. Eyes squeezed shut, she fought hard to push her voice from her throat, until it burst out in furious screams that she could barely hear.

“--a NIGHTMARE!! And he died! He burned up in that Dev-forsaken volcano! And-- and YOU--”

She hoped she was looking at Calhoun. She could not tell anymore.

“My problem with YOU, is that every time I see you, I hear him scream, and-- and I hear the-- the METAL, and I see him turning into-- and-- and I think of those BUGS and EVERYTHING they took away from me-- but here you are! Muscling in on the only family I have left, as if you didn’t take enough of my life already! And I’m supposed to be fine with this?! I’m supposed to be civil?! You’re askin’ what’s wrong with me-- YOU’RE what’s wrong with me! You n’ your MONSTERS that murdered the man I’ve loved for THIRTY YEARS!”

Finally, her words ran dry. Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribs, and she could feel herself shaking from the core. Slowly, the painful red static that numbed her senses began to fade, and she could hear… silence.

Vision back online, she found herself sitting on the floor under the window. Calhoun’s boots had backed up a few paces. Looking up at her, squinting at the overhead light, she saw a peculiar look on the sergeant’s face. She looked… shaken. But not exactly the sort of shaken she might have expected. There was shock in her eyes that did not feel right.

Body hot, head pounding, Mavis merely stared up at her, waiting for a response and trying to steady her breathing.

When Calhoun finally spoke up, her voice was raw, low… almost horrified. “He turned?”

Mavis swallowed. “...Yeah. He turned.”

“And…” she pointed a bit, “you saw it?”

“Yes.”

“And you were…” Calhoun’s eyes grew distant, and her voice shrank, “...in love with him.”

Mavis’ heart felt full of rattling gravel. After a harsh, painfully hot sigh, she said, “Okay, what the hell? Why don’t you know all this? Didn’t anybody tell you?”

After a moment’s pause, her gaze drifted over to Felix. Mavis could not see his face from where she sat, as it was obscured by the table, but she saw his feet flinch a bit.

Calhoun said quietly, “No. Nobody told me any of this.”

To Mavis’ surprise, Calhoun then turned and strode quickly towards the door. Shakily pushing to her feet, Mavis held onto the back of what was Felix’s chair and watched as he chased after her, spilling apologies.

“Tammy, Tammy, wait,” he pleaded, eventually grabbing a hold of her hand as she stood by the door. “Darling, I’m sorry, I-- I was going to tell you, I just didn’t want-- I-- I was waiting for the right--”

Calhoun sighed and crouched, pushing a finger to Felix’s lips. She spoke quietly, but Mavis managed to hear her say, “I know. It’s okay. We’ll talk about this later, I promise.”

She stood again, gently nudging Felix away from the door. As she opened it and walked through, she said, “I just need some time to think.”

The door closed, her boots clopped down the hallway, and she was gone.

Felix did not move from where he stood. Mavis could tell he was wringing his hands slowly, thoughtfully, anxiously. She frowned. With Calhoun gone, all she had left to look at was how much crap they had just dragged him through. For a moment, she wondered how she ever managed to be so routinely cruel to her sweet cousin… but she knew that her cruelty never exactly went away. It changed shape and moved on to new victims, but as much as Mavis was meant to entertain and enliven… she was also meant to torment and terrorize.

At least Felix was out of her cross-hairs. 

She crossed the room, carefully stepping over the gruesome mess of food on the floor. She approached Felix, and when he did not turn around, she gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. He startled and turned quickly.

Before he could speak, Mavis said as softly as she could, “I ruined your night on purpose. I’m sorry.”

Taken aback by her hard-earned ability to apologize, Felix said nothing.

She continued, “Let me help you clean the floor.”

That shocked him even more. His face twisted up a bit. “...Really?”

“Yeah,” she half-smiled. “I know. I’m nice, sometimes.”

Felix half-sighed, half-chuckled, shaking his head. “Golly, Mavy… Thirty years and I’m still askin’ what I’m ever gonna do with you.”

“Well, for starters, you can show me how to clean a carpet,” she shrugged. “I don’t clean messes. I make ‘em… a lot.”

“Well okay,” he reached to give her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before softly trodding towards the kitchen. “I’ll get you some tissues, too.”

Her face screwed up. “Tissues?”

With a hand on the kitchen door, Felix merely gave her a kind, rueful glance over his shoulder before going in. After a moment of gear turning, she figured it out. Swiping her fingers over her cheek, she found them soaked. She sighed.

Of course she had been crying.

#fanfiction #wreck it ralph #make it mavis #fix it felix #calhoun #realized i hadnt written tammy at all and then this exploded from my wrists #im thinkin 4 parts? #keep getting more ideas #ENJOY

[veliseraptor]

if u ever in the mood - re: will to live; from loki's pov, what happened when thor left and how did the grandmaster comfort him? :O the part where thor came back and found him all drugged was heartbreaking!!

and here you are, anon, a long time later, because sometimes patience is rewarded? this kind of all exploded out of me at once, which I guess…could be good or bad. we’ll see! judge for yourself.

Hope to Die, 2.2k, loki pov, frostmaster, takes place during chapter 2 of will to live, some detailed descriptions of loki’s death, dubcon/noncon depending on your mileage but slanting toward the latter so uh mind the gap

Loki paced back and forth for a long time after slamming the door, sustained by the force of his simmering temper. How dare Thor, how dare he drag Loki back to this hell and then walk away, treating him like - like Loki had said, a pet, to be kept and called for at whim, there when wanted and kenneled out of sight when not. Except in this case the kennel was Sakaar and he was not alone enough.

Fine. Fine. Let Thor do as he pleased. Loki didn’t need him here, didn’t want him here, and if he expected Loki to sit still and wait for him like a wife with her husband at war then–

Then he was wrong.

The anger burned out slowly. He still tired quickly, his body still weak, his magic working in fits and starts if at all. The Grandmaster had healed him - mended his flesh, pulled his soul out of Valhalla and shoved it back in, and while the join felt less raw than it had it was still as though the two were adjusting to being reunited. Sinking down onto the bed, Loki stared at the closed door.

He’d half expected Thor to barge in after him, but perhaps he’d learned something about self-restraint. Loki considered opening the door himself, going back out to try speaking again with a cooler head, but he didn’t want to. Just once he wanted Thor to be the one to back down, to apologize. Didn’t he deserve that much?

Loki swung his legs up and lay down on the bed, his back to the door. Staring at one of the large windows, the knowledge seeped into him that he couldn’t keep Thor here. That there was nothing he could do to hold him. In the end, he was powerless. Don’t come back, he’d said in his rage, but what if Thor really didn’t?

He could leave Loki here. Alone.

Loki stood up and took two lurching steps toward the closed door before he stopped himself, clenching his fists at his sides. No. He wasn’t going to cave. Wasn’t going to go groveling and pleading to Thor’s feet. He had enough shreds of dignity left for that. If Thor left - if Thor left, he would be fine. He could manage on his own. He’d done it before, and he knew better what to expect, now.

And besides, Loki told himself, Thor wouldn’t. He’d brought Loki back to life, whatever Loki thought of that decision and its cost. He wouldn’t walk away now and waste the effort he’d put in.

(Unless he feels his duty completed with your resurrection. Unless he finds you more inconvenient than you’re worth. It’s as you said: he loves you better dead and idealized than alive.)

Loki shoved that away and stalked back to the bed, flinging himself onto it and closing his eyes. It didn’t matter. Whatever Thor did, Loki would be fine. There was, it seemed, nothing he couldn’t survive.

Even death.

**

“Loki,” Frigga said, her embrace warm, and he could even smell her familiar scent. He folded into her arms, almost buckling, and if he could might have wept. “My love.”

They were sitting beside each other in a facsimile of her garden in Asgard, shimmering and golden. She let go of him and he sank to the ground, leaning his head against her knee, and said, “I’m sorry. I should have…”

“Hush,” she said softly. “It’s over now, sweetheart. Let it all go. No ills can touch us here.” She smiled at him, soft and warm. “You’re safe.”

It had been so long since he could truly believe those words. Oh, he’d come close, during his brief reign, but it was nothing like the feeling that swept over him now: sweet relief, peace, a sweeping away of the burdens that he’d scarcely realized he’d still been carrying.

“You are forgiven,” Frigga said. “And you are home.”

He opened his eyes. For a moment he just laid there, trying to hold on to the feeling of peace, snatching at the memory of warmth, but it slipped through his fingers like water and flowed away. Already, he could barely remember what Frigga had said.

Loki glanced toward the door, but it was still closed, undisturbed. He stood up, slowly, and walked over, opening it just a crack, weakness overcoming him. He needed to see Thor, at least. He did not need to forgive him, but he needed to see him.

The room was empty. Thor’s door was open. The axe leaning against the wall was gone.

Loki’s stomach plunged. He strode across the room to the open door and clicked on the light, but the bed was untouched. His heart started pounding, his breathing quickening.

What had he said? I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here. Don’t bother coming back.

No, he thought, with sudden wild terror. No, no, no. Thor wasn’t gone. He hadn’t - left. He’d gone out, venting his anger somewhere, and he would come back.

But it had been hours. The axe was gone that he would use to bring him back to Midgard. Loki pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit from the terror that swept over him. Thor had left him here, without saying a word, and the last thing Loki had said to him was to tell him not to return.

Maybe it’s best if we never see each other again, Thor had said, the last time they were on Sakaar, and after the performance Loki had put on it seemed he must have shrugged and come to the same conclusion. Thor had left and he was weak and alone in an ocean full of sea serpents.

Thor, Loki thought with sudden, awful certainty, was never going to return.

He stumbled over to a chair before his knees buckled, shaking, trying absorb the fact of it. Thor had left him. Dragged Loki back to life and then left him like a troublesome dog–

You told him to leave. Can you blame him for not wanting to be here, with you, wretched creature that you are?

Loki tugged on his own hair, rocking back and forth and trying to catch his breath. Maybe, he thought, maybe he was wrong. Maybe Thor was coming back, would come back. Whatever business he had on Midgard, he would take care of it and return - or maybe this was a punishment. Anger flared up again at that thought; if Thor thought he could make Loki do as he pleased like this then he was going to rue it.

(If he came back now you would weep for relief and cling to his feet begging him to stay.)

His chest just kept tightening. His one safety, his one thread in this wretched life he’d been brought back to - gone.

The small whimper was far from intentional, but it came out anyway. Please, he thought. Please, Thor. I take it back. Just…

“Oh, dear,” said a horribly familiar voice. “Sweetheart, honey…what’s the matter?”

Loki’s breathing snagged and he fell very still. “Grandmaster,” he said, and hoped the breathlessness of it didn’t sound like the fear it was. “I - wasn’t expecting you.” Had he done something, he wondered wildly. Attacked Thor, hurt him?

“I do like to surprise you.” Hands fell on Loki’s shoulders and squeezed; he tensed so he didn’t jump. “Did someone upset you, kitten? Hurt you? Tell me who it was and I’ll take care of it.” He paused. “Where’d that brother of yours go?”

Loki swallowed hard. He didn’t dare try to pull away. “I’m not certain. I woke up and he wasn’t here.”

“Is that what’s getting to you?” The Grandmaster asked. He sounded a little incredulous. “Are you - oh! You’re worried, that’s sweet. Well, he’s all right. Or he was when that rainbow showed up and swept him off. Not so much as a by your leave.” He huffed. “So rude.”

Rainbow showed up. The Bifrost now channeled through the axe? If the Grandmaster was telling the truth…and he might not. He could easily be lying. But it sounded like truth. The air shuddered out of Loki’s lungs. “Oh,” he said faintly.

“I have to say - I mean, I know he’s your brother, but good riddance.” The Grandmaster’s thumbs rubbed in little circles on his shoulders. “What a buzzkill. I feel like he’s just really getting in the way of…well, us.”

Loki’s throat closed. “Grandmaster, I don’t think I’m…”

“Ready for aerobic activity?” The Grandmaster laughed. “That’s fine, doll. Though not - uh, not too long, right? I’ve been so patient but I can’t wait to, um, pick up where we left off.” He started to slide his fingers up Loki’s shoulders toward his neck and he jerked away involuntarily, lurching to his feet and whirling. His head spun and for a moment he could feel pressure on his windpipe. The Grandmaster looked a mixture of surprised and offended.

“Wow,” he said after a heavy moment of silence. “Wow. That was, uh…”

“I’m sorry,” Loki said quickly. “I wasn’t…it’s only that.” He swallowed hard. “Given…what happened to me, it’s…my neck is a tad - sensitive.” The Grandmaster blinked at him and then understanding seemed to dawn.

“Oh!” he said. “Oh, right. The–” He gestured vaguely at his own neck. “It was pretty gruesome.”

Fighting for air as Thanos’s fingers tightened around his throat. The crunch of his trachea followed by a crack, agony, nothing. Loki felt sick and held his breath so he didn’t vomit on the carpet.

“Duly noted!” the Grandmaster said cheefully. “Now let’s…let’s get you out of here, hmm? Take your mind off things. You look a little pale. I’ve got something that’ll pick you right up.”

Thor had been the one and only buffer between him and the Grandmaster. And now…he wasn’t bothering to hide the hungry way he looked Loki over like a piece of meat he looked forward to devouring. If not tonight, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. He knew how this went. And there was no prospect of escape.

Nothing but Sakaar, and the Grandmaster, for the rest of his life.

Hysteria bubbled up that he just managed to gulp back down. “perfect,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’ll have whatever you give me.”

The Grandmaster smiled. “There you are,” he said. “That’s more like it. That’s what I like to see.”

**

Thor was gone for three days, four, before Loki admitted even to himself that he really was never coming back.

It was easier than Loki thought it would be to fall back into old habits. Or not precisely old habits. Previously he’d been careful, or tried to be. Stayed as sober as he could manage without being conspicuous. Plotted. Planned. There’d been a purpose, a goal.

Now…

There was no use in moderation. And an acute and overwhelming desire for oblivion. Not death - he doubted he would be allowed that escape. But if Sakaar was good at anything, it was finding ways to avoid having to think.

The Grandmaster circled him like a wild dog eyeing its weakening prey

“Try this,” the Grandmaster said, holding a small fluted glass, half full of something the same lurid blue as the stripe under the Grandmaster’s lip. Loki took it, and the Grandmaster smiled at him. “It’ll be fun! Drink up.”

There was a disconcerting gleam in his eye. “Is this you grown tired of waiting?” Loki asked.

“Tired of waiting? No, of course not!” The Grandmaster shook his head. “So suspicious. No, this is just…to make sure you enjoy yourself. I know you’ve been so…stressed.”

Loki swirled the liquid in the glass.

He emptied the glass in two swallows and tilted his head back. His smile felt false, forced, but he held it just the same. “Thank you, Grandmaster,” he said. “You’re always so thoughtful.”

“I know!” the Grandmaster said. He stepped toward Loki and reached out, brushing his fingers against his cheek. “You know…we don’t have to go to the party. We could just…stay here and have some, mm, quality time. What do you think, honey?”

For a wild moment Loki imagined refusing. Imagined saying that forbidden word: no.

The Grandmaster smoothed his hands down Loki’s side and pulled him toward him. “Say yes,” he said, teasing, not teasing at all.

Something in Loki’s core snapped and went numb. “Yes,” he said, and didn’t try to make it sound like real assent. The Grandmaster’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that,” he purred, and kissed Loki, steering him back toward the bed. He went limply, letting the Grandmaster steer him, casting his thoughts far away.

This body was barely even his, anyway. He didn’t need to stay for this. Didn’t need to know the particulars of what the Grandmaster would do to him this time.

The Grandmaster pressed Loki down on his back, hands moving down to his thighs. Loki half-closed his eyes and imagined standing on the bridge of the Statesman, Thor at his side. I think everything’s going to be all right, Thor said, and put an arm around Loki’s shoulders.

Thor was gone, Loki reminded himself. He was on his own.

It was a relief when the drink took effect, plunging him headlong into an ecstasy that wiped all thought away.

#anonymous #a wild fic appeared #sakaar trash party #loki's a goddamn mess #good shabbos! have the first of two dubious as hell fics i'm posting tonight!

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Someone Who Loves You As Much - Dallon Weekes x Reader

Requested on Wattpad

Warnings: asshole former classmate

Word count: 2 419

A/N: Surprise, I’m still alive!

“And before we play this last song, let’s hear it one more time for the amazing Midnight Demons!”

You rubbed your towel through your hair, and grinned as you heard Dallon demand applause for your band again. You were on tour with iDKHOW, and the band you were playing guitar in, The Midnight Demons, was the opening band. Tonight was special, since you had been playing in your hometown. You wanted to show you band mates, Dallon, Ryan, and the crew your favorite bar, which was not far from the venue, so you had quickly taken a refreshing after-show-shower in the little bathroom that belonged to the dressing room. You felt immediately relaxed from the hot water, and the fresh shampoo, which smell had engulfed you entirely, while you had listened to Dallon and Ryan playing over the water. The bass had been still loud enough to make your heart vibrate, and it was a strange feeling that only a few walls separated you from the audience which had whole-heartedly sung along to the Midnight Demons’ music.

Now you were dressed in one of your favorite shirts, wearing some comfortable jeans, and your hair was still a little wet, but you did not mind.

Soon deafening applause sounded from the stage, and a few seconds later Ryan and Dallon entered the dressing room.

“(Y/n),” Ryan cheered, and offered you a high-five, “is that your shampoo? It smells fantastic!”

You nodded and poked Ryan’s hand with your index finger, making him giggle.

“It’s mine, yeah. Thanks.”

“Can I borrow it,” Ryan asked excitedly.

You raised your eyebrows at him in surprise, but then you shrugged and nodded. Ryan grinned and grabbed the bottle out of your still open bag, took his towel, and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Good show?”

You turned to Dallon, who had whipped off his forehead with a towel, and was about to change into a fresh, not sweaty shirt. You quickly turned away again, not wanting to invade Dallon’s privacy, but also to hide the blush that rose to your cheeks. You were a grown-up, why was the naked chest of a man making you blush so hard? Probably it was the fact that it was Dallon, because any other person would have left you stone-cold.

“I can’t complain,” you answered, speaking against a wall. “Actually I think I finally manage these super weird riffs in the last song. Took me ages to get these right.”

“I never noticed,” Dallon answered, “you can turn back now.”

You turned back to Dallon and shrugged, “I’m good at improvising.”

Dallon giggled and nodded, grabbing his bag, and pointing towards the door.

“Shall we?”

You flung your own backpack over your shoulder, and stepped through the door Dallon held open with you, smiling at him as a thank you.

You had almost reached the door to the parking lot, when Dallon suddenly groaned.

“I forgot something in the changing room; I’m back in a sec.”

“Do you want me to wait,” you asked, your hand already resting on the cold metal door handle.

“Nah, it’s fine, you go to the bus,” Dallon assured you before he turned around, and quickly walked back into the direction you had come from.

Cold air brushed over your skin as you pushed the door open. Outside it was dark, apart from the street lanterns that lit up the parking lot. You had made a few steps when you noticed a group of about five teenagers, waiting a few meters away from the door, their eyes fixed on you as you stepped into the night. They all were holding papers and probably photographs, and mobile phones. You were familiar with this scenario. There were always a hand-full of fans, which found the backstage door, and waited for you and the other musicians after the show. You smiled even though you were kind of tired and looking forward to get to that little bar you wanted to take your friends to, but meeting fans always was your favorite thing on tour. So you lifted your hand in greeting, and pulled the fabric of your sweatshirt tighter around your body, trying to protect yourself from the cold.

The five seemed a little hesitant, but just as you had lifted your hand, they started moving towards you. They were still several meters away, when suddenly a voice behind you spoke up.

“Hey (y/n).”

You spun around and saw that a man had stood by the wall, next to the door. You had not noticed him when you had stepped outside because you had been too focused on the kids. Now he stood about two feet behind you, and at first you were tempted to punch this person, out of reflex; you hated to get scared like this, but then you recognized features you had not seen in at least eight years. Orange light shone on the face of the man your high school crush had turned into. Maybe other people would have gotten excited, or might have had butterflies in their stomach. But you only got annoyed.

This man, boy back then, had bathed in the knowledge that you had liked him. He had used it for his own advantage, and had never even said one nice thing to you. Instead of flipping him of and walking away as you would do now, you had forgiven him everything, and never even wondered why he made a joke out of torturing you. The end of the story was that he had managed to stomp your self-confidence into the ground and you still had not entirely recovered from the aftermath. Your crush on him had suddenly ended one afternoon, a few months before graduation, when he somehow managed to insult your best friend and your pet dog in the same sentence. Ever since you had been torn out of your pink cloud, and finally realized how terribly he had treated you, and you had not even been together. It was needless to say that some of the words he had thrown at you still hunted you in your nightmares, but overall, you just were angry and mostly indifferent towards him. He was an asshole, and you had amazing friends, a band that was on the upcoming, and led the life you always had wanted to live.

“David,” you answered, a forced smile making its way onto your face, “how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” he replied, his voice silky, and you knew this was never a good sign, “I saw the show. Pretty impressive, seeing you up on that stage.”

“Thanks, I worked hard for it.”

You were about to turn away from him, back to the kids that had now reached you, but a strong hand took hold of your upper arms, keeping you in place.

“Why don’t we go for a drink together, catch up a little, celebrate the good old times?”

You clenched your jaw for a second before you answered.

“What good times? Anyway, I already got plans.”

“Oh come on, you’re not gonna let an old friend hanging, are you,” he tried to convince you, his fingers gripping tighter around your arm as you tried to pull away from him.

“We were never friends,” you growled, “you made sure I always knew that. And just for the record, there are no ‘good old times’. You were a manipulative asshole back then, and you still seem to be.”

John was about to answer, when suddenly the door swung open, and Dallon appeared on the parking lot.

“Problems,” he asked with raised eyebrows, glancing down at your arm that was still in John’s tight grip.

“Just a small misunderstanding,” you hissed, finally managing to pull away from your old classmate.

“Not a misunderstanding, you are just as stubborn as always,” John answered, putting on what was supposed to be a comforting smile, but it just sent shivers down your spine. “Hey mate, why don’t you put in a good word for me, tell our little (y/n) here that it’s just a drink between friends?”

Dallon did not even look at you, he just stared at John with such venom in his eyes that you would not have been surprised if John dropped dead on the spot.

“They got plans,” Dallon answered, his voice calm, but since you knew him very well by now, you heard the threat that was lying underneath.

He placed his hand on your shoulder, and pulled you to his side, a motion you followed happily. All you wanted to do was hide behind Dallon, and let him deal with this idiot, but once you were by his side, he wrapped his arm around your waist, and pulled you close against his body. You quickly put your arm around his waist as well, glad that the bad lighting was hiding the blush that once again rose into your cheeks. You noticed how the five kids were following the exchange with wide eyes.

“What plans,” John challenged.

You groaned and somehow felt like you wanted to burst into tears. Why did this idiot have to turn up at that one show you had loved the most so far, and ruin everything? Why did he have to turn up and remind you off all the awful stuff you had gone through in school, because you were too blindly in  love to stand up for yourself.

“Does that matter,” Dallon sighed.

“Well, I know you’re still totally into me,” John grinned at you, once more making you shiver uncomfortably. Dallon gently stroked your side, trying to make you feel better.

“I was. Not anymore though,” you corrected, glad that your voice was sounding strong and confident, nothing like you felt all of a sudden.

“But there was a reason you were, and I am still the same person, so why don’t you give it a try?”

“’cause I’m not the same person anymore,” you spit, your rage finally taking over. “I was sixteen, seventeen, maybe. Now I’m twenty-five. I grew up, and I’ve gotten long over you, and I definitely don’t need a toxic, manipulative, arrogant, self-centered asshole like you in my life.”

“You just can’t admit that you still love me, but that’s okay,” John smiled as if he was being kind to you.

Before you even had the chance to reply, Dallon spoke up.

“They aren’t. I would know. I’d know if their heart would beat for someone else but me, and it doesn’t. And even if it did, I would make sure it beats for someone who loves them as much as they love this person. But, and now I want you to listen carefully,” Dallon had lowered his voice to a whisper, “the only person in the world who loves (y/n) this much is me. And that makes me the only person who might have the chance at one day calling them ‘mine’, understood?”

Again, for the third time this night, shivers ran down your spine, but this time it was the good kind. No matter if Dallon meant the words he had just spoken or not, to you it meant the world that he had said these things, and again you wanted to burst into tears, but this time out of happiness and thankfulness.

“Everything alright?”

The deep voice of a man who had walked through the door behind you ended what surely would have ended in a fight.

The bright neon yellow vest immediately identified the man as one of the security personal.

“Would you mind helping this gentleman to find his way off the property, Sir,” Dallon immediately asked, “and please make sure he doesn’t bother us again.”

“Of course, Sir,” the security guard nodded. “Come on.”

He grabbed David rather harshly at the back of his jacked and led him away.

“Thank you,” Dallon told the guard, before turning to you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “Yeah, now I am. Thank you.”

Dallon did not answer; he just wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight hug, kissing your hair. You pressed your nose against the soft fabric of his shirt, and deeply inhaled the familiar and calming scent.

When he pulled away, he sent you a quick smile, and turned around to the fans who had witnessed everything.

Dallon and you spent the next minutes signing photographs, and taking selfies with the five kids. Since you had nowhere to be, you took the time to make sure everyone had at least one picture that was not blurred from the bad lighting. You could see in their eyes that they had questions, especially since it was well known that neither you nor Dallon were in a relationship, but they did not ask, and you decided not to mention it.

Once the five said their goodbyes and were on their way across the parking lot, Dallon and you turned to walk towards the bus, finally alone.

“I meant what I said, you now,” Dallon mumbled.

You looked up at him and raised your eyebrows questioningly, not sure what he was referring to,

“You do deserve someone who loves you as much as you love them.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

“Thank you, but so do you, you know,” you answered, gently bumping Dallon’s shoulder with yours.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe I do,” he laughed, but then he grew quiet, “But the only person I really want is you.”

You stopped in your tracks and stared at him wide eyed. Dallon stopped too, turning around with an expression that made obvious he had not planned on saying this out loud.

“In that case, I guess we’re both lucky,” you whispered.

Before Dallon even had time to comprehend what your words meant, you had grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a kiss, which he, as quickly as his surprised mind allowed him, returned eagerly.

When you pulled away from Dallon’s soft lips, your face was burning up, and you were sure Dallon felt your heart racing in your chest. He grinned happily, and wrapped his arm around your waist, just like he had done earlier and together you walked back to the bus.

Let’s say it came as a mild surprise for Ryan, your band mates, and the rest of the crew, when you all sat in the bar you had led them to, and neither Dallon nor you could keep your eyes fingers off of each other.

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