#my mom would always tell me a brown lip ages me but I disagree

[stuckinapril]

is she entering her nude lip era? i think yes

#my mom would always tell me a brown lip ages me but I disagree #I just think as a light olive skinned girl w neutral undertones I need to be careful w my shade of brown or it washes me tf out #but once I find the perfect lip combo it’s over for everyone #p

[13uswntimagines]

Her Mess (Christen x Reader)

Request: Christen x reader where reader is younger and in college and reader meets the team

It was safe to say that you had always been a bit of a mess. You would argue that you were an organized mess, but Christen would disagree. If the gay mess you turned into the first time Mal had ever introduced you to her was anything to go off of. Yes, you were a mess, but you were her mess, and she took great joy in helping to keep you on track. 

From the very beginning, she had helped you with your schedule. Made sure you ate and gave yourself time for studying and soccer. She never overstepped, she was your girlfriend not your mother after all, but she was definitely the organized one in your relationship. 

It was why the prospect of traveling without her was incredibly daunting. She was already at camp with the rest of the national team (who you would be meeting for the first time) and you would be meeting them there with Mal after the two of you finished finals. To say you were nervous was an understatement. It was your first call up, and though your girlfriend and best friend had assured you it would be fine, you weren’t so sure. You had quadruple checked the list of things Christen and you had made, but even as you left the plane you were sure you had left something important. You were going to meet the team and you didn’t know if you were supposed to be meeting Christen too, or if you two were going, to be honest. 

You sighed, running your hand through your messy hair, before slipping your beanie back on. Your knee jumped up and down impatiently, and you bit your lip. You didn’t like waiting. Why did this car ride have to be so long?

“Do I need to call Mama Press or are you going to chill out on your own?” Mal said finally, her hand coming down to still your leg. You grinned sheepishly at her. 

“I just-... What if they don’t like me, and what if they’re weirded out by the age difference?” You rambled, your fingers tapping on the car window. 

“You’re like the funniest person I know. The team is going to love you! And I’ll be honest, It was a little weird at first for the person who was like my sister to be dating someone who was basically my mom. But after watching you two together, it’s obvious that you were made for each other,” Mal said softly, her hand running soothing circles on your thigh. You frowned. 

“What if she doesn’t want to tell them that she’s dating me because she’s ashamed of the age difference?” You asked softly, staring intently at your lap. Sure, Mal was cool with the age difference now, and so we’re your parents, but you knew that there were a lot of people out there who weren’t. Plus Christen was the Christen Press, and you were just a disorganized rookie. 

Gentle fingers tilted your chin up, and your Y/e/c met Mal’s brown.“Christen is a lot of things. I don’t think ashamed is one of them,” 

You nodded, returning your attention to the city passing by. You loved Christen, and you hoped that Mal was right. 

******

Most people would hate getting off a plane and stepping directly into practice, but you were grateful for it. The field was your happy place, a place you didn’t have to think about all the what-ifs. A place where you could simply showcase your skills. 

By the time you and Mal made it to the locker room, it was nearly empty. (Barring your girlfriend, who had stayed back to give you a tight hug and kiss, and Tobin who just sent you a small smile). 

“You ready for this cutie?” Your girlfriend asked, settling down on the bench beside you, nudging you with her shoulder, and placing a kiss on your pink cheeks. 

You stuck your tongue out at Mal who made a gagging sound. 

“I think so,” You shrugged, rooting through your bag to find the last items of your gear, things you were sure you had put in this morning. Your eyebrows furrowed as you shoved your shin guards aside in search of your socks. 

“Is it true you have the sprint record for UCLA?” Tobin nudged your other side. You nodded, not taking your eyes off of the contents of your bag. Had you been paying more attention, you probably would have freaked out that the Tobin Heath knew who you were. 

“Don’t forget the juggling record either,” Mal added, smiling. You had quite the reputation for putting defenders on their asses, and it was going to be entertaining watching you work your magic with the national team. 

“Damn,” Tobin mumbled wide eyes. She was going to have to call dibs on you for the scrimmage. You barely spared her a glance, groaning as you continued to dig for an item you were beginning to fear wasn’t in your bag. You took a deep breath, trying not to panic. Of course you had forgotten something important on your first camp with the national team.

Christen rubbed your back, her head tilting to the side as you ignored one of your heroes (your hero being her best friend was something she found immensely entertaining), her hand coming up to rub your back. “What are you looking for my darling,” 

“I forgot my socks,” you huffed, shoving your bag to the floor pouting. Christen’s lips ticked up slightly as she leaned in to kiss your pink cheeks. 

“That’s alright. I have an extra pair for you in my bag,” 

Your blush deepened as you took the extra pair, slipping them on your feet. You nodded in thanks, she simply winked in return. She knew you’d forget something. You always did. 

******

Meeting the team was an… experience. Kelley had immediately jumped on top of you, squealing about a new baby to corrupt before she was pulled off by Alex. Ashlyn and Ali had argued with Becky and Alyssa about who was going to be your team moms. The youngins had bombarded you with so many questions that it felt like your head was spinning. But through it, all Christen’s hand remained firmly in yours. 

Standing in line, waiting for the forward vs defender drill to begin was a surreal experience for you. You watched with a keen eye as Mal went first and nearly navigated the ball past Becky. You kissed Christen’s cheek before she went and cleanly got past Kelley. Tobin took the next spot, pulling a clean nutmeg off on Abby. You were going to have to one-up her. 

You took a deep breath, trying to settle your nerves, waiting to see which defender you would be up against. 

“You good kid?” Megan asked, bumping your shoulder with her. You blinked, fighting the urge to squeal that The Megan Rapino was talking to you. 

“Hm, excited!” You smiled, biting your lip as Sonnett took her place at the front of her line. Sonnett was good, but you were better and your desire to make a good first impression meant that you were really going to have to put on a show. There would be no better partner for the dance you had planned. 

“Think you can best Sonnett?” Carli smirked, tapping you the ball. 

“Definitely. Cant let a Cavalier get one over on me,” You winked, beginning to juggle the ball. Yeah, this was going to be fun. 

******

“Holy shit, how are you so fast,” Emily panted, catching up to you after you’d made another shot at an unsuspecting Alyssa Naeher. It speared just past her fingertips, making the goal rattle as it made contact with the net. 

“I ate lots of fudge striped cookies when I was younger,” You nodded, wiping the sweat from your forehead and heading towards the sidelines for your water break. From the time you were little you had believed wholeheartedly that the cookies made you run faster. 

“Fudge stripped what?” Emily asked, her eyebrows furrowing beside you. 

“Made by the Keebler elves. They’re magic,” You shrugged, glancing around for the greenbottle with your name on it, entirely unaware of the odd looks the team was giving you and the loving smile your girlfriend was sporting. “Where did I put my bottle?” 

“It’s over-“ Mal started, only to be cut off by Christen’s elbow being lodged in her ribs. 

“Take mine babe,” She laughed, passing you her bottle. You nodded in thanks, squirting the liquid into your mouth. What would you do without her? Mal smirked over your head at the green-eyed forward. Maybe part of your forgetfulness was her love of coming to your rescue. 

“Sick ball skills Ducky,” Tobin clapped you in the back. 

“Thanks!” You squeaked, the stream of water missing your mouth and spraying Christen in the chest. “Oops,” You giggled. 

“If you want me to kiss you, you did it have to get me all wet, you could just ask,” She winked and you felt heat wash over your cheeks, all your previous confidence evaporating. 

 Mal covered her ears and shook her head fast. “Please don’t answer that with the comeback you’re thinking of,”. You smirked, shaking your head. You wouldn’t force her to bear her best friend and her team mom flirting. 

“Hmm, I love your kisses,” 

Christen giggled, wrapping her arms around your waist, and pulling you into a quick kiss. You pulled away when the team wolf-whistled, burying your face in your girlfriend's chest. 

“Told you she wasn’t embarrassed,” Mal said, patting your back. 

“Yeah, how could she when you put everyone on their ass,” Sonnett cackled. Your groan was muffled by your girlfriend's soft skin. Her fingers found their way under your chin, coaxing you out of your favorite hiding place. You Y/e/c eyes met her green ones. 

“You thought I was embarrassed?” She asked softly, and you gave her a slight nod. How couldn’t she be? She was the Christen Press and you were just a bumbling college student who would lose her head if it wasn’t attached to her body. 

“You’re you, and you have everything together, and I’m me and I forget everything,” You mumbled, shrugging. 

“Well, I love you, even when you forget stuff. Plus, You look really cute in my clothes,” She kissed your nose and your cheeks before landing on your lips. You smiled into the kiss, enjoying the way her soft lips felt against yours. 

It didn’t matter that you were younger. You would prove yourself to be an asset to the team and Christen loved you. 

“Did they forget we’re here?” Emily’s whisper read followed by a slapping sound and Lindsey’s voice. 

“Way to ruin a moment Sonnett,” 

Yes. You were a mess, but you were Christen’s mess and you’d fit right in. 

#christen press x reader #christen press imagine #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines

[primasveraas-writing]

i've heard them calling my name

Anakin Skywalker faces five people after the second great betrayal of his lifetime.

Inspired in part by @naberiie's "thirteen minutes".

WORD COUNT: 1803

XXX

1

Anakin Skywalker isn’t dead, but he is dying.

It hurts, and he is used to the pain, the ache in his lungs, and the throbbing in what remains of his limbs. He’s used to the grief and the guilt and the sorrow.

What’s new is the light flooding him, overwhelming his mind and senses. What’s new is love, the feeling returned after an eternity of bitterness and hatred. What’s new is his son, so much smaller than Anakin in his mechanical suit, dragging him through the hangar, and the determination and compassion that flow from him; Luke the bright epicenter of his suddenly recentered galaxy.

But dying sounds like a horrible, raspy breath, and the wheeze of a failing ventilator.

And love sounds like: “I won’t leave you here. I’ve got to save you.”

Dying is dimness creeping in at the corners, quickly enough to scare Anakin, to rush his goodbyes.

Love is the blue of his son’s eyes, and the kindness shining in his face that reminds Anakin so much of Padmé.

He thinks of his wife, and of his daughter who he never knew, and of his son, and he mourns them all in a second, because the darkness is closing in, and his consciousness is fleeing him as is air, and again Luke desperately promises not to leave him, and Anakin exhales for the last time and his son’s voice is the last thing he knows.

2

There is incredible darkness and Anakin does not know nor think until a voice calls out his name and recognition blossoms with a burst of light flooding the void.

“Obi-wan?”

There is shame, deep and consuming because Anakin has betrayed his son, but he was a brother long before he was a father, and he has ruined Obi-wan with no chance of salvation like there is for Luke, and-

“Master, I’m so sorry- so very, very-”

Obi-wan says his name again, and tells him that there is more, that there can be forgiveness and immortality, and Anakin wants but he does not deserve, but he wants to see Luke again and meet his daughter and Anakin has always been selfish despite the Jedi’s teachings.

And if Obi-wan is truly offering him this chance- Obi-wan, with his fair logic and pragmatism- then maybe he does indeed deserve this, even if all others, Anakin included, do not think the same.

“I failed you, Master.”

Silence. Then, the light ripples, and there is his master, and he is smiling gently, and he shakes his head.

“And I failed you, Anakin. You needed more from me than I ever offered, and I am sorry for that.”

“After all I’ve done-”

“You did what no other Jedi could, in the end, and that is as the Force wills it.”

“I wish-” Anakin’s voice catches. “I wish it were different.”

“As do I.” Obi-wan looks sad now, and that is familiar, but he opens his arms and steps closer to Anakin. They embrace, there is love and comfort between them, things that Anakin has not allowed himself to miss in thirty long years.

When they part, Obi-wan regards him for a long moment, then speaks again.

“I still have much to teach you,” he says slowly, and Anakin nods. This has not changed, even now. “You will see others who have missed you as I have. You will find forgiveness and anger in unexpected places, from those living and dead, but, my dear padawan,” Obi-wan smiles now, a true contentedness painting his features, “you will know peace again. That is what you deserve.”

3

His mother is before him in the emptiness, as if from a dream.

Anakin Skywalker is decades old and a Jedi Knight and a war hero and a tyrant and a Sith Lord and evil personified and the Chosen One, and he sees his mother and runs to her.

Her embrace is warm and tight, and he knows her from the way his head buries into her neck, and the length of her arms around him, and the faint smell of spice on her tunic, and every inflection of her voice as she murmurs his name, and calls him my son, and says how I’ve missed you, and he sobs into her, pulling them both to their knees as he does.

“Mom,” he gasps, and all the shame hits him anew. He is his mother’s son, his selfless, compassionate, angel of a mother, and he is a monster who turned against everything she believed in.

“I love you,” she tells him, and he ducks his head, unable to meet her eyes. Instead, he shakes his head, letting hot tears slip down his cheeks.

“Come now,” she chides, wiping the wetness away with her sleeve. It’s as if he were four again, and he had just scraped his knee, rather than-

“I don’t deserve you, Mom,” he chokes, and although he needs her, it’s true.

“No,” Shmi’s tone is firm and resolute, “it has always been my job to love you unconditionally, Anakin. I’ll not stop now.”

“I did such terrible things-”

“Yes. And I forgive you for them.”

“How? How can you?”

“You are my son,” she says, and she cups his face in her hands and smiles at him, and he knows warmth and love with startling clarity once more. “And you have earned my forgiveness and always deserved my love.”

Anakin sobs again and hides in her shoulder, and Shmi holds him close until the cries subside and he is nearly calm again.

“There is more,” she advises him after a long while, and her warmth and love are still there but Shmi is very serious. Anakin’s throat dries, and he knows they are thinking of the same person.

“Not yet,” she says. “Soon."

“How can I-” the words die in his throat, and Shmi presses a kiss to his brow and looks him in the eye.

“She lived and died for you, Anakin. That love does not mean nothing.”

She smiles at him, her crow’s feet wrinkling, and her love is familiar and good and palpable, and then she, and everything, disappears.

4

There is a beautiful woman, with dark hair and eyes, and a short frame. Her features are sharp, but not harsh or unkind, except in the way that she looks at Anakin, which is with a mask of anger, her mouth set into a stern frown.

His wife’s name is on his lips, but there are differences, slight, but noticeable, and he realizes it’s because one woman aged while the other died, and when Sabé speaks, her voice rings out clearly in the tone of a queen with no time for mercy or forgiveness.

“You killed her.”

Anakin cannot breathe nor reply, so he nods instead, and stares at his feet.

“She was my life, and she died because of you, your selfishness, your rage. I worried from the second she married you, that you would be the death of her, and I was right.

“She let her love consume her, and so did you, but your love was poison,” Sabé spits. “You never deserved her.”

“No,” Anakin whispers. These are not the thoughts that made Darth Vader, but these are the ones that fueled him.

“I buried her. I loved her and I lived for her, and I brushed her hair and dressed her in her funeral gown and I tried to seek vengeance, and years later, a monster came to Naboo to find answers as I did, and I wondered why you didn’t kill us.”

“Because you look like her,” Anakin is still quieted by his shame. “Because I couldn’t destroy what was left of her.”

“I would have killed you then if I knew. I wanted to kill Vader with my bare hands, but you- you betrayed her. Death wouldn’t have sufficed for you.”

“I deserve that,” Anakin says, clear and loud. Sabé doesn’t disagree, but she regards him for a moment, studying his face, her own features still set in anger.

Then: “She forgives you.”

“What?”

“She wants to see you.” Sabé sighs and confusion overtakes Anakin’s shock, his heart pounding in his chest. “She loves you.”

“I love her,” Anakin blurts, and he tries not to shrink under Sabé’s scrutiny. “I love her still.”

“So do I,” Sabé says bluntly. “Which is why you’re seeing me first.”

“To berate me?” It makes sense to Anakin, although he has not particularly enjoyed this conversation, but Sabé seems amused, her eyes glinting.

“To tell you that you have served a penance. To show you that many will not grant you forgiveness.”

“Do you?” He suspects the answer, but the question

“I love Padmé. I follow her lead.” Sabé tilts her head to the side. “Though I keep my own reservations.”

She smiles faintly at that, then she is gone.

5

Padmé stands three feet before him, and she smiles.

Anakin staggers forward and stumbles, sinking to his knees. Tears are already streaming down his face when he murmurs her name, mixed with apologies and said like a prayer.

“Anakin,” Padmé says, and she holds him, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Oh, Anakin.”

He breathes her in; he still remembers the scent of her perfume and the softness of her hair, and the way her body fits against his own larger frame, and the gentleness of her touch and her voice, and he has loved her since he was nine years old, and through war and darkness and villainy and death, he has not stopped loving her.

“I love you,” she tells him, and presses a kiss to his forehead. Anakin sobs, cradling Padmé against him, and begs her again for forgiveness. “I love you, Anakin.”

“I should have- I-”

“I know,” she says, and her tone is firm. “In the end, you have made things right. That is what matters to me”

“Our children,” he whispers. “Luke saved me.” He finally looks up at her, sees the warmth in her brown eyes. “He’s like you, Padmé.”

“I believed in him as I believed in you.” His wife smiles again. “I always did.”

“I missed you,” he breathes, and Padmé squeezes his hand.

“I missed you, too. I waited so long to see you again.”

“I’m here,” Anakin exhales, shaky. “All I wanted was to be with you again.”

“I have you now.” Padmé leans in, kissing him, then rests her forehead against his.

“Now I am complete.” Anakin echoes his mother’s words from all those years ago, and he knows they are true.

Padmé rises with him, wrapping both her hands around one of his, and reaches up to kiss him once more. He holds her with his free arm, never wanting to leave her embrace, and content in the fact that he does not have to let go.

#anakin skywalker #anidala #im not an anakin apologist and i kinda hate him so this is a mess #hmmmmm #anakin skywalker fanfic #star wars #anakin skywalker fanfiction #star wars fanfic #darth vader #chracter study #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #luke skywalker #padme amidala #shmi skywalker #sabe #rotj #post rotj

[calypsoff2]

Fourteen. Part 3

Rylee is taking it bad like she is putting her sisters in the mood too, she won’t let Robyn speak or go near her now, but I am dropping Robyn off now at the airport, it’s a silent car journey here anyways. I am sad she is going; I am having to deal with their moods. They are feisty girls, they have their own personality too, but Rylee does have the deciding factor, they watch her closely. Like Tianna was at first sad but she was still hugging Robyn at the frozen yoghurt place but now she didn’t want Robyn to help her in the car, I guess she has Imani left “what are you doing in New York anyways?” I asked, I haven’t really asked, I know she is pitching for me to help with the men’s line but what else “speaking on the men’s line and we are speaking on the launch of Fenty Skin, we are discussing where we should do the shoot” I guess that means she is jetting off again “somewhere nice I guess?” looking over at her “you are right, but I also want you in it so watch yourself” I didn’t know that part “I want you to start using Fenty Skin from now, I will be back with the products that have been made, well should have been” nodding my head “that took a while?” that took so long, this idea was floating around so long, the things were set “yeah that did takes ages, I was going back and forth with the ideas and roll out, this is what I was doing and being so busy at Chris, I don’t just speak on one thing and then every so often my music gets bought up, so it’s like ok? I am doing a collab, so I do need to do that while I am there but yeah, that’s it” busy schedule “nice” is the only thing I can say “you and Jen should be scoping that out for me, but I am doing it, you need to stay home” she is right I do need to stay home.

Robyn’ team is here waiting “Fenty assemble here isn’t it” Robyn side eyed me as I laughed at my own joke, it was funny to me. Getting out of the car, Rich is here “oh and Chris” barely hearing Robyn say, walking around the car to get Robyn’ bag out “speaking on Fenty assemble, I would like to introduce you to your new bodyguard, he will be going back with you in the car. Pat, this is Chris. Chris this is Pat, get along” seeing this big guy in front of me “pat? Is that short for Patrick?” getting my hand out, he shook my hand “how did you know” shaking my head laughing “guessed it brother, so you the new bodyguard huh” Robyn meant it about this bodyguard business, she wasn’t playing at all “yes I am” he stepped back “so there you are, I told you that you will have it. You text him when you need to go anywhere, I am being serious. He goes everywhere with you” Robyn is going to watch me about his, nodding my head “caught this one” Rich said walking over to us with Rylee in his arms “aye, what I say. Stay in the car” Rich placed her down on the ground “you’re big!” Rylee said and ran to me “can we go home now, I am tired from school” looking at Robyn, it’s about time she goes now anyways “yeah we are going” Robyn has a big suitcase to be honest, for three days and she always buys her shit on the go. Jah has her stuff, I am questioning her now, but I won’t day anything to her about it.

Tianna held my hand and Imani is just attached to Robyn’ hip, she ain’t leaving that hip but Robyn is finally putting her down “I am going to be back so soon, ok?” looking down at Rylee, she is not happy and honestly Robyn does so much for Rylee, I know Robyn’ doesn’t like to say she is a favourite but Rylee is “stay here now Imani, it’s dangerous” I said, Robyn shuffled her back a little to me and she looked at Rylee “you going to say bye to your mother now” I said “no” Rylee looked up at me, she meant it “it’s not nice, she is going to be away. No matter how upset you are she isn’t going to be here, and anything can happen” she shook her head “I want to go home” Robyn tried to step to her, to even get a little closer but Rylee stepped back “I don’t want too” this is harsh on Robyn “baby I am sorry, I am so sorry I have to go” Robyn said but it’s not making any change at all, I know Rylee is hurting and I think this is upsetting Robyn a lot more “Rylee please” Rylee moved back again “I want to go” Robyn swallowed hard and looked at me “take care, come back soon” Robyn wrapped her arms around my neck “you got to stop doing this” I said in her ear, she moved back and pecked my lips “I know” she said in a whisper.

I feel a little heartbroken seeing Robyn go actually, like I hate being away from her because anything can happen and if that ever happens I would never be good to anyone, especially my kids. Robyn turned around and waved to us, I smiled lightly. If we didn’t have kids I would be on that jet with her “say bye” looking down at the girls, they are waving but they look so lost. Rylee is hurt and you can tell she is. Robyn disappeared onto the jet “mommy is gone” Imani said “she is Imani” Rylee said, crouching down to the girls “and she will be back soon, it’s ok” letting their hands go “will she though, I really want mom here dad” Rylee said with her lower lip quivering, I knew she would be hurt “and she will be back, just that she has to work” I dragged out “to make others happy but we will be here for her, we will be waiting for her yeah” pressing a kiss to each one of them “what about parent day dad?” Tianna asked, “you got me and momo” Tianna sighed out “it’s so loud here can we go?” nodding my head getting up from my position, this bodyguard is just staring at me. He is new I guess, looking at the jet and can see vaguely a handwave, I think it is. I gasped seeing Rylee just run, she ran off “Rylee!” I spat about to run but Pat grabbed her, she didn’t get far “mommy!” they closed the jet door already, shuffling the girls along with me, these girls are trying to run on this busy runway “thank you god” I am glad he is here now “Rylee” taking her from him “I want mom” Rylee hugged me crying out “hold his hand Imani” we need to go, the jet will be leaving now. Pat just picked up Imani like she was a parcel, it was nothing for him. With my free hand grabbing Tianna’ arm “is Rylee ok dad?” she asked, I just want to go because this is a mess “climb in, come on” Tianna is more shocked at Rylee like she is crying out, Pat is putting Imani in her seat, he is actually not useless “mom is coming” Tianna said “I know she is coming back soon, move up one so Rylee can sit” she is sat there wasting time “but dad” she said, rubbing Rylee’ back “it’s ok, stop being dramatic now. You didn’t want to hug her but want to be like this” she should have hugged her “mommy!” Rylee said, looking at the jet and the door is open again and Robyn is here. Rylee held her arms out to Robyn as Robyn took her from me.

There is so many emotions going on in this place, like deadass there is but I am shocked Robyn came back off the jet. She actually came back to console Rylee which she has, she has settled them all so much that they are quiet in the car. She closed the car door and turned to me “I saw it all and my heart literally dropped, I screamed seeing it. Just seeing her run and you not knowing to run for her and then leave the other two at the same time, my heart dropped. Look at me, I thank god Pat caught her when he did. This will be my last trip; this is too much. I am shaking” she held her hands out “well now you see what I deal with Robyn, but something needs to change, and I think we need to move because it won’t be your last trip. Let’s be real right now, this won’t be the last trip for you and it’s being real. The kids need their mother, they want you. You’re a mother before anything, even being a wife. They come first” Robyn put her head down “I see it, trust me. When I come back we will start discussing” nodding my head, I don’t want to argue with Robyn, she is going away from me so I rather we leave on a good note “I love you” hugging her close “I love you more Chris” we need to make that change quick, it has to happen.

The girls seem to be in a better mood, Rylee is also so whatever was said and done worked “before you go Mel, what happened between you and Robyn?” she never said anything of course “it was vague for the most part, she was saying mostly how much she hates TJ, no good for nothing. And she is shocked I lowered my standard to a lame like him, she thought better of me. I said to her what did you want me to do? We were always in the same vicinity, it was bound to happen. TJ made me laugh, he was good with me so what can I say. She just said that she loves me as a friend and she wants to look after me while pregnant, we made up but there is more to be said because she was busy panicking about Monica” looking down at Imani she is bugging “I want juice dad” letting out an oh “go and get your cup baby, I will” she walked off “Monica is a big part of this house now, she isn’t leaving” I laughed “but I love her, she is so supportive for me and the kids love that, because they are scared” I frowned at Imani “that is a wine glass baby, what the hell?” Mel turned to her “my glass too” she lifted the glass up “that is mommy wine glass now, be careful” taking it from her “mine too” she is being deadass too with this.

Rolling my eyes at the stupid ideas “saw that” Jah said as we both laughed out, I swear meetings to me is funny, all we do is giggle, I blame Jah because he eggs me on most of the time “anyways, I mean I came here for this meeting. I want Savage to always be in people’s mouths, I want people to know we are here to stay so I am deciding to allow Chris to do the men’s line” Jah’ face dropped, so did most of the people in the room “I haven’t met Chris” Jay Brown said, “I am being sarcastic but Chris hasn’t been here, and you want to rely on him for this?” he has a point “he bought this idea to me, I want it to happen. I want to now do a male line, I want him to help, he said he wants too. I mean I will have the last say as I do, that is me. Can we just agree to disagree. I see everyone pulling faces, I get Jen is here always and he is at home. But he is at home to take care of the kids when I am here, when he is here he does his thing” they are judging my husband “this is him being involved, I don’t see it. Unless you put in someone, he is not doing it alone” I sighed out, now Bernard is saying it “I like the idea of the male line, but we need someone that is active, we have meeting over skype, he isn’t there Robyn. You are saving face, like Jay was discussing he has his hands in everything but here, he has a record label now. My concern is him being absent here” well this took a turn “can we just go with the idea, I will have Jah on it, and I will tell Chris he will need to collab” they need to stop this “we can accept that, but you need to check the designs before anything. This is on a bigger scale, not something side street wear” nodding my head.

Jah turned to me and then laughed, swatting his arm “be quiet” I said “now ma’am I ain’t do shit. I just looked at you, don’t you feel like this is at school. The way they all be looking at you, they dislike your husband girl” Jah said “and he hasn’t done shit” he busted out laughing “that is the point sweetie, he just be quiet. I think he still mad they lost some money on that little clothing brand he took back off his little friend and now it’s going nowhere, they are saying it’s bringing the company down you know” shaking my head “yeah about that, I think it’s the clothing brand that is struggling but that isn’t his fault, things happen. His clothing brand doesn’t take a massive hit on the money right?” it’s so stupid “it do though, like I be hearing it with them. Also he jumps into different avenues, he doesn’t stick to just one, so they be like what the hell he be doing, I don’t know girl. But this your company so you do what you need to do, don’t let them just let you backtrack” Jah said as Bernard came back into the room “so this male line” sitting back in my chair “my husband will oversee” Jay Brown stared at me “alongside Jah” I added, Jah looked at me gasping, I mean this will make it easier “well let’s take five, we will continue and speak on Fenty next” thank god, I need a blunt after this meeting.

Tapping on Chris’ name as I blew out the smoke from my lips “pour me some more” I said to Jah, I need a drink too before going back inside “damn you going in” Jah said, Chris finally answered “morning” I know he will be awake “morning” he must have went back to bed after dropping the girls off “tired?” I questioned, he seems like he’s just woke up “I was having a nap, after telling the girls you will be a little later than you said” I cringed “how did they react?” I feel so bad “not shocked, but they went school and you missing parents’ day so congratulations on being the bad parent” shaking my head “thanks” I mouthed to Jah “Chris, I would have rather been there with you! You know this, I rather have been with my kids, what don’t anyone get, y’all just judging me for being away. For doing this but I am doing it for our future, one of us has to work Chris. If this was you Chris, you would be here! You would be doing this, if this was your company you would be away! Shit takes hard work, why am I being penalised by you and my mother, making me feel bad because if this was you, this was you having to be away then you would be away and wouldn’t get penalised, you will get praises for being the man of the house. But because I pop the baby out it makes it worse; I have had enough I want my mother out too, tell her to go home” they all just judging me, I am sick of it “you done ranting? Damn, I ain’t telling your mother shit Robyn. You are feeling like this because you feel bad, so how about it” he angers me “I need to answer this call, it’s the school” Chris said “yeah, yeah bye” disconnecting the call “bad mother thing again?” nodding my head “I am the worst mother of the year, you know. Just because women seem to have this tag where we need to be home, the fuck? If this was Chris he wouldn’t be called a bad parent. I bet you every nigga that is away working isn’t the bad one, let’s move” getting up from the seat, I have been out long enough.

Watching my phone ring for the third time from Chris, dragging my eyes away “are you going to do the collab with PND? He is waiting you know, like we need to do that. Sorry, business aside” Jay Brown laughed “yes, I will. It’s noted, I need to sell my soul next. Like shit, Tina you getting all this?” she just laughed, she has been busy “your diary is busy boss” rolling my eyes “see but erm yeah, I can fit it in. Of course, but music is on the back burner. I need to concentrate on Fenty Skin, we need to shoot that shit too, I am taking the products with me back home, Chris is going to use it. I want to shoot something with Chris in it” my phone is ringing again which stopped me talking “my nigga is calling; I need to pick up. One too many times” grabbing my phone answering it, it’s just too many calls going on “hey” I answered, “I could be dying Robyn, I just thought I would let you know I am in hospital with Imani, she has hurt her arm while in school” my face softened “what!?” I spat “I told you, she hurt her arm. She is just having a scan” hearing Imani in the background “yes I am speaking to mommy” my heart dropped “can you hold her” hearing the doctor say “I will call you back” he disconnected the call and my just feels like someone is squeezing my heart, my daughter is hurt, and I am here away from her.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Chrianna Fanfic #Chrianna Fanfiction

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Guardian of Creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 13

*Author’s note*

Well been awhile since I did an update for this series but here I am with another update! This time we’re gonna turn back the clock and find out what happened to our gang of mistfits when Serafina left them. So as I told you all before, Oded Fehr plays an allied wizard for John and Serafina, but now we get introduced to a new THREAT to our heroes. So I hope you all enjoy this chapter and until next time :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queen-paladin

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@glitter-at-the-panic

@kinole009x

@geek-and-proud​

@wormzteef​

_________________________________________________________

Chapter 13,

The Ambush

*2nd Person POV. The morning after Serafina leaves*

The next morning you awoke to the desert sun shining in your tent.

“What do you mean she’s gone!?” you hear John’s voice snap with anger.  You peek out of your tent to see the boys all standing around under the desert sun but Serafina was nowhere to be seen.  John stood in front of Freddie, his hands fuming with his purple magic while his sons Seraffel and Thor stood behind their father, the same look of anger across their faces.

“I’m saying what is true. She’s gone on her own path.”

“What is it with you fucking Nagas and your riddle talk!? Where exactly did our mom go!? And I swear to god if you don’t start making any sense I’ll freeze you so bad you won’t start to thaw till the next Ice Age!” Seraffel warned.

“Always barking but never biting. Really Seraffel you’ve threatened me thousands of times since your hatching and you’ve yet to hold up to that threat. No matter how old you were.” Freddie spoke nonchalantly, like he didn’t even care for the ice dragon’s threat.  You walk up to Brian and ask him.

“What’s going on here?”

“It would appear that Serafina has gone off on her own somewhere. John and Serafina have rarely been apart from one another, the longest I’ve seen them be apart is when Roger and I were first sent by Freddie to save them.”

“Freddie please just—just tell us where our mom’s at? She could get captured or-or killed!” Thor pleaded.

“Your mother can handle herself. Right now she needs to go on this path on her own.”

“Fred normally I would agree on with what you say but this is no time for a pissing contest! Grindelwald knew we were in New York, who’s to say that the rest of his family or even his spies could be out here looking for us right now!? What if her power alone is not enough?” Roger said as he paced back and forth with worry.

“For someone who claims to care for her you seriously underestimate her Roger dear.” Roger halted in his spot to stare at the Naga. “Serafina’s path lies on a different path than ours for the moment. This part of her journey will come to pass with what we need for the final phase of ending Grindelwald’s followers once and for all. Now will the four of you get your heads out of your arses and understand Serafina is more than capable of taking care of herself and isn’t some fragile little maiden that always needs protecting!”

Freddie’s eyes glowed a fearsome yellow and his voice grew deeper and more snake like.  

“Now then, we should reach the Medjai coven by the sun’s highest point if we leave now. Burn the tents and get rid of any evidence of our trail here.” Freddie slithered onward.

As the boys went on with Freddie’s orders, you then ask Brian once more.

“Will she be okay?”

“Serafina is unlike any other witch I’ve met before. Elf or otherwise. She has power unlike anything I’ve ever seen. If I had to say who I should be more worried for, I’d say it’s whatever poor unfortunate soul crosses her path.”

Once the site was cleared up of any of your traces, you continued onward to the Medjai covenant.  It felt like an eternity had passed until finally as you all came up over a hill and just down below, several village stood there in the middle of the desert.

“We’ve arrived.” John spoke as he urged his black stallion onward.  You followed behind him, then his sons, Brian and Freddie, while Roger flanked in the rear.

As you all approached the entrance into the village, several men in black garb with most of their faces covered, held up their wands towards you guys ready to strike.

“Waqaf!” one of the guards spoke up.  Your horse whinnied and reared on it’s hind legs.  You held onto the reins as tight as you could as you tried to calm your horse down.

“Whoa, whoa boy whoa easy!” you tell your horse.  John’s horse nickered and anxiously paced forward and back.

“We’re not spies! We’re friends with your covenant leader Ardeth Bay. My name is John Deacon and these creatures are my friends.” The guards looked at one another suspiciously when a stern but warm voice proclaimed.

“Let them pass!” soon riding on top of a camel was an Egyptian man with long black hair, two Arabic tattoos on each cheek and one across his forehead, and chocolate brown eyes.  He sported a mix of a goatee and beard which went well along his strong jawline.

He was a big man on the muscular side, probably standing at around 6ft, maybe a couple inches.  But it was the way he just seem to carry himself that made it seem like he was a true leader, a chieftain maybe.

“This man is under my protection. Anyone who tries to even lay a curse upon him shall face immediate exile, do I make myself clear?” the way his voice commanded these guards, it just made goosebumps come across your arms.  The guards put their wands away and bowed with their left feet forward and their right arms crossed over their chests, hands going right over their hearts.

He then turned to John and soon his camel and John’s stallion stood face to face of each other.

“Welcome back my friend, it’s been a long time.”

“I wish the circumstances could be better Ardeth.”

“Well, it is most definitely an upgrade from being lost in the desert for days on end without water and hardly any food.” John chuckled embarrassingly but then the two men clasped hands with each other in a firm handshake.

Then they taking back their hands, kissing the side of their index fingers and placing it on their foreheads before placing their hand before their lips once again (must be an Arabic greeting).

“You and your friends have had a long journey not only from your last hideout but also across the desert. Come, satisfy your hungry and quench your thirst. And for two of your companions, regain their energy.” Ardeth said the last part as he looked to Roger and Seraffel who both looked practically exhausted.

“Thank you Ardeth. We appreciate you giving us a place to rest and regroup.” John thanked him.  Ardeth bowed his head before urging his camel forward.  You all follow behind the leader of the Medjai sorcerers and as you enter the village, you can see hundreds of Arabic witches, wizards and young children running about going about their day.

Some were selling robes, others had potions and spell books for sale, animals were also being sold at what almost looked like a petting zoo setup but it also had dogs, cats and falcons in their cages.  Horses and camels were also on sale at the shop, each wearing a price board around their necks as they went about either pacing around the fence, drinking their water, or eating the food provided for them.

This entire marketplace was just a buzz with people.  As you passed by, some of the Medjai wizards and witches looked at you and your friends.  Some were in awe, others were skeptical, and the rest held respect as they bowed their heads to you and the others.

Soon you arrived at a large tent.  It seemed a pretty good decent size (maybe about 8ft long and 13ft. wide) for all of you to fit inside.  The front flaps were a stripped pattern of cream and, at least to you, an earthy kinda brownish-red.  The rest of the tent was an earthy tone of dark green and brown stripped pattern.

You all unmounted off your rides and Ardeth walked up to the tent and opened it up for you all.

“Enter my friends, eat and make yourselves at home.” John bent down to take his shoes off before entering inside the tent.  Brian did the same thing and gave Ardeth an Elvish thank you by placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head.  Ardeth did the same motion and Brian entered inside.

Roger, Thor and Seraffel, then Freddie followed behind after Brian.  You undid the last of your laces on your shoes and set them down beside the rest of the shoes that aligned the tent.

“You are the human savior the Naga Freddie has foreseen, aren’t you?” he said to you.

“Well—I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that. I mean yeah I did save John and Serafina’s sons from being imprisoned for all eternity but—other than that I’m not really all that special.”

“I disagree. You have a strong powerful aura within you. You may not yet realize it but it’s in there.” His strong, calloused hand gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance.  “Every creature on this earth whether mortal or mythical has that power. It’s only up to those brave enough to seek it out. Not all heroes are of just one image.”

He walked back over to the flap of the tent and opened it up for you to walk inside.  You enter in and soon Ardeth follows right behind you.

Whoa! This tent was bigger on the inside! Various and beautiful kaleidoscope-like patterned quilts hung along the walls of the tent. There was a pool at the center of the tent and that’s where you saw both Seraffel and Roger, half naked, in the pool rehydrating themselves after being under the hot African sun for the past couple of days.

Thor was just drying off his wet hair (probably just getting out of the pool himself) wearing a white Arabic tunic.  Freddie was curled up under the shade fast asleep, while Brian and John were conversing quietly to themselves.

“Hey (n/n) get in the water’s amazing!” Seraffel called out to you.

“It was amazing till you nearly froze it over yah overgrown icicle!” Roger snapped.

“Oh whatever you’re made out of water yourself you’re fine.” Seraffel waved off nonchalantly.  You shook your head at seeing those two argue pettily.

“Maybe later guys.” You gave them an answer.

“I apologize for what happened with my guards out front. We’ve been needing to increase security for our coven.” Ardeth said as he went over to the kitchen to make some drinks for us.

“We understand Ardeth. My grandfather—is resilient.” John spoke lowly.

“He is. Unfortunately, it was not your grandfather or his followers that I was referring to.” At hearing this, most of you all look up at the leader of the Medjai sorcerers confused.

“What—do you mean then?” questioned Thor.

“It would seem Grindelwald has finally convinced an even greater foe to side with him.”

“Who?” you ask.

“The Shadow Sorcerers.” At hearing that name, everyone in the room went frigid with fear.  Even Freddie’s eyes had opened at hearing their name.

“Who are the Shadow Sorcerers?” you ask.

“A separate branch of one of the most powerful and most dangerous wizards and witches. They branched off during the time of Thomas Deacon, they viewed his radical thinking of submitting themselves under the Sorcerer Supreme’s rule unlawful. So they branched off, became their own branch of sorcerers.” Freddie first explained before John joined in.

“Once my grandfather became Sorcerer Supreme, he tried to sway the Shadow wizards not as pawns, but an ally. A secondhand ally you may call it. Some of the Shadow covens agreed and allowed some of their students to transfer into our school. To study our way of magic. But they made for certain that they would never submit themselves under the rule of the Sorcerer Supreme. At least not without something to gain from it.”

“They value their pride more than anything else in the world. But it would seem some of the Shadow covens have decided to go fully under Grindelwald’s thumb. Their source of magic comes from the most ancient and most darkest of all magic. Using their very own shadows as an extension of themselves in order to take down any enemy.” Ardeth said.

“The Shadow coven takes their inspiration of their magic based on the animals that you humans refer to as Nocturnal animals. Even basing each specific family off the Latin name of said animal. I’ve even seen the Shadow Sorcerers even control other beings to their will by using their own shadows against them. A few of my people before the massacre learned that the hard way.” Freddie said.

“How many Shadow sorcerer covens are there?” asked Thor.

“There are 10 main covens of Shadow Sorcerers, and then depending on the Nocturnal animal they are inspired to emulate, the covens get subdivided into classes based off the species. The covens with the most subclass are the Felines, Rodents, and Mammalia clans.” John answered his youngest son.

“So that means we’re screwed.” Seraffel exclaimed angrily.

“Not necessarily my young ice dragon.” Ardeth added.  “I said that some of the covens have joined Grindelwald. You see there are some that have remained either undecisive or wish to remain neutral. But I’m afraid the ones that did join along with Grindelwald, are one of the most strongest Shadow Sorcerers of all.”

“Which coven classes joined alongside him?” Brian asked. Ardeth sighed and said.

“I—truthfully do not know the exact number. But the one that has been skulking around here lately come from the Corvus clan.” You noticed John clenching his hand into a fist and even saw it tremble.

“So what do we do now?” asked Seraffel.

“Right now my friends you rest. And I strictly ask that you do not leave this tent as the sun sets. The shadow wizards tend to do their hunting at night. And whatever you do; Never. Turn on. The lights.” With that, Ardeth left you guys alone to your thoughts.

“Damn. Siding with the Shadow Sorcerers. Grindelwald must be getting desperate if he wanted to ask for their help.” Roger said.

“Does Grindelwald fear the Shadow Sorcerers?”

“To an extent. My grandfather is many things, a coward is definitely not one of them. But he is aware of who is powerful than even him. He must’ve sueded them to a deal that not even they could refuse.” John said. He lowered his head down to his hands and run his fingers through his hair anxiously. “I just hope and pray to Merlin that Serafina’s at least not in Egypt anymore. Or at least nowhere where a Shadow wizard could be.”

“She’ll be fine John. She’s stronger than you realize.” Brian comforted the anxious young wizard.

For the rest of the day, you all rested and pretty much stayed inside the tent because after traveling the desert for 2 days none of you even thought about wanting to go back outside.

When the sky became dark, it was as Ardeth said, no lanterns or lights were coming on in the camp.  Not even lights from the tents or houses nearby were up.

“Man, Ardeth wasn’t kidding. Not a single Medjai has their lights on.” You said as you came back into the tent.

“Then we must do the same.” Brian said. He went up to one of the lanterns and turned off the flame candle inside.  Roger did the same to his side of the room, and on and on until finally the entire tent was nothing but pitch black.

You adjusted yourself on the soft red velvet couch (well it felt more like a bed with how big it was).

“Goodnight everyone.” You say.  They all reply with a goodnight and soon you all fall into a silent sleep.

‘(Y/n).’ a ghostly whisper calls out to you.  You moan and try to go back to sleep but the voice calls out to you again. ‘(Y/n)~’ the soft gentle coo of this man’s voice reminded you a lot of your grandfather.  The grandfather you lost back in the War.

He had moved to a small town of Leuven in Belgium after remarrying a woman named Pamela Janssens.  She was nice and she really helped your grandfather out of his depression when your grandma died of a heart attack.  He enjoyed the Belgium countryside and the people were nice to him even from being from America.

But when the German troops invaded Leuven, you were told by your mother (who was the daughter of your grandfather) that he had been shot and killed by a German soldier and Pamela had been raped before being brutally murdered and then their house was burned to the ground.

Your granddad was like a superhero to you.  Even in his old age, he never let anything bring him down. That’s why he was able to still pick you up even as you became a teenager.  When you received word of his death from Pamela’s sister, it crushed your entire world.

‘(Y/n)~’ the voice called to you again.  No it—it couldn’t be him. There’s no way.

“Granddad?” you whisper as you sit up.

‘It’s me.’ You gasp and quickly hop off the couch. ‘I’m here.’ The voice called out again.  You peek outside of the tent but it’s nothing but pitch black outside.  The crescent shape moon hardly gave off any light but it was then a small blue flame stood before you.  It danced and you swore that it had eyes staring up at you.

A trail of them soon popped out, leading away from the village. Something in your gut didn’t seem right but there was a magical force that was just beckoning you to go forward.

‘Hummingbird. It’s me.’ No way…..it—it was him.  Only one person ever called you hummingbird and that was your grandfather.  You then find yourself walking out of the tent and followed the trail of blue flames, each one of them disappearing as you walked through them.

*3rd Person POV*

Freddie’s eyes snapped open as he looked up in time just to see (Y/n) leaving the tent.

“Roger! Roger!” Freddie hissed quietly.  Roger groaned and turned his back on Freddie, burying himself under his pillow. “Thor! Seraffel!” the dragons only kept snoring softly, well Thor was.  Seraffel was mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

Rolling his eyes, Freddie decided it was up to him to get their human savior back.  He peeked his head out of the tent, his tongue sticking out to taste the air, hoping to get a scent of where they had gone.

He left the tent and soon spotted some fresh footprints leading away from the village.

“Damnit!” he slithered forward following the footprints as fast as he could, hoping it wasn’t too late.

A few feet from the village, he soon heard the sound of wings flapping.  Quickly finding a rocky ledge to hide under, he soon saw 4 figures land down a few yards away from him and soon the figures of 4 men in black robes stood there.

However one of them kept out his black feather wings out and he spoke to the three men.

“With them separated it’ll be easier to take them down. But leave them alive—for now.” The three wizards soon took off on foot now to find (Y/n).  Each going a different direction in hopes of ambushing them.

Freddie kept his eyes on the leader who merely just stood there, scouring the entire desert sand.  There was something off about this Shadow sorcerer just standing there, he had to be plotting something.

Suddenly out of nowhere Freddie felt three steel blades being shot into his back.  He arched himself but as he turned around he was caught by surprise as the figure of the leader fired some type of gas at him, all the awhile saying BOO!

Freddie swatted the air but it was too late.  His vision soon started flashing back to the day his entire race was killed.

“Aww, having trouble?” the leader’s voice (sounding thunderous, haunting, almost demonic).  Freddie saw the leader’s eyes glowing the same haunting blue as Thomas Riddle Deacon’s eyes.  The very same cold blue eyes that stared back at him as he slaughtered each and every Naga. “Watch the stars, have a drink!”

Freddie began thrashing around trying to get rid of this horrifying memory but all he kept seeing was blood spurting, the flash of green light, and the agonizing screams of his family.  He soon felt some sort of liquid being dumped onto him as the Shadow Sorcerer continued to taunt him.

“You look like a snake who takes himself too seriously.” His palm soon sparked out a blue fireball and as Freddie finally went calm for a split second to look up at the wizard, he told Freddie. “You want my opinion? You need to lighten up.” He threw the blue fireball at Freddie and soon he was being burned alive.

The leader soon disappeared into the shadows as Freddie screamed in pure agony.  The blue flames eating away at his coils like a hot grinder slowly and torturously burning away every inch of his skin.  Somehow he managed to send a telepathic cry for help to John who immediately woke up.

“Freddie!” John shot up exclaiming which soon woke everyone up. Brian’s elvish hearing soon heard Freddie’s torturous screaming.

“Come on!” everyone soon left the tent and raced to help the Naga.  Suddenly all the lights in their tent came on and the shadows soon came alive.

Razor sharp teeth and red eyes surrounded them as they now felt themselves being bound by the shadows.  John tried to break free but he soon heard the very same thing happening to the tent next to them.  And the home after that, until the entire Medjai was either screaming in terror or with their last dying breath.

“Hello John, remember me?” soon entering the tent with Ardeth also trapped within his grasp was a lean stature man with short black hair, ice blue eyes, a strong jawline and skin as pale as the moon.  He looked to be about his mid-30’s possibly even 40s. But it was his voice.

His voice that was soft and lulling like a lullaby, but it held an icy, haunting tone to it as well.

“Jonathan Corvus.” He smirked.

“It really has been too long. How’s little Fina been?” John snarled softly but soon let out a groan as he felt himself being squeezed tighter by Johnathan’s magic.  “And you know, it is very surprising to not see her here with you. I mean back at school you guys were—heh stuck together like glue.”

“Dad, you actually know this son of a bitch?” Seraffel asked.

“Now that is quite rude. Didn’t your parents ever teach you manners?” A shadow spear shot out and struck Seraffel in his thigh.  He let out a painful scream.

“Seraffel!” Thor screamed.  Seraffel groaned and growled in pain.

“Dragons always were quite brutish for my taste. But I guess that’s why you and sweet, sweet Fina adopted these monsters. Freaks till the end.” The shadow spear slowly went deeper into Seraffel’s thigh.  The blood now starting to ooze further down his pant leg, he threw back his head trying to hold in his agonizing screams.

“What do you want from us Corvus!?” John demanded.

“Well truthfully we were ordered to take you and your little band of monsters to see your dear old grandfather but it seems we’re one short. So—you’re coming with us till you tell us where Serafina Black is.”

The last thing any of them ever saw was pure darkness as the shadows wrapped around them till they couldn’t breathe.

*2nd Person POV*

You kept following your grandfather’s voice until you came out towards the Nile River.  Whatever light from the moon directed itself into the water, almost giving it a crystal like glow to it.  Panting after running so hard you couldn’t hear your grandfather’s voice anymore.

“Granddad?” you called out. “Granddad!” again nothing but silence.  Suddenly something whooshed behind you.  “G-Granddad?” soon a figure appears out of thin air.  He had a black hooded cloak covering himself from whatever light there was and he just stood there silently for what felt like eternity.  His hands slowly came up and you were frozen with fear at just who was now standing a few feet away from you.

John’s grandfather, Grindelwald Deacon.

You quickly take out John’s wand from your hip and aim it at him.  Even though your hands and legs were trembling with fear you tried to stay strong.

“You stay right there! I know who you are!”

“(Y/n) (L/n). I am not here to hurt you.” His soft whisper of a voice said to you.  Hearing him speak in the flashback was one thing but now that he was actually standing here before you it—it made you feel……cold. “I only want to help.”

“Help me?!” you snapped quietly.

“Yes.” He told you. “You are so very, very far away from home. Far away from everything that you know, far from those that you love.” You thought back to your family.  You hadn’t even really been keeping them updated on everything since you took the job in trying to discover John and Serafina’s secret club.

No, no he’s manipulating you! You’ve seen this before with John the night Serafina’s family was slaughtered don’t. fall. For it!

“I said don’t take another step!” you warned.  But your façade was easily dropping as your hand trembled even worse.  And still, he kept walking closer and closer to you.

“My child, I would never see you harmed. Unlike with what the Naga has told you.” What? What is he talking about. “Dear one, it is not your fault that your very birth was planned to go along with the Naga’s plan for vengeance. It is not your fault that you were forced into this world, if you were siding alongside me I would ensure that you were free to live your life. A world where your very existence is not meant to satisfy someone else’s gain.”

Even though you wanted to strike this man down, no matter how much rage and fear was starting to build up within you…….he was right.

Everyone so far has kept calling you the ‘Human Savior’. You didn’t ask for any of this. And why did it have to be you? Sure you might have gone along with it but now—now it was starting to feel like a game to you.  That your only purpose for even existing was just to satisfy Freddie’s plan.

“I—I……” you loosened your grip on your wand. Grindelwald’s hand slowly comes up and wraps his fingers around John’s wand.

“You are an innocent. So go now. Leave this place, return to the life that you know.” With that he apparated into smoke and disappeared from your view.

You debated and debated long and hard.  Yes you had come this far already but—was it really worth it? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t someone else take this job? Clearly John and Serafina have something to gain out of saving all these creatures as well as their entire community, why did you need to be involved?

Suddenly something pierced right through your back. Although no blood spurted out from you, you still felt like something was piercing your very soul.  Your right arm suddenly shot out and twisted itself inward.

What—what was happening to you? You tried to resist but each time you did, you were forced to contort and twist about until you were pulled to your knees.

“What’s…….”

“Thought you would realize just what we were? Guess Muggles really are as stupid as they come.” Soon coming out was a strong-bulky looking man who had shadow-like tentacle arms coming out from behind him, his hands seeping out a black aura (much like John and Serafina’s magical aura).

“Shadow sorcerer.”

“Oh look it does speak.” You narrowed your eyes at the insult but your eyes were forced to go wide-eyed.  “Such manners, nothing but beyond neanderthal anger. Running about like starving goblins.” You soon felt yourself being lifted up into the air, still unable to gain even the slightest ounce of control back.

“What did—you do…..with my…..friends?”

“The same thing I’m about to do to you, muggle.” In a flash, the shadows shot right towards you until you were cocooned in complete blackness.

#john deacon #john deacon x oc #john deacon x reader #brian may #brian may x oc #brian may x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x oc #freddie mercury #freddie mercury x reader #freddie mercury x oc #queen band #queen imagine #queen imagines #john deacon imagine #john deacon imagines #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor imagines #queen x reader #AU! Queen fanfic #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #au!queen fanfiction #brian may imagine #brian may imagines #freddie mercury imagine #freddie mercury imagines #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody fanfic

[octopodian]

Unpleasantness and Precedent

Percy looks up, still stiff. “My name is Percy. I am a bio-facsimile, here to-”

“Oh, a clone?”

Percy blinks. “Yeah.” In a more formal voice, “I mean, yes.”

Trexel rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to sound all fancy.”

summary: speculation on who exactly percy was, and trexels exact relationship with him. takes place pre-canon, duh. content warnings: canon-typical parental abuse/neglect and implied character death

Trexel is working on a drawing (of him, and mum, and dad). He’s been drawing it for a few hours now: he makes sure to add all the little details on the uniforms and everything. He hears the door woosh open, roughly when he expected it to, and he quickly puts his crayons aside and rushes to the door, drawing in hand.

“Mom! Dad! I made-”

“Ugh, Trexel, shush.” She winces, pressing a hand to her head.

“Not now, Trexel,” his dad says, frowning.

“But I drew-”

“Trexel,” his dad warns. Trexel bites his lip, finally looking over and noticing a third person who came into the room. They look Trexel’s age, though a bit taller than he is: tawny brown skin and curly hair just barely avoiding falling in their eyes. They glance over at Trexel quickly, and then quickly look back at the floor like they’ve been caught doing something wrong.

Mrs. Giestman waves her hand boredly, pouring herself another drink. "Trexel, this is Percy. He's going to be spending time with you now. Go let him tell you things, and leave your mum alone, okay?"

“But-”

“Trexel,” his dad groans again.

“Fine. C’mon,” Trexel says, waving towards his room.

Percy doesn't move, just stands stiffly in the doorway. Trexel huffs, grabs his hand, pulls him away. Trexel shuts the door and flops down on his bed, and Percy still just stands still looking at the floor.

“Well? Who’re you? Why’re you here?”

Percy looks up, still stiff. “My name is Percy. I am a bio-facsimile, here to-”

“Oh, a clone?”

Percy blinks. “Yeah.” In a more formal voice, “I mean, yes.”

Trexel rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to sound all fancy.”

“Of course I do. I’m programmed to…” Presumably, Percy keeps talking, but Trexel gets distracted. He tears up the drawing he had in his hands, especially making sure his mom and dad get disfigured, dropping the pieces to the floor. Then he points to his crayons.

“D’you like drawing?”

Percy blinks, again, like a cat. “Um. I dunno- don’t know. I was born today. I’m not really… supposed to?”

“It’s fun! C’mon.”

After 10 minutes Trexel doesn’t really finish anything he likes, and he scribbles his page out in thick black, and he looks over at Percy, who appears to be- drawing Trexel.

“...is that me?”

Percy once again starts like he’s been caught doing something wrong. “Um…”

“Lemme see.” Percy sheepishly hands it over. Trexel doesn’t want to admit it, but it looks good. It’s clearly him while he’s drawing: tongue stuck out at an angle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“I didn’t know what else to draw. Sorry.”

“No, I love it!” Percy looks at him with those huge brown eyes, slightly startled, and Trexel blushes slightly. “I mean, it’s alright. Good. It’s… fine. Good.”

“I’m not very good at drawing, sorry.” Percy bites his lip.

Trexel disagrees, but lets it go for now, saying “maybe we can play a game instead?”

That night he falls asleep clutching the paper close to his chest.

☆

Percy always acts so stiff around Trexel’s parents, and Trexel realizes he often acts the same way: quiet, holding still, trying not to attract any attention in case the attention turns into anger. Percy is better at it, though: Trexel keeps blurting things out without thinking or tries to show off impulsively, and it always makes people mad even though he’s just trying to make them happy.

His parents love Percy. He never speaks up, and always quietly sits until excused. They keep muttering things about hoping he rubs off on Trexel, manages to teach him how to behave.

Trexel finds himself wishing he was a little more like Percy. Maybe then they would like him.

☆

“I mean, don’t you get annoyed? I know I do.”

“Well, they do own me, Trexel. I’m not exactly trying to pick a fight with your parents.”

“Yeah, but they’re so…” Trexel does his best impersonation of his dad, puffing out his chest and puckering his lips. “Ah, yes, I am very important and smarter than you. Shut up! Don’t talk to me! Don’t you know who I am?!”

Percy laughs, light like a windchime, but then he freezes, coughs, scooches away from Trexel as fast as possible.

"What? What's wrong? I know I’m not that good at doing his voice, but-”

Percy looks at the door nervously. "Clones aren't supposed to- we aren't supposed to be friends .”

Trexel feels a stab of anger in his gut. "So what, you don't like me?"

"No, I do! It's just, I’m not supposed to laugh with you, or anything. I’m just supposed to be making sure you don’t die! If standards found out- Board, if your parents found out-'

"Well, they don't have to!"

Percy doesn’t look convinced, but nods. “I guess. Sorry, I just… I don’t wanna be recycled. I like spending time with you.”

Trexel shakes his head. “That’ll never happen.”

He sounds more confident than he really is, but Percy’s shy smile makes it worth it.

☆

“I’m going to be the greatest employee Stellar Firma has ever seen! I dunno what I'll do, but I'm gonna be great at it!” Trexel declares. He pauses, staring at his ceiling. “What do you wanna be when you grow up?”

Percy looks over from his spot, cross-legged on the floor. “I’m a clone. I’m already doing the job I was made for.”

“Okay, but, you were made to help me. What if I don’t need help later? I mean, I’m almost 12, I’m gonna be a teenager any day now!” Percy shrugs, not looking up, focused on his drawing. Trexel flops over onto his stomach, looking at him. “You should be an artist! Your drawings are good!”

Percy flushes. “They’re okay . I mean, I just draw them for you.”

Trexel pretends not to be flattered. He hasn't told his parents who drew all the pictures plastered over his walls. They never go into his room anyway: it can be his little secret.

“Well, you should do it for other people!”

Percy smiles, half sad, half patient. “I’m a clone, Trexel. I can’t be an artist.”

“Well, that’s dumb!”

A quiet security claxon beeps. They’re intentionally muffled in senior living quarters: it’s a perk of quality genetic lineage.

Percy shrugs. "That's how it is."

“But, if you just had more than my dumb pencils and crayons, you could really-”

“It’s okay, Trexel. I’m just a clone.”

Trexel bites back an argument, and flops back on his bed, crossing his arms. He stays sulking, even when he feels his bed sink as Percy sits down next to him.

“Sorry, Trexel. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Trexel sulks.

“It’s just the rules. I was born to do this, just like you were born to be a citizen employee. We’re both stuck.”

“I guess,” Trexel mutters.

“...Y’know what always cheers me up?”

Trexel sits up. “...Singing a song?”

Percy grins. “Nooot exactly…”

Before Trexel can protest, Percy tackles him against the bed, viciously tickling his ribs and sides.

“Ah! No!” Trexel giggles. He manages to gasp enough breath to wheeze out a “Stop!” through his laughter, and Percy leans back with a wicked grin, finally letting Trexel breath.

“See! Always cheers me up.”

“Oh, let’s see how you like it!”

They both collapse in a pile of giggles.

Trexel decides it doesn't matter what he grows up to be, as long as Percy is there too.

☆

“Percy?”

“Mhm?” Percy is drawing another picture of Trexel - he’s been drawing a lot of them lately.

“You… you said we couldn’t be friends, right?”

Percy frowns. “Trexel, I didn’t mean that. It’s just… my programming. You know I still-”

“Well, what if I don’t want to be friends?” Trexel blurts out, resisting the urge to slap himself after he does so.

Percy’s face falls. “O-oh. I mean… of course. I’m just a clone, I- yeah, that’s-”

“Wait, no!” Trexel yelps. “I mean, uh… what if I wanna, maybe… be… something else?”

Percy’s eyes go wide, deep and brown and-

Trexel hesitates. He'd never really seen this happen, didn't really know what to say or do- and then Percy's crossed the room and his lips are gently pressed to his cheek.

Percy smiles softly, and Trexel beams back.

"I think I'd like that, Trexel."

"Me too!"

They hold hands until his parents come home, and then they pretend to be just a human and a clone, pretending to be the people they were supposed to be.

☆

Of course Trexel would ruin it all. He always ruined everything good in his life. Stupid, pathetic Trexel.

☆

Trexel hadn’t known. He hadn’t known they’d be home so soon, that they’d see them, that they’d-

“No, Dad, it wasn’t what it looks like, please-”

“Talking? With a clone?!”

“Laughing with it? Touching it? Like you’re friends?” His mum looks disgusted. Trexel feels tears stinging at his eyes, but he tries not to cry, tries not to make it any worse.

“You’re a Giestman, Trexel! You can’t be acting like this, it’s not right!”

His mom waves at security, face in her hand like she can’t even bear to look at Trexel. “Take the clone away!”

“You’re going into school tomorrow, Trexel. You need to earn to act normal.” 

“This behavior is below the station of a Geistman!”

Percy doesn't say a word, just stands quietly, stiffly, like he always does, like it'll keep him safe even now.

“Percy!” Trexel wails. His dad’s hand is so tight around his arm it's bruising it, and even as Trexel fights he can only watch as Percy gets dragged away. He catches one last glimpse of those big sparkling eyes, and then Percy is gone.

Trexel is locked in a box.

Trexel is sent to school.

Trexel is taught to behave.

And Trexel promises he’ll never love a clone again.

#text #i am op i am reposting to tumblr bc fuck ao3! #stellar firma #sf #trexel giestman #percy the clone #whats trexel percy. its #graph boyfriends #i thiiiink #fic #mine

[joyfulsongbird]

Be My Friend, Don’t Go Away

for @nightshade300 a fic where Orpheus and Eurydice meet as kids.

***

Eurydice doesn’t like her house, all her friends (well, the few friends she does have) say they love their houses and their rooms and their moms and dads. she doesn’t. she knows somehow she’s supposed to love her home and her mom and dad, but the part of her that hates walking through the door stops her from loving going home.

so she doesn’t go home until it’s so dark that she admits that she’s frightened.

but for now, she sits on the floor of a forest, a dark forest that has ins and outs that she plans to discover in the years to come. the world moves in the slow circles, the trees hold her close. she’d say she feels at home here but she knows that even now she is unsafe. she grits her teeth, eyes open and wide and watching. she can’t relax, her muscles are always tense. so when she lies down in bed and has to let her eyes close, her legs and arms hurt from the day. she’s constantly vigilant, walking on tippy toes.

she walks about, the shadows frighten her but she sneers back at them. they’re just shadows. they can’t hurt her, like other things can. she’s got to get better at that, she’s got to squash her fear, just like Cas says to. she’s gotta hold herself up, he tells her to hit back, to scream, to bite, to run. she isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do if there isn’t someplace to run to. what do you do if there is no place that someone will hold you and tell you they love you? her solution: go to the forest. where trees hold her in their branches, where shadows caress her cheeks, where leaves braid her hair. and sometimes, wind plays her music when it whistles through the limbs and canopies above.

so it’s surprising to her when she hears actual music drift through her usual hiding place.

she isn’t afraid of what lurks in this place in the daylight, so she marches with loud feet, hoping that would scare the music away but it doesn’t, if anything, it grows louder. but soon, she finds that’s because she gets closer to the source. when she finds herself getting very close to her favorite clearing, she can practically feel the person’s presence in the place she loves to sit and sing and wait for dark in. she waits behind a tree, listening to the music. well, listening at first. but then, enraptured. she can’t stop listening. it’s a little messily plucked in some places but she feels as if this person is very skilled, the resonance she can recognize like it comes from her own vocal chords. the melody striking her deep inside of her. it makes her want to cry and laugh and jump and shout and smile all at once.

in a burst of energy and determination, she jumps out from behind the tree and the music abruptly stops. she’s faced with nothing more than a boy, maybe a little younger than she is but not by much. sitting in the center of the little clearing, clutching a guitar now tightly to his chest, is a boy with a shocked, frightened look in his eyes. she understands why, she’s a dirty, feral looking girl who definitely needs a bath who just jumped out of nowhere.

“what are you doing here?” she snarls, stalking forward and snapping out of her musical reverie. 

“I-I-I... um, my... I just...” he’s scared, she can see that but the way he’s cowering at her is just a little much. she’s not that much bigger than him anyways, only taller by maybe an inch.

“my name is Orpheus.”

he blurts it out like it’s a shameful sentence, like he isn’t allowed to say his name. which she didn’t ask, by the way.

“I didn’t ask you what your name was.” she crosses her arms over her chest like her mom does when she’s upset with Cas, it looks intimidating when she does it anyways.

“It’s Orpheus.”

“I know, you said it before.”

“what’s your name?”

“Eurydice.” she says proudly, she loves her name, it means Justice. that’s what her mom says at least. it rolls off the tongue easily and just sounds wonderful to her.

“that’s a funny name.” Orpheus disagrees apparently. she opens her mouth to retort angrily but before she can, he looks down at his guitar, strumming out a chord and opening his mouth, singing out one word on one note.

“Eurydice.”

she has to stop, stunned at the way he can make her already beautiful name sound so... lovely. so musical.

“nevermind,” he says. “I could write songs about your name, so that makes it good. a good name, that’s what Eurydice is, a good name.”

“you’re weird.” she says, in her sarcastic voice that her brother has been teaching her, trying to scare him away. it doesn’t work, he sticks his tongue out between his teeth, scrunching up his eyes.

“mister Hermes says that isn’t a nice word.”

“who’s mister Hermes?”

“he’s my... he’s mister Hermes.”

she tilts her head to look at him again, considering how he might come to be here with her never seeing him before in town. “is he your dad?”

Orpheus strums another chord. “I don’t have a dad.”

she bites her tongue, forcing the lie past her lips, mostly because she wants it to be true. “me neither.”

his eyes shoot up, meeting hers directly for the first time. he has good eyes, she decides, green and brown and shiny. “really?!”

she nods, tucking black hair behind her ear shyly.

“I never met someone else who didn’t have a dad! do you have a mom too? I don’t, but that’s okay, I have mister Hermes who’s real nice and talks to me and I got to play my music for him the other day, he says I’m really good and... sorry.”

“why?”

“why what?”

“why are you sorry?”

he shifts awkwardly in the grass. “I talk a lot, everyone says I should stop.”

deciding that this boy isn’t dangerous, she drops down to sit in the grass in front of him. “screw ‘em.”

he blinks at her, confused. she shrugs. “they don’t matter, not really, you be you. that’s what my brother says.”

his eyes light up. “you have a brother? that’s so cool!”

she has to laugh, because she usually doesn’t get along with kids her age this well. but Orpheus is nice, and talks too much or too little and likes her name, all of the qualifications she needs for a friend.

“so are you moving here?” she asks, hoping that the answer is yes. she could use a friend. since the current count is 0.

“we’re here on a... business trip, I think. that’s what mister Hermes said.” her heart sinks a little in her chest, of course her only potential friend is here temporarily. of course her one chance at eliminating a little of her loneliness can’t be utilized.

“oh.” he seems to recognize that that made her sad, that her expression falls after he said those words.

“sorry.”

she shakes her head. “that’s not your fault... play another note thingy on your guitar. I like the way it sounds.”

a smile works its way onto his face, he has a wonderful smile, she decides. he arranges his fingers intricately on the fretboard of his instrument and plays one beautiful note, letting it ring into the clearing and reverberate through her head. she absorbs it, taking it in and breathing it out. it almost cleanses her of her entire bad day, letting her start anew with this new cleaned out body.

“how-?” she begins before she’s cut off by a loud shout that rumbles through the forest, she jumps to her feet and scampers back into the forest before she can even stop to consider who or what it is that’s coming in their direction. a small voice follows after her but she doesn’t stop to hear what Orpheus says, instead, she puts some distance between the two of them before backtracking a little when she realizes she might’ve left Orpheus alone in danger. and she’d never leave a helpless boy to the clutches of a wild animal, that’s just not nice.

she watches from a distance as a man in a fancy silver suit comes into the clearing, taking Orpheus hand and pulling the boy to his feet.

“you know you aren’t supposed to run off like that, Orpheus.”

“I know.”

“you could’ve gotten lost or seriously injured.”

“I know.”

the man sighs. “why did you come out here? it’s just plain forest.”

“I met a girl.” Orpheus blurts out. The man gives him a strange look.

“A girl?”

“yeah, she liked my music.”

“hm,” he considers the idea for a moment, as he thinks he begins tugging Orpheus out of the clearing. “could’ve been a wood nymph.”

“what do wood nymphs look like?” Orpheus asks as he slings his guitar over his back, contentedly taking mister Hermes’ hand.

“they’re small, very pretty little things, and fearsome too.”

Orpheus nods. “she was all of those things. and she was really, really pretty so that probably means she was a princess wood nymph.”

mister Hermes laughs. “probably.”

Eurydice never thinks that she’ll ever see the boy with the guitar who loved her name ever again. and she was very wrong.

#hadestown fic #orphydice #orphydice fic #hermes and orpheus #eurydicexorpheus #kid eurydice #kid orpheus #they are cute ass kids #fic prompt

[namjoonchronicles]

Hi lovey!!! Hope you are alright! Let’s see how you are gonna kill me with Namjoon and 4# ;) kiss kiss and thank you for Drabble night

4. “Do you...well...I mean...I could give you a massage?”

“Have you got your lunchbox?”

“Yup.”

“The transportation card?”

“Right here.”

Nine years old. A little chubby for his age. But always the good son.

“Today goes as planned okay? Since I can’t fetch you at school at noon, you’ll take the 105 bus to the train and stopped at the second last station and take a 22 bus route home, yes?”

“Yes mom,” he groaned, puffing his cheeks as he fix the bag straps on his shoulder over his winter jacket. He looks up, those doe brown eyes notices that you are rubbing the back of your neck. Hasn’t the sore died down when he asked?

“Mom, do you need a massage?” He asked.

And far in your thoughts, there was a deafening whisper of something similar, translucent with time, gritty and full of weight, coming with a dimpled smile impossible to forget entirely, 

“Do you...well...I mean...I could give you a massage?” 

  Hyun’s big doe eyes brought you back in recent time, a skip in your heart when you remembered that you’re far from that memory. But also so close. You retracted your hand from it and forced out a smile while pouring away the rest of the coffee into the sink, “It’s become a habit... plus. It happens often when I’m stressed, you know that, Hyun. Come on, let’s go.”

You snatch your bag and tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear, yanking the front door open and halting halfway to exclaim, “The car ke—“

“—I got it,” your son yelps.

Your car halts in front of the school gates and instead of you reminding all the things he needs to do, Hyun is nagging you.

“And don’t put your phone silent, because then I call you don’t hear them and then you come at me saying I don’t tell you stuff. And remember to put the brakes up when you park. And drink lots of water just as much as you drink coffee...” “Hyun...” “And the extra house key is in the dashboard. I put charging cables in your bag so your phone don’t run out of batteries...” “Hyun I—“ “There’s extra migraine pills in the top drawer of your desk, remember to take those vitamins...” “Hyun, I’m the mom here okay... and why,” you looked around the view of the school and saw many elder men coming and entering the school. “I hope things work out with you and grandma today, it be nice to have a grandparent,” Hyun’s sausage finger curls around the door handle and lift it open when you tilt your head to the side and smiled, asking out of curiosity, “How did you know about that?”

Hyun shuts the door and you opened the car window.

“You’re not the only smart one in this house,” he stuck out his tongue at you and you did the same. As you drive away, you remembered that you didn’t ask him about the men that are coming to school. Was there an event you missed out on?

Pulling next to the school’s guard who is controlling the traffic, you inquired him politely.

“Oh! It’s Bring Your Dad To School Day...”

Engine purrs to a stop once it arrives at the parking spot. The car beeps as the car unlocks all its doors but you sat frozen in place. Eyes wide and leaning your head back to the head rest in the car alone. Hyun didn’t tell you. He could have a skipped the day but he didn’t. Your selfishness and fear are what brought this to place.

And it is also what made you and your mother stopped talking to each other. It had been 10 years since March on Hyun’s birthday that you meet your parents. Their conservative upbringing made you stray away from them for fear that they wouldn’t accept you for what you’ve done.

But eventually, they find out that you’ve been raising Hyun alone when he turns 3. And they did hurt you by saying that you’ve raised a fatherless child. Honestly, you didn’t care. You can be called a whore or a rich men’s mistress—other people’s assumptions of you doesn’t matter because you know the whole truth. And today, you hoped, you could be truthful. And honestly, being away from your mom is tiring world to live in.

“Mom...” you called and she snapped her head around, smiling. Sharing a long awaited hug felt wholesome. You don’t feel as alone anymore. There’s a comfort in knowing that you could rely on someone.

“How’s Hyun?” She asked, her wrinkles show when her lips curl into a smile and you hurried to yor bag because you remembered Hyun made her something. It was a paper crane and a heart origami.

Your mom touches it with the tip of her fingers, and then fully into her palms, truly appreciating them. Her eyes twinkles.

“He is very into origamis nowadays... I’m going to take him to pottery class soon, it seems he’ll enjoy them,” you bit your smile feeling proud of your child.

“Has he... ever asked about his,” your mom stammered.

“His dad?” You finished her sentence with a beaming face to feign whatever it is in your heart, “Once. Now that he understand, he doesn’t pester me as much. I felt that he would want to know so I told him the truth.”

Your mother extends her hand and covered yours to give it a little squeeze.

“What really happened to Hyun’s dad?”

You blinked a few times. And memories flooded from where it had been buried for a decade. There was a time where you decide that being alone might not be so bad. And somewhere during that time, someone convinced you that life was meant to be shared.

And his name was Kim Namjoon. And he had doe brown eyes.

He is everything. The most captivating mind you have ever met. He sits at the same spot every lecture. He has a lot of friends and quite a chatterbox. Always in tune with the small army of friends he has. Passion that overflows, tall, charismatic, firm handshake. The kind that everyone wants to be associated with. Charming. Alluring. Magnetizing.

An exhibition that you attended far from town shed all of that image of him. Namjoon likes wood, nature and crabs. Namjoon like sweet things and had a deep thought about skies. Namjoon likes flowers and planets and everything in between. And Namjoon notices you.

“Why?” “I guess it makes you very noticeable. Because you bear a soul and not a mask... when you talk about social understanding and reasoning behind things people find confusing, you speak... faster and louder.” “You find it stupid...” you accused, tipping your head to the side away from him. “W-what, no! I think its amazing and I want to hear more than you let out,” Namjoon stammered almost panicking. “Nobody cares about why and if they do, they probably had given up because the numbers keep rising. Teenagers and drugs are seen as normal but it’s not!”

The edges of Namjoon’s lips twitch into a smile, because if you didn’t know who he was, you wouldn’t remember the topic of the event he spoke on. Namjoon rakes on numbers of drug addicts that are in their teenage years and penalties that could be propose to reduce the numbers. His deductions were achievable—in theory but in execution? You doubted it.

“You disagree about the penalties?” “Wrong. I was sceptical of it,” you start to walk and he followed, “All these years, the government proposes using money to taunt youngsters not to take drugs, but has it work? Imprisonment, fines, getting kicked out of schools doesn’t help them—it worsens them. Should I continue or are you already bored?”

Namjoon’s phone rang. He took one perplexed look and replied a message before he answers you. And while you explain, another call arrives. And another. And another.

Until finally,

“I think the discussion should stop here. You’re obviously very busy and I obviously have overstayed the exhibition...” you took a look at your watch and the exhibition worker starts closing down. Has it really been that long? Where did the time go?

“Are you,” he raises his voice as the distance between you two increases, “Are you free tomorrow? I’d really love to continue this. In day light where its appropriate.”

“No,” you shake your head, “Tomorrow we’ll be back in college where you are THE Kim Namjoon and I’m the girl at the far corner judging everyone with my thick full rimmed glasses, no I’m not free.” Your heels swung around, giving him your back and you waved.

But Namjoon is persistent. He passed notes. Asking you for your number and you gave him a pizza place hotline. You thought he will eventually gave up. But no. He actually ordered the pizza at noon the next day and have it personally delivered to you with a huge marker asking for your number yet again. You ate the pizza but passed him a middle finger up across the room when he was smiling in triumph thinking he had won this game. He looks at you fondly while you glare at him across the hall.

“I like a challenge,” he grins at the view of your back.

After that, he starts showing up everywhere. Your lectures, the libraries, the cafe you frequent in, even your lunch spot—literally everywhere. Notes left on your car, in your books, in your bags and one time in your shoes. He really is trying to annoy you like this.

He was speaking to his friends, making big gestures with his hands when you tapped his shoulder and he spun around. You expected him to give you a smug smile but he looks a little frightened, perhaps a little shy. His ears turned red.

You didn’t let that stop you. You slammed a yellow post-it note on his grey shirt right above his heart and he blinked at you as you walked away. His friends are teasing him but all he could hear is his own heartbeat in his ears.

He would text you about his day and make appointments that he calls engagement and at first it was for educational purposes; watching Ice Age reruns for environmental concerns, rare art exhibitions across the city for appreciation towards classic arts, poetry reading to study social engagements—and then the ‘appointments’ turn to, ‘going there because you’ve never been’ trips.

Comic-con. Comic book stores. Watching his animes. Accompanying him to find his KAWS collection. Forest parks. Nursery. Botany farms. Scuba diving. Snorkelling even when he couldn’t swim. Teaching him how to swim. Going to pottery class. Cooking class where he almost burns the hall. Accompanying him to his driving lessons which he failed every time but passes the theory test. Cheering him up because he failed driving lessons. Cheering him up because he sulked about you not telling him you had a medical check-up. Going for icecream trips in winter. Going for bike rides in Autumn. Taking pictures of him by the blossoming Sakura trees in Spring. Taking him to the beach in Summer.

“We’re just friends,” It will break him and you knew. But you didn’t care. When he wakes up and this will all be a dream.

But he woke up and gave you a call. Many calls. Until finally you answered.

“Hey,” he sounded so soft, “Where you went, I woke up and you weren’t here, I called you so many times...”

“We just started a life as a working adult, and everything that happened are just stress...” your pace begins to hasten.

“What are you talking about... it’s not just one time,” Namjoon dug his hand into one pocket, looking out the window of his office.

“It happens between two people and it’s nothing alright.I don’t want you to get any ideas if our relationships should be more than this,” you clenched your eyes shut and stopped in your tracks, “Don’t look for me. Don’t call me ever again.”

End call.

Your mother takes the brim of the cup to her lips.

“And when I got the positive pregnancy test finally, I got rid of him. I changed my number, my address, moved cities with my job and gave birth to Hyun,” you fiddled with your fingers.

“Why did you do that?”

“I wanted a baby that is mine. And mine alone. And I know I wanted his and no one else. I got what I wanted. I can offer him nothing more...I’m undependable. I don’t believe in marriage and this is the closest thing I get to have children of my own. I always wanted to be a mom, not a wife,” you explained.

“Does he know he has a kid?”

You shook your head. Eventhough deep in your heart you knew that he must have found out somehow or felt that he was a father. But what can he do? Hyun is yours and yours alone. Or so you’d like to believe.

“Hyun? It’s your turn...” Hyun looks outside and smiled brightly. Marching into the room with a three-piece suit, looking dashing as ever, was Kim Namjoon.

“Hello, and good morning, I’m Kim Namjoon and I’m Hyun’s dad.”

.

.

.

hi! i recognise your username! thank you for always supporting me! it’s a slight long drabble, because I had a story  like this in my head for so long... I hope you like it!

#drabble_games #drabble_games2:parenting #namjoon #bts

[spencer-is-amazing]

Salvation (Michael Langdon x OC)

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Original Character 

Length: 2.5k~

Warnings: Smut 

Chapter 1: The Beginning  (x)

Chapter 2: The End

May 15, 2017- 3 years before the Apocalypse

“-And remember class, that paper on Huck Finn is due next Thursday, beginning of class and not a moment later. I’ll be out of town this weekend so any questions you have will just have to wait until Monday. Have a good weekend kids!”

Julie smiled to herself and packed up her folder and thick binder, stuffing them in the black backpack and hitching the heavy appendage onto her shoulder with a huff. She made her way out of the now empty classroom to give a warm smile to Chloe, her friend of only a year but really her only friend.

Chloe was nothing like Julie; Chloe liked to talk about all the things she liked to do with boys in the locker room and Julie liked to spend time with her mom at the Hotel Cortez, checking the book records of old inhabitants and walking through the empty halls.

She thought it was fun; it was exciting to touch the old wooden doors and feel like the queen of her own castle.

“Hey Chloe, how was class?”

Chloe flipped her hair over her exposed shoulder and smirked; “Got a B+ on my Chem paper and Mr. Johnson promised me some extra credit later this weekend.”

Julie had stopped trying to talk her friend out of fucking teachers, seeing as she would typically run to the principal and get them fired/arrested. Chloe saw it as justice and Julie couldn’t say she was wrong.

Though Julie never knew how Chloe always seemed to know which ones were the creepers; just luck she guessed.

Chloe inquired Julie about her weekend, which included doing absolutely nothing aside from staring out her window and wishing she had more friends. It only sucked sometimes to have close to no friends, but she just needed to be out of high school before she could really bloom.

“Well, my dad is picking me up, sure you don’t need a ride?”

Julie waved her off, “Nah, I’m good. It’s always fun to catch up on new music on my way home.”

She’d never tell Chloe the real reason why she enjoyed her walks home. She’d come across the famous Murder House a year ago, and she loved it. It was a big luxurious house that was something out of the story books and it made her feel like a princess.

And the stories were true; there were dead people in that house. One of the girls, Violet, told her that if you died there, then your spirit was trapped forever, that you could never leave.

Violet had said the house killed her and her family, a ghost boy Tate had been responsible for her pain and suffering and that he too was still there. Julie had asked if the house was going to kill her, and a grown man had stepped forward and said she would never be hurt under his watch.

So every so often, Julie found herself at the steps of the Murder House, just like today. It was cloudy and she enjoyed the feel of the wind on her skin.

There was a kick to her step as she opened the doors, frowning when there were no ghosts in sight. Usually they would see her coming from the windows and come to greet her, so this was odd.

“Violet? Mr. Harmon? Hello?” There was no answer. “Tate? Anybody?”

Julie stopped in the living room, eyes widening at the sight of the dead woman on the couch, and the identical copy sitting right next to her.

“Ah, so you return. My children have told me much about you.”

Julie tried to take a step back but something kept her in place. She couldn’t run but she refused to back down. She was a ghost; she couldn’t actually do anything to her- well… she could kill Julie, but Mr. Harmon said he would protect her.“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t. I’m Constance Langdon, Tate’s mother.” Constance turned to look at her corpse, “I couldn’t live in this world anymore Julie. So I came here, where I can live on and be the mother I was meant to be.”

Julie watched her pick up her amber glass and down it in one gulp, “Now tell me child, why are you here? Hm?”

Julie had no reason to lie. “Nothing in particular. The ghosts are kind to me and it makes me feel less lonely.”

And that was the truth, they were like friends that actually found her interesting and were always there.

But Constance clearly disagreed. She threw her glass against the wall and stood on shaky legs, stumbling towards Julie’s frozen form and gripping the smaller girls shoulders with her sharp nails.

Julie should’ve been able to smell the alcohol on her breath but then again, Constance was dead, but she could sure as hell feel those nails digging into her shoulders.

“You need to get out of this house and never come back.” Constance shoved her away and sprawled Julie on the floor. “I see the same evil in you that I saw in my grandson.”

Julie watched as what looked like realization entered the old woman’s eyes and suddenly her old aged face was much too close, though instead of anger, her eyes were full of pain.

Those nails lifted up Julie by her dark thick sweater and whispered in her ear, “He will find you, and you must run. Save yourself Julie March.”

She didn’t understand what she meant, or what she was supposed to do. Who was her grandson? And what kind of evil was in him? Or better yet… what evil was in her?

There were so many things she wanted to ask but both women froze at the sound of footsteps.

“Grandma?”

She was there, on the floor of the living room with Constance leaning over her, and in the next moment she was outside the kitchen door, watching it slam shut and lock her out. She wasn’t stupid enough to wait around and see Constance’s grandson; that was an evil she was better off not knowing.

She sprinted to the street and the whole way home, hiding away in her room and curling up on her bed.

Julie wasn’t going to lie and say that hadn’t made her scared. Her hands splayed out in front of her eyes, tracing the lines that were meant to tell your future. Did her lines say anything about an evil in her life?

A ding from her pocket had her fingers scrabbling to get her phone, a message from Chloe reading ‘you home?’

She texted back a quick ‘yeah’ before stuffing her phone under her pillow and gazing out the window. The house next door had been empty so long, she hoped no one bought it anytime soon, they’d think she was a creep for always watching.

But behold, two months later the house sold, and instead of having the view of a dark empty room, there was a boy in there now. She never really got a good view of him, and she never saw him leave the house. It was like he didn’t exist.

“Hey mom?”

“Hm?”

“Have you met the neighbors? I think there’s someone my age in the room across from mine. Have you seen him?”

Jessie March looked at her daughter with a smile that could rival the beating sun, “Of course I have dear. His name is Michael and his Aunt is Miriam. Lovely woman Miriam, bit hard on the face but I think I might invite her to Lydia’s book club this weekend, you know, really show her the neighbors. And if she says yes then maybe you and Michael can get to know each other. How does that sound?”

Julie picked at her eggs and ignored her mom’s questioning gaze, “What if he doesn’t like me? Or what if I say something stupid?”

Jessie March scoffed and bit into her crunch toast square, “Well, just thinking that he wouldn’t like you is quiet stupid, and I swear to you Julie, that boy will adore you.”

“Whatever you say mom.” Her mother took a sip of cold OJ, “I’m just saying baby, you can’t just sit around and wait for Chloe every weekend to drag of to do something ridiculous. You need other people in your life.”

Her daughter was silent as she finished off her fluffy white eggs, “And who knows, you may need him just as much as he needs you.”

“Whatever you say mom.” Jessie stood up and patted her Julie on the head, ruffling the already messy strands of brown hair. Her heels clicked as she took both of their plates and put them in the sink, and made a sneer at the overflowing trashcan.

“Before you go can you empty the trash? Don’t want to get rats like last time.”

Last summer when Jessie March had left town for a week on a Business venture in Seattle, Julie had had the house to herself and had not once taken out the trash, leading to an infestation in the basement and kitchen cupboards. They’d had to call an exterminator and Julie had been grounded for a week.

“Sure thing.” She stood and stretch, rubbing her full belly before grabbing engorged trash bin and hauling it out the front door, groaning at the bright rays of sun that hit her skin. She hated the warmer months, wishing that the world would stay cold.

A huff of gratitude left her lips when the bag was officially dropped in, the lid closing with a slam. Her eyes watched the empty streets, finding no one out and not a single car in any driveway. A thought that perhaps there was a farmers market close came and went, it was odd.

“Would you be a dear and get me some lemonade?”

“Yes Ms. Mead.”

Julie March turned in time to watch the front door to the neighbor’s house close, leaving her eyes to turn to the short stout dark dressed woman who was without a doubt Miriam Mead.

She looked mean, the dark lipstick and pitch black hair made her think of everything dark in the world packed into one woman. Miriam Mead raised her hand in a wave, “Hey Neighbor!”

Julie gave a shy wave and sprinted as fast as an Olympian into the house, shutting her own door just as the sound of the neighbors door opening echoed through her ears. Her hands shook, her ears were ringing and she ignored her moms questioning look as her legs carried her to her room.

The lock on the door clicked shut and her body shook, but instead of any fear or uncertainty it was a hot burning desire that rang through her lower half.

She groaned and moaned “Are you kidding me?”

Masturbation was such a Chloe thing; her friend had given her a bright pink vibrator last year and said she needed to loosen up once in a while. It was still in its original box in the closet on the upper shelf, hidden from sight.

But out of sight yet not out of mind and Julie scrambled to her closet and thanked the heavens that it came with batteries. She scrambled to get off her sleep pants and panties- shirt and bra as well cause her nipples were crazy sensitive- and placed herself near the headboard.

The pink vibrator was thick and short and the box mostly talked about clitoral stimulation, and she clicked the power button onto the lowest setting. It was a nice hard buzz that had her biting her lip, running the vibe along her hardening nipples and letting out a soft moan. Her soft fingers pinched the other one with a groan.

She would never tell a soul that she wished a man would lean over and suck her tits until they were raw and her voice was hoarse with pleas for him to stop but he would never give in, taking everything she had to offer. She wondered if Michael would suck her tits till they bled.

The vibrator skimmed her love handled tummy and along the thin stretch marks, eventually reaching her glistening pussy. There was very little hair; Chloe had gotten her into shaving.

Julie never did this and she should’ve taken it slow, but instead she placed the head of the buzz right on her clit, arching up at the buzz of pleasure streaming down her legs. It was electricity, the power of the gods were striking her very core and making her weak. Would Michael feast on her as if she were his last meal?

Why was he in her thoughts, why could she see behind her eyelids a man with hair as gold as sun but eyes as dark as night, watching her with a lust she’d never know? Was this Michael? Was he a sinner standing before a sin?

Her finger clicked to the next setting and she tried not to scream; it just felt so fucking good.

Her eyes closed once more and he was there again, closer this time, close enough to touch. Her hands wanted to reach out and feel him, but her bones were stuck in place, her thighs wide and open for him to take.

“Please, touch me.” He smirked at her and moved like wind, his touch being all too real. Her eyes opened and a scream nearly left her throat at the blonde haired boy looming over her, mouth suckling her nipple as if she was his last meal.

He was real- he had to be- and his hand ripped the vibrator from her pussy and moved down her body, gazing at the glistening wetness before him. It was his to taste, only his.

This time she did scream when his tongue circled her clit, nibbling on the sensitive bud as if it were a pesky grape attached to a vine. He hungered for her sweet cunt, wanting her juices to flow into a cup that only he could drink from. He craved her.

“Mich-Michael, please, please.” He didn’t relent, feasting with a fury that rivaled a rabid dog, hands holding her plush thighs in place as he took everything she had to offer.

She was nearing her release when he pulled back, forcing a sob from her throat, why was he being cruel when she was so close?

Michael crawled up her body and gazed at her red bitten lips with lust in his eyes, wishing this would never end. But all good things did.

She came with a scream as he bit into her left nipple with a pain blossoming across her chest. Tears fell as her body collapsed on her sheets; bleary eyes watching the golden haired boy wipe away her watery cheeks.

He placed a kiss on her cheek as her eyes shut, hand caressing her soft warm cheeks with an adoration she would soon come to crave with every breath.

According to her clock, Julie awoke 3 hours later, fully clothed and under the covers. A gasp echoed the room as the memories came back; Michael had been in her room and he’d touched her in ways she’d never been touched.

But had that been real? It couldn’t have been…

“Ow…the hell?” Her hand pulled down her sleep shirt, eyes widening at the massive bruising surrounding her left nipple.

It had been real, and the worst part was, she craved more.

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#michael langdon #michael langdon fanfic #michael langdon smut #michael langdon fluff #american horror story fanfiction #ahs #michael langdon fanfiction #cody fern fanfic #american horror story apocalypse #ahs season 8 #ahs 8 #cody fern #ahs series #ahs murder house #ahs 1 #ahs apocalypse fanfic #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #ahs murder house fanfic

[monsta-sextories]

Poolside- 10

Son Hyunwoo

word count: 1868

🎧 Notion- Tash Sultana

You’re dressed in a typical looking summer dress. It’s a pale yellow that compliments the new tone of your skin from all those days out in the sun. It feels like summer is nearing the end, even though it’s not. Just the good part… the best part. You look at your hair in the mirror, your mother will probably comment on needing a trim but that’s okay. Your nails could use a manicure, sure. None of that had mattered these last weeks.

You check your phone once again for the time and decide to leave it behind in your bedroom. As you make your way down the steps you avoid looking in the direction of the small library- your sanctuary. Your temple of hope… and the dreams that had been blooming just a few days ago. It makes your stomach uneasy.

You make your way through the quiet house and notice a few people finishing up the last bit of work. Looking for the smallest details to be buffed. It makes you sigh, and it feels like your body gets ten pounds heavier.

Down the hallways and to the large front doors, you walk and shed the last bits of memories. The last bit of feeling you had left. Its easier to abandon it.

Your parents should be here any moment. So you open the front door, leave it open, wide open. And you sit down in the entry way, resting your head against the door frame. A few moments go by unbothered. You suppose it will be a nice welcoming gesture when they’re chauffeured up the drive way. They will see you waiting for them and they might be surprised… but they won’t notice the left over tears lining your face. Or maybe they will… and in their self absorption they will surely mistake it for happiness to see them… relief to have them back. Something absurd.

So when the gates open, and you see the black recognizable car sail up the drive, you allow the tears to fall one by one, quietly and secretly before wiping them away and picking yourself up.

…

Dinner that night is treated like a celebration, or a gift. Your parents have Betsy prepare dinner and they talk and talk about their brief travels. You notice the glow of your mother’s skin, but there’s something unnatural about it, especially in comparison to your father’s. You assume she didn’t spend nearly as much time out in the sun as the tan would lead you to believe, but instead had a spray tan applied to fit in on whatever beach she had visited. You can see her now- large brimmed hat, sunglasses, drink in hand as she sits somewhere shaded fanning herself from the “terrible heat.”

Despite that, she has sweeter stories to tell than your father who seems to be unhappy about the entirety of the whole vacation.

The patio was swept and hosed down and you insisted on eating outside tonight. It was your idea to suggest Betsy make extra food for everyone else to be able to enjoy. This meant of course, Hyunwoo, Betsy, George, and whoever stuck around this late could relax a bit and take a second to suck up to your parents for their generosity and mention how nice it was to have them back.

“So,” your mother began noticing the way your eyes would drift in the direction of the guest house waiting your Hyunwoo to appear. “How has Hyunwoo liked his stay so far?”

Her honey voice and narrowed eyes were a mere insinuation, but not a direct one.

“I think he says how much he appreciates it at least three times a day. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but I personally believe I’ve never seen the yard look better.”

Your father nods in approval and your mother’s lips purse just enough to hide her accusatory smile.

“He has a gift,” your father grunts, but there’s something dismissive about it.

“Its nice that he’s about your age. I’m sure that helped, having someone to talk to while we were away.” In contrast to her demeanor she was snake like, intuitive, and quick to judge.

“Yeah, I believe he might almost consider me a friend,” you say hoping that Betsy delivers the food soon. You take a sip of your wine glass, swirling it around out of boredom but also anticipation. Hyunwoo surely will stop by, if anything to say hello.

“I think he’s very attractive,” your mother goads with a lift in her brows. Your father looks at her approvingly.

“Don’t you start,” he huffs.

Just before the conversation can progress you watch as Betsy carries out a roasting pan with a steaming chicken, browned and seasoned. Your mouth waters at the sight alone, but the smell is strong full of flavor.

“Betsy this is absolutely amazing!” your mother coos as she places it on the table and begins to cut it. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice the quiet footsteps approach behind you until Betsy speaks.

“Ah, Hyunwoo, why don’t you help be bring out the rest of the dishes.”

You turn your head to see him wearing a short sleeve button down, clean and neat. His khaki shorts wrinkle free as if he had planned to impress tonight.

“I’ll help too,” you say jumping to your feet. He briefly glances in your direction.

“Nice to see you again, hope you enjoyed your trip,” Hyunwoo says with a smile directed at your parents. Your mom looks at him with a wide grin, and your father responds pleasantly reaching out a hand to shake.

“Ah, we wont get into it just yet. But, my, the work you’ve done out here is absolutely spectacular.”

You don’t wait to hear the rest, but instead make your way into the kitchen and wait for Hyunwoo to follow. When he steps inside, expression softening from the praise, he looks at you.

“That’s a nice dress,” is all he says.

“Thank you,” you say nervously as you pick up a dish off of the counter. You don’t move until he’s there as well doing the same.

“You look nice as well,” you say. Because he does. He always does.

He responds with a curt smile and takes his dish and begins to walk away, you hesitate, wanting to say something, but he’s already strides ahead of you.

…

Dinner goes smoothly. Hyunwoo sits across form you next to your father, and you notice how your mother watches each time you look in his direction. They talk, hyunwoo politely listening with brief interjections of agreement or questions. Your father rants about business, and the economy. Your mother sits quietly, eating… occasionally rolling her eyes and only speaking up when she disagrees with your father.

You aren’t paying close attention to notice when exactly it gets brought up, but you notice the moment both of your parents eyes land on you.

“Cooking? She can’t cook” you hear your father snort.

“Where did you learn to cook?” your mother asks looking at you in amazement.

You look at them both, over to Betsy and then back at Hyunwoo.

“Uh, I’ve watched Betsy,” you say with a shrug.

“It was delicious,” Hyunwoo compliments casually, with a slight awkward smile. The shock on your parents face is annoying to say the least, and Hyunwoo must pick up on it because he gracefully switches their attention towards the hedges, asking for their opinions on the additional height.

Afterwards you notice a slight apologetic look from Hyunwoo, and a rather distrustful one from your mother, as if whatever suspicions she had have been proved true.

Not long after, the conversation begins to slow and Hyunwoo is first to excuse himself. Its not too much later that its just you sitting across from your parents with a pit in your gut as you cant manage to finish your plate.

“So, you’re a cook now?” your mother begins, “that doesn’t sound like you.”

You look up at her, noticing the way your father seems to mimic her curiosity.

“I got bored, like you anticipated,” you answer raising an eyebrow.

“Hyunwoo seems to enjoy it,” she says with a slight challenge.

“He’s just being polite,” you say tightening your jaw just a bit.

“That he is,” your mother says a bit softly. “he’s a very nice young man.”

Your father looks over at her, a question on his face.

“What’s your point?” you ask trying to remain amicable.

Your mom shrugs, “there isn’t one. Just an observation.”

“His parents also aren’t millionaires, and he didn’t graduate from an Ivy League school. I’m sure you’ve already observed that.” You let a bit of bitterness leak into your words, and your father is first to respond.

“What does that matter to us?” He says, showcasing his offense.

You only roll your eyes, and your mom keeps quiet for a moment.

“He’s a very nice young man,” your other says with a sigh. It sounds like realization, it gives you a weird sliver of hope. Like maybe… they really do think he’s great.

“And it is too bad he’s less fortunate than us, but we can’t continue to pity him,” your mother adds. The words strike fire in you, because… pity? She thinks this is all for pity?

Your father nods in agreement. “yes, dear, I enjoy his work but cooking for him? Cleaning out a guest house? the… charges on your credit card?”

Your throat tightens. You forgot about the purchases you made at all of the male clothing stores…

“That’s not.. its not… not like that…” you stammer out.

“So what is it like then?” your mother asks with a serious expression.

“you said it yourself,” you say shyly, “he’s just a really great… worker.”

You finish the words the safest way possible. The only way you know how to. the only way that would make sense.

“Yes and we pay him for that. It’s unprofessional to give him special treatment just because you might fancy his appearance,” your father says with a roll of his eyes

“its not about his appearance,” you say quickly, “i… I enjoy his company. We get along.”

“You don’t have anything in common,” your mother charges immediately.

“Well, I’d like to!” you say with a quick flare of your temper. “He’s hardworking, smart, funny, kind… he’s… he’s-“

“what are you saying?” your father interjects, face red.

You think for a moment… you try to relax. You remind yourself it doesn’t have to go there, nothing good will come of this. But, instead you remember all the time you spent together. all the feelings that you had suppressed out of fear, and here they were face to face ready to fight.

“I’m saying, I think….” You look at both of your parents mustering the confidence you have. Its then you notice Betsy peeking out of the back door. Her eyes are wide, mouth open… but you can see the excitement in her surprise. She’s been listening, and she gives you a look of amazement , which is enough to push the last sentence out.

“I’m saying I think I’d like to start seeing him.”

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#Monsta X #monsta x shownu #Son Hyunwoo #monsta x fic #shownu smut #shownu fanfic #shownu imagines #shownu #monsta x smut #kpop smut #kpop imagines

[hannahmcne]

Our Town Too - Chapter One, a Greatest Showman Fic.

There were lights. There was color. There was sound.

Charlie spun on the ropes that hung down around the arena for the trapeze artists and aerialists(like himself) to hang onto. The crowd shouted and screamed as he faked a miss of the rope and dove towards the ground. Five dancers spun back around in perfect formation to catch him just before he hit the ground and to launch him back into the air with a mighty heave. He rocketed back into the air and snatched the rope as the audience screamed. Far down below, the two honorary 'Barnum boys', Adam and Fredrick, were breathing fire as his cousin Emma Wheeler and her little, white, half-brother Dan performed cartwheels and back handsprings with long, colorful streamers attached to their wrists and ankles. They looked like a colorful wind rushing through the audience.

The crowd pounded their boots against the stands and screamed the words along with the singers down below: "This is the greatest show!" They echoed.

Down below, the dancers dispersed as a mass character change occurred. Charlie spotted his dad rushing on from offstage in his red coattails, sliding in the sawdust and popping up onto his feet, all the while twirling his baton around his head. Lettie Lutz, the bearded lady, took up the center, but Phillip Carlyle remained the center of attention as he led the crew through the lighting cues, the music cues, and pieced together the show's finale.

Charlie lowered himself onto the ground and dropped to the sawdust in a perfect split before he joined the circus members in kicking up dust and drawing sweat, pounding the floor and showing the audience what a real good time looked like. As their closing number drew to a close, he turned and sprinted with the others to the center of the stage and watched a lithe, dark-skinned woman drop out of the sky and land next to Phillip, just in time.

Only the eldest four of the five Carlyle children were of performing age. The youngest was backstage with Helen Barnum. Three children of various skin shades gathered around Phillip and Anne, but Charlie didn't join them. He knew the rest of the circus's eyes was on him, but this wasn't the first time he hadn't joined his family for bows.

Carlie Carlyle was eighteen years old and the oldest of five children. The youngest was barely a year old. He was the only child with his dad's pale looks which, trust him, was absolutely horrible. All his life, there had been double-takes, there had been questions, there had been people frowned when they looked from him to his parents for the first time and realized that no, this kid with manners and education was not 100% white. Charlie could tell you for a fact that there was nothing worse than someone looking between him and his parents and then backing away slowly. He'd lost friends, he'd lost acquaintances, and he'd made a whole lot of enemies by simply existing.

Phillip kissed Anne, and the lights went out up above as someone drew a damper over the reflector that kept the tent lit. Then, they brightened and the circus patrons split to go an either remove costumes or show customers out of the tent. Charlie felt his little brothers and sister's eyes on him as he walked backstage, carefully undoing his wrist bindings.

Charlie found a quiet corner and a soft bale of hay to set his foot upon as he worked the knots around his ankles, undoing bright blue tape. that was there to help the audience catch onto his movements easier and to protect his joints from being pulled out of their sockets. His pale skin was red under the bindings, but it would be better within a few minutes, just like it always was. He must have just put it on a bit too tight tonight, he thought as he rubbed the joint.

Heavy footsteps fell behind him, and Charlie didn't need to look up to know who it was. "Dad." He greeted as he switched feet and began undoing the other binding. Phillip Carlyle was removing his red coat behind him. He dropped it onto the bale of hay and sat down.

"You did well out there tonight," Phillip complimented him with a tight smile. There were permanent smile wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, and the corners of his eyes had gone leathery with age.

"I always do good." Charlie rolled his eyes and scoffed. He began to roll the bindings up to be used tomorrow night.

"You do." Phillip acknowledged softly as he watched Charlie work. "Your mother and I are a bit worried about all that, actually. You've been working really hard lately. We miss having you around."

"Look-" Charlie huffed, undoing the first few buttons on his bright blue costume and turning to give his dad an exasperated look. "If this is about the whole bows thing, Phillip, it's nothing. I'm just – getting older. Parents aren't cool anymore." He tried to laugh the whole thing off with his hands in the air while not showing how annoyed he was with the whole conversation.

"Family is important, Charlie." Phillip sighed as his son began to stalk off toward the dressing area. "If you were a little older, if you'd known the circus before, you'd understand that. Back when the circus started, most of us had no one."

"Whatever, dad," Charlie grumbled, quickly weaving his way through the props and the equipment that had been left off-stage. He kicked up some straw into a pile of dung that the zebras had left and went to go and do checks on the ropes for the trapeze artists since it was his night tonight. As he came around the bend, an arm snaked out and grabbed around his waist. He was spun sideways into a dark room and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Hello, handsome." Mireille smiled as she put her arms around Charlie's neck. Charlie smiled and bent forward to press a kiss against Mireille's forehead, missing her pretty dark brown curls by a few inches.

"Hi, Mireille." He whispered, carefully putting space between them, because she was a lady, and this was how ladies are to be treated. "You did great out there tonight."

Mireille was one of the earlier acts, so she had already changed back into her plainclothes. Blue glitter remained smudged around her eyes and a pretty pink color rested on her lips, the only marks of what had identified her as one of Barnum's employees.

"You too." Mireille complimented him. Her smile had faded somewhat. "I saw you didn't go stand by the rest of your family again."

Charlie groaned and let her go. He turned away, shaking his head. "Not you too." He complained. He pulled up a chair hiding in the shadows and sat down.

"That's the ninth time." Mireille frowned. "You're perfectly fine when you're alone with everyone, why are the crowds so different?" She sat down on a wooden chest that was filled with extra costumes beside him.

"It's not about the crowds." Charlie defended himself. "Just Phillip and Anne-"

"What's with this Phillip business?" Mireille wrinkled her nose. "He's your dad, not your coworker."

"Technically, he's both." Charlie disagreed.

"Technically, he'd be your boss, not your coworker. He owns fifty percent of the show." Mireille reprimanded him. She set a hand down on his forearm and squeezed. "Is this about the whole mixed-race thing?"

"No!" Charlie exclaimed defensively, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield from her words.

"Because, trust me," Mireille continued, "You're not mixed race."

"I'm one-fourth black." Charlie furrowed his brow. "There's not much else to it."

"Okay, so maybe you are mixed-race." Mireille acknowledged with an eye-roll as she crossed her ankles delicately. "But really, why does it matter so much to you? It's where you came from. And you look white anyway. You're not like your mom or siblings. They actually look mixed. By all means, you blend right in." Mireille laughed a little in thought and skootched closer to him. "So, you don't want to go bow with your family in front of all your darker-skinned siblings because you don't want people to know you're mixed race? I still go and bow with my mom, Charlie."

"Don't compare you to me," Charlie said angrily. "Your situation and my situation are very different. For one, your mom is an act, not the ringmaster. Of course, she's a famous act, but an act all the same. Your mom and uncle weren't ever runaway slaves. And you and I were brought into the world on very different scandals. Being a bar sinister is not the same as being a hybrid." He stood up and began to stalk away, again. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days.

"Hybrid? You've been reading the Herald again." Mireille frowned as she stood up and followed him. She wasn't like Phillip, Mireille was. She knew how to pick fights with him. Phillip had never really exerted control over Charlie; he'd only pulled him aside to explain the principles of things to him as he got older. Charlie didn't step out of line much, so Phillip didn't have to chuck out very much advice.

"So what if I have?" Charlie snapped back to his girlfriend, stepping into the now-empty ring. All the guests had been ushered out and people had gone to turn in for the night. He pulled the lever that released the coiled ropes from above, even though now he'd have to make the journey all the way up top to re-coil them after he checked his own portion of the trapeze equipment. "It's good to be informed." He claimed as he coiled a rope around his fist and began to climb, hand over hand.

"You know that Mr. Bennett takes particular joy in ridiculing us." Mireille frowned. She couldn't follow him up the ropes, being in her dress. "Maybe it's good to be informed, but if you only fill your mind with criticism, there won't be any room for discussion on the other side."

"Desegregated, uneducated aberrations." Charlie recited, focusing on the top of the tent. "You know that's what they call us? And you know what else?

"I don't-" Mireille started before Charlie interrupted her as he swung back and forth between two ropes above her head.

"An archaic clan of grotesques who seem to be consistently interbreeding and spreading their egregious tropes throughout the honorable members of our lower-class societies." Charlie narrated.

Mirelle snorted. "That's the first time I've ever heard 'honorable' attributed to 'lower-class'." She commented, crossing her arms as Charlie tangled his legs in the rope and flipped his body upside down. "And I was going to say I don't need to hear any of that because I know it's not true." She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and straightened her spine. "I have talent, like everyone else here. We're modern, and accepting, and free. Don't you want freedom, Charlie?" Her boyfriend twisted his legs into the rope and hung upside down, on eye-level with her as he started to recite again, even louder.

"Their uncommon traditions even extend to the leadership of the Barnum business, as expressed by the miscegenous relationship practiced by Barnum's business partner." Charlie hissed. "Do you know who they're talking about? Those are my parents, Mireille. People don't talk about your mom and her one daughter, who is one of society's prettiest people since Jenny Lind came to tour, like they do my dad, the white man who married a mulatto woman in an unratified, taboo ceremony and proceeded to have five bicultural children." Charlie untangled himself as his face began to turn purple and gently let himself down from the ropes. Mireille watched his curly hair in the light as he wiped sweat off his brow and began to tie two ropes into a square knot so that he could swing on them.

"You're full of big words tonight." Mireille frowned.

"Biracial." Charlie scowled. "Multi-circumferential. Desegregated. Mixed race. Mulatto."

"Imagine if your mother heard you say that." Mireille scolded. "Can you imagine how that'd hurt her so?"

Charlie's expression softened. "I know." He sighed. "I love my mom, I do. But I just… want to make my own name away from theirs." His shoulders slumped.

"Well, how much money do you need for university?" Mireille asked. "I know that's what you've been doing all the extra acts and working outside Barnum's Circus for."

"I'm so close." Charlie groaned as he untied the knots and gave the ropes a tug. "And yet so far. What well-respecting college will let in a man whose mom ran from slavery as an illegitimate, mixed-race child?"

"It doesn't matter." Mireille rolled her eyes. "You're smart, you're a hard worker, and you don't look black. They'll let you in."

"And kick me right back out when my family shows up to see me for the first time." Charlie despaired.

"Take them to court," Mireille advised. "Or, just go to Brea College." Brea college had been founded after the Civil War ended, ten years before Barnum's first circus had burnt to the ground. It was the first college in the south to be racially integrated. Brea was where Mireille wanted to go for college because, on top of allowing both blacks and whites, they also allowed for boys and girls.

"Frankly, I think you're making this out to be a lot harder than it is." Mireille continued. "You can't change where you come from and if your parents hadn't fallen in love, you wouldn't be here, so you might as well not resent them for it. That's the whole point of the circus; respecting where people come from and learning to find family in what makes us different."

"The circus was a money-maker for Barnum." Charlie rolled his eyes.

"And our parents made it into a refuge." Mireille smiled and stepped forward, resting a hand on Charlie's upper arm. "Phillip Carlyle, Anne and WD Wheeler. Lettie Lutz." Mireille kissed Charlie on the cheek. "We came together here and made it so that we didn't have to hide from society anymore. It's a beautiful thing; I don't know why you're so anxious to hide where you came from, even if everyone already knows." Charlie stiffened, and Mireille's smile faded. "Your parents won't be here forever, so you should respect them while they are. Besides, we can live in a world that we design."

Charlie chuckled at the reference to Barnum's song, but Mireille didn't stop there. She loved to sing. "I close my eyes, and I can see." She whispered, batting her long eyelashes at Charlie. Charlie laughed as closed his eyes, wrapping one fist around a rope as he put an arm carefully around her waist. "A world that's waiting up for me… That I call, my own."

Mireille had inherited the brightest, clearest pair of pipes anyone had ever heard from her mother, Lettie. Barnum had wanted to organize a tour the likes of which had traveled with Jenny Lind, but Lettie had kept a tight hold on her baby girl and told Barnum not to approach her until she was at least eighteen. Since then, Mireille had only gotten better and better. One of her dreams was to meet Jenny Lind and see how she compared to the Swedish Nightingale.

"Through the dark, through the doors, through where no one's been before. But it feels like home." Mireille leaned her head onto Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie gave the rope a sharp jerk. He heard a sandbag slip off the rafters up above the same moment he felt his hand launch away from his arm. Mireille gave a little shriek and curled her legs up under her dress as the took to the skies. Charlie laughed.

The sounds of four kids hitting the sawdust hit their ears. Mireille and Charlie's head whipped around to see Adam, Frances, Fredrick, and Emma rushing to the ropes in laughter. The four kids snatched up the ropes and began to swing through each other in a dazingly familiar pattern. Charlie let Mireille fall half-way and watched their combined momentum pull them down enough for him to set her on the ground before he launched up into the air.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy." Mireille sang from the ground, letting her high soprano voice bounce off the walls of the tent and carry back. She stood in the center of the circle and watched the five people above her spin circles. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds." She laughed as Emma switched over to Fredrick's rope, and the two of them began spinning in dizzy circles around each other, arms outstretched like they were flying together. "I don't care, I don't care if they call us crazy. We can live in a world that we design."

Frances and Adam hit the floor and began a hypnotizing dance while they sang along to the Barnum's song. Adam was Caroline's first son. He had caramel locks and brown eyes, like Barnum. Helen still hadn't married, so he had no cousins, but he found many friends in the circus. Even though he was only fifteen, it was blindingly clear that he and Frances had something special between them. This worried Charlie because Francis was his little sister. She was fourteen, with skin like her mother and waist-long locks in the same shade as her dad's. Charlie was the only person in the family who had actually inherited his dad's skin. When they stood together, people thought she was the oldest child because of how different he looked from each of his siblings.

"Cause every night I lie in bed and the brightest colors fill my head." Mireille and Adam sang as Frances rolled over Adam's back, caught his hand, and spun straight into his grasp. "A million dreams are keeping me awake."

Charlie flew up to the supports of the tent and rested from his flight. He watched Emma and Fredrick spin around each other in tantalizing patterns. Emma was his cousin; WD's daughter. After WD had gained a stable income, he'd brought his wife up to live in New York with them. Sarah Wheeler had, unfortunately, suffered an attack by a white man that left her pregnant with a child that was not WD's. Still, they raised the white-skinned child in their family surrounded by all the little black ones like nothing had ever gone wrong. Emma was, of all her siblings, closest to Dan because the two older ones had grown up and moved away. Fredrick was Adam's brother, Caroline's younger son. He had a goofy smile and freckles and loved the circus more than anything in the entire world. Charlie could see him growing up, falling in love with Emma, and raising a family here, just like his parents had.

Down below, Mireille continued to sing soprano with pretty chords that made Charlie's ears feel like they were being given a massage. "I think of what the world could be; a vision of the one I see. A million dreams is all its gonna take."

Charlie found himself mouthing the words: "A million dreams for the world we're gonna make."

A million dreams. A million thoughts. A million colors. He had all that, somewhere inside his head. He had something that none of his siblings or friends could understand. A drive to prove himself. A drive to be something. More than a backup dancer or an aerialist. More than Phillip and Anne's little boy and more than the son of a mixed-race woman. If he could get to college, work hard and strike out on his own, he could make it. He could be a businessman; an overseer of factories. Maybe he could move to Pittsburg. That's where all the big names were making it big. He could work in rubber; rubber was big right now. Or maybe textiles, since textiles would never go out. So long as he could stay on top of designing new patterns and colors, he'd have a business. And since he'd grown up here, maybe he and Barnum could become partners and he could supply the circus with costume materials, and everyone would see that he'd done it. He'd made it big.

Far down below, Adam switched the hand he was holding Francis's with. She gave him a smile and twirled into a pretty dip, with her black hair hitting the floor just like Uncle Phillip had taught him how to do back before he'd realized the young man would use his tricks to sweep his daughter off her feet. His heart was racing, and his ears felt warm as his cheeks took on a pink color. If his mom saw him now, dancing with the pretty black girl and holding her hand and not caring at all that he was getting all covered in sawdust and sweat, she'd scold him. Caroline, after her years of being a prima ballerina, had learned to respect the circus for providing for her education. She spoke kindly with the performers and let her children play with their children. But she didn't want her kids to grow up and intermarry with the circus workers. It would be best, she had decided, to take separate paths. But Adam loved the thrill of the circus. He loved the screams of the crowd and the costumes and the life and light of the performers. And he loved the feeling he got when he glimpsed Francis's bright smile as she bowed with her parents, danced in the light, and let her wings spread.

"There's a house we can build… every room inside is filled. With things from far away." Mireille sighed happily as she watched Charlie reappear from the rafters above Fredrick and Emma, who were spinning in dizzy circles around each other. Fredrick was trying to show off. He swung close to the pillars and began to sprint across the vertical beams that supported the tent.

Charlie swung his legs up and around the rope and split center stage, whirling to the bottom as the rope coiled around his waist and rolled him, arm over arm, to the floor, where Mireille was waiting with a small smile. "Special things I compile… each one there to make you smile." Charlie walked forward and rested his hand on Mireille's cheek. She leaned into him with an even brighter smile. "On a rainy day."

Adam and Francis jumped to the ropes again and began to pull themselves up, hand over hand. Their arms were strong from years of practice.

"They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy," Mireille whispered as she leaned up, lifted a foot off the ground, and leaned into her boyfriend's frame. The two pressed their foreheads together. "They can say, they can say we've lost our minds."

Charlie released the rope and curled both his strong, calloused hands into Mireille's thick, curly brown locks. Both of them failed to notice the crucial scene happening above their heads.

Fredrick, who was still chasing his rope around the circumference of the tent supports, felt the rope that was holding him dead center snag on something along the center. It snapped him back, and he fell to the beams. The rope swung out of reach as Fredrick's head slammed into the wooden beam. He barely managed to dig his fingers into the wood to keep from falling to his death as his vision went black. Emma swung towards him and helped him sit back up. His nose had been crushed, and a stream of blood had started to run from both nostrils. The two quickly tried to stifle the blood, and neither noticed as a single sprinkle of blood fell from his nose, past the wood supports he was trying to keep from falling off of and hit the floor of the stage.

The world started spinning; even more so for Fredrick. Only Charlie and Mireille failed to notice as she sang with her hands twisting the back of Charlie's costume with a bright smile upon her lips. But around them, things seemed to be shifting. Lavender mist rose up from the ground, and the fabric walls were replaced with sturdy brick and wrought iron. The smell of things old and stuffed replaced the smell of animals and sweat and rum.

"Run away to a world that we design!" Mireille let out a breath, and she and Charlie moved in synchronously for a quick kiss. Before their lips could touch, however, a man's loud belt of a singing voice came from the rafters.

"Every night I lie in bed." A man with neat hair, a top hat, and a brown vest called as he walked down a flight of stairs that had suddenly appeared where ladders had been posted. What had previously been the supports to the trapeze equipment and the tent was now a circular walkway surrounding a stage circle smaller than any of the ones the kids had ever seen before in their lives. He twirled a baton in his hands as he descended the steps with a bright smile. "The brightest colors fill my head; a million dreams are keeping me awake."

Adam and Francis hit the floor again, hand in hand. "Grandpa?" Adam whispered.

It took Adam's words for Charlie to put together what he was seeing. PT Barnum, at least twenty years younger than Charlie had ever seen him, was walking across the sawdust towards them. He stopped and stared at him, examining each of the kids. Charlie was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him as he looked at the stage, the rafters, the solid roof above their heads. They were in a building the likes of which Barnum hadn't owned since… the fire of 1865.

Mireille detached from Charlie and covered her mouth in blatant surprise. Fredrick and Emma carefully climbed down, with Fredrick still trying to stay the stream of blood gushing out of his nose. Barnum pulled a white kerchief out of his pocket and handed it to the lad as he frowned at the kids. Charlie stiffened.

"You know my song," Barnum said in a curious tone. "We don't sing that here at the American Museum. Where did you hear it? You seem to know every line."

"A-ha!" Mireille squeaked. She latched onto Charlie's arm and squeezed. Adam swallowed thickly and he and Fredrick exchanged cautious bewildered glances.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Ah, our parents used to sing it to us. Must be a coincidence that's it's your song." He chuckled nervously.

"My wife and I wrote it," Barnum said in a flat tone. While he had originally appeared pleased, he seemed a bit upset at their surprise and the way they were shifting their feet. He crossed his arms. "Performances are over for today as well. You're trespassing on personal property. What are you doing in my stage room?"

"Trespassing?" Adam squeaked.

"American museum?" Charlie whispered. His mind started to work at a million miles an hour. Old building… young Barnum… dated name. Holy crap.

"Are you going to give me an answer, or do I have to call the police?" Barnum growled. "Did one of my performers let you in?"

"No!" Mireille exclaimed. "We just, uh, were here after the show and we really admire the Barnum Circus and we don't mean to trespass and…" She trailed off, looking desperate to add something, anything onto the end of her statement.

"Circus?" Phineas Barnum frowned like he was contemplating the name, but he quickly brushed his thoughts aside.

"We'd like to audition!" Charlie blurted out. Mireille, Adam, Francis, Fredrick, and Emma all shot him panicked looks. "That's right, we want to be a part of the show. We know all the steps, all of the choreography. Look, Francis, Emma, and I made our own costumes in advance, and when Mireille, Adam, and Fredrick heard what we were doing, they decided to come with and see if you'd give us a chance because…" He trailed off, suddenly doubtful of his own plan.

"Because we're tired of hiding in the dark," Mireille added, looking relieved. "But you'd already closed auditions, so we decided to try and catch you after hours. We waited in the stands after the show today and hoped we'd be able to catch you, but we never saw you alone, so we've just been waiting all this time, hoping you'll give us a chance."

Charlie watched the surprise flicker over Barnum's face and swallowed. He hoped Barnum would buy it, otherwise, they'd be out on the streets in, if he was correct, 1864. He also hoped everything Mireille was saying was true because he didn't know for the life of him when Barnum had officially closed auditions, when shows had started, or even if Barnum had had a show at all today. If it were Sunday, the circus would be closed. Sure, he was wearing his red coat, but if Barnum picked a single lie out, they'd be on the streets in seconds. Charlie balled his fists up as beads of sweat appeared in his palm.

"You say you know every line, all the choreography?" Barnum asked.

"Yes!" Emma blurted out beside Fredrick, who was still dabbing at his nose. "We're massive fans."

Barnum stroked his chin and considered their words. Finally, he nodded. "I've got room for a few more acts." He nodded. "But I don't want to take in people who are behind. If you can dance our closing act properly, I'll let you stay in and board with the other performers."

Charlie let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Mireille looked up at him nervously. "The closing act?" She clarified. "The Greatest Show number, right?"

"Yes." Barnum nodded. "You do know it, right?" He gave Mireille a scrutinizing look, examining her long sleeves and the long skirt to her plainclothes.

"Of course," Mireille said in a high-pitched voice. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Charlie, begging him for help.

Barnum crossed his arms and examined them all. "Would you like me to call in some of the dancers to help guide you through it?" He asked softly.

Mireille relaxed instantly, and Charlie nodded gravely. "Yes, please sir." Fredrick squeaked as he finally managed to clot the blood streaming out of his nose. "We're not used to doing it under scrutiny; you'll have to excuse our nervousness." He tried to rub his red hands on the handkerchief, and then held it in a palm, unsure of whether or not he should hand it back to Barnum. Barnum held out his hand, and a blushing Fredrick placed the bloodied rag in the older man's hand.

"There's a water spigot out back," Barnum advised them. "Run and wash up, and I'll fetch a few of the dancers." He turned and headed back up the stairs. The four older kids came together in a close circle as Emma and Fredrick sprinted to find the water spigot before Barnum came back.

"What are we going to do?" Francis hissed, mostly directing her question at Charlie, the oldest.

"That's not what you should be asking." Adam frowned, standing erect and straight. "How are we here?" His feet shuffled in the sawdust from first, to second, to third and fourth, and finally the fifth position, before shifting back around again. He and Fredrick were trained in ballet and walked with the posture as such. Meanwhile, Francis and Charlie were used to extending their limbs to make them seem larger than life, throwing out their chests, and holding tension in every movement. Acrobats.

"Charlie." Mireille yanked on his arm. Her eyes were wide with panic. "I don't dance. I'm the glorifying entertainment, remember? I open the show and soothe the audiences, so they never see what's coming next."

"You'll have to." Charlie shook his head. "It's not hard. It's just the same routines we've been doing the last few years. Just remember: there's less of us, so we'll need to be loud to have a similar effect." He rubbed his clammy hands on his pants as Emma and Fredrick came sprinting back. Fredrick was soaked to the bone and shivering, but clean aside from a smudge on his shirt.

A sudden thought struck Charlie. "Dear God." He whispered. "What if someone recognizes us?"

"Not recognizes us," Mireille corrected. "The circus is still called the museum. It hasn't been called that since the very, very beginning. We don't exist here. But if anyone comments on how similar we look to, say, Phillip Carlyle-" She gave Charlie a stern look as a vein throbbed in his head. "-things could get messy."

"I think you're safe," Francis said in a somewhat snobbish tone. "Your face is clean. No one will draw the similarities to Lettie Lutz without her famous beard."

"She's slim, too." Adam nodded. "But the rest of us – we all look like someone. If Fredrick or I even stand close to Barnum for too long, people start pointing out things all the time. Too many questions and-" He shrugged helplessly.

"This is insane," Emma whispered, pressing a hand to her head. "What if he only decides to hire some of us?"

"We need to stick together," Mireille said firmly. "As much as possible, until we figure out what is going on." Her dark eyes flickered over Charlie. "But here's a problem; he's going to ask our full names. Two Carlyles, a Lutz and a Wheeler all in the same place will be suspicious. At least the Thompson's are safe – there are lots of those." Adam and Fredrick nodded in agreement.

"Well, maybe Charlie and I can use Grandma's last name. Wasn't it-" Francis started.

"Wait!" Charlie interrupted her. An idea was quickly forming in his head. "I can go by my middle. That's what I'll do. Charlie Mason. That sounds distinguished, doesn't it?" He looked around for approval. "But Francis..." He trailed off, biting his lip. This was his chance to truly sever his ties with his history and begin a life by himself, as Charlie Mason. But if Francis took the same last name as him... Charlie scrambled to come up with a passable reason Francis shouldn't have the same last name as him. "Francis, won't it be suspicious if, since you look so much like Mom and I look so much like Phillip, that we have the same last name? You can go by Hall, Grandma Wheeler's maiden name, and I'll stick with Mason."

Francis's expression grew stormy and hurt. "What?" She asked. "You want to pretend we're not related?"

"Charlie-" Mireille sounded scandalized as she opened her mouth to protest. Adam, Emma, and Fredrick all looked equally uncomfortable.

"Are you ready?" A gruff tone asked from the second floor. The six children snapped their heads up to stare as Barnum descended to the circle with around seven different dancers behind him in their plain clothes. There was the woman in gold, the Russian knife- throwers, the tattooed man, and others. Not Lettie, nor Anne, nor W.D. were among them.

Francis broke off of the group with a stormy expression. She turned a cold shoulder to Charlie and addressed Barnum. "Yes, we are." She proclaimed. "I'll be substituting as ringmaster. Can I borrow a baton?"

The tattooed man and one of the throwers looked to Barnum. Charlie wasn't sure why. Barnum had shared the role of ringmaster equally with Phillip in the early days. It wasn't like it was unique for Barnum to not be leading them through the moves. Barnum's mouth straightened into a line, and then he tossed his cane down towards the sawdust. Francis caught it and planted her feet in the sawdust. "Charlie, Mireille, and Fredrick are going to take stage left in standard positions. Adam and Emma will be on stage right. Can you please come down to where you'd normally be so we can space ourselves accordingly? We haven't exactly had the opportunity to perform in the ring before."

Charlie felt a surge of pride for his little sister's professional attitude before he looked up. The performer's eyes were on him, looking at the wave of his hair and the slope of his spine. He straightened up. They might have known Charlie Carlyle all his life, but Charlie Mason was someone different. He could stand out in his professionalism and in the way that he held himself. Immediately, they looked away, and Charlie knew they'd realized he was someone comfortable in popularity and wealth – just the person he wanted to be seen as.

The performers took their places in staggered windows on the stage. Francis exchanged an uncomfortable look with Mireille and Adam, and Charlie could clearly see why. This was Barnum's original choreography, which had been mostly abandoned and revamped since the museum opened. Panic welled up inside Charlie. He hadn't danced this in at least seven years – since he'd been nine. He'd only seen it occasionally performed by the original members. He closed his eyes and prayed – prayed hard that they remembered it, prayed hard that they'd be good enough to get in.

There was no music. No movement ques other than Francis's baton, which he wouldn't be able to see all the time. Charlie swallowed, and looked at Emma and Adam, across the way. Then, before they could start, he slowly moved out of formation and went to the side of the ring.

"What are you doing, young man?" Barnum barked from up above.

Charlie walked to the stands and found, similar to in the circus tent, ropes bound in figure eights to the posts of the room. Trapeze equipment. He unloosed it and held the end up to his friends. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and left her position to help him unravel it and drag it into the arena. She took it from him since they both knew she was the better trapeze artist. Above them, Barnum stood stone-faced as he watched Emma take a new place on stage. Adam, too, found a second rope and navigated it into place from the ground. Everyone heard the clicks of safeguards locking into place as they pulled the trapeze equipment into place. Emma and Adam stood staggered center from Emma with the ropes coiled around their hands.

"I'll be substituting for Anne Wheeler," Emma announced.

"And I'll stand in for W.D Wheeler." Adam choked.

The performers exchanged looks. One of the throwers shook her head. "Don't bite off more than you can chew."

Charlie frowned. "We've all been trained with trapeze." He explained quickly. Mireille sent him an alarmed look, and Charlie had to quickly backtrack. "We… trained ourselves based on what we saw you guys doing." He said slowly. Barnum's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything. "And we're quite good," Charlie added. He gave the rope a sharp tug and heard something slip and lock into place above his head. He left the rope in Emma's capable hands and returned to his spot onstage. He nodded to Francis. "On your count." He whispered.

Francis stared at him for a few seconds. He felt like her eyes were boring into his skull and making his hair stand up on end. Then she turned and put her head down, planted her feet, and dug the tip of the baton in at an angle. "Ladies and Gents." She announced in a booming tone that made it seem as if she'd taken on an ethereal state. "This is the moment you've been waiting for."

The background members all leaped in to complete the background noise and Charlie felt himself entering performance mode as he threw everything he had into the dance. Maybe he was rusty. Maybe they did this specific routine once every six months to a year and he himself didn't usually participate. But by god, he had grown up dancing and he would dance himself into a grave before he let them all be thrown out into the streets.

Francis introduced lighting and music cues like a pro, lowering her voice to hit all those reverberating notes just right. "And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can't ignore. It's taking your breath; stealing your mind. And all that was real is left behind…"

Emma and Adam shot into the air spinning so fast Emma's hair whipped around and coiled around her neck as she went. They were good enough that no one could spot the differences to Anne or WD if the two originals weren't performing side-by-side. It was the perks of going up in Barnum's Circus. Up in the air, even in their plainclothes (Or, in Adam's case, his white shirt), they looked like they were made of strength and color.

"Don't fight it, it's coming for you, running at you. It's only this moment, don't care what comes after." Francis doubled back through the ring to present the Russian Knife Throwers and then gestured to where the albino twins usually were, even though they weren't currently present. Charlie saw Barnum pull an impressed face at her memory and skill before, on the same beat, every single member of the cast dropped to the sawdust and broke into dance. He used his legs to pull himself into a crab position before jumping his hands back and forth, and then rolling up so he could stop towards Francis with the others as she pretended to drag her fingers along the brim of her hat perfectly.

Charlie could say a lot about his sister. Aside from how she looked nothing like him and how she fell in love way too easily(he was the same way), he could talk for days about how annoying it was that she only ever wanted to do the role of ringmaster and never wanted to be a back-up dancer. He could go on and on about how she was a horrible cook and a horrible seamstress and complain until he was blue about how she was always correcting his dancing and trapeze. But by god, he could never say his little sister didn't have talent. She had the flare and the technique and the confidence to truly shine in Barnum's circus, and this became evident as she sped up on her feet, dancing around the ring on her toes, drawing Barnum's attention from their dancing, to their acts, to Adam and Emma soaring through the sky. It was incredible.

As they neared the third chorus, Charlie had a horrible thought occur to him. It had always been during the third chorus that Barnum had left the stage to flip roles with Phillip, who would rush in to finish the last part of the dance before dropping his mom into a kiss. Charlie watched Francis and realized she was anxiously looking up to the railing, wondering if she should leave or not. Truth be told, they're never actually done this routine without switching ring masters halfway through, but there wasn't a ringmaster in sight.

Fredrick zoomed past him in formation as Francis paused, gave a wild look around to the other kids, and froze. Charlie immediately dropped out of formation and circled around the stage. She watched him with a hard look but ran off to meet him.

Immediately, they knew there was a mistake. Barnum frowned down on them with pinched lips and a couple of the performers broke character to send each other bewildered looks as Francis handed the baton to Charlie and then rushed to take up his role of back-up dancing. As the performers staggered to the outskirts of the circle, Charlie dashed back in, skidding on the ground in a little 360' circle before popping to his feet. It was a trick he'd been able to do since he was six.

Charlie imagined he was PT Barnum, rich enough to buy his wife and daughters whatever they wanted, to bring Jenny Lind to America and to create a business that literally no one got tired of. He imagined he was wealthy and important, and notable, and his chest swelled with his imagined pride. He threw the baton out and put every muscle he had behind his dancing. No matter that he'd finished a show not even an hour ago. No matter that he had literally no idea what was going on or how he got here. He was here to prove himself.

'Look at me,' he demanded an imaginary crowd in his thoughts. 'Watch what I can do. Look at how important I am. I'm going to prove just what I can be, and no one will ever judge me for being Anne and Phillip's son again.'

They struck endpose, with Adam and Emma even tangling themselves up in the ropes to do a complicated in-air pose. Charlie caught Mireille's hand just like Phillip always caught Anne's, and he spun her into his arms. She couldn't stop a smile and leaned up to kiss his cheek before the rest of the performers dropped their pose and stretched their arms out a bit.

"Who!" The tattooed man exhaled. "I don't think we've practiced that hard since we first learned that routine."

"No kidding." The eldest albino twin smiled. "You kids sure have talent." She looked up to Barnum. "What do you think, Barnum?" She called.

Barnum nodded and looked away with a bright smile before he schooled his features. "Not bad!" He called. He hardened his face a little and squinted into the midst. "You, the darker girl who was the ringmaster, what's your name?" He called.

Francis took a few steps forward. Her expression had gone dark again. She glanced at Charlie, who nodded encouragingly. This only seemed to make her madder, though Charlie didn't understand why. It would only be more suspicious if they had different skin tones and the same last names. It was better to not be related, and that way he would be able to make up whatever backstory he wanted. He could be the orphan son of two English merchants who had been taken in by his uncle and raised until his uncle had passed away and he'd been forced to live on the streets. Or he could be from the south, brought north by the factory rush. The possibilities were endless.

"Francis Harper Hall," Francis announced, dejectedly. "You can call me Francis or Fran."

"Francis." Barnum decided. "What were you doing, leaving in the middle of the show?"

Francis seemed stunned by the question. She took a half-step back and glanced nervously over her shoulder. Mireille, Adam, Emma, and Fredrick were all equally stunned by this question. They couldn't remember a single time they hadn't switched ringmasters during chorus three. But something told Charlie they'd misinterpreted something. He looked up to Barnum and tried to adopt a bit of a distinguished accent as he spoke. "I know the last part a tad better than her, so I thought I'd step in and give her time to show her dancing skills." He announced.

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud. "Well, I hope you can dance the dance as well as all of your friends. I don't share the role of ringmaster with anyone."

Anyone? Charlie squinted in confusion. "What about Phillip Carlyle?" Francis blurted out. Charlie forced himself to remain indifferent to the name.

It was suddenly Barnum's turn to look confused. "Who?" He asked.

Francis shrunk back in complete shock. "Phillip Carlyle?" She asked, looking around at all the performers. They all exchanged confused looks. Charlie heard the woman in gold muttering: "You know who they're talking about?"

Phillip Carlyle, apparently, didn't exist.

A surge of relief ran through Charlie. Not only was he free of his last name and his brothers and sisters, but he also didn't even have to worry about anyone recognizing him as Phillip's son. He didn't look anything like his mom anyways, so this meant that he was completely safe. "Never mind." He blurted out. "What did you think? Are we any good?"

Barnum stroked his chin and considered them all. He pointed into the crowd again. "You, white girl with the long dress. Who are you?"

It was Mireille. She stepped forward, shaking a little but holding herself steady. "I'm Mireille Giovanna." She introduced.

Upon hearing her middle name, Barnum let out a little exhale. "That's a mouthful." He decided. "Mireille, can you do trapeze?"

Mireille's lip wobbled a little, but she held firm and locked eyes with Barnum. "No, sir. I wasn't trained like they were." Mostly because Mireille preferred being on the ground where she could act like a demolition team striking through anything. She didn't like being in the air, at the mercy of gravity and momentum. She could only do basic tricks, and never anything like the Carlyle and Wheeler kids could.

"Your dancing is behind everyone else's," Barnum said flatly. "So either you have a lot of catching up to do or I can't take you on as a performer."

"She can catch up!" Charlie interrupted quickly. "And besides, she's got lots of other talents too!"

"Charlie!" Mireille hissed, sending a scathing glare his way. He realized his mistake immediately. Assuming Lettie Lutz was with the circus and wasn't gone like Phillip was, she definitely didn't know she had a daughter. Meaning she definitely wasn't fending Barnum's greedy claws off of Mireille. And if this was before Jenny Lind had ever come over to America, then Barnum was still looking for a way to propel himself to the top dogs. Mireille didn't want to become his next victim.

But it was too late. "Like what?" Barnum demanded. Mireille looked up and squared her shoulders like a queen. She swept her beautiful thick hair over her shoulders and announced: "I write songs, I choreograph dances, and I can apply makeup and fix costumes like a pro."

"Hmm." Barnum huffed aloud again. He considered her words even further. "I still want you to catch up." He told her finally. "But I could use someone like you to teach everyone how to apply things and help with things get broken. Anne and Lettie are fantastic, but we need all the extra hands we can get."

And that settled it. Anne Wheeler and Lettie Lutz were definitely real people, wherever they were. Which was probably a very good thing to have confirmed, considering they'd announced Emma and Adam as WD and Anne substitutes.

"What numbers don't you know?" Barnum asked. He began to descend the stairs as he spoke.

The kids exchanged looks. So many new songs had been written in the past decade, like Sarah Wheeler's songs and then the ones they'd written. How were they supposed to know which ones existed here already or not? "We know all of them," Francis announced.

"So you know Come Alive and Cheer, Boys, Cheer?" Barnum asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered for the group, firmly. Barnum's eyes hovered on his in a somewhat distasteful way.

"What about Finnegan's Wake and Wait for the Wagon?" Barnum asked.

"We know all of them," Charlie repeated, even firmer this time.

"We even know This is Me and From Now On!" Adam piped up from behind Francis. Everyone turned around and cast him a few strange looks.

Barnum crinkled his nose. "I've never heard of those songs." He proclaimed. The blood drained out of Adam's face as Charlie's mind went into overdrive.

"Perchance…" He started slowly. "Have you ever heard of Jenny Lind?"

Barnum furrowed his brow. "I can't say I have." He admitted. "Is she a dancer?"

"Oh, just a singer," Mireille said in a lightheaded tone. "Those songs are related to her. Our bad. But yes, we know all of the circus's songs."

They were way far into the past. This was before Jenny Lind, before the renaming of the circus, before PT Barnum's most favorite songs. This was a world where Phillip Carlyle apparently didn't exist, where no one had any children yet and where some of the songs they knew either hadn't been written or had never been shared with the public.

"Hmm," Barnum said, again. "Well, I think that you're good enough." He turned to the Woman in Gold. "Martha, could you please escort Mireille, Francis and-" He paused to snap his fingers at Emma.

"Oh, I'm Emma Wh-" She cut herself off quickly, glancing around at her friends for help.

"Will Davis." Mireille supplied hastily. "Emma Will Davis. And these two young men are Adam and Fredrick Thompson." She gestured to the last two boys as they shifted their feet in a sloppily-concealed panic.

"No middle names?" Barnum asked with a raised eyebrow. Charlie let out an exhale. Their names were actually Adam Phineas and Fredrick Taylor, but they couldn't exactly use PT Barnum's names right smack in the middle of their own when they looked like younger copies of him, could they?

"No, sir." Adam stuttered. "Just Adam and Fredrick."

"Lovely." Barnum decided. "Martha, please take Mireille, Francis, and Emma to Lettie and ask her to help them settle in on the block. Constantine, could you take these young men to Daniel and have him help them. I'll have O'Malley add them to payroll."

Charlie looked over at Mireille. They were being separated, and far sooner than they would have liked. They had no time to come up with a story, and no way of knowing where they'd end up since the building was already so different from the tents. Charlie swallowed and put his head down as Barnum continued talking.

"And kids, I don't allow trespassers and I don't always treat them so kindly. Remember that next time you want to hang around somewhere hours after showtime." Barnum suddenly seized Charlie's shoulder and turned him around. "Look, boy, you're the oldest, yes?" He asked.

"Yes," Charlie answered, trying his best not to wilt under Barnum's imposing stare. Barnum carefully held a finger up in Charlie's face.

"I'm not sure how you know that song, but I'm mighty interested in hearing whatever story you come up with," Barnum told him in a lowered tone. Charlie swallowed. He was, of course, talking about A Million Dreams. Charlie had no idea what kind of story he could come up with on such short notice.

"Go on then!" Barnum waved. He took his cane back from Charlie and walked to put away the ropes. Francis and Emma followed Martha, the woman in gold, up the stairs as Mireille hovered near the base of the stairs. Charlie walked over, and they shared a quick kiss.

"Meet you here later?" Mireille whispered.

"Probably be best to avoid the ring for a while." Charlie murmured. "I'll try and come find you. Don't hate me if I can't, though."

Mireille nodded. She gathered up her heavy skirts and headed up the stairs. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god, they weren't going on the streets.

#the greatest showman #future #time travel #phillip carlyle #anne wheeler #phineas taylor barnum #barnum #circus #lettie lutz #trapeze #fanfic #racism

[dimpledsarcasm]

Little Text I wrote waaaay back when they released the teaser pics (you know the one of them around the campfire?)

Clarke you didn’t kill him. You didn’t kill him. Is all that was going through my head as my eyes flitted to Bellamy beside me. He was next to me, but so so so far.

Although it happened 125 years ago I still couldn’t get over it. Ha you’re hilarious I snorted to myself.

Apparently Bellamy couldn’t get over it too. Yeah that’s why he held you when Jordan played us Monty’s video.

My eyes flitted to him again, but he wasn’t staring at me, he wasn’t even staring at the fire and was instead looking out at the landscape. What I would give to know what was going on in his head… There was a time when I used to know exactly what he was thinking, but that phase was long past.

My eyes raked over his side profile. The beard he grew in the years we were apart, the fire cast shadows on his face, but his freckles were ever more prominent. God I had forgotten how many freckles he has. His unruly brown hair, that was currently being stroked by Echo. My eyes moved to her, only to realize she was already staring at me. The hatred in her eyes was unmistakable. I couldn’t blame her, I had left the guy she loved for dead.

My eyes moved back to the fire. Never in a million years did I think I would let Bellamy die.  I had let a village be bombed for him, I couldn’t even kill him to save the human race. Damn I’m pathetic… and a horrible person. I added as an afterthought.

I wonder what would’ve happened if he had never opened that door 131 years ago, if I had shot him. The Blakes would both be dead. I’d be a pariah and heartbroken— yeah as though you aren’t that now. But, I wouldn’t have been separated from my mom, “Wonkru” would never have happened, nor the cannabilism… But I wouldn’t have met Madi. I wouldn’t be a mom.

My head had gone through all of those scenarios in the 6 year period where it was just me and Madi on the surface of the earth. What if the shot hadn’t killed him, but just disabled him. He never would have forgiven me for Octavia’s death, but… No Madi, remember Madi Clarke.

I sighed. At least he was alive. That’s all I could tell myself. I looked at him again, Echo be damned, at least he was alive.

I still couldn’t get over the beard. He looked like a man now, no longer the reckless man-child, all heart and no brain, he’d been way back when. No, now he was a mature, self-assured individual and I’m sure the woman holding him is what led to that.  

I closed my eyes and looked at the ground. Damn I miss the days where I could suppress my feelings, where they didn’t affect everything I did. Didn’t they though Clarke?  

For once, I could utterly disagree with my internal voice. No, they didn’t. Even when I was with Lexa, she encouraged me to think with my head. My heart twinged. Her face flashed before my eyes, hair to the side, brown eyes wide filled with happiness and… love, lips parted in lust. How self-assured she’d become in bed. I smirked.

Then her face flashed before my eyes again, but this time dark blood pouring out of her mouth, eyes wide in shock and lungs heaving up in down, taking in her last breaths. I closed my eyes tighter, forcing the image out of my head. It’d taken me a long time for that not to be the thing I saw whenever I closed my eyes— well whenever I closed my eyes other images flashed by; the expanding bloodstain on FInn’s shirt when I stabbed him, Well’s makeshift grave, Anya’s mud-spattered face as she died, Jasper cradling Maya’s radiation-destroyed body, my dad’s face filling up the screens of the Ark knowing he’d be sentenced to death, the—

“Clarke?” I snapped out of my reverie.

“What?” I asked breathless

“We’ve been trying to talk to you for the past couple minutes,” Echo said with an edge to her voice,  “If you’re not alert Clarke you’ll put us all in danger.” I looked at her. There were so many things I wanted to say and even though my eyes flashed in anger, I exercised master restraint.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” I said, trying my best to keep any anger out of my voice. She wasn’t worth it. I would not let her get the best of me. Not to mention, she was also right, we were on a foreign planet with who knows what out there and I couldn’t afford to be off my game… Man, what a familiar feeling, I snorted.

“Clarke?!” Echo said.

“Yes, yes, what were you talking about?” Shaw chuckled and I ignored Bellamy’s concerned eyes, I could feel his stare burning into my skin and I felt a blush rising to my cheeks, thank god I could blame it on the fire.

“Well, we were discussing as to where we should be headed tomorrow, downstream or upstream the river.” Miller said. I glanced at him.

“Wouldn’t upstream be best? There’s an advantage to higher ground.” I replied automatically.

“Yes, but as I was saying, downstream obviously will bring us to a larger body of water and that’ll be important for farming, not to mention that if we need to get away or cover our tracks we can just hope in and float or hike down.” She explained.

“While that might be true, we still don’t know if the water is drinkable, not to mention what’s the weather on this planet? If it’s flashfloods, we’ll be grateful for the higher ground.” I retorted.

“Bellamy already said that.” Echo say flatly.

“Oh. Well, then I agree with him.” I replied feeling my cheeks heat up. My eyes flickered to Bellamy to see him staring at me intensely. There was a flash of a smirk on his face and I looked away, the blush creeping up my neck.

“Figures.” Muttered Echo.

“Okay well let’s put it to a vote. Upstream?” Jackson said looking around. I raised my hand, so did Bellamy, Shaw and Miller. He paused, “I guess it’s decided.”

“Whatever.” Echo huffed and went back to stroking Bellamy’s hair.

~~~~~~~

While being alone with Madi and my radio it had seemed simple.

We woke up in the morning and gather berries from the surrounding area, in later years, we’d make jam and spread it on edible bark. Once we’d had our breakfast, I’d teach Madi some theory, we’d go through English, history, science… all of the things I learnt on the Ark, I tried to teach her. Next, Wwed go swimming then we would dry off and have a quick lunch of smoked meat (whatever we caught the night before would have been stewing till we ate it).

In the afternoon, I’d move on to practical training, fighting skills, weapon making, sewing wounds, hunting and later, driving. Madi’s village was a peaceful refuge for vegetarians, from what I could deduce, so Madi knew a few things— mostly what she had learned on her own before I showed up. She was a star pupil, or maybe I was a good teacher? I think it was a bit of both.

In late afternoon, we’d set up camp, initially Madi would collect wood and eventually we’d start taking turns making food, we’d sharpen and clean our weapons and I would sneak off with my radio to chat with Bellamy. It didn’t take long for Madi to deduce what I was doing so this was unofficially declared the moment in the day for alone time.

For supper we’d eat a mix of the meat or fish we caught and some random vegetables that Madi had dubbed yellow strings. And then we’d get ready for bed. I would draw a bit, Madi would practice her writing as well as drawing the star maps I taught her and we’d end the night with my telling her stories about my friends. It was our quiet peaceful routine.

Quiet. Simple. Easy.

It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. On the ark, although I’d had a pretty sheltered childhood, it was always about rationing, best behaviour at all times and a lot of wondering what earth was like. Not to mention the grief. The grief when my friends’ parents were sentenced to treason and got floated, grief for the nonstop bullying Wells and I got, grief for my dad getting floated, grief because I thought I was going to be floated…

When I finally made it to earth, the grief didn’t change. It became tenfold and next came stress, survival stress. Basically it was do or die. I ended up taking charge. I guess I had been bred for it. But, that’s essentially what happened. Of course Bellamy and I butt heads initially due to it. He was the de facto leader and I, princess (god I hate that nickname), swooped in to challenge his every move. Of course, it wasn’t my fault his every move was the opposite of what I thought needed to be done…

But then people started dropping like flies, we were picked off by the grounders one by one and our morals were questioned to the point that even calling them morals is a hoax you used to sleep at night.  Of course I also fell in love and had sex, etc.

Then our ‘reinforcements’ came and that ended up being a mess as well. I ended up killing the boy I loved and would later murder an entire mountain full of people.

I fell in love again and then watched that person die too. Then I had to worry about a stupid crazy homicidal robot starting a cult ridding people of free will.

And the last couple months before the Earth went to hell was spent on figuring out how to save the human race. Saving the human race was the mantra that had been ingrained in me from the very beginning. On the Ark, I learnt that nothing really mattered a part from saving the human race. Nothing else.

So when primfaya happened and I was the only person left on the surface of the earth (everyone else was either underground or in space)… Well, thank god for Madi because otherwise, I definitely wouldn’t of made it. My mentality of saving the human race transferred onto Madi. I became her default mom, and her, my daughter and she was all that mattered. Still talking to a preteen girl for 6 years wasn’t exactly socializing in my opinion.

Which is why it wasn’t only Madi and I. It was Madi, I and Bellamy, or rather a radio, but I just maintained the idea that he could hear me and couldn’t respond. I knew that was total bullshit, you don’t hang out with Raven Rayes for ages and not realize that the radio waves would not be making it past the radiation clouding the earth, let alone through space to the revived Ark.

Yeah no way he even knew I was alive. But, I pretended anyway, because the alternative— the idea that I truly was alone and couldn’t talk to Bellamy, or worse that Bellamy and the others hadn’t actually made it to safety— well there’s only so much a person can take before going insane. So, I spoke to my radio. I told Bellamy all of my fears, all of the little victories, like when Madi wrote her first English sentence or when I found the edible bark, I told him about the new discoveries and my theories on what to do next. I spoke to him about Lexa, and Finn, and Wells. I told him everything. In one of my loneliest (horniest) moments I told him the fact that I missed having sex, masturbation just wasn’t cutting it anymore (that was never mentioned again)…

So, seeing him again, after speaking to him everyday for 6 years? Well, that was a pretty massive shock to my system, not to mention that he had gotten even hotter during that time.

Those 6 years had given me plenty of time to deal with Lexa’s death and realize I was completely and utterly in love with Bellamy. Of course I also acknowledged that it was the Clarke of 6 years ago that was in love with the Bellamy of 6 years ago… Somehow that didn’t translate into my brain when I first saw him. Instead all I wanted to do was discreetly pinch myself, because there was no way he was here with me. The second was, this must be true because even my imagination wouldn’t have been able to fathom how hot he’d be with a beard. And we fell back into this routine of Clarke and Bellamy.

Quiet. Simple. Easy.

Granted we were also dealing with his sister, Octavia, turned overzealous-dictator, a shitton of ex-felons and a war on the last survivable place on earth… But it didn’t matter because it was Bellamy and I and we could do this.

At least I thought we could. That is until I saw Echo run into his arms for a PG13 make out session, that is until he called ‘spacecru’ his family and didn’t include me, that is until he betrayed me by turning my daughter into a weapon… putting her directly in the bloodthirsty vision of Octavia who’s homicidal tendencies seemed to have gone on steroids since having last encountered her above ground.

So I left him to die.

Alright I know, stupid move, clearly turning Madi into the head of Wonkru was the best, most nondestructive choice at the time, but I didn’t see it that way and I reacted brashly. I still needed to apologize for that I guess. It was interesting that he had forgiven me so quickly though, blaming it on my “mama bear instincts” (he finally recognized what Madi meant to me). The speed in which he had been quick to lose that grudge really proved to me that he definitely was no longer my Bellamy. He seemed to be a mature, level-headed, amazing man that I no longer knew. We are strangers. And that probably broke my heart more than seeing him with Echo did.

I removed my eyes from the fire and looked around me. Actually all of these people were strangers now and for the quadrillionth time since primfaya I felt like bawling my eyes out.

That was something I discovered during those 6 years—how utterly emotive I could be. Jeez the emotion oozing out of me disgusted me. But, because I was able to focus it on Madi all this time it was okay. Except Madi was still in cryosleep and I was here with a guy I might possibly still love, his girlfriend (who hated me), a random-ass stranger that was cool, and just an overall blast from the past couple of friends, not too mention I had just found out that two of my closest friends had lived an entire life together filled with happiness and a peaceful ending so that we could live, so that the human race could survive.

Yeah my poor isolated self could not keep up with the varying situations.

I got up, feeling angsty. I definitely needed to loosen some of the tension I felt building up.

#bellarke #clexa #the100 #clarke griffin #becho #wow this ain't bad

[lothirielswan]

“Garrosh’s Little Shop of Horrors.” [6]

Quest Objective: Babyproof Pandaria (and tattle on a corrupted warchief).

“How did I not see this coming? Toddlers put everything in their mouths!”

“Eona–”

“No, I'm not ignoring this. I should’ve baby proofed the entire continent.”

“Eon.” Andy stared at me sternly from across the table.

“He swallowed the Heart of the Thunder King.” I gagged at the recent memory. My alliance with Wrathion had gone south (big surprise) and ended with him acting his age. I had found nothing to aid my plight against Garrosh, nor to ease Anduin’s painful condition. Simply put, things were not going as well as I’d hoped.

Why does my family always do things like this? Grandma swallowed an entire orc, my mom bit somebody’s face off–what big leap is my diet going to make in the future…? I hate keeping secrets from Anduin, but it might be in his best interest to keep these instances hidden.

“You’re the one that gave it to him! What did you think he would do with it?” Andy asked.

“I don't know...put it on his shelf or something? Anything but devour it like me with a bag of chocolate…” I thought back on what I said. “Which I definitely have not done.”

Andy’s lips spread in a small smile, but it didn't linger long. “Why give it to him? Light, why even join him on his schemes? Family or not, I wouldn't trust him.”

“Neither do I,” I said, scooting my chair closer to his. The Stormwind guards around the stairs tensed and had no clue I’d been even closer than this. “I thought I could find a solution with Garrosh...and something to help you.”

“Me?” Anduin was dumbfounded. His tone was a softer like velvet, “That's sweet, but you shouldn't have to worry. Velen and the mistweavers said I would recover.”

I shot him a doubtful glance, but didn't argue. Andy kept his eagerness to walk around and talk to others, but I still noticed a huge difference. I had known him long enough before to see the changes: the slightly arched brow that hid a vein of pain, the posture more strained. Small changes, but huge in their implication. I couldn't imagine what agony he was really in.

Andy’s fingers slid across the table and entwined with mine. It seemed like a loving, harmless gesture, but inside it had me reeling. Is he insane? The guards just at the foot of the stairs, the innkeeper running to and fro–a simple glance upstairs! Does the Prince of Stormwind really want to hold hands with an immigrant that glows in the dark?

I sat there and gazed at our knot of fingers and hands, set atop the wooden table for everyone to see. I'm not ashamed of him–how could I? He's smart, he's kind, he's charming–he’s perfect. But how is this relationship going to work for us, out of the night and into the light?

“How are you holding up with Garrosh?” Anduin asked, breaking my inquisitive silence.

“Not well.” I admitted. “He hasn't found me yet, but I know plenty of what he's hiding. He's not going to let me get away with that.”

“What did you see?”

I tilted my head to the side, my hair brushing my cheek. “I don't want to drag you deeper into this mess with me.”

“I already met Garrosh and I walked away fine,” Anduin replied, a grin growing on his face as I squinted at him for the comment.

“That's not funny, daredevil. I was worried about you–I still am,” I said as Andy gently squeezed my fingers. “Besides, it's not just what I saw. It's what I do now that I'm stumped on.”

“Depends on what you saw.” Andy replied. He gave me a sincere look, a familiar sign of reassurance that I had witnessed multiple times on our journey. Anduin had a sense of maturity in him that rivaled creatures centuries old–and a seemingly judgeless nature. I didn't want to introduce him to Garrosh’s Phantom lair beneath the stage, but my list of trustworthy allies had grown thin.

I sighed and looked over my shoulder at the near-empty inn. “Fine, I’ll talk. But we’re doing this my way–we can’t risk eavesdroppers on this.”

I retrieved my hand from Anduin’s grasp and dug into the pockets of my green coat. I pulled out a shard of pale pink quartz, dimly glowing in the dark aroma of the inn, and caressed the sides with my fingers.

“What is that?” Andy asked as he peered at the colored stone curiously.

“A crystal,” I explained as the grooves that I traced with my fingers glared a light yellow. “Using them is common on Outland. My father used to have a bunch...I used to record music with them to listen to.”

I set it on the table when I was done and it emitted a low hum.

“What's it doing now?” Anduin asked.

“If anyone hears us talking, I wish them good luck on translating ancient Darnassian.” I replied and looked away from the crystal. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

Andy nodded. I sucked in one last breath, feeling the oxygen fill my lungs. I knew that once it left, one of the most dangerous secrets I ever had to keep would escape with it.

I told him. I told him everything–from the machines designed for death to the peculiar cries in the dark caverns. I recalled the fires licking hot iron rods, eager to consume more. I told him every disgusting detail that haunted my nights until I was finally finished.

“Okay…” The shake of my voice had worn off and returned to its usual scratchiness. “What’s your take on that?”

Andy fingers were steepled together and eyes wide after my tale. I feared I had broken him until he asked, “...Is eavesdropping a habit of yours?”

“That's it? That's the first question that comes to mind?” I said, leaning an arm on the table as I blew my bangs out of my face. I was relieved that he wasn't too alarmed from my recount, but I wasn't expecting this.

“Well, recalling how we met, you were spying on General Nazgrim–”

“I wasn't snooping! I was hiding for my life and falling on my ass–two of my greatest specialties.” I remarked. Many memories of my life included running, hiding, and falling–not necessarily in that order.

“I respectfully disagree–I always considered your talents to be your effortless gracefulness and enthralling humor.” Anduin replied with a heart-stopping smile. It was one of the few times that he had succeeded in flirting with me without it become a quick–or stuttering–mess. Both left me blushing with my insides askew like I had done a row of flips.

I adore him to pieces. Inside I silently reassured myself on masking our conversation. I shook my head, trying to dismiss my crimson cheeks, “My nosy profession aside–what do you think I should do?”

“Hmm,” Anduin’s expression twisted as he contemplated his thoughts, “This is grave news, Eona. I must tell my father about this. Would you join me to speak with him and inform him about Orgrimmar’s state?”

My chest tightened. I actually favored his previous reaction over this one. I wrung my hands as I found the right words, “I...I agree that Varian should know. However, I would probably be killed on the spot, and I think the Horde should be told about this first.”

I sat up straighter in my chair, “If we tell the Alliance, there’s a chance that they’ll blame the entire Horde for this–and not every member is responsible for Garrosh’s...little shop of horrors. I can't do anything to stop Garrosh myself, that would be suicide. I need a loophole…”

We sat together in silence for a minute. Anduin’s hand returned to mine like water to a beach, brushing my knuckles with his thumb in wavelike movements.

“You know of Jaina? Of Theramore–? Well, what was Theramore,” Andy said in an apologetic tone. “I grew up with her, and she was acquainted with High Chieftain Baine. If any of the Horde leaders would listen to you, he would be one of them.”

My eyes narrowed, and my gaze traveled to the balcony. I stood before the railing and peered over the heads of customers, searching for one I knew. A deeper voice and glowing armor plates confirmed my thoughts.

Dezco.

I turned to look back at Andy. “Have you spoken with Sunwalker Dezco recently?”

Anduin shrugged. “A few days ago. He came to speak with me of the light.”

On Baine’s behalf my pink ass. I returned to our table and shut down the crystal. “If you don't mind, I may speak with him.”

“What are you going to say?” Andy asked.

~*~

“Hi.”

Dezco groaned, a loud sound like thunder given his size and his mane shook as he looked over at me. I sat cross legged on a barstool nearby with an innocent look on my face.

“I assume you’ve already spoken with Prince Anduin on Baine’s behalf.” I noted, throwing the lie back at him as the pandaren bartender listened in across the counter.

“What–? Oh, I have,” Sunwalker Dezco confirmed as his gaze returned to his drink. Given the Horde’s high regard of honor, I was shocked he even told the lie. Perhaps it was just a defense mechanism. “And I assume you have done the same.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “He speaks very highly of you. Nice pauldrons.”

The Sunwalker stiffened as I noted his glowing shoulderpads. He recovered quickly, “I’ll admit, I’m surprised that you are wearing the same thing since I saw you last.”

I glanced down at my outfit, a mesh of greens and browns. I had worn it for most of my journey across Pandaria and it had kept me alive–wearing flashy clothing in my profession was suicide. All that mattered was that I was warm (which was almost always) and could move with ease.

“I value my life, not my wardrobe.” I said.

“Not very many share your opinion.” Dezco didn't clarify whom, but I knew what he meant.

Most of my people are haughty jerks–I can't blame him for loathing me on the spot. I like to think that I’m different; maybe not as rude but definitely irritating. I can't judge myself fairly, but neither can he.

The bar was quiet given Wrathion’s constant presence and the watchful gaze of the Stormwind guards. No matter how low I willed my voice to go, I knew Dezco could hear me. I turned my body towards him and leaned on the side of the bar, “Forgive me, but you don't seem like one to judge a book by it's cover–especially when you traveled here to speak with a human priest.”

There was a noticeable change in the tauren’s chestnut eyes. “The forgiveness is mine, it seems.”

The silent aroma of the inn invaded our conversation. I knew where our exchange of words had to end up, but to get there was a mental maze. Dezco certainly did not give me any time to decode it when he spoke again, “You sought out my company, is there something you need?”

The bartender had left his post behind the bar and ventured out to the tables to refill drinks. There was no need for secrecy.

“I would like to seek council with your High Chieftain.” I admitted.

“Last we spoke, you thought I was a spy of Garrosh’s, so I gather that won't be easy.”

“No, afraid not.”

I was starting to hear how naive and hopeful I sounded. My fingers wanted to tapdance across the counter but I kept them still.

If I can't get off this continent, I'm cornered here until Garrosh finds me. I could pass on my message to Anduin and he could inform the Alliance–but what violence would they unleash upon the rest of the Horde?

I was about to cut off our failed chat when a fist slammed the bar space between us. Dezco flinched and I looked up at Wrathion.

Ever since eating the Thunder King’s Heart, he had been receiving visions (and waves of nausea) and had retired to the shadows of the inn. Now he arose from his stealthy slumber and stared down the tauren with deadshot eyes.

As Wrathion withdrew his hand from the counter, I noticed gashes in the wood from his talons. The bartender would be furious, but I doubted he would ask Wrath to pay reparations.

“We have not met,” Dezco replied, baffled at Wrath’s theatrical nature.

“It does not matter,” Wrath’s tone was as elegant and refined as satin, but a subtle ferocity was sewn in. His white turban perched atop his head, slightly bouncing with every slight move like the fabric was nodding along with it's master’s intentions.

“You will fill any request this woman gives you with class and respect.” Wrathion’s last words were more of a hiss. “If she needs to leave this island, you will help her do so in any way necessary. Have I made myself clear?”

I felt sympathy for Dezco after just connecting with him. Even if the tauren’s sitting form still towered high above Wrathion, Dezco stared down at him like the most dangerous snake in the world.

The Sunwalker rose to his hooves and bowed his large head in my direction. “My apologies. I will speak with my escort and see what we may conjure to return to Thunder Bluff.”

Dezco stomped out of the inn like a bull provoked. Wrathion slid onto the barstool next to mine and summoned the barkeep back with a simple gesture. The poor pandaren hurried over and set two full cups on the counter.

“What was that all about?” I said, thanking the frazzled bartender with his fur standing on end as I took my drink. The liquid reeked of lime, and when I finally raised it to my lips I identified it as a mojito. I would’ve told him no alcohol since he was underage, but I held my tongue.

“You were kind enough to help me with my plans, even if that meant sneaking around your royal school boy upstairs.” Wrath remarked, and claimed the other mojito as he took a sip. I couldn't help the glare that formed when he did so, but I knew better than to complain.

“Besides, we did not find what you wanted the first time. Consider this a profitable loss,” Wrath added.

“Thank you.” I truly meant it when I said it. Ever since I had met Wrathion he was sort of...apathetic at times. It was nice to see him care about other living beings–for a short time, anyway.

“Only for my sister,” Wrath knocked his mug against mine as he stood. Before he moved to leave, he bent down close to my ear.

“But I take what I want. And I will steal your delicious blond boyfriend upstairs while you’re gone and...salten him a little.”

I gawked at him as he stood upright and cleared his throat. “Enjoy your trip. I suddenly have the urge to walk the path of enlightenment.”

The bartender gave me a pitiful look and a free refill as I heard Wrathion climb the stairs behind me. “Oh Anduin! I’d like to show you how I put the ‘stud’ in Bible study!”

This family has a sick way of saying ‘I love you.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Continue the journey to the next chapter here!

Not sure where you are? Check the Caverns of Time for more chapters!

#mists of pandaria #world of warcraft #wrathion #anduin wrynn #eona strider

[hiyo-silver]

Chapter 1: Act I Bruised

Summary: Bev goes to play with Greta.

AO3 

Taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @starboystan @rachi0964 @shewasthewind @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose1122 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopreddie @peachywyatt

Beverly runs her fingers through her hair, tattered fingernails from biting them getting caught in the thin strands. She eyes her reflection in the mirror, at age six you'd think that she doesn't have any issues with her appearance. Despite her young age, experiences have aged her at least a few years, leaving her with a mind trained on things that usually only older girls care about.

She steps back, looking down at the bruise on her side, climbing from her hip and up to just below her rib. She pokes it with a morbid curiosity with a flinch that she should have expected in the first place. She stands on her toes and looks in the mirror to see how noticable it must be. She sighs, getting back down onto the flats of her feet.

She dresses herself, a gingham dress and her usual brown buckle Mary Jane's. She pulls her socks up when they slouch, twirling around to watch the fabric ripple beneath her. She smiles to herself, in the midst of a rare innocent moment, her dad out of the house and her mother in the parlor, who'd told her that she is allowed to go out today.

She collects up her dolls in her arms, setting off to the neighbors house to play with their daughter, Greta. She keeps an excited skip in her step, trying to forget about the bruise on her side, not wanting anyone else to notice. Beverly Marsh is just old enough to understand that what her father does is wrong, but also old enough to be scared to tell anyone.

She climbs the steps to the worn front door, rapping her knuckles against the wood confidently to be let in. Greta's mother comes to the door, giggling about who knows what and playing with a ringlet in her hair. "Oh hello, Miss Marsh!" She exclaims, which makes Beverly smile, she feels grown up when people call her by her last name.

"Hello, Mrs. Keene! Is Greta able to play?" She asks, peering behind the woman into the house to see if Greta was present.

"She is! She's up in her room, you can just go join her," the woman says with a sweet smile, knowing that Bev knows where to go as she's been here countless times before, stepping into the house and slipping off her Mary Janes.

She scurries off to the room that she knows as Greta's, opening the door and sliding in, closing it behind her. "Hey!" She grins, Greta turning around from her dollhouse to greet her.

"Hi!" Greta returns, happy with the surprise of her friend. "I love your dress," she compliments as Bev takes a seat next to her.

"Thank you! Yours is nice too," Bev smiles, finding a good spot near the dollhouse. "I got a new doll! She's a good person with lots of problems and she doesn't have parents and when boys come near her she kicks 'em in the nuts," she grins, her own problems obvious in how she characterizes her toy.

Greta's expression goes confused from her original enthusiastic reaction. "But how does she get a boyfriend?" The young girl asks, tucking her curly blonde hair behind her ear.

"She doesn't! She's good all by herself. Boys are yucky and mean, she doesn't need one," Bev says with a shrug.

"What about having babies? A mommy and a daddy have to get married to make a baby," Greta asks, her eyebrows furrowed in her unsureness.

"She doesn't need them! Or she can adopt- lots of little babies don't have homes," Bev shrugs, "And the baby doesn't need a daddy," she adds surely.

Greta just nods, not sure how else to react, Beverly had obviously thought this through and wasn't changing her mind. "Okay!" She responds enthusiastically, grabbing her Barbie and brushing her fingers through the doll's hair, "You already know Lea!" She says, referencing the character her doll often had.

"Yep!" Bev agrees, scooting to the dollhouse to put her doll in it, and the two start playing. It goes well for quite a while, as these two get on well often.

At one point, though, Greta disagrees with how Beverly's doll treats hers, taking it personally and shouting at Bev. "Hey! That was rude!" Greta shouts, shoving Bev's shoulder.

Beverly doesn't take too well to violence, her racing thoughts trying to decide if she wants to retaliate while hot tears bubble up to her tear ducts. "No! She did it in self defense!" Bev disagrees, swiping her palm across her eyes, don't want Greta to see me cry.

She takes a deep breath, waiting for Greta to say anything in response. "But she was mean!" The girl retaliates.

Anger rises in Bev's chest, I know it's irrational, I know it's irrational, she reminds herself, taking in another breath to calm herself. "She was just hurt and scared," she says softly, not wanting the situation to escalate further.

"It's almost time for dinner, Bev, you wanna stay?" Greta asks, keeping her own tone more quiet, recognizing Bev's response.

"Sorry, Greta, I think my mother wants help with supper tonight," Beverly lies, feeling a lot like she had to get out of there for now, and possibly spend time with her mom before her father returned from work, yeah, that would be nice, she affirms herself.

Greta nods, putting her doll down to stand, pulling Bev up by her hand, pulling her into an apologetic hug, "I'm sorry I yelled," she whispers.

Bev is taken aback by the hug, taking a moment to return it, ignoring how Greta was squeezing her bruise uncomfortably, there is no malice meant and it's definitely not Greta's fault.

She heads out, her toy in tow, skipping down the pavement to reach her own home again, sighing in relief when she sees that her father isn't home yet. She lets herself in, locking it behind herself as she's always been taught.

She slips off her shoes in the entryway, going to put her doll away before meeting her mother in the kitchen. "Do ya'need any help?" She asks, hopping up on the counter clumsily.

"I could use a potato peeler?" Her mother suggests with a soft smile, grabbing the peeler to hand to her daughter.

"Okay!" Bev agrees with a grin, grabbing the cutting board, and going about peeling a small potato next to her mother, who was seasoning some chicken. She enjoys these moments the most. The unforced, quiet interactions. The safety.

She hears the door open and a ripple of discomfort goes down her spine- her father is home. She continues peeling the potato she's on, not acknowledging him because she's unsure of how his day went.

He comes into the kitchen, coming up behind his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist lovingly, to which she turns around in response. He caresses the bruise on her cheek, meeting her lips in a kiss. "Call me when supper's up," he tells her.

It might be an okay day, Bev hopes to herself, knowing that it depends, he's always been very on and off like that.

#it stephen king #it stephen king fanfic #it fanfic #it book #it novel #it movie #it movie 2017 #it 2017 #it 2019 #it1990 #my fics #bill denbrough #it bill #it bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #it eddie #it eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it richie #it richie tozier #stan uris #it stan #it stan uris #stanley uris #bev marsh #beverly marsh #it beverly #it beverly marsh #mike hanlon #it mike hanlon

[darling-i-fancy-you]

I Want You To Want Me - Steve Harrington x Reader

[A/N: Okay so I actually dreamt this whole fic last night and just had to write it, if you watch Riverdale then the first scene of this fic might seem familiar because I can’t lie and say I didn’t feel inspired by a specific scene from the show!

I live for angst and pain but then love a happy ending.]

‘Steve.’ Your voice crumbled under the pressure of your words. ‘I’m standing here and I’m asking if you love me. If you’ve ever loved me, in all the years we’ve known each other.’

‘Of course I love you, Y/N!’ He exclaimed raising his arms up into the air. ‘You’re great, you’re a great girl, Y/N.’

Steve sighed.

‘You’re amazing.’ He said softly. ‘You’re my best friend.’

You sucked in a sharp breath, you waited for the inevitable.

Cautiously Steve stepped towards you, his hand reached out for yours and he took it gently. His grip was weak and his skin was cold against the clammy palm of your hand, together your hands swung gently in between the empty space of your bodies.  

‘I don’t want to risk what it is that we have.’ He concluded.

Steve’s eyes avoided yours, careful to avoid being caught in his own bullshit. He looked down at your hands and rubbed softly against the back of your knuckles, as though his touch burnt you pulled your hand from his grip.

‘Just say what you mean, Steve.’ Your voice was quiet, scared that if you spoke any louder the air -like glass- would smash and fall into a million tiny shards around you.

‘Y/N.’ His voice sounded desperate, he didn’t want to say those words.

Silently you puffed out your chest and raised your head, you wouldn’t show him the broken girl inside of you.

‘If you’re going to break my heart Harrington, then at least do it properly.’ Your voice was defiant of your inner turmoil, the gentle sniffle you gave was the only indication of your crumbling facade.

Finally his soft brown eyes found yours, his brow was furrowed and his lips downturned, he didn’t want any of this.

‘I don’t love you, Y/N.’ He whispered, forced to say it by the look in your eyes. ‘Not like that.’

Your bottom lip trembled at his words but you were determined not to fall, harshly you bit down on your lip and slowly nodded. You took in one final deep breath until you were sure you could hold your voice.

‘Goodnight, Steve.’ You muttered before turning on your heel and walking swiftly to your porch.

Steve called out behind you, his voice a mixture of desperation and anguish, you ignored his calls and slammed the door shut behind you.

In the safety of your house you crumbled and slid to the floor. You were thankful it was late and there was no-one around to witness the results of your first heartbreak.

Over the sound of your muffled sobs you listened out for the tell-tale signs of Steve leaving, it took a while but after around ten minutes they came. You listened as his car door slammed shut and shortly after the sound the engine came to life, for a brief moment his Queen cassette tape blared into the empty neighbourhood before quickly being shut off.

You listened on as you heard the soft hum of his engine continue to rattle on patiently outside, what was he waiting for?

A few more minutes had passed before you realised you were now sat in silence, the hum of the car was long gone and your stale tears had left a salty residue along your face. You wondered how pathetic you looked sat crumpled in front of your door, more than likely streams of mascara littered your face and your eyes were most certainly bloodshot.

You resigned yourself to the fact that frankly you didn’t give a shit.

You sat in the basement of the Wheeler’s house, you had your feet kicked up in the coffee table and the menacing sound of the Jaws soundtrack blared from the television in front of you.

From the ages of fourteen to seventeen, you regularly babysat a lot of the neighbourhood kids, and the money you earnt went to your vast collection of records and cassette tapes. You swore for your last year of high school you were going to take a break from the babysitting business and spend more time studying. However, just after Halloween, when the Byers kid had gotten sick again, you had a phone call from his mom Joyce. From now on she always wanted someone to babysit the kids, she knew in retrospect that the kids were old enough and smart enough to care for themselves but the thought of anything happening to Will again had her sat permanently on the edge. The other kids parents didn’t care enough to agree nor disagree with Joyce, so they readily let you into their houses without so much as a glance.

At eighteen years of age you agreed to do it for free, you couldn’t deny that part of you felt sorry Joyce and the pain she had suffered both when Will was briefly missing and now with the sudden death of her boyfriend Bob. You also knew the Byers family wasn’t the most financially stable of families and although Joyce would continuously try to push five dollars into your hand you’d always hand it back with a smile. Even though sometimes the kids were dipshits, they were also sometimes cool to hang out with.

Your foot tapped nervously against the wooden table, it wasn’t that the great white shark scared you, it was that you weren’t babysitting alone. You weren’t the only teen that regularly looked after the band of nerds sat in front of you, often Nancy and Jonathan would watch over them, but more often than not your partner in crime and best friend Steve Harrington would turn up and make the night a little less boring.

You just wish he hadn’t turned up tonight.

As far as you could gather, as the words ‘what is he doing here?’ tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, Dustin had practically begged Steve to come over with his copy of the VHS Jaws.

It was vital, apparently, for the kids to watch this film tonight.

You trained your eyes to focus solely on the television, the water, the shark, the cast, they were all just one blare of motions swimming across your eyes. You couldn’t shake the feeling of Steve’s eyes glancing over at you every minute or so.

You had curled your body as closely as you could into the left corner of the sofa, Maxine and Jane sat cosily in between yourself and Steve, his arm was reached out across the sofa - fingertips almost grazing your right shoulder.

The tension in the room was almost palpable, you were sure the kids could feel the energy radiating from both of your bodies and slowly it was becoming too much. The twitch of your foot slowly moved into your hands and you wrung them together anxiously.

There was a burning in the back of your throat and a bubbling in your stomach and damn it - you couldn’t sit here any longer. Without a word you stood up from the couch, Jane and Max eyed you curiously, the boys attentions never wavered from the television and Steve finally fought against the urge to watch you.

His jaw tensed as he placed all of his focus into watching the bright screen.

With a wavering breath you ran up the basement stairs and into the dim kitchen, your heavy footsteps drew the boys out of their television induced coma, before the door shut behind you you heard Dustin ask:

‘What’s her problem?’

You had made it to your car before you were interrupted.

‘Y/N, wait!’ His voice called out and it stopped you in your tracks.

Your keys hung lamely in your hand, the soft blow of the wind made your keyrings chime.

‘Please don’t go.’ He begged. ‘We can fix this.’

You laughed mirthlessly, emptiness now filled the void that was once subjected to the butterflies and heart palpitations that Steve once upon a time gave you. Cautiously you turned to face him, your face unreadable.

‘I need some time, Steve.’ You explained, hoping he would understand.

‘Y/N.’ He said your name as though it was the most delicate item in his possession.

‘I thought I could do this.’ Your voice wavered. ‘But it’s too much, too soon.’

Steve took a step towards you, you held up your hand.

‘Don’t. Please.’ You begged, tears were beginning to pool at your eyes.

You fumbled blindly behind yourself and secured your grip on the door handle, swiftly you span around and shoved your key into the door unlocking it. You heard hurried steps making their way towards you but before they could you had made it safely into your car.

Steve was stood by your window, his arm rested on top of the roof of your car and his eyes desperately searched yours. It wasn’t fair that you had done this to him, thrusted your unsuspected love onto him and expected him to love you back. You had disrupted the careful balance of his life post-Nancy, wherein he still had a girl to rely on that wouldn’t break his heart, or so he thought.

You had broken his heart in the worst way, by forcing him to break yours.

Weeks seemed to pass slowly without Steve around you, empty lunch hours felt like they never ended, late nights without his phone calls seemed to feel endless, and babysitting the kids was almost torturous.

You still saw him in the hallways or at the supermarket, his tall physique and quiffed hair was hard to miss in and amongst the crowds, but you tried your hardest not to look at him. Each time you did, however, you would feel your heart swell at the sight of him only to deflate like a punctured balloon seconds later.

You missed him, it was hard to deny, but was it more torturous avoiding him than it was to have him back in your life - you couldn’t answer that.

That’s why when you turned up at the Henderson house for one of your routine babysitting gigs you were caught between flight and fight when Harrington opened the door. He let out a nervous breath upon seeing you, as though he had come prepared for this moment and then lost all nerve. You turned your head towards the street, Steve’s car was nowhere in sight, so what the hell was he doing here?

‘I parked a block over.’ He started to explain, his words were rushed as though he was expecting you to turn and run at any moment. ‘I thought if you saw my car outside you’d never come in.’

He was right.

‘Steve.’ His name fell from your mouth as though it was foreign, this was the longest you had avoided using his name since you had both been friends.

‘Please let me just explain, Y/N.’ He interrupted.

‘Where are the kids?’ You asked.

‘With Nancy and Jonathan at the arcade. Y/N, if you’ll just let me-’

‘So you’re just hanging out in the Henderson’s house?’

Steve groaned in frustration at your incessant questioning, he brought his hand up to rub over his features, clearing it of his annoyed expression. He smiled softly and it caught you off guard.

‘Would you believe me if I told you this was all Dustin’s idea?’ He asked quietly, his eyebrow raised.

You let out a breath that you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, with it nerves rolled into your body. You felt the tips of your fingers beginning to tremble and your knees becoming weak underneath your weight.

‘I’d believe that.’ You said shakily. ‘What-’

‘I missed you.’ He confessed. ‘A lot. More than a lot. A shit tonne of a lot.’

You stood motionlessly in front him, your silence implored him to continue.

‘It’s like you’re gone, but also, like you’re also right in front of me and just out of reach. Like a ghost and I can see you but I can’t ever speak to you or touch you again.’ His voice was quiet, as though this was a secret for just the two of you to share. ‘I’ve never missed anyone quite like this, Y/N.’

‘Steve-’ you didn’t trust your own voice to say much more.

‘I never expected this to be so hard, Y/N, I thought this was the- the better solution and it turns out I was wrong.’

Your brows knitted together, better solution to what?

‘I lied.’ He whispered. ‘I lied because I thought it would be better than disappointing you.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You muttered. ‘Lied about what, Steve?’

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed silently and he drew his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘I thought that, that in the long-run things would work out okay but now it’s been nearly two months and we’re both as miserable as ever.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not good enough for you, Y/N, I make a crappy boyfriend and Nancy showed me that.’

You began to feel the long-thought dead butterflies in your stomach rise from their pit at Steve’s words. What exactly was he trying to say, had Steve thought about being your boyfriend before?

‘But Dustin told me I should give this a chance if I was really serious about how I felt for you. And I am serious. And he said that maybe I just wasn’t a good fit for Nance and -goddamn it I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from a fourteen year old.’

You laughed breathlessly at his ramblings and Steve’s eyes zoned in on yours, the faint trace of a smirk graced his lips.

‘You know-’ you sniffled and took in one deep breath to regulate your breathing, ‘Dustin’s pretty wise - for a fourteen year old.’

You smiled at your own joke and was met with one to match, both soft and unsure but with the message that they were sorry and willing to forgive.  

‘I love you.’ He said with sincerity. ‘And I’m not saying that because I think it’s what you want to hear, I’m saying it because it’s true. I love you, Y/N L/N.’

The butterflies in your stomach were elated, they fluttered wildly and knocked the breath from your body.

You stepped towards each other tentatively as though walking on air, but then his warm palms reached out towards the side of your face and cupped either side, grounding you and pulling you towards his gravity. Your own hands curled around his neck and found their way into the mass of hair at the base of it, his soft curls laced your fingers.

Breathlessly you leant in and time seemed to stop, your lips met with a spark and molded together perfectly - as though these were the only lips you were ever supposed to kiss. Your noses brushed together as you sunk towards each other, closer than you’d ever been in your lives and at the same time the furthest away you were ever willing to be again.

‘I love you.’ He whispered once more against your lips.

‘I love you too, you idiot.’ You smiled and kissed him again.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger fics #reader insert #joe keery #stranger things fanfiction #dustin henderson #will byers #jonathon byers #nancy wheeler

[trashpandaorigins]

Heaven Can Wait We’re Only Watching the Sky Ch.7

“Rocket!” Gamora’s voice lifted with surprised glee as the raccoonoid entered the cockpit late the next morning. “You look better,” his eyes were clear for once, tail chipper and his fur glossier then she’d seen it in a while. “Sleep well?” Rocket’s eyes narrowed, he only shrugged, climbing into the vacant co-pilot seat. 

“Where we headed Quill?” He asked gruffly, peering at the codes on the data pad.

“Eight quadrant,” Earth, Gamora realized as soon as he said it. She sucked in her bottom lip, studying her own data pad. He’s going to try and get help. They talked about it last night, after Rocket’s howling had awoken them. Peter’s words still seized on her heart while she recalled the words he’d spoken as they lay in bed together.

“I couldn’t save my mom Gamora,” he’d whispered. “I couldn’t save Yondu,” she remembered the way he’s breath shuddered in the starlight, chest rippling with emotion. “I’m going to save Rocket.” It’s not about saving him, she knew it deep down and thus told him. But as usual, once Peter got an idea in his head, there was no talking him out of it. Not even she could do that. So now they were headed to the eight quadrant anyway, the only thing between Peter and a case of rabies is Rocket not finding out where we’re going. She thought, peering over the co-pilot chair to glance at whatever Rocket was scanning on his controls.

“Looks like she’s actually flyin’ on her own for once,” he smirked.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Peter asked, grinning from ear to ear. “She’s a first-rate ship!”

“Tsch,” Rocket shrugged leaning back in his chair and watching as they coursed through the galaxy, the stars shimmered through the black sky.

“I am Groot!” Gamora turned at the words of the flora colossus,

“Higher!” Kraglin’s enthusiastic shouts rang through the ship. Gamora rolled her eyes, he’s probably swinging them around on his vines again, she mused. At least some things haven’t changed. Rocket grumbled, climbing down from his seat and she reached out an automatic hand as he slipped, falling to the floor.

“Rock?!” Peter turned his eyes from the sky ahead,

“I’m fine,” he swatted Gamora’s hand away. Why don’t you just accept the help. You fool! I’m being a hypocrite. He carefully balanced on one knee, growling with effort as he pushed himself upward and stalked down the hall towards the laughs of Mantis, Kraglin and Groot. She watched him go, wondering if he really was in such pain, or was being dramatic. Either was probable with Rocket.

“See?” Peter switched the gears to auto-pilot. “Told you he’d get better.” She forced herself to smile, despite her better judgement. When did it switch from forcing a drawn face under Thanos to forcing smiles here? Nebula would be laughing at me, at that thought she could not hide her sad smile.

“He does look better,” Gamora agreed, I just hope it lasts. It wasn’t that she was a downer, or a doomsayer, far from it. But Gamora was nothing if not a realist. She was after Groot died, throughout their years together as a family, when Kraglin and Peter were grieving Yondu, and she was now, and she would be when Rocket was getting older.

“Your determined to go through with this then?” She asked skeptically. Peter nodded in earnest, coming up and kissing her cheek.

“It’s gonna be fine, I’m gonna radio Shuri tonight, see what she can do.”

“Rocket doesn’t want to do it,” she reminded him. Peter only shook his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he did when thinking, or nervous, or didn’t know what else to do. Quite cute, Gamora smirked.

“Rocket doesn’t know what he wants!” Peter’s one rose to the point of misdirected anger. Gamora shook her head, as usual she’d have to let him learn the hard way. Peter I know it’s out of love you want to help him…but the best we can do is just help him feel better and get better without putting him through unnecessary discomfort. Unnecessary discomfort like going to Wakanda to be poked and prodded. Gamora shuddered at the memories of Thanos’s own mercenaries, training her, modifying her arms and legs, they called it “enhancing.” Warm arms around her shoulders gently rocked her away from her nightmares as Peter hugged her awkwardly over the chair.

“We all get old Gams, I know that,” he whispered uncommonly softly in her ear. “I’m almost in my 40’s in earth ears. But Rocket…. it’s too fast. Something’s wrong with his cybernetics and if that’s the case the Shuri can help.” She nodded, immediate maintenance required continued to run through her mind. --- Gamora watched Rocket at dinner, his paws trembling whilst his eyes flutered, trying to focus.

“I am Groot?” The flora colossus inquired gently. Rocket starred at the table,

“Huh wha? Oh, m’fine.” She looked at the large humanoid tree who met her gaze, both of them sharing trepidation. Beside her Drax only continued to eat his dinner, laughing at Mantis who had stuffed her face too full of rquat bread.

“This is mighty tasty Kraglin,” Rocket spoke through his clenched teeth. “Your getting’ better.” The ravager beamed, tearing into another piece of the orange spongy bread,

“Drax is teaching me!” Gamora felt her chest lighten at the sound of the raccoonoid’s raspy laughter. Maybe Peter’s right, she allowed herself to think. Maybe everything will be fine.

“We’ll have to refuel tomorrow,” Peter reminded them, taking Gamora’s dish after they’d finished eating. “We’ll stop on Raquet before we make the final jump to the eight quadrant. Rocket, are those thrusters going to be ready?” Rocket cleared his throat, swallowing and pounded a fist to his chest before answering,

“If she keeps flyin’ like this she’ll make it,” he responded nonchalant. “That broken compressor ain’t helpin’ things though,” he emphasized as he moved down from the table and out of the kitchen.

“Rocket,” Gamora called begrudgingly, “you left your dishes!” He only waved it away, disappearing into the long corridors of the ship. “Thank you, Groot,” she acknowledged, watching the flora colossus pick up his friend’s dish.

“I am Groot,” I don’t enjoy cleaning up after him all the time. He said, or at least that was the general sense Gamora could understand, …but we’ve all been cleaning up after him. We always clean up his mess. Over and over....because we love him. Gamora couldn’t disagree with that point but finished helping Groot and Peter clean.

“That’s the last of it,” Gamora congratulated them while Drax placed the last cup on the shelf.

“We’ll I am headed to bed,” Mantis piped, Gamora winced, taking a long breath as the empath gave her a kiss goodnight on the cheek. She danced around to Peter next, who giggled and then Drax who tried to conceal his smile and Groot. Lastly Mantis kissed Kraglin goodnight and Gamora watched him blush a rose red. If Rocket has been trying not to lash out, I should at least try not to snap at her, Gamora told herself in regard to Mantis.

“C’mon,” Peter took her hand and led her from the kitchen.

“Have fun!” Kraglin shouted,

“What? Dude we’re not…”

“I wish you best of luck in your love making,” Drax put in with glee, making Gamora laugh with embaressment.

“How many times do I have to tell you guys, just because Gamroa and I sleep in the same bed doesn’t mean we’re doing it every night.” Peter turned around to face Kraglin and Drax, arm around Gamora’s shoulders.

“Exactly,” she emphasized calmly.

“We’re doing it almost every night.” She rolled her eyes, oh stars, Peter! The echoes of their laughter followed the pair until Peter slid their door shut, striding over to his data pad and plugging in the coordinates they had used to contact Shuri during the Infinity War. Gamora watched the black hologram screen against the wall. Don’t answer, just let it be. Don’t answer. Please, for both Peter and Rocket’s sakes. Don’t….

“Hello?” Shuri’s face filled the screen.

“Shuri! Long time no see! It’s Star-Lord!” Shuri’s brown’s knitted.

“You are not Tony Stark.”

“Yeah I know,” Peter ran a hand through his hair. “I said it’s me, Star Lord!” Shuri only cocked her head,

“Peter Quill,” Gamora put in. Shuri nodded,

“Oh yes! The strange space man with the old music.” Peter bit his lip, restraining whatever he was about to say. “What can I do for you?” Gamora opened her mouth to speak, but Peter beat her to it.

“You remember your other guardian, Rocket?”

“Rocket?” Peter nodded,

“Yeah, the uhh, raccoon looking one?” She nodded, smiling.

“Oh yes! Rocket! What about him?” Peter glanced at Gamora, for permission. For you, she assured herself while she looked at him. Those eyes that laughed so easily though such heart. That heart that refused not to love. Even after everything he’d been through. Peter wanted to help Rocket despite Rocket’s protests for the same reason Groot tried to help Rocket. Love. Hard, calloused ‘whether you like it or not’ love. Love continues to infuriate me. She nodded to Peter to go ahead and he looked once more to Shuri.

“He’s…he’s in a bad way. We think he’s aging…. rapidly. Can’t see well, constantly shaking. Coughing black mucus from his mouth….” Gamora sat herself on their bed and put her head in her hands as she listened to Peter explain Rocket’s rapid deterioration.

“Send me some scans,” Shuri instructed. “I will look into it and see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Gamora spoke, the own wavering of her voice surprising her. Maybe Peter’s right, maybe she really can help and we’ll turn this around. She imagined the thought, if only I could have helped Nebula….the stinging pain in her gut pricked at her. Nebula’s eyes as she ran for the mad titan, full of unbridled rage. Determination. Thanos’s sly grin, so assured. His gauntlet raised, Nebula unable to dodge in time.

“Nebula!!” Gamora herself lying there, useless, unable to move. Trapped, watching as the crazed man slammed her sister down into the ground…No…don’t think about that now. She shoved the image down.

“Thanks so much Shuri, we appreciate it.” Peter nodded to her as he turned off the hologram. He turned to Gamora, kissing her, flashing that smile that made her believe it would be alright.

“I’m gonna hack into Nova records and send her Rocket’s rap-sheet.” Gamora laughed,

“That should be no problem,” he grinned, running his hands over his small data bad.

BANG! “Fuck!” BANG, BANG! “Fuuuck!” What now? Peter turned sharply in the direction of the noise,

“I’ll…”

“No,” Gamora stood, “you send her the files. I’ll go check on him.”

“Let Groot check on him. He knows how to calm Rocket better than any of us.” Not sure that’s true anymore. And even if it’s true, doesn’t mean that should be his burden to bare. Without answering, she stood, exiting the room and bracing herself for whatever mood Rocket was in.

--- “Target practice?!” Gamora shouted, hands over her ears as Rocket blasted off rounds at the hologram targets.

“C’mon!” He shot off five more rounds, she looked at the target, a strange image of an alien she’d never seen before. Bullets bounced off the reinforced wall, the alien taunting Rocket as he misfired over and over. He stopped, cursing and banging his gun,

Click, click, “Flark it! FLARK IT!” He snarled, throwing his gun down, Gamora stepped aside as parts scattered across the floor.

“Target practice?” She repeated, Rocket glanced up, coughing.

“I can’t…..the target…I can’t….” He gestured to the alien hologram, and her throat caught. Not a single bullet made its mark. Her heart caught in her chest and she watched him disheartened, collapsing down next to his gun, reaching out and fiddling with it. She sat down across from him, watching him hover open the weapon.

"You missed again, hahahaah!!”

“Fuck you!” She flinched as Rocket threw a wrench at the hologram and punched it off. His body shook as he stared down at the weapon, palms empty on his knees. He looked at them as though they were foreign to him. I know that feeling, Gamora remembered checking over her latest implants after every procedure Thanos ordered. She watched him finally pick up a tweezer like instrument and lean forward over the cartridge of the gun, squinting.

“Rocket…” she realized, that’s not the trigger that’s the release valve! “Don’t! Rocket that’s not…”

“I know what I’m doing!” BAAAAM! Gamora whirled on instinct as years of training had been ingrained into her, jumping up as hot pain flared across her hands like flames. Smoke billowing up obscuring the two of them. Through the fog, Gamora kicked the gun out through the doorway and thrust herself against the door with her weight, shutting it closed.

“Rocket! Achk, achk, are you alright?”

“Ack, ahck, achk, Gams!” He wheezed, coming into view as the smoke began to dissipate. “I…it wasn’t…I…didn’t mean.”

“It’s alright,” she whispered though he shook his head, picking through his tools.

“I couldn’t see…” he whimpered, refusing to meet her eyes. His shaking hands reached for a small box of mechanical parts and began fiddling with them. “I…..I’m falling apart,” he admitted. Gamora felt her spine seem to melt, where is Groot when I need him? They sat in tense for silence for several minutes, she listened to Rocket’s labored breath as he tinkered away with his tools.

“…When Groot and I escaped Halfworld and destroyed everything, I found the files they kept,” he whispered. Gamora frowned, ringing her hands desperately seeking something else to concentrate them. “They wanted to create sentient creatures,” he smirked, looking at the mallet in his hand as he pounded it rhythmically into the strange metal box Gamora assumed was a bomb in progress. “…I didn’t need the notes to tell me,” he continued. “They figured out sentience had consequences. We became self-aware,” he looked at her then. Those eyes…cataract ridden but…deadly with the grin to match. Gamora moved a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Thanos made the same mistake,” she offered. “He wanted to rid Nebula and I of our own free will.” Rocket nodded,

“He failed,” he smiled.

“That he did.” He turned back to his work,

“….didn’t know it was called life.” Rocket murmured. “Didn’t know what the word meant. Didn’t know what death was either,” he sighed. Gamora could only listen. “ Going away, we called it. Cuz one minute there was someone in the cage next to you, bleeding or pissing or shitting, the next minute there wasn’t. They just went away.” Like Thanos’s camp, my other siblings he called them. They went away. Rocket ceased his hammering, “Life, death…I didn’t want to know about any of it,” his tail thrashed. “I didn’t want to have to know or think about it or fear it. Mortality, morality. What’re those?”

“Something we flirt with every day,” Gamora offered, trying to invoke Peter’s sense of humor as she sat across from him in the dimly lit room. Rocket met her eyes once more,

“Tsch,” he smirked. Good, it worked. He shook his head, looking at the far wall. “Halfworld was so fucked up. Once they realized we were aware of things, of ourselves they…they wanted sentience, but they didn’t want us to have free will. Wires, needles,” Gamora winced at each word, Thano’s himself sticking metal into my arm, trying to destroy my own mind. “They did everything they could to walk that thin fucking line.” He snarled, snatching up his tools once more. “Pretty soon I stopped being a…cough, cough, cough,…afraid I was gonna go away in there,” Stopped being afraid I was going to die in there, Gamora realized. “And started being a..afraid that I…that I wasn’t going to.”

“Rock,” Gamora reached out, touching his shoulder. He shrugged it off, shaking his head as he looked at the small bomb in progress.

“I’m not worried about it Gams. What they did to me on Halfworld, I was so close to dyin’ int there every flarking day.”

“You and me both,” she whispered. He nodded. “I sure am sorry I ain’t done none of it right,” he shook his head. She blinked as he started to laugh, “I sound like Yondu!”

“You do,” Gamora grinned, looking him over with mixed sorrow and joy. “And you are doing it right. Raising Groot, keeping this ship flying, all of it.” Rocket smiled, resuming his tinkering.

“Least I never trafficked kids, like Yondu. Sacrifice yourself everyone’ll forgive all the bad shit you did,” he whispered. “It’s the easy way out.”

“Guess you’re right,” Gamora observed seeing Rocket’s filmy red eyes narrow, trying to fight tears.

“Blue idiot….never really had to face what he did. At least he managed to make shit right with Peter before he kicked the bucket,” Rocket whispered. “He saved Pete, took me awhile to realize he saved me too,” His voice trailed off. “I just hopped I could change before I kicked it so I didn’t end up like that bastard,” he shrugged, eyes rimmed with tears.

“For what it’s worth Rock,” Gamora whispered, touching his shoulder once more. “I think Yondu would be proud of you. I…I’m proud of you,” she added awkwardly. She watched Rocket’s ears perked, looking up at her smiling.

“Thanks Gams.”

“Of course.” She waited a few more minutes, watched as Rocket busied himself. He’s gonna regret saying all of that in the morning. Like a scab you ripped open. Like how I felt opening up to Peter, she recalled the first time she had wept over Nebula.

“Do you want me to get Groot?” She asked, standing.

“Nah, I don’t want to bother him.”

“You’re not bothering him,” she reassured though he didn’t look convinced. She wished him goodnight once more, gently shutting the door per his request. --- “Did you send the scans to Shuri?” Gamora climbed into bed next to Peter, who’s eyes flitted open, cracking a smile as he saw her. She lay on her side next to him laying her head on his chest and allowing herself to relax as his large warm arms enveloped her.

“Yeah, I sent them. She said she received them and she’ll get in touch tomorrow.”

“And what do we do? What should we tell Groot if…” his lips cut her off. “Let’s not talk about Groot,” he kissed her again, “or Rocket, please? Just for one night? They’ll be fine.” He kissed her again on the lips then against her neck, laying his weight on her.

"What should we do then?” She wondered, a sly grin coming to her as she shifted underneath him. He reached over the bed for the remote and pressed play, (one of the many new technologies they’d acquired from their last trip to Terra.) The music churned around them and Gamora let herself be loved. Maybe Rocket isn’t the only one changing for the better. Not the only one learning,  facing the consequences of what they’ve done. Not only only one trying to love and be loved.

#heaven can wait #my writing #rocket raccoon #groot #gamora #some starmora #peter quill #my writi