#no i will not elaborate. this is an insane au i made in *checks notes* 2020. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bakuhoes-dumbass · 3 years

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Aberration - Chapter 1

MHA!Various x Fem!Reader

Thriller/Horror/Drama

Criminal!AU

Words: 2.3k

A/N: Yay, here’s the first chapter of my new AU! It might be a little slower at first but it’ll pick up the further we get into it. So I hope you like this!

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Mentions of murder, blood, felonies, bullying, swearing.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of MHA, just this story. In no way does this reflect the characters, writers or VAs of the show/manga. MINORS DNI.

~~~

Aberration Masterlist/Character profiles

~~~

In this world, mutations, renamed as ‘Quirks’, are abnormal. Only about 5%-8% of the world population are known to have these so called ‘Quirks’. You are a graduate of one of the most prestigious science tech schools in the country. You’ve been selected to work for a secret scientific research facility that houses some of the most notorious criminals in the nation. Besides their crimes, what makes these individuals incredibly dangerous are their mutations. After meeting these individuals, they seem to have taking a liking to you. That should make your research and search for the cure all that much easier…

Right?

~~~

Before you stands one of the largest facilities you have ever seen. You take a deep breath, attempting to calm your rapidly beating heart. Adjusting the strap on your bag, you make your way into the research center.

Upon entering, you gasp in wonder. The inside is huge, tall pure white walls that meet at a double paned glass ceiling. In front of you is a wall of security, stretching to accommodate the vast interior of the lobby. You walk up to the nearest security officer and give them your information. Thankfully, you were on a list and after checking you over, you're granted entrance to the building.

That's where you meet a man and a woman, both dressed in white lab coats and carrying clipboards. You bow your head to the two of them and they return the gesture.

"Ms. Y/N, I presume? My name is Shota Aizawa and this is my assistant, Momo Yaoyorozu." The older of the two speak.

You smile at the two. "Yes, nice to meet you. I'm Y/N, L/N, graduate of UA science tech. I am so happy to be here and look forward to working with the two of you."

The younger girl nods and smiles, gesturing behind the two of them. "If you would kindly follow us, we can get started."

~~~

"Ms. Y/N, here's the list of the inmates you will be working with from this point on."

Momo hands you a clipboard containing pictures and descriptions of each individual. Your eyes scan the information on the page in front of you, your brow raising with each word you read. "There is… quite a bit of information on these individuals."

Aizawa nods. "Considering how dangerous the subjects are, it's best to have every detail we can."

You internally cringed at the term 'subject'. These were criminals, yes, but they were still living breathing people. Noone deserves to be dehumanized, no matter the reason.

Shaking your head of those thoughts, you continue to look over the notes in your hands. One in particular catches your eye. " 'Multiple counts of 3rd degree murder by reason of insanity' and yet he's only deemed as a level 4 danger?"

The doctor looks over your shoulder at the character profile. "Ah, yes. Fumikage Tokoyami. He's an interesting one, to say the least." You wait for him to continue, but seeing as it doesn't seem like he will, you gesture for him to elaborate. "Tokoyami himself is actually fairly harmless and incredibly cooperating, which is why he gets a level 4 only. However…" Aizawa looks down the hall of the facility to a door near the end. "Dark Shadow is deemed a level 9."

Your eyes shoot up in shock. "Dark Shadow? A level 9? Explain."

"Dark Shadow is his mutation. It's a completely sentient being that he harbors inside of him. Highly dangerous, more so if there is darkness." He looks back at you. "I'll let him explain the reason why he was instituted. He always prefers to explain the story himself."

The more Aizawa explains Tokoyami's situation, the more your excitement builds up, wanting desperately to meet this man. This was such an interesting mutation and you couldn't wait to hear everything he had to tell you. You take a breath to calm your childish manner and clear your throat.

"If it's alright with you, sir, I'd like-" You look down at your clipboard once again. "'Inmate 06' to be the first one I meet with."

Aizawa nods and writes something down in his notebook. "Very well. Follow me this way please."

You follow the doctor down the long white hallway, your excitement growing with each step. Along the way, you notice each door on the facility that lines either side of the stretched hall. Each door had a narrow window towards the top and a small number engraved underneath. You don't take too much notice and keep following the doctor to your destination. However, an eerie feeling makes you freeze in your tracks.

You slowly rotate your head and look at the inmate's door you stopped next to. The color drains from your face as you see two ice blue eyes peering right into yours. It felt like your breath was stolen, a hint of fear and anxiety built up within you from this intense gaze. After what felt like hours, you snap your gaze back to Aizawa and Momo, who were standing in front of a door you were also supposed to be at.

"I would highly advise you to keep cautious while you are in this facility. While we keep all inmates in cuffs that neutralize their mutations, the technology has not been 100% perfected yet and parts of their powers may leak out. That is why we have additional precautionary measures in place for each inmate." Aizawa gives you an impartial look as you walk over. "Now. The only special precaution with Inmate 06 is the lights must stay on at all times. There are no light switches in his cell, so nothing should go wrong. But like I said, always stay cautious."

You nod your head at the doctor's words and turn to face the door. Aizawa places a hand onto the keypad next to the door, scanning his prints before buzzing and opening the door. You give the man one last nod before making your way inside the room. The room itself is bare. White floors, white walls and an equally white ceiling. Nothing was in there except a desk with a chair and a bed.

On top of that bed sat a young man with the body of a human and the head of a crow. Your eyes widen in awe at the beautiful being in front of you. Tokoyami tilts his head and gives you a curious look.

"Oh. Hello, there. I've never seen you before."

The deep voice of the man shocks you. You bow your head and give the bird man a smile. "Hello, Tokoyami. My name is Y/N. I'm the new scientist at this facility. I'm here to get to know and observe you all to help further our findings for a cure. I hope we can be friends."

Tokoyami blinks. "You want to be… friends? With us?"

"Yeah, of course. Why not?" Your smile never leaves your face.

"Well, maybe because we're all… felons? The greater majority of us being murderers?"

"I truly believe everyone deserves a second chance." You gesture to the desk chair, silently asking if you could sit. The man nods and you greatly take your seat. "Now, would you ever be so kind as to answer a few questions for me, Tokoyami? I would like to get to know you a little better." You take out your pen and notebook, opening to a fresh page.

Tokoyami nods again and you give him a smile. "Just a few standard questions first. Can you please state your full name, age and date of birth?"

"Fumikage Tokoyami, age 22, October 30th."

"What is the name of your quirk and how does it work?"

Tokoyami fiddles with the quirk-cancelling cuffs around his wrists at the mention of his quirk but answers anyway. "It's called Dark Shadow. It's a fully sentient shadow that resides inside my body. It can come out when I call call it or it can show itself on it's own. But it's always connected to me and cannot be separated. It…" Tokoyami takes a breath. "It gets stronger the darker my surroundings are. So the less light, the less control I have over it. If it gets too dark, it completely takes over me, no longer under my control."

The longer you listen to him, the wider your eyes get and the more they shine in wonder. "That is incredible! To have that kind of quirk is truly fascinating!"

Hearing your words of praise would have made Tokoyami blush, if he could. He clears his throat in embarrassment. "Why, thank you for those kind words. Though, I doubt having this...quirk, as you say, is all to be impressed about."

You shake your head. "You may not think so, but really, I've never seen anything like it." You excitedly write a few things down before making eye contact with him again. "Now onto my final question of the day. Can you please tell me the reason why you are here?"

Tokoyami stays silent for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, residing in his thoughts. You clear your throat and he looks up to you. You give him a small, comforting smile and it causes Tokoyami's heart to beat harder. For some unknown reason, he suddenly feels like he can trust you with anything.

"I've been charged with multiple counts of 3rd degree murder." He sighs, recalling that day. "I was invited to a college party on a date, by someone whom I had grown quite infatuated with. I never really was one to socialize and never really had any friends. But I really liked this person, so I went. At first it was going okay, nothing too out of the ordinary. Then, the host decided that playing truth or dare was the way to go.

So my date dragged me to sit down and join them. Every time I was asked, I always chose truth. And everytime, their questions were about my appearance, my mutation. Laughing at all my answers, mocking my looks, talking about how unnatural I was. The more they asked, the more my anxiety and anger built up. But my stubbornness didn't want to show any weakness, so I stayed.

Finally, I decided to just choose dare instead. At that point, I decided that nothing could be more humiliating than what they've already done." His sharp, red eyes flickered to yours. "Oh, how wrong I was. They dared me to go into the closet with my so-called 'date'. We were shut in and from then, they decided to tell me how this whole thing was a set up, just to humiliate me. That anyone with mutations like myself should just disappear because of how disgusting we are." He spits out that word like it was rotten food. "Remember how I said Dark Shadow gains control in the dark? Well, with my anger rising and the fact that it was almost pitch black in that closet, I lost control of myself and Dark Shadow took control of me. Next thing I remember, I was standing in the middle of the college dorm party, blood painting the floors, the walls, and the entirety of my class slaughtered."

You almost dropped your pen in shock but regained your composure. You give the poor young man a sad smile. He sighs and finishes off his explanation. "I was arrested and charged with multiple counts of 3rd degree murder by reason of insanity, considering I was technically not in my right state of mind at the time."

The two of you sit there in silence, basking in all this new-found information. You close your notebook and set your pen down, facing Tokoyami directly. "Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with the way you look or your quirk. Just because it isn't the societal norm, doesn't mean it's disgusting or wrong. Remember that."

Tokoyami blinks in surprise."Um, thank you." Those were the only words he could say, as how shocked he was at what you said.

You tilt your head and stare at him. "If I may ask, would I be able to feel your head? I'm very curious as to what your feathers feel like. It would greatly help my research as well."

"Oh. U-um, yeah. Sure."

You move to gently sit next to Tokoyami, so as to not startle him too much. You slowly lift your hand and place it on his head, eyes lighting up as you card your fingers through his feathers. "Oh wow, they're so soft!"

Tokoyami's heart speeds up, his feathers ruffling at your touch. He gazes at you with something akin to admiration. No one was ever gentle with him like this before. After another few seconds, you retreat your hand, Tokoyami almost whimpering at the absence.

"Well, I better get going. I have quite a few more things to do today before my shift is over." You gather up your things and bow your head at the half bird boy. "I greatly appreciate your time and look forward to our future sessions. Have a good rest of your day!" You smile at Tokoyami before heading back to the door and signaling Aizawa to open it.

"Goodbye, Ms. Y/N. I look forward to meeting with you again." Tokoyami watches you leave his room. Once you're gone, he runs his hand through his feathers, imagining they were your fingers.

As the door closes, you turn to Aizawa who gives you a disappointed look.

"What?"

"You touched the inmate. Why in the hell would you do that?"

You place your hand on your hip and give the doctor a stern look. "I was curious about his mutation and wanted to see how it felt."

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. "We try to avoid any physical contact with any of the inmates, as it may trigger something deep within them. Remember, Y/N. Every single one of these individuals are dangerous and unstable. Any abnormal behavior could result in catastrophic consequences."

You sigh and shake your head, giving him a chaste nod. "Yes, Sir. You're right. I promise to heed your warning and modify how I work."

The doctor looks satisfied as he turns on his heel and walks further down the long hallway. You quickly follow to keep up. "Now, on to your next subject. Inmate 04, Eijiro Kirishima." You flip the page of your inmate profiles to see a picture of a red-haired man. "He is of a higher danger level, so make sure to keep your guard up. And for the love of God, under any circumstances…

Do not touch him."

~~~

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ghosthunthq · 3 years

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BFU: “The Mysterious Death of Dr. Eugene Davis”

Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime

“The Mysterious Death of Dr. Eugene Davis”

Aeternus.Flamma

000

Prompt: ghost hunt but make it buzzfeed unsolved!AU (it can be with or without Gene being alive) i think that would be entertaining Submitted by Anonymous

000

[Intro music plays]

RYAN: [Narration] Today on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we discuss the mysterious death of Dr. Eugene Davis.

SHANE: Eugene?

RYAN: Yeah, Eugene.

SHANE: I only know, like, one other Eugene. When was this?

RYAN: Like, recent. If you’d let me get through the intro…

SHANE: Fine, fine. Go on.

RYAN: As I was saying, today we discuss the mysterious death of Dr. Eugene Davis, one of the most renowned mediums of our time.

SHANE: Medium. Right.

RYAN: Yes, medium. Dr. Davis, known as Gene to his family, has been called the perfect medium–no other person has thus far been able to so accurately communicate with other spirits. Not only could he channel on near demand, but he also showed, on numerous occasions, speaking fluently in languages he did not know.

SHANE: Oh, sure. Like that can’t be faked. This bullshit has been literally faked for hundreds of years. Picking up a few lines in French isn’t exactly convincing. I’ve said it before. All psychics are bullshit.

RYAN: Yeah, fine, maybe not. But how about entire conversations with loved ones in Russian? Or Arabic? Can–can you do that?

SHANE: Just cause–okay, well, you can learn languages. There are people out there who have learned dozens of languages over their life–

RYAN: Did I mention he was sixteen?

SHANE: …

RYAN: Yeah, think about that a bit more. He’s seventeen and apparently he fluently speaks, uh, Japanese, Mandarin, Korean… English, French, Spanish, Italian, Portugese, Russian, Arabic… Like, people have tried to disprove this kid and–

SHANE: Wait you, said Dr. Eugene Davis.

RYAN: Yeah–

SHANE: Doctor?

RYAN: We’ll get to that.

SHANE: Yeah. Okay. I call bullshit now. This is already ridiculous.

RYAN: It gets weirder.

SHANE: Of course it does.

RYAN: [Narration] Dr. Davis’s sad story starts when he was a child, found in an American orphanage by famous parapsychologists, Martin and Luella Davis. The Davises adopted Gene and his brother, despite them showing know signs of speaking English.

SHANE: Martin and Luella didn’t speak English??

RYAN: No, Gene and his brother. They only spoke Japanese to one another.

SHANE: … They only spoke Japanese?

RYAN: Well, yeah, they’re Japanese, or, their parents were.

SHANE: You–uh–so he’s a psychic, Japanese child found in an American orphanage?

RYAN: Yeah. And he’s adopted by a British couple.

SHANE: Oh, they’re British?

RYAN: Yeah, they’re, like, the British version of the Warren’s–don’t roll your eyes.

SHANE: I thought this wasn’t the ghost season.

RYAN: It’s not–well, yeah, it’s not.

SHANE: There are ghosts involved, aren’t there?

RYAN: …

SHANE: This is great.

RYAN: [Narration] Gene and his brother Oliver, and no, those weren’t their birth names, but I couldn’t find those, were adopted by the parapsychologists and moved to the UK. From a young age, the brothers showed signs of having unique abilities.

SHANE: Both of them? The brother too?

RYAN: Uh, yeah. Oliver Davis, also a doctor by the way, has given demonstrations using psychokinesis, or PK. Telekinesis basically. Move shit with his mind.

SHANE: Interesting… And how old is he?

RYAN: They’re twins.

SHANE: Tw–twins! You’re kidding me!

RYAN: No, no that’s for real.

SHANE: So, you have two creepy children, freaking twins, in an orphanage, and they’re apparently psychic? This isn’t real life. This is a plot to a B movie.

RYAN: I don’t know what to tell you. I can show you the videos.

SHANE: Shopped.

RYAN: There’s–there’s a death certificate–

SHANE: I’m not saying this kid didn’t die, I’m saying that this is a hot, steaming pile of–

RYAN: Alright, alright, I get it. Let me get to his death.

SHANE: Fine.

RYAN: After jointly publishing a dissertation and receiving their honorary doctorates, Gene and his brother were accepted to Cambridge University. Before starting his study, Gene decided to travel to Japan, though accounts as to why he did so vary. What may have been a pilgrimage to visit distant relatives unfortunately turned disastrous as Gene disappeared.

SHANE: Was he traveling alone?

RYAN: Yes.

SHANE: Who lets a sixteen year old travel alone, especially overseas?

RYAN: Okay, well, one, if you’re going to do it, Japan’s the one place to do it, it’s pretty safe. Two, he had contacts he was visiting. It wasn’t like he was just wandering around completely alone, he just didn’t have the same person traveling with him the whole time. They have records of him, you know, like visiting schools, meeting with colleagues and stuff. He was apparently very personable and made friends easily.

SHANE: Yeah, well, that’s how people get killed. And based on how this is going–well there you go.

RYAN: [Narration] Gene Davis was last seen leaving the home of a friend one night. He left on foot, intending to walk back to the ryokan that he was staying at in the area. However, he never made it to his destination. Despite police being called very quickly, it would take months before his body was recovered.

SHANE: Okay, I guess I take it back. He at least had friends who called the cops, when, what, he didn’t text them back?

RYAN: Actually…

SHANE: Oh they didn’t? Okay, nevermind. Suspicious.

RYAN: So, his brother was the one who called the cops.

SHANE: His brother? But he didn’t go to Japan.

RYAN: No, he didn’t.

SHANE: ….

RYAN: [Narration] Though he couldn’t say how he knew to call the cops, Gene’s brother, Oliver, called anyhow and insisted that they do a check on his brother at the ryokan. When they arrived, the proprietors confirmed that they hadn’t seen the teen. It took a few days before Gene’s friends came forward, having no idea he was missing in the first place.

SHANE: More psychic shit?

RYAN: Uh, yeah, psychic… stuff. It was never publicly declared, but like, yeah, apparently Oliver had like, I dunno, psychic visions and knew something happened to his brother.

SHANE: Well–okay.

RYAN: You don’t actually sound that angry at that.

SHANE: No, I guess… Twins right? I mean, I may not believe in the oogie boogie crap, but there has been, you know, weird things between children. Weren’t there, like, those sisters? And they only talked to each other, but then decided one had to die…?

RYAN: Yeah, the Gibbons. The Silent Twins.

SHANE: There you go. Another weird twin story.

RYAN: Actually–okay, well, we’ll get into that. After nearly six months of searching, Oliver Davis ultimately recovered the body of his brother, who was found at the bottom of a lake in the countryside. He traveled to Japan and worked under a pseudonym, using family money to pay divers to search bodies of water.

SHANE: A lake? How did he–why did he–you know what, nevermind. Psychic. Right.

RYAN: Right. He, uh, saw his brother, I guess, drown.

SHANE: But psychic-ly.

RYAN: Yeah.

SHANE: Okay.

RYAN: Autopsy notes say that Gene was likely hit, uh, twice, by a car, and then tossed into the water while he was still alive.

SHANE: Jesus. Twice? What, did someone back up and hit him again?

RYAN: Actually, it seemed like he was hit and then someone reversed and backed over him. Based on breaks or something, I don’t know. I’m not an expert. But yeah, seems like at least the second one was intentional. He still wasn’t dead, though, and maybe could have survived.

SHANE: Until he was thrown into the water? That’s horrible. That seems intentional, or like, the worst person in the world getting into an accident. What kind of person could do that? It’s like stupid teenagers at the start of a horror movie–actually I’m pretty sure that is the start to a horror movie.

RYAN: Yeah, it’s terrible.

SHANE: And sixteen. Awful. Psychic shit or not, awful.

RYAN: It’s time to dive into theories on what happened to the young Dr. Eugene Davis.

RYAN: [Narration] Our first theory, and the most believable, is simply that Gene was hit on a dark road while walking back to his ryokan. The driver, finding themselves in a predicament, either backed up to see what they hit or intentionally did so in a state of panic. Regardless, it’s quite possible they believed that the teen was dead, and instead of calling the police, dumped the body in one of the numerous lakes in the area. The idea that it was simply an accident seems to have gained the most traction as there are no other serious suspects at this time.

SHANE: It’s unfortunate, but I guess I can see how it could have happened. It’s crazy that someone with such an insane background could meet such a munade end. Like, I thought for sure you would say it was ghosts or aliens.

RYAN: We still have two more theories.

SHANE: Of course we do.

RYAN: [Narration] The second theory has started circulating since the recovery of Gene’s body. Many people found the fact that Gene’s brother simply knew about the death to be suspicious. Some speculations, especially from skeptics of the psychics, believe that Oliver orchestrated the death of his brother. Both brothers proved to be highly intelligent, to the point where they’ve been called prodigies, and it wouldn’t be impossible for someone so cunning to plan such an elaborate ruse.

SHANE: Hm… Okay. I guess that’s possible… Do we–do we know anything about this Oliver? Why would he murder his brother? Like, is there any substance to this theory?

RYAN: Yeah, so, first, apparently, despite being twins, their personalities were night and day. Whereas Gene was pretty popular and, like, charismatic, his brother was–is, he’s still alive–not. So, it could have been jealousy. But, also, you’ve also mentioned the Silent Sisters–who agreed that one of them needed to die for the other to live.

SHANE: So, what, they were in on it together? If so, kinda seems like they picked the wrong brother.

RYAN: Yeah, kinda. Another popular theory for the whole, Oliver killed his brother concept, is that, much like the Fox sisters–who, if you don’t know, are some of the most famous ‘spiritualists’ in history–Gene wanted to confess that their psychic powers were fake. When one of the Fox sisters did that in the 1800’s, it ruined them. Maybe Oliver wasn’t willing to give up the clout that they had built off of their supposed abilities.

SHANE: That’s it. That’s the one.

RYAN: You like that one?

SHANE: Yeah. That makes a hell of a lotta sense. Sure, hit and run, maybe. But yeah, this Oliver seems suspicious. I’m on team: their powers were fake, Gene had a conscience, and as he was growing out of his teenage years, he wanted to leave it behind. Seems about right.

RYAN: Yeah–yeah, okay. Seeing the history of other psychic siblings… yeah, I can see how this makes sense.

SHANE: What happened to Oliver?

RYAN: Uh, well he’s still teaching at–

SHANE: He’s teaching?

RYAN: Yeah, like I said, prodigy. He’s been back to Japan a few times–recently he made the paper because he was involved in a fire on the island of Poveglia in Italy.

SHANE: So he’s an arsonist now?

RYAN: No, no, apparently there was a ghost hunt that went wrong and–

SHANE: He’s a ghost hunter?

RYAN: Okay, this is–this is a story for another time–the Ciao Poveglia mystery is–you know what, I’m just going to stop now. It’s a whole thing. Look into it.

SHANE: Okay. Fine. Last theory?

RYAN: [Narration] Our final theory is that Gene’s dealings with the afterlife came back to haunt him. Though no one can be certain exactly what Gene was doing, some true crime enthusiasts have put together a trail of his last known whereabouts in Japan. Supposedly, the trail can be traced back to a well known politician. Some believe that the spirits of individuals wronged by the politician spoke to Gene and he was working on gathering evidence to provide to the authorities.

SHANE: The spirits spoke to him. Right. Of course. Are there any scandals behind this politician?

RYAN: Uh–no. None. Well, there are rumors, but the, like, Redditors can’t even really settle on who the person is. So, it’s probably a bust.

SHANE: Could you imagine if that was true? Or like, you know, he thought it was true? And this kid just walked into the police station and said, I–I know that the, uh, prime minister killed and, uh, ate someone. How do I know? The ghosts told me! Dude would have been locked up so fast…

RYAN: Yeah, probably. It… doesn’t have a lot of credit behind it.

RYAN: [Narration] In the end, what actually happened to Dr. Eugene Davis, one of the most accomplished spiritualists of our time, will remain unsolved.

SHANE: Look, whatever happened, and whatever… skills… he might have had… it’s still unfortunate that someone died so young. It’s a shame.

RYAN: I’m guessing that I could show you all of his public research, and you would still never believe me.

SHANE: Uh… yeah that–that’s probably accurate.

RYAN: Wouldn’t it be pretty cool if we like, ran into Oliver on one of our investigations? Like, we just ended up at the same location?

SHANE: I mean, you did just offer up a theory that he’s a killer and I did agree with you. So. You know, no? Not because of any psychic stuff, but because we just trashed him online on a channel with a few million subscribers.

RYAN: Good point. Well. I’m sure that will never happen. [Outro Music Plays.]

000

Notes: please don’t ask me how far I have driven to see one of the few, live BFU shows. I’m a Watcher patreon and own MOST of their BFU/Watcher merch. It’s like this prompt was made for me. I’m working on a BFU Supernatural/GH fic now. Ciao Poveglia is referenced. Please check out the cleaned up, slightly updated version on AO3.

Ever your servant,

Aeternus.Flamma

#GHW2021 #Ghost Hunt #GHHQ #aeternus0flamma #BFU AU #submission

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binas-idea-vault · 3 years

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Hear Me Out (this one is gonna sound dumb) : Dream SMP Scooby-Doo AU

JUST TRUST ME ON THIS ONE-

picture it with me at least for a second alright because i have many things to say (Scooby-Doo was and still is my favorite show to binge ever because there’s not really a storyline that spans throughout episodes so you can just watch any random episode. therefore tis the best show to turn into an AU that is comprised of oneshots that can be read in any order)

so without further ado let’s get started.

Micheal as Scooby-Doo because yk, Micheal supremacy. i don’t really think much else needs to be said for this.

i think Ranboo would be Shaggy because of obviously Shaggy’s connection to Scooby-Doo, they’re both tall and also because arguably Shaggy has the most protag powers out of everyone else in the cast. most of the places the team go to is because of a contest Shaggy and Scooby won. and out of the characters in the Dream SMP who is the most portrayed by the fandom as the protagonist? Ranboo. a case could be made for Tommy being Shaggy and whilst i do see it, i think that Ranboo is more Shaggy (in this au anyway).

i feel as though the closest fit for Tubbo in this au would be as Daphne, since Tubbo is really intelligent but his intelligence is sometimes downplayed with the way the fandom portrays him and his commentary can be hilarious much like Daphne’s one-liners in the show. also they’re both kinda danger-prone, with Tubbo getting his life constantly threatened by people on the SMP and being put into positions that can endanger him (like when he was appointed president of L’Manburg) and how Daphne is trapped somewhere by the bad guy/fake monster in almost every single episode (and always manages to escape like the absolute queen she is). so whilst both characters have some differences i think overall they’re the best fit.

hear me out on this one, Foolish as Fred. both are categorized as himbos and make things more complicated than they need to be (Fred’s elaborate traps to catch the bad guy/fake monster and Foolish building the mansion as he himself said he made it way bigger than it needed to be, i’m pretty sure it’s like the same size as the prison or taller than the prison i forget which. just, Foolish’s multiple insanity arcs during the mansion building process). also Foolish gets along with Ranboo and Tubbo so them being a group just makes sense.

which leaves Reader as Velma (random side note but i searched up characteristics of Velma to make sure i was getting the description correct and i almost wrote a description for Velma the villager from animal crossing until i double checked and was like “this doesn’t sound like Velma-”) who is the ‘brains’ of the group. really the logical thinker who has an extensive on obscure topics (like Norse writing from that one episode in season 3 i think) and who always has the spiel about the bad guy/fake monster after the group figures out who it is. also some random one-liners and the obligatory person with glasses joke (ignore if unlike me you don’t have terrible eyesight-).

Dream would be a bad guy that keeps showing up again and again in different fake monster costumes who wears a mask under the fake monster mask (like the overdramatic and meta person he is) who originally had help from Sapnap and George until they decided to quit (redemption arc) and help the team catch Dream every once in awhile.

Tommy would be a character that shows up a lot/is referenced a lot but technically isn’t part of the main cast since he is close with Tubbo (and begrudgingly close with Ranboo/getting closer with Ranboo in the canon).

the Eggpire is an organization of people who use fake monsters to try and scare away people from certain areas so businesses go bankrupt and the Eggpire can take over for profit (most of the motives in the episodes are for business reasons and this is the best i could come up with-). also a recurring bad guy that isn’t too central for the plot of any other episode and their past antics are referenced so you don’t have to watch the other episodes they’re in. most of the Pro-Omlette crew are also in those episodes with the main team helping them stop the Eggpire’s most recent scheme (by the Pro-Omlette crew i mean Captain Puffy, Eret, and the Syndicate minus Ranboo since they’ve all expressed a distaste towards the egg) . (this is making me want to make a Carmen Sandiego inspired AU my brain needs to stop-)

the other characters not mentioned are random bad guys/fake monsters or they are the people who notify the main team about a fake monster/are being affected by the presence of the aforementioned fake monster.

uhhh that’s about it, i was at first thinking SBI Scooby-Doo but then i was like “well there’s 4 members of the cast + Scooby-Doo which we could put as Steve so there wouldn’t be room for a Reader character if we’re staying true to the source material” so then i thought of the Syndicate as Scooby-Doo characters but technically speaking there’s 5 members (Niki, Ranboo, Technoblade, Philza and the unknown member with the code name Harpocrates) and also i dont know who i’d put as Scooby-Doo and of course no space for a Reader character.

(i have no idea how to end these things so yeah-)

#dream smp au #dream smp x reader #dream smp scooby-doo au #platonic dream smp x reader

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

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Love you (not) - Chapter 1

I can't believe it's already @marichatmay again... What a year. This time, I won't be jumping in completely blindly into the challenge, I've got it mostly planned out in a single fic, which starts on the same day as Weredad, but embraces the fake-dating shenanigans because yes. This relationship will be mutually unrequited from our beloved characters' point of view, until it's not anymore.

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 | Next

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Chapter 1: In which the author sees the fake dating shenanigans canon provided and deems they weren’t enough

“That’s because I’m… In love with you!”

The words still echoed in Marinette’s head hours after they’d been said, and covering her eyes and ears with her arms as she laid in bed did nothing to make them less loud.

Stupid words coming out of her mouth unbidden. Untrue, too.

She ought to have told Chat Noir that she’d had every right to be standing on her rooftop at night, after an Akuma had destroyed her room. She totally would’ve been allowed to feel slightly claustrophobic and want to take a breath of fresh air; or even to want to check that everything was back to normal.

But noooooo. She’d had to declare her love for him. She grunted at the thought that saying she had a crush on him would have been more than enough. He would’ve gotten the gist, he could’ve turned her down gently, and they could have marched on as if nothing had happened. It wasn’t like they ran into each other that often - like this, anyway.

But now Chat was coming over for lunch with her family, and he’d surely want an explanation. How could she backtrack? How could she explain to him that she’d blurted the first thing that had come to her mind to avoid him discovering that she was his superhero partner, whom he happened to be in love with, without telling him that part? You don’t just accidentally confess your love to someone instead of saying you were just hanging out on your balcony.

She tossed in her bed. She had to solve the situation. She had to come clean to him at lunch, at least to clear her conscience.

Maybe sleep would help organise her thoughts so she wouldn’t say anything stupid.

If she could only get the damn words out of her head.

---

“That’s because I’m… In love with you!”

Saying Marinette’s words had been unexpected was probably the understatement of the year, Adrien thought as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

His first thought after seeing her had been that she must’ve been a fan. Of Ladybug, at least, and maybe of his. Given how close she and Alya were, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been out to catch something to contribute to the Ladyblog. After all, her balcony had been a particularly excellent spot that night to snatch some close-up pictures of the heroes, and maybe even an interview.

Not to mention the other reason that explained her presence, which he’d realised after giving it a little more thought: they’d been fighting quite literally on her doorstep.

But even if he could’ve thought about it for ages, there was no way that he could have even suspected the real reason she’d been waiting on her balcony. That she was in love with him. With Chat Noir.

But then again, he thought as he shifted to his side, maybe it did make sense. It kind of explained why she didn’t have a significant other (not that girls needed a boyfriend or a girlfriend, but couples were pretty common at Françoise Dupont). Given how kind and amazing Marinette was, and how many people had had crushes on her (Nino being a fine exhibit A), Adrien had kind of wondered why she didn’t have people flocking around to ask her out. Her being in love with Chat Noir was new information for him, but maybe it was common knowledge, and he just hadn’t paid enough attention.

It wasn’t like they talked about their feelings much at school, he supposed, wondering if that meant she didn’t trust him enough to confide in him. He shook away the small wave of sadness and... was it yearning? that overcame him at the thought, and recentered the topic.

The point was, he’d been too taken by surprise by Marinette’s confession to process it in time and turn her down in the gentlest way possible. Or even at all.

If anything, he’d dived straight into a potential relationship by accepting lunch at her parents’.

That didn’t send out the right message at all.

He had to fix it. Soon, before it got out of hand, so as not to lead her on. He had to do it the next day.

Sleep would help him make his rebuttal as smooth as possible.

If only he could just get her words out of his head.

---

As she stood guard on her balcony the next morning, threatening grey clouds hanging over the horizon, Marinette entertained the hope that Chat Noir wouldn’t come over at all, which would solve the problem of coming clean to him, and the newly formed outrage that Chat Noir was falling in love way too easily these days. So much for the strength of his love towards Ladybug, really.

It seemed a little cowardly for him not to respect his commitment to lunch, but it had been pretty last minute, and kind of surreal; she would have understood, and she was sure her parents would have as well. It wasn’t like Chat Noir wasn’t one of the superheroes of Paris; she would have been ready to sign him a waver as Ladybug saying he’d been dealing with some Very Important Business on the other side of town if the topic ever came up with her parents.

This is why she was almost surprised to see him vault across the rooftops, clearly making his way towards the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, just as she’d been ready to give up on his presence. She grunted internally as Tikki gloated, and made her way downstairs to greet him.

Tom stood proudly next to the table, which she’d laid out for four people. She hid an embarrassed eye roll. It almost felt like he was the one who was waiting for his date. At least, he seemed a lot more excited about it than she was.

“Come on Marinette, open the door for him!” He all but pushed her towards the entrance.

She did as she was told, and had barely had time to register Chat Noir’s greeting when she was pushed aside, Tom engulfing her guest in a bear hug. She facepalmed. This was not sending the right message at all .

He’s going to think that I stayed up all night gushing about him to my parents, and that I’m convinced that I’m going to marry him even though we’ve only talked like twice before, this is a disaster, he’s going to think I’m insane and -

Her inner freak out was interrupted by her mother reminding her father that Chat Noir did need to breathe, which coincidentally shut down any analysis of why Chat thinking she was insane would be such a terrible thing, when really, sending him running would solve most of her immediate problems.

She was suddenly facing her partner with a mind void of all social etiquette. How did one greet someone one had recently declared their love to? Was shaking hands appropriate? Or was it more of an elaborate fistbump situation? This situation would be a lot less awkward if my parents weren’t staring and- woah, what does he think he’s doing?? She thought as she saw Chat lean forward with his lips puckered up. Surely we’re not there yet?! Even if I told him I loved him?

She froze as his face approached hers, her lips automatically kissing Chat’s cheeks when she realised he was simply going in for the classic, friendly, Parisian bise . Thank goodness , she sighed discreetly as they pulled away.

“Here, I wasn’t sure what to bring,” Chat Noir scratched the back of his head awkwardly as he handed her a rose.

A pale pink rose, she noted as she took it. Symbolising gentleness and gratitude. He wasn’t jumping into this relationship like he did with Ladybug. There was hope yet.

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful of you,” she replied with a smile, interrupting her father before he blurted out whatever well-meaning, but unhelpful and slightly embarrassing speech he had lined up. She turned towards her parents. “Maman, Papa, is lunch ready yet?”

“Not exactly, I’m sorry, Mr. Chat Noir, I wasn’t exactly sure when you were arriving…” Tom replied a little sheepishly.

“That’s perfect! I mean, it’s fine, Papa, don’t worry about it. Can Chat Noir and I go upstairs for a bit?” Marinette laughed awkwardly.

Sabine smiled knowingly, and put a hand on her husband’s arm. “I think that’s a great idea. Tom, why don’t you prepare some vol-au-vents for them to snack on?”

“Of course!” Marinette watched her father rush around the corner and pile the amuse-bouches on a plate. “You’ll have to tell me what you think, I tried a new recipe in honour of young love.” He shoved the plate in Marinette’s hands and all but pushed them up the stairs. “Have fun, you two! And leave the door open!”

Marinette ran up the stairs and put the plate down on her desk before hiding her face in her hands, mortified. “I’m so sorry about my Dad.” She peeked at Chat Noir from behind her fingers. “He’s not usually this intense with people he’s just met.”

“I kind of like it, actually.” Chat smiled. “It’s nice that he cares.” He picked up a vol-au-vent and studied it, before gobbling it down. Marinette could have sworn that his gaze had darkened.

She played with a piece of fabric that poked out from her project hamper, unsure what to say next. Chat ate another pastry. In the silence that surrounded them, the slight pitter-patter of the rain that had finally broken out on her roof was deafening.

“Listen, I need to tell you something-” They both started simultaneously.

“You go,” Marinette gestured towards him.

“No, you,” he gestured back.

“You’re the guest, you should go first,” she encouraged him.

Chat Noir took a deep breath and accepted to bite the bullet. “Listen, Marinette, I really like you. You’re amazing. To be honest, I’d love to know you better…” He scratched the back of his head.

Marinette had bitten the inside of her cheeks as she kept a smiling façade during his praise, but she had to interrupt him. “Chat… I really don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, I put you on the spot last nice and I’d really hate you to think that because I... have feelings for you,” she winced as she spoke, even though she knew deep inside that there was no better way of putting it and that she had to stick with her lie, “you have to go out with me or something, or even stay here.”

“There’s no obligation, I promise, Marinette,” Chat said earnestly as he looked at her put on a brave face. It was just like her to put her feelings aside if it could make him happy, but he couldn’t just leave. He had to make sure she was alright. She deserved that much, if not more. She was such a great friend.

“But really, if you have better things to do, I’d totally understand it…”

In the peculiar light of the spring shower, Marinette looked particularly anxious and tormented, Chat Noir noted. Leaving now, even though it would be best in the long run, was just a recipe for an Akuma. And if she did indeed get akumatised, he would feel like he’d planted a seed, and their environment had quite literally immediately gone to water it.

“If it’s what you want…” He probed.

Marinette realised that Chat looked very dejected at the idea of leaving; the way he gazed longingly at the vol-au-vents made her question if her partner ate enough as a civilian. She sighed as she saw that outside, the rain had intensified. She really couldn’t let him go now. Cats didn't mix well with water.

“ A table! ” Her mother’s voice came exactly at the right moment.

“I’d be very happy if you stayed.” She smiled, extending a hand towards him.

“Really?” His tone was hopeful as he walked towards her and took it.

“Yeah.” She led him downstairs, shaking her head imperceptibly at the thought that she was probably making a big mistake by doing this.

Seeing him laugh out loud at her father’s bad jokes, tears streaming down his face as he held his sides, before proceeding to eat like he hadn’t in a decade, encouraged by her mother, made her change her mind. Maybe she could keep up the charade for a bit, if it meant he could be this happy.

After all, even though she didn’t love Chat Noir that way, she still loved him a little bit. Enough to keep him out of the rain, that was for sure.

#we're back baby #marichat may #marichat may 2021 #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #marichat #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #tom dupain #sabine cheng #weredad #day 1: rain #elle writes #love you (not)

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raccoon-in-a-dumpster · 2 years

Text

Bloodlust DS (a horror related DS au)

huge warnings for blood, body horror, cannibalism, smoking, and other things of that nature

I made this AU around December 2021 and haven't posted anything about it, so here's a bunch of stuff, don't mind the fact i'm using gacha i can't draw well rn

The setting of this AU is basically the whole populous has gone crazy due to a lack of resources, even since dream and nm were small 😔😔😔

so basically they hunt their own food and due to the lack of resources eat whatever they find, even if it ends up being human, yeah, yikes

now onto stuff yeah i've never done this before :,)

Nightmare

In this au, Nightmare has a missing eye and a critically injured arm, as well as a huge chunk of mouth missing, as crudely drawn here:

now you may be wondering: oh who did that, and, it was funky wing man, yeah, i'll elaborate on that sometime later

Cross

okay so same story with he eye, and instead of a knife she has a chainsaw, ikr? spooky. her grey eye basically got ripped out by dream 😔. her arm also got absolutely destroyed by dream, so woo fun it's 12 am i can't type good rn lol

Error

Okay you may be wondering: ok did dream rip her eyes out too? and the answer is no, no he did not. she actually did, the reason? uhh... -checks notes- she kinda got to a point of insanity for a bit and she did that, idk ray never elaborated on that with me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, but she has red strings and a baseball bat with metal and barbed wire n' all

Dream

this is the bitch ass motherfucker you see rummaging through your trash at 3 am, bestie is like a hyena in both the fact that there's a lot of yuck on them teeth, but also cause he eats stuff alive. BITCH DOESN'T EVEN NEED FOOD. also he totally drinks coffee from an actual skull i decided that one day. anyways JR is kinda a hellhole with a bunch of like- blood and body parts everywhere and basically horrible and this bitch has kind of a god complex,

Ink

okay ink is actually rlly aggressive?? kinda?? i mean she's injured a bunch cause JR n' stuff. cause of all the ick her job does she kinda turned to smoking to take the stress off which is not good like, deadass, i'm not even gonna use humor on this cause addiction is p' bad man. I'll elaborate more later shhh

Blue

Okay blue is just that one guy trying to feed himself and his cats in the middle of an apocalypse and is one of the only ones with most of his sanity. he has 2 cats in this au, he is a cat dad. oh also y'know in reg ds blue bothers dream? well it's kinda the other way around here?? idfk man this was never discussed

So anyways wooo i will make something better soon i PROMISE but like, not rn

#raccoon rambles #au shit #horror themed au #blood tw #violence tw #smoking ment #injury tw #ask to tag

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anika-ann · 4 years

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Errare Humanum Est - Pt.12

Alice in Wonderland

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?) Word count: 3500

Summary: The cat’s outta bag and ‘Nat’ really isn’t sure she likes it. Perhaps she prefered it the other way around. There’s a lot more emotions in the air now.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, amnesia, swearing, bit of a metafiction, mentions of tumblr-like sites ;) ...and possibly messed up format

Story masterlist

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Sam and Dean seemed more than a bit dumb-struck when you finally emerged from the bathroom, which had you shift uncomfortably. Now they were looking at you like the rest of the café and wasn’t that just perfect. You were regretting choosing to dress like the Winchesters now; maybe that was why people here kept staring at you. Except it didn’t explain why Dean and Sam were staring too all of sudden.

Despite their expressions, Sam shook his head as if snapping from some kind of daze, his eyes again displaying concern for your well-being, asking about it. To be fair, it was a very valid question.

“Hey. You okay?”

No. “Yeah. Just… dunno. The staring doesn’t make me feel good,” you muttered, taking the seat next to Sam.

It was only partly the truth. While you didn’t have any solid lead on your soulmate, being here, possibly closer to him… it made you as excited as nervous. Restless, definitely.

“Well, it helped a lot,” Sam announced, sounding almost cheery. It got you shift your gaze to stare at him, your expression no doubt as puzzled as you felt at such statement. Huh? Sam smiled softly. ”We might have found your soulmate.”

“Really?!” you yelped, quickly covering your mouth when you realized how loud your voice went. But frankly, you didn’t care much about that. Because… WHAT?! When? How? “How is that possible?”

Sam’s gaze travelled to the counter, where the orange-haired girl who had welcomed your trio was smiling your direction subtly. You lowered your eyes, your mind racing. What did that woman had to do with it? Had you known her? From… before? Did she know your soulmate?

“Yeah. He’s Captain America,” Dean dropped the bombshell bluntly.

You saw clearly that they expected you to have a flash of recognition in your eyes at least, but it wouldn’t come. You had no clue what they were talking about. Was that some kind of a… special army rank? Or… a stage name for an artist or something?

God, you hoped it wasn’t a stripper’s name.

That idea made blood rush into your cheeks, only a dumbfounded noise leaving your mouth.

“Huh?”

“Right,” Sam cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. It took your eyes from slightly disappointed Dean.

“He’s a superhero-“

What.

“-he kinda is around hundred now-“

WHAT. ‘Kinda?’ What did that even mean?

“-so that would explain the… peculiar soulmark you have. But don’t worry, he doesn’t look hundred, he isn’t really, it’s complicated…”

Nope, still not following.

A superhero? your mind echoed again, not even the tiniest bit helpful. Kinda hundred, but not really…?

“Anyway, even the way you were when Cas brought you in? It all checks out with the story. Even the last name you picked. His name is Steve Rogers,” Sam added, his voice dropping in both volume and tempo, seeing your brain momentarily fried.

You stared blankly ahead, trying to process all the new information you were given, letting it merge with what you had already knew – which wasn’t much. Sweet ‘doll’ caressed your ears, Dean’s joke about time-travel and a mafioso kind of soulmate, about Rowena talking the strong bound with the man you had met but hadn’t met.

You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes and how long you had remained quiet until a warm hand landed on your shoulder, Sam’s voice calling out your given name.

That was funny, wasn’t it? You chose Natasha, not knowing why. But you also chose Rogers – because clearly, that was your soulmate’s name. A soulmate who was sort of hundred years old and a superhero.

You blinked your eyes opened, still unable to let the supposed facts sink in.

“Nat? You okay there?” Dean joined his brother in mother-henning you and you couldn’t help but try and charm a slight smile on your lips at their care.

Sam gently squeezed your shoulder to ground you.

“I… I guess. It’s just…I-- … a lot. This is a lot. I’m… I’m not sure I get it,” you stuttered finally. Judging by their expressions, they didn’t trust you that you were okay, but didn’t push you. It was a lot to process. How was such thing even possible? “You really need to explain further. What even made you think I’m some… superhero’s soulmate?”

“We will explain it all,” Sam promised, removing his hand only to motion toward the latté and cake on the table. Why was here a cake? And why only one? Was this about Dean making you eat more again? You didn’t even need an answer. “But first, eat. Then we might have a trip.”

You honest to god would have raised the tea spoon to start eating, but his Sam’s later words had you frozen in mid-motion. A trip?

“To where? To find this… Steve Rogers? You know where he lives?” you blurted out, shocked. The sinking feeling in your stomach, the nerves working, nudged you intently.

“Yeah. Kinda. Though maybe we could stop by in a church first.”

You frowned at Dean, your confusion spiking. Was there anything at all that actually made a freaking sense?!

“A church? Why?”

“To light a candle for you,” Dean hummed, almost indifferent as if he was talking about weather and not about visiting your grave or whatever.

“…what?” you squeaked, earning an eye-roll.

“Just eat, Nat.”

Right. They probably knew your actual name now. That was why Dean made the point of… articulating it so pointedly.

Upon that, you dug into the cake obediently. Something told you that you’d need that sugar rush.

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It was a good thing that Dean had forced you to eat first; if you had been eating when being shown the pictures of Steve Rogers, you would have choke to death and that would be embarrassing. Not to mention ironic.

Sam was introducing the man known as Captain America in a hushed voice, clearly not wanting to attract attention. He explained that the man was the Second World War hero (what?) and how he had become one.

You saw a black-white picture that had been taken around 1942, showing a handsome light-haired man, maybe too skinny and short, but with a determined spark in his eye, lop-sided soft smile gracing his lips. For some reason, a warm feeling pooled around your heart – he looked adorable. A man would probably punch you if you told him he was that, but it was how you felt.

The very same year, only few days later, actually, had been taken another photo. You could tell it was the man still, but he was… bigger. Like… bigger. You weren’t sure you were buying the fact that some sort of a serum had made him like this, but… angels were a thing. So you didn’t voice your disbelief.

You did though when Sam got to the pictures of him in a ridiculous costume – and there it was, Captain America being his stage name. You were quickly explained that his performing to raise money for weapons had been a very short-lived gig. He had soon earned the rank of a Captain for real.

You couldn’t believe your eyes when the current pictured appeared. Steve Rogers, who had apparently been trapped in ice for seventy years, still looked the same and was still saving the world.

It was too much.

It had become too much about half an hour ago.

You stared at the device in your hand, a close-up picture of the man in question on the display, the very same spark you had seen in the old picture of him pre-serum now flashing in beautiful blue eyes.

He was a special breed of a man from what you saw and heard and for some reason, Sam and Dean believed your soulmark led to him.

How?

“That’s… you think… you think that this is my soulmate?” you whispered, voice weak, laced with uncertainty. Hell, doubt even.

How could this be?

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, a playful smirk playing on his face as he lost the let’s-break-it-to-her-slowly attitude. “That’s what we said. What, you’re not into blonds?”

You scoffed, resisting the urge to massage your temples, suddenly bone-tired, a headache starting to build.

“That’s not… are we seeing the same pictures?”

“I sure hope so,” Sam noted, head tilted to side in confusion, begging you to elaborate even without words.

“He’s… just look at him. And he’s some kind of a hero, a superhero? Again or… still? How could a guy like him be paired with someone like me?”

Was this man even real? You weren’t sure about it. If he was, there was no way you were his soulmate. Right? That would be insane.

“I’m not even sure what that means and what to say to that,” Dean replied, his brows knitting together. You were confident he knew exactly what you meant. “Just… look, we have a video evidence-“

“I beg your pardon?!” you squealed, jumping in your seat and tossing the tablet to Sam’s hands.

“Not like that!” the taller man chimed in instantly and you gripped at your chest, your heart beating rapidly under your palm. Christ. You having certain kind of video evidence online was really the last thing you needed – or even wanted to know. “It’s from when you… died, well alright, when you were killed… it was sorta by a supervillain? He broadcasted the whole thing to every channel in US. There’s a footage of you… dying and Captain here running to your rescue. Would you- eh, would you like to see it?”

I bet you would prefer the porn kind of evidence now, a low solemn voice mocked you in your head, while your ears started ringing, your stomach making somersaults, your head pounding.

“I… I don’t know. Definitely not- not here.” And now.

Or, you know, ever.

Sam and Dean nodded in sync, expressions solemn all of sudden. They slowly rose from their seats so you followed their suit. You weren’t you sure wanted to or that your trusted your body to stand upright without passing out; however, you chose to trust the brothers to catch if your brain suddenly decided this was even more than too much and you’re sending your body vessel to the ground.

It didn’t feel like you had a choice anyway.

…

As they gathered their belongings, none of them saw their barista smile for herself and being nudged by her friend. The orange-haired girl smirked, but couldn’t keep her excitement contained. She spilled the beans about the woman; along with the fact that two days ago, she had already seen them all coming here.

That shit happened when one was a psychic after all.

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Sam and Dean decided to take a walk; more precisely, Sam had made the decision and dragged Dean away in a way that was everything but subtle. You didn’t pay any mind to that as they left you in the car with a burner phone (a gift from Dean that earned the man an appreciating look from Sam) and the tablet to go down the rabbit hole – whatever that meant. It kinda felt like it though, surfing through the net again.

First, you learned your actual name. It felt almost foreign, you had got used to Nat now, but it still had an air of it being right and you knew it was the truth.

Only then, you watched what Sam prepared for you.

The so-called video evidence caused tears to fill your eyes, soon flooding down your cheeks.

There was no faking it. There was no doubt it was you strapped to the chair. There was no doubt it was your soulmate’s voice, even when modified by the unclear record – you had heard this voice in your dreams. There was no doubt that what you heard in his words was a desperation worth losing a person he loved.

Seeing your fear and resignation-filled expression had you known that once you had felt the same about him. There was no mistaking that at least part of the fear was for him as he rushed towards the bomb instead of sprinting away to save his own skin.

A pain so sharp it made you gasp expanded in your chest, burning sensation on your skin for a fraction of second and you had to wonder if it was the last memory of your past life. Being blown up.

You had been blown up. And your soulmate witnessed it. What a twisted way to go.

What a twisted way to return, echoed in your skull and if you hadn’t been already pre-occupied with the record, you might ask heavens why you were brought back from death.

But you weren’t sure you wanted to know anyway.

To take your mind off the horrifying pictures flashing behind your eyelids, you searched the web again in attempt to find anything else.

And there was a whole new rabbit hole to find.

People indeed lighted candles for you, built altars with what you assumed was a picture of you; there were all around the United States, but mostly in New York City, near places where the explosives had been planted, where many people would have died if Captain America ran for your rescue first.

It only brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Fanfiction was a new concept to you – but what wasn’t these days. You read a few summaries, very few stories which focused on Steve after your death. It was so surreal.

Some plotlines had Steve Rogers die in the battlefield soon after losing you, often including your souls reuniting in Heaven. Those were beautiful, but also incredibly sad. Others had you resurrected somehow – which… good guess, whoever wrote that. You weren’t confident the reunion would go that smoothly though. Or, well, that passionately, as in jumping-to-bed-with-him good. All of those had a ‘fix-it’ tag. The amount of hits with those was dizzying.

Another tag that caught your eye was ‘dark!CaptainAmerica’ and dark!SteveRogers’ ; naïve, not knowing what it meant, you read summaries at least. It had your insides clench in the worst possible way, reading about the clearly good-natured man turning into a twisted stalker, sometimes even a rapist, in better cases a guy looking for a mindless fuck each night. When the element of the stalked girls looking like you joined in, you had to leave the site.

It was simply too much.

Hoping to move on, you went to click on something else entirely.

There was a website dedicated to… peculiar offers, suggestion to the hero. Basically, many people were offering to suck captain’s sorrows through his-- yeah. Sometimes, the posts were accompanied by naughty pictures and it made you ridiculously angry on both captain’s behalf and yours (not that you would ever admit it, because there was no way you were jealous, right?).

It was almost a relief to read some posts from people who had lost their soulmates too and simply were looking for a new connection. Was that how it worked? Was this what people did, drowning their sorrows together? Did it work? Was there someone who caught the captain’s eye? Or was he hoping to meet his soulmate, having a new set of marks like she – possibly you – did? He must have, right?

You shook your head and sighed, absentmindedly going through some comments on what was called Tumblr. A long post with many reactions caught your attention and you had decided to read it, rather not trying to figure out what exactly possessed you to do so when many things seen today had already made you sick from your stomach.

He used to come to our coffee shop sometimes. I was trying to woman up and flirt with him for weeks. Never got to it and now I’m kinda glad. One day, he didn’t order and just sat there, clearly waiting for someone – and looked super-impatient, I swear he was tapping his foot. I didn’t call him out on it despite how annoying it was. I couldn’t even tell him to order or get out – try to say that to a national icon! And then… then she came in. You know, I read a lot of chickflics, not gonna lie. But for the first time, I actually saw someone looking at another person as if ‘they hung the moon’. Seriously. He had hearts in his eyes. I would wish everyone to find themself a better half that looks at them like that. She wasn’t any different, but that’s implied – she was dating a gorgeous man and a hero on top of that. They were so obviously in love and while they were polite all the way – that woman was super-nice, alright, – it was clear the rest of the world disappeared when they were together. Just wanna say: stick your disgusting offers to cure his heart by sucking his D to your arse. That man is mourning the woman he clearly loved with his whole heart and he has every right. I want to thank him for the lives he saved. I want to thank her for not spending their last moments yelling accusation to his face to make him feel guiltier than he already had, no doubt. I hope her soul is in a good place and one day, they will reunite. Rest in peace, sweetie. I hope you get see the way he was looking at you every day.

→ Amen, sister.

→ That’s equally heart-warming and heart-breaking. Poor girl. Poor guy.

→ Has anyone actually seen him outside since it happened? I hope he’s handling it. As much as a person can.

→ So what? You think he should just be alone for the rest of his live? Grow up, girl. Guy needs to get laid on regular basis. And yes, I’d gladly offer when given the opportunity. → Jeez. She didn’t say anything like that. But it’s kinda soon to get laid, don’t you think? This is clearly a note exactly for people like you. Let the poor guy have his peace. Let him mourn and come to terms with what happened before offering him a BJ. Excuse me while I go throw up…

→ God let her rest in peace indeed. My daughter was at school at the time, few feet from one of the bombs. She’s alive and well. I won’t forget this woman, ever.

→ Can we talk about how a person can date Captain America and be actually a nice person, not bragging all the freaking time? Like, even I might gain a superiority complex or something tbh. → I hear you. Same.

→ She sounds cool. Seems like they were amazing together. Life can suck. RIP.

→ This is so sweet and heart-breaking I’m crying.

The person writing the last comment wasn’t alone in their misery, having their heart breaking and warmed up at the very same time. Fresh tears welled up in your eyes and you vainly tried to blink them away as you sniffled and covered your mouth with your palm to muffle your sob.

You gave up then. You tossed the tablet on the driver’s seat and hid your face in your palms, letting the tears stroll down your cheeks as your loud sobs filled the car.

You had no actual reason to cry, you reasoned with yourself, but it was all in vain. The many confusing and overwhelming emotions swirling in you finally found a proper out – and it was in the form of salty waterfalls on your face.

So be it. God knew that good cry might be exactly what you needed. Better now than in front of your soulmate.

Something told you it wouldn’t be too hard to find him.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

“Well. You look like shit,” Dean exclaimed when he opened the door, effectively causing you a heart-attack. Your tense shoulders slumped and you melted into the seat, looking up at him with your no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

Still, his compassionate eyes somehow smiled at you, warm and open and you couldn’t help attempting a smile in return. You were the luckiest girl on Earth to be taken care of by them.

Thank God for Sam and Dean.

Or thank angels? One in particular? You didn’t know and perhaps you never would.

“Thanks, Dean. You know how to sweet-talk a girl,” you rasped, blowing your nose in an unladylike manner (not caring).

“Ha! Sassy mouth is back. Sam, she’s good!”

Sam peeked to the car, his tall form nearly bending in half to do so. He offered you an apologetic expression along with a ‘hi’ and a pointed look at his brother, but you mouthed it was alright. Dean actually lifted your spirit.

“So… what now?” you asked in a small voice, which caused the brothers to exchange a look.

“Well. Two things. First, we have lunch-“

“Not really hungry, honestly-“ you interrupted Dean, only for the younger brother to interject.

“A small lunch then, even if it’s only the cake you had earlier,” Sam offered with a wink which would have made you laugh, because health-freak Sam suggested a cake for lunch, but you were dreading the second step in their plan.

“And then?”

Instinctively, you knew the answer. It was the writing on the wall, really, the only logical step. The cause of the knot in your stomach of which you weren’t sure was nerves, nausea or excitement.

Dean confirmed your suspicion of course.

“Then we go to the Avengers Tower to find America’s sweetheart.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 13

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

We really are getting close now, aren’t we? :)) Yay?

P.S. - if anyone wants on the taglist - or out - shoot me a dm or an ask, it’s (usually) no problem :))

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gothic-safari-clown · 3 years

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

PART FOUR: THE ZOMBIES

Story Summary: Summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they’re reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they’ve both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan’s side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Word count: 1555

Elianna spent all of her free time between other patients that week studying the file on Victor Zsasz. The day of found her doing the same before the afternoon, she was scheduled to one of the secure rooms on the third floor.

It was…disturbing, to say the least.

Apparently, this wasn’t the first time that he had been incarcerated at Arkham. According to the file, he had escaped at least three times, and each time had managed to kill at least two women before they even realized that he was gone, and four by the time that he had been brought into custody, which Elianna found profoundly unsettling. There were pictures of the murdered women, which were positively gruesome. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to being locked in a room with the man, guards or not. The way each of the victims was posed at the scene gave her chills.

On the other hand, she found herself anticipating the session, in a perverse sort of way that even she didn’t quite understand. This would be her first appointment with someone criminally insane, the draw of which had had a hand in pulling her to Arkham in the first place. However, her fear helped to remind her where the edge of her professional fascination should be. She resolved to be smart in approaching the issue; she would ask for the two guards assigned to her to be in the room with her and request a third to be watching on the other side of the glass. This would give her ample opportunity to flee the room if need be.

A glance at the time and Elianna realized that it was time to make her way to the third floor and meet her guards before the session. She gathered everything she would need—the file, her preliminary notes, a legal pad, a voice recorder, and her favorite pen—and left her office, going up a flight of stairs and down a clinical looking hallway to where she needed to be. The two guards she had been assigned were already there waiting.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Montgomery,” She introduced herself and shook each of their hands. “Is there a way we can get one more of you? I would like the two of you with me and someone else waiting here if that’s possible, as well as for all future sessions with him.” She looked through the one-way glass and caught her first in-person glimpse of Mr. Zsasz. He was bald, and she could see the scars on his neck above the collar of his uniform. His hands were cuffed to his chair behind his back.

The taller of the two guards nodded at her request and instructed them to wait while he went to retrieve someone else, and was back with a third man in a few short minutes.

The original two entered the room with El, and the heavy door automatically locked when it shut. Bracing herself mentally, she sat at the chair opposite the table from Zsasz at the center of the room.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Zsasz,” She began in a professional voice as she recovered her notepad, recording device, and pen from her case. “My name is Doctor Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you.” Zsasz lifted his gaze from the table to her face and smiled at her as they made eye contact. It wasn’t a threatening or malicious smile, but she fought away the chill in her spine nonetheless.

“So formal, doctor,” his voice was higher than she expected and almost had a softness to it. The sound of it gave El a feeling akin to something slimy being dropped down the back of her shirt. “Call me Victor.”

“If that’s what you want,” El nodded, doing a bang-up job of keeping her discomfort and morbid curiosity hidden and making a quick note. “I understand that this isn’t your first time in Arkham, Victor.”

“Oh, no. I suppose you could say that this is my home away from home.” His cadence as he spoke made it sound as though he had rehearsed this interaction.

“I see. If that’s the case, may I ask why you bother to escape so often?” Only then did the smile that he had maintained thus far become sinister.

“Sometimes…I just need the mark.” El could tell by the reverence in his voice that The Mark was something very sacred to him.

“I see,” she scribbled another note. “I assume that you’re referring to your tally marks.” She gestured with the end of her pen toward the stretch of scarred skin that she could see. Zsasz nodded slowly, deliberately, and leaned forward across the table, supported by his cuffed wrists.

“Exactly right, Doctor. One for every zombie gone.” He explained slowly, unblinking. El got the feeling that he was profiling her just as much as she was him. Out of her periphery, she noticed her escorts shuffle closer, and she reminded herself that she was relatively safe.

“Zombies?” She inquired, making a note before returning eye contact. She couldn’t show him fear. “Would you mind elaborating on that for me?”

“Yes, of course.” He chuckled, seeming to stare into her soul. Had he blinked since they had begun talking? She couldn’t remember. “Yes, yes, the zombies. All you people on the outside that shuffle through life—like zombies—, still believing that any of us matter in the grand scheme of life.” The scarred man sighed and leaned back against his chair, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably, and his cuffs clinked against the metal chair. Good. “I pity you people. So, I liberate you.” The joy in his voice as he imagines the “liberation” process is chilling.

“I see,” Elianna managed after a beat and quickly scribbled one last note on her pad. She could sense that she made a mistake by asking about liberation; it was unlikely that they could make any progress today, and begrudgingly decided to cut their session very short. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to stop here for the day, Victor.” She wrote down the time as she spoke.

“Aw, so soon, doctor?” He asked in a facsimile of disappointment with his head tipped to one side as El secured her notes and pen back in her briefcase.

“Unfortunately, so, yes,” she returned her attention to him as she stood. “But thank you very much for speaking with me today, Victor. I look forward to our next meeting.” El nodded to him and made for the door, turning her back on Zsasz.

“As do I, Doctor Montgomery,” the scarred man called after her, and she safely made a face as her back was turned. Once the door was safely closed behind her, she straightened her blouse as though his demeanor had wrinkled it.

“Not bad for your first session with that one,” the tallest of the guards reassured her. “That’s about as long as most people can take of that creep usually, but never on their first assignment with him.” That knowledge made Elianna relax a bit, regaining confidence in her ability to do her job.

“Good,” she sighed, looking up at him. “Maybe I can start to make some progress then.” El allowed herself a little sigh of relief. “Well, thank you two very much for coming in with me, and you for overseeing,” she nodded to each of the guards, respectively. “Enjoy the rest of your day, gentlemen, thank you,” she finished and headed back to her office, her mind swirling with various emotions and thoughts.

Once there, she plugged all of her notes into the computer for backup records and wrote a blurb of her thoughts on her note page before adding it to Zsasz’s file and slipping it safely into her file cabinet.

Her main source of concern was his seemingly efficient means of escape that the asylum hadn’t managed to figure out somehow. In all honestly, there was essentially nothing to stand between them if he decided that she needed to be “liberated.” That was a troubling thought.

Shaking her head, Elianna forced these thoughts out of her head. There was nothing during her interaction to give her reason to believe that she was in any danger, for that night at least. All she needed to distance herself from the current problem was to go home, and having filled out her paperwork as she went, she was free to do so.

She gathered everything she needed into her purse, taking an extra moment to double-check that everything in her office was in its place before leaving for the day. She punched out on the machine outside her door and sent Jonathan a goodbye text as she made her way downstairs and to her car.

By the time she made it home, she was so exhausted from her session with Zsasz, regardless of how short, that it was all she could do to make it into a quick shower before collapsing on her bed. Mental fortitude took a great deal of strength, and she couldn’t quite shake the fear of Zsasz suddenly appearing behind her.

The only good thing about the draining capabilities of fear was that she would sleep soundly that night, and sleep soundly she did with hardly a second thought to the day’s events, save for a few strange dreams.

#the mind's power over the body #jonathan crane #scarecrow #batman begins #nolanverse #elianna montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #slight au #fanfiction #multi chapter fic #attraction to the insane #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 4

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totallyrhettro · 5 years

Text

Ravenvale, Chapter 14

Word Count: 3100 Rating: This chapter: PG; overall story: explicit Warnings: None Summary: On their way home from another case, Agent Seaborne and Agent Roach find themselves in the strange, fog-covered town of Ravenvale. Notes: Seaborne and Roach AU where, years after the events seen in the YouTube series, they manage to become FBI agents.

Also available on ao3

First Chapter Previous Chapter

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Seaborne shielded his eyes from the blinding light as they emerged from the darkness of the library. In the light of day the nightmares didn’t seem so bad, the illusions didn’t seem so real. It had been nothing more than a trick of them mind played on them by someone as of yet unknown. The fear that had burrowed deep inside faded away as he took a deep, (albeit moist) breath. He felt as if he had just woken up from a bad dream, though this whole town felt like a dream he couldn’t wake up from. A dream that started yesterday when they walked into this odd place.

Seaborne shook his head. Yesterday. It seemed like years since he and Roach had to abandon their car and walk to this insane town. How could it have been only yesterday? He looked up at the sky, at the fog that lay, unmoved, like a thick blanket over everything. Even with the sun at high noon, the two of them could barely see farther than twenty feet in front of them. Pulling on Seaborne’s hand, Roach began walking very quickly back towards the gas station.

“Hey!” Seaborne exclaimed as he felt himself being dragged along. “Where are we going?” Not that he wanted to wait anywhere near the library, in case any of the horrors contained within came out to get them, but his mind was still reeling from what he had seen inside. He was also a bit taken aback at how his crush was still holding his hand; Roach never held his hand. Ever.

“To get our car,” Roach explained, not slowing down. He was determined to escape Ravenvale no matter what. He had seen things that he never wanted to see again, things that could only be explained as the crazed delusions of one drugged or insane. It could have been in the food that he’d eaten with glee. It could have been in the coffee that kept him going in the morning. No, Roach didn’t think it was either of those, but something more obvious: the fog itself. This fog wasn’t natural, it couldn’t be. Therefore there was something in the fog making them see things, hear things, a drug or toxin that could cause such realistic hallucinations. Obviously they couldn’t hide in the buildings; they had to get out of town. It was the only way.

“And if our car is still broken?” Seaborne posed the obvious question but Roach was unhindered, possibly unhinged after what he’d seen in the library. What the aliens truly wanted he had no idea, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know anymore. His need to keep Seaborne safe was overriding his need for the truth.

“Then we’ll take the mechanic’s truck; we’re leaving this damned town.” Seaborne couldn’t agree more, but he was still surprised by Roach’s actions. No matter what they investigated, no matter how swept up in the mysteries he got, or how scared, Roach had never broken the law before. Not like this. Grand theft auto? That would definitely be a new one for the North Carolinian duo. Their footfalls were dampened by the fog, ever-present, almost choking them as they ran. Water condensed on their skin as they made their way; dew formed on Roach’s glasses but he ignored it. The lights on the Texaco station were out, and nothing seemed lit inside. Roach finally let go of Seaborne’s hand to get a better look through the store’s window. No sign of anyone in there.

“They’re closed,” Roach concluded, wiping some dirt from the window and looking again. Seaborne was looking somewhere else, his palm resting on the front of his jacket, just above his breast pocket. The photograph. He’d almost forgotten in the chaos of the library.

“I have to show you something,” he whispered, thinking back to what he had seen on that small piece of paper. After all that he’d seen, maybe the photo wasn’t a fake. Maybe Roach had seen it too. Seaborne had to know.

“It’s too early to be closed,” Roach was muttering, trying the door. Locked. “Maybe we can get in through the garage. Come on.” With that, he grabbed Seaborne’s hand once again and together they headed around the corner to the garage entrance. Luck was finally with them for the large rolling door was indeed open. Roach let out a soft ‘yes’ as he dashed inside.

“Roach...” But Roach wasn’t listening. He came to an abrupt stop in front of the mechanic’s bay. There, in the center of the room, where their tan, rental car should be, was nothing. The car was gone.

“What the hell?” Roach demanded, rubbing the back of his head in frustration. Were the people in charge of this conspiracy so eager to torment them that they’d trap them in this town? Glancing around, Roach didn’t see the mechanic’s truck parked anywhere either. Wherever Doug and Darrel were now, they must have taken the cars with them.

“Where’s the car?” Seaborne wondered, his wish to share the photograph to Roach momentarily replaced by a fear that they may never leave this awful place.

“It’s not real.” An assertion said to himself as much as for his partner. After what he’d seen, how could be sure what was real? “It’s gotta be here somewhere.”

“They must have moved it.” Trying to settle back into the voice of reason, Seaborne spoke softly to calm his friend, if not reassure him that they had escaped the world of nightmares and were back in reality. He had to believe it, if only for his own sanity. “It didn’t just up and disappear.”

“To where, though?” That was the question. It could be anywhere in this town and they had no idea how big Ravenvale even was, having only seen a small part of it thanks to the fog. It wouldn’t be that hard to hide one or two cars. “Okay,” he mused, walking over to a nearby table. Doug and Darrel must have used this table while they worked on cars; it was covered in tools and random rags, among other things. In one fluid motion, Roach used his long arm to sweep across the table, knocking everything onto the floor with a loud crash. Seaborne flinched at the noise.

“Roach?” he asked, moving to stand across from his friend. The line from where the fake Seaborne had cut across his face was still there, thin and red. Seaborne had said nothing about it earlier, but it concerned him all the same. What had happened to this man while the two of them were separated? Roach looked a bit wild but there was also concentration on his face, a look of determination and focus.

“What do we know,” he stated, leaning over and placing his hands on the table. This was the pose he always used when he was interrogating someone, or when he was about to go over the details of a case. Seaborne knew it well. He knew how to play along with this.

“Are car broke down.” Fact one. A fact they could be sure of.

“We headed into town,” Roach added, remembering. “We went to the motel.”

“Mrs. Marble was there,” Seaborne continued, laying out the facts with his partner. “She told us about the festival.”

“But there was no festival,” Roach noted.

“Because of the fog.” At that, Roach raised his head to look into his partner’s eyes.

“They said it was the fog,” he corrected. It was true; there had been no sign that the town had been getting ready for any event, festival or otherwise. Why would they lie about that?”

“You’re saying there is no festival?” Seaborne guessed. Roach shook his head.

“I’m saying that this-” he flicked a hand, gesturing all around them- “This is the festival.”

“A prank?” Seemed odd that anyone would go to so much trouble to prank two FBI agents this way, but the other explanations were few and far between.

“We’re still missing something,” Roach grumbled, looking back at the table. He didn’t see the table, of course. He saw events, moments, people and places, all lined out in an elaborate tapestry in his head, coalescing and entangling in a conspiracy that he had yet to understand. “What happened next?”

“Doug took me to check on the car.” A strange trip to be sure. “He was terrified of the fog.” Roach nodded at that.

“Something in the fog,” he seemed to write down in his head. “A drug? Hallucinogen?”

“He seemed more afraid of leaving the borders of the town,” Seaborne added.

“Maybe it’s denser out there.” Impossible to be sure. “What’s next?”

“You saw the fairy.” Now Seaborne had to say this without judgment, but there was a lilt in his voice he couldn't hide. Luckily, Roach didn’t notice.

“Dancing in the fog,” he remembered. “Real or not real?”

“Fairies aren’t real,” Seaborne stressed. “I’m going to say ‘not real’.” Roach flinched. He had seen it, he had believed it, but now he had to question his own eyes.

“Fine. Next.”

“You went to talk to the librarian,” Seaborne recalled. “I went to take a nap.” ‘Had that dream…’

“Anything happen while I was gone?” Roach pressed, looking up again. Seaborne hesitated and his partner didn’t like it. “Seaborne?”

“I had a weird dream,” he admitted, hoping Roach wouldn’t ask more. Of course, he did.

“About what?” At the sound of the question, Seaborne’s eyes unconsciously looked at Rhett’s hands. He looked back up at Rhett’s face quickly, but Roach had already noticed. “Well?”

“Uh, hands,” he murmured, embarrassed. “Just hands.” Roach looked down at his hands. Seaborne had been looking at them, but why?

“My hands?” he guessed. Seaborne really hoped he wasn’t blushing just now.

“N-no,” he lied. “Just hands. It was a stupid dream, just drop it.” Roach stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure something out, before finally looking back at the table.

“Okay, fine,” he relented. “Dream. Next.”

“We went to the library. The first time,” Seaborne clarified. “It was a normal library.”

“No,” Roach corrected. “Not normal. The books. Only the ones we’ve read had text.”

“Impossible. No one could know what books we have and haven’t read.” Right? “Had to be part of a hallucination.”

“A shared hallucination?” Roach questioned.

“A shared belief,” Seaborne appealed. “Like when you and your friends get high and you all start seeing the same weird shit.” Who knew those wasted evening in college would be good for something? “Hallucinogens combined with the power of suggestion. You said something, my brain believed it and made it real.”

“Possible,” Roach agreed. He paused. “It could also be-”

“Not aliens, Roach!” Seaborne barked. “Stay grounded here.” Roach fumed for a second, then moved on.

“Next,” he grunted. Seaborne though about what happened next, what important events they had to yet rehash, but then he paused. That’s the night they slept in the same bed, and Roach had that dream. Spoke Seaborne's name. He didn’t want to talk about it, neither of them did, but holding back information wasn’t allowed. That’s not how this game was played.

“We went to bed,” he began, speaking quickly and hoping they could get through this part as fast as possible. “I… freaked out. Came over to stay with you. W-we slept-”

“Right, right,” Roach nodded, remembering the night clearly. “Not important. Move on.”

“Wait.” His partner waved a hand, motioning to go back. “Hang on. Your dream-”

“I don’t want to talk about it, man…”

“Just tell me, was it super… intense? Like, hyper-realistic?” At this, Roach looked up into his friend’s eyes, squinting slightly. “Was it the most real dream you’ve ever had?”

‘So real,’ Roach thought, thinking back. ‘But not real enough.’ To Seaborne he said “Yeah. It… it felt very real.” ‘And amazing, and intoxicating… and-’

“Mine, too.” Seaborne looked down at the table, his eyes scanning as if he could see the tapestry of conspiracy that Roach had laid out with his mind, too. “So far we’ve seen two places that have had huge effects on our minds. The library- which I never want to set foot in again, and-”

“The motel,” Roach concluded, turning to look out the window at the motel’s neon sign glowing through the dense mist. “There’s a clue there, I know it.” Seaborne couldn’t argue, he had no idea if Roach was right or not. Nothing in this town had made sense since the morning they arrived, but it was as good a place to start as any. Still...

“Wait, before we go. I need to show you something,” he pressed, palming his pocket again.

“Not now, Seaborne,” Roach replied, leading the way back to the motel that seemed to be the beginning of all this. “We finally have a lead.” He wasn’t holding his partner’s hand this time and Seaborne thought about just taking it, but the moment had passed. He missed the warmth of Roach’s hand and the comfort that it had brought, but he had to remember that he was an FBI agent and he was trained to deal with situations like this.

~ ~ ~

The motel’s neon sign was still glowing through the mist, its ominous red glow humming as they approached the front door. Inside was the familiar, under-furnished lobby with its one fake plant and the clock without hands. There was no sign of Mrs. Marble. The door to her office was open and Roach made a beeline for it. Seaborne meanwhile searched the counter in the lobby. Everything looked the same- No, wait. The key cabinet was empty. All the keys were gone, every last one. Seaborne was taking a closer look when he partner returned.

“Nothing there,” he was muttering. “Anything out here?” Seaborne motioned towards the cabinet.

“The keys are gone,” he pointed out. Roach looked where Seaborne was pointing.

“I haven’t seen any other guests,” he noted. “Have you?”

“I haven’t seen five people since he got here,” Seaborne grumbled, turning away. “We should check upstairs,” he suggested. “I still want to check your room, see if you left your gun somewhere.” Roach made a face, but followed right behind.

“I didn’t leave it anywhere,” he insisted. “Someone took it.” Seaborne let it drop as he headed up the stairs to the second floor. He paused at the landing. The long hallway, with hanging lights and ugly carpet, was flanked by a series of doors. That alone wasn’t unusual, but where the doors had all been closed the last time he passed through here, this time they were all just slightly open. As Roach came up behind him he stopped short as well, his mouth falling open. “Oh,” he uttered.

“Odd, right?” Seaborne agreed, his eyes not leaving the hallway, but Roach couldn’t find any words to answer. Even though the hall was clearly lit, it bore an unsettling resemblance to the one he saw in the library. His heart beat a little bit faster at the memory. “You okay?”

“Let’s not stay here long,” Roach managed, taking the lead. Staying calm, he fumbled for his lighter and held it at the ready. Had this been a week ago, Seaborne would have question his partner’s need to use a lighter in a perfectly lit room, but he understood the reason now. They had escaped the library, but he didn’t trust this motel to be a safe haven from nightmares. He could only hope.

They passed by the small alcove that had once held two vending machines. It was only a few doors away from the rooms they had stayed in last night. Glancing it they saw the alcove was empty, devoid of both pop and candy machines that had been there a few hours ago. Seaborne and Roach exchanged glances; Seaborne raising an eyebrow and Roach nodding in agreement. Like the library, things had changed in this motel, though the changes were definitely more subtle. They continued on, both too scared to open any of the doors enough to see past them. When they reached their own rooms, they paused, sidling up against the wall on either side of Roach’s door. It was slightly ajar, just like the other doors. With a nod from Roach, Seaborne gently pushed open the door. When nothing immediately jumped out at them, they both leaned over to look inside. It was empty.

Not empty, as in there wasn’t a single person inside, but empty, as in it was devoid of people, furniture, and everything else but a window. The bed, the nightstands, the desk and chair, all gone. It was an empty room lit by a single overhead light and a large, sash window with no curtains.

“Well. Your gun ain’t here.” Seaborne joked. Roach didn’t laugh.

“What is going on here?” was all he could say. He spun around with his arms out, as if the missing furniture was somehow invisible and not just… gone. Meanwhile, Seaborne sighed and looked out the window at the foggy town below. After a moment he reached into his breast pocket, but the photo from the library wasn't in there. His shoulder's slumped. Of course it was gone. Everything in that awful place had been an illusion. Why would the photograph be any different? From here he could see a few houses nearby, all cookie-cutter copies of one another in various shades of pastel colors. They had matching driveways, all empty, but without x-ray vision it was impossible to see inside their garages. Seaborne wondered if their missing car could be inside one of those.

As he tried to peer in the houses through the dense fog, he couldn’t see anything quite clearly. What he did see, in the bay window of the nearest house, was a large, dark shape. It wasn’t human, it was much too large, far too wide. Honestly, Seaborne couldn’t tell what it was. It wasn’t moving, so there was every possibility that it wasn’t even alive, but something about it terrified him to the core. The way it’s dark shape pierced the grey fog, it just felt… wrong. Turning to call over Roach, Seaborne’s eyes left the shape for only a moment, but when he looked again, it was gone. A shiver ran up his spine.

“What is it?” Roach asked, coming over. Seaborne couldn't pull his gaze from the spot where the shape had been. Though he hated to say it, he knew where the should go next.

“I think we should investigate the houses.”

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

Next Chapter More Fics

#rhett #link #rhink #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #ravenvale

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dr-gloom · 6 years

Text

I See The Light

Summary: Based on the prompt “I always hear you singing on your balcony (below mine) every morning, but suddenly you’ve stopped?” from this post

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Prinxiety

Words: 1,949

Tags/Warnings: Human AU, singing, idk what else uh, self deprecation?, Disney songs, some swearing

Enjoy!

Read it on AO3

fic masterlist

like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

“I have often dreamed of a far off place Where a great, warm welcome would be waiting for me Where the crowds would cheer, when they see my face And a voice keeps saying this is where I'm meant to be”

Virgil’s ears perked up as he listened through the open glass door to his balcony. It sounded like his neighbor was singing again. It was almost always a Disney song, sometimes just a sappy romantic love song. Today it seemed to be the former. Virgil found himself turning his TV off and wandering onto his balcony, sitting in the lone chair and listening to the smooth voice of his neighbor below.

“I know ev'ry mile will be worth my while I would go most anywhere to feel like I belong I am on my way, I can go the distance I don't care how far, somehow I'll be strong”

Virgil thought about the melancholy undertones to this song, and he wondered if the singer thought of the same things when he sang this song. Virgil somehow doubted it; the man didn’t seem like the type to be cynical or a pessimist. It was just as well, he thought, because if the other was then he probably wouldn’t be singing Disney every morning on his balcony. Virgil would miss that, though how could you miss something if it never started in the first place?

That was two months ago. Virgil sat on his couch, the glass door open like it was every morning, but he hadn’t heard that smooth and charismatic voice in a month and a half. He found himself hoping today he’d hear it, that the other had simply been sick, or on a trip, not... Whatever this was. Was he sick of singing? Did he get self-conscious? Did he sing inside, with the door closed now? Had he realized that Virgil sat outside listening to him and gotten creeped out? God, he hoped not. Virgil picked at the seam poking out of the arm of his shitty thrift-store couch; his token nervous habit. His neighbor was probably singing in his apartment where he wouldn’t be stalked by strangers.

Yet... Virgil couldn’t help being worried about him. He wanted to make sure the other wasn’t seriously injured or something. But he couldn’t just... Go downstairs and knock on his door, could he? He shakes his head, knocking his headphones crooked off his left ear. He stands, making sure his phone is still in his pocket before heading into his room and grabbing a piece of paper and looking around for some kind of string before finding an old pair of sneakers and grinning. He didn’t wear them anymore because the bottoms were so worn his sole was peaking out at the front, but he didn’t want to throw them out because they had drawings all over them. He picks them up, takes the shoelaces out and ties them together, then grabs a sharpie and heads back to the couch.

Virgil taps the sharpie against his bottom lip in thought for a good few minutes, every idea quickly being discarded.

Too stupid.

Too weird.

That’s just creepy.

Is that too suggestive or something?

Finally he settles for I always hear you singing on your balcony (below mine) every morning, but you’ve stopped. Are you okay? then he gently pokes a hole in the paper and loops the shoelace through it, walking onto his balcony and lowering the paper until it’s dangling about head-height in front of the balcony below his. He ties the end he’s still holding to the railing of his balcony, makes sure the paper is still there, then goes back inside, shutting his door. He takes out his phone and checks the time, then makes himself a late breakfast before heading to work.

When Virgil comes home that night, he’s virtually forgotten about his downstairs neighbor, the singing, and his note. He flops down onto the couch with a tired sigh, rubbing his face as he searches for the remote and puts on Steven Universe. He goes into the kitchen and heats up some leftover spaghetti before sitting back in his spot and eating silently. He fucking loves Garnet, wow. Just. Queen. He’s partway into his third episode of the night when someone knocks on his door, and for a moment he thinks he’s just hearing things, or maybe there’s rats in the walls, so he ignores it. When it happens again a moment later, he glances over at his door, his chest feeling a little funny.

No one ever knocks on his door. No one ever comes to pay him a visit. Not even his old college-roomy-turned-friend Patton knows where he lives. Virgil hesitantly gets up, setting the long-empty plate on the couch and slowly making his way to the door. There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end, and whoever’s on the other side starts knocking again just as Virgil gets there. He ignores the voice in his head telling him to just leave it, it’s a stranger, it could be a robber and opens the door. Standing in the hallway with his fist raised in the air is a stranger, looking mildly surprised in possibly the weirdest outfit Virgil has ever seen someone wear outside of a movie set - I mean, seriously? A prince outfit? And what’s with the sash? - and perfectly styled hair. The stranger quickly composes himself, lowering his hand and smiling warmly at Virgil, who’s openly staring and feeling increasingly awkward in his black sweats and My Chemical Romance shirt.

“So ah..” Virgil’s eyes widen. Oh shit. Oh fuck. It’s the guy that lives below him. Virgil mentally kicks himself; what did he expect to happen? The mystery singer would write a note back and they’d just become best friends, communicating through a shoelace and a piece of paper? And now he was here to yell at Virgil, to tell him what a creep he was and demand he leave him be. The singer rubs the back of his neck a little awkwardly, holding Virgil’s note in the other hand and glancing at him with slight embarrassment (why is he embarrassed?). “I found your note...”

Virgil nods mutely. He can’t get his voice to work, can’t bring himself to speak to this embarrassingly attractive - if strange - man before him. The singer doesn’t seem to have a problem carrying the conversation, though. “I hadn’t realized anyone could actually hear me. I mean, not that I mind, after all I’m used to singing in front of crowds, but... I’m sorry I worried you, I’m alright.” He flashes Virgil a megawatt smile, and Virgil has to look down at the dingy carpet between their feet.

“That... That’s good to hear.” He mumbles, picking at the hem of his hoodie sleeve. “Why... Why’d you stop?” Virgil didn’t know why he asked. He shouldn’t have asked, that was stupid, it wasn’t any of his business. The singer didn’t seem angry though. “Oh! Well you see, I got the lead in a musical - I don’t want to overdo it and cause vocal fatigue before we’ve even made it to tech week!” So that explained the clothes, he guessed. “I’m Roman.” The man, Roman, holds out his hand, and Virgil takes it with a light grip, surprised when Roman returns it with one five times as sure and shakes it. “Ah... Virgil.” Roman’s smile brightens at that and he nods. “A handsome name! If you wouldn’t mind me being so forward, Virgil, would you like to accompany me to dinner?”

Virgil’s heart sinks a little bit. He had such bad timing. “Oh, I uh... I just ate.”

Roman is undeterred. “Coffee, then!”

Virgil bites his lip, studying Roman’s face. This wasn’t all some elaborate plan to make Virgil feel comfortable around him before tearing into him... was it? Virgil shook his head; he was being ridiculous. “Yeah, coffee sounds good.”

“Excellent!” Roman holds his arm out and Virgil flushes slightly, grabbing his wallet and keys beside the door and hooking his other arm with Roman’s before locking his door behind him. “You know, shouting puts stress on your vocal folds too.” Roman laughs, the sound full and hearty, entirely contagious (but Virgil manages to just smile). “I suppose you have a point. However!” He flourishes with his free arm. “I am a performer, I cannot be subdued!” Virgil rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t leave for the rest of the night.

Virgil leans on the railing of his balcony, watching the sun finish rising in the sky. He wasn’t usually one for waking up insanely early, but he supposed dating Roman meant some of his habits would rub off on him. He found a smile forming on his lips and the strange urge to sing. What was it he’d just said about habits?

“All those days watching from the windows All those years outside looking in All that time never even knowing Just how blind I've been

“Now I'm here blinking in the starlight Now I'm here suddenly I see Standing here it's all so clear I'm where I'm meant to be”

Virgil blushes slightly, thinking of the day he’d really met Roman. That blindingly-bright smile directed at him. And it always had been, since that night.

“And at last I see the light And it's like the fog has lifted And at last I see the light And it's like the sky is new And it's warm and real and bright And the world has somehow shifted All at once everything looks different Now that I see you”

Virgil hears the door to Roman’s balcony open, and he sucks in a breath. Roman’s never heard him sing, what if he thought he was bad at it? Roman was so much better - he did it professionally! But instead of a snarky comment or criticism, he hears the fluid counterpart of Flynn’s verse.

“All those days chasing down a daydream All those years living in a blur All that time never truly seeing Things, the way they were

“ Now he's here shining in the starlight Now he's here suddenly I know If he's here it's crystal clear I'm where I'm meant to go”

Virgil blushes when he notices the pronoun change. Well, if he was being honest with himself he felt like this song pretty accurately described his relationship with Roman, from his life before they met up to how he felt now. They sing the next line together.

“And at last I see the light”

Roman leans on the railing of his balcony. “And it’s like the fog has lifted”

“And at last I see the light”

Virgil looks out at the fading sunrise. “And it’s like the sky is new”

“And it's warm and real and bright And the world has somehow shifted All at once everything is different Now that I see you”

After a moment of calm silence, Roman leans over the edge of his balcony and looks up at Virgil with a grin. “Sadpunzel, Sadpunzel, let down your hair.” Virgil rolls his eyes and smiles. Of course he would joke at a time like this.

“You have a key, I’m pretty sure it’d be safer and easier to just climb the stairs.”

Roman pouts and disappears, presumably to come up the stairs to Virgil’s apartment. Virgil laughs softly and heads inside, shutting the glass door gently. He felt like he was living a completely different life now; same face, same apartment, same job, but everything was brighter and kinder and the world was full of more life than Virgil had ever thought it could be.

“Now that I see you”

A/N: fuck Tumblr for making me think of spaghetti all damn day

Also Virgil going to all that trouble to make sure someone is okay without having to see them face-to-face is such a Mood(tm)

My headcanon for Virgil’s singing voice is something like the first voice in this video (honestly i just think he’d be slightly higher-pitched than Roman? ((dont listen to the whole thing - flynns voice will give you nightmares)))

Wow! I was totally just gonna write something painfully short and sweet, but then the idea for their duet came to me and I couldn’t resist. Also, by that point they’ve been dating for... At least five months? Six? Really honestly just A While(tm)

A little Character Analysis: Roman is singing Somewhere I Belong in the beginning because he’s been having a hard time finding work, and with how flamboyant and amazing he is, many big-city people are put off by him. He has a few good friends, but honestly he feels like a little fish in a big pond, so to speak.

#i haven't written yet today #was doing homework #sigh #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #when you wanna post before midnight but you decide to proof-read and it sets you behind

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shireness-says · 6 years

Text

Playing the Part ch. 6: Here For You

Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5

A/N: We’ve got some great surprises in store for this chapter! Plus, a bunch of feelings - because, you know, me.

Chapter title taken from 9 to 5, of all things. Yes, it was made into a musical, and yes, Dolly Parton was still involved.

Super extra thanks to @snidgetsafan, my fantastic beta, who had to remind me of a lot of my own backstory this time. It goes without saying that she makes things better and more readable - but I’ll say it anyways.

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.

Enjoy!

Honestly, it’s hard to focus on whether or not things are actually better with Killian because she’s so damn busy. It feels like they’ve hit some proverbial “point of no return” in the production, the show barreling ahead like a runaway train, everyone involved simply hanging on as tight as they can as the date moves closer and closer to previews and, inevitably, opening night.

It overwhelms Emma, some days, just how much there is left to do. They’re permanently moved into the theater now that the set is done - no more of this “back to the rehearsal space every other day” nonsense - but Emma can’t help but wonder some days if that wasn’t a mistake. She’s still feeding David Nolan lines and the choreography for the Pemberley scene still looks only two steps above sloppy and God, their projected timetable was such a mistake. And sure, there’s time to clean it up - previews are still three weeks away, starting November 19th - but there’s still so many notes every day of stuff they need to fix, not to mention the sheer stress of it all.

Emma loves every moment of it.

She’s operating in the midst of barely controlled chaos and honestly, she’s in her element. There’s a rush unlike any other to doing this part of her job, and Emma thrives on the variety and unpredictability. Every day is something new and exciting, even if it is stressful.

Of course, the flying hormones don’t help her stress level in the least. Mary Margaret and David are bad enough, with their are-they-aren’t-they romance - seriously, at a certain point someone’s going to have to tell them to knock it off, before audiences get confused about whether Bingley is supposed to seem so attracted to Charlotte Lucas - but Will Scarlet doesn’t help matters either. Belle is on stage nearly constantly, but the rare moments she’s not, Emma’s has to watch Scarlet like a hawk to make sure he’s not showing off to Belle at the expense of his own concentration and duties.

“Sorry, Boss,” he always grins when Emma has to storm backstage to find out exactly why he’s not adjusting the positioning of the backdrop when she clearly asked it of him, Belle suppressing her own smile at a distance much more reasonable than Emma suspects she occupied only seconds before. Honestly, Emma’s tempted to just fire him, but the truth is that Scarlet’s an exceptional stagehand, just as Robin promised - a real jack of all trades, able to find unconventional solutions to the ridiculous problems inevitably created as a side effect of live theatre.

(And really, the side of Emma that’s not the boss has to admit that the whole spectacle is kind of cute, how earnest and eager Scarlet - usually such a smartass - acts around Belle. She deserves that kind of devotion, anyways.)

What’s worse is that the hormones seem to be catching, as insane as that sounds. Or at least it seems like they are. Robin stutters through all mic checks with Regina and turns a vaguely adorable shade of pink anytime she comes up to the booth to verify something with Emma, and Kristoff must have met Elsa’s sister at Emma’s party, because he won’t stop asking if she’s seen Anna lately in a casual tone of voice completely ruined by the frequency of his questions. And you know, it’s not like Emma’s some sort of anti-love Grinch. She can be on board with happily-ever-afters or whatever. But they are trying to do a major job here, and honestly, she’d really appreciate it if they’d ignore the call of their dicks for like five minutes, thank you very much.

Not that she can talk. She’s not nearly as God-awful lovestruck as some of the guys - looking at you, Scarlet - but she’s not nearly as detached as she’s trying to pretend. While there’s still some work to do in the costuming department, the main cast has complete costumes now, and it’s… a lot. A lot in a good way, but a lot. And yes, Emma does have words to spare for the delicate gauzy ballgowns Ms. Blue fashioned for the Bennet girls, and even for the absurd amber concoction Regina’s been dressed in, but truthfully, Emma’s distracted by a different costume piece altogether. Because as much as she admires the construction of the rest of the costumes… those breeches are something else.

Even that statement is a little bit deceptive; it’s not all the breeches that Emma is enthralled by. Staring at David’s or August’s lower halves feels a little bit like ogling her brothers. No, she’s specifically distracted by the breeches adorning the very shapely legs of one Killian Jones.

It’s not like she’s blind, and she’d have to be not to notice that Killian is a remarkably handsome specimen of a man. But the period dress is something else altogether. Part of it is the whole fairy tale thing, Emma thinks, and in his formal coat and cravat, Killian certainly looks the part. And paired with his manners, that almost over-the-top gallantry? He’s the very picture of a storybook prince. But the other, greater factor here is absolutely undeniable: Killian Jones looks hot in that costume, in all the best ways. There’s something about the way the fabric so perfectly molds to his ass and muscular thighs that never fails to send a jolt of want right through her, no matter how much she tries to deny it.

She does try to deny it, for the record; deny it and ignore it and try to justify it as just appreciating the excellent work of the costuming team. Emma turned him down, after all. It’d be absolutely ridiculous to be checking him out after that.

Still, sometimes Emma finds herself watching him with a sense of longing; a sense of what if?

What if she was wrong? What if she had said yes?

Those thoughts are dismissed as out of hand just as quickly, however. Emma turned him down to protect her career and her credibility in the face of temptation; there’s absolutely nothing in her decision to regret. It was the right decision, and she absolutely stands by it. Emma Swan absolutely, definitely did not make a mistake in turning down Killian Jones’ proposition, no matter how fantastic his ass looks in those pants.

(She’s totally checking him out.)

———

Killian can tell that Swan is ogling him. She’s not particularly subtle about it, no matter what she’s no doubt telling herself; the little shake of her head, like she’s trying to settle her mind or dislodge an unwanted thought, is a dead giveaway. He’d mention how adorable it is, if he wasn’t absolutely certain of the glare he’d inevitably receive in response.

He’s not much better, honestly; only marginally more subtle. He’s always been impressed by Emma Swan, but this… this is something else altogether. He sounds like a broken record, repeating the same words over and over, but Emma is truly a marvel in motion. There’s an intensity to her movements that Killian would almost call single-minded if he didn’t know exactly how much she’s juggling at once. Not that she ever lets it show. Emma’s a perpetual face of calm despite the chaos around her and everyone’s best efforts to make her life even harder. In fact, Killian thinks Emma might even enjoy it, holding the reins in her hands and attempting to forcibly pull them back into line. She’s a force of nature, and it’s wildly attractive.

“That’s not too weird, right?” he asks Liam on the phone one night. “Being so attracted to the way she’s whipping us all into shape?”

“Let’s try to avoid the word whipping in this sentence,” Liam teases, “but I don’t think it’s that weird. She’s a confident, attractive woman, and her authority I’m sure is part of that attraction.”

“She just makes it look so easy, you know?” Killian elaborates enthusiastically. “There’s so much going on, and she’s handling it all at once, without breaking a sweat. And she’s so confident about it! I know I’d be a frenzied mess, but she’s so effortless about it, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Which she does, she so absolutely does. You can just tell she’s in her element.” Killian pauses for breath. Realizing how he sounds, positively gushing over a girl, he smiles sheepishly. “I know I must sound ridiculous, but there’s something… something alluring about that confidence. I can’t explain it properly.”

Technically, he does have the words to describe it, but not without sounding like a loon. There’s almost a glow about Emma, a visible aura of certainty that envelops her as she breezes through the theatre. And she’s breathtaking, cloaked in that absolute assurance of her capability.

“Ah, but you’re certainly making a valiant effort all the same, babbling away like a lunatic,” Liam teases.

“Shut up,” Killian grumbles back. “I don’t mean to annoy you, blathering on like this, but she’s just — ”

“ — a marvel?” Liam cuts in. “Aye, you’ve mentioned it.”

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” Killian concedes. “We can move on. How have you been?”

“Can’t complain. I’ve been keeping busy, and the weather has finally gotten more pleasant. I can’t tell you anything about work, but…”

“I didn’t particularly expect it anyways.” The latest installment of Liam’s superhero series, The Cavalry, is currently filming and famously tight-lipped about any details. Killian grew quite used to not discussing his brother’s work during the last films, and this one has proved no different.

“You know the drill. But hey, keep an eye out the next few days, would you? There’s something headed your way.”

“Something headed my way?” Killian can’t imagine why. It’s not his birthday, and Christmas is still weeks away, when Liam plans to fly into New York. If all goes well with the show, Liam’s schedule will be more flexible than Killian’s for the foreseeable future, filming commitments notwithstanding.

“A surprise. You’ll like it, I promise,” Liam assures.

“Alright, I’ll watch for a package then. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”

Liam chuckles, though Killian can’t imagine why. If there’s a secret reason, it’s probably nothing good. “Oh yes, you do that.”

The rest of the call is much more mundane, though in the best of ways. Even when they’re not talking about anything of import, Killian cherishes phone calls with his brother.

“Remember - keep an eye out,” Liam says to close the call. “It should reach you on Thursday. Love you, Killy, I’ve got to go.”

“Love you too.”

Apparently, he’s keeping an eye out.

———

“You’re aware there’s some guy here, right?” Robin asks her during rehearsals Thursday afternoon, and Emma whips her head around so fast she’s a little worried about whiplash.

“No! Who? Where?” she demands, frantically searching the dimmed theater.

“I don’t know who, that’s kinda why I was asking. He’s in the back by the stairs, center section. Not filming or making trouble, just watching. Figured that was more your pay grade to address.”

“You’re paid more than me.”

“Ah, well, this industry isn’t exactly on top of the gender pay gap. Not to mention paying people based on how much they’re doing instead of whether their title can be nominated for a Tony,” Robin concedes. “What I mean to say is that you’re more of an authority figure here, and if you were being paid properly, this would be more your pay grade.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Emma mutters as she extricates herself from the mass of wires associated with the temporarily balcony bound sound and light board, trying not to trip over Kristoff’s boxes of mic batteries.

“Oh, my pleasure.”

Sure enough, Emma easily spots the interloper as she steps off the narrow staircase, his broad frame hard to miss less than ten feet away. Squaring her own shoulders, Emma approaches him, ready for a confrontation.

“Can I help you?” she asks sternly - not demands, Emma does have some control over her tone. It must still somehow convey, however, as the man turns with a smile that can only be described as placating.

“Sorry not to announce myself, lass,” he says, “but I didn’t want to interrupt the rehearsal. It’s looking lovely, by the way.” Something about the voice is familiar, but with so many British accents flying around this production - genuine and affected - she can’t quite place it.

“Thanks,” Emma replies, mostly on automatic, before catching herself. “This is a closed rehearsal, which means no strangers just waltzing in off the street, so I am going to have to ask you —”

“Oh, I know, and I’m so sorry to intrude,” he interrupts. As Robin brings the lights back up, Emma starts to see what her intruder looks like, and oddly, that’s familiar too - sandy curls and a charming smile that she knows she’s never met but look weirdly familiar all the same. “I was in town rather unexpectedly and just thought I’d drop by to see my brother —”

“Liam?” a shocked voice calls from across the auditorium, as if on cue. Killian comes rushing down the aisle, still fully in costume, only moments later. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I did tell you something was headed your way on Thursday,” the man - Liam - teases, and suddenly it all clicks into place in Emma’s head. “There was a slight delay in filming, so I thought I’d come see my little brother before I’m due back on set.”

“Liam Jones?” she demands, astonished, brain still spinning frantically, trying to process this.

“Aye, you knew I had a brother,” Killian responds, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, well, you forgot to mention that I might recognize him from the movies.”

“Ah.” Killian’s hand goes behind his ear as if on instinct, a move Emma’s learned means that he’s feeling embarrassed. “Well, it’s an odd thing to bring up in casual conversation. Plus, I didn’t want anyone thinking I got this job based on familial connections or some nonsense.”

“I take it you’re the much talked about Miss Swan?” Liam asks, having the decency to interrupt what seems set to turn into an uncomfortable conversation. Or perhaps interrogation. Emma’s got questions, and she’s not picky.

“Uh… yeah,” she manages to choke out. “That’s me. Stage Manager. It’s nice to meet you - Killian talks about you all the time. Plus, you know, my kid loves those superhero movies. I think he’s got a countdown calendar somewhere for the next Cavalry.”

“Well, that’s always nice to hear,” Liam responds graciously, though whether about the Killian comment or that her kid is a fan is unclear. “I trust that Killian’s been behaving himself?” he winks. It’s possible the man is just as charming offscreen as on.

“Liam…” the man in question whines, eliciting a loud guffaw from his older brother. Because that’s absolutely what he is; Emma can see the older sibling/younger sibling dynamic clear as day.

“He is, don’t worry,” she laughs, watching her lead actor turn progressively redder with embarrassment.

“Ah, well, he’s a good lad at heart,” Liam chuckles. Emma somehow gets the feeling he’s saying it with the solitary goal of embarrassing Killian. “Would I be able to borrow him for lunch, by any chance?”

“Yeah, of course, I think we’re about to break anyways,” Emma replies warmly. “I’ll talk to my director too, see if you can hang around this afternoon. Technically it’s closed rehearsals, but I think we can probably make an exception, since you’re not in town regularly.”

“I’d appreciate that, actually, thank you,” Liam smiles, before turning back to his brother. “Are you going to change out of your costume, Killy, or are we having lunch in full Regency dress?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he grumbles in return. “Just… Stay here, okay? Try not to make more of a fool of me than you already have?”

Liam makes no promises, but he waves his hand in a resigned acceptance that manages to convince Killian to leave for his dressing room, albeit warily looking over his shoulder the whole walk back.

“I do love embarrassing him sometimes,” Liam smirks as he and Emma watch the younger Jones’ progress.

“Well, I think you’ve accomplished that,” Emma replies, laughing. “I gotta go wrangle the crew, but let me know if you need anything?”

“Aye, of course.”

———

Killian missed out on a lot of the traditional cliches of being a teenager, mother gone too soon and father drunk too often to be the presence he needed. Still, he recognizes the stereotypical conventions when he sees them, and Liam is definitely trying to make up for some of the parental humiliation Killian thought himself lucky to have missed out on, complete with a pretty girl present to witness his complete and total mortification. True, Liam is just where Killian left him when he returns from changing into street clothes, but his brother looks far too smug for Killian’s taste. Thankfully, most have already left for lunch or are holed up in their dressing rooms, so there’s no one to witness any further embarrassment on his part.

“Are you pleased with yourself?” Killian grumbles, but Liam only grins wider. Figures.

“I won’t pretend to know what you’re talking about,” he replies. Of course he doesn’t - what’s the point of interference if you admit to it? The tension quickly eases as Liam laughs, slinging an arm affectionately around Killian’s shoulders to pull him close and ruffle his hair. “Oh, but it was hilarious to see the way you blushed.”

“Stuff it,” Killian replies, but it’s half-hearted at best. Despite any teasing, Killian really is pleased to see his brother. “As long as no one’s here, do you want to poke around backstage for a bit? Give you the behind the scenes tour?”

“I’d be delighted,” Liam replies, smiling more genuinely. “Lead on.”

Truthfully, if Liam’s able to stick around for the rest of rehearsals today like Emma suggested, he’ll probably see most of this anyways, but there’s a pride in taking his brother around anyways, showing Liam his dressing room and all the little corners backstage. Liam is good enough to nod along, making the appropriate exclamations over Killian’s costumes and asking questions.

Somehow, they end up concluding the little tour at the center of the stage, offering a clear view of all the various pieces around them. Really, the only thing missing is the actors.

“I know it’s hard to get the full picture when we’re still putting it all together, but God, Liam, I think it’s going to be amazing,” Killian declares. He’s probably gushing, but can’t truly bring himself to care. “I’m sure you still think there’s a lot that needs to be done, but really — ”

“I don’t think that at all,” Liam interrupts. “In fact, I’m incredibly proud of you.”

Killian can feel his ears begin to burn, but he clutches onto those words all the same. “Yeah?” he asks, needlessly seeking confirmation.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees with a gentle smile. “I was watching you earlier, and you’re undeniably talented. And I don’t just say that as your brother, mind you,” he clarifies, “but as someone who’s worked with an awful lot of actors, and knows something special when he sees it. It’s so easy to see how passionate you are about this, Killian, and the rest of the cast along with you. The crew too, if Miss Swan is any indication.”

“She is,” Killian confirms. “We all want so badly for this to work. It means… well, frankly, it means everything to me that you can see it. Thank you.”

“It’s only the truth, Killy. And even if this whole thing was a mess, and bound to close after the first night - which I don’t, for the record - I’d still be proud of you. You’re my brother,” he states simply. “I’m always going to be proud of you.”

“Thanks, Liam.” Killian’s throat is suddenly suspiciously tight with feelings, but it’s more than worth it to hear those words of validation from Liam. On impulse, he pulls his older brother into a hug, one that’s willingly returned even as Liam chuckles. As the two men pull apart, Killian discreetly attempts to clear the lump in his throat. If his brother’s barely suppressed smirk is anything to go by, that effort at subtlety wasn’t particularly successful, but at least he has the decency not to highlight that particular detail.

“Speaking of your lady, though...” Liam instead comments slyly, all but nudging Killian conspiratorially in the side to break the emotional moment as the younger man stifles a groan, “she really is something, isn’t she?”

“I think calling her ‘my lady’ is a little far,” Killian hedges, but Liam’s clearly on a roll, seemingly not even processing his younger brother’s qualifier.

“I know I teased you earlier in the week, but you’re right, there’s something about that air of authority,” Liam continues, waggling his eyebrows. “Something alluring.”

“God, I so don’t want to hear this from you. Especially not that imitation. Cripes, is that really what you think I sound like?”

“Yes, obviously. And we talk about your crush on the phone all the time, you ninny!” Liam points out, tone affectionate despite his words. “Isn’t this the same thing?”

“Yeah, but when we do this on the phone, I’m just talking to a voice. Talking about my love life, and lack thereof, to your face just feels… weird.”

“Alright, fine,” Liam concedes with a laugh. “But don’t think I’m dropping this permanently.”

“Oh, God forbid that.”

“Watch it, little brother,” Liam warns, though his wide smile betrays any pretense of scolding. “If you won’t talk about your love life, is there at least some decent pizza nearby?”

“Aye, I think we could manage that,” Killian smiles back.

“Well then don’t keep a man waiting, Killy, lead on!”

———

As Emma suspected, Merlin doesn’t have any issue with Liam Jones staying to watch rehearsals. In fact, he seems excited about it, to the point that Emma wonders if he might be a secret fanboy.

(“It’ll be great publicity!” he claims. “Hopefully he’ll be willing to vouch for the show when we open, and if any of the papers catch wind of him being here, that’ll get our name out there. From a marketing standpoint, it’s absolutely advantageous.”)

(Emma doesn’t buy those excuses for a second.)

Killian seems to throw himself into his role that afternoon with a new intensity Emma’s never seen before. Maybe it’s born from a desire to impress his older brother, who he so clearly looks up to from everything she’s seen and heard; who really knows. The point is, the show comes to life that afternoon in a way Emma’s been waiting for, the rest of the cast feeding off the prospect of a fresh-eyed audience and the sheer energy of their lead. It’s amazing, and Emma is suddenly surrounded with a new confidence that this show will more than just proverbially “go on”; it’s going to be a hit, at least if she and Killian have anything to say about it.

The real highlight of the afternoon, however, is seeing Henry’s eyes just about bug out of his head when Emma brings him down after rehearsals to meet a real live action hero.

“Henry, this is Liam Jones,” Emma introduces solemnly, even as she suppresses a wide smile. “And Liam, this is my son Henry. He’s a bit of a fan,” she concludes, whispering conspiratorially.

“Mom,” Henry hisses in embarrassment, but it does snap him out of his slack-jawed shock and awe. He can thank her later.

Liam has the grace to pretend he doesn’t notice Henry’s flushed cheeks, making the introductions slightly easier. Emma sends a mental thank you, hoping the older man can maybe sense it anyways. “It’s very nice to meet you, Henry,” he replies, smiling genially at her pre-teen.

Somehow, Henry manages to pull himself together enough to offer his hand. That’s her polite kid. “It’s great to meet you too, Mr. Jones,” he beams. “And, uh… well, yeah, I kind of am a fan. My best friend and I watch the Cavalry movies all the time, they’re great.”

“Liam’s just fine, lad,” the man in question corrects gently, “but I’m always delighted to hear when people like my movies. Thank you.”

“Can you tell me anything about the next movie?” Henry all but demands in his excitement, but plows forward before Liam even gets a chance to respond. “Oh, I bet you can’t. That’s fine. Can you tell me about the first one then? How many of the stunts did you do? My friend Avery and I tried to act out the office fight scene one time - did you have to have a stunt double for any of that? Oh! I’ve got a folder with all the characters on it, you’ve got to come see!”

“You’re not trying to steal my friends, are you, Liam?” Killian calls jovially, causing the heads of both man and boy to whip in his direction. It’s kind of cute, really, to see broad grins on both their faces as they locate Killian making his way towards them.

“You never told me your brother was Liam Jones!” Henry accuses as Killian reaches their little cluster. Killian rolls his eyes affectionately as he slings an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, lad, I’ve already heard from your mother about how I shouldn’t have withheld that particular piece of information.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this,” she jokes, holding up her hands up in surrender.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare, Swan,” he shoots right back. She’d almost call it flirtatious - isn’t sure that she shouldn’t still, despite the fact that they’ve agreed not to take this anywhere. Emma can’t say that she minds it that much.

The moment passes, though, as Henry interrupts excitedly. “I was about to show Liam my Cavalry folder!”

“Oh, well, that’s serious business, don’t let me stand in your way,” Killian replies, his tone deadly serious even as his eyes twinkle with a smile. Henry must take that as a kind of dismissal, as a moment later he’s dragging Liam Jones towards the back stairs by the hand, seemingly uncaring of whether the older man intended to go that way or not.

Killian chuckles beside her. “He’s certainly excited, isn’t he?”

“Oh you have no idea,” Emma replies. “You should have seen his face when I introduced them. Full-on slack-jawed awe.”

“I’m sorry to have missed it,” he smiles. With Killian, Emma always feels like he actually means the words - like he’s never just saying them just because he’s supposed to - and this is no different. She likes that about him. “I wanted to thank you,” he continues, “for arranging for Liam to watch today. We don’t think he’ll be able to make opening night, so this really means a lot. To the both of us.”

“No need to thank me, it wasn’t a big deal.” Really, it wasn’t; in this case, it’s not a case of Emma being uncomfortable with compliments. It was genuinely no trouble.

“Ah, well, still. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Emma’s phone vibrates - nothing important, just the monthly calendar reminder about rent - but by the time she looks back up, Henry and Liam are navigating back down the stairs, just as Elsa walks in the door to pick the former up. Liam visibly straightens as Henry drags him over to meet their neighbor, but Emma just writes it off as courtesy, or adjusting after the climb down the stairs. Until, that is, Killian groans at the same sight.

“Look at that idiot,” he mutters, much to Emma’s confusion. At the sight of Emma’s face, scrunched up in confusion, he elaborates. “The git, he’s flirting.”

“Are you sure?” Emma doesn’t see it yet, but then again, she only met Liam Jones a few hours ago, unlike Killian, who may as well have devoted his life to studying the other man’s behavior. That’s the way brothers are, she imagines.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Killian all but groans. “Look at him. The smile, the little swagger… I mean, for God’s sake, he practically snapped to attention when she walked in. There’s no doubting it.”

“If it makes you feel better, Elsa’s not some easy target for that sort of flirting,” Emma consoles. “She has very little patience for this kind of thing. I think her freeze-out is famous across the city.”

However, as the two bystanders continue watching, that’s seemingly not the case. Elsa’s not exuberant by any means - Emma doubts she ever will be, the very idea running contrary to her friend’s nature - but Emma can see spots of pink coloring Elsa’s cheeks as Liam continues his flirting, even as she keeps her reserve by not returning any flirtatious comments.

“Is this what ‘very little patience’ looks, like, Swan?”

“Shut it, this is not normal.”

After watching for a moment longer, Killian breaks. “Alright, this is enough.” It’s easy enough to stride over and catch Liam’s attention, as Emma hangs back for a final laugh at his expense. Honestly, he’s like a little kid who doesn’t want to share his toy.

“Are you ready to go, Liam?” he asks, tone just short of a demand.

“I suppose so,” Liam answers genially enough, though he does shoot his younger brother a confused look. “It was lovely meeting you, Elsa,” he says more genuinely in farewell.

“It was nice to meet you too, Liam,” she replies in her usual soft and polished tone, though again, Emma can spot a hint of a blush. Curiouser and curiouser. Before Emma can analyze it any further, Killian all but pushes his brother out the door, with barely more than a wave to a very confused Henry.

“What was that about?” she asks Elsa, mostly for the reaction, but her neighbor is hiding back behind the icy facade again, leaving Emma disappointed on several fronts.

“He was merely being friendly,” she replies, leaving Emma with a long list of questions and very few answers.

She’s going to have to keep an eye on this, see if it develops further - if she can weasel any information out of Elsa, that is.

———

It’s great to see his brother, even better to hear his feedback, but all good things must come to an end, and Killian has to accompany Liam to the airport on Sunday to see him off. Even after such a short visit, it’s painful to say goodbye, no matter how much Killian tries to prepare himself.

“I know I said it before, Killy, but I’m so proud of you, no matter what,” Liam tells him, drawing Killian into a tight hug. “Don’t get too into your head about it. You’re going to do so well. Try to remember that for me, alright?”

Killian nods, chin digging into his brother’s shoulder. “Aye, I’ll do my best, Liam.”

“Thank you.” They finally pull away, Liam collecting his bag to pass through security. “I’ll call you when I land, ok? Thanks for hosting me the past few days.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” It’s easier just to dismiss the words out of hand than to dwell on how rarely the two are together, how short this visit was. “I love you, brother.”

Liam smiles. “I love you too.” He begins walking towards security, but before he gets lost in the masses of JFK, he turns back one more time. “And remember what I said!”

“I promise!”

Even in the sadness of separation, Killian revels a little bit in his brother’s words as he makes his way back to the subway station. Liam’s proud of him, and proud of the work Killian’s creating.

He fully plans to hold those words and that promise close to his heart to carry him through the next weeks. With previews just around the corner, he’s going to need all the reassurance he can get.

#my writing #cs ff #cs au ff #Playing the Part #Here For You #Broadway AU #stage manager!Emma #actor!Killian #and even more feelings

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joonsgalaxy · 6 years

Text

you know how to make a boy feel warm

Pairing: Woozi/Jihoon x Reader

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers AU, (soft)badboy!Jihoon

Word count: 4,3 k

Warnings: mentions of blood

Prompt: “Wha-what are you doing in my apartment?!” “Testing your security, which is absolutely horrible considering it’s 2 AM and your door was unlocked. You should also invest in an alarm if you don’t want psychopaths breaking in.” “You mean like you?” “My sanity is fine, unlike yours, you unsafe idiot.”

Author’s note: i’m multifandom af, and woozi owns a huge part of my heart so here you go :>

'Ouch! Fuck…'

This wasn't the greatest moment of Jihoon's life, he was aware of that, but, frankly, he would pick bumping his knee into a leg of your table over getting beaten up until all he could see was red any day.

It was fairly dark in your kitchen; only the faint light of the Moon was cutting through the window as Jihoon tried to get adjusted to make out the edges of furniture, for he couldn't afford himself another loud mistake. One of his palms landed on the surface of your counter, fingers of the other hand clutching the handle of your drawer. As slowly as possible and as quietly as he could manage he pulled the drawer toward his slumped form to reveal its shadowed contents. While he was rummaging through the stuff, looking for a certain one-a first aid kit, or at least a band-aid, something like that, anything like that-he felt a sharp and deep twinge somewhere above his right temple. It was the adrenaline diminishing its delicious amounts in his blood stream, he figured, and his brains finally receiving the signals of his nerves that something's wrong. He didn’t feel it while running here, his mind was just too fizzy for that. Good thing he at least managed to regain his composure after the hit to slip out of the fight right when his opponents got distracted by the booming sound in the distance. It had to be his lucky day-or rather night-for he was sure he’d be lying on the pavement now with a blurry sight of the three men’s feet sauntering away from him.

His fingers moved deliberately, silently. Ha, just imagine you jolting awake because of this, finding him riffling through your drawer in the middle of the night. Oh, what a crazy life he was living, full of risks and hazard-the things that made him feel truly alive.

He felt warm there, too warm actually. His thick jacket was practically suffocating him as the tiny flakes of snow hovered in the still air behind your kitchen window. A heavy sigh slipped from between his tingling lips, the left corner of the lower one sore and tasting like coins. Where’s the damned band-aid package?

‘I have a gun.’

Jihoon’s ears perked up at that; the voice was shaky, yet he could hear forced determination in it. His digits halted immediately, fingertips stopping at some hard, round object-a duct-tape? Anyway, who cares? You’re there, and you’re awake, and… you have a gun?

‘A-And I called the police.’

Jihoon’s eyes widened, heart pace quickening until it started pounding in his ears. He turned around, hastily, which wasn’t the best decision if you think about it, but he didn’t give much thought to it as he exclaimed, ‘You did what?’

The shadow silhouette in the doorframe, which he figured was you, didn’t move, simply stood there in silence until Jihoon began to wonder if it all was just some kind of an elaborate hallucination. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, his continuous thoughts of you finally driving him insane to a point where he sees you in the void shadows casted by the moonlight, hears your voice in the silence of the dancing snowflakes on the other side of the window, picks up the words supposedly uttered by you in the friction of his jacket when he moves. Whatever it was-his imagination, or the actual reality-he heard it again, except it was a whisper this time, holding some confusion, irritation and certainly at least some fear within itself.

‘The fuck…?’

It had to be you, the real you. No way in this universe could his mind conjure up such softness of your whisper like that. God, even such a hellish word sounds angelic when coming from your lips; they must be delicate like feathers of the majestic wings that angels cherish so much, and there’s nothing else that he wants more than to be lucky enough to know how they would feel against his skin.

‘It’s me,’ he uttered and added, just in case, ‘Jihoon.’

A second of more silence later, he heard the shuffling of your feet, the fluffy socks (that you loved to sleep with in the winter) against the hard floor. He observed your shape moving a couple of steps by the wall and then-

Click.

The sudden brightness was too much for Jihoon’s eyes; he blinked a few times, squinting, trying to adjust to the change, your illuminated frame coming into his sight. Dishevelled hair, sleepy yet wide in shock eyes, baby blue pyjamas with tiny red tomatoes-or apples, it was hard to tell-and red woolly socks that complimented the fruits scattered in the sky blue, oh and a hairbrush tightly clutched in one hand, not in a threatening way, though.

‘Wha-what are you doing in my apartment?’

Why do you have to look so pretty?

‘Testing your security,’ Jihoon began explaining his lame justification for being there, trying to appear unaffected, that was a hell of a challenge, though, what with all the warmth caged between his winter jacket and his flaming body, and with your eyes staring at him, wide and deep like oceans that a man could slip into with no way out. ‘Which is absolutely horrible, considering it’s 2 AM and your door was unlocked. You should also invest in an alarm if you don’t want psychopaths breaking in.’

Your mouth fell open at the mention of unlocked door and stayed agape until it was your time to speak, to retort with growing confidence. ‘You mean like you?’

‘My sanity is fine,’ Jihoon declared, unzipping his jacket, ‘Unlike yours, you unsafe idiot.’ The thought of someone actually breaking into your apartment made his stomach sink; he made a mental note to himself to check up on you more often. ‘And is that your gun?’ He gestured toward the hairbrush, which could probably do some damage to intruder’s skull if you knew how to properly use it in such case, but he doubted you took a class of How To Knock Out A Burglar With Things You Find On Your Nightstand. Yet again Jihoon made a mental note to teach you how to fight, or more precisely defend yourself.

You glance down at the hairbrush, pursing your lips and stepping to the table to place the brush down. ‘Well, that’s all I could grab before rushing here to see who the fuck is ruffling through my stuff.’ Your hand came up on your hip and your words were laced with obvious accusation, which hit him with the realization that once again he fucked up.

‘I’m sorry.’

You heaved a sigh, the one of I’m-kinda-used-to-it-by-now-I-guess, which squeezed Jihoon’s heart. He truly did feel remorse, albeit he perhaps never knew how to properly convey it. But wait…

‘Did you actually call the police?’

He watched you shake your head, your lips curving into a taunting smile, and the little sound you made as a ‘no’ was way too adorable for Jihoon’s sake. Then your eyes narrowed at him, ‘Do I need to, though?’

It was his time to shake his head, ‘No, I’ll just leave.’

‘You’re bleeding.’

‘Am I?’ He thought you had enough of a trouble already, and he didn’t want to burden you with all his messed up shit. He could only hope not to run into those choleric guys on the way home.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance of him making a show of being clueless. ‘You think I don’t know what you were looking for in that drawer?’ Your brow arched questioningly, accusingly, and Jihoon couldn’t help but shift from one foot to another, feeling rather abashed.

‘It’s in the second one,’ he heard you state, exasperation in your tone. He then watched you step toward him, flippantly pushing his body away from the counter with uninterested expression on your face. He observed your next movements right beside you, your supple fingers opening the drawer, carefully flicking through plastic bags, scissors, some notes and other random shit that people keep in their kitchen drawers; why do they do that? Are they saving stuff for after the apocalypse swipes all the plastic bags off the planet? Well, except the ones in your drawer, of course. They might be valuable when the zombie infection spreads throughout the Earth, right?

Anyway, who cares about any of that when you’re so fucking close to Jihoon? The marvellous scent of your shampoo, or perfume, or some fancy pillow case mist-or whatever the hell it might had been-punched his senses and honestly the blow he’d taken to his skull that night couldn’t even compare to what this scent did to him; the haze that blinded his mind during the fight came nowhere close to the dizziness he felt right now, inhaling the magic of you that was an absolute winner, a total killer.

He wondered if you’d catch him if he stumbled and fell right that moment, in your kitchen at 2 something in the morning. He could tell you it’s the wound’s fault, he could say he got into a fight with three guys and it was just a tad bit too much for his body, plus he hadn’t eaten much that day.

Anyway, what do we have here? Oh, you’re not wearing a bra? Of course, you’re not; it’s night time, you were sleeping.

Wow, okay; he had survived lots of fights, even the smell of you hypnotizing his weak mind, but this… he was sure, this would definitely make his heart burst like the little pathetic thing that it was.

The deep breath that he took didn’t fucking help, when all he could sense was you, all he saw was you and all he could think about was you.

Oh, wait, it’s definitely tomatoes on your pyjamas, not apples.

Fuck, stop staring. Focus, Jihoon.

He gulped, hoping to swallow down the thoughts, that weren’t exactly innocuous, then again they only accelerated when you turned to face him, your hand in the air between your bodies, fingers gripping some cotton pads and the tiny package of band-aids, which if Jihoon had paid enough attention he would have noticed were vibrant yellow with some animation characters chasing each other on them, yet he fixated his gaze on the floor. This was so freaking silly; how old he was? Fourteen? The extreme warmth he felt inside that stupid, thick jacket and the blazing embarrassment itching his cheeks as you gazed at him with those beautiful, stunning eyes were just too much. He attempted to get rid of the feeling by jutting out his lower lip to blow upwards, the fringe on his brow fluttering in the process. That gave him little to no comfort, and upon hearing your voice his eyes snapped up to yours.

‘Take off that jacket, if you don’t want to end up on my Christmas dinner table.’

He managed a chuckle, sighing inwardly, finding some serenity in your casual tone.

He eased the jacket off himself as you filled a glass with water, handing it to him after.

‘Thanks.’

‘To the living room.’ You motioned with a jerk of your head and strolled toward the destination.

Jihoon draped his jacket over a chair in the kitchen and followed your cute figure adorned with the adorable pyjamas, which he was certain would be the death of him, and that sounds fucking odd, yet he couldn’t help but sip from the glass to revitalize his sanity.

He found your living room tidy and clean like the usual, save for the few candy wrappers on the coffee table in front of the couch, which you were patting with your hand, beckoning him over to take a seat near you. He did just that, like a man hypnotized, which wasn’t entirely a lie, the closeness of your eyes and your… whole body had him breathless.

‘Since I don’t have any alcohol, or anything like that,’ you explained, taking the glass of water from his grasp, fingers grazing over his, ‘This’ll do.’

Jihoon watched you dip a cotton pad into the water and then reaching up to gently wipe at his cheekbone, where the blood had trickled down from the wound; he wondered how in the hell it wasn’t gushing out of the damaged flesh anymore while it was rushing through his body at such intense force and speed now.

It was fascinating to watch you like that, all concentrated, brows knitted together, focused on your tender touch as it was inching toward the wound itself. He adored the way you tucked your lip between your teeth, the lovely tint deepening into an even more captivating one. He was so enthralled by your presence that he scarcely noticed the lack of damp cotton on his skin, but when he eventually did he shifted his gaze toward your eyes and found them already fixated on his. A wave of heat surged throughout his cheeks, chest and arms; he got caught staring and now all he could do was pull his eyes toward the Christmas tree behind you.

You resumed lightly stroking his skin, nearing the edge of the wound, and when he felt a sharp pang there he jolted his head backwards, earning a frown from you.

‘Hold still,’ you hissed, your hand reaching up to grasp the top of Jihoon’s head like a basketball to keep him in place.

He felt trapped, with your hands on his head, your face in such close proximity as you inspected the slit above his temple; he felt hot, even without the jacket, but, frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

However, he knew all this was only debilitating his frail body, and if he got another glimpse of your lips he would collapse into your arms with his mind sinking into oblivion.

He dragged his eyes back to the Christmas tree again and stared as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, well it kind of was, because-

‘Is there a present for me too?’ He questioned, with as much dignity as he could muster.

‘Yes,’ you answered, patting the wound for the last time, making Jihoon wince.

‘Which one?’

You glanced over your shoulder, ‘The biggest one.’ When you faced him again you were smiling, a cute, tired grin that caused his chest fill up with warmth. ‘You won’t get to open it until Christmas, though.’

‘Oh,’ he pouted and you chuckled softly, grabbing his hand and dumping the bloody cotton into his open palm. ‘Ew,’ he frowned in disgust, which earned an eye roll from you.

‘This was on your face.’

Although you seemed tired and sleepy, your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, you took care of him well; the perfectly placed band-aid gave Jihoon some kind of comfort, and you too seemed content with your job, if the tilt of your head accompanied with the little smile while observing the covered painful spot was anything to go by.

‘You sure you don’t need a doctor, though?’

‘Positive.’

You simply shrugged, reaching for another cotton pad, dipping in into the water like the previous one. ‘How did you get hurt anyway?’

He knew you knew; you never missed the opportunity to lecture him, which you had the full right to do, especially when he showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night, uninvited.

‘I bumped into a wall.’

‘Uh-ha.’ You reached to tenderly wipe his chin, under the sore lip.

‘I was bumped into a wall.’

‘Well, that’s more like it,’ you retrieved your hand only to kind of point a finger at him. ‘That’s what I’d believe.’

‘It did happen like that,’ Jihoon nodded, and you sucked in a breath through your teeth.

‘Ouch.’

‘Yeah. The lip, though…’ He swiped the tip of his tongue over the sore spot as you watched, ‘The guy had a ring on his finger, with a stone, a big one.’

Your eyes grew wide at that, ‘Shiiit.’

He smiled, a sharp stab in his lip making him wince, the wound’s surface becoming more sensitive from the wetness of his tongue.

‘You want a band-aid on your lip?’ You questioned, placing the second piece of cotton darkened with red onto Jihoon’s palm. ‘It’ll feel weird, though, and you won’t really be able to smile.’

‘Nah, I wanna smile.’

Your okay was followed by a cute yawn, an exhausted and wide, but cute. It was contagious and Jihoon couldn’t help the involuntary huge breath that he took covering his mouth and arching his back slightly to stretch the sore muscles. His eyes got just a tad bit heavy too, but his heart was frantic; he knew falling asleep now would be as difficult as recalling every element of the periodic table, and every person he knew would have confirmed that he was indeed awfully bad at chemistry.

He was certain images of you would swirl around his desperate mind even in his own bed, memories of the night enveloping him, making him feel all fuzzy and warm inside while the sun peeks over the horizon to announce a new day.

Your velvety voice snapped him out of his daze. ‘Why do you keep doing this to yourself?’

He knew what you were asking him about, and if truth be told he wanted to take the blanket that was sitting on your couch and shield himself from your scrutinizing gaze.

‘Me? I’m not doing anything.’

You snorted incredulously. ‘Uh-ha.’

Maybe he was just being dramatic, but it seemed that your eyes were piercing right through him so he squirmed awkwardly on the couch, averting his eyes. Sure, he could say he happens to be at the wrong places, at the wrong time and, of course, with the wrong people, but if he’s being totally honest he chooses to be there every single time, and not even once he regretted the caustic comments that flew out of his mouth without a second thought; he stands by his words with great dignity. That’s what probably gets him into trouble, but that’s also something that he finds thrill in and in some twisted way it keeps him sane.

He sighed before answering, meeting your attentive eyes again. ‘It’s ‘cause I’m bitter, I suppose.’

You pursed your lips and gazed at him intently, brimming with curiosity. ‘About what?’

Jihoon shrugged, ‘Life?’

‘And this,’ you gestured toward his face, referring to the bloody marks, ‘this helps you?’

Not necessarily. Well actually, he suspects that he might be ending up even more bitter about everything after the fights; however, this-him sitting next to you on your couch; the cosy ambience of your apartment; the way you so gracefully albeit effortlessly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear-helped him tremendously; his bitterness always seemed to falter efficiently when being around you.

Jihoon simply shrugged again. ‘Don’t you wanna go back to sleep?’

You stared at him for a second or two, your face expression rather indecipherable before you spoke something that did indeed catch Jihoon off guard and nearly made him choke on air. ‘Don’t you wanna kiss me?’

His eyes widened so much he was surprised they didn’t pop right out of his eye sockets and land in your lap. He was eminently staggered by your question, not to mention the tone you used; it oscillated between nonchalant and somewhat daunting. It sounded challenging, you answering his question with a question, like kids bantering back and forth, except this was more adult-like.

Glancing briefly at his lap he managed a perplexed, ‘What? N-no.’ Then his eyes were back on yours, his tongue moving on its own accord to articulate a ridiculously sheepish, ludicrously low and so utterly idiotic, ‘Yes?’

His whole body was burning, yet he couldn’t possibly miss the way your cheeks were tinted a lovely crimson too as a taunting smile flickered on your lips.

‘Are you asking me if you want to kiss me?’

He felt like he won’t be able to make it out of there alive.

He sighed inwardly, frustrated. His mind tried to fathom the reason behind your words. Where you sleep deprived and couldn’t think straight; or maybe you made a bet with someone trying to humiliate him?

Jihoon’s heart was hammering against its ribcage and it was so insanely intense he thought it would burst right through and yet again land in your lap.

You seemed to be rather amused by his bewilderment, watching him fiddle with the ends of his hoody sleeves. ‘Is Jihoon, the bad boy, getting flustered because of me?’

Oh, that must be it, you probably noticed the way he was blushing before that night and decided to tease him about it. Well too bad, because he’s not going to simply crumble and capitulate to you, there’s a reason he’s called a bad boy after all.

He was adamant in redeeming himself so he took a deep breath and stated a simple, but hopefully convincing, ‘No.’

You narrowed your eyes at him as if deep in thought, lips pursing to one side then the other, your fingertip tapping your chin for some dramatic effect.

He didn’t know what to expect from you, and when you uttered your next sentence-more like ordered-he almost jumped to his feet and flew out the window.

‘Then answer my question properly.’

He had thought about this kind of situation before, of course. His imaginative mind would dive into the widest oceans of what ifs without much desire to crawl out the deep waters. But this was actually happening; you were most likely about to mock him like there’s no tomorrow, you would remind him of this very moment every chance you get, you were never going to let this die down, therefore he thought he was fucking insane when he opened his mouth to let you know that-

‘Ok, yeah, yes. My answer… is yes.’

He figured there was nothing to lose, except for your friendship; well… okay, there was so much to lose, but if not now then when? He had this stupid crush for a year, a whole fucking year, and maybe keeping it from you only made it all worse.

Confessing to you, even just about wanting to kiss you, surprisingly felt good. Ripping his heart out and handing it to you was scary, but good.

If you laughed, he could say he was simply playing along, he would take his bloody heart back and move on; yet you weren’t laughing, or smiling, or… doing anything that could indicate his failure for that matter.

The air around you two stilled as if some bubble of ambivalence engulfed you both, inaudible what is happening; is he for real; wait, why isn’t she laughing echoing all around in those dizzy minds.

He heard you whisper some words under your breath, something along the lines of ‘fuck it’, and then he felt your soft fingers on his hand, snatching the cotton pads from his palm and dropping them somewhere on the table all the while he watched you wide-eyed. This was followed by you flipping his hand so the palm would face downward, then sliding it across his thigh to wipe it on his jeans.

If this wasn’t enough for Jihoon’s heart to stop, your quick movements to place both of his hands upon your cheeks was certainly the reason his heart skipped a couple of beats.

Your skin was soft and warm and… why are you putting your arms around his neck? Holy shit.

Is this really happening?

‘Do it.’

You were so close now he could see all the marks and pores of your face, and he loved every bit of it. That scent of you had him weak in the knees once again, his heart pumping as if trying to win a battle against the tiny heart of a mouse.

Fuck, your eyes twinkled like the sparkly night sky enchanting the whole world; would you close them upon feeling his lips on yours?

You were getting impatient, brows raised expectantly, gaze flickering between Jihoon’s dark orbs and his oh-so eager lips.

Should he do this? Just like that? All it took was his guard coming off for a little while and you getting a sight of his flustered state?

‘Just kiss meeeee-

Half a command, half a whine there, he could sense a tad bit of playfulness too.

That striking scent; those inviting lips; your delightful eyes; the dizziness of his captivated mind; your arms around his neck, his caressing your cheeks… sleep deprived or not you were getting that kiss.

That’s how your adorable whine was cut off-it was muffled by his lips. It was more of a peck, though, than a full-on I’ve-been-in-love-with-you-for-a-year kiss. It still managed to ignite something within him.

He pulled away almost instantly to check your reaction. You blinked at him a few times, a ghost of a smile twitching the corners of your lips.

Jihoon’s breath hitched when you leaned in and kissed him again, properly.

All of his most secret, most outrageous dreams were coming true right that moment, just like that, in your living room, where he’d been countless times, on your couch, which you both sprawled across during movie nights.

Damn, what a crazy life he was living, indeed.

Jihoon had no idea if it was physically possible for his heart to become twenty times warmer, but it felt like it did. The most majestic flowers began to sprout in his chest, and the wilted ones started blossoming anew.

Your lips were pillowy, the kind that brings such comfort and ease the time seemingly cease its existence, all becomes one, galaxies swirl in human bodies, people cry gold and plants play symphonies.

You tasted like sunset in summer; his fingertips grazed heaven.

(( ‘Wanna stay over and wait for Christmas together?’ ))

svt masterlist

#kwriterskollection #Lee Jihoon #seventeen scenarios #woozi fluff #badboy!woozi #woozi fanfic #woozi one shot #seventeen friends to lovers au #jihoon imagine #jihoon fluff #woozi scenario #you know how to make a boy feel warm #kyut-tea

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sapphicalexaandra · 6 years

Text

Impossibility Is a Kiss Away from Reality (5/?)

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Rating: M+

Summary: What. The. Fuck?! What in all seven hells had happened?! Alec wakes up in a hospital bed.

Notes: Chapter 5 of Sense8 AU. When a link appears, open it in another page ;)

Too Good

His eyes felt heavy and pasty as they twitched tentatively.

Immediately, a groan escaped out of him, only worsening the soreness he felt on his entire face. Scratch that, his entire body was sore. It took Alec a moment to remember why…he had been shot in the back. Fuck. Alec’s brain scrambled to remember if he had worn a vest or not; he should have, as usual. And since he didn’t feel the aftereffects of coming out of an operation, with a bit of luck he wasn’t in too bad a state.

But as his vision regained focus, Alec wished he was still asleep, because pain and family didn’t need to go hand in hand more than they already did. Especially when one had just got shot at.

“Alec? He’s awake, guys, he’s awake, shh,” Izzy half-whispered, but in vain, since his family had never been quiet one day in Alec’s life, not even when Alec’s head throbbed as incessantly as it did now.

As a matter of fact, his parents and Max all rushed towards his bed like a herd of elephants.

“Alec, baby, how are you feeling?” his mother asked in the lowest tone of voice she could muster, which wasn’t saying much.

Shutting down the loud memories that were knocking, demanding to enter at the back of his mind, Alec tried moving a little. His hands felt competent enough, even if they tingled a bit, but when he tried to get himself upright his entire upper torso shot up in pain.

“Don’t do that, Alec,” his sister warned. “You cracked a few ribs. The doctor said you can’t move too much for the next few weeks, and you need to take slow breaths.”

Alec nodded slightly, but he regretted it as soon as he did it. Just great.

“They’ll give you more pain killers in a bit,” his father told him, and Alec refrained himself from nodding again.

“You scared us, you know,” his mother said, taking his hand. That touch felt…weirdly wrong, somehow. That was the hand that was tingling the most.

“I’m fine,” Alec croaked out. “Hey, Max, don’t make that face.”

Max shrugged from his place at the foot of the bed. “I told you your work would get you killed. There are a lot of crazy people around.”

“Well, it seems that your big brother will be around for another while, though,” was Alec’s attempt at levity.

“Whatever.”

Alec managed to form a smile, as Izzy rolled her eyes.

Right then, the door opened, and Lydia, still in uniform, walked, or rather marched in, going to stand next to Izzy.

Everyone fell dead silent, and Alec’s stomach sank as Lydia sent him her sternest stare.

But he couldn’t let a word out before she did, “I’m glad you’re awake, Alec.” That was all the niceties he deserved, Alec knew it. “I still need to be out and deal with the situation, but I wanted to check. I’ll come back later, and we’ll talk, partner.”

Not even his mother had ever made a talk sound so threatening.

“I’m sorry, Ly-”

“Save it for later,” she said, a bit more kindly. She looked at Izzy, then, and the latter nodded at her before leaning in for a kiss. Lydia was out of the room a moment later.

Izzy turned towards him, and she was regarding him severely now, too. Alec sighed.

“Really, Alec, what happened? Lydia said you completely froze in the middle of the shooting.”

Four pair of eyes were fixed on him, and Alec didn’t know what to say. He knew that it was not characteristic of him, at least not since his academy days, to freeze on the field. And he didn’t freeze, he just got…distracted. But he could never explain that to his family; he didn’t understand it himself!

Still determined not to think about it, not until he was alone at least, Alec tried for a somewhat plausible answer. “I know, I just…I don’t know. It happened, okay? But it won’t again, I promise.”

“You better,” his mother warned, only half teasing. At least now that she knew he wasn’t about to die, she could go back to her usual self. Not that his mother was heartless, just…she hadn’t called him baby ever since he was a baby, and he rather preferred it that way.

The door opened again. This time it was the doctor, which they all greeted.

“How are we feeling, Officer?” he – Alec had forgotten his name - asked good-naturedly.

Alec cleared his throat. “Could be better.” Then he added, “But I’m just bruised, am I not? The bullet didn’t pierce, so I should be released soon?”

“Soon, but not quite yet. We want to keep you for the night in case you have a concussion.”

Alec groaned internally. “I don’t feel concussed.” Not technically a lie, because whatever he might have hadn’t been caused by this.

“It’s often not that obvious, at first,” the doctor still replied.

“What could be the worst-case scenario, Doctor Pangborn?” his mother asked.

(Right, that was his name).

“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Lightwood. It’s just a precaution. We’ll keep an eye on him, but I think you can all go back home serenely enough.”

Alec’s throat, however, only closed in on itself. He knew that something was wrong. He’d have to ask the doctor more questions once his family had gone away.

Eventually, finally, they did leave, even though Izzy promised she’d come back later with Lydia. Still, despite that not-very-pleasant prospect, Alec could breathe more easily. Not literally, since his chest was still wrapped tightly around his bruised ribs, while one particular spot on his back, where the bullet had hit him, kept pounding more painfully than the others; but at least he now had the space to think…

What. The. Fuck?!

What in all seven hells had happened?!

He had simply been doing his shitty job in a shitty situation and then…what?! A blond guy had just stood there in the middle of the screaming crowd, and Alec had rightly - heroically, anyone would say - tried to help him…instead that guy had been made of smoke, and he had plunged him into some kind of hallucinated state during which Alec had thought to be somewhere completely different. And, most of all, that guy had looked like a model straight from a magazine, and he had stared at Alec as if he was his favorite snack…in the middle of a shooting! He dreaded to know what his sister would say – see what being a sexually frustrated workaholic will bring you to? – but she’d be wrong, because that’d be simply too crazy for anyone. It didn’t matter that he might, might have stared back a little bit, because he had not wanted any of this! Surely not being landed in a hospital.

He needed to quickly figure out how to ask for a brain scan casually.

But first, he’d let the pain killers do their magic on him, and maybe he’d even manage a nap…

When he had to stifle a scream. That guy had just appeared at the foot of his bed.

A moment later, Alec found himself standing in a poorly-furnished apartment, still facing that guy, who was looking at him far too intently for Alec’s tastes. Alec started palming at his chest, pain sparking up in it at his every movement, but he had to check to see that he was still solid. He appeared to be, but that only meant that he was far more elaborately going insane than any normal insane person.

“Great! I’m really going crazy, then!” he burst out, more directed at himself than at the other one. “It’s probably a tumor, I might have to soon leave this world, but in that case at least this,” he gestured at the guy with both his hands, “will stop.”

The guy crossed his arms. “Are you quite done?”

Alec didn’t let himself get distracted by his definitely unattractive British accent, or by the fact that it was the first time he ever heard his voice. “Wha- Excuse me? If I’m done? What gives you, a smoke man, the right to ask me-”

“A smoke man? What the hell did you smoke? And I’m the one asking questions here. Who the hell are you?”

“What? Who the hell are you!”

The guy shrugged. “I’m Jace.”

“Jace?” Alec paused. “Whatever. I’m Al-”

“Alec, I know. I heard.”

“You heard. Right, of course. Well, Jace, this has been interesting, but now I must wake up.”

“You must wake up.”

“Yes. From this dream or hallucination or whatever that I’m having.”

“Yeah, no. You’re the dream, I’m the one hallucinating.”

“I don’t think so, smoke man.” Alec gritted his teeth. “And where I am anyway? This is a dump.”

The guy – Jace – scoffed. “My apartment is not a dump, you tosser. And we’re in London, for your information.”

“London.” Alec paused again. “I’ve never been to London.”

“Well, of course not, since you’re not real,” Jace said as if that made it final.

“I’m not real?” Alec let out a sound that was part amusement part exasperation. “You are not real!”

''I’m very much real, thank you very much.”

Another sound escaped Alec, as he twirled around the room to find any sense somewhere.

“Ehm…”

Alec heard a snort, and he turned – he should stop moving, damn the pain! – infuriated. “What, now?”

“Your, ehm…your hospital gown…” Jace seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.

Alec froze internally. Don’t tell me…

But, of course, he had forgotten that he was literally naked, under that damnably short and open from behind thing that the hospital had put on him. He had been flashing Jace his ass…of-fucking-course.

“I mean, not that I mind,” Jace smirked, and Alec didn’t need to see himself in the mirror to know that he had lit up bright red.

And as he fumbled with his vest, trying to face Jace not with his ass, his mouth was gaping open like a fish, and all he could think about was that that situation resembled far too closely the start of every damn porn ever…and he wasn’t liking it at all. At all. That was not the way things should go in a fantasy; he shouldn’t want to crawl under the bed instead of over it!

“You…what…just, go away, will you! Get out of my head!”

Jace’s brow furrowed. “Not until you get out of mine!”

Alec shut his eyes closed, then, and for some miracle it worked. He felt himself back on the hospital bed, and he opened his eyes again with a sigh of relief. Not that he felt very relieved, because his emotions were so tangled together that he didn’t know what he felt. He only knew that his heart was pumping wildly, and that dreaming about a hot blond liking his ass would’ve been great if it hadn’t literally landed him in that hospital.

He had barely calmed down by the time Lydia arrived and he had to face another conversation he didn’t want to have.

“We’re in this together, Alec, I want you to tell me if you have something going on that makes you freak out at work. We need to be able to rely on each other, you know that.”

“I know, I know, Lydia, I’m sorry.” Alec pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand. “Nothing’s going on, I swear.”

The lie left his lips far too easily, unlike the guilt that sprung up in him as a result. Still, no matter how much he trusted Lydia as his partner, he couldn’t put this whirlwind on her life (and on his sister’s as a result). Alec knew he must’ve scared the living daylights out of her, and this would only freak her out more about something that he still didn’t understand himself. If it turned out to be serious, he swore to himself that he’d tell her.

“Then what happened?” Lydia asked.

“Will you believe me if I say I don’t know?”

Lydia raised a critical eyebrow. “You’ll have to work on that. Take these weeks of leave to figure it out, okay?”

“God, right, I can’t go back to work.” Damnit. Work occupied most of his time. Without it, what would distract him from this literal shitstorm? “I can’t believe I’m leaving you on your own…I bet they’ll partner you up with Raj again.”

Lydia sighed. “Being shot myself would’ve been better.”

Izzy entered the room, carrying a bag. “Proper clothes for the patient,” she chirped out.

“Bless you, Iz.”

He’d hate hospital gowns forever from now on.

After placing the bag on the floor next to the bed, Izzy went to seat on Lydia’s lap, while Lydia hugged her around the middle, laying her chin on Izzy’s shoulder. It had been a long, tragic day, Alec mused.

Izzy leaned into the hug, interlocking her hands with Lydia’s, before she looked at him, “So how are you feeling, big bro?”

“Better.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “This is just a precaution, I’ll be home tomorrow.”

Izzy nodded. “Did you give him an earful, babe?” she said to Lydia, who smiled.

“No, I was actually very nice.”

“Then I’ll tell you that you’re an idiot, Alec.”

“I love you too, Iz. Sorry I scared you,” Alec said genuinely.

That seemed to satisfy her, because she sighed, but didn’t add anything else.

“Go home, I’m okay,” Alec told them. “I know you’re tired.”

Izzy and Lydia shared a look, but Izzy still seemed reluctant when she addressed him. “Are you sure? I could stay here with you.”

“I don’t think they’ll let you stay.”

“But…” Alec raised an eyebrow, “ugh, fine.”

They got up and, after bidding him goodnight, Lydia squeezing his hand as Izzy kissed him on the forehead, they left the room.

He thought he would’ve preferred being alone, but in actuality Alec was left with nothing more but his panic over the entire situation.

So, eventually, he just couldn’t take it anymore, and he had to call up to ask for a brain scan, under the excuse of a bad headache that he didn’t want to find out was something serious too late. Not that it was a lie, because his head was killing him, and he would have all the reasons to worry. He didn’t even have a lot of convincing to do, and when he got back in his room after the scan he felt far more serene. One less thing to worry about.

He still had a hard time falling asleep, the scene at the shooting and at…Jace’s apartment replaying in his mind over and over and over again.

How people had walked right through Jace while Alec was touching him - he should’ve noticed that there was something weird about that touch, but how could he have had in such a terrible moment?

How the world had seemed to stop, every sound drained, everything else forgotten, nothing else that mattered except them as they stared at one another…

How infuriating Jace actually was, because of course even a fantasy couldn’t be perfect.

Most of all, Alec didn’t understand how he could hallucinate things so vividly, and still have them make so little sense. Why that London guy? Why in the middle of the shooting? Why so randomly and why him?

If only this headache would stop. It didn’t help at all in trying not to be anxious.

And if only the people next door would turn off the volume? They were in a hospital, not at a damn concert!

Alec pressed the emergency button, regretting it a moment later - because apparently he was that kind of patient who complained about every little thing - but especially when the nurse told him that he couldn’t hear anything too loud. No concert.

Alec was left speechless, and more than a little embarrassed, as he left. Another weird thing happening to him that day.

When a piano started playing so clearly that he could’ve been wearing headphones, however, Alec felt betrayed…had the nurse been shitting him?

Scared my love You'll go

Alec froze, feeling his mouth fall open. Where…who…what? A voice - a deep, damn near angelic voice - was singing as if directly into his brain and…

Spend my love Heart broke

Alec didn’t even care about the noise anymore. He could listen to that music forever, as if his life depended on it…

So my love don't show

Alec could only close his eyes, vibrations spreading through his entire body …

Scared my love You'll go

…and when he reopened them, he wasn’t surprised at all to find himself in a crowd, all looking up at a stage where…he sang. Jace. He had just known that it was him.

Too good to be good for me Too bad that that's all I need

Jace had his eyes closed, his fringe messily styled on his head, as his mouth was pressed to the microphone as if he wanted to tell secrets right into it. The guy with glasses at the piano behind him had started harmonizing with him, and the result was even more astonishing.

Too good to be good for me And too bad that that's all I need All I need

Jace opened his eyes, and they didn’t hesitate, didn’t struggle to focus, they fixed themselves directly on Alec as if he had known beforehand that he’d be there, and where he’d be. Alec looked right back, somehow falling, and falling, drowning into the brightness of his eyes…

And when those eyes were suddenly far closer than they’d been, Alec didn’t even flinch, didn’t even mind about the optical impossibility in front of him, with a Jace slowly walking towards him a few meters away, and one on the stage.

Fingers walk your thigh Breathe my love, get high

Jace now sang to him, and to him alone, and there was no cell in Alec that wasn’t shaking, pulsing and aching indescribably.

And oh, I'm so scared Oh I'm so scared It's just for tonight

Alec followed the movement of Jace’s mouth, transfixed, a prey to a hypnotizing serpent, as the space between their chests got smaller and smaller, until it couldn’t be fit by another body.

So I take a sip, wait 'til it hits That liquid guilt is on my lips I'm wasted on you

Jace sang a few breaths away from his face, and Alec found himself bending his head down to get even closer, his eyes drooping, his mouth still open, drawn towards the other man as if they were two magnets…

Too good to be good for me Too bad that that's all I need All I need

Jace sang the chorus right in his ear, and then he traced all the way around Alec’s neck until it reached the other ear. They weren’t touching, not one limb, but their bodies moved and leaned against one another, in some sort of slow-downed figurative dance, as they somehow knew exactly the shape they should’ve formed. The music around them quickened, and they were caught in their own little bubble, their own little world, Alec still weirdly able to think that he was glad he wasn’t in his hospital gown anymore, until…

So I take a sip, wait 'til it hits That liquid guilt is on my lips I'm wasted on you

Jace, tentatively, shakenly, placed his hands on Alec’s chest, and Alec stopped breathing as Jace’s palms traced it, until he was circling his neck. Alec didn’t know what that felt like, it was like nothing else he had ever known…but it was something that he couldn’t escape, nothing that could keep him from bringing his own hands on Jace’s waist, and hide his face against the side of his face, breathing in a scent that didn’t seem to be of this world, but which he already knew intimately as it embedded into his brain. And he could swear he also felt in that same way Jace’s cold breath hitting his neck. At that point, he could no longer keep his eyes open.

(Wasted on you)

As soon as everything became dark, he was surrounded by Jace, and Jace alone, in a way that wasn’t tangible, but all-engulfing nonetheless. As their arms tightened around each other, Alec’s fingers trembling over the skin they traced, he thought that that must’ve been what it felt like being able to hold water.

Too good to be good for me Too bad that that's all I need

When, suddenly, Alec felt the need to raise his head from its spot. Jace looked back up at him in that very moment, and Alec could see every freckle, every line, every color on his face. For the first time he took notice of the fact that Jace’s eyes were the bluest, but the left had also a speckle of brown…Alec didn’t think he had ever seen eyes more beautiful.

Too good to be good for me Too bad that that's all I need All I need

Alec didn’t want to stop the urge that gripped him then, because it wasn’t a sudden, conscious thing that he thought about, he simply found himself inching closer and closer to Jace’s mouth with his entire being, as if it was only right. Only natural. His lips already felt the ghost of it, and he could tell nothing would ever compare to this…

A spark of pain shot up in his chest as Alec leaned up on his bed, and his eyes were wide open a second later, looking up at a white, empty ceiling. He fell back on his pillow, groaning in pain as his breathing raced wild, straining his ribs, exactly the opposite of what it should’ve been doing.

As Alec tried to get it back down, however, he couldn’t ignore the other sensations lingering in his body. The butterflies swarming in his stomach weren’t just a ghost, they were all too real, as were the tingles spreading under his skin, as was his erection throbbing painfully between his legs. And when the pain subsided, everything only heightened.

Fuck.

#shadowhunters #jalec #jalec fic #my fic #my writing #sense8 au #impossibility is a kiss away from reality

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