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realcube · 3 years

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haikyuu!! boys with a s/o that becomes clingy/affectionate while drunk

characters: kyōtani, kenma, iwaizumi, matsukawa and bokuto

thank you anon for this marvellous request mwah

ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!

tw// drinking, suggestive themes, sexual references, swearing

Kentarō Kyōtani

kyōtani was used to having a cool, laid-back s/o who was just as awkward about physical touch as he was

i mean, that’s kinda a part of the reason he liked you so much - so y’all could get over your awkwardness together

so imagine his surprise when his usually level-headed, calm s/o came stumbling out of the club, a blubbering mess and threw themselves into his arms, wailing something about a maths test

THE AMOUNT OF EMOTIONS THAT FLOODED HIS MIND IN THAT ONE MOMENT OMFG ADFGHJKL

he was like ‘omg why are they touching me? i kinda like it- wait are they crying? tf? i ain’t ever seen them cry before- should i help them? lord everyone is looking at us now. so what the fuck do i do- AYE DON’T TOUCH ME THERE’

so he had no choice but to dip with you flung over his shoulder lol

he took you back to your shared apartment and forced you to drink some water and instead of ordering a take-out, he just gave you his leftover burrito which he took to the club smh

it was probably cold

but that was the best he could think of at the time bc he simply needed to shut you up with food bc the alcohol in your system was causing you to become especially touchy, hence resulting in kyōtani getting especially aroused

but the last thing he’d do is fuck you while you’re drunk and i firmly believe that despite the fact kyōtani is a bit of a lout - he still has like a basic moral compass

but i mean if you kept being so damn suggestive then it was gonna be a lot harder for him to resist his urges

you were rubbing him up and shit, calling him every pet name in the book so ofc he just stuck a burrito in your mouth and went ‘stfu 😡’

the painful part was that he was silently enjoying it too (┬┬﹏┬┬)

(though, he was red from blushing lol, not anger)

and he wasn’t used to it either so obviously he was gonna get flustered, i mean, everything was happening all at once

oh and you told him ‘i love you’ and he literally combusted like lord have mercy on this man

just that morning you were calling him your ‘annoying rat boyfriend’ (jokingly, ofc) and now you love him?-

that wasn’t the first time you told him that you loved him but he was still blushing none the less

and he stammered out a ‘love you too’ PRAYING that you wouldn’t remember any of this the following day

anyway, he cuddled you to sleep and railed you as soon as you sobered up - the end ❤

Kenma Kozume

pov: you’re kenma happily being a wallflower in the club then your s/o approaches you, demanding for you to fuck them

- ok, end of POV -

anyway, your speech was slurred so kenma wasn’t really sure if that was what you were asking him to do but if it was, he would’ve happily obliged if it wasn’t for the fact you were clearly drunk

mans was blushing though

bc y’all hardly ever do it but now - all of a sudden - you were tightly wrapped around him, garbling erotic threats into his ear

kenma was worried at first but you were like..really weak

so it wasn’t hard to get you off his torso, usher you out of the club and grip your hand as he ordered a taxi

also kenma had read enough wattpad fanfictions to know how to deal with someone while they’re drunk

but none of those fanfictions ever mentioned a single thing about how to deal with yourself while your partner is drunk

like seriously..he was in pain

both from the throbbing erection he had and the aching embarrassment he felt - both stemming from the fact you tried to give him a lap dance in taxi ✋ please oml

anyway, he took you back to his apartment and insisted that you have a few slices of the left-over pizza in the fridge along with a glass of water

after you changed into your pyjamas, you had clearly sobered up slightly as you could now compose coherent sentences

but that wasn’t any better for him bc now you were draped over him, whimpering into his ear about how much you love him

‘i’m so lucky to have you, kenma. i love you so much. you remind me of my first cat - you’re such a cat- i mean, blessing..you’re such a blessing.’

ngl, at that point he would be at a loss for words, just deciding to hug you until you fall asleep

like he finds it so cute that you’re finally opening up to him about how you feel as you’re usually quite composed and restrained

but also- what does he do now?

you eventually fell asleep in his arms and the next day, you woke up to kenma having made breakfast and telling you how much he adores you which was..confusing, to say the least

he told you about how you acted when you were drunk and to say you were embarrassed would be an understatement

also, he’ll tease you about it for the rest of your life ;)

Hajime Iwaizumi

literally all you had to do was send him a text like ‘iwa...,,.,...ily so mycj ❤’’ and he’s already waiting in the line to get into the club lol

he marches in there, finds you, grabs your hand and drags you home

let’s hope that your friends know what iwaizumi looks like so they don’t have to just watch a random guy haul you out the club-

and tries to act all like angry iwaizumi >:( but when you are trailing behind him, muttering about how amazing he is, he becomes more like angy iwa grrr (* ￣︿￣)

by that, i mean that angry iwaizumi would bring you home and lecture on how irresponsible it is to get so intoxicated

but angy iwa just takes care of you but with a disapproving scowl

and angry iwaizumi would make nasty, bitchy remarks about how inappropriate your outfit is

while angy iwa would be like ‘babe, your outfit is lovely but maybe wear something different next time, idk....’

either way, he takes good care of you

he makes sure you eat (and he cooks good food btw - he doesn’t make you eat leftovers lmao)

he lets you change into more comfortable clothes

he ensures that you don’t die in the shower

and he forces you to go to bed

but all of that is rather difficult when you’re clinging to him like your life depends on it, raving on about how sweet of a boyfriend he is and covering his face sloppy kisses

his original plan was to go train some more in his gym (yes, there is a gym in y’alls house-) but when you were peppering his cheek in kisses, begging him to stay with you for whatever reason, of course he didn’t have the balls to leave

so he ended up laying like a log in bed as you cuddled up to him like koala, resting your head in his chest and allowing him to run his hand through your hair as you slept

in that moment - as he stared down at your tranquil figure - he realised how grateful he was for moments like these, as he finally got see a side of you that he knew you’d almost never exhibit when you’re sober

like yeah, you often tell him how much you love him but he can always tell that it’s as if you’re setting aside your pride to say such a thing but now, you’re gushing on about it with the most genuine look in your eyes, he can tell that you’re being completely sincere

and to say that he adores it would be an understatement

so yeah, you were kind of a pain while drunk but you were also the most adorable thing that iwaizumi had ever laid his eyes on (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

Issei Matsukawa

ok so the only reason matsukawa wasn’t getting drunk with you was bc the first time y’all got drunk together he got fined for public indecency and you got done for public intoxication

so you decided that it was best (for your wallets) if you took turns getting tipsy

emphasis on ‘tipsy’ bc you both went to the bar together (along with a few friends) and you promised matsukawa that you’d only have a few drinks

so please explain to him why he is now having to carry you bridal style out of the bar because you are too hammered to walk properly

and he was kinda grumpy bc he had to leave his friends mid-conversation bc not only were you pestering him but also, the erotic things you were whispering in his ear caused him to get a boner

and he was getting weird looks from people as he carried you home but that was the least of his problems tbh- he didn’t even notice lol

the biggest issue on his mind rn was the fact that you made him hard yet you can’t help him bc you’re drunk smh

like he was tempted at first bc you seemed down to do it but he quickly came back to reality and realised how morally incorrect that’d be

so he was mumbling curses the whole way home just to tune you out bc if he paid any more attention to the racy promises you were muttering in his ear- he’d explode

he’s alright at taking care of you like he isn’t iwaizumi’s level of caring but he’s a close second, i mean he’s gotten drunk plenty of times so he knows the basics

he was like ‘drink water idk lol ’

anyway, once he handled himself he wasn’t too fazed by your lustful advances

and he was so smug about it too deadass like ‘keep talkin’ me up, (y/n), you ain’t getting shit until you’re sober.’

smh ANYWAY he thinks you’re so charming when you’re like lovey-dovey drunk but SO annoying when you’re horny drunk bc like- he can’t get some (T_T)

Kōtarō Bokuto

best for last 👌

ok anyway he’s an athlete and he doesn’t need alcohol to have a good time- he’s forever drunk tbh- drunk on life :)

so while you’re getting hammered with your pals, he’s doing stupid shit while sober lol

once you both rendezvous outside the club to head home and you’re absolutely steamin- he’s just like ‘hi, babe! how’s your night been?’

SO OBLIVIOUS OML

anyway, he drives back to y’alls house and since you’re fatigued at first, you spent 90% of the car ride sleeping

but when you get home, more awake, you’re all up on him

but you’re not like sensual drunk- more like..emotional drunk but with love 🥺

so basically you are sobbing into his chest about whatever and bc he is an such empath he will start crying too, or at least get a bit emotional

you could say something like, ‘omg, bo. i hardly get to see you because you’re at work so often- i wish i could spend more time with you. i miss you so much’ ╯︿╰

and he would deadass reply whole-heartedly while weeping into your shoulder, ‘I’M QUITTING VOLLEYBALL, (Y/N)!!’

(ok, so maybe he was a bit tipsy too- but like..definitely not has drunk as you)

he has no idea where to start when it comes to taking care of you but he tries (´◡` ‘)

at the very least, he ensures that you don’t having any more alcohol and that you don’t die somehow

he’s v overprotective though

you could be getting a fork to eat your instant-noodles with and he’ll be like

‘apologies ✋ but i cannot allow you to handle such a dangerous weapon while intoxicated. maybe eat with a spoon instead, idk.’ /h

other than that, he just cuddles you to sleep and deals with you in your badly hungover state the next day

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bestiesenpai · 3 years

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drunk headcanons pt2

Can I get that 'tron, can I get that remy, can I get that coke, can I get that Henny? Bottoms up, bottoms up! These are headcanons for Itadori, Fushiguro, Yuta, Inumaki and Aoi Todo, and of course they’re all aged up 18+ because even though I did it you shouldn’t drink underage!

Inumaki

Hates the taste of liquor with a vengeance, his drink has to be mixed really really well because he doesn’t want to taste it at all lol

Shots with Inumaki are immediately followed with a chaser, most of the time pineapple juice and he always pulls a face at the taste

A few notches above a lightweight, I’d say four decently strong drinks and he’s hammered

Drunk Inumaki just wants to have fun with the girls and gays, take him to a gay club he will dance his fucking ass off to some Lady Gaga

He’s also pretty good at acting like he’s sober if he needs to, but don’t expect it to last long lol

I think his favorite drink would be an AMF with lots of ice and lemon

Fushiguro(I have already done little mini headcanons so excuse some repeats lol)

He drinks only dark liquor, light liquor has to be mixed for him to drink it and even then he won’t immediately fall for it. But he will not!!! Drink beer.

Is good about sticking to one drink for the whole night, if he’s having rum that’s his choice for the night

Gets sleepy when he drinks, if he’s properly smashed he’ll be lightly dozing off in the corner, if he’s at a house party you’ll definitely find him passed out in the bathtub

Is also brutally honest when he drinks, if he doesn’t like someone or something he’s not afraid to say it with no tact

Rambles on and on about some topic he has no idea about but the words just keep coming out like vomit

Speaking of vomit his stomach is strong so don’t expect to see him hunched over the toilet after a night out, he will lay in complete darkness and silence though

Yuta

He also hates the taste of liquor but is fond of light beer, can drink a case of light beer by himself if you let him

Yuta has two moods with liquor: oh no I’m sober tonight, you have fun! vs I’m going to drink so much I not only blackout but I will transcend to another plane of existence entirely, one where I am an alcohol wielding god that is worshipped and feared by the mortals beneath my feet. Choose your fighter!

If he’s at a house party or a rowdy function he can and will crush beer cans with his forehead and ride a shopping cart down a steep hill into a busy intersection with traffic

If it’s just a few friends together or if the two of you are drinking at home, he’ll follow you around like a puppy with a drunken dopey smile, he won’t speak to you but he wants to be close ‘just in case you need anything’

Surprisingly doesn’t get massive headaches or anything after drinking, his stomach is upset but as long as he takes a few hours after he wakes up to settle in then he’s relatively fine - but he won’t pass up on some hangover soup!

He insists on kissing the homies goodnight after a night out lol everyone gets a smooch from Yuta before leaving

Todo

The perfect himbo loves beer of all kind, but prefers when its in a glass bottle or one of them big ass beer mugs as opposed to a can

Knows quite a lot about different liquor, he’s totally the kind to try and make his own too!

Is not shy to order a super fruity cocktail or a margarita special at a bar and ya know what you can drink whatever you want when no one can kick your ass lol

Is it possible for his monkey brain to revert even further back? He’s a lizard brain when he drinks all he knows is drinking fun do more drinking

His party trick is being able to balance an obscene amount of martini glasses on his forehead

Verrryyyy cuddly after a night of drinking! Will literally start sobbing if you leave the bed after he’s come home from drinking even if you tell him you just have to pee!

Itadori

He is the KING of pregaming before the club, he always has the best playlists, mixes the drinks well and gets everyone hype asf for the club!

Mixes his liquor and has no problem with it, as long as it’s got a high enough percentage he’s drinking it

Has a decent alcohol tolerance, might have a slight intolerance though so at the end of the night his nose is stuffed and he’s out of breath just from walking to his front door from the uber

He and Todo are a dangerous combination when drunk, you never know what they’ll do next! Itadori might have to be on a leash when he drinks lol

Is also cuddly asf but his intentions aren’t pure, if he’s cuddling you on his lap he’s definitely trying to grind you on his cock even if he’s got fucking whisky dick. And even if he’s blackout stumbling drunk he’ll try to initiate sex as he passes out on the bed

Drunk texts! It’s mostly long keyboard smashes or voice notes of him grumbling and babbling like an idiot like he thinks he’s actually saying something that makes sense

#jujutsu kaisen #aoi todo #okkotsu yuuta #itadori yuji #inumaki toge #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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orsuliya · 3 years

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What’s your headcanon on XQ and Awu first night after they reunited, do you think it goes hot ripping apart clothes of each other or soft tender love making ? Do u see Awu checking every new scars XQ had after ep.50 and maybe kiss all the boo-boo away ?

YES.

It is most unfortunate that the world does not stop even for the most dramatic of reunions. It certainly doesn’t do so for Awu and Xiao Qi, however dearly they might have wished for a moment to simply be, to breathe, to count treasured heartbeats and rediscover the meaning of safety in each other’s arms. Alas! Once inside the fortress, they both get swept into a whirlwind of pressing matters and urgent concerns. Someone has to take care of dispossessed civilians, someone has to instill a sense of purpose into his men, someone has to reassure the children, someone has to think of a plan on what to do next; the list of tasks to be done is never-ending. Even reorienting themselves in this new political reality – and much has changed in Cheng during their absence – takes time and energy both, especially as it turns out that the land they’ve finally stepped onto after long months of drifting in limbo might be less of a land and more of a quagmire.

Awu manages to complete her self-appointed duties first and experiences a moment of stark realization when it comes to her that until now she has never actually seen her husband’s bedroom in the closest thing he has to a real home. It’s startling to say the least, but our Awu is not a woman who would allow herself to wallow over lost opportunities; she throws off any vestiges of encroaching fugue and orders the maids – in a perfectly even voice, thank you – to lay out the bed and fill a bathtub, if there is one to be found anywhere in the whole province, that is. And you know what, there actually is one! Right there in Xiao Qi’s rooms and equal to any of those found in the capital. This causes some amount of confusion, but the maids are quick to explain that Dawang had ordered it right before he went to war against Prince Jianning. They also explain something that Awu hasn’t even wondered about – although Xiao Qi will, later on – namely how come the new commander hasn’t taken those rooms for himself. That one is actually easy: Tang Jing never moved in, thinking it a futile point with Dawang still alive somewhere out there and the new commander mistook Tang Jing’s bedroom for the lord’s, nobody finding it necessary to disabuse him of this notion.

As the maids flitter around, carrying out their lady’s commands, she pulls one of them aside to help her with all those tight Hulan braids. Hulan things and especially Hulan memories should stay in Hulan, you know. What about the dress, you’ll ask. Don’t worry, that blasted piece of wedding couture will get its due!

Xiao Qi was planning to take a moment to himself, perhaps change his clothes – should any of his things still be lying around - and then go join his wife. What he was definitely not expecting was to find his rooms full of laughter and light, his bright-eyed princess presiding over the commotion with her unbraided hair in a storm of tiny waves. If he was a lesser man, he would have needed to lean against the wall; and perhaps there is a reason why he puts his palm on a doorframe as he takes in the view, feeling the tension of the last six months drain from him with every passing second.

Let’s establish one thing: Ningshuo is home to some very astute maids. The moment the Princess notices the Prince, they make quick work of their remaining tasks and slither out in the most discreet manner possible. Which they needn’t have bothered with, because it’s not like either of the Yuzhangs would have minded… or even noticed.

It’s been the longest six months imaginable and perhaps there are words that need to be said, but some things matter more than words. The moment Awu moves, meaning to go to her husband, Xiao Qi springs into action, catching her hands in mid-air and pulling her up, up, but most importantly close to himself. He would be perfectly content just standing there with his lips pressed to the crown of her head and perhaps her crinkled hair smells nothing like the perfumed oils she used in the capital, but how could he mind that when she’s right in his arms, breathing, trembling and wondrously, miraculously alive. It’s Awu who moves away – which may or may not tear a quiet whine of protest from her husband’s throat – but she doesn’t go far; only as far as she needs to reach up and cradle Xiao Qi’s face in her narrow palms, slender fingers moving in tender exploration over those beloved features, reaffirming what she had already known. This is her husband, her mate in life and death, back in her arms once more. The grave cannot have him, nobody can but her! Every single laughter-line in the corner of his dark eyes, the painfully sharpened slope of his cheekbone, even this new beard of his – and that shall require careful examination, but later, later! - all of this is hers and only hers.

Soon she deems touch is not enough and goes in for a taste, the first touch of her lips breaking him out of his self-imposed stillness. There are hungry lips, teeth and tongues, shared breaths and perhaps a salty tear, nobody knows whose, desperate hands seeking anchor in loose hair and beneath it all an ember of passion suddenly bursts into an unquenchable flame.

Now, you need to remember one thing: Xiao Qi is a well-trained husband, one who never forgets a lesson his wife teaches him and once upon a time she taught him a lesson alright! A lesson on how, no matter the urgency, damaging her clothes in entirely out of question and it’s become so ingrained into him that he still refrains from taking any radical actions even now, when the unfamiliarity and unexpected complexity of her clothing poses a certain problem. Awu, getting progressively more frustrated over every second she has to spend entangled in fabric – Hulan fabric no less! - instead of her husband’s arms, tries to take the matters into her own hands. When that fails and how could it not, what with her so very distracted, she swiftly moves to plan B. At first Xiao Qi is not certain he heard her right as “Tear it off me!” is not something he’s ever heard from his wife, much less in such an insistent tone. It’s only after she assures him that she doesn’t mind, no, not at all, rip it to shreds for all that she cares, that he makes quick work of those confusing overlayers. Incidentally, come morning he will pick this tortured garment up from the floor, as if admiring his handiwork, and look askance at his half-conscious spouse, who will then mumble something about dreaming of destroying the blasted thing herself. It might or might not end up as a pile of ashes, who knows.

Awu shrugs off her top and then, as befits a great believer in marital equality, finds it only right to dive right beneath Xiao Qi’s hanfu with her increasingly insistent hands and itching fingers. Kissing is all good and well, but during the course of their marriage she has discovered many things, one of them being that skinship is even better. What Awu wants, Awu gets. And so in quick order they’re pressed against each other, bare skin to bare skin, so close that one could hardly fit a blade between their joined bodies.

And just like that, in a space between two breaths, Awu suddenly freezes, heart hammering wildly in her chest as her roaming hands still on Xiao Qi’s back. See, there are many things in which Princess Yuzhang takes pride: her birth, her name, her deeds, her husband and her household, but there is one particular point of pride she delights in most of all and that is her secret knowledge of Xiao Qi’s body. She has made a detailed study of every single mark on her husband’s skin, she had her fingers and lips on every single of his scars, she knows their stories, both those told in whispers late into the night and those shared amidst bouts of laughter, but here, beneath her hands are two scars she knows not. Even a fool could tell how close those wounds came to ending his life and Awu is no fool. It’s not like she didn’t expect it, exactly. After all there must have been a reason why he didn’t come for her for six whole months and there was no way he would have escaped unscathed from a battlefield that claimed so many of his dearest comrades. And yet…

And yet this is the straw that breaks her. After six months of being the bravest woman under the sun, of keeping her back unbent and head unbowed even as her heart kept bleeding into the dust of unfamiliar land, she finally cries. It’s not pretty. It’s not dignified. It’s ugly crying at its finest, the kind of crying when your every vein trembles uncontrollably and you throat clenches in pain as if encircled by a garrote of thorns. And so they stand there like two perfect fools, half-naked and crying. At first Xiao Qi tries to dam Awu’s tears in any way he knows how, with a gentle swipe of thumb, with soothing lips and words of love, yet nothing works and then, as the first inhuman wail tears free from her mouth, he breaks as well, unable to do anything but to clutch her desperately, his own hot tears soaking into her dark tresses.

When they calm down – and how could they not, finally together and safe in the heart of Ningshuo – there is little left from their previous fiery lust except for the smallest steady flame, safely banked behind an overwhelming tenderness of heart. Ever so gentle, they finish stripping each other and finally enter that bathtub, big enough for two. Limbs and hair get washed, fears soothed and scars most diligently inspected… before Xiao Qi experiences a startling realization of his own. Just as Awu knows his body in the smallest detail, he knows hers. It’s a husband’s right, nay, a husband’s duty to measure the swell of his wife’s breasts with his palms, to follow the slope of her belly with inquisitive lips and be ever mindful of the delicate skin on the inside of her thighs. Now this hard-won knowledge is like a knife to the heart as it allows him to read the story of those six long months from her body loud and clear; all that stress, fear and grief suddenly made tangible in the alarmingly sharp jut of her clavicles. He hates how fragile she feels in his arms, even as he loves feeling her in his arms at all. A stray impulse makes him try to turn it into a joke about her Aunt’s imminent anger. It doesn’t work, he’s way too emotional for that and so is she, but it disperses the silence, dislodging the last remains of tension born of old, ever-present fear.

There is no more silence as – after some very perfunctory towelling off – he carries her to bed, her too-thin thighs wrapped around his waist. The Princess can be very demanding when she chooses to be and right now she chooses to be very demanding indeed. So demanding that she’s not content to simply wait for her husband to join her in bed, oh no. Her shoulder-blades barely touch the linens before she rises back up on her knees and pulls Xiao Qi down to a sitting position. From there it takes only one expertly executed maneuver to straddle his knees; a god of war or not, he never stood a chance when faced with an opponent this determined.

It’s not like he minds following her orders, he never has, and certainly not when she communicates them in a series of delicious, breathy moans, stopping only to express her displeasure the moment he tries to unwind his arms from around her slender form. She needs to be held, dammit, and she will be held, and she will hold him in turn, never, ever letting him go again, that’s the command of Princess Yuzhang! Any other time he might have smiled at her commanding tone, but not now, not when it’s so deadly serious and when he would like nothing better than to comply and keep complying to the end of his days. Yet he knows his wife as only a husband who keeps to one bed can and there is no way she will be satisfied with simply rubbing off against him, especially when she still hasn’t come once and when in a night this heavy with tension she can easily get off two or three times more.

Awu cries out in protest when Xiao Qi bucks underneath her, somehow turning them around without ever letting her out of his arms and then presses her down onto the bed, effectively trapping her with his weight. She cries out again – for a very different reason – once he gets his hand between her invitingly open legs. But he’s not after her cries, oh no, he’s a much more discerning hunter than that. What he’s chasing are those gentle keens she tends to let out once she’s close to the edge but not yet on it. This time his fingers can’t quite do the trick fast enough for his liking; it’s not an exact science, pulling sweet whimpers out of your wife’s lovely lips, more of an art.

Even Awu can’t exactly protest – not that she doesn’t try – when her husband slithers down her body, much less when he gets his head between her thighs. She still holds him tight, just in case, only this time it’s by his hair. She can, however, protest, when in the aftermath he tries to take himself in hand, head pillowed on the inside of her knee – and isn’t it a marvel how good that beard feels on her skin? He’s hers, thank you very much, so she’ll take responsibility. Which she then proceeds to do to great effect and mutual satisfaction.

If after lying and breathing together for a few minutes he detects the tiniest shiver in her countenance, well, what are those handy white sleeping robes for. Surely, she won’t begrudge him a moment of separation, if it’s for the sake of her health. She does, by the way, she absolutely does and the frown that makes guest on her beautiful face never quite goes away as they resume their embrace, wordly concerns entering their bedchamber against their will. It’s been the longest six months imaginable, not only for them, but for the country as well, and there are words that need to be said.

Once all the necessary words are said, pressing matters of national importance dealt with, promises made and fears assuaged, there is little that will stop Awu from trying to chase away the shadow lying between Xiao Qi’s brows with determined, yet soft lips; and even less that would ban her from taking her due as Princess Yuzhang until the very dawn.

#ask and answer #the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #so I wrote that oh dear oh dear #not sure how coherent it actually is #coherence was not my first concern as you might imagine #that dress needed to die #and this way it dies for a good cause #episode 60

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

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dirtbags // 5: Charlotte

Summary: High School AU. 1985. Winter. Charlotte and Razzle are officially not dating, while Lola’s not dating someone but won’t say who, though she’s contemplating sleeping with Tommy in an effort to get him to stop pining for her, which Charlotte thinks is a terrible idea. Except that Charlotte lets slip to Tommy that that’s Lola’s plan, and he doesn’t take it well. The whole pack ends up at the Drive-In, which is going great for Charlotte and Razzle right up until Nikki decides to be an ass, and Charlotte realises that Tommy has spoken to Lola about their fight. It looks like things will be getting worse before they get better.

A/N: 6655 words. long overdue sorry!! @misscharlottelee and @evaangelics my beloveds this is, as always, for you both. ft. asofterworld quotes

my sister and i both hate antique shopping. but we love hating things together.

So yes, technically Charlotte and Razzle spent the better part of Heather’s party in a dark corner being altogether gross, as an incredibly drunk Peach had informed them both before she was pulled away by a far more sober Vince, which Charlotte hadn’t thought much of at the time, herself more than a little tipsy, but hearing Eileen rant in the diner the following day had made her feel a little guilty for not paying more attention. Not that anything bad happened, but still, she felt partially responsible for the young ginger girl.

But the point is that Charlotte and Razzle are not dating, despite what everyone in their weird and ragtag bunch of lunchtime delinquents likes to imply. If Charlotte could justify punching Nikki again, she absolutely would. It’s not her fault that Razzle’s interesting and kind and honest and funny, and if she finds herself feeling a little heady, a little good-nauseous, like she had back when she and Duff had first been dancing around the idea of being a couple, she pushes those feelings to the back of her mind and distracts herself with something, anything else.

Right now, she’s got a terrible headache and is having a whisper argument with Lola in the middle of art, trying to talk her out of pity-fucking Tommy.

“You make it sound so crass and heartless,” Lola’s lip curled, frowning at the red pencil in her hand and the cartoon drawing of a flower in her notes, “pity-fucking,” the word sounds wrong on Lola’s lips, tone derisive, “you say it like I don’t care about him.”

“Don’t pity-fuck my cousin, you can both do better,” Charlotte rubs at her temples, eyes closed, as Lola makes a noise like she’s not too sure if that’s a compliment, “a few weeks ago, you promised me you were just friends -”

“He’s a hopeless romantic who keeps hearing about cheerleaders sleeping with people who aren’t him, lemme put him out of his misery -”

“By fucking him? What if he catches further feelings for you?”

“I dunno, I’ll kill him?” Lola suggests flippantly, and when Charlotte cracks her eyes open to level a glare at Lola, the dark haired girl is grinning, clearly joking.

“Why Tommy? Why can’t you sleep with someone less related to me?” Charlotte hisses, tone vaguely annoyed and desperate, “I thought you were getting laid? What’s up with you and Nikki anyways?” There’s a shift in her tone, and Lola makes a face, pressing a little harder with her pencil.

“I am sleeping with someone less related to you,” Lola says, though there’s a strangely guarded quality to her voice, “not Nikki, for the record; he’s the one who suggested I sleep with Tommy to begin with. He’s too much of a bitch to fuck me himself,” she mutters, mostly to herself, a little wrinkle creasing the bridge of her nose as she thinks about it.

“Wait, you’re seeing someone? For real? And it’s not Nikki?” Charlotte’s expression lit up, and Lola gave her a calculating looking out of the corner of her eye.

“I bet we both know another person I’m not sleeping with,” and Lola’s tone is mean and a little venomous as she deftly changes the subject, “how is our favourite exchange student, by the way?” Charlotte realises too late that her excited questioning of Lola’s private life may have touched a nerve. For all that Lola’s become more open in the few months they’ve been friends, there were strange lines Charlotte kept finding. Lola never really acted as though she cared much about Charlotte and Razzle’s vague status, so to use it against Charlotte was a surprise, and a clear giveaway that one of those lines had been crossed. It got Lola’s message across well enough, and Charlotte’s mouth snapped closed.

Lola was a terrible distraction when she wanted to be.

“Lola’s not seeing anyone,” Nikki says flatly around his cigarette, and when Charlotte realises she’s gossiping with Nikki Sixx, she wonders idly where her life went wrong, “she’s fucking someone,” he corrected, “and she refuses to tell me who, but she’s not seeing anyone.” He sounds far more annoyed than Charlotte had anticipated, and she can’t help herself. She tugs on that string.

“Wait, so it’s actually not you?”

“Lola’s dad is built like He-Man, Master of the Fucking Universe, have you seen him, Charlie? I couldn’t stick it in his daughter and bring myself to look him in the eye every other day; and I’m past worrying if he’s gonna toss me into space like he’s an Olympic hammer thrower,” Nikki considers for a moment, before heaving a sigh, “I just don’t wanna disappoint him.”

“You think fucking Lola’s gonna disappoint her dad?” Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with slight confusion, “why do you even talk to her dad every other day?”

“We work together?” Nikki says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world, and oh, suddenly Charlotte knows exactly why the back of the fry cook in Leo’s looked so familiar. Nikki can obviously read it on her face as the realisation, the full understanding of the situation dawns on Charlotte, but it still doesn’t stop her from bursting out with laughter.

“Oh dude, you definitely cannot fuck your boss’s daughter, no matter how much you so clearly want to -”

“Hey!” Nikki snapped, “bold words coming from you, Miss Lee; you already made sure Razz has had the full American High School Experience, or are you waiting for Prom to go full cliché about it?”

“Nikki, I’ve already punched you in the face once, so help me -”

“Yeah but now I know what to expect, I’m kinda into it,” Nikki’s grin is all teeth, and he leans across the table, into Charlotte’s space, “do it again, Miss Lee,” he teases, offering up his cheek to her, grinning from ear to ear. Charlotte makes a disgusted noise, leaning back, crossing her arms.

“You disgust me; can you please quit your job so you can fuck Lola?”

Thankfully, this seems to take the wind out of Nikki’s sails, his expression falling to something irritated as he huffs and drops his gaze, sitting back dejectedly, and pointedly refusing, unable to come with a snide comeback in time to save face.

“Lola would punch you in the face,” Charlotte pointed out, tone a little smug, and Nikki presses his lips together, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as a blush creeps up his cheeks.

“So would that leggy redhead of yours,” he’s quick to change the conversation, “isn’t she in the musical? You know my band’s still looking for a singer -”

“Lemme stop you right there,” Charlotte stops Nikki in his tracks, holding up a single hand for silence, “first of all, the only person Eileen hates more than you is Vince Neil, and she told me personally that she’d rather eat glass than join your band, secondly -”

“You talked about my band with her?” There’s something a little bashful in Nikki’s voice, and the blush hasn’t left his cheeks; the whole picture would be endearing if he wasn’t such a colossal asshole.

“Secondly,” Charlotte tries again, “you know her name’s Eileen; everyone knows her name is Eileen, stop calling her my leggy redhead,” she ordered, before taking a deep breath, trying to let her irritation subside, “and thirdly, Lola was the one who asked Eileen to be in your band, Eileen just brought it up to me because she knew Tommy was in it.” Nikki, who had already been pink all over, was steadily turning red, trying to hide it as he made a show of patting down his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“Lola... uh, she talks about my band? She asked if Eileen wanted to join us?” He’s shooting for casual and missing the mark miserably, much to Charlotte’s delight.

“You’re so in love with her,” she smirks. Nikki scowls at her. The bell rings.

i have found a way to watch video in your head. high definition, with instant replay. it is called having regrets.

When Eileen invites Charlotte to the drive in, and suggests bringing Razzle, she insists it’s not a date, that some of the people from the musical were just getting together to watch the new horror movie, and she thought it would be good for Razzle to experience a proper, drive-in movie. That probably should have set of alarm bells in Charlotte’s mind, since everyone knew that if you take someone to a horror movie at the drive-in, you generally don’t end up actually watching much of the movie. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book.

But Eileen’s adamant, and Charlotte honestly wouldn’t actually mind sneaking off with Razzle at some point, if the opportunity arose, not that she’s admit that.

“I should ask Lola to go,” Tommy says, tone a little wistful, when, on Thursday, Charlotte tells him her plans for the following evening; alarm bells definitely start ringing.

They’re in Tommy’s kitchen after school, with his mom at the supermarket, and his dad at work, they’ve got the house to themselves, apart from Tommy’s sister upstairs, monopolising the phone. Charlotte’s sitting on the counter, while Tommy’s staring into the refrigerator, not actually looking at what’s in there, thoughts miles away as he considers his own words.

“Shut that if you’re not going to get anything, and no you shouldn’t,” Charlotte shuts him down immediately, to which Tommy frowns, asking derisively when she became the boss of him, slamming the fridge closed, “I thought you two were just friends,” Charlotte counters with.

“I can ask a friend to the drive-in,” though the way he suddenly can’t meet her gaze betrays him, and he flits over to a cupboard, opening it and staring at the food inside, trying to decide on an afternoon snack, “why are you here, anyways?” At this, Charlotte goes quiet and pensive, looking down at her knees as her heels kick softly against the cupboards below, trying not to think about how her mother keeps leaving college brochures out, with Law, Accounting, and Medicine courses all meticulously highlighted, or how whenever they’re in the same room, she’s treated to passive aggressive questions about whether she’s seen the brochures her parents know she definitely hasn’t touched.

“Am I not allowed to hang out with you?” Charlotte finally surfaces from her thoughts to see that Tommy is waiting for an answer.

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole.”

“If you’re going to daydream about Lola, I’m going to be an asshole,” Charlotte fired back, snarkily, and Tommy narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ve become kind of a bitch since you started hanging out with Nikki,” he huffs, and Charlotte straightens up where she’s sitting, eyes going wide with disbelief, with slight outrage.

“I’m just fucking sick of hearing you chase after girls who don’t want you! It’s all you ever talk about!”

“Lola wants me! Lola fucking wants me, Charlie!”

“She doesn’t want you, she wants to pity-fuck you so you’ll get off her damn case! Just how naïve are you, Thomas?” Charlotte yells back, and immediately smacks her hand to her mouth, regret written all over her face. Tommy’s expression falls like his heart is breaking. “Tommy -”

“A real, fucking bitch,” there’s a shake in Tommy’s voice that is breaking Charlotte’s heart, and she tries to apologise, but he tells her to go home.

Yes, she leaves, she shuts the door behind herself, but she can’t bring herself to go home. Her feet carry her while her mind is blank, but when she looks up, she’s pushing open the door to the gas station, seeing Mick Mars look up from his magazine. Before he greets her, she sees the way his eyes search the space around her, roam the empty fuel pumps, as if expecting Tommy to pop out behind her. Then, once he considers himself safe, he puts down his magazine, tilting his head curiously at her, at her dejected demeanour.

“Charlotte?” She’s actually surprised that he knows her name, and Charlotte hovers in the door, letting in the cold air from outside as she deliberates. Why had she come here of all places? “Are you okay?” The words sound strange, like he’s not used to saying them, not used to showing any sort of care, but she appreciates them nonetheless.

“I was a massive asshole to Tommy,” the words spill from her before she can stop them, and she watches Mick’s expression, can almost see him fight back several sarcastic or congratulatory remarks, suppressing his own well-worn irritation for her cousin, instead, just making a noise in the back of his throat that she can’t quite decipher. Then, he looks out the window, looks to the clock on the wall, and takes his feet off the counter carefully.

“Do you want a slurpee?” He asks, obviously a little uncertain of how to proceed.

“Not really,” Charlotte admits, and Mick awkwardly looks around, as if to offer something else.

“Do you smoke?” He’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Charlotte shoves her hands into her coat pockets, shaking her head, looking at the floor, not quite sure where to go from here herself, “do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” her voice is small.

They sit on the step by the door outside the gas station, side by side, silent for a few minutes as Mick smokes his cigarette. No cars approach, but they watch some drive by as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

“I told him Lola doesn’t want him, that she’s just interested in pity-fucking him because she thinks it’d get him off her case,” Charlotte admits, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Mick wince, a sign that what she’d said truly was a dick move.

“That would’a broken the kid’s heart,” Mick muses around his cigarette, and Charlotte, who’d had her knees curled up to her chest, rests her chin on them, with a quiet ‘I know’.

“He said I turned into an asshole since I became friends with Nikki Sixx, and then I just managed to prove him right,” she seethes, disappointed in herself more than anything else.

“That’s your first problem; being friends with Nikki Sixx.”

“That was an accident,” Charlotte tried to defend herself, “and I’ve been friends with Nikki for kind of a while, honestly, but I was just so sick of hearing Tommy moon over girls who don’t even look twice at him, like they hung the stars in the sky -”

“Charlotte,” Mick interrupts her, his voice soft but insistent, and when she finally looks at him, he’s actually frowning at her, hands stilled with another cigarette half-pulled from it’s packet, “that’s not... you know why what you said hurt him, right? You know you could’a said that about any other cheerleader he was into and it would’a rolled right off his back, right?”

Oh. Oh no. Slowly, Charlotte’s expression crumbles as the full weight of her words dawns upon her, her guilt skyrocketing. Face in her hands, she actually wails, and Mick gives a firm pat on the back as a show of support.

“They’re friends, Mick.”

“I know, Charlotte.”

“God, fuck, he probably thinks that I mean she doesn’t even like him as a friend, Mick!”

“Yeah,” he sighed deeply, giving another pat, “I know, Charlotte.”

“I just... don’t want him to get his heart broken,” she admitted, her only attempt to justify herself, which Mick didn’t accept as a proper answer for a moment.

“He’s sixteen, he’s gotta make his own mistakes, and,” at this he hesitates, lighting up his cigarette and taking a long draft as he deliberated saying his next words, “don’t ever let her know I told you this,” he adds seriously, “but the last thing Lola wants to do is hurt that kid; if anything, she’s hoping hooking up with him will strengthen their friendship, and raise his confidence for when he goes after other girls.” This... is a lot to process.

“How do you even know this?” Charlotte asked, bewildered, and Mick scrunches his face up and takes another long inhale on his cigarette.

“We’re friends,” is what he settles on.

“What?”

“Lola and I... are friends,” he sounds like he doesn’t want to admit it, and visibly cringes as he follows it up with, “she cares about that kid, and speaks very highly of him, and of you, honestly, and maybe the kid’s not as irritating as I had him pegged as. He’s still irritating, but he,” and he audibly groans, hanging his head for a moment, as if disappointed that he’s even saying any of this, “he’s a good friend to Lola.” It’s like the words themselves hurt him to admit, so he changes the topic quickly, “she told me he’s in a band with Sixx, actually,” and his tone is thankfully much less strained as he straightens his posture a little, ignoring Charlotte’s frankly flabbergasted expression, “I’ve been seriously considering joining them.”

“You sing?” Is what Charlotte hears herself say, without really registering it. Mick snorts derisively.

“Fuck no, I play guitar.”

“You sho- you should join them,” Charlotte babbles, trying to make sense of everything that she’d just learned, and now this of all things, but it’s going to take her a while.

“I should,” he agrees with the barest hint of a smile, once more clapping her on the back. He hesitates before he stands, like he wants to say something else, but instead, he gives an awkward smile and gets to his feet, heading back inside, leaving Charlotte in silence.

Eileen gives her a lift to school the following morning, seething about how Peach got a part-time job and their parents still aren’t happy. It’s conflicting for the older sister, who hates hearing the derisive way her parents refer to Peach as a ‘burger flipper’, while Peach herself had sneered when Eileen had asked about the job, telling her older sister that she was done grovelling at their parents’ feet just to exist, with an implied ‘unlike you’ which had been so uncharacteristic of the usually kind and upbeat Peach that it had sent Eileen spiralling. It was the third day in a row Eileen had been ranting about it, about how she just wanted to support Peach, but that her whole family appeared to be turning on each other.

Charlotte found herself relating to that particular sentiment far too well.

Half their ragtag bunch of lunchtime misfits is notably absent from their usual lunchtime hang out, so while Charlotte spends the forty minutes picking apart her food like she’s trying to deconstruct it atomically, Razzle sits diligently as Eileen carefully and meticulously braids his hair, while he asks if he needs to bring anything, or wear anything special to the drive in that Friday. Charlotte’s not paying them any attention, just letting her gaze roam distractedly essentially until the bell rings, and Eileen pulls the hairband from her own hair to secure Razzle’s braid, before taking off.

“Anybody home in that head of yours, Charlie? The bell’s gone,” Razzle’s offering her his hand where he’s standing, and Charlotte finally returns to reality from her blank, concerned mind, wiping the last few crumbs of her sandwich on her jeans picking up her bag with one hand and taking Razzle’s hand with the other. Today he’s chosen to wear a royal purple collared shirt, several sized too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into tight, acid-washed jeans littered with naturally-made holes, his backpack on his back, and a black, corduroy jacket slung over one shoulder; with his newly acquired braid, the whole look is quite fetching, quite -

“You look like a prince,” Charlotte feels rather foolish for even saying it, can feel as the blush rises on her cheeks, but Razzle’s beaming as he pulls her to her feet, and doesn’t let go of her hand for a moment.

“Well then I must be truly lucky to get court a princess like you,” and coming from anyone else, it would have sounded cheesy, or the phrase princess would have been derisive or snide, but he’s sincere, almost painfully so, and Charlotte ducks her head, “not courting,” Razzle corrects quickly, and Charlotte doesn’t think about how her heart sinks at that, despite how they’d talked through this.

“Princess Charlie -” something about the way he says her name always hits her hard, because hearing how it sounds, the reverence with which he says it, the nervousness, she leans in and kisses him quickly, can’t help herself, can’t stop herself. But then she’s leaning back, getting a better grip on her backpack, but - “wait, wait, wait, Charlie, wait -” Razzle, for the barest moment, tightens his grip on her hand, and she’s terrified that she crossed a line, that she’s done something wrong, but she turns back, and he doesn’t seem to be mad or concerned, instead he drops the jacket he’d been holding, gently taking her face in his hands, “can’t spring that on me and get away with it; lemme do it proper.”

i am going to build a new boyfriend out of garbage and dirty feathers. no one else will touch him.

“Did you tell Tommy we were coming here?” Eileen hissed, startling the hell out of Charlotte at the concession stand at the drive-in before the movie began. Charlotte, who had been hovering in line, nervously retucking her nice blouse into her skirt every few minutes, almost jumped out of her skin at her friend’s voice in her ear.

“Yeah, I - why?” Looking around, Charlotte thankfully can’t see Tommy’s shitbox of a car, but it becomes readily apparent the source of Eileen’s frustrations, when she spots a shiny, red sports car parked four cars past where Keanu and his good friend and well known fellow theatre kid Alex Winter were sitting on the hood of Keanu’s car, chatting animatedly with Razzle, who they had been quick to warm to him upon meeting him about twenty minutes ago.

“Charlie!” The name came out as a frustrated noise from between Eileen’s clenched teeth, her eyes glued to Vince Neil’s ostentatious car, and Charlotte looked down for a moment, before adjusting her skirt again and retucking her shirt as she spoke.

“I didn’t know he’d tell Vince; I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday afternoon,” and she hesitates before adding, “we got into this fight and I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologise but I don’t know how, so it kind of slipped my mind, I didn’t know -”

“We’ll talk about you and Tommy later, I promise, but right now I need you to tell me three convincing arguments as to why I shouldn’t pop one of Vince Neil’s fucking tires.” Eileen’s hatred of Vince is perhaps getting out of hand, Charlotte considers, prying Eileen’s vice-like grip from her upper arm, considering for a moment.

“I know you have no qualms about becoming a felon to protect Peach,” Charlotte says with half a smirk.

“Absolutely none,” Eileen agrees without missing a beat, which was both amusing and heartwarming.

“- but your mom would probably pull you out of public school to enrol you in that strict, girls-only, future-nun-school, Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrow,” Charlotte’s trying so desperately not to smirk, not to give her amusement away at the concept, “and you can say goodbye to any chance you had of ever making out with your co-star on or off stage.”

Eileen turns as red as her hair, but at least she takes a moment to calm down, glancing over her shoulder at the three boys who were waiting for them. Keanu looks over for a moment, catching her gaze, waving and grinning from ear to ear, and Charlotte practically cackles as Eileen’s blush deepens.

“Look, Eileen look,” Charlotte pointed insistently back at the boys, to where Alex had hopped off the hood of Keanu’s car, and was making his way over to the pack of kids Eileen had vaguely gestured to earlier, mentioning that they made up most of the technical theatre department, despite their leather jackets and motorcycles, leaving Razzle and Keanu chattering away, “Alex is going to hang out with the Crew boys, leaving Keanu free to comfort you during the scary movie.”

Eileen takes a deep breath, not even pretending like that wasn’t what she wanted, steeling herself to head back, and ignore Vince Neil’s goddamn car. After a beat, however, she turns to Charlotte, looking altogether stern and collected.

“I know I said you and Razzle could stay in my car, since I’m hanging out with Keanu, but don’t have sex in there -”

“What?!”

“Don’t have sex with Razzle in my car,” Eileen practically ordered, and Charlotte nervously looked to the guy ahead of her in line. He looked back at her, between the two girls, then thankfully stepped up to the counter without a word.

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Well you also weren’t planning on being make out buddies after getting drunk and being the gross PDA couple at Heather’s party,” Eileen sniped back, “listen, I just want Peach to be able to sit in my car without either of your bare asses having touched any of the seats.”

“I won’t let either of our bare asses touch the seat,” Charlotte agreed, mortified.

“And no stains -”

“Eileen!” Charlotte all but screeches, right as the messages before the movie started playing.

“Eileen, the charming Mister Reeves wants a word with you,” Razzle’s voice joins them just moments before Charlotte’s pretty sure she would have expired from embarrassment, and at the mere mention of Keanu, Eileen relaxes a little. All three of them glance over to Keanu’s car, to see the man himself leaning against his windshield, cigarette idle in one hand as he watches the first of the preview trailers. As much as he makes gestures like he’s about to take a drag, the cigarette never quite makes it to his lips before he extends his arm out beside him again, like he’s going through the motions without really following through. Eileen, as if drawn to him by a spell, practically floats away.

“She’s a strange one,” he says fondly, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t point out the hypocrisy in his words, “Keanu and Alex act like she’s some aloof, inscrutable woman; weren’t sure we were talking about the same woman,” he huffed a laugh, much to Charlotte’s disbelief.

“Eileen... she is an aloof, inscrutable woman, you just happen to live with her arch nemesis, and- you’re- we’re- you know, we’re...” Charlotte gestured between herself and Razzle, flushing, as his smile widened, “and you know, I’m her best friend.”

“Guys, are you buying food or what?” The concierge asks; a tired-looking kid Charlotte recognises from Tommy’s year. She hops forward, ordering food, and waiting for it to be prepared, all while standing by Razzle’s side, his chin on her should as they watch the preview trailers. He’s behind her, warm and solid and grounding, which is exactly what she needs as her cousin’s beat-up excuse of a car screeches into the lot, almost spraying gravel thanks to his sharp turn into the first available space.

“Oh god, oh fucking hell,” Charlotte breathes, clenching her eyes tightly shut, “if you see a blonde-haired, six-foot stick-insect, who looks like he’d cheat on his girlfriend,” she starts, whole face scrunching with frustration, “and-or Nikki fucking Sixx, well, that would be about right; that feels like how tonight would go,” she lets out a long, frustrated breath, and she feels Razzle lift his chin from her shoulder right as he makes a noise of confusion.

“Tommy just arrived,” she clarified.

“Oh?”

“And we kind of got into an argument yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Charlotte’s name is called and she collects the bucket of popcorn she’d ordered for the pair of them, and Razzle picks up their drinks, heading back to the car as the movie opens.

“You wanna talk about whatever’s going on with you and that Drummer Boy?” Razzle asks as they’re settling in the back seat together. Charlotte’s detaching the front seat’s headrests with possibly too much vigour, but declines, despite the frustration written all over her face. Razzle keeps a careful hold on the drinks that he’d thought were safe to balance on the centre console as Charlotte foisted herself over the back seat to pull the blankets she’d packed from the trunk.

“You sure?” Razzle tried again, still with one hand nervously keeping the drinks in place, the other firmly holding their bucket of popcorn out of harm’s way. With a blanket securely bundled in her arms, Charlotte gives him a flat look, that quickly disappears in the face of his genuine concern.

“No, Razz,” she sighed, “I’m just mad at myself for letting this, like, fester, you know? I should have apologised sooner,” she huffs a sigh, unfurling the blanket with far more care now, draping it across both of their laps.

“You’ve a good heart, Miss Lee,” Razzle assures her, but Charlotte’s face scrunches reflexively at the nickname, having only ever associated it with Nikki Sixx’s dreadful attempts to hit on her.

“Thanks, but please don’t call me that,” Charlotte gives a strained little smile, but Razzle nods and takes it in stride, finally getting himself comfortable and sitting back against the seat, one arm draped across the back, the other holding the popcorn in his lap.

“No worries, Love; I could call you Charlie, but I always thought it sounded a bit weird coming from me,” Razzle is rambling as Charlotte settles against him, tucking herself up close to him, “had a mate back home called Charlie, but short for Charles; absolute cockhead,” he clicks his tongue as Charlotte can’t help but giggle, “I could always keep just calling you Love, but it’s not as personal, you know? And Charlotte... it’s a pretty name, but it would be like if you started calling me Nicholas, be a bit weird, don’t ya think?” He mused, and Charlotte’s eyes drifted from the opening scene of the movie, where a menacing looking knife-glove was being created, to Razzle’s face as he chattered away.

“I could keep calling you Princess Charlie,” as he says that, he looks to her, and seems a little startled to see her looking back at him, “like the other day,” his voice is softer, eyes wide, roaming her face, as if trying to capture her fond expression in his memory forever.

“You wouldn’t imagine your friend Charlie from back home a tiara?” Charlotte’s voice is amused, as is her expression, and Razzle’s eyes crease in the corners as he smiles; his eyes as so blue, so honest.

“You’d be the only Princess Charlie in my life,” he assures, giving her shoulder a squeeze where his arm is wrapped around her, and Charlotte doesn’t even think about how they’re less than a minute into the movie before she’s kissing him.

At least it gets her to stop thinking about Tommy.

Honestly, it gets her to stop thinking about everyone and everything that isn’t Razzle in this car in this moment, which is fine for her, because her life is somehow currently a stupid, complicated mess of people and emotions, and Razzle is nice to her, and a damn good kisser, and gentle, and his hands are warm -

“Miss Lee, does the Declaration of Independence mean nothing to you?” Comes shouted through the wound-up window of the car, startling Charlotte, who’s been in Razzle’s lap with his lips on her neck, so much that she jumped, smacking the back of her head into the roof of the car. Razzle reached out for her, expression concerned and lips kiss-bruised, as Charlotte held her head, wincing. Looking to the window, however, she could see Nikki Sixx pressing his face to the glass, looking altogether unsightly, with Lola a few feet behind him, drawing something in the gravel with the toe of her shoe.

Assholes!

“I’m gonna kill him,” Charlotte says with deadly calm the moment she understands the situation, though Razzle seems to have anticipated this, and has his hands on her thighs, keeping her secure in his firm grip.

“No,” Razzle says, voice equally as calm, his gaze focused on Charlotte, and not on Nikki who had put his open mouth on the window, puffed out his cheeks, and proceeded to lick the glass. Charlotte scrunches her expression for a moment, internal debate raging between her desire to stay in the car with Razzle, and her need to beat the ever-loving shit out of Nikki Sixx for being a smartass.

“I’m gonna crack the window and inch and tell him to fuck off,” Charlotte says, looking back to Razzle, who was wearing an expression of faint amusement, and his grip became a little less firm. Reaching over, she wound down the window an inch. Immediately, Nikki looked through the gap, cheek still pressed to the window as his gaze darted around the cabin of the car, no longer obscured by the window tint.

“I’m surprised you know what the Declaration of Independence is,” Charlotte said, tone icy as she moved to sit next to Razzle.

“Honestly I stole that line from Lola,” Nikki admitted, and upon hearing her name, even faintly, Lola joins them, thankfully not pressing herself to the window, instead standing close to Nikki, her hip by his, hands in her jacket pockets.

“Were they doing it?” Lola asks far too casually, almost too quiet for Charlotte and Razzle to hear, though they do, and both blush, even as Nikki pulls back, making a face.

“No,” Charlotte calls back, and Lola’s expression turns smug as she holds out her hand, making a ‘hand it over’ gesture to Nikki, only for him to begrudgingly hand over a five dollar note.

“Shoulda waited ‘til the end of the movie to ask,” Lola’s grin stretched wider, even as Charlotte tried to splutter a protest, and Razzle had to press his face against her shoulder to muffle his laugh at the whole situation.

“Why are you assholes here?” Charlotte hissed; strangely, Lola’s expression fell, and she stepped back again, adding more to her gravel drawing with her shoe, not looking at the car.

“We’re at the drive in because I’ve heard this is a good movie,” Nikki goes back to staring at them through the inch crack in the window, “and we’re here-” his tone turns proud while his smile turns sharp as he taps his nail against the glass, “because we’re trying to give Tommy and Heather privacy,” he all but sings. There’s... a lot to unpack there, however before Charlotte can process any of it, Lola grab’s Nikki by the elbow, pulling him away.

“Come on, I didn’t take a night off to talk to people I can see every day, did you bring weed or not?” She insisted, tone frustrated leading him towards the concierge stand. Something about it had Charlotte’s heart sinking, even as Razzle’s still chuckling and confused about what was going on, Charlotte’s heart was sinking.

Tommy had driven Nikki and Lola - and Heather? What? - to the drive in. Tommy and Lola had almost definitely spoken about the fight Charlotte and Tommy had had, which means Lola almost definitely knew what Charlotte had said.

“Everything okay, Princess?” Razzle had asked gently, his arm around her once more as Charlotte had buried her face in her hands.

“My whole life is fucked,” Charlotte muttered, and Razzle pulled her in close to him. Her legs bridge over his thighs, and he’s holding her close with both arms, keeping her warm and secure, and Charlotte takes a moment, then another, then a third, to take comfort.

She’s going to miss this. Going to miss him. Fuck, she can’t think like that, can’t keep reminding herself of the time limit on their friendship, the reason she’s scared to call it anything more.

Everything is fucked, but this one moment, how Razzle was holding her close, devoid of it’s context, it was pretty damn great.

a friend will help you move. a best friend will help you move bodies. but if you have to move your best friend's body, you're on your own

Charlotte goes to see Tommy on Saturday morning, but when she gets there, he’s not home.

“He’s at a movie~ with a girl~!” Athena sings, when Charlotte asks, and Charlotte, confused and concerned, looked to her aunt, Tommy’s mother, who gave a kind smile and nod of confirmation.

“He was so nervous and excited, spent a long time doing his hair just right,” she giggled fondly, pride in her voice, but Charlotte’s heart was in her throat. Had what she said somehow guilted Lola into dating her cousin? That could only end badly for both of them, oh fuck -

Except when she bursts into Leo’s at eleven, after most of the breakfast diners had vacated, and the lunch rush was still about half an hour away, Lola was standing behind the counter... with Peach? Teaching her how to fold silverware in napkins correctly?

“Do you know... do know that thing where you fold it into a swan?” Peach asks, giggling, right as one of the other kind-faced staff members approaches Charlotte and asks her how many people she’d like a table for. Lola instinctually looks to the door, and Peach catches on a moment later, and suddenly both girls behind the counter are frowning in Charlotte’s direction. Lola mutters something to Peach that’s too quiet for Charlotte to hear, and the younger redhead immediately takes the silverware they’ve already wrapped, going around and dispensing it amongst each table’s silverware holder. Peach is in uniform.

“I just...” Charlotte’s voice is soft, while her gaze is locked with Lola’s, brushing past the host who’d greeted her, “I need to talk to Lola.” The host looks over his shoulder at Lola, who looks his way for the barest moment and gives half a shrug. The kid backs off, looking past Charlotte to the street outside to see if anyone else was coming in after her, and upon seeing no-one, he heads back to the counter.

“Hey Peach,” Charlotte says as the redhead slides past her to get to another table. Peach doesn’t even look at her when she gives a flat greeting in response.

“How can I help you?” Lola’s painfully sweet customer-service voice hurts more than any sarcastic remark she could have come up with, and it’s eating Charlotte alive to know what Tommy told her, what Lola thinks Charlotte thinks of her to make her act so hostile. The way she’s smiling so widely coupled with her dead-eyed stare is unnerving.

“Keola!” It comes as a shock when a firm voice comes from the kitchen, and Lola practically jumps from her skin. Looking to the source, Charlotte sees the face of the man she’s only ever seen the back of in the kitchen, taller than anyone else in the restaurant, and he looks like Lola.

“What?” Lola hisses, surprising Charlotte, and the man looks to Charlotte, giving her a warm, friendly smile, before he answers.

“If you need to talk to,” and the man pauses, tipping his head a little as he looks to Charlotte, “Charlie?” And Charlotte, kind of confused and nervous as to how he knows her name, nods in confirmation, “you can take your break, okay? Water, fresh air, outside -” and without waiting for a confirmation, he calls the kid who had greeted Charlotte to come and take Lola’s place at the counter, as Lola begrudgingly grabs a bottle of water from beneath the counter, and storms out from behind the counter, past Charlotte to the door.

Charlotte, a little terrified, looks to the man, who gives another bright smile.

“Sorry we haven’t properly met, I’m Leo, glad to finally meet you, Charlie,” and immediately everything makes total and complete sense, and Charlotte nervously greets him, and takes off after Lola, who had disappeared down the street.

#nikki sixx #Razzle Dingley #Tommy Lee #mick mars #the dirt #motley crue #nikki sixx x oc #razzle dingley x oc #tommy lee x oc #dirtbags #the dirt imagine #the angry lizard writes

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 29

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(Weiss POV)

Jaune approached me with a backflip.

He flew across the ground, sword and shield in hand, reversed, floating tractionless, and backflipped at me.

Whatever machinations he had in his mind led him to using the shield with a longsword rather than the titanic broadsword. His shield was a giant lowercase 't' shape as he flew about.

I waved my weapon through the air and pinpricks of light followed it. The light hovering in place before it flickered out in a projectile at him.

He flipped past the projectiles without blocking them and slashed at me twice with the straight blade, it was a little over three feet long. I had to engage him with Myrtnaster directly. My own weapon was shorter than his. In a battle of straight range I'd lose.

I tried to fence at him but he was strong enough to shove my weapon out of the way and send me spinning. I didn't fight the motion, I wanted the space from him. I summoned part of my knight. Just the right arm and his sword, I grunted with the exertion of the summoning.

Jaune caught the massive sword on his shield. He had to brace with both hands behind his shield, but he held. It was his turn to grunt with exertion. He spent his semblance, and threw the blade off of him. He looked visibly upset about spending his semblance on a defensive manner. His face was dark and scrunched in a scowl. He had to take physical steps on his next assault against me.

Imagine.

Jaune wasn't like he used to be. That much was obvious from even our little chats. His and Yang's fight just drew it out and this, our sparring match, was icing on the cake. He had a strategic mind second to none of us and his instincts were sharp and finely tuned towards the Grimm according to Ruby. He'd read the Knuckelavee with little more to go on than footprints. It wasn't his experience with the Grimm but a preternatural sixth sense about where it would go, how it would fight. A true hunter's sense.

Now with his semblance and strength he had the power to back that up. He was a threat. A real honest to Gods threat.

He met me again but without his Limit Break he wasn't fast enough to out-spar me. I fenced him with thrusts that met his shield and he tried to counter attack from behind it with a strike that I blocked but sent my teeth ringing. I couldn't imagine trying to block constantly like Yang had when his semblance was active. He was unearthly strong even without it and it only made him stronger while active by an order of magnitude, according to Ruby.

I couldn't believe that Ruby had found a boyfriend before I did. It was unbelievable! And she'd had sex-

Jaune hammered me like a nail with his shield. Then he clipped me with his weapon.

I'd gotten distracted.

I gathered a glyph behind me and in front of me behind Jaune then darted between it Jaune and the next glyph then I summoned another, and another. I tore into his aura, ripping into it as I darted from one glyph to the next. I did damage until I activated his own semblance. Then he reached out and tried to grab me by his shield hand.

I'd seen that before and dodged it but I had to back off. I summoned my knight, this time I had enough spare breaths to call forth the entire body of the knight. Jaune stared it down with a growl and rolled his shield wrist, checking both of our aura instead of focusing on the fight at hand.

The nerve!

The knight paced forward and tried to crush Jaune but he flew out of the way, low to the ground. He jumped and slammed his shield into my knight's chest. It rocked the silver specter. My knight fell right to its knees but it punched Jaune center of mass with a fist nearly as large as he was.

He rolled with it.

Could he just stay down?

He met the blue and white figure again which was slow to rise unlike Jaune who became a blue blur. He hit my knight with a five hit attack that held Jaune in mid-air while he slashed and carved blue calligraphy into the knight. It collapsed into dissolving white light and I fell with it. My aura was nearly exhausted. I leaned on Myrtnaster which had been stabbed into the ground. Jaune came falling down on me with both hands on his sword in a massive overhead strike. He faltered when he saw I'd fallen and he nearly fell on his face in his attempt to cancel the attack he already had momentum behind.

Maybe he was still a little clumsy.

"You out?" He asked like he didn't already know. Ruby had insisted we hook up our scrolls to Jaune's so he could monitor us in a real fight.

I panted and nodded up at him and he offered me his shield hand. He easily pulled me to my feet.

"Thanks."

"No problem," he dismissed.

"About you and Ruby…”

He grinned. It was a quiet proud grin. Like he was proud of what she and him were. I wondered if Neptune had ever grinned like that about me. I rather doubted it. “What about us?” He asked.

“Have you two really, you know…?”

“A couple times. She let me take her.”

“Just like that?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think for her it was some big decision. You know what I mean? I think… I could be mistaken… but I think some girls put a lot of stock into their first time. And I don’t think she was like that. I think she wanted the intimacy. Why? Did you and Neptune ever do anything?”

"You defeated me, well done." I tried to change the subject.

"Just today. Tomorrow will be different."

"Plus I was out of practice," I justified.

"Of course," he said to my excuse without a hint of sarcasm. "You probably didn't have the time to practice while in Atlas."

Well, not against another opponent. All I had to work on was my semblance. Even that seemed to pale in comparison to the work he had done on himself.

He'd had real opponents. I told myself. He saw actual combat.

"Jaune you fought Salem's agents, correct?"

"Just the one, but yeah. I did."

"What was he like?"

"He was a faunus. A scorpion faunus." He clarified, thinking. He put a hand on his chin. "He fought with his tail. He was fast and cruel. We only beat him because Ruby snuck up on him while he was playing with me."

"Playing with you how?"

"He was torturing me with his weapons, that’s how I got hurt. He wanted to hurt me before he wanted me to die." Jaune reached down to pull up his shirt and revealed a set of bifurcating scars on his chest and stomach. "We cut off his tail. Sent him packing." Hard muscle rippled beneath the orange scars leading up to a broad well-defined chest.

I stared and shook my head. The scars went deep, were jagged, and brutal looking. This was when he self harmed. It was important to remember that.

"So he was murderous." I went on.

Jaune gave me a strained look. He broke eye contact with me and dropped his shirt. I watched the fabric fall over him.

"He was… he was more than murderous. He liked what he was doing. He introduced himself as Tyrian but I've just been calling him 'The Scorpion.'"

"Tyrian." I murmured. "Was that before or after you and Ruby got together."

"A little after." He answered without hesitation. He didn't even seem to think the question was odd.

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?" He gave me a look of pure Jaune confusion.

"Being with Ruby."

"Oh. Uh… it's mostly the same. We hang out. Talk about our feelings. That sort of thing."

"Except you also…" I trailed off.

"We also kiss. Yes."

Buffoon. He knew I was talking about sex.

"You don't need to worry though," he cut in.

"Why would I be worried?" I wondered, a little offended.

"Well she's your partner. I wanted you to know I had no intention of taking that from you." He hesitated a moment. "Or her." He added.

"Oh. I see."

"Isn't that what you were worried about. Seemed like something was bothering you." He squinted his eyebrows at me.

Well yes. It was that my little immature partner was already having sex with her boyfriend, but I was hardly going to get into that with said boyfriend. Then again she was seventeen. Not at all too young for that kind of thing, besides Ruby actively saw combat. It wasn't like I could honestly say it was a step too far for her. It was just odd then, that I hadn't. Hadn't really considered it, even.

Sure Neptune had been good looking but it wasn't like my thoughts had been on that. Well, maybe occasionally. I just had never trusted him enough. He'd flirt with me then run around and flirt with someone else. I suppose Ruby just trusted Jaune and why not? It sounded like he'd regularly put his life on the line for her. Compared to that, sex seemed small.

It wasn't, of course. My whole team stuck our necks out for each other and we were hardly all… well. I suppose it took an extra special something. An attraction as well as trust and Ruby and Jaune had always been close and gotten along well. Maybe it was just inevitable.

"I was just curious. That's all. The timeline."

He seemed content with that. He nodded along, head bobbing at the words.

"I wanted to talk to you a bit more about Cinder." He’d grown silent earlier when we discussed his revenge.

"Please Weiss, I don't want to talk or think anymore about that."

"Would you rather talk to Ruby about it?"

"Maybe." He hedged, but he continued anyway. "I'm just not ready to let go. Letting go of Pyrrha is just too much to ask of me. I want to be able to, even. I want to live without this burning ache. Not even Ruby has been able to dissuade me of what I must do when Cinder and I cross paths." He repeated softly. "What I must do."

"I don't understand. Don't you care about what you and Ruby have?"

"Of course I do." He said flatly.

"You'll lose it."

"Stop it. I already know that." His tone terse.

"Do you? Don't you know how much she cares about you? We all do."

"Please." I found him begging. Begging. For someone who had grown so strong to actually beg for me to stop as though my words were daggers came as a shock. "I'm not ready to let Pyrrha go. I'm not."

I frowned down my nose at him. I sighed off to one side. "Then let us help you. Let Ruby help you."

"She already is. I'll get there, I promise. I just need more time. Look, just because I'm not ready now doesn't mean I won't ever be. Believe me when I say I want to. I want to be that for Ruby. For all of you."

I looked at Jaune and the realization struck me that he had really been through the ringer but maybe he was actually getting better. He'd said he used to be more depressed and Ruby had helped him through that. Maybe I just had to let her. She'd helped me too.

"You'll talk to Ruby more about it?" I half asked, half demanded.

"I will," he vowed.

"Hey!" Yang harassed. "You two done flirting?"

I sputtered slightly, unable to get my words out at the same time Jaune shouted, "fucking maybe! What's it to you?"

"It's getting on dinner time is what it is," Yang bounced back. "Come on in."

"Fair enough." Jaune sighed. "I am hungry."

"I could eat. I suppose." My stomach betrayed me. Nearly a full day of sparring had left me famished, it was natural. Organic even. Nothing to be embarrassed about.

Jaune smiled down at me, he had nearly a whole head and a half of height on me. "Don't worry. I'll never tell. It’s our little secret.”

Heat crept up my neck a little at that.

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Dinner was fish and grilled vegetables. Ren had cooked the flank of salmon up over the course of the afternoon. He was no professional chef but he was good. Grilled broccoli, steamed cauliflower, and salmon steak made a stark contrast to our first dinner here.

It was no less delicious than the soup and noodles the night before.

"Yaaaang stop it."

"But look at how much you've grown." Jaune snuck a peak over at where Yang poked Ruby's sides and took a long, long drink.

I wasn't sure who else noticed it but I sure did. I guess Ren and Nora might already know and whatnot. Then only Qrow mattered to Ruby's plans and Yang was too distracted to see the looks Jaune was giving out.

"You've gained a couple inches too, unlike the Ice Queen."

"Hey," I protested around my own drink. "I've grown plenty. At least as much as Ruby did."

"Not where, well, you know," Yang disagreed.

Jaune actively choked and Nora slapped him on the back. Several hard thumps later and he was back to breathing. I glared around the table daring anyone to agree with Yang, none of them did.

I turned my nose up at Yang, though.

"Soon you'll be just like your big sister." Yang went on in Ruby's direction.

Ruby blanched. Somewhere between a gag and a sigh, I was glad she was at least somewhat on my side. "I certainly hope not."

"What's that mean? I thought you wanted to grow up just like me."

"Yeah when I was like six. When was the last time you were in a stable relationship."

Now it was Yang's turn on the backfoot. "Well…"

"I mean you had the occasional fling back at Signal but at Beacon even Weiss got more action than you."

"What do you mean 'even' me." I sort of already knew the answer.

"Neptune." Ruby replied, intentionally missing the point, I was sure.

"Weiss aside, I got plenty of action."

"The only person you danced with at the dance was Blake. Your own partner. She danced with Sun, too, though."

"I was busy, Blake was in a depression. The whitefang and all that." Yang defended. She huffed and looked around the table but nobody else said anything. Jaune had his head down in his food and Nora was suspiciously quiet. Stones and glass houses and all that.

"So, about this mission." I had to wonder. Changing the subject was just a pleasant bonus. "Isn't about time somebody made some decisions about it."

"Well Jaune was intentionally keeping things free in case somebody had some ideas about it." Ruby explained. "But yeah. No sense in delaying the inevitable."

"I was thinking Ren and I case the joint first." Jaune took a bite of salmon steak. "Get a layout of the interior. Then we wait and slip you girls in when the good Don makes a stop by."

"We could always ambush him when he's coming and going," Ruby returned.

"I thought we'd rather keep the fighting in the streets to a minimum," Jaune disagreed.

"But on the inside, won't they know we don't work there?" I cut in. We couldn't just walk in and pretend to be one of the girls. There was no way it was that simple.

"Maybe. It depends on what kind of outfits you are wearing. From my understanding all the girls wear these bee outfits. Hence the name, Honey Bee Inn." Jaune explained. At Ruby's look he went on. "Qrow told me. I have uh-yet to be inside the establishment."

"We just need to get our hands on a set of those then," Nora slammed her fork on the table. "Preferably more than one."

"This seems ripe for disaster," I chipped in. The entire heist my friends were planning was fit to collapse if just one of a thousand things went wrong.

"Which is why whoever goes in will wear a wire. Qrow and I have been rigging something up," Jaune went on.

"Is there an alternative? We need to get those keys," Yang wondered at me. "We'll just threaten to rip his dick off. That'll make him comply."

"The problem isn't that. It's getting in position to do that," I disagreed. "If it was so easy to threaten and bully him, the Malachites would have done it."

"We need information, then." Ruby concluded. "Jaune, why don't you see what else you can find out about the Don with Qrow. Then the rest of us will have Ren check out the inn and see if we can't smuggle ourselves in. If we can get in once, we can get in twice. Preferably with those costumes the second time."

Ren sighed and Jaune leaned back. "I bet I can find a few people who'll tell me something about him. I'm not sure how much I want to know about his proclivities, though."

"You're not one of the ones getting close to the guy who frequents the brothel." Yang pointed her fork at him. Jaune raised his hands in surrender. "I'm the one getting close to those proclivities."

Gross. Maybe Yang was right about me being prudish and maybe I shouldn't fight her on it. I certainly wanted to be nowhere near the man but I had the feeling I'd be getting closer than I liked to the despicable Don.

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-WG

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #whiteknight #white knight #white rose #whiterose #renora #nora valkyrie x lie ren #lie ren #nora valkyrie #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #war of the roses #motion sickness #lancaster

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skarsgard-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Son of Perdition

Description: Henry insists that he is an ordinary man, at least until his mind starts to unravel.

Warnings: angst, false imprisonment, religious abuse, physical and psychological torture, mild blood, threats of gun violence, mild physical violence, kidnapping, brainwashing, smoking

Notes: This story assumes that The Kid is telling the truth about his past in a parallel universe and deals with his imprisonment. It’s dark, and it has a lot of religious themes. Please mind the warnings.

Everything had unraveled so fast. He had tried to seize the threads of his life as it came apart, but they had cracked out of his grasp like a whip and stung him in the process. When the man asked him who he was, a name floated to the surface of his mind. It was limp and lifeless—a corpse bobbing face down in the water after a shipwreck. He slouched against the corner of the cage and watched the man ash a cigarette into an empty coffee tin. The smoke danced in the light of the halogen lamp illuminating the curved walls of the cistern that had been converted into a prison. The man repeated the question.

“Who are you?”

“H-Henry,” the prisoner answered. His throat felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together when he swallowed. He lowered his gaze to the metal tray at the man’s feet. The light glinted off the surface of a tin cup, and Henry swore he could smell the water in the air, something crisp and sweet mixed in with the acrid scent wafting off the cigarette. It was close enough he thought he could reach it if he flattened himself to the floor and stretched out his arm, but his vision blurred every time he moved and his limbs felt like they had turned to stone.

The man heaved a sigh and dropped his cigarette butt into the glass of water. “A false witness will not go unpunished,” he said, rising to his feet. He shifted the tray further from the cage with the toe of his boot. “And he who breathes out lies will not escape.”

Henry rested his forehead against the bars and winced as the metal tray scraped across the floor. “Proverbs,” he mumbled. “Chapter nineteen.” The dull recitation spilled from his lips without conscious thought. He let his eyelids slide shut as his jailor switched off the light and climbed up the ladder. The hatch overhead closed and the locking mechanism groaned and creaked, plunging the room back into pitch darkness.

In the long stretches of time when he was alone, Henry tried to put his memories in order. It seemed essential for him to maintain a timeline, though he could no longer explain why. He started with his name, which would remind him of his father, and from there a universe of memories would expand in his mind while a shrill silence filled his ears, occasionally punctuated by water dripping somewhere out of reach.

He remembered his father’s house—the lingering scent of decay as he treaded the floorboards and flicked on a light. He remembered a thrill fluttering in his stomach when his wife said she was late. He remembered how soft her hair always felt, how her skin smelled like apricots and cream. He remembered wondering if their child would be a girl or a boy. He hoped it was a boy. And then he remembered a boy in a cage, and his stomach turning sour when he heard his father’s voice crackle to life again on the cassette player, reciting the revelations of a madman.

The steady drip of water eroded his stream of thought and Henry found himself laying flat on the floor as the room seemed to spin in the darkness. Something told him this was a symptom, that he needed to find a diagnosis and a treatment. He was supposed to be good at that. He reached for his left hand and searched for his radial pulse with his right, but he could barely feel it under his skin. Every time he tried to count the beats, the sound of dripping water crashed again and made him flinch. He realized after several attempts that he would need a watch to take an accurate measurement, anyway. He couldn’t remember what had happened to it.

Time was a problem. He had tried to measure its passage from the cage, scraping tally marks into the floor with his fingernails each time the man brought him food. If he could keep track of things, maybe he could stay rational. If he could stay rational, maybe he could find a way back. Henry reasoned that two tally marks were equal to one day, except for Sundays, when the man didn’t come at all. On those days, he fasted from food, water, and any belief that he might live to see sunlight again, until he heard the scrape of metal above him and thanked fucking Christ that his jailor had returned. He guessed he had made it two and a half weeks before the man started turning off the lights when he left, leaving Henry in the dark for hours on end.

It was the kind of darkness that existed at the center of a black hole, something that consumed the whole spectrum of color and left him in a vacuum. Soon his mind became unmoored. He groped for the edges of the cage, feeling the cold metal under his hands to remind himself that there was matter around him—that he existed somewhere in this iteration of time and space. He touched his face and his body to make sure that he was still solid. He couldn’t hold onto both thoughts at the same time. When he grasped the metal walls that surrounded him, he felt himself blinking out of existence. By the time the man returned the next day, he had forgotten there ever was a tally.

Henry took a few shallow breaths and tried to ignore the dripping sound nearby. It felt like the water was hammering into his brain each time it fell. The damp, musty aroma in the air was green in color, he thought, but even as the idea formed in his head, he knew it made no sense. He had to find some way to stop his mind from slipping—to keep track of things. He had always been notoriously bad at that. His wife set up apps and reminders on his phone all the time. Didn’t she install an app that counted cycles and days? He slipped his hand into his pocket and dug around for his cell phone, but it wasn’t there, and soon he wasn’t there, falling through a rush of sound and color, into another place and time.

The phone had stopped working, anyway. He was wandering in the woods with blood still on his hands, his dark trousers dragging in the deep snow. He accidentally smeared blood on the touchscreen when he tried to get the device to turn back on, but it didn’t respond. It had been rendered useless as a brick when he’d slipped through to this other place—this other Castle Rock, where it was still 1991 and everything seemed tilted and off balance, like he might lose his footing and start floating in the air. He trudged through the snow, doubling back over his own tracks again and again as he tried to find a way to trigger the strange portal he had come through before.

It was in those woods that he first met the man. Henry was straining to hear the sound his father always spoke of, but he heard the click of a gun at his back instead. Cold fear dropped all the way down to his balls as he went into cardiac arrhythmia. The only reason he imagined someone would hold him at gunpoint was that they had noticed the well-dressed stranger wandering in and out of town and decided to rob him.

“Don’t shoot,” he said, holding his hands up. “Y-you can have my wallet, okay? And my watch.”

“Get on your knees,” the man said.

Adrenaline raced through his veins as his sympathetic nervous system kicked in to a heightened state, but Henry felt frozen. He would be dead before he could run, and he didn’t know how to fight a man with a gun. Hell, he barely knew how to throw a punch. As he lowered himself to his knees, he felt the gun travel up his spine and press against his scalp over the parietal bone. He thought of how his father had claimed to have heard the voice of God in the barrel of a gun, but he heard nothing now except his own ragged breathing and the cawing of crows overhead.

“Please, just take my money,” Henry begged. “My wife might be pregnant,” he added quickly. “She needs me.”

“I don’t want your money,” the man said.

He heard rustling and then the man gripped one of his wrists and twisted his arm behind him. Cold metal circled his wrist. Henry jerked his other arm away from the man and felt the butt of the gun crack against his skull. He fell face down in the white powder and heard a ringing in his ears as the man caught his other wrist and cuffed it behind his back. His heart began to beat even faster, thrumming wildly.

“What the fuck do you want?” he sputtered. A dark shadow bloomed at the edges of his vision as the man grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled his head back to force a piece of cloth between his teeth. The man said nothing, tying the cloth behind his head and gagging him tightly. He grabbed the collar of Henry’s coat and hauled him to his feet. Henry stood four inches taller, but the man was stocky, with a gruff demeanor that suggested he was accustomed to pushing people around. He kept a firm grip on Henry’s arm, propelling him through the snow.

Everything that followed seemed to blur together into one white hot streak of panic. Stumbling through the woods became nosing carpet fibers as he was shoved into a trunk, and then he was kicking and screaming until he heard a siren and then felt the car begin to slow. Relief flooded Henry’s system. Thank God, he thought. He was saved. He shouted as loud as he could and thumped against the roof of the trunk until someone popped it open. Both men peered down at him, and he grew quiet.

As the man talked to the cop, a cold feeling settled in Henry’s stomach. The man spoke of bloodthirsty and evil men, of the son of destruction, of Satan disguising himself as an angel of light. He said he acted in the service of God, that he intended to cast the Devil into a bottomless pit as it is written in Revelation. The cop shined a flashlight in Henry’s eyes and leaned in close to his face, staring at him. He stared back, his words muffled by the gag as he tried to plead for help.

“I’ve never seen a pair of eyes like that,” the cop said. He clicked the flashlight off and slammed the trunk shut. The rest of their conversation was casual, as if there hadn’t been anyone stuffed in the trunk of the car after all, and soon the car was moving again.

The segment of time between the car and the cistern blistered like film melting in a projector. Henry had a vague sense of being in a prison when the man freed him from the handcuffs and told him to climb down the ladder. When he didn’t move except to rub the red marks on his wrists, the pistol came out again. He didn’t know why he obeyed; the gunshot would have been the better alternative. But fear streaked like lightning in his system, and Henry climbed down into the dimly lit reservoir. He followed the man’s instructions, shrugging off his coat and unwinding the scarf from his neck. He kicked off his shoes and handed over his belt, then emptied his pockets of his phone, wallet, and keys. The man gestured for him to step into the sturdy cage against the wall. Henry swallowed.

“I’m not the Devil,” he said.

“You will not deceive me.” The man cocked the gun and leveled it at Henry, staring him down until he backed slowly into the cage. His bare foot collided with the back wall. He wanted to argue that the man was being deceived—that whatever he thought he heard wasn’t the voice of God. It was the voice of his own delusions driving him to do things that were morally reprehensible to any sane person regardless of their creed. But he wasn’t dealing with a sane person. He was dealing with his father.

The cage door creaked as the man closed it and fitted a heavy padlock into the latch. When he was done, he got down on his knees in front of a wooden stool and prayed that God would make him righteous and steadfast as he executed His instructions. Henry wrapped his hands around the bars and tested the strength of the cage, hoping that a man as crazy at this one might have made a mistake. It had no give whatsoever. The man was too caught up in his prayer to hear the metal rattling.

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places,” the man said, quoting the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. Henry knew the verse well. He had often been expected to recite long passages of scripture from memory when he was a child, and even though he hadn’t set foot in a church in years, the words were still carved indelibly into his memory.

After he finished his prayer, the man sat down on the stool and considered his handiwork as he lit a cigarette and took a pensive drag. He examined Henry’s cell phone with a furrowed brow, then flipped open the wallet and took out his ID, and his business card, which listed him as Associate Professor of Neurology at Johns Hopkins University. The man turned each one over in his hands as he studied them. When he took out the photo of his wife, Henry’s grip on the bars tightened and his heart leapt to his throat.

“Please,” he said, rattling the door to the cage to get the man’s attention. “Let me keep that.”

The man’s gaze flickered back toward Henry. He sniffed the air and took a zippo lighter out of his pocket, lighting the corner of the photo on fire and dropping it into a coffee can on the floor once the flame approached his hand. Henry sank to his knees and watched the only memento he had of his wife in this fucked-up version of reality smolder and disintegrate. His hands were shaking as he pressed his palms against the floor.

“He told me you would use pity as a weapon,” the man said, lighting another cigarette and watching him coolly.

A rush of noise filled Henry’s ears and suddenly he was on his back again in the dark, trying to fill his lungs with short, shallow breaths that never seemed to satisfy him. Another symptom, possibly a dangerous one. He wondered how long it had been since he had a drink of water. Time had become nonlinear. He couldn’t keep track of it anymore. The man would visit, tempting him with food and drink like Satan in the garden of Gethsemane, and ask him who he was. Henry never gave the right answer. If he mumbled “Lucifer” or “The Antichrist,” the man would hear the lack of conviction in Henry’s voice and call him a liar. If he said his own name, he was also a liar. The man seemed determined to turn Henry into a man of honest faith in his twisted beliefs through sheer deprivation or kill him in the process. The latter felt like a very real possibility.

The hatch groaned and a moment later, it was outlined in a dim halo of light cast by the lantern the man carried. Shapes appeared in Henry’s vision, blurring so much they were almost formless as his eyes adjusted. He rolled onto his side and heard his joints cracking as he pushed himself into a sitting position and slumped against the wall of the cage, panting from the effort. The man climbed down into the cistern and turned on the halogen light, blinding Henry with its brightness. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw a riot of color behind his eyelids while he listened to the stool scrape across the floor and the Bible flop open in the man’s hand.

“And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain,” the man read aloud. Without his sight, the voice sounded like his father to Henry. He imagined he was a boy sitting in one of the hard wooden pews, listening to him preach, restless and uncomfortable in his Sunday best. “He seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil, or Satan, and bound him for a thousand years,” the man continued. “He threw him into the Abyss, and locked and sealed it over him, to keep him from deceiving the nations anymore until the thousand years were ended.”

“Revelation,” Henry mumbled. “Chapter twenty.”

“Who are you?” the man asked.

Henry licked his chapped lips and searched his mind for the right answer. “The Son of Perdition,” he said, and it felt true for once. If his own father had thought an innocent child was the Devil and locked him in a cage for twenty-seven years, maybe he was the son of hell.

His vision came into focus. He rested his forehead against the bars and stared at the man with resignation, willing to do or say anything his righteous zeal demanded if it meant he could have something to drink. The man stared back for what felt like years. He leaned down and picked up the metal cup, dumping water and ashes onto the floor. Then he reached into his bag and took out a thermos, unscrewing the lid.

The scent of the water was cold and sweet and ice blue as the man poured it into the cup. Henry grasped the bars of the cage and stared at the cup of water like he was watching a man perform a magic trick and trying to figure out how it worked. The man set the cup down and slid the tray across the floor. As it inched toward him, Henry fought the urge to reach out and grab it. He knew this man was another version of his father, just as there was another version of himself in this reality. If Henry wanted to survive, he would have to demonstrate piety and respect. He looked at the man when the tray reached the edge of the cage, and waited for him to say grace.

The man let him have water again, but he still shuttered Henry in the dark in between every other visit, perhaps to simulate the cycle of day and night in this place where the sun couldn’t reach. On Sundays, the lights never came on. Those were the worst days. By the time the man returned, Henry would be flat on the ground, his fingers laced through to bars to keep himself from spinning free of the earth's gravity well and hurtling through outer space.

He thought he could feel the dark energy of the universe calling to him from out there, a low frequency that sometimes transformed into a growl. The metal bars that surrounded him hummed with its vibrations from time to time. Everything did. He felt the man's energy radiating from him like a tremor. It was a sickly green color, with flashes of red that flared around him when he was feeling particularly cruel, or flecks of blue that mixed with the green when he was inclined to think of Henry as his son.

Henry learned to say nothing, or risk his words being interpreted as the whispered lies of the Deceiver. He leaned against the bars and became the man's confessor, listening to him read scripture, or talk about the challenges of running a prison, or the problems in his marriage. Henry parted his lips, trying to arrange the words into the right configuration one day when the man mentioned being married.

"I have a wife," he whispered slowly, as if surprised by his own revelation.

After that, he didn't taste food again for days. When Sunday came, it seemed to stretch on and on, until he felt the measure of eternity in his stomach. He tried to place events on a timeline in his mind, but he never could get further than his name before the dripping of water drilled into his ear and erased the markers he tried to use to find his way home. Still, he was certain he had a wife. He could feel her in his matter, as though particles of her clung to him and reverberated on a quantum level. But he couldn't remember the color of her eyes or the shape of her face anymore.

He was never more pliable than after the fasts imposed on him by his jailor. He would listen to the man's teachings as though he was his sole disciple and the man offered the Bread of Life. When the man asked him who he was, Henry looked at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Tell me," he whispered.

The man told him the story of his life in this world. He told him of every calamity that had ever happened in Castle Rock—how each of them could be traced through invisible spiritual markers back to Henry, how he left an imprint wherever he went in time and space, some kind of radiation or heat signature that made fruit rot on the vine. He told him he still caught Henry leaving his mark on the world, and that he knew he sometimes slipped through the bars of his prison and wandered through time, leaving chaos and pain wherever he went. Henry wanted to know more about how he could slip out of his prison and wander freely, but he remained silent.

"That is why you must be punished," the man said. Henry heard his father speaking. He remembered the verse about sparing the rod, and nodded in agreement. His father’s reasoning was sound.

"I must be punished," he repeated.

Henry sometimes imagined he was one of the anchorites who had allowed themselves to be bricked into the walls of churches during the Middle Ages, leaving only a small hole where they could pass food and excrement back and forth and tell pilgrims the messages they received from God. But he never received any divine revelations, or if he did, they weren't in a language he understood. In the darkness he could hear a sound like a raging fire at the center of the universe, something primal that crackled with life. It was always expanding, and he knew that someday it would consume them all.

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed between his incarceration and the day that the jailor reached inside the cage, tipping Henry’s chin up to better see his face. Henry remained still, staring the man as he studied him and wondering what he saw. His touch was hard and comforting at the same time. It reminded Henry that he was real.

"You haven't aged a day," the man remarked with wonder. He released Henry's face and sat down on the stool, lighting a cigarette. The skin on the man’s face seemed to sag and his hair had a few streaks of grey. Henry wanted to ask how long it had been, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t remember if the man had always looked like this or not. As the man took a drag, something new emanated from him. There had often been moments when Henry tasted the man’s doubt while they sat together in his cell. He tasted it in the air now—something bitter and stale and sour, like a conviction that had gone bad.

“Someday,” the man said to him. “I will have to end this.”

Henry curled his fingers around the bars and peered out at the man. He remembered the verse that came after the one the man liked to cite so often. “When the thousand years are ended,” he said, his voice weak from lack of use. “Satan will be released from his prison.”

The man stared at him in surprise, letting the ash of his cigarette grow long. “Revelation,” he said. “Chapter twenty.”

Henry inclined his head in a slight nod as he listened to the sound of the universe howling in the distance. He spoke in a halting voice, but one which had conviction.

“I know how it will end.”

@scxrsgxrd @skrsgardspam @loomiz @sunshineandskarsgards

(Also thank you @girlinthecorner for taking an early peek at this for me. I appreciate it.)

#Castle Rock #Henry Deaver #The Kid #Castle Rock fanfiction #Henry Deaver fanfiction #The Kid fanfiction #also #just want to say #this is not what I think all religion is like #this is a fucked up character #citing religious justifications #where there shouldn't be any #gotta make sure that's clear #this is my 666th post #lmao

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chocoluckchipz · 3 years

Text

The Other You - 16

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

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Chat raced across the rooftops, one thought hammering in his mind— how did this happen? How could he tell Marinette what he was hiding from the whole world? Hawkmoth for a father. He was barely starting to come to terms with that himself. He never wanted anyone to know. Only Ladybug was bound to find out eventually, and only because he had to return the peacock and butterfly miraculouses to her. Otherwise, Adrien would’ve taken that secret to his grave. How he could let slip to one of the most amazing people he knew that he had the most sought-after villain in the history of Paris, if not France, for a father was beyond him. How was he supposed to tell that to Ladybug also?

How?

He couldn’t. Not yet. He’d tell her eventually. But not now. He wasn’t ready yet.

Chat jumped and caught hold of a beam, starting his ascent up the Eiffel Tower.

Marinette, though, didn’t seem to hate him for his unfortunate family connections. A sigh of relief slipped his lips because being hated by Marinette for his own faults was hard enough. He wasn’t sure he could handle her hatred for something that he had absolutely no control over. Because Marinette was amazing—the greatest friend one could wish for, and the strongest person he’d ever met.

She was the only one, as far as he knew, who had managed to work for his father for years and not fully succumb to his destructive ways. She was close. Dangerously deep in that abyss, but she survived. Snapping out of it just in time, Marinette came back stronger than ever—something Adrien had an honour of witnessing with his own eyes in the last few weeks as Chat Noir, ‘Felix’, and as Adrien. She was truly an inspiration, so maybe he should take her advice and tell Ladybug everything? Marinette thought it was for the best, and Chat trusted Marinette.

“Hey there, Chaton.” Ladybug landed beside him at the top of the Eiffel Tower. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Been busy?”

“Kind of. How have you been?”

She walked to him and, without explanation, wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head onto his chest. “Lonely, but it’s alright now.”

Startled, Chat hesitated for a little before returning her embrace. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to come more often. Life’s been kind of crazy as of late.”

Ladybug pulled away, rolling her eyes as she chuckled. “Tell me about it. But then when have our lives ever not been crazy?”

“True.” He grabbed his baton from behind his back. “Shall we start our patrol?”

Ladybug nodded, preparing her yo-yo. “I’ll take the west side, you round the east. If something happens, ring me up. Otherwise, I’ll see you here in half an hour?”

“I’ll stop by Tom and Sabine’s for some pastries if you give me five more minutes.”

“Oh! Haven’t had them in a while. You’ve got a deal.”

They charged forward, each taking their respective routes. Adrien zoomed through the city, not even bothering to look around much. Instead, he ran. Ran as fast as he could, reaching for the courage that was slipping through his fingers with every passing moment. Marinette thought it’d be for the best to tell Ladybug. He trusted Marinette. He had to. She was the only thing that kept him from completely crumbling when he’d just found out and since. He owed her that much.

Predictably, no akumas were found, and soon Chat was walking into a familiar bakery, flashing his best smile to its owner. Tom greeted him with a grin of his own, immediately packing a box full of treats Chat often ordered.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Chat Noir.”

“Life kept my hero persona away,” he said, winking. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t here as my civilian self.”

“Oh, were you?” Tom laughed. “You know, I might try to figure you out one of these days.”

“What for?”

“How does ‘trying to sell you something you can’t buy as a superhero’ sound?”

Chat grinned. He loved to banter with this man. “I’m all ears. You might just convince me to drop a hint or two if the offer is tempting.”

“I’ve got an unmarried daughter. Beautiful. Strong and independent. An amazing cook. Would you be interested?”

Chat blinked, his grin frozen on his face. “Does this daughter of yours know you want to sell her off to me?”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t object.”

Chat quirked an eyebrow. “If Marinette is still anything like I remember her, I’m pretty sure she’d kick both of our asses if I were to agree to take her off your hands behind her back.”

Tom laughed. “That she would. But hey, what else am I supposed to do? She keeps telling me she’s too busy to date and I’m not getting any younger. I want to see her happy before I kick the bucket. Not to mention I’d love to see my grandkids before then too.”

“Then let her be.” Chat chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll find the right person when the time is right.”

Tom pursed his lips. “So that’s a no?”

Chat gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but this cat’s allegiance lies somewhere else.”

“Oh well. It was worth a try. If you change your mind, though, I can arrange it for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The pastry box in his hands, Chat headed back to the Eiffel Tower.

He arrived first. Feeling restless, he set the pastry box on the beam and paced the perimeter. She’d be here soon, and he’d have to tell her. Everything. Just like Marinette had told him. About his love for her, about Hawkmoth, and possibly his own identity. There was also the matter of Nooroo and Duusu and the fact that Adrien wanted to keep the butterfly miraculous for another two weeks. Maybe even a few more days after that because Marinette would surely need help from ‘Felix’ during the Fashion Week.

A rumble of thunder split the night sky, lightning illuminating the darkness somewhere in the distance. Chat stopped and leaned on a beam, slightly dizzy. Crossing his arms, he considered his approach. He should probably start with his love confession, something he had experience with and the highest chance of succeeding in. His last attempt was years ago, and Chat was certain that things had changed between them since then. He had done everything Ladybug asked of him. He had given her space and time, respected her boundaries, never going beyond friendly or what she initiated herself. He never pushed, never insisted, never confessed again for years. As a result, Ladybug was more and more accepting of his attention. He sensed it for some time now—they were closer than ever before. So, he should start with a love confession and move on from that.

“You’re fast,” Ladybug said, appearing in front of him out of nowhere. “I thought I’d be waiting for you, not the other way around.”

“I came back just a few minutes ago,” he said, picking up the box and opening it for her. “Ladies first.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Ladybug took a macaron and sat on the beam, dangling her legs over the edge. “So what’s up with you, Chaton? Anything interesting?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “No, nothing out of the ordinary. The east side is quiet.”

“I meant your life,” Ladybug said, munching on her treat. “You said you were busy, so I was wondering what was going on with you in your civilian life.”

Chat hummed, settling down beside her, perhaps for the first time being very aware of the height they were at. He swallowed, echoing her question. “My life? Nothing special. Demanding job. Lots of work. Boring.”

She seemed to be waiting for him to continue, but Chat hesitated. The moment didn’t feel right yet. He couldn’t confess with his stomach churning and his throat so dry he’d drink an ocean if given the chance. A bit later. A few more minutes. His gaze darting from place to place, he clutched his hands together in his lap and asked instead, “And you? How have you been?”

Her head cocked to the side, Ladybug watched him with a smile. “I’ve been well. Almost done with my project thanks to my assistant. We’re actually ahead of the deadline, so I’m excited.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is.”

“Want another macaron? Tom gave me a few of their seasonal ones. Said they were to die for.”

“Why not?” She took another treat from the box Chat was holding out to her and bit in, closing her eyes. “My favourite. I’ve missed these.”

Lightning flashed across the darkness, followed closely by a roar of thunder. Adrien bit at his lower lip. It’s going to rain soon. He’d better hurry up with his confessions because—

“Hey, Chat?” Ladybug asked before he braved opening his mouth. “Have you ever been in love?”

He stared at her, gaping like a fish. Could Ladybug read his mind?

“You know. Have you ever felt like you could spend hours, days and even months with a person and never get bored?”

He couldn’t help a smile. Of course, but it didn’t necessarily mean he was in love with the person. Marinette, for example. These days, he was spending practically all of his time with her and it had never been boring. In fact, he wouldn’t complain if their dinners were a bit longer than they were, so much fun they had together. But he wasn’t in love with Marinette. She was just a friend.

“Have you ever longed to see someone so much you counted the minutes until your meeting?”

Um. Yes? Marinette, for example. But only because she was an amazing cook and he loved food.

“Have you ever felt so comfortable around a person you could tell them all of your secrets and know they would understand and accept and wouldn’t judge you, helping you out instead?”

Chat swallowed. Yes… Marinette. His eyes widened. Was this the reason he so easily blurted out one of his biggest secrets to her just now? Because in the last few months he had gotten to know Marinette all over again, and if she was amazing before, having gone through all the things she had been through, Marinette had grown into the most fantastic woman ever now. He’d seen the change for himself and, despite their complicated history, Chat trusted her more than ever. Being in her presence alone was wonderful. She made him feel safe, loved, and accepted. Was that why he didn’t keep his mouth shut? Because in his heart he knew she’d understand and wouldn’t judge.

“Have you ever looked at that person and couldn’t stop smiling because of how beautiful they are inside and out?”

Chat gulped, his chest tightening. Marinette was always beautiful. Now though, as the exhaustion that branded her just a few months ago was gone, she was clearly mind-blowingly gorgeous. As for inside… His smile turned sheepish. Marinette was warmth and beauty. Marinette was his home. He dared to say her soul was much more beautiful than her outward appearance.

His eyes blew wide. Was… was he in love with Marinette? Chat stilled, his breathing picking up.

No!

He loved Ladybug. He always had. He couldn’t have fallen for someone else.

“And given the chance to be with anyone at any given moment, is there a person who instantly comes to your mind?”

Chat stilled, terrified to answer that question even to himself because it wasn’t his Lady’s name that just zoomed through his thoughts. Chat shook his head.

No!

It had to be a mistake. It was probably the food! Not Marinette. And it was probably the remnants of being an akuma and his obsession with helping Marinette. He had to account for that because there was no way there were no side-effects from daily self-akumatization. And it was probably only because Marinette already knew his secret, thus there was fear associated with telling Ladybug. It was just bad timing.

Nothing more.

Ladybug turned to face him, a gentle smile on her lips as she took his hand in hers. “For me, it’s you, Chaton. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time and I don’t want to hold back anymore.”

Chat froze, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest. Not because of the happiness he always imagined he’d feel when Ladybug finally fell in love with him. No! Chat stood paralyzed because he couldn’t say ‘I love you’ back, not after everything that just went through his head. Not when he was still full of guilt for keeping secrets from her. Not when she didn’t know that he was born to their enemy.

Not now!

His words gone, lips slightly ajar as awkwardness and fear constricted his throat, Chat stared at Ladybug in silence.

“Chaton?” She reached forward to cup his jaw with her hand. “Is everything alright?”

He sighed, closing his eyes at her touch. Clenching his teeth, Chat covered her hand with his and whispered: “I’m sorry. I… I can’t… Not right now.”

He could feel every muscle in Ladybug’s body tense. Reaching forward, she cradled his face with both her hands and lifted it up to look him in the eyes. “Chaton? What’s wrong? I thought… I thought you wanted this. I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you,” he rushed to assure her. “You’re my best friend, the one person I trust with my life. I do love you, Ladybug, but… I’m just not sure if… if I’m still in love with you anymore. Ugh! This is so confusing.” Groaning, he hid his face in his hands and stilled, murmuring a moment later. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course you can.” She took his hands from his face, holding them tight as they fell into his lap. “Whatever it is, I want to know it.”

He gulped, shifting his gaze to the side. “I’ve loved you for years, my Lady. Ever since the day we met, you were the one to hold my heart, and if asked a month ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to confess my love for you on the spot. But… there’s this girl, an old friend of mine I’ve recently reconnected with.” Her hands twitched in his, yet she didn’t let go. “Just now when you were asking me those questions, it was her name that kept popping up in my thoughts. Not yours.” He raised his eyes full of apology to her. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why this happened but I need to figure it out before I can respond to your confession. It might be just a fleeting infatuation. It might be something more, but until I know for sure, I don’t think it would be fair of me to give you an answer.” Lightly squeezing her hands in his, Chat pleaded. “Please, don’t hate me. I don’t know how this happened and I’m so, so sorry about this.”

For what felt like the longest while, Ladybug silently stared at him. Her eyes reflected the Paris lights as thunder sounded once more. He could see tears gathering in them. It broke his heart, but what could he do? He was already lying to her about Hawkmoth; he couldn’t lie about this as well.

Pulling her into a hug, Chat murmured once again. “I’m sorry.”

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “Does she make you happy?”

Chat didn’t even have to imagine. Warmth and peace flooded his whole being at the mere thought of Marinette. Not being able to give her the answer out loud, he hummed.

Her arms around him tightened. “Then that’s all that matters. I just want you to be happy.”

The first drops of rain hit them, bouncing off their suits and skin. Adrien looked up at the sky. “Do you want to hide somewhere?”

“I’d better go,” she whispered and pulled away, her eyes full of the tears she was holding back.

“Ladybug…”

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, standing up. “I just need some time alone but thank you for being honest. I do appreciate it.”

“Are you sure?” He stood up as well.

“We’re still friends, right?”

“Of course. Your friendship is the most important thing in my life.”

“Then I’ll be fine, Chaton. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you around.” With those words, Ladybug was gone, zooming into the darkness of the city below them.

Chat watched her depart in silence. His head hung low, shoulders slumped, he cursed under his breath. This was supposed to be his turn for the better. They were supposed to leave this place happy. Why did he have to always ruin everything? Why did he have to always break something? First, it was Marinette’s heart all those years ago. Then, all of his friendships. And now, he’d pushed away the only person who was always there for him. He really was a wielder of destruction, a vessel of chaos wherever he went.

Chat closed his eyes as a realization dawned on him. Marinette… They’d been doing so well rekindling their friendship, but it was only a matter of time before he ruined everything again. He couldn't let the history repeat itself. He had to stay away from her—for her sake. ‘Felix’ would disappear after Fashion Week. Adrien Agreste would go back to being a teacher in September. Chat Noir would have to stop coming over immediately, though.

They would need to come up with some other kind of rent fee if Marinette insisted on it. It didn’t really matter to him. For all he cared, she could live there her whole life for free. He’d miss their times together. Not just the food, but all the fun they shared. With Chat Noir, Marinette was her most relaxed self and he loved it.

He loved her.

Now that he’d realized it, he couldn’t deny it anymore—he was in love with Marinette, and for her sake, he’d have to let her go.

His heart clenched, tears spilling over as rain continued to soak him. He should probably warn her. Knowing Marinette, she’d be worried and looking for him, and he didn’t want to cause her more trouble. He’d have to think up some kind of excuse to justify him never coming back. That shouldn’t be too hard, but he better do it before he’d change his mind.

Meaning he better do it now.

Chat wiped his tears, his decision cementing in his mind. It wasn’t too late into the night yet; Marinette should still be awake right now. At least he could check if she was. Reaching for his baton, Chat pushed the knot in his throat down.

He had to do it.

It would be for the best.

For everyone.

Especially for Marinette.

She wasn’t home.

At first, Chat thought Marinette had gone to bed already, but the light in her bedroom was on, and he could see through the window that she wasn’t there. Nor was she anywhere else in the apartment. Assuming that she must have gone for a run or to a nearby grocery shop, Chat scouted the neighbourhood for some time before giving up. It was raining and late. Not many people were out. She must have gone back to the apartment already, or she could be waiting out the storm somewhere. He probably should do that too. He could wait for her back at the apartment. She’d come back eventually and Chat wasn’t sure he could sleep a wink tonight anyway. Better get this over with as soon as possible.

He got into the living room through the balcony door as he’d always done and found a towel to dry himself. Then, Chat sat on the couch and let the silence consume him, every minute feeling like an eternity.

An hour later, the front door creaked open and Marinette slouched in.

Adrien stilled, pain gripping his chest.

Dripping with rainwater, clothes completely soaked, Marinette was struggling to muffle her crying. She froze in place, noticing him. Her tears didn’t stop, violently streaming down her cheeks. Her lips trembling, she held herself with her arms, gaping at him in silence for a full minute before averting her gaze.

“What are you doing here, Chat? I asked for some space. Please, give me at least that.”

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #adrienette #ml #chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #the other you

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

Note

"you have no idea what it's like" for DITD, girlie🖤 (please don't hurt our babies TOO much, I love you)

Ily too wife! 💖 You're the best. 😘

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: guys! I'm finally posting this even tho this may be the cringiest I've ever been. I cannot apologise enough for what you're about to see.

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If being a loner was bad, Rowan decided having friends was worse. He didn't know how to act around Aelin. Should he hug her or kiss her cheek like her other friends do or should he wave? How long should he look at her without it becoming inappropriate? Should he have specified it's not a date everytime he paid for he food or should he let it be? What if she assumed it was a date? What if she wanted it to be a date?

No, she doesn't. Rowan may not be sure of much but this he knew for certain.

She was smitten with the waiter at their usual diner—Sam Cortland, a student from their rival school. He watched her flirt with him shamelessly over the week, batting her eyelashes or laughing out loud as if to draw his attention.

Only yesterday, when the waiter—Sam—asked what they'd like to have for dessert, Aelin had quipped, "I want you for dessert."

Poor boy turned into a flustered mess, walking away from their table at an inhuman speed. Aelin only flashed him a lazy grin from where she sat, an unabashed smile on her face. He didn't know why she didn't ask him out when he was clearly interested in her but her trips to the diner were getting frequent as her crush increased.

Rowan didn't mind hanging out with her there—just the two of them. Today, however, they weren't alone.

They bumped into Aedion and Lysandra on their way inside. Lysandra insisted that the two of them should join them for lunch and it wasn't long after that they invited the rest of the group too. Aelin repeatedly offered that they could leave but Rowan wanted to be friends with her friends. He could tell she wanted it too, though she tried not to show it much. So for both or their sakes, he endured Aedion's awkward silence and his guarded attitude as they waited for the others to arrive.

Lysandra kept them all busy, asking questions every once in a while. "So, Rowan, you're single?"

A blush rose to his cheeks. "I, uh, I suppose?" Lysandra didn't mince words. She was a lot like Aelin in that—all blunt questions and wicked smirks.

Lysandra nudged her best friend. "Aelin is single too." At the glare from her best friend, she turned to him: "and she already—" she was cut off when the bell chimed from the door, the rest of the group shuffling inside.

Dorian was the first to greet him, followed by a wave and a nod from Fenrys and Lorcan respectively.

The introductions were made and he was surprised the conversation wasn't awkward like he feared. Dorian and Fenrys did the most talking, Aelin was quieter for a change and she kept looking at him every few minutes as if to make sure he was still with her. After he assured her he was comfortable at least thrice, she slipped into the conversation too, her hand semi-consciously on top of his.

He was too focused on the warmth of her hand when Fenrys asked, "What do you think, Rowan?"

"I don't—I'm sorry, my mind was elsewhere. What about?" He tried not to look too embarrassed, though he was sure the tips of his ears turned pink. He didn't want Aelin's friends to think he was inattentive and rude.

Aelin squeezed his hand in reassurance. Fenrys shrugged. "It's alright, I was just telling Aelin she could do better than Sam." He quieted when the said waiter arrived with their order, Aelin flashing him a sweet smile. When he left, Fenrys continued, "I don't know about this, Ace. He isn't even your type—"

"You're saying that because he's on your rival team," she pouted.

Fenrys rolled his eyes, looking ready to protest but Lysandra cut in. "Look, if she wants to go for a guy, let her. She isn't stupid, and if something goes wrong, that's what we're here for, right?" At Fenrys' reluctant nod, Aelin blew a kiss towards her friend, mumbling something like 'knew I loved you for a reason' through a mouth full of food. Rowan watched her with a small smile, all his attention directed towards the blonde beside him.

For the whole hour they were there, his eyes never strayed too far from her face.

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"What do you want, Meave?" Rowan couldn't keep the ire off his voice.

Despite his anti-social self, he almost had fun at the diner. All of them welcomed him into the group, resolved on not making it awkward for him. He appreciated all the kindness Aelin's friends had shown him in one hour. Who would have thought he would fit right in with Terrasen's elite crowd? It was almost impossible to believe that his views on them had changed, all within one month. He felt good after returning. Which meant he had no patience for his Aunt Meave right now.

She cocked her head towards him. "Has hanging out with that troublemaker made my nephew so rude, Rowan?"

He always thought his aunt was ice cold, her face emotionless, black hair unbound and dark eyes void of feeling and warmth. Her pale, translucent skin made her look like a corpse, the cruel smirk on her face making him shudder a little as he gathered himself. She knew about his friendship with Aelin, then. He didn't even want to know how.

"Why don't you skip this and tell me what you want, dear aunt?" he said.

Meave's smirk vanished. "Stop hanging out with those troublemakers." It didn't sound like a suggestion.

"No."

"What did you say?"

Rowan surprised himself and his aunt when he repeated, "No. You won't tell me who I should befriend." He had never refused her anything before.

Meave raised an eyebrow. "Don't say things you'll regret, Rowan."

"I mean it. Leave me alone," Rowan repeated. Too much. She'd taken too much and he's always let her because what did it matter? But this he won't bend on. Meave won't take this from him. He was finally starting to fit in somewhere. He won't let his aunt destroy that.

He turned towards the doorway, almost walked out when her voice stopped him in his tracks. "You'll listen to me, Rowan, or I'll make you."

"Feel free to try," he answered.

Then Rowan Whitethorn was out of her office, heart hammering inside his chest and praying to whatever gods would listen that this won't come and bite him in the ass later.

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A week passed by without any consequences. Rowan started to relax. Perhaps Meave didn't mean her threats, perhaps she spoke for the sake of rattling him alone.

He hoped he was right.

Aelin wore Sam out with her constant flirting. He asked her out and she accepted. Aelin couldn't stop talking about it for the whole week that followed. He listened to her with a smile, though he didn't understand why it felt so forced. They were planning their second date.

Rowan was accepted by most of his teammates now, thanks to Aedion and Fenrys. After years of hope and resentment, he was right where he had always wanted. Him and Aelin were better friends than ever, spending whatever time they could together. She couldn't stop talking about Sam. He'd never seen her happier.

Then why did it feel so wrong?

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Something was wrong.

Aelin was avoiding him, he could tell. She ran the other way whenever he saw her, hiding from him the whole day. Rowan didn't know what he did wrong but when he realised she wasn't talking to any of her friends, he had a feeling it wasn't him this time.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, I'll make her talk and find out what's up.

That day in her living room, he had promised a half asleep blonde he won't leave. Rowan Whitethorn was a man of his word. He would stick by her side. Let worse come to worst, she would never be alone again.

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Aelin was crumpled on the floor, head leaning against her locker and her face buried in her knees when Rowan found her the next day. "Aelin, fireheart, what happened?" he asked.

She didn't look up at him, almost as if she wasn't aware of his presence.

He heard her choke a sob out, then another until her body was shaking with the force of them. Rowan crouched down beside her, pulling her towards him when she recoiled, her breaths coming out short as she pulled away. She shook her head, "Don't come near me, I can't—I can't breathe. Arobynn won't, he won't like it, I should have tried harder... my fault, I couldn't do it. I failed, oh god. I failed, I could have—I tried so hard and I still failed. Please don't—don't touch me—" another round of sobs wracked her body.

Rowan's stomach lurched as he backed off. Panic attack. She was having a panic attack.

He forced his voice to remain calm, gentle but firm. "Aelin, love, I need you to breathe. Listen to me breathe, ok? Listen and breathe with me. Can you do that, fireheart?" When she didn't quiet down, he placed her hand on his chest with the most delicate of touches. He breathed out loud, once, twice, thrice and repeated the process until she had calmed down a little.

Tears flooded down her cheeks, her face flushed. Aelin seemed a little calmer, at least. She kept shaking for a few more minutes, her small hand still on his chest, engulfed in his larger one.

"Aelin, should I—can I hold you?" He didn't know what else to do.

When his eldest cousin had panic attacks, that was what his uncle did. He had no knowledge how to deal with it beside that.

Aelin said, "I want to—I want to but I don't know—I'm not sure if I can." She was still shaking, covered in sweat.

He brushed some strands of her away from her forehead, then said, "Here's what I will do. I'll hug you and if you feel you can't, you tell me, is that fine? Can you do that, fireheart?"

She nodded.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, relieved when she relaxed into his arms. He rubbed circles on her back as the shaking ebbed. He was afraid to ask what prompted the panic attack, seeing as she was still in a fragile state.

Aelin said quietly, "I failed a test." She let out a sob. "I don't—I've never failed before. I studied so hard, I don't know how! I swear I prepared for it."

She buried her face in the crook of his neck. He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head in encouragement to continue. She said, "I can't tell others. They don't understand. Lysandra said it's not a big deal, Aedion dismissed it. Arobynn is going to be so pissed, god, and if everyone finds out I'm dumb, I don't know what I'll do. What if everyone finds out my marks? God, Uncle Gavriel—he will be so disappointed and Aunt Elaine! She was so sure I'd score a hundred." The sobs started anew and Rowan soothingly rubbed her back.

"Hey, fireheart, look at me. You failed once, so what? You can do better next time, right?"

It was the wrong thing to say because she frowned, pulling back. Her eyes filled with unushed tears, already swollen from crying. The mascara smeared across her face now, hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. "You don't understand either," she said.

He tried not to wince at the accusatory tone with which she talked.

"Aelin, I don't—"

She shook her head violently, leaning back against the lockers. "You don't. No one understands. Everyone's good at something. Aedion is the football captain, Lysandra is on the dance team. Dorian's the school president, even Lorcan—he's on a gods damned scholarship. I'm the useless one. You don't know how it feels, to always be around friends knowing they're better than you. They all have their own talents, I just fail at stuff. They're all working hard for their careers. Me? I'm just the girl everyone keeps around because she is a nice accessory." Rowan's heart broke as he listened. He didn't dare stop her. She needed to let it out, all that was bothering her. She continued with a sob, "They're perfect. Everyone has their thing. Fenrys can sing, Dorian has debate, Lysandra can dance, Aedion loves football, I don't—I never fit in. I'm like that lost puppy who follows her friends around. What do I have to be proud about?" She rubbed at her eyes again.

Rowan gently moved her hands away from her face, wiping her tears. "So what if you don't know when the Caesar fell or why the sky looks blue? You've been through so much pain and you still smile. That alone makes you stronger than anyone I know. I'm proud of that and you should be too. Don't ever say you're useless. You're young, you've got years to figure out what path you want to choose for yourself, ok? Never think you're any less than your friends." When she nodded, he pulled her closer. "And if it's the test you're concerned about, we'll fix this together. I'll help you and in the next test, you'll kick ass. Ask me how I know."

Aelin gave him a blank look.

He smiled. "C'mon, ask me, fireheart."

"How?" her voice was throaty from crying but it didn't waver.

"I know because you're Aelin. When we met, I hated you but you were so determined to be friends, and look where we are. You can do anything, fireheart. With a little help, of course."

She looked up at him and blinked, the haze clearing away from her eyes. There was a small smile on her face as she poked his cheek. "So much praise for me, buzzard. Have you got more?"

"Don't push it," he told her, though he was smiling wide.

Aelin wiped the remaining tears away, rising from the ground and dusted her pants off. She turned to walk away.

"Where are you going now?"

She smirked. "Bathroom. Failed or not, I'll be damned if anyone saw me like that. I do owe it to my fanclub." He could tell she was pretending to be her normal self for his sake but the smile was genuine.

Shaking his head, Rowan followed her to the girls washroom. Gods, she was going to be the death of him.

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a/n: I'm sorry this was so sappy, I didn't reread it because I'm worried if I do, I'll delete the whole thing. this was the hardest to write and I can't apologise enough 😭

Tags:

@thesirenwashere // @judexcardanxgreenbriar //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash

#throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin ashryver #rowaelin #dancing in the dark #high school au #fanfiction #tog fanfic #sarah j maas #sjm fandom #aelin-queen-of-terrasen #rowaelin headcanons #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan and aelin #lorcan salvaterre #queen meave #rhysand x feyre

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the-peachpit · 3 years

Text

Sons Of A Crow

DSMP AU: Wilbur, Tommyinnit, Technoblade are siblings with an absent Father

Warning: Major Character Death

Summary: Philza left to defend L'manburg, Technoblade left to bring him home, Wilbur stayed and watched Tommy grow on his own. Too young to watch over himself and suddenly watching the struggles of others something broke inside Wilbur. his family reunion wasn't what he wanted, but maybe- what they all needed.

In this story L'manburg was a city that always existed and was ready to erupt without the help of Wilbur or Tommy.

Also consider following me on Twitter for more insights on stories! @Thepeachpit_

Orange leaves danced through the sky when Wilbur said goodbye to his father watching his back become a silhouette against the sun. It was fall, a crisp chill in the air when Tommy ran from the top of the stairs his little yellow wings puffed behind him as he missed a step tumbling down. Wilbur turned his face fell watching Tommy scramble to stand ignoring the blood on his knee and hands. Wilbur wrapped a scarf around Tommy’s neck as he screamed for his dad to come back in shorts and a t-shirt. Wilbur could see his own breath as he held Tommy down from trying to fly telling him it was alright.

“Why is he leaving!” Tommy sobbed, “I told him I’d learn how to fly! I’d learn to fly to keep him here! I can do it!”

Wilbur hugged his brother closer whispering into his wheat-colored hair, “Please, Tommy it’s not your fault.”

“It’s everyone else’s,” A voice growled.

Sun beamed through the high windows of the wooden home, but Techno stood in the shadow that day. Sulking, tricking himself into thinking Wilbur couldn’t see his tears. Wilbur would never say a word about the way Techno’s mouth twitched and his shoulders shook. Being the oldest Wilbur knew Techno would carry too much on his shoulders, but he was no father figure. He was no unfeeling weapon, as much as he pretended. Their father had rescued Techno from an auction, and Techno repaid that kindness by being his shadow. Learning everything their father had to offer. A piglin with the dream to be equal to men. Wilbur couldn’t imagine what Techno thought watching their father spread his wings without him.

The day dragged on as Wilbur sat with Tommy on the couch drilling it into the young boy’s skull it wasn’t his fault their father left- he had to. Their father’s situation was delicate. He wasn’t just a crow hybrid but a godly being of sorts, though he never advertised it. Their father had taken Wilbur and Techno to his shrine when they were a little older than Tommy. People worshiped him when they were in need. He looked after those who needed protecting. He wasn’t born an immortal god but was given the right after giving so much of himself to the world that the universe had to reward him. An immortal life with the curse of mortal children with the universe herself. Now people expected him to fight in the war of L’manburg a nation that had been teetering on the edge of revolution for years. Philza would be the hammer ending it all. Wilbur shifted his white wings when Techno came in the whites of his eyes red, his cheeks puffy. Wilbur wouldn’t utter a word.

Taking on the role of a caretaker wasn’t unusual to Wilbur having done it before even when their father was home. Before Tommy was born. Growing up with a piglin brother who still had basic lessons to learn in over world customs was fun but came with challenges. Especially when Techno started learning the art of the blade. Wilbur was tasked with keeping his brother from scrapping with every kid who laid eyes on him with a sneer.

Tommy had finally fallen asleep to something on TV and Wilbur had noticed Techno slip out hours ago. Walking out onto the back porch Wilbur watched his half piglin brother whack at dummies with an axe. His blows were messy- unusual for the calm and collected fighting state his brother usually took on. With tight moves and precision.

“You want to talk about it?” Wilbur sat himself on the stairs.

“Not really,” Techno huffed.

Wilbur leaned back on his palms, “You can’t keep it in forever, better to get it out now right?” he looked up at the sky, it had gotten cloudy.

“Bet I can,” Techno landed another blow.

Wilbur sighed, “Come on.”

Techno spun around his long pink ponytail lifting from his shoulders, “What the fuck do you want me to say Wil? Philza just left us here with no warning, who knows how god damn long he’ll be gone. L’manburg’s been fighting itself for years now. Suddenly he has to do crowd control.”

“If you keep swearing like that Tommy is going to get a sailors mouth,” Wilbur smirked.

Techno rolled his eyes, “You remember what he was like after the last war he was called to don’t you? Swearing is the least of Tommy’s worries.”

How could Wilbur forget, the man who came back was not their father. He was cold, distant, quick with a fist. Techno scrapped with their father a lot after he came home, sometimes protecting Wilbur, sometimes Tommy who was too young to remember the in-house violence. Too young to know to keep away from his own dad. Wilbur never blamed Philza he had seen a travesty; he’d taken lives and there’s no coming back from that casually. To return to a family after finding blood on your hands couldn’t be easy. The thought of that happening to Technoblade haunted Wilbur, to see his brother’s eyes look empty and dazed. He hopped Philza would never let Techno join him, as much as Wilbur knew that would tear Technoblade apart.

“Maybe this time will be different,” Wilbur sighed watching the clouds roll in.

Within the first week Tommy’s golden feathers were scattered around the house. Wilbur found a few in the bathroom at first thinking nothing of it. Then more popped up in the kitchen, living room, and a whole pile on the front porch. Wilbur had always respected his brother’s privacy, but out of pure panic he burst into Tommy’s room without knocking watching as Tommy pulled a handful of feathers from his wings. Wide blue eyes filled to the brim with tears starred at Wil-pleading. Scooping Tommy into his arms Wilbur tore down the stairs yelling for Techno.

It was noon on a chilly fall day a storm was rolling in the thunder rumbling deeply as it shook the old house. Wilbur was clutching Tommy’s hands as the boy sniffled at each tug of the bandage Techno wrapped around the bald spots. Pouring oil to heal and hopefully deter Tommy from plucking anymore.

“He’s stressed out,” Wilbur sighed finally feeling like he could breathe.

“Really,” Techno said sarcastically.

Wilbur ran his hand through his brown wavy hair-it was getting long- “I’m serious what are we going to do?”

Techno shrugged, “Our best I guess?”

Wilbur was already doing his best.

After plucking his feathers and being banned from flying on Dr, Techno’s orders Wilbur made sure to never let Tommy leave his sight in fear of his depression getting worse. If the wings were the worst of it Wilbur was sure he could deal, but things could always get worse. The curse of the Crow god hung heavy on the odd family. Weeks passed with the weather oddly warmer for the middle of fall. The trio was outside regularly soaking up the sun or hiking into town casually speaking with others. Techno hated the small talk, but Wilbur insisted it was for Tommy’s sake, keep him socialized. He reminded Techno how important it was to socialize him and was met with a swift whack to the back of the head. Ignoring every bit of war talk they could. It finally felt like it was all stabilizing- like they could hold out until Philza came back.

“You know we just got some new candy in I thought you’d like to try,” A girl smiled coming out from the back of the grocery store.

“Hell yea!” Tommy pumped his fist in the air.

“You’re spoiling him Niki,” Wilbur shook his head putting his groceries on the counter.

“I got some new books too,” Niki put three books on the counter, “Free of charge of course, “She winked.”

A month ago, Wilbur had resented Niki’s kindness as if they couldn’t care if themselves without their father. He hated thinking she was right. With time he realized that wasn’t it at all. Niki was genuinely kind, enjoying the company of the brothers. She wasn’t full of sympathy, but compassion. Giving where she could, but never overly so.

“What, nothing for me?” Technoblade put on a show of pouting.

“Sorry,” Niki shrugged, “My boss still thinks weapons in a general store is a bad idea.”

Techno shook his head, “He’s missing a whole customer base.”

“Maybe I can-“ Niki was cut off as a crowd gathered around the TV in the corner of the store.

Coming from the back the store’s owner turned up the volume on the news broadcast. It was a warm fall when the footage of fires ablaze in homes that viewers were assured had been abandoned was shown to the public. People whispered and gasped, but no one saw him-except Wilbur. A shadow in the corner of the screen wings close to his body, his stance tight, sword sheathed at his side-the Crow in all of his glory. Was that his handy work? He wouldn’t. L’manburg was in flames. Something silently snapped in Wilbur that day, watching his father do nothing as a city burned to the ground. Seeing that scene alone may have started the spiral but knowing Philza watched over the pyres of family’s- Wilbur grabbed the groceries rushing out of the store.

He didn’t speak to his brothers the whole walk home. It had gotten chillier.

Winter dropped two snowstorms back-to-back, during the second Wilbur picked up smoking to keep himself warm. The clouds that escaped from his lips as he sat under a hazy sky while Tommy played in the snow were thick. He watched the smoke curl and join the sky. It started with a smoke outside int eh morning and night. His hands with nothing more to do just kept lighting until he found himself at a pack a day. There was a numb comfort as he lit a second cigarette while Tommy rolled snow into a ball. His mind felt distracted, distant floating away with the smoke. His chest felt lighter, like the weight he’d been carrying found its peace-it never lasted long enough.

“Come on Tommy,” Wilbur put out his cigarette butt in the snow, “It’s cold out here,” He stretched out his wings, “Techno has a nice fire going inside.”

Rolling his eyes Tommy groaned, “Fiiiine,” he pouted his golden wings puffed behind him.

He’d healed perfectly and Wilbur had taken Tommy out for flying lessons a few times over the fall, but winter was hard for flying. The weather changed fast and the cold hurt inexperienced wings. Wilbur had been so happy there was no permanent damage he cried to himself in his room, not unusual, but this was different. He was so happy.

“Wilbur,” Tommy rolled on the floor by the fire, “Can you make hot chocolate?”

“Sure thing,” Wilbur smiled heading into the kitchen.

Techno stomped in trying to get the snow off his boots. Wood stacked under his arm.

“Well, we won’t freeze to death.” Wilbur joked pulling out a small pot.

“You’re welcome,” Technoblade stuck his tongue out.

A knock on the door stopped Wilbur’s quip dead in his throat. A knock at the door. Their door in the middle of nowhere. They weren’t expecting anyone. Would he have knocked after all this time? Wilbur shared a glance with Technoblade who was holding his breath.

The sound of the door creaking open sent Wilbur to the front entrance.

“Tommy, dude you can’t just open the door for anyone,” Wilbur scolded him.

“Oh, come on Wilbur,” Tommy rolled his eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a familiar face in a light blue hoodie. The man would have almost disappeared amongst the snowy landscape if not for his tan complexation.

“Hey Skeppy, what brings you out here?” Wilbur asked the ice mage.

“Mail believe it or not,” Skeppy held out a disheveled letter, “Niki said you guys don’t go to the store during bad weather and asked me to deliver it.”

“Thanks,” Wilbur nodded, “Would you like to come in and warm up?”

Skeppy shook his head, “This weather is my natural element I am as comfortable as can be,” He assured him, “Plus Bad is expecting me back.”

Wilbur chuckled, “Have fun in the nether, don’t melt.”

“Ha-ha,” Skeppy rolled his eyes waving goodbye.

Closing the door Wilbur looked at the letter in his shaking hands. It was tattered and must have had a long journey to his cold fingers. Walking back into the kitchen where Tommy and techno stood Wil looked between his brothers unsure what to say. Opening his mouth, he wished he had a cigarette to give him an excuse to stay silent. There was no other choice as he slowly slipped a finger unto the fold of the yellowed envelope ripping it open. Pulling out the letter Wilbur gasped.

“Who is it from,” An urgency in techno’s voice.

“Dad,” Wilbur whispered his dark eyes scanned the letter again, “He says he’s coming home soon.”

“Let me see,” Techno ripped the letter from Wilbur’s grasp, “Holy fuck,” he breathed out.

“Dads coming home!’ Tommy threw his hands up in the air running around the house.

Spirits were high as the sun shone over glittering snow.']

The letter hadn’t stated when their father would be back, just soon. The days rolled like molasse with everyone especially Tommy, checking the windows to catch a glimpse of their father landing. The days and nights were all becoming bitterly cold, and the thought of delayed travel started to creep into Wilbur’s mind. To clear it when cigarettes weren’t enough, he snuck out at the dead of night through his window. The air was brisk, it shook him to his bones. Extending his wings with a powerful downward thrust Wilbur took to the starry skies. The wind hurt his wings-burned them with frost, but Wilbur had never felt so alive as his lungs froze inside. He was reminded of living as he soared against the inky night. He remembered his first winter flight with Philza. He fell towards the ground unable to deal with the brutal temperatures. His father had been there to catch him- support him- swearing to Wil he’d only have to fly in the winter if he were every in trouble. He wondered if he was in trouble now.

Technoblade was off, it had snowed again in the middle of the winter season. Wilbur would catch Techno staring out the window at nothing for far too long. Putting his hand on Techno’s shoulder would jolt him back to reality. His brother’s long pink hair that was usually tied so neatly in buns, or ponytails was in a knotted braid that hadn’t been maintained in days. He looked pale. Wilbur was worried about illness.

“Hey Techno,” Wilbur stood form the floor, “You mind playing this round with Tommy? My knees are kind of sore.”

Techno shrugged sitting across from Tommy who shuffled a deck of cards.

Wilbur at on the sofa behind Techno taking in the site of his older brother. Techno had purple marks under his eyes, they looked slightly puffy as well. He missed his turn and Tommy had to keep pulling techno from his fog. Slowly Wilbur reached out picking up the long braid and pulled the hair tie free. He brushed through his brothers matted hair surprised Techno was being a willing participant.

“I’ve always been jealous you had the patience for all of this hair,” Wilbur started braiding noting it was messier than anything techno had done.

“I’m going to grow my hair as long as techno,” Tommy proudly declared, “My braid will be ten times better.”

“You know I bet Techno could braid your hair now,” Wilbur suggested getting no response from his distant brother, “Techno,” Wilbur prompted.

“Oh-yea,” Techno shook his head, “Tommy come here.”

With quick fingers Techno braided Tommy’s short blonde hair before moving to Wilbur’s brown wavy mess. They were bonded the brothers of misfortune. Techno was getting worse, forgetting things, spacing out for hours, losing blocks of time. Wilbur kept asking him if he was okay but, Techno kept deflecting. Wilbur knew it was better not to push when it came to his brother. Techno would sort it out on his own, maybe it was a weird Piglin thing. Tommy stated asking again when their father was returning home as the snow melted and spring was on the way. Wilbur had no answer and it added onto the pile of anger he had been harboring. Seeing news cast after news cast about the war. How L’manburg was falling, how they didn’t just end it. He kept catching glimpses of their father at horrible sights, but nobody else seemed to catch him. Wilbur had given up months ago on the man he knew.

Cutting vegetables for dinner Techno put his knife on the counter leaning forward heavily panting.

“Hey you,” Wilbur started before Techno slumped to the ground.

“Techno!” Wilbur fell to his knees to comfort his brother only to be slapped away.

“Don’t touch me,” Techno growled.

“You need to rest something’s not-“

Slapping Wilbur’s hovering hand away Techno’s piercing green eyes shot through Wilbur, “I said fuck off, don’t touch me,” he growled. Standing on shaky legs Techno stumbled away and up the stairs leaving Wilbur to worry about his piglin brother. Techno locked himself away for three days, Wilbur left meals outside his door.

“Tommy!” A voice roared from down the hall, “I told you a hundred times to stay out!”

A scream sent Wilbur charging up the stairs, “What happened,” his voice died in his throat.

Cowering in the corner was Tommy his arms in front of his face to protect himself while Techno brandished a blade in front of him. Charging into the room Wilbur pushed Techno and his brother swung the weapon at him instead. His eyes red and angry his features more piglin than man.

“He’s just a kid what the hell is your problem?” Wilbur yelled.

“I’ve told him a hundred times to not touch my weapons and he was in here playing with my crossbow,” Techno growled.

“Is it broken? What is your deal, you don’t threaten him!”

“He doesn’t even deserve to be our brother, Philza raised us to be strong, and Tommy’s always been pathetic,” Techno spat.

“You’re a monster!” Tommy stood stomping his foot before taking off.

Slowly Techno lowered his weapon blinking frantically as his red eyes faded to the familiar green.

“Wil,” Techno swayed before collapsing to the floor.

Wilbur wasn’t sure which mess to pick up first. Deciding his brother on the floor would be priority. Getting leverage under his arms Wilbur hoisted Techno onto his bed glad the man passed out in his own room. Putting his hand on Techno’s forehead he felt the sheen of sweat on his hot skin. Biting his lip Wilbur took off to tend to Tommy. As he ran down the stairs, he pictured a flurry of gold feathers littering the halls. Of irreversible damage. Wilbur felt like his lungs were collapsing in on him as he checked every room to no avail. There was a chill in the air from an open window in the kitchen, Tommy had left. Wilbur felt himself gag when he realized. Tommy had taken off into the winter sky on the verge of darkness alone. Fuck and Wil knew he hadn’t taken time to put on any warmer clothes besides his thin long sleeve shirt. He had to go out and find him quickly throwing on his brown trench coat, scarf, and knit hat before running out and taking off to the sky.

“Tommy!’ Wilbur screamed until his voice was hoarse scanning the sky and land.

It had been two hours since he started his search, and his heart was pounding in his ears from a mixture of cold and panic. The sun had set behind the mountains leaving only a faint blue glow to the sky Wilbur knew would fade in time. Then Tommy would be out there alone overnight with no way for Wilbur to spot him. Tommy wouldn’t make it.

“Tommy!” Wilbur screamed.

“Wil,” A small broken voice made its way over the rushing wind.

Through tear frozen eyes Wilbur spotted him a small dark red speck in the white winter night. Immediately landing hard enough to stumble like he did when he was a child Wilbur scrambled to the lump on the ground. He couldn’t tell who was shaking more, himself or Tommy. In the darkness it was impossible to get a read on what was wrong, but the young boys breathing was shallow, and Wil begged for him to tell him what was wrong as he wrapped Tommy in his coat. A feeble effort to warm him. Holding his brother tight Wilbur prayed something he’d never been a fan of even being the child of a man akin to a deity. He prayed to his father to guide them safely through the night.

“Wilbur,” Tommy croaked, “I miss dad.”

“Me too,” Wilbur whispered holding his brother closer.

Miracles could bless those in dire need as the wind died down and the sounds of horse hooves crunching on the snow echoed through the trees. Wilbur’s ears perked at the sound of his name.

“We’re here!” Wilbur shouted with every breath he had left in his shivering body.

A horse sent by a prayer appeared before them with a familiar pink haired figure riding on top. He pulled off his red cape as he dismounted wrapping it around the shaking shoulders of the man who was trying so hard to have all the answers and hold it together.

“Let me see him,” Techno’s voice a faraway whisper with hands outstretched.

Wilbur hesitated knowing those hands caused destruction and started the argument that lead down this path. However, he was weak using all of his stamina while flying and holding Tommy tightly to his chest trying desperately to protect him from the elements. Slowly Wilbur handed over the shivering boy. Techno looked over Tommy nodding to himself Wilbur knew he was using his superior night vision to check Tommy over.

Standing on unstable legs Wilbur hoisted himself on the horse holding the red cloak around himself tightly apologizing in his own mind to his brother quietly endured the bite of the frost. Letting his dark eyes slowly close Wilbur continued his prayers to his father-pleads to come home.

Waking slowly with a pounding headache Wilbur propped himself on his elbows. He was in his bed int eh same clothes he’d worn last night. Looking down he saw red splotches on his shirt feeling his skin crawl. He wished it was his. Rolling out of bed he hissed at the pain in his knees, that landing had done more damage than he thought. Leaning against the wall for support he limped his way out into the hallway where a savory aroma hit his nose. Soup- a familiar soup- a dish his father had made a hundred times when one of them had been injured or sick. The stairs creaked causing Wilbur to hold his breath.

“Oh, good you’re up.”

Wilbur’s face fell, “Your hair.”

Techno stood in the hallway with a tray carrying two bowls of soup. His long hair had been hacked away into a short messy style. His long braid discarded.

“I’m leaving Wil,” Tehcno’s voice was cold, “I need to find Philza.”

Wilbur shook his head feel his braid, “We don’t need him we’re doing fine without-“

“I need him!” Techno shouted, “You don’t get it! I’m a danger to you two without Philza here! He keeps the voices away; they demand blood, and it doesn’t matter whose. Wilbur if I did anything permeant to you or god- fucking Tommy almost died last night!”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t try to spare me, you sugar coat everything thinking it’ll all work out, but it’s not working Wil! So, I’m going to drag dad back here by the scruff of his wings.”

A creak of the floorboards.

“A branch went through Tommy’s leg, its broken. I set it the best I could.”

“Techno please, we can beat this without him.” Wilbur felt his throat tighten.

“I’ll be back before summer.” Techno set the tray on a small table in the hall.

Without another word Techno walked down the stairs with Wilbur at his heels begging the man not to leave. Not for him but for Tommy, he would beat himself up, he wouldn’t survive if Techno just up and left. He’s a child who doesn’t deserve anymore disappointment. Nothing could deter the determined look of the piglin as he secured a travel bag to his horse and double checked the saddle. With a stern glance Techno left his axe shinning in the sun on his back.

Wilbur went inside a numbness overcame him as he pulled his heavy legs up the stairs grabbed a bowl of soup went into Tommy’s room. The boy laid eyes closed leg elevated the wrapped. Bloody scraps of cloth laid all around the room. Setting the bowl on the nightstand Wilbur felt his world crush him falling to his knees and sobbing his chest heaving. He apologized over and over to no one who could hear him. He apologized for being weak, unable to protect anyone, for letting things slip through his fingers. When Wilbur felt his heart snap months ago watching the fires he ignored it, took up smoking, and retreating into himself hiding what he thought he knew of his father from his brothers. If L’manburg was supposed to fall Wilbur wanted to push-someone had to push. It was the only way to bring everything back.

It was the first day of spring when Tommy finally awoke disoriented and Wilbur cried again holding his brother close to his chest. A warm wind rustled the grass that was returning when Wilbur had to come clean about Technoblades absence. He watched Tommy’s curious blue eyes become cold and steely. He wasn’t inconsolable, but as the earth thawed Tommy became icy. Going into town wasn’t as fun without Tommy chatting to everyone instead, he stood by Wilbur avoiding eye contact. Wilbur made a point to take Tommy out more hoping he would just spring back even on his crutches. After a while Tommy started saying he was too tired to hobble to town on his busted leg.

“That leg will heal in time Tommy, before you know it, you’ll be bouncing around again,” Wilbur encouraged.

Tommy pouted silently.

“I’m at my wits end Niki,” Wilbur leaned on the counter, “I can’t bring him back from this.”

The sweltering summer weather was on the way Wilbur had gone to buy ice cream realizing it was just another feeble attempt at fixing something impossible. “He’s been through a lot; the cast just came off didn’t it?” Niki pointed out, “All spring he’s been trapped, maybe take him for a flight! He’s always so happy to come back from those and tell me what he saw,” She giggled.

Wilbur shot up, “You’re a genius!”

A crash stopped Wilbur and unknowingly changed the ever-evolving family of unfortunate crows. A boy stood there wide brown eyes shooting between the knocked over display and Niki and Wilbur. His breathing was heavy.

“Sorry,” he stuttered out.

“It’s okay Tubbo,” Niki quickly assured him, “Accidents happen.”

Wilbur crouched down next to the boy spotting two stubby ram horns poking through his thick brown hair, his bangs were practically covering his eyes. He had long floppy ears and black nails. A hybrid.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Wilbur observed.

Tubbo said nothing staring back with big doe eyes.

“You just move in mate?”

Tubbo shrugged.

Niki gave a sad smile to Wilbur, “His situation is a lot like yours, except it’s just him.”

Wilbur’s body jerked like electricity had shot up his spine. A situation like his huh, an absent father fending for himself. All alone though he was just a kid couldn’t be older than Tommy, that was cruelty. Without hesitation Wilbur offered the kid a place to say welcoming Tubbo into the misfit pack. How he wished he’d met that kid sooner. At first Tommy was apprehensive until Tubbo burned himself on the stove. He wouldn’t let Wilbur go anywhere near him to help cowering like an animal in the corner. When Tommy approached though slowly Tubbo offered his hand. From that day forward the boys were inseparable as Tommy showed Tubbo things the ram boy had never seen and swore to protect him. Wilbur smoked a cigarette on the porch watching the boys climb trees in the backyard. Sometimes when he blinked, he saw himself and Techno climbing those trees. When did Techno go from the scared unsure halfling to a warrior? All Wilbur did was blink.

Running an errand in town the boys were chasing each other as usual when Tommy’s golden wings sprung out, somehow Tubbo had yet to see them.

“Wow!” Tubbo beamed, “Can you fly with those?”

Tommy shrugged, “Kind of.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur raised a brow, “You’re a splendid flyer.”

Tommy gave his wings a flap shrugging again.

It hit Wilbur; Tommy hadn’t flown since that night in the snow. Hadn’t even attempted all summer to stretch his wings.

“Why don’t you guys buy some candy form Niki,” Wilbur handed the two boys money watching them run off.

Wilbur went to a different store to buy his cigarettes. It smelled of cheap smoke and alcohol lined the shelves. It also played the news Niki had stopped showing because she thought it was bad for Tommy to see. Wilbur didn’t totally disagree, but he couldn’t play it at home either. The store was dim and none of the faces looked friendly, besides the slick man who worked at the counter. Tall with a close buzzcut, he wore glasses with two different colored lenses. Wilbur had spoken to Jackmanifold a few times, never in depth, but he knew they shared the same view of L’manburg-it had to end. The conversation had started that summer if you could call it innocently. Now it was becoming real tangible plans with a syndicate closer to the city.

“They’re starting to move the dynamite,” Jackmanifold slid a pack of cigarettes across the counter, “It’s a slow process, but when it’s done the war will end.”

Wilbur scowled; it was for the best. It was a complicated plan and included p6eople sneaking around to plant large undetectable stacks of dynamite around the city. The hardest part would be building the kill switch mechanism from what he understood. To set off he explosives untraceable.

Lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag Wilbur walked towards the exit, “Keep me updated Jack.”

“You got it boss,” Jackmanifold saluted.

Exiting the store Wilbur’s shoulders sagged.

“Wilbur!”

Two boys ran towards Wilbur showing off their spoils from the general store smiles bright and unafraid, unaware of the world crumbling around them. Wilbur returned their bright smiles he was doing this for them.

Summer was hot and the only cooling relief came in the form of a small inflatable pool Wilbur pulled from the basement. The boys got a kick out of splashing each other and Tommy had gotten more comfortable letting his golden feathers flap around like he used to. Wilbur had taken up journaling writing down every insignificant detail of days that dragged on through noon until lunch when suddenly the cool nights went much too fast. He wrote down the day he took the duo fishing, how Tommy never wanted to go again seeing fish struggling was too much for the young boy. How Tubbo tried to show Tommy it wasn’t that bad and trying to eat a raw fish. He wrote about taking Tommy back to the sky the poor boy was practically shaking at the thought.

“Tommy avians weren’t meant to spend so much time tethered to the ground,” Wilbur had said one day.

Tommy shook his head, “Wilbur I can’t last time it was.” He stuttered.

“Last time it was cold and dark,” Wilber gripped Tommy’s shoulder reassuringly, “Today’s perfect.”

Tommy shook his head, “Look Wilbur.”

“I’d like to see it,” Tubbo chirped, “I’ve never seen you fly! Could you take me?”

Tommy looked at Wilbur.

Wilbur nodded, “When he’s older he can.”

The thought of taking Tubbo into the sky was all it took for Tommy to follow Wilbur back into the open air. It really was a perfect day; Wilbur wrote in his journal about how there was no clouds in sight that day. He wrote about Tubbo wanting to get into music after seeing a traveling band in town. Wilbur spent the end of the summer teaching the boys guitar. Tommy snuck into Technoblades old armory in the shed and started to take blades seriously. Wilbur was hesitant but figured Tommy should know how to defend himself. Sending him to learn with Jackmanifold who was sworn from talking about L’manburg. Wilbur wrote about watching the boys grow for two years they turned into brave young men, and for a moment he was proud. They’d had ups and downs but the young men who stood in front of him now were admirable. Wilbur wrote letters his father would never see, and apologies Technoblade deserved.

Fall was right around the corner and Wilbur had given his trench coat to Tommy last winter. He was in town looking for warm clothes for himself as well as Tubbo. The boys were milling about the isles on their own while Wilbur hummed to himself going over his coat choices. When the crowd around the TV caught his eye Wilbur already knew it would be L’manburg coverage. Noticing Tommy and Tubbo at the back of the store Wilbur slowly made his way through the crowd. His heart shattered and his breathing became ragged at the sight of the news coverage, hey were speaking of a beast of pure rage that had knocked down a whole wall in a single blow. Wilbur knew who they meant deep down in his aching bones he knew-but it couldn’t be he went there to bring their father back not join in the bloodshed. They must have been talking about Technoblade as they mentioned his blood red cape and crown on his head- a prince of destruction.

Wilbur ran, he left the boys as he sprinted down the street to the sketchy store on the corner where he bought the cigarettes that started to make him cough. “You have to blow it!” Wilbur slammed his fists on the counter.

“Wil, we can’t,” Jackmanifold tried to calm him, “There’s only a fail-safe button if you were to press that you’d die.”

Wilbur laughed, “It’s almost been three years Jack! What is taking so long!”

Jackmanifold raised his unusually even tone, “It’s not exactly easy sneaking tons of explosives into a maintain and rigging them outside of a war zone!”

“Tell me where,” Wilbur ran his fingers through his hair.

“Mate,” Jackmanifold looked pale.

“Tell me Jack or I swear I’ll burn this place to the ground!” Wilbur grabbed the front of Jack’s shirt his wings spreading far enough to break bottles as they fell off shelves. Jackmanifold spilled the beans and Wilbur spiraled that night packing all of his belongings hastily into a suitcase. Hurrying down the stairs in the dark only to be stopped by a man at the door with blonde hair and arms crossed.

“Where you going Wil?” Tommy asked.

“Tommy, I have to,” Wilbur trailed off.

“Have to what huh?”

Wilbur winced, when was the last time Tommy had raised his voice in true anger.

“Fucking leave? Like Techno? Like dad?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, “Want to leave me here alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Wilbur was trembling, “You have Tubbo.”

“You’re my brother! You’re all I have left of my family Wilbur!” Tommy slammed his fist into the door, “Tell me why you’re leaving! Tell me why Technoblade really left! Tell me if you knew dad was leaving and why nobody gave me any goddamn warning! Why am I the last one to know anything in this family? I. am. A. part. Of. This. Wilbur! Stop treating me like I’ll break if you talk about them! It’s been three years and I haven’t heard you mention them once, just slowly break!”

“What’s going on?”

Wilbur turned he felt lightheaded as he saw Tubbo those same wide brown eyes shining in worry like the first day he saw him.

Tommy was laughing, “Welcome to this shitty family Tubbo! We’re fighting because your brother thinks your nothing!”

Wilbur felt his stomach twist at Tommy’s laugh-he was becoming more like Wilbur- Tommy was better than that. Wilbur thought he had been sly all these years, but Tommy was wise and knew he was falling apart.

“That’s not true Tommy,” Wilbur reached into his pocket pulling out a leather-bound journal holding it out to his brother, “If you don’t believe me then read this, but not yet. I’m going to L’manburg, and you might as well come with me. I hear there’s a safe zone outside of the city. You can read that and all of the books in the desk in my room after this trip. Okay?”

Tommy snatched the book looking at it, “Why would you go there,” he scowled.

“Techno went to get Philza back, but something went wrong. Now I’m going to end this story and get them both home.”

“Fine,” Tommy nodded, “Let’s pack our bags Tubbo.”

Renting a cart all Wilbur could think about was the outburst Tommy had, years of resentment had built inside of him Wilbur had never seen coming. Years of pain and confusion as his family fell apart around him. He was feeding off of Wilburs poor energy it seemed as well. Tommy was better than Wilbur-he had a bright future ahead of him. When they stopped for the night on the first day of their trip Wilbur snuck the leather journal from out of Tommy’s backpack. He wrote an apology letter, for the past present and future. He deserved at least that much.

When they got to the encampment Wilbur felt electricity spike through his body. He jumped from the cart running past confused by standers before his fist collided with a familiar face.

“I deserved that,” A gruff voice spoke.

“You deserve more than that,” Wilbur growled his fist still at the ready.

A tall figure with a muscular build stood before him, an axe at his hip, pink hair growing out to his shoulders. A blood red cape fluttered around his ankles and it looked like he’d broken a tusk.

“You’re right,” Techno nodded.

“Technoblade!” Tommy shouted running through the path Wilbur had carved out of the crowd.

Colliding with the tall man there was very little give as Tommy threw his arms around his chest. Techno looked at Wilbur in a pause his arms in the air palms out. Wilbur sighed giving a nod.

Technoblades face was soft as he smiled bending down to hug Tommy, “You’ve gotten so big.”

Wilbur wondered what it was like for Techno, the last time he saw Tommy he was critically injured, a busted leg, hypothermia now he had a full wingspan. Tubbo slowly came to stand next to Wilbur silently watching Tommy hug another hybrid.

“Who’s that?” Techno asked spotting the ram boy.

“My mate Tubbo,” Tommy moved to the boy slinging an arm around his shoulders, “basically part of the family.”

Tubbo gave a small wave.

“He basically saved Tommy after you left,” Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

“Wilbur,” Techno started.

Wilbur walked away without another word into the crowd back to the cart. He pulled it out of the commotion of the tents and stalls to an open part of field. He tied it to a tree and found a large boulder to sit on watching the crowd mill about. Looking at the sky he saw it, the mountain he would be climbing that night. After the sun went down Tommy would get the life he deserved.

As the time wound down Wilbur made sure to spend the day with his brothers even softening up around Technoblade. They ate good food and met better people caught up in a tragedy Tommy slowly realized he didn’t know much about asking Techno question after question to Wilbur’s dismay.

“How sheltered did you keep him?” Techno half joked.

“I just wanted him to be happy,” Wilbur looked at his reflection in his beer, night had fallen he had to leave, “If something happened to me,” he swallowed thickly, “Would you look after both of them?”

“Of course, I would but nothing is going to happen to you out here, it’s safe,” Techno assured him.

“Come home Techno,” Wilbur asked. His answer would change everything. He was the last string holding him together.

“I can’t until this is done,” Techno shoot his head a new braid done by Tommy swished around, “These people need me to keep them safe right now.”

It snapped.

“Right,” Wilbur nodded pulling his knit cap over his ears, “Have you seen Philza out here?”

“A few times, he was trying to be positive, but,” Techno took a drink, “He’s losing himself Wil, it’s bad. If this doesn’t end soon, he won’t be Philza much longer. I’ll get word out you’re here though; he’d rush to see you.”

The thought made Wilbur smirk, he had so much time to rush to see him, it was too late now.

Wilbur squeezed Techno’s shoulder as he said he was going to bed. He hugged Tubbo and hugged Tommy for far too long. He heart was aching; he thought this operation would be easy and as he hugged his youngest brother who had been through the ringer, he second guessed himself. He had to remind himself this was bigger than Tommy, this would stop a whole war. He had come this far-it was for more than just himself.

Lighting a cigarette on his torch Wilbur started to climb the mountain, it was steep, and rocks slid and tumbled with every step he took. How people could be stealthily on this trail he’d never know. He was sure the whole city could hear him scheming. He had his white wings out to help him balance and for comfort-if he fell, he would catch himself. He cursed his white feathers if they were black like his fathers he could have flown up.

Getting to the crest of the mountain the mouth of a cave greeted him. He entered with no hesitation his heart pounding in his chest as he noticed the writing on the walls. The anthem of L’manburg. In the center of the writing was a button-the button that would end it all.

“I knew I’d catch one of you eventually if I waited long enough.”

The voice behind Wilbur turned his veins to ice.

“Turn around slowly,” They demanded, “And come with me. I have a few questions.”

Slowly Wilbur turned to a shocked face holding a shaky sword.

“Wil,” Philza whispered into the dark, “What are you doing?”

“Philza,” Wilbur’s voice cracked.

“Why are you here?” Philza dropped his sword his long blonde hair braided to the side.

Wilbur wondered if Techno had done it. He smiled feeling his mouth wobble, “I want to bring you home.”

“Wilbur I promise to come home as soon as-“

“I’m ending this tonight!” Wilbur shouted, “It’s been three years Philza! Do you know what any of went through? Did Techno tell you how he ran away when Tommy almost died?”

“What?” Philza’s green eyes were wide, ‘I didn’t-“

“What do you still know about us!” Wilbur backed towards the wall, “We’ve grown and changed, and you haven’t been there! I can’t believe you even recognized me!”

“Of course, I recognize you! You’re my son!” Philza shouted.

Wilbur smirked, “I used to proudly tell people I was the mortal son of the crow. Now I say I have a dad somewhere. Except I’ve known exactly where you were all this time. I saw you on TV when no one else seemed to be able to! Causing atrocities. You even brainwashed Technoblade into it because he’d follow you anywhere.”

“Buddy I’ve been,” Philza hesitated.

“So, help me if you say doing your job, I’ll slit my own throat,” Wilbur spat.

Philza stood straighter, “I’ve been helping people, I’ve been a relief effort I’ve only raised my sword to defend.”

Wilbur hung his head, “I wish I believed you,” He looked at Philza with blurry vision tears welling up, “Do better for Tommy.”

Wilbur hit the button.

“NO!” Philza screamed rushing forward as the earth shook and rumbled.

Wilbur closed his eyes waiting for the crushing pain he deserved of mountain debris. Nothing came as the sounds of explosions rang through the night and sparks brighter than the stars lit up the night before the fires. Opening his eyes, he saw black wings extended over him protecting him from harm. Heavy breathing was the only sound as Wilbur looked into his father’s soft eyes and saw fear, panic, and anything but disappointment. Wilbur felt tears fall down his cheeks, but they weren’t his own. Looking to where the small mouth of the cave used to be he saw a gaping hole with crowds of people gathering to see the monster dwelling inside.

Tommy, Techno, and Tubbo stood out, their mouths a gape as they saw Wilbur pinned by their father in a tragic twist of fate. Slowly Philza stood turning to see the same crowd.

“You brought them here,” Philza looked panicked.

Wilbur clutched his own chest, “Philza you have to kill me.”

“What?” Philza whipped back around.

Wilbur stood kicking Philza sword towards him, “You have to kill me. They’ll arrest me.”

“Wil,” Philza shook his head, “We’ll work this out, I’ll talk with them.”

“Your reputation will be ruined.”

“I don’t care about me reputation! I won’t have to keep doing this if I lose it!” Philza stepped closer his hands out like he wanted to comfort Wilbur, but they were shaking.

“Philza they’ll torture me, you know they will.” Wilbur spoke like a dead man.

“I won’t do it in front of them!” Philza screamed, “You’re my son! I won’t kill you in front of your brothers! My children!”

“They’re so much stronger then you know now,” Wilbur picked up the sword from the ground slowly walking towards Philza. He put the hilt in Philzas open palms closing his fingers into fists holding his own clammy hands around Philzas warm ones, “Dad.”

Wilbur whispered his final word as Philza stepped forward and Wilbur hugged his father for the first time in a very long time. He cried silently while his father sobbed onto his shoulder his black wings encircling them as if to make it more private, to spare his brothers from knowing. As Wilbur succumbed to the pain he smiled, they knew, he bet Techno knew all along he came to L’manburg to die. It hurt more then he thought it would, physically or emotionally he couldn’t tell though. The pain in his abdomen was fire, but hearing Philza wail, and Tommy’s voice ringing in his ear Wilbur closed his eyes feeling cold, and warm against his father and his feathers.

“Wilbur, my strongest son,” Philza whispered.

They were the last words Wilbur heard. ------- Traveling in silence a day later Tommy was flipping through the journal Wilbur had given him, it was all of Wilbur’s personal thoughts. Tommy felt like a fool saying Wil hadn’t cared about him. He’d documented everything, several times he talked about how brave, and strong Tommy had gotten two summers ago. Their first winter flight together- how impressed Wilbur was. Tommy was a fool, he wrapped Wilbur’s old coat tighter around his shoulders trying not to cry where everyone could hear. If this was just one journal he wondered how many were in Wilbur’s desk, what they all said. At the end of this one Wilbur mentioned getting the family back together. He looked up at Philza driving the cart- he held Tommy so tight last night. It reminded him of the forest when he broke his leg. Idly flipping through Tommy noticed writing he had missed on the front cover earlier.

Dear Tommy,

You were served a rotten hand in this life, with a father who disappeared and brothers who were broken. Techno and I tried our best I promise you that, but we weren’t equipped to bring you up still being kids ourselves. We were scared- I was scared- of letting you down. I’ve written a journal full of apologies to Tehcnoblade, and I was a fool to think after Tubbo showed up you weren’t owed anything. You are owed a dozen apologies from three people, but I hope I am sufficient. If you’re reading this at all there’s a good chance I didn’t come home okay, or I didn’t come home at all, and I’m sorrier than you could ever know. This life wasn’t for me Tommy, I am in pain and I don’t know how else to stop it. You dulled this pain for so long I almost forgot I was suffering. I never realized how it was affecting you, and you were right, you’ve bene in the dark for a long time, because no one wanted ot hurt you- instead we did the opposite. Don’t be mad at Philza – our father never wanted to be a figure head, he wanted to be a man who made his family proud, and you should be proud of him. He would do anything for us, he just hasn’t had a lot of choices when it’s come to fate. If he could leave it behind, I know he would just to spend every day listening to you catch him up on what he missed. Be gentle with Technoblade, under his tough exterior out brother is soft and scared of what you think of him. When he left it was with good intentions to bring our father back. He gets caught up in his own head and becomes a danger to himself more than others. If you see him start to clam up don’t let him- bother him every day. He’ll pretend to be annoyed, but he wants to talk about it, he wants to feel something. Protect Tubbo when this is all over. Our family will be fractured and hurt, Tubbo has only ever had a broken family, he’ll hurt watching the pain work its way through your hearts differently. He’ll fell like an outsider with no right to mourn, but I believe Tubbo became just as much of a brother to me. I know he saved you from yourself, you might need to save him in return. Just remember not to be too strong, let yourself feel. We as a family hid our emotions for too long. Lastly, I have a large request I may not even know comes true, but don’t be mad at me. If I could have, I would have done this differently, but there was no more time. I needed to be free, you needed to be free. Tommy you’ve grown into a brilliant, gentle, curious soul who puts others before himself. Who is afraid to put himself first, listen to yourself more, trust yourself more. You are important and deserve to take care of you. I would have loved to see you continue to grow as you come into your own, but it wasn’t meant to be. Remember avians weren’t meant to be on the ground too long. Find me amongst the clouds on your next trip to the sky. Your brother forever, Wilbur.

Tommy hiccupped grabbing the ends of Wilbur’s jacket tight as he dropped the book, curled into a ball and sobbed, not for himself, but his brother whose hurt he never got to understand.

#dsmp #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #writing #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #major character death #dream smp #c!techno #c!wilbur #c!philza

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-Seven

Words: 7.3K

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual situations, violence, abuse

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"Vivian, c'mon." Fred pleads, as I grip the headboard of the hotel bed as he tugs at my ankles.

"I'm not talking to that freaking reporter." I protest.

"Vivian."

"Rolling Stone can suck my clit." I argue back, trying to maintain my grip.

"Vivian, you are acting like a crazy person."

"I'm pretty sane compared to the other motherfuckers." I wince, my joint in my ankle popping.

"It's not gonna be that bad, Viv--"

"--He's gonna ask about Vanity."

"So, let him, you and Nikki already know how to handle the Vanity questions." He insists. "We spent an hour going over it yesterday."

"Fred, I can't."

"Viv, babe, c'mon, now. Please." He begs again. "For me, please."

I think about it for a moment, before letting go of the head board, gaining a relieved sigh from him.

"Thank you." He tells me as I pull my heels on and smooth my hair over.

The nightmare of that freaking Rolling Stone journalist following us around for days, picking and prodding, was everything everybody thought it would be. Possibly the deepest question he asked, about the actual craft of Mötley Crüe's talent, was, "so how is the amount of chicks you guys fuck incorporated into the songs?"

As if they would even answer that honestly being that three of them were married and one of the three had a toddler at home with his wife.

And I was particularly annoyed because me and Nikki had to act like the most in love people in the world to debunk the Vanity bullshit.

I hold my breath the second the question leaves his lips, but nobody can trip up on the inevitable topic that we knew would come up at some point.

Nikki's clearing his throat to cover the pause after "so, obviously there's buzz going on about the bombshell Vanity dropped on the Arsenio Hall Show" leaves Cal, our reporter's, lips.

"That whole thing was just...bullshit." Nikki tells him, laughing it off, looking at me.

I laugh along, too, although we both know it's the farthest thing from funny.

"I heard it was a 'misunderstanding' or something like that." Cal adds.

"It's not really hard to have misunderstandings with her, honestly." Nikki admits, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"So, there was never an engagement?"

"I think she's let Hollywood get straight to her head." Nikki tells him. "I'm not trying to be an ass but that really put us," he motions between himself and I, "in a really fucked position for a couple days because obviously you hear one of your girlfriends say, you know, 'hey, I'm engaged to so-n-so', and you're married to 'so-n-so', and then have that added stigma about guys like your husband not being able to commit because all the girls around and everything…" He trails off. "And, look, I'm not upset that Vivian was thinking there could've been some truth to it, ya know? But even after Viv realized it was all shit, it was all out there and people were--and still probably are--thinking that it's true. So the media is constantly, wherever we go, asking about my 'alleged' engagement and if we're still even married or got divorced a while ago and so on. And I could give a fuck about public scrutiny, myself, because I knew what I was signing up for when I started a band. I took everything into consideration, but she didn't sign up for people calling her 'stupid' and looking at her to do something, when Vanity--who has no idea what the fuck she's saying or how heavy the allegations she's throwing around are--convinces people that she's engaged to me." Nikki goes on.

"So, Vanity was lying?"

"Vanity was lying." Nikki shrugs.

"You opened up a little bit earlier about your past struggles with heroin--you didn't accidentally propose to her when--"

"Write this down word for word, and put it as the fucking cover quote if you want to: I, Nikki Sixx, would have to be on a high dose of pure horse tranquilizer in order to be so fucked that I'd willingly propose, or agree to get married, to Vanity." Nikki says matter-of-fact. "And that's married or single."

I felt horrible. I wasn't happy with Vanity, I was livid with her...but I knew what it felt like to feel crazy as a result of Nikki switching the story. The drugs were already taunting her sanity, and we just fucking added to it by saying something--that so obviously happened--never happened.

We were both so full of shit.

I let out a breath as I we get off the bus when we reach the venue, needing to get away from Cal and Nikki's lies for a couple minutes.

I catch up to Mick and Emi, who're having a conversation, Emi's girlish giggling has me raising a brow, and I feel someone tap on my shoulder.

Tansy.

"Fuck off." I snap at her and she looks like she's going to cry.

"Vi--"

"--You knew she was fucking him, and then protected them by keeping it from me. Fuck. Off." I clench through my teeth.

This is enough to get her off my back as we head inside, as Emi let's out more laughter.

Mick and Emi--who had a husband of 6 months back home--were growing closer and closer, oddly enough. I kind of knew something was up, but of course I never told anyone. I knew Nikki would give them hell for it, especially Mick, since he specifically told him, Tommy and Vince when they hired Donna and Emi, not to sleep with them/have a relationship with any of them because, "you don't shit in your own yard."

So I kept my mouth shut, but Nikki and the guys eventually caught on to what was happening, anyway, and he and Tommy set loose a wrath on them any chance they felt like it.

I keep my expression neutral as the guys make their way by to go on once Doc tells them it's time.

I avert my gaze from Nikki when he walks by, being that Cal isn't even paying attention.

But Nikki ensures the upkeep of our facade--his hand grasping my jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to get my attention, as he presses a solid, passionate, knee-weakening kiss on my lips.

When he's pulling away, he looks like he wasn't quite expecting it to be that good, but he's brushing it off in no time, giving me a smirk and a wink before grabbing his bass from his tech and getting where he needs to be for set, leaving me stunned in my spot.

Once I snap out of my little trance, I’m going to the bathroom to fix my smudged lipstick.

I let out a heavy breath as I look at myself in the mirror, taking deep breaths. “He cheated on you.” I tell myself. “He lied, he slept with one of your friends, and he cheated on you.” I repeat, trying to hammer my level head back into place as opposed to letting it run wild with fantasies over stupid little kiss...which is easier said than done.

As I’m stepping out of the bathroom, I’m running smack-dab into Sparkie, and I roll my eyes at his mere presence.

“Sorry.” I mumble, stepping by him, only to hear him walking behind me.

“So, I’ve been thinking…” He starts and I exhale deeply, ignoring him, until he’s grabbing at my wrist, stopping me. “...I was gonna offer you a belated anniversary present but I guess you aren’t interested.” He states, dead, sunken in eyes cutting at me.

“I’m not interested. Fuck off.” I hiss.

“You weren’t whistling that note last night.” He echoes and I snap around, shushing him so the people around us won’t hear what else he’s about to say. He just gets this smug smile on his face.

“Oh, right, I forgot people would flip their shit if they knew Saint Vivian was interested in scoring.” He slyly smiles, his decaying teeth making me grimace. How the hell does Tansy kiss him?

“I wasn’t interested in scoring--”

“--Why the hell else would you show up to my room at three in the morning, Viv?” He cuts me short, and I let out a breath. “Unless you wanted to fuck or something…”

“You really are on drugs, huh?” I sarcastically shoot back in reference to him being so insane to think I would actually want to sleep with him.

“I’ve seen pictures of some cute little tricks you can do.” He says again, his fingers grazing at my cheek.

“Want me to go tell Nikki that?” I ask him--knowing I honestly should because Nikki would probably kill him if Tommy, Vince, or Fred, didn’t beat him to it--and he smiles.

“Sure, why not. It’ll be the perfect conversation starter as to why his precious, purely clean wife was in my hotel room after everybody was passed out.” He whispers, his atrocious breath is purely smoke and alcohol, before he’s rubbing his hand down my stomach, nearly getting between my legs before I force him away from me, controlling my urge to hit him as I turn and walk away.

There was no way to explain why I went to Sparkie in the middle of the night, without it sounding like I was up to no good--not just because Sparkie is the physical embodiment of “no good”, but because I actually was up to no good.

I wipe more of my tears, dotting cold water from the bathroom sink under my eyes to try to calm the puffiness before grabbing some toilet paper and blowing my nose.

I can’t fucking sleep, once again.

I dig in my toiletry bag to see if I packed any benadryl to help me sleep...but all I see is my bottle of Nardil.

I roll my jaw and feel frustration fill me before I’m unscrewing the cap and throw the bottle at the mirror, the pills strewing all over the bathroom counter. My hand is swiping against the cold counter, knocking a majority of the pills into the toilet before I’m flushing them.

They’re just a fucking waste of money. I’m realizing now they quit working a while ago, I was just so bombarded with loving Nikki in our perfect little bubble, but now it’s been popped, and I’m crashing down from my codependent high--that was disguised as genuine happiness and the lie that my antidepressant was working--is now gone.

A deep breath leaves my lips and I wipe my tears, again, deciding to just get something to put me to sleep.

One fucking ambien or quaalude won’t kill me.

The last place I want to be is pacing in front of Sparkie and Tansy’s room door but here the hell I am.

I knock on the door, quietly, hoping he isn’t completely smacked out or he won’t come answer.

When the door swings open, he’s in tattered underwear, his bloodshot eyes looking at me, confused.

The bitter smell of burning heroin and coke flows past him into the hallway, cutting at my nose, and I grimace.

“I can’t sleep.” I tell him, quietly.

“And?”

“I need something to help me sleep.” I explain.

My skin crawls when his eyes snake up my bare legs, his tongue running on the inside of his lips.

“I might have something for you.” He grins. “What’re you willing to give for it, though?”

I’m repulsed by him, but I don’t show my disgust.

“Nikki’s got plenty of money.” I state. “I can pay you back later.” He thinks a moment, before smirking.

“The satisfaction of giving you your first ‘big girl’ drug is enough.” He says, stepping aside, and I cross my arms and step into the room, seeing Tansy knocked out cold on the bed, her naked body looking like a skeleton.

He’s plopping his suitcase on the bed, opening it, and I feel a sick feeling in my stomach at the sight of insane amounts--in bulk--in coke, heroin--at least two different kinds, judging by what I've seen Nikki with the past few years--and a copious amount of pills.

I'm eyeing the pills, but when he reaches for a lump of tar, and looks at me deviously, I have to hold back vomit.

"If you want to hold up the Sixx reputation, I highly recommend this." He says as if it's a fucking joke my husband is strung out.

My eyes dart from the heroin, to the needles in a ziplock stored in the zipper compartment of the luggage.

"I just need a pill to help me sleep." I tell him and he holds back laughter before holding his hand up as if telling me to hold on for a second as he goes to Tansy's purse.

I hear him open a bottle and the rustling of pills, before he's bringing me back a pill and handing it to me.

Seeing it in the light, I realize it's a tylenol.

"Come back when you're actually fun enough to maybe keep Nikki's eyes from straying." He mocks me and I roll my jaw before throwing the pill across the room and storming out.

I didn't get any sleep that night.

I shake away at the memory, a single, stray tear rolling down my cheek before I'm quickly swiping it away as "Dancing on Glass" booms from the stage.

I was so fucking sad. I wish there was a way to describe it that didn't sound so mundane...but that's what it was. Just fucking sadness being suppressed constantly with makeup and a decent smile, knowing I wasn't good enough. I felt like I was living with my mom all over again.

After the show's over, we head back to the hotel with Cal in tow, shooting off questions left and right that have nothing to do with the show itself.

"I gotta go to the bathroom." Nikki mumbles, standing up and I know he's just going to get away from Cal, and decide I'd rather be trapped in a small bathroom with Nikki, than hear another question along the lines of "so what drug is your favorite?"

As Nikki's shutting the door, I'm getting my foot in, stopping him and he looks at me confused, before reluctantly letting me in.

We wait in awkward silence before I'm pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Don't kiss me like that again." I tell him, sternly but politely, looking up at him and he pretends to be infatuated with the sink's water knobs. "Nikki."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"Oh, right. We hate each other, how stupid of me to forget that." He hisses.

"I don't hate you." I quietly say, and he lets out a breath.

"Not yet, at least." He scoffs.

"Nikki, you fucked up, that doesn't mean I hate you."

"But you're still filing for divorce the second Doc gives you the greenlight, right?" I don't say anything. "That's what I thought."

He slips past me and leaves me to myself, causing me to close my eyes for a moment, and glance in the mirror before joining everybody else.

He was right. I didn't hate him, yet.

The next day the guys are due to take the cover photo for their Rollingstone issue with Cal continuing to breathe down everybody's necks.

"Are you not worried about stomach ulcers?" Cal asks me as I take a sip of Pepsi as we wait for the guys to get dressed for the shoot, and I raise my brows at him. "You have at least three of those a day and it's unhealthy, isn't it?" He adds, trying to sugarcoat it with laughter.

"I drink more water than I do soda...would you rather me be snorting rails of coke or smoking crack or shooting heroin?" I bite and his face falls. "If I want to drink three Pepsi's a day--if I wanna drink 300 Pepsi's a day--I will." Apparently I'm raising my voice, because Doc and Fred are turning their heads in my direction and I can see them slowly making their way to me.

"Umm…" Cal says nervously as I show no sign of easing up on him.

"I've earned the right to drink as much fucking Pepsi I want, Cal, sorry it's not as aesthetically pleasing as Jack or vodka, or chain smoking Marlboros, or isn't as romantically tragedized as junk--"

"--Vivian." Doc starts as I continue.

"But I like it, it's not the worst thing I could possibly drink on a daily basis, and if I want to fucking drink it, I will!"

He looks like a scared weasel, backed into a corner, his eyes wide as he leans away from me slightly.

I didn't realize how close to him I am right now, I'm practically in his face, bitching him out over a fucking Pepsi.

"Vivian!" Doc's barking at me.

I'm backing off, with the help of Fred pulling me away from him.

I'm surprised Cal isn't pissing his pants currently, the look on his face says he's heavily considering it.

"Get him the fuck out of here." I tell Doc, motioning to Cal.

"Vivia--"

"--No, who the fuck does he think he is?" I argue with Fred when he tries to calm me down.

"What's going on?" Nikki and Tommy ask, coming over here.

"Nothing's going on, alright? Vivian's just--"

"--Vivian's just what?" I snap at Doc.

"I'm so sorry, she gets neurotic." Doc ignores me as he tries to reassure Cal and I'm slinging my soda out of the bottle, onto him and Cal, as I yell, "oh, I'm fucking neurotic?!"

"Viv!" Doc scolds me as I throw the bottle down and it breaks.

"Viv," Tommy starts and I snap around to him.

"Fucking say it, Tommy. I dare you." I grit out, the look in my eyes telling him, "say anything else, and I'll tell everything about Vanity and Nikki."

"It was a misunderstanding, alright?" I hear Cal explain to Doc.

"No, no." Fred sighs as he's keeping me from hitting Cal, pulling me away as Cal flinches to get as far from me as possible, looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Don't leave this out of your fucking article! It might just save the entire damn thing since your fucking journalism sucks more ball-pubes than your wife while you've been out here with your nose up our fucking asses!" I throw at him, and Doc closes his eyes and gives out a deep, disappointed sigh, while Fred's tugging me to the bathroom with Nikki on his heels.

The second the door is closed, Nikki's snatching me away from Fred, his hand wrapping around my throat--not enough to hurt, but enough to catch my attention--and he pushes me against the wall roughly, seering down at me.

"The fuck is your problem?!" He demands.

"Hey, cut it out!" Fred cuts in, separating us, glaring at Nikki. "Don't fucking grab at her like that, I don't care how fucking pissed you are, Sixx, you got it?" He points at him. "And you," he looks at me now, "I don't know what the fucking hell you are tripping on, or if you're on the rag, or what the hell kind of demon possessed you recently but you're being fucking ridiculous." He snaps at me.

My eyes are honing in on the rosary around Nikki's neck and I cut my eyes.

"Is that one of mine?" I ask him and he looks down at it.

"Maybe."

"For someone who hates God you really don't mind representing him."

"It's called a mockery, Vivian, get over yourself."

"Give it back." I hold my hand out.

"Fuck off." He replies, going for the bathroom door.

"I said, 'give it back!'" I scream.

"And I said, 'fuck off!'" He yells back.

"It's a fucking string of beads with a fucking cross on it!" Fred outbursts louder than either of us and we look at him. "You have like four, Viv, what the fuck does it matter? He's always worn them." He points out next and I huff out a breath.

I didn't mind when Nikki wore rosaries or crucifixes, I knew he was kind of mocking when he wore them, for the irony of a "devil worshiper" wearing one, but even when we got bad off I didn't mind...in fact as he got worse with his addiction, I hoped the spirituality that they represented would rub off on him and snap him out of his addiction.

It was stupid and I know better now, but Charlette Kinston was my mother. I did have a small speck of her in me, even when I tried not to.

Later that night--more like the middle of the night--I'm still unable to sleep and end up tossing and turning for hours before getting a bath, hoping the warm water will relax me and calm my racing mind.

Once I get out and get back into bed, I furrow my brows at the sound of something weird in my room, and I quickly realize what it is.

The unsettling sound of the door knob twisting and turning throughout the dark hotel room, catches my attention and makes my spine prickle.

I eye the walkie-talkie on my nightstand, and reach my hand out, turning it on. “2.” I say lowly.

“What, 6 and a half?” Fred’s exhausted voice replies.

“20.” I say, which is code for "where are you?"

“101." He grumbles back, "101" meaning the hotel. "In bed. Like you should be.” He says.

“There’s someone at my door.” I reply.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know what’s why I’m calling you.”

“You want me to get outta bed just to come see who’s at your door, when you haven’t even checked?”

“...Good point.”

“Just look and see, and then let me know if I need to come, alright?”

“Got it.”

I get out of bed, hearing the door knob still rustling, and I tiptoe to the door, peeping out the peephole, to see Nikki, drunkenly fumbling with his room key, trying to put it in my door.

“It’s nobody, they’re gone. Goodnight.” I say to Fred.

“G’night, Vivian. Get some fucking sleep, you need it.” He adds and I roll my eyes.

“I would if I could.” I mumble, swinging the door open to face Nikki. He doesn’t say anything to me before stepping in, his bottle of wine sloshing onto the carpet.

“This key doesn’t fucking work.” He says, tossing it across the room.

“Because it’s my room, not yours. Your key works for your room only...across the hall...where you should be.” I cross my arms as he takes another swig of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when some of it trails down his chin.

“Are you strung out?” I blurt, wanting to know whether I should be ready to fight with Sikki or not.

“No, and I haven’t fucking shot up in a long time.” He points his finger in my face. “Just been chasing the Dragon.”

“I can tell.” I state.

“I’m not high, smartass. I came down an hour ago.” He sits the wine down on my nightstand and I raise my brows.

There’s a silent pause and I wait awkwardly for him to explain why he’s here, but as soon as I open my mouth to ask him, he’s saying, “you wanna go swimming?” I furrow my brows, confused.

“W-What?” I ask.

“You wanna go swimming?” He repeats, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like hangout or something.”

“Nikki, we’re separated. We don’t ‘hangout or something’ anymore.”

“No, but I’m not thinking straight due to the wine and heroin smoke, and you’re not thinking clearly because you can’t fucking sleep, so let’s just not think straight together--bonding experience--and pretend we’re at least friends.” He vouches, and I raise my brows, thinking about it.

“The pool’s closed. It’s nearly 4:00am.” I tell him and he scoffs.

“We’re Sixxes, Viv, we can do whatever the hell we want.” He says it as if it’s common sense. “And it’d be nice to practice being around each other without screaming each other’s heads off.”

I give it one last thought, before letting out a sigh.

“Fine.” I relent.

I was worried his sick plan was to drown me, and finally kill me, but soon after we put swimsuits on, and broke into the pool’s patio, I realized he was genuine about just wanting to “hangout or something” and it made me feel a little better that he missed me as much as I was missing him, even if he played it off smoother than I did at times.

“Is it cold?” I ask him as he wades through the shallow end seamlessly.

“No.” He tells me.

“Are you sure?” I question and he looks at me as I dip my toe in. “Nikki, it’s cold.” “Quit being a pussy and get in the water.” He says. “It’s not that bad, Viv.”

I dip my foot in, up to my ankle, and wrinkle my nose.

“Vivian Estine Sixx, get in the water.” He tries to hold back a laugh, keeping his stern facade.

“It’s not cold to you because you have more body heat.” I cross my arms.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I’m saying you’re thicker than me.” I correct him.

“You can always take your bikini off to get used to the water quicker.” He says and I raise my brows.

“That makes no sense.” I argue.

“No, but it’d sure make me happy.” He grins and I splash him with water.

I quickly regret it as he’s getting out of the pool, about to come after me.

“Nikki, stop!” I whisper yell and he catches up and wraps his arms around me before hurling the both of us into the deep end.

My body is shocked with the cold water, and the second I get my head above water, I’m gasping and shivering.

The second his head pops up beside me, I’m hitting at him.

“Jackass!” I scold him, and he laughs, brushing his wet hair out of his face. “It’s not funny.” I snap, swimming to the shallow and he follows me, still laughing.

“It’s so fun to piss you off.” He chuckles, running his hand over his face to get the drops of water from his eyelashes and I raise my hand to smack at him again but he raises his brows at me. “Fuck it off, Sixx.” He stops me before I even start.

“You started it, Sixx.” I reply, mimicking his voice.

“What's new…" He says with a small smirk, thinking about something before the corners of his mouth fall slowly. "...I've done a lot of shit." He starts and I look at him. "Shit I'm not proud of. I don't fucking know when to just do something a little bit. I can't have a bump, I've gotta go through an eight ball as fast as possible. I can't have a drink, I gotta drink the place dry. I can't have a serious girlfriend, I've gotta marry her." He says, and I glance at him and he shakes his head. "I can't just have a one-night stand, I gotta have a fucking affair." He finishes and I lick my lips, keeping my tears back. "This might be fucked up, but I've realized I don't feel like I shouldn't have had anything with her." He says in reference to Vanity and I furrow my brows. "I just feel like we shouldn't have gotten married to begin with."

It hurts like a bitch, but I know it's the truth, because I feel the same way.

"Me too." I admit and he finally looks at me.

"I wouldn't change it, though. I wouldn't go back and change it." He clarifies and I smile softly, my tears unable to keep at bay.

"I wouldn't either." I assure him.

He stares at me for a moment, looking from my eyes to my lips, standing up straight, before leaning down.

It's a sweet, simple kiss, that only lasts a moment.

It took me back to our first kiss. It was odd, because when we first kissed we couldn't stand each other very much, like we couldn't at that moment in our marriage, either. I don't know if that nostalgic feeling crossed the wires in our brains to convince us to chase one last high together, but one thing led to another and got out of hand like it always tended to do with anything a Sixx did.

I grin in the mirror at him as he mercilessly pounds into me to the hilt with each thrust, my right knee hiked up on the bathroom counter, my left foot standing on tip-toes as his right hand is around my throat, his left hand holding at my waist.

My original intent was to get a shower and leave the kiss at the pool, like it was: just a kiss.

But when we came back to his room where I had left my room key when I went with him so he could get his swimsuit on, and now I'm bent over his sink, tears in my eyes from the pleasuring pressure building up in me, the feeling of my wetness running down my legs at Nikki's doing, is something I've missed.

"Do you really fuck yourself or did you tell me that to piss me off?" He asks me, his dark eyes staring at me, causing me to clench down tighter onto him.

"I really do." I reply as he holds himself against my cervix, causing me to grab at the counter as the delicious pain causes a high pitched groan to leave my throat.

"Do you pretend I'm fucking you?" He questions next, deliberately slowing his pace, the friction of his skin inside my slick pussy satiating the hunger I've been feeling the past several days.

"Yes." I whimper out, my eyes rolling back for a moment.

"Who do you imagine playing with your pretty," his left hand snakes between my legs, calloused, rough, fingers rubbing at my slick flesh, and I back back into him, biting my lip, humming, "perfect clit?" He asks me and I let out a ragged breath.

"You." I confess, my knuckles turning white with how tightly I'm gripping the side of the counter.

"Whose cock do you imagine stretching your tight, hot, wet pussy out?" He asks next, and I'm almost considering trying to get away from him because I don't think I can handle this much ecstasy at one time.

"You." I say again, his hand holding my throat harder in his grip, making my breathing a little shallower, but it only makes me more turned on, another wave of my juices coating his length as he starts picking his pace back up, making me cover my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming.

"Whose name do you scream out in your pillow when you come?" He asks finally, a couple more stray tears rolling down my cheeks as my body is overcome with my orgasm, his hand taking my hand from my mouth as I moan out, loudly, "Nikki", causing him to smile proudly at me in the mirror.

Within a couple more minutes he's finishing in me, and stumbling back a little, a dopey, satisfied smile on his face, while we both come down from our sexbuzz and catch our breath, before going another round.

Nikki's said before, "you know you're addicted when you start lying to yourself about how you're not addicted."

I couldn't agree more.

But the real kicker is waking up to your husband the next morning after having sex, and the both of you pretend like you're strangers, not exchanging a single word before you grab your shit and get the hell out of their as fast as possible before anyone else realizes what happened.

For the first time in his career, Nikki Sixx treated me like a groupie.

And you know what?

It was better that way, because it left no room for, "Oh, well, we had sex which means we made up so we're good now."

We woke up, didn't look each other in the eye, I got off the floor, put my swimsuit back on so I wouldn't be naked, grabbed my key, and left without a word or a second glance.

There was nothing more to say.

We'd said "goodbye" to our relationship, the same way we had said "hello" to it in 1981: with sex that meant nothing, but meant everything, all at once.

We're back in L.A. a couple days later, and apparently Karen got some help cleaning mine and Nikki's room up where I completely trashed it, because when we get in the house, all of our photos are back up, his awards are nice and neat on the wall, and our room looks untouched.

The only give away that something happened is the broken mirror on the ceilings, but he doesn't seem to pay them any mind.

I guess he knew I would inevitably break something.

I keep my lips sealed tightly together as I hear our bedroom door open, initiating Nikki to walk by with a slight, hungover, stumble, as he makes his way to the kitchen, not saying a word to me, not that I expect him to.

He's coming into the living room a moment later, my bag of gummy worms I bought yesterday, in hand, and I roll my jaw, not wanting to start a fight over fucking candy…

...But go big, or go the fuck home, right?

"Those are mine." I tell him, pretending to be reading the newspaper I was reading earlier, and he looks me directly in the eye, opening the bag, taking one out, and eating it.

"My money, my groceries." He states, chewing it, and I exhale.

"I'm gonna go take a walk." Karen comments, sighing as she gets up and walks to the back yard, knowing this is going to get ugly.

"You're right. It is your money." I tell him, not arguing the valid point. "And if you keep splurging on heroin, you won't have any of it left." I add and he death glares me.

"I'm not on fucking smack." He argues sternly.

"You only eat sweets when you're trying to cut back smack." I say and he looks away from me. "At least you're trying to cut it, though." I mumble.

The bag of candy is suddenly colliding with my leg as he throws it at my lap, spitefully, standing up.

"Nikki, you can hav--"

"--It's yours. You have it." He hisses, going back to our bedroom, slamming the door loud enough to sound almost like a gunshot, causing me to jump in my seat.

Nikki: 1, Viv: 1

I decide to shower later on, opting for the guest bathroom to avoid having to see Nikki by walking through our bedroom to get to our bathroom.

I'm only under the running water before I hear the locked door knob twist, before loud banging on the door.

"Vivian!" He screams on the other side.

"Yes, dear?!" I call back, annoyed.

"What the fuck happened to my fucking cars and bikes?!"

I raise my brows, actually forgetting what I did to his precious vehicles until now.

"Open the fucking door!" He demands and I roll my eyes.

"Don't you have better things to do?! Like cleaning the fermented wine--that's been rotting in the hot heat of our garage--from the interior of your cars?!"

I hear the door knob move some more, and I peek out the curtain to see the knob twist completely, the door opening, and I see the little key in his hand.

We both stare at each other for one good second before I'm screaming as he comes for me, but I'm ducking under his arm and trying not to trip and fall on my wet feet as I scurry out of the room.

"I'm gonna kill you, Sixx!" He threatens and I panic a little.

"What the hell is going on?!" Karen asks us, keeping Nikki back when she steps out of the kitchen to stop him from chasing after me any further.

"She completely vandalized my fucking cars and my bikes!" He points at me.

"I didn't touch the Jeep." I argue and he nearly shoves Karen out of the way but she holds her ground.

"I'm about to call Doc if you two don't calm down." She threatens.

"I'm calling the cops and having her ass locked up." Nikki states.

"Do it." I boldly snap.

"No, no, no one's calling the cops." She says, letting out a breath.

"Do you wanna go see what the fuck she did to my fucking stuff?!" He raises his voice at her, motioning in the direction of the garage.

"Have you stopped to think that's a result of what you've done to her?" Karen questions him and he rolls his jaw. "I know you're not used to having repercussions and consequences to your actions, but it's a simple theory called 'cause and effect'." She states and he cuts his eyes at her, probably thinking she's full of shit. "The 'scorned wife effect.' You cheat, she destroys your belongings." She finishes, giving him a quick, sarcastic smile, before stepping out of his way. "If I hear either one of you screaming, again, I'm calling Doc."

He pushes past me, and I go back to my shower.

When I get out, Nikki's nowhere to be seen and the Jeep is gone so I assume he got out of the house for a few minutes, and when I leave our room, going to the living room, I stop in my tracks.

I see her from the corner of my eye, in the foyer, staring at me, and I turn to fully look at her.

She looks like she's been on a binge the past few days, her brown eyes wild and body slightly jittery, her hands gripping tightly to the sneakers I let her borrow a few months ago.

All I could do was stare at her, just knowing Nikki was going to have to come home and clean up the mess that he made.

“Vanity.” I acknowledge her, but not for long before I’m walking into the kitchen, hearing an oncoming storm approach as thunder rattles in the distance.

I grab a Pepsi from the fridge, hearing her slowly creep into the kitchen with me, and my eyes slowly find the knife block only an arms length away from me on the kitchen counter.

Sober Vanity wouldn’t think of hurting a fly. Coked out, crazy, reckless Vanity on the other hand…

“Do you have anything to say to me?” She asks me, shakily.

“Was it good, at least?” I reply, leaning against the counter, staring at her. “When you fucked my husband...knowing he was married...was it good?”

Apparently I’m striking a chord, because she’s got angry tears coming to her eyes, her jaw clenching.

“For someone who’s all about Jesus--”

“--He came to me.” She states, shakily, and I keep my face neutral, although I feel my heart tighten in my chest. “During your time apart last year, he saw me in a Vanity 6 video, and within two hours, I was getting a call from my manager telling me Nikki Sixx wanted a date night.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better about it?” I ask, raising my brows. “‘He came to me, I didn’t go to him’? Because at the end of the day, he’s married, and you knew he was married, and instead of turning him away, you welcomed him with open arms.” I point out.

“Have you ever thought perhaps I’m your punishment for not appreciating him?” She asks me, a tear breaking past her lashes.

“Excuse me?”

“God punishes his children when they’re not obedient. You made a promise to God to be the best wife to Nikki you could be, and you broke that promise more than enough times.” She adds.

“So you’re saying God used you--having an affair with my husband--to punish me?” I ask her to clarify. She stays silent, looking at me with pure hatred, and I nod a little, calmly.

My glass bottle is hitting her square in the chest before I can even stop myself, a look of utter shock on her face as Pepsi splashes all over her, her hand holding at the inevitable severely bruised skin bound to form from where it made impact.

Technically, since she wanted to get biblical, I was supposed to stone her to death. Being I didn’t have any rocks, and God frowns upon such things, I opted for a one-time thing that still hurt her but not enough to kill her.

I guess Karen heard the Pepsi bottle shatter on the floor, because she's coming in, with a concerned look on her face...before her skin goes sheet white upon seeing Vanity.

"W-What's going on?" She asks me.

"Vanity was just leaving." I state, rolling my jaw and Vanity looks at me like she's ready to attack.

"I'm not going anywhere until I talk to him." She hisses.

I hear the front door open, and I smile at her.

"Now's your chance." I smugly say, stepping past her, my shoes crackling on the glass as I take my sneakers from her hands, going to our room to put them up, saying, "I suggest you go to your room to avoid getting caught in the crossfire", to Karen as I pass by her.

When I get in our room, that's when shit hits the fan.

"You'd have to be on horse tranquilizer before marrying me?!" I hear her scream. "Huh?! You break up with me over the phone and then act like I'm crazy and embarrass me?!"

"You are crazy!" Nikki screams back.

I hear her shriek, before the sound of skin violently smacking against skin, as Vanity barks out, "if you hate me, hit me! If you just fucking hate me so much!"

I run in to see her hitting at Nikki while he tries to keep his patience.

"Vanity!" I scold, trying to pull her off of him.

Her left hand is suddenly coming back in a fist, hitting me square in the eye.

This does it.

She's knocked to the floor, and her nose is bleeding, Nikki's fist is clenched and smattered with Vanity's blood, and his eyes have a look in them I haven't seen before.

Vanity's now screaming and crying, kicking and clawing at him as he tries to grab her wrist to pull her up, so he instead grabs her hair and drags her out of the house.

"Nikki!" I protest, catching up to him when he's already got her down our front steps.

He let's her go and glares at me, before he stomps back in, slamming the door, locking us both outside.

Vanity's crying, a stream of blood running down her face, my own nose spilling red, but I can't help but crouch beside her and wipe the blood from her face and angle her head back as she sobs.

"Just pinch your nose." I mumble, taking her hand, that's raw from slapping Nikki, and pinching it at her nose.

I had never seen Nikki that angry. He later described his altercation with Vanity, as "hitting her like a man."

I'm not sure if he actually hit her just because she attacked him, because I attacked him multiple times, and he never hit me--the most he did was push me, or grab my wrists or my throat, and even that wasn't enough to really hurt me, just enough to get my attention.

I think everything was put into that single episode.

Every time she made his life harder from the moment she stepped in to it, and even his own self-hate for letting things get the way they did between them, all the anger he had felt for himself and her were packed into that single punch.

And none of it should have ever fucking happened.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx fanfiction #Motley Crue #nikki sixx x oc #gateway drug

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helianthus21 · 4 years

Note

heli pls omg for the prompts, number 1 ily

And also pls 32, because i LOVE your writing and all those prompts are so great i can’t choose only one!

💜I combined them, hope you enjoy💜 ~1,4k

Even as a chained-up, shivering mess, Cas is still adamant about helping them. No matter how often Dean tells him to just concentrate on not dying from the attack dog spell, he won’t accept the confinement to bed Dean wants to impose on him. The fact that this renders Dean a distracted, worrying mess be damned. Out of the corners of his eyes, he keeps checking Cas for any signs of the curse worsening every now and again.

Sam’s already gone out to follow a lead half an hour ago while Dean insisted on staying in the Bunker to keep an eye on their patient. If something happened to Cas and he wasn’t there, he would never forgive himself.

Cas has been staring at nothing for such a long time that a jolt goes through Dean almost the same time as Cas startles out of his seat.

“Hey, buddy, you alright?” Dean asks, momentarily stuck to his chair by the shock, fingers freezing in place over the keyboard of his laptop.

But Cas doesn’t answer. Instead, his body jerks again once, twice, until Dean realizes what he’s doing.

He’s fighting against the hold of his handcuffs.

They’re angel-proof. So it comes as a shock to Dean when the angel actually succeeds.

Metal of the cuffs broken in half, Cas stands hunched over his side of the table, as Dean regains his marbles and approaches him carefully.

“Cas, hey,” he says in the most non-threatening voice he can manage. “It’s alright. Let me-”

But Cas looks up then, the usual deep blue of his eyes giving way to blood red, and veins standing out prominently on his face. Shit, he looks terrible.

“Are you in there, bud?” Slowly, Dean reaches out a hand.

A dreadful mistake.

The moment his hand nears Cas’ shoulder, the angel launches at him, hissing like an angered predator and throws Dean over the table.

Dean protects his head during the fall, but his back still gets the brunt of it, and it takes him precious few seconds to put himself up again with a grunt, muscles aching. It gives Cas enough time to go after him.

Dragging a chair between them as a weak barrier, Dean tries to reach his friend. “Cas, please,” he begs. “I know you’re in there. It’s the curse. Fight this!”

Eyes crazed and red, Cas tilts his head at him as though trying to understand. As though Dean was speaking in a language that needed deciphering.

The confusion only holds him back for a moment. In the next, the chair between them goes flying, and Cas is up in Dean’s face again, fist twisting the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

“Cas, look at me!” Dean almost yells. “It’s me. Dean. I’m your best friend. I’m-”

His heart misses a beat as Cas actually pauses mid-strike.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean whispers. With a shaking hand he reaches out to lower Cas’ fist away from his face. “There you are. Come back to me, Cas. Please.”

Cas blinks, and a hint of blue shines through the angry redness in his eyes. His grip on Dean loosens, and the more he comes back to his senses, the more Cas seems to crumble.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says, gaze dropping to the ground in shame.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” insists Dean. He holds out a hand to Cas’ forearm to keep him upright. “That wasn’t you, it was the curse.”

“I hurt you,” Cas rejects Dean’s easy absolution. “I could have killed you.”

“I almost killed you too!” Dean says, voice too loud with emotion. “Don’t think I can just forget that, though you seem to have. I wanted to kill you. You would’ve died by my hands and I wouldn’t even have cared.”

“But you didn’t,” Cas argues. “Even at your worst, you still didn’t submit to the dark inside you that was tempting you. That takes true strength, Dean.”

“God, even when I try to kill you, you praise me as some kind of national hero.” Putting his arms around Cas, he half-carries him to the little armchair in the corner, a far more comfortable place for him to rest.

“You have to chain me up again,” Cas urges.

“Cas!” Dean’s irritation is audible in his voice now. “How? You ripped right through the only cuffs that could hold you.”

Cas swallows, gaze faraway as though he’s already given up. “Take me to the dungeon.”

“No!” Dean protests firmly. “No way I’m putting you there.”

“Dean-”

“I said no, and that’s final!” Dean says. Then, in a much softer tone, he adds, “You’ve broken through the curse just now, you can do it again. Listen, Sam will find Rowena and she’ll lift the curse from you if it’s the last thing she does. Meanwhile you just breathe and look at me.”

Cas doesn’t react.

“No drifting away, man. Eyes on me,” Dean orders, because that’s a language Cas understands. “You hear me, Cas? Keep your eyes on me.”

Finally, Cas lifts his head again, enough to return Dean’s steady gaze.

They stare at each other, the only way for Dean to make sure Cas stays with him. Stays himself.

After a stretch of time Dean cannot measure, Cas falters. “I killed hundreds of you once.” He licks his dry lips. “Thousands.”

Dean frowns. “What?”

“When Naomi tried to condition me,” explains Cas. “She made me kill thousand versions of you to break me. They were very realistic.”

If Cas thought the confession would make Dean turn tail, he missed by a mile. Saddened by the thought of how much Cas had to go through without Dean even knowing, he surges forward to capture Cas in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Cas’ shoulder.

“Why do you apologize?” Cas sounds incredulous. “I almost killed you, for real, after that.”

Pulling back far enough to look him in the eyes again, Dean strokes a thumb over his sweaty cheek. “You’d never.” He drops his hand, swamped by unbidden memories. “I asked Death to get rid of you. I never even thought about looking for a way to get you back.”

“I drove your brother insane.”

“I never listened to you,” Dean says. “Took you for granted.”

“I lied to you for a whole year.”

“I only called you when I needed help. I made you into a hammer.”

“I’m the reason you lost Lisa and Ben.”

The mention of their names is like a punch to Dean’s gut. He’d buried this little taste of the apple pie life that was granted to him, this unreachable dream, so deep inside the box with the label Do Not Touch. He never dared to look back. It feels so far away now, after all these years. Like from another lifetime.

Shaking his head, Dean tries to clear away the dark clouds inside his head. “No,” he rasps. “You’re not the reason. I fucked that up all on my own.”

“You deserved a happy life,” Cas says regretfully. “That’s why I didn’t turn to you for help, back then. You seemed so… content. I didn’t want to ruin that for you.” Cas laughs dryly, a sad, ugly sound. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t happy,” Dean admits, for the first time to anyone other than himself. “I wasn’t even really content, I…” He shrugs. “Fuck, I’d have jumped at the first chance of getting back into the life. If you’d come to me, I’d-”

He’d have been so goddamn thrilled. Not happy, not so fresh in mourning for Sam as he had been. But relieved, at the very least.

He can’t say it, but Cas seems to get the meaning of the unspoken words regardless.

“Me too,” he says, tentatively reaching out to take Dean’s hand in his, as if testing how much he’s allowed. “If… If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve.”

Dean’s head jolts up, the regret of a past ridden with wasted opportunities shining in his eyes. The regret, but also the hope for that something different he’s always been craving, more and more strongly as the years passed.

“When?” Dean asks, breath held in fear and hope and anticipation. “If I had asked you when?”

“After Stull.” Cas shakes his head sadly, as if resigned at his own pitifulness. “Anytime.”

It might be wishful thinking. It might be a trick of the light, but Cas’ eyes seem to clear of the angry redness of the curse, making way for that wonderful, wonderful blue.

Distantly, he hears the ringing of his phone announcing an incoming call. None of them pays it any mind as they keep staring into each other’s eyes.

“Stay,” Dean asks.

The most beautiful smile lights up Cas’ face, like the sun shining through a clouded sky.

It’s answer enough, but he still says it aloud.

“Of course.”

#replies #destiel #prompts #ficlet #spn #heli tries to write #long post #cas says it aloud bc he's not a coward like certain other ppl from other fictional universes👀#this one fought me vanessa and it got way longer than intended #hope you like it<3 #bend-me-shape-me

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quant-um-fizzx · 5 years

Text

Swept Away

Synopsis: Bucky feels strangely drawn to a woman at a Halloween party thrown at the Avengers compound.

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Except - not? There’s really no way to explain this upfront without giving the whole thing away. It is a nameless female character but it’s also not “fictional you” as a reader because I could not get that to work within this mystery concept.

Warnings: Smut, I’m calling this Dub-Con (but only in the sense that things might not be what they seem) Language, mild Angst, an attempt to be eerie.

Word Count: about 3000

This is for @sherrybaby14‘s Fall Into You writing challenge from the prompt: “Halloween Party”

It’s loud like parties always are and Bucky welcomes a reason not to join in their bickering, no matter how playful.

“It’s the principle, really.” Steve says, sniffs whatever Thor tipped into his glass this time.

“Yes, that’s my point. Thank you. Don’t make a rule and then break it.” Rhodey gripes, adjusting the gold construction paper shooting star taped to the center of his shirt.

“I believe the rule as stated was ‘don’t spend more than $10 on a superhero costume.’ I spent zero dollars on this ensemble.” Tony gestures at the Mark 5 armor he’s wearing. “What we need is a neutral party analysis, who will then concur I am winning at not spending.”

Clint twirls an empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Look, I’m not saying that it’s cheating to come as yourself...”

“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Nat says.

“I sense a butt right here,” Rocket chimes in. He’s dressed no differently, having openly complained he didn’t see the point and costumes sound more like some of the stupid shit Quill would be into.

Steve flicks the deep red bed sheet pinned to the back of his shirt, making it swoosh around his feet, casually flipping what no one needs to know is Thor’s actual hammer. The group chatters on as he surveys the room, pausing when he spies Bucky in a far corner, his arm slipping artfully around the waist of a very pretty woman in a white post-Edwardian nightdress. She seems familiar but he can’t really get a good look at her and, considering Bucky’s clearly enthralled with her, he doesn’t think he should be trying to get a better look. They appear deep in conversation, the woman’s hair falling across her face like a curtain. It’s intimate, the way they lean in, and suddenly Steve feels like he’s intruding. He coughs and returns his attention back to the current debate.

***

She curls further into his side, burrows her chilled shoulder down where he’s warm and snug. Her head falls back to look up at him with doe-eyes. He gets lost in them, irises so peaceful and deep, dark like still waters, like starless night sky. She runs her hand over the blue near-ancient canvas stretched across his chest, traces the white star with an elegant digit.

He leans in, almost captures her lips. Forgets it’s not private. Like there’s no one else. Like there shouldn’t ever be. She offers her neck, bends so far back that it’s a bit unnatural, but he brushes the thought away. He shakes his head, tries to recall something. It seems important. Scratching at his brain.

He stops, pulls back. His eyes pinch. He doesn’t know this woman. Doesn’t know anything about her. But he wants to. He wants to know her. Maybe that’s what he couldn’t remember. “What’s…” Runs his nose along her cheek. “What’s your name, Darlin’?”

Did she already tell him that? Did he already ask?

***

“Tell me again, how is coming as yourself and wearing your actual multi-million dollar suit not breaking the rules?” Nat saunters across the circle, grabbing a drink off the bar.

“I’m just saying, that since you were the guy who made the rule, it’s kinda weird that you’re the one breaking it.” Clint sets his bottle down with a clink that sounds a bit more irritated than he appears.

“Point of order: Cap lent his costume to two people.” Tony feigns deep offense, gestures toward Scott.

“What? This? Nah, I hand-sewed this baby myself for Comic-Con years ago.” Scott stands proudly, hands heroically on his hips.

Tony’s eyes roll back into his brain. “That still leaves Barnes and his circa WW2 Star-Spangled-ness? Care to explain the museum piece over there and the clothes he’s wearing while you’re at it?”

***

She smiles softly, delicate. Her features unbothered despite that it seems he’s forgotten her. Goes up on her toes and places cool fingertips on his fevered lips. Pushes her own together in a silent hush and he feels it in his gut - feels himself give in to something more than gravity pulling him down, twisting. He leans in toward those lotus-petal painted lips, almost...almost.

She pulls back just a little. Smile shy, but somehow not. A little knowing. Knows a secret she’s going to show him. He doesn’t like secrets; he’s kept too many, he’s been too many. Doesn’t trust them.

But he wants to know hers. Wants her. Needs to see where this leads.

Her fingers entwine with his, pull him fluidly toward the exit door.

And he forgets. Forgets they are leaving a brightly lit room, forgets there are people who might miss him, forgets everyone, everything but the promise of losing himself in her.

***

Steve shrugs. “Bucky asked how much trouble it would be to borrow it. Turns out it wasn’t much trouble,” he says, pulling his eyes away from the door Bucky had disappeared through.

“Excellent!” Tony claps. “Now that we can all agree the utilization of old suits is not a budget factor, let’s discuss what I am sure is a fascinating reason why Wilson here jumped on the opportunity to dress as a defunct Russian asset.”

Sam scoffs and pretends to smooth the aluminum foil wrapped around his left arm. “The Winter Soldier? Nah, my arm’s just dressed as a baked potato.”

***

Her fingers swim up under his shirt and along each rib like organ keys. He’s draped over her, touching every inch, body covering her like a blanket, a pall. Their kisses swell and he dives when her mouth parts for him. At first a shallow exploration, his warm pink tongue skimming inside until she, impatient and sudden, curls into his mouth and catches it.

The party and the lights feel a million leagues away. The sounds muffled and distant as if they’ve sneaked off to skinnydip not go necking in a backseat.

Lips and teeth banging, urgent. She’s under and around him all at once. Calling him to claim her like the open sea.

Hot breath rushes from him as he pulls away and she floats up to follow but then settles back flat along the seat, smiling up at him. Hair splayed out around her face in waves and her face glowing like the moon.

It registers with him that they’re in a parking lot, in the back of a car. It seems like new information, as if he had just realized. Must have been too busy kissing her, touching her because he doesn't know how they got here. Doesn’t remember clambering into the car. It’s large and old. A Studebaker? A Streamliner?

No, that can’t be right.

***

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Cool Costume. Ned dressed as Mark 5 in 3rd grade.” Peter scurries up, acting slightly winded, as most of the crowd shoots daggers at him. “It, uh, it looks way better on you though.” He looks hopefully around, checking if that fixed whatever he’d said wrong.

Shuddering, as if he’s just recalled what he’d come to say, Peter looks back quickly over his shoulder at the doorway Bucky and the woman walked out. “That’s all kinds of creepy. Just like that urban legend, right?”

“When it comes to questionable bed partners, I am spectacularly aware that I have no room to talk. But what is the deal with Steve’s pal and Coraline?” Tony gestures over his shoulder. “There’s a line between cute and creepy. But that one just runs a bit too realistic as The Woman in White.”

Steve looks between them and the door again. “The what?”

***

He presses his lips to her neck. Runs his tongue up a long trail to the shell of her ear.

Soft. He’s never felt anything so soft in his hands. Breasts like silt, spilling under his palms. Soft every place he’s hard. He’s so hard, aching with it. Cock straining, reducing him down to that near-pain desire. He wants to bury himself between her thighs, drown himself inside her.

She pulls the gown free from her shoulders and it pools around her. She arches up to him. Offers. Urges.

Insists.

He licks his lips and wants more. Already can’t remember what she tastes like, saltwater or sweetened honey? He kisses her again, soft press against his tongue and he’s thirsty. Parched. Dives in for more but each touch leaves him wanting more. More heat. More water. More...air.

She’s under him and begging him.

“Take me.”

Rouge tongue runs over chapped lips as he comes up for a breath. “You don’t have to ask me twice, Sugar.” He rasps, lungs seized up in want.

Her hands dig into blue shoulders and her legs wrap around red and white stripes, clasping behind the small of his back. Pulling him down to her, pulling him under.

Fog coats the windows. Their want dripping in rivulets down the glass. The air is thick with it, clings to his lungs, each breath heavy, laboring.

“Hang on babe,” he pulls back, heart racing gulping down air. “Whew. Huh. Wow.” He looks around, squints, trying to get his bearings. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

She smiles again, sweet as rain. Shakes her head slowly, hair swirling around, a tangle of moss on the seat. Locks her hands behind his neck and digs her heels into his thighs.

She reaches down inside his pants and draws him out, a whisper caress on his length. Barely there, but possessive. Hers.

“Take me.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he gasps, breathless. Gasps as strokes him. “I’ll make it good, so good for you.”

He wants her. Wants her like air. “Can’t wait. Gotta have you - now.”

She flips him over, deft like he weighs nothing and he floats beneath her. Straddles his hips and anchors him, grinding onto his cock. Her head falls back again, does that deep swoon to expose the marble column of her neck. And he feels again like he needs to stop her, to catch her head and stop her. To cradle her skull.

***

“I can tell you, Cap,” Sam says, leaning in conspiratorially, “but you and I are going to have a long chat later about how you manage to interact with other humans every day and still stay so damned isolated.”

Steve gives Sam a withering look but motions for him to continue.

“The story goes, there’s a ghost that wanders the area. She fell for a guy years ago and got abandoned. The story changes in the details. Sometimes she died in childbirth, jumped off a bridge, whatever. But one detail is always the same: heartbreaker was shipping off to war the next day. So, she, you know, ‘did it for her country.’ But the guy never comes back and she dies, waiting for him. Wandering the road leading to where they were last together.”

“Huh, that’s super weird,” Scott says, throwing back what he immediately learns is heavily-spiked cider, his eyes going wide on the burn.

“Ghost stories are weird by definition, Scott” Nat says, licking the rim of her glass.

“No,” Scott coughs, throwing back two more cider shots in quick succession. “I mean it’s weird because I picked her up on the road coming here. She asked all slow and dramatic about her soldier - I guess she is just super into Halloween - and I was gonna call her an Uber but then she said she was looking for Stark’s thing.”

Steve is incredibly done with this entire conversation. Peter, the exact opposite, presses for more info. “Which road?”

Sam shrugs dismissively. “The one by the old fairgrounds.”

Scott chokes on a fourth shot. “Down in Queens.”

“You mean the fairgrounds where Stark held the first Expo?” Steve say, unblinking. All fun gone.

Suddenly, Steve knows where he’s seen her. It’s just been a very, very long time since 1943.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tony says, eyes locked on Steve.

“Are you saying that I picked up a...a... ghost and rode with her for an hour? Guys...guys, I need to sit down.” Scott wobbles, hand shooting out to steady himself on Rocket. Rocket steps aside.

Before Scott’s ass hits the floor, everyone else is out the door.

***

She sinks down around him, fluid and silk. Her hands press into his chest. His warm muscles tense and brown nipples pebble in her touch’s wake.

As she rides him, the night’s light behind her makes her hair look like a halo floating out around her. A thought breaks through that she looks familiar - he does know her - but she’s just one more thing he lost along the way.

He wants to tell her they can make this new, start over, whatever went wrong before, he can fix it and it wasn’t his fault and didn’t mean to leave her and please forgive him because he didn’t mean to toss her away.

Wait.

Wait...

He recalls a flash of her face, dry and bright. She’s looking up at him in his brown uniform. Red car hovering on a stage behind her. Then, as suddenly as it came, the picture’s gone, popped like a burst bubble.

***

Steve and Sam are first out the back, toward the dock. Peter has a legit meltdown but still manages to check every car. They’re all empty.

“Cap! There!” Clint shouts, pointing out at the water.

The middle of the goddamn lake.

In the goddamn, deathly still, dark lake.

***

She glides over him and it’s so desperate and slippery. Everything urgent when all he’d really wanted is to take his time. To do this right. Bring her some daisies - or, no, she'd like lilies he thinks dumbly and runs his hands up to cup her face. He wants to show her a good time before his ships out in the morning and see if she has a different friend for Steve.

The guilt is raw and burrowing in his heart he can’t shake it but he doesn’t quite know why.

Maybe that’s her secret. What she wanted to show him.

Maybe it’s that she deserves better than this back seat in a parked car outside Stark’s expo. He starts to say sorry but is silenced with another watery kiss.

Burning starts low in his back, the building pull low in his spine, and he wants to come. Desperate for his end.

Maybe it’s too much because she can have it all she can have him and he’s not scared - but a small spark fires some forgotten place in his mind, that he is scared - that maybe he should be.

Sliding over him, bend and rock. Tight. He surges up into her again and again. His release looms, vision tunneled down to her. Nothing but her and the sweet hold, the way she’s anchored him down after so many years adrift.

He thinks blindly that he should warn her. Opens his mouth but she swallows his words.

Then he’s coming, pulsing out of him like lifeblood. Breathless and drained. And he’s so tired.

Peaceful. Serene.

“Take me,” she sings.

He can’t hold on. Body aches for rest.

Her brow furrows. “Take me home.”

His eyes flutter. He starts to form the words, but just...can’t.

He would’ve taken her home and not left. He didn’t mean to make it seem like it must have seemed. He didn’t just throw her away. But it was war and he wasn’t expecting the hell it brought or the hell that came after. It had all seemed so innocent in that old back seat, with his promises he didn’t mean to break.

She grinds down, damned serum refractory period kicking in. He swells against all reason and moves with her until she shakes and clenches, nails digging into his skin, a mournful wail spiraling out of her as he feels himself spill again.

She touches his neck, feels his pulse stutter out, slow. Her face is confused. Head shaking.

He takes her hand, holds it to his heart. An apology.

Then, she rails back, wretches and twists. She slips through his fingers like time, like silk, like thread.

What was once solid, warm like new sun on a cold sill, now shifts. Contorts and writhes, skin viscus and pooling around his fingers like so much rancid dough.

He wants to care but he wants to sleep. Just rest his eyes. Just for a second. It doesn’t feel right but he can’t make himself care. It’s so quiet and peaceful, down here where she used to be solid, where he used to be warm.

***

Then, when he’s almost gone, when peace has fired off in nearly every cell, he’s yanked free.

Colder than he’s ever been. Night air like a fire burning, like he is nothing but frostbite dropped in a boiling pot.

Sam drags him up onto the dock and collapses beside him. Sam’s face is drawn and terrified and their clothes soggy and weighted, water running off between the wooden planks.

“The Hell Barnes? Party full of perfectly available, alive folk and that’s the strange you go for.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

Help Wanted

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian!

Caduceus Clay is finally starting to find his feet in the city, ever since he moved away from the family graveyard. He's opened his own cafe, he's found his own friends, he's found the freedom he's been looking for.

However, with his cafe growing, he's realised he needs an assistant. Fortunately, his friends know someone who would be perfect- Fjord, back in town and looking for a job before he can go out on the ocean again.

And things get complicated from there.

---

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3!

---

Caduceus didn’t know how to have friends.

He knew how to have siblings. How to love and hate them with the same ferocity and at the same time, for how they reflected your own flaws back at you and made you laugh so hard you didn’t think your jaw would ever be the same again. He knew how to have parents. To have them hold your face and tell you they loved you so deeply and sincerely you thought your heart might burst and then have them make decisions you couldn’t understand. He knew how to have family.

But Caduceus did not know how to have friends.

That hadn’t worried him too much when he’d first moved out of the grove and into the city. The only thing he’d been concerned with then was getting to be himself. Learning how to be alone, finally of his own free will. Silence by choice.

And he’d managed that. Hours and hours of silence, in the tiny apartment he’d rented and then made even tinier by stuffing it full of plants. And, after he’d eventually figured out how banks worked, silence in the storefront he’d bought, with the sagging roof and the warped flooring and the rats. Hours and hours of silence, broken only by his sawing and hammering and holding long conversations with the rats, promising to drive them up to the woods and find them new nests.

And finally, silence after a long, long day in his cafe, called the Blooming Grove in a fit of questionable humour, the silence that fell after the bell rang out at the retreating back of the last customer, the silence that wasn’t really a silence because the coffee machine would always be humming, the ovens grumbling, the clink of mugs as he washed them one by one, the music he’d play and keep on as he closed up.

But then something happened that surprised Caduceus, as much as his own contentment had.

Friends found him. And they taught him how it was done.

“That’s the third yawn you’ve stifled behind a mug today, Caduceus.”

Caleb had a habit of stating his observations aloud, often not realising what he was observing was something another person was trying to hide. It was endearing in its way, except when you were that person.

“Another late night?” Molly stood next to Caleb, as always. Lately the two had been impossible to separate, ever since they’d officially become an item after making eyes at each other for months, all while insisting there was no way the other would ever be into someone like them. Caleb’s arm, threaded through Molly’s, the tielfing’s head resting lightly on top of the human’s, proved that they’d kind of been idiots about the whole thing.

“Not that late,” Caduceus shrugged and busied himself with the pair’s drink orders. He’d memorised them both, of course, but if he looked like he was concentrating maybe they’d stop asking him questions he didn’t want to answer. Not that it didn’t brighten his day when his friends came in- which happened every day- but he knew where this was leading.

Caduceus wandered down to where his counter turned into the domain of two immense hulking beasts of steel and copper, his drinks machines, cantankerous old things that would only work for him. He began pressing buttons and twisting dials like he was playing a very broken organ, trying to appear busy. Unfortunately, Molly followed him down, Caleb in tow, peering over the glass cloches full of the day’s baked goods.

“Was it last night? Or technically this morning?” he pressed, concern in his voice.

Cad pulled a lever down, sending up a gout of caffeine scented steam, and sighed. He didn’t like to lie. But he also didn’t like the discussion the truth would invite. So he said nothing.

He focused on the coffees instead. Dark as sin for Caleb, with a number of espresso shots that made him feel guilty for his part in his friend’s inevitable early grave, no sugar at all because his stomach couldn’t process it properly. Spoonfuls of cinnamon and chai spice in Molly’s along with generous spoonfuls of caramel just on the verge of burnt and clouds of whipped cream so the drink was bitter, spicy, sweet and rich all at once.

The tiefling clearly did not appreciate being ignored and wouldn’t let it stop him. He leaned forward, over the box of lemon and poppyseed cake bars that weren’t selling as well as Cad had hoped, like not getting the firbolg’s attention was the problem.

“Cad, you are going to run yourself into the ground if you keep on like this,” he said seriously, red eyes narrowed, “This place is getting bigger, which is great, but if you keep trying to run it single handedly, pretty soon you’ll be getting no sleep at all and you’ll die and we’ll have to bury you here.”

Cad frowned, setting their mugs on the counter above the ‘Collect Here’ sign, “This isn’t where I want to be buried…”

“Then hire an assistant!” Molly threw his hands in the air, making his bangles and bracelets clatter, “Like I’ve been telling you over and over and I know Beau and Jester and Yasha have been telling you too!”

“I don’t need an assistant,” Cad’s ears dropped and he folded his skinny arms defensively across his chest, “You have all told me and I’ve told you all the same thing.”

Molly rolled his eyes with a noise of frustration but Caleb piped up instead, voice quiet and soft, like every word was carefully chosen before he said it, “We are just worried about you, Caduceus.”

Cad’s shoulders fell, some of the tension leaving them, “I know.”

And the worst thing was, he couldn’t say their worry was unfounded. It was getting difficult, as his cafe became more and more popular, particularly with the students from the Academy nearby, particularly non humans who found their tastes weren’t catered to elsewhere in the city. There were new faces every day, new people to talk to and new stories to learn, though of course there would always be that knot of colourful students who had piled into the booth on that first day and showed Caduceus how to have friends.

Whereas before he’d have fiddled with his machines and idly tweaking recipes to fill the hours, there were now some days where he didn’t even sit down until the sign on the door had been turned over. Fixing drinks behind the counter, taking food orders and running back and forth between the kitchen and the tables, trying desperately not to knock anything over and keeping track of what went where with an elaborate system of scrawled notes that would be incomprehensible to anyone but him. Loading dirty dishes into the washer, bussing tables, watering plants and rotating them around so the ones that needed shade got shade and the ones that needed sun got sun, talking to the ones that were lonely and scolding the ones that had been greedy. Prep for the dishes, cutting vegetables when he inevitably didn’t make enough in the hours before opening, keeping track of when to take the fresh pastries out and when to turn the things under the grill and when he could spare a second to run and get a band aid to put on his burns or cuts.

It all needed to be done. And yes, sometimes it took so much time that he didn’t get back to his apartment before it was technically tomorrow.

“You guys are sweet to worry,” he conceded, palms flat on the counter, fingers stroking all the nicks and scratches in the old wood, sanded down smooth, it always made him feel better, “But it’s just...adjustment. Pretty soon I’ll get used to it or it’ll level off and things will be fine again. I’ll get a handle on it.”

He was met by two disbelieving gazes, Molly’s open and challenging, Caleb’s mixed with worry.

Cad felt a bitterness rise in his throat, the need to snap and pout and insist that he could do it, though stares like that weren’t helping, no matter how many people thought he should spend the rest of his life alone in a graveyard, keeping it nice and clean for whenever his family decided to come home and pat him on the head for being such a good boy.

But he stopped himself, leaning back and inhaling deeply, the way he’d learned to do. He thought he’d left thoughts like that behind…

Either way, Molly and Caleb didn’t deserve those words. He knew their concern came from a good place.

That was part of having friends, he’d learned. They would say things you didn't agree with because they were worried about you. The big difference between them and your family was you weren’t obliged to do as they said.

You could just appreciate the fact that they cared.

“Things will fall into place,” Cad said with confidence, clearing the tiredness from his voice and making himself stand up straight with bright eyes, “They will. I’ve gotten this far.”

Molly looked like he wanted to argue more but Caleb squeezed the crook of his arm and spoke first, “We know, Caduceus. And you know we’re here if you need help.”

Cad nodded slowly, mollified and already ashamed for his own thoughts, “Thank you. Enjoy your drinks.”

Caleb gave him a small smile behind his beard. Caduceus often got the sensation that he understood him most, out of all their ramshackle little group. Molly didn’t seem as pleased but he relented, as he always did when his boyfriend asked anything of him. The two of them retreated to the table they always took when they were on one of their post-Caleb’s-classes dates and Cad turned back to his work.

He already had more customers waiting.

It seemed simultaneously like no time at all and an eternity before the windows were letting in the burnt orange of the sunset and Cad could turn the sign over.

As he turned to the empty cafe, he was already making a list of jobs in his head. Take in the dishes still sat hastily piled on the tables, wipe them down, wash the crockery all through in the kitchen, sweep the floor, mop, get the ingredients ready for tomorrow…

Cad sighed and hung up his cooking apron behind the counter and pulled out his cleaning one instead, trying to click his neck and back and win himself a few more hours before they became unusable. Tomorrow, he told himself firmly as he went to change the music to something more suited to his tastes, he’d be able to tell his friends that he was home and in bed by eleven.

He found a song he liked with far too many panpipes to be suitable for his customers and tucked his long braid into the back of his shirt to keep it out of the way. The list in his mind was still growing so he’d need to make a start soon.

First, he let himself have a sit down on the few tables surrounded by sagging, comfortable sofas. Just for a few minutes, just to reset the deep, throbbing ache in his ankles. Then he’d be up, get everything done and be home in time to do some sewing. Things falling into place, just like he’d promised.

The next thing Caduceus was aware of was his eyes opening to the sound of cars blasting horns outside and harsh morning sun hitting him right in the face. He winced, curling himself up like a woodlouse that just had it’s log pulled out from above it, though he found himself tipping too far over and hitting his head with a thunk on the arm of the sofa. Groaning, he wrapped his arms over his head, ninety per cent of his thoughts bubbling up in frantic panic at just how much stuff was now undone for the start of the day and how he had no time to do it at all.

The remaining ten percent was in some state of mania induced calm, humming that at least he could confidently tell Molly he’d been asleep way before eleven. Even if he hadn’t been in bed.

Before the panic could swallow him completely, one of the strings of ivy he’d allowed to grow through a specially made net across the ceiling stretched out it’s longest frond, just above his head, and tickled his nose pointedly.

“Yeah…” Cad groaned to the plant, knowing very well who was sending him this particular message. Someone he really did need to listen to, “I get the idea.”

The day after next, all of his friends found themselves at their usual table, the biggest in the place, an oaken monstrosity backed by benches rather than chairs that Cad had rescued from a garage sale and revarnished. It was a little rare to see absolutely all of them together, with everything going on in their lives but every so often things would align just right. Beau and Caleb would have an afternoon off their classes, Molly and Yasha would be able to duck out of work early if there was a show that evening, Veth would leave her husband in charge of the lab and Jester would just float in on her usual cloud of bustle and low level chaos from doing whatever she’d been doing. They’d all sit and that corner of the cafe would be filled with laughter and loud conversation, a lot of it the well intended insults of bone deep friendship.

Often Cad would wish he could be over with them. He’d go and say hello, of course, but there would always be things that needed doing, things that would keep him from sitting down and really feeling part of them.

But not today. Today, as soon as they all gravitated together, Caduceus cleared the last of his customers still waiting, saw them off with whatever they needed and one of his broad smiles, then slipped out from behind the counter and sank into the chair they always left open for him, even if he was too busy to occupy it.

All of their eyes turned to him, surprised and happy and a little confused. Before any of them could open their mouths, he sighed and looked down at his hands.

“I need an assistant. Do you guys know anyone?”

There were a lot of relieved exhalations, Molly rolling his eyes and Caleb nudging him with an elbow, Jester’s face brightening as she gasped and slapped the table repeatedly in excitement.

“Oh! Oh! We do! We know someone who’d be perfect!”

Beau caught on, she had a knack for interpreting her girlfriend’s bursts of energy, “Ahhh...you know what, I think he would be ideal actually.”

“Who?” Caduceus was already starting to fidget, fingers drumming.

“A friend of ours,” Beau stirred her ice coffee, “He is...or was, I guess, a sailor. But his contract’s up and he’s looking to spend a little time on dry land. Needs a way to pay the rent until he can get a thingy on another ship.”

“Berth,” Caleb piped up from where he was eating a beetroot brownie while pulling it apart into crumbs, “It’s a berth on a ship.”

“Yeah,” Beau waved her fingers in his direction, “One of those.”

Cad nodded slowly. If he was a friend of his friends, surely it wouldn’t be so bad. That must be someone he could trust to water the plants and man the counter and look after the place he’d built from the ground up and represented his first chance at real freedom.

He took a deep breath, the drumming getting worse, “What’s his name? Maybe we can talk...I mean, maybe a trial period or...or something...”

Jester already had her phone out, fingers tapping energetically on the keys, grinning to herself and talking animatedly about how great this all was. Beau smiled fondly at her and turned to answer.

“Your new assistant is called Fjord.”

#teahaw #fjorclay #modern au #coffee shop au #slow burn #friends to lovers #well colleagues to lovers

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riverboundao3ff · 4 years

Text

Riverbound, Chapter 21

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and you can’t stop thinking of that video John showed you that one time with the human gamer yelling “CAPTAIN! LOOOOOK!” even though this is very much real life and there is a fucking enormous pirate ship barrelling right at you.

You barely have your sickles out before Vriska comes barging out of her cabin in full pirate ensemble, sword strapped to her waist and fangs bared. “Eridan, take the lead with me! Aradia, Terezi, and Karkat follow. Try not to get yourselves killed. Micah, up to the crow’s nest and see what the enemy is doing. Feferi, keep us at full clip in a circle.”

“I’m not a very good captain!” Feferi yelps as she almost snaps the wheel in half.

“Don’t worry about it, the 8rigantine’s been through some serious shit. She can take a rookie at the wheel!”

Micah zaps up to the crow’s nest with the eyepiece and trains it on the enemy ship. Despite your bloodpusher hammering away in your chest cavity, your feet carry you over to Aradia and Terezi, both grinning ear-to-ear like the maniacs they are. Both are amazing fighters, and you are… very small. Small, and not very strong.

If Crabdad could see you right now you know the old guy would shit himself on the spot.

“Why am I here,” you mutter, gripping your sickles for all they’re worth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck--”

“Shouldn’t Feferi be giving the orders?” Eridan mutters to Vriska, scowling.

Vriska sneers back at him. “My ship, my rules. If you don’t like it you can swim back to shore.”

“I’ll throw you overboard first, bitch.”

“Good to see some things never change,” Aradia snickers, but you can’t bring yourself to rib Eridan for his black crush as you watch the other ship pull right up against the 8rigantine.

“What’s it look like?” Terezi asks.

“Big. Probably one-and-a-half times the size of the 8rigantine…” You trail off as you see the hostages on board and do a quick count. “There’s about fifteen lowbloods on board. Most of them are rusts and bronzes. I see one gold.”

“A psionic?”

“Yep.”

“Dibs,” Aradia calls.

“He’s all yours,” you mumble, beginning to regret being hatched.

Well, it’s too late to back out now. Aradia lays out the plank with her telekinesis and sends a massive shockwave across to the other ship before the terrified hostages can so much as try to rally together.

“Aradia! Don’t hurt them!” Micah wails in protest.

“Sorry!”

She doesn’t look very sorry, but Vriska and Eridan are already charging across the plank together with fearsome battle cries, Terezi right behind them with swords drawn and Aradia bringing up the rear. From the crow’s nest, Micah yells something about the violetblood captain being in his cabin.

“Oh, I am so getting grounded for this,” you tell nobody in particular, and then you bound across the plank in four quick strides, ignoring the dark, churning waters below, and fling yourself into the fray.

Some bronzeblood takes a swing at you the second your feet hit the deck, but you can tell her bloodpusher really isn’t in it when she scrambles back as you knick her cheek with one of your blades. You dodge around a pair of unarmed rustbloods, sweep the feet out from underneath another bronze, and end up back-to-back with Terezi.

Not too long ago you would have been losing your mind at the thought of fighting alongside the girl you crushed on for a pretty sizable amount of your miserable existence, but at the moment you kind of want to smack her upside the head for letting Vriska drag you guys into this. “Where’s your crazy-ass moirail?”

“Looking for our target! Micah said he’s in his cabin,” she yells over a rustblood girl’s furious screeches as Terezi is able to deflect every blow.

You swipe at a boy who tries to lunge for your arm. “Well I wish she’d hurry--”

A shockwave knocks your flat on your ass before you can finish that sentence. Your ears ring, and you roll over with a groan to see Aradia and the goldblood psionic circling each other, both crackling with invisible energy.

“Back off! Back!” the psionic shrieks, blasting yellow sparks at Aradia. “He’ll kill us all if we lose the session!”

“Nobody’s dying today,” Aradia tells him calmly.

“What?!”

“Just keep fighting. We’re here to help.”

Some of the other hostages obviously overheard the whole thing, because you see several stop circling a hissing Eridan to turn and stare at her. None of them have even tried to attack him. He uses the opportunity to break free and roundhouse the psionic into the mast, knocking him out cold and sending cracks up the wood.

A nearby zap alerts you to the cavalry’s arrival. “Eridan!”

“He was attacking Aradia-!”

“Micahlookout!”

The mast splinters apart at the base and comes down through the deck, before toppling over towards your alien friend. They teleport out of the way just in time, reappearing to grab the unconscious goldblood and disappearing again.

The bronzeblood boy you’ve been swatting at scrubs furiously at his ganderbulbs. “What the-- did I just-?”

“Yeah, they do that,” you explain.

“I wanna go home.”

“Same.”

The sound of glass breaking has everybody jumping back as Vriska and the violetblood dude come tumbling out of the cabin window, screaming and clawing each other up with no mercy whatsoever. Serket’s metal arm is making progress in tearing a gash in the violetblood’s side, but he’s still way stronger than her and just as angry.

“You fucking bitch! This isn’t how you play the game!” he snarls, kneeing her in the gut so hard you hear something snap.

She spits blue blood into his face. “This isn’t a game anymore.”

He kicks her off him and springs to his feet, only for a blast of energy to carve a perfect hole through the center of his chest before he can so much as cuss her out again. There’s no blood, no bits of flesh dangling down into the gap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eridan lower his rifle, brows drawn together in concentration.

You stare in shock as Vriska kicks the still-standing corpse overboard.

The following splash is the only sound to be heard for the next couple of moments. You and Micah make eye contact and stare at each other for a little bit. Eridan and Vriska high-five and start ushering the hostages across the plank to the 8rigantine. Aradia just shrugs and helps a bronze girl with a bad knee to her feet so they can go, guiding Terezi along with her other hand.

“Well, that was quick,” you mumble, making your way over to Micah.

They don’t show any outward signs of distress, but the way their gaze doesn’t focus on anything in particular once you both make it to the other side tells you everything you need to know. You want to throw Serket overboard as well; for fuck’s sake, she knows humans are fragile about these sort of things!

They look over at you. “Guess that’s one way to do it.”

“Yeah.” You look out at the horizon, where a pod of skywhales are surfacing to breathe. “I’ll be honest. This rebellion stuff is way less fun than I thought it was gonna be.”

“Me too. Wanna get out of here once we get the hostages back to shore?”

Oh, fuck yes. “Sure. Can we get some of your weird human food?”

“Ask Dave, my guy. I’m broke as hell.”

“Fine.”

You wait impatiently as Micah helps the others down to the beach once the 8rigantine makes it to shore, but you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth when you see the dawning realization on the former prisoners’ faces when they realize that they’ll be going home. You’re smiling as a few of the younger kids grow brave enough to give Micah hugs, which is understandable given that the alien is very soft and huggable. It’s no surprise to you that they’ve managed to land in somebody’s diamond.

“Nothing like trauma to help bring people together,” they say as you watch the group walk off together towards town. “One of them said that they’re gonna make a group chat and call it ‘Hostage Gang’.”

Everybody gets a good chuckle out of that, and most of the tension leaves as you guys head back to Vriska’s hive. Terezi and Aradia start arguing about what blood caste has the thickest skull bone, with Terezi in favor of seadwellers and Aradia insisting it’s the indigos.

Micah bumps your arm. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. Lemme grab my backpack.”

They zap away and are back in the span of two seconds, backpack slung over their shoulder. You have to tell yourself not to stare, even if you’re still definitely not used to your weird alien friend’s wacky spacetime powers.

Vriska’s face falls. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna bring Karkat to Earth to hang out. I’ll be back soon,” Micah tells her.

“... Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Aw, missing your lusus already?” Eridan taunts, before hightailing it back up the path to Vriska’s hive with a furious pirate girl on his heels. Terezi takes off after them with a shriek of delight, with Feferi begging them not to start a fight and Aradia waving back at you as she pelts sand at the back of Eridan’s head.

“Good god,” you mutter.

“Love those assholes,” Micah says, every word laced with affection. They hold out their hand, and with a lot less caution than you used to, you take it.

In the blink of an eye, the both of you are outside Dave’s apartment building with the sun going down behind the skyscrapers in the west. It’s hot as fuck, even for you, and teleporting never fails to make you a little dizzy.

You look up and down the alleyway. Cool, no other humans around.

Taking a running start, you kick off the dumpster underneath the fire escape and grab on to the last rung of the rusty ladder. You pull yourself up with a grunt and start hiking on up to the top floor, concentrating on the horizon to calm down your tilting vision. A bang of boot against metal lets you know Micah is right behind you.

“Why don’t you just teleport up?” you ask.

“Do you want me to take you up?”

“No. It makes me dizzy.”

“Sorry, dude.” They yank off their hoodie with a huff. “I need the exercise.”

“Don’t let Equius hear you say anything like that. For my wriggling day last sweep he gave me an exercise regime and video-called me to personally ensure that I was doing it. It was fucking terrible. Every time I see a stretching mat my ass clenches up so hard I taste shit.”

“... Do you think he’ll come around?” they ask.

You snort. “Who knows. I like the guy, don’t get me wrong, but… he’s pretty set in his ways about the authority of the Empire and the hemospectrum. If Nepeta can’t get through to him, nobody can.”

“Eridan decided he wants to change. So did Vriska.”

You bite your tongue before you can tell Micah that they unwittingly became the lusus-figure of those two jackasses the second they waltzed into their lives. “Yeah, well. Equius is a whole other hoofbeast, pun intended.”

By the time you reach the top level, your thighs are burning, you’re out of breath, and Micah has to brace themselves on their knees while sucking in air like an upright mechanical cleaning device. The usually pale skin is flushed red, and they’re making absolutely no attempt to cover themselves.

All humans have red blood, dumbass. Get over yourself. “How come you can go for three hours straight on Just Dance but get winded going up a few flights of stairs?”

“Man, shut up. You’re breathing heavy, too,” they wheeze.

“Barely.” You pull out your palmhusk and shoot a quick text to Dave, telling him to check the fire escape. Your palmhusk is barely back inside your sweatpants pocket before the window you and Micah are under slides open.

A messy head of blonde hair pokes out, and your gastric tract does a flip when a smirk lifts up the corners of Dave’s mouth. “Two aliens, chillin’ on my fire escape, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay.”

“I regret ever letting you in on the incredible gift that awaits this world that is Vine,” Micah sighs. “All those iconic seven-second videos, all those memes that have yet to define Gen Z as a culture… and some greasy millennial Texas kid gets the first crack at it?”

“Micah. Mickey. Mickaroonie. Gen Z was born at the start of 1995. I was born in 1996. I barely made it, but I made it. Slipped right in there like the intruder through Annie’s window, RIP Michael Jackson. Vine is my birthright, same as yours.”

“It will be your birthright.”

“What the fuck is a Vine?” you demand. Stupid humans and their stupid human culture. You still have difficulty believing that their planet is divided up into thousands of different sectors, each with their own laws and languages and governments. How come they just can’t pick one thing and go with it?

“Hush up and get inside, Karkles, both of you are letting all the cold air out,” Dave drawls, backing away from the window so you and Micah can hop in.

You do so and almost immediately eat shit when you land on a pile of comic books that slip out from underneath your feet. “Fuck!”

“Keep it down, bro, the walls are thin.” Dave chucks an empty juice bottle into the trash can across the room. “Thin as a rin-tin-tin, gotta keep on silencin’, can’t let the haters in from the world that keeps on burnin’--”

“If you shut up we’ll tell you about the rebellion that’s happening on Alternia. Past Alternia, that is,” you offer.

That gets his attention. He turns to you, brows drawing tightly together. “A revolution? On your hellhole of a planet? Isn’t that, I dunno, really frickin’ risky? You’re not in danger, are you?”

“Not in my time period, dummy,” you say, crossing your arms to block out the surge of warmth inside of you that has nothing to do with the Texas heat. He cares about your safety. “It’s like, ten sweeps ago? Fifteen? I dunno, Micah’s the one who’s actually in it.”

“Yeah… I don’t know, either. Alternian measurements of time are confusing. But yeah. Me and a bunch of my friends are gonna overthrow the government,” Micah explains.

“Hell yeah, stick it to the man. But, like, be careful.”

“I will. Time shenanigans are kind of my thing.”

“Can we get food now?” you demand.

“Hell yeah we can.” Dave glances behind him, but there’s nobody there. “Yeah… let’s see, Bro’s not gonna be back until Saturday, so we’re good.”

Micah glances over at the calendar on the wall and frowns. It’s Tuesday. You’re not sure what Tuesday is in relation to Saturday, but they don’t seem happy about it.

The three of you end up sneaking around downtown Houston until you locate a McDonald’s. It’s weird, how much safer you feel on Earth in comparison to Alternia. These aren’t your people, and this isn’t your planet, and yet when a group of teenagers pass under the tree you and Micah hide in while Dave goes inside to order you don’t even flinch. It helps that the sun has gone down and you know that humans can’t see in the dark.

“So…” they say, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Do you want me to leave you guys alone? You know, city lights, fast food, two teenagers sitting together under the stars…”

FUCK. You slap at them with a furious hiss. “No! I-- what, no! Who told you? Was it Sollux? It was fucking Sollux.”

“It wasn’t Sollux. You’re pretty obvious, dude,” they remark.

You scrub your face with your hands. “I… he’s just so great, which is stupid because he pisses me off, and he’s an alien, and it’s just impossible. A-And he’s human-heterosexual!”

“Hey. Look at me.”

You look at them.

They smile at you, and your racing bloodpusher calms as you remember that this person is one of the few you can trust with your life. “No relationship is ever easy. You know this. But what you don’t know is that people always find ways to come together. My moirail is an oliveblood assassin, and she’s easily one of the top three things that’s ever happened to me.”

You can’t help it: you smile a little. “What are the other two things?”

“Rice bowls at Chipotle. Meeting you guys.”

“You’re a sappy fuck,” you tell them, even as you snort into the crook of your elbow.

“I sure am, hotshot. Oh, hey, here’s Dave--”

“--eeeeeEEEEEE here it is! Help me up,” a familiar voice announces. You look over the branch you’re stretched out on and reach down to help Dave up while Micah grabs the bags of food from him. His palm is just as warm and sweaty as yours, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once everybody is settled in and munching away on shitty, delicious human food you break out the big guns. “Micah has a moirail.”

“Which one is that?”

“They have a girlfriend. Ew, can’t believe I’m resorting to highblood slang.”

That gets his attention. “Oh, real shit? Is she hot?”

“Yes, Dave. She is hot.”

“What’s she like?”

“Kind. Shredded as all hell. Loves sappy romance novels. Lowkey murders people for a living. Gets embarrassed easily. Like, I’ll say something like ‘I’m gonna shooshpap the anxiety right out of your soul, honey-bunches’ and she absolutely loses her goddamn mind--”

You shriek and slam your hands over your ears, trying to not blush and give yourself away. “No, no, noooooooooo, Micah I’m under nine sweeps old please-!”

“I don’t get it! Why is talking about feelings so sexy?” they yell, throwing their hands up while Dave loses his mind. “Damn! I touched my friend’s cheek the other night ‘cause he was messed up about my ribs being broken and he just about exploded.”

“Slut,” you wheeze.

“Your ribs are broken?” Dave stops laughing and starts poking at the other human. “What? Are you okay? How did you even climb this tree?”

“I’m fine now, buddy, Alternian medical tech is pretty great,” they assure him, ruffling his hair as he swats at them.

“Wack. One time I was in the ER ‘cause I needed stitches and the nurse didn’t even numb me up, she just frickin’ went for it. Big-ass needle, big-ass thread, screaming six-year-old, I think I scared the whole McFrickin’ clinic half to death--”

You want to hear everything about Dave’s bravery in the face of a mediculler, but before you can ask for more details a beam of bright light hits Micah right in the face, making them reel back with an arm thrown over their face.

“What are you kids doing up there, huh?” a deep voice calls.

You look down and almost shit yourself.

Underneath the tree are four fully-grown adult males, all big and with guns strapped to their belts (seriously, why the fuck do humans run around with so many weapons on them when they’re so stupid?) and wearing blue uniforms.

Oh, shit. Dave told you to never trust the ones with the blue uniforms.

“We’re eating McDonald’s in a tree, officer,” Micah explains cheerfully.

“Can I ask why?” The one in the front glares up at you. You shrink back into the foliage as much as you can. Dave grabs your hand, squeezing tightly, and you squeeze back.

“Why not?”

“Can I see some I.D?”

“No. We’re not breaking any laws. This is public property.”

You stare in disbelief as Micah pulls out a fry and munches on it without a care in the world. Were they really not afraid? Did humans just… not fear their authority figures?

They can teleport. Of course they’re not afraid, you remind yourself.

“How many of you are up there?” another one asks.

“Three.”

“Are any of you armed?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you come down, please?”

“No, thanks. We’re fine where we are.”

“You guys want a cheeseburger? The lady who took our order gave me an extra,” Dave offers. “It’s got onions, though. Onions are nasty.”

The one farthest to the left says something into his walkie-talkie. Micah grins.

You know that grin. “What are you--”

“Hey, officers! Wanna see something cool?” they yell. “Watch this!”

They push off the branch they’re leaning on and lunge towards you and Dave. You barely have time to yelp before they’re grabbing your arm and zapping you guys out of there.

Delighted peals of laughter fills the whole apartment as you land face-first into Dave’s bed. You spit out a dirty sock that somehow ended up in your mouth and shove them off the end of the mattress, but you’re laughing too. You’ve never seen anything like that.

Dave looks over at you, gorgeous red eyes twinkling behind his shades and a big smile lighting up his respiteblock, and just for a moment, everything is perfect.

#homestuck #riverbound #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim trolls #pesterquest #Dave strider #Karkat vantas #c21 #the guardian #mspa reader

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

Text

Faster Gun - Payne x Reader (Slow West)

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale @wrenx02 #MendoTagSquad

Payne + 21 - “I’m bulletproof…but please, don’t shoot me.” Requested by @sufferthesea (Happy belated 25th Birthday!!)

Author’s Note: The first fic of my 100 Sentence prompt requests! I hope you enjoy all of these, and what I’ve done with the sentences you’ve chosen! 😁 Or... I guess in the case, the sentence you let me choose! (Line highlighted!) Please enjoy! 💙🙏💜

Faster Gun - Little Big Town

Disclaimer: Slow West Characters not mine / gif not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: You didn’t ever exactly want a tour guide, but Payne didn’t give you much a choice. That’s alright with you, he’s about to find out you can put up a hell of a fight...

Words: 2202

Warnings: Swearing / ...ehhhh, like a tiny little bit of sexual banter

______ You walk in six gun style Put another bullet in the chamber with your smile You move in and you don't stop Till your pretty little finger pulls the trigger and the hammer drops Cold steel, gun powder kiss Livin' for the taste of new blood on your lips Your high noon is a midnight moon Puttin' every Jesse James to shame with your killshot move Love for you is like a wild west movie You always end up on the run You draw quick and your aim is deadly And then you ride off in the sun Someday I hope you find a faster gun ---

You’d never particularly liked frequenting saloon bars when you travelled. Always too much trouble for a girl like you to get into. Even in the company of someone else, your eyes still darted from table to table before you even considered settling down at the bar. Payne didn’t really care much for that, all he wanted was a glass of something. You followed him slowly, checking that everyone else was keeping to themselves before you sat beside him, satisfied. “Don’t know why you think you’re so special, darlin’ – No one’s paying you any mind.” You folded your arms with a scoff as you regarded him – considering the kind of vulgar commentary he’d been running as he escorted you, you were sure at least one person in here thought you were worth the attention he was giving. Even when it was unwelcomed. He wouldn’t be your first choice of escort. You just happened to be a victim of circumstance. Payne had caught you off guard, repacking your things after your night at camp – and you knew he was trouble from the second you saw that smug little smirk; “Well, well, what do we have here?” You were a quick draw, but unfortunately his gun was already cocked and aimed at you. You narrowed your eyes at him, “Why don’t you just move on-!?” “And leave a girl like you all alone out here?” He gestured, not daring to take his eyes off you just in case you ended up being a decent shot, “Why don’t you let me escort you.” He didn’t expect the venom in your spat reply; “Fuck you, I’m fine alone. Probably better that way.” Your eyes traced him for a moment; he certainly looked like a whole lot of trouble. “Now, is that any way to talk to someone who is offering safe passage West?” “I don’t need your help!” You said, through gritted teeth. But it was obvious neither of you were going to budge on this. “We appear to have reached an impasse, darlin’.” “DON’T call me darling-!” That only riled you further, but apparently it only amused him. “Well you got two options, you come with me – to wherever you’re headed… or I could just kill you.” You raised an eyebrow; “Yeah, I’d like to see you try.” Although if you were honest you didn’t see the point of coming all this way just for some opportunistic asshole to shoot you. Still, neither of you were giving an inch, so you decided to be the bigger person and holster your pistol, taking it just a little on faith that he wouldn’t actually just kill you now. He didn’t, and placed his own away. You were still watching him warily as you mounted your horse. “So, where’s a pretty thing like you headed, anyhow?” You shrugged, ignoring the ‘compliment’; “Maybe the mountains… maybe I just want to know what’s beyond them.” Although your eyes flicked suspiciously to him; he better not think he was taking you all the way there. “Why would you want to escort me?” “I wouldn’t mind the company-” Your eyes narrowed and you cut in sharply before he got any further “If you think for one second that I-” “Ah! Now there’s an idea.” He smirked, and then laughed at your expression; “Now, I don’t think I caught your name, sweetheart? I’m Payne.” “Y/N.” He liked that, but not the glare you were giving him, “And I’m NOT your sweetheart.” “Can’t blame me for trying…” He urged his horse to fall inline with yours; “I think we’re gonna be good friends, Y/N.” You hated that he insisted on giving that slightly sexual edge to your name, and gave it about 2 hours before it pissed you off enough to want to kill him. Irked you even more that Payne suggested you’d be ‘friends’. Instead you kept your gaze ahead of you, and your voice steady; “We’ll see.” You constantly let him know that you weren’t overly impressed with your predicament, and for the first couple of days you were cold and distant. Payne liked running his mouth, and you were very nearly the opposite until you could trust someone to tell them anything. Obviously it was wise not to trust him as far as you could throw him. “Not very talkative are ya?” As if to prove his point, you responded only by shooting him a look. But as you were forced to spend your time with him, you found yourself warming to Payne’s ways. He still annoyed you, but you found yourself at least partial to liking him. And the more you found your attitude changing, the more talkative you got. Which pleased him no end. He was something of an awful flirt though, and you revelled in the opportunity to coldly shut him down when he took it a step too far. Payne never slipped into anything more than words, which was a good choice on his part (and he knew it) because you’d have killed him on the spot, even if you had to do it with your bare hands. Still, he noticed that in groups of people you were always uneasy, how you’d move a little closer to him. Payne never asked why that was, and he wasn’t sure you’d respond to him even if he did. Especially as on the times you’d both run into trouble you were a quicker shot than even he was. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed – but it was yet another question Payne wouldn’t be voicing. Who’d taught you to be that good? Why would a girl like you ever feel the need to be that good? Your unease made him conscientious enough to make sure that your rest breaks in towns were minimal – but sometimes he just needed the respite of not having to set up camp. So now you found yourself at the bar, where he ordered you two glasses of absinthe – this also came of no great surprise to you, considering how much of it he drank. Having said that, he’d built up a tolerance to it, and you were more than just a little careful with your measures. “You tryna kill me?” “I’d say it was probably the opposite!” Payne clinked his glass to yours and took a sip “Mmmh. Yeah that’s good stuff.” You shook your head at him slowly and turned to your glass, studying everything from the measure to the shade of green. Before he nudged you, “Look, Y/N! Will you just drink the damn thing or I’ll do it for you!” “I’m getting to it!” You pushed him back with a smile, “Give a girl a sec-!” As you continued laughing to yourselves, you’d created quite the stir in the rest of the saloon. It was quiet between tables – and now your guard was down and you were drinking. See, the reason you were so wary of everyone else was you had a substantial bounty on your head. A lot of people you’d had the misfortune to meet knew this – and there wasn’t one that wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity to take such a bounty for themselves. Considering you knew Payne was a bounty hunter (one of the many things he’d casually mentioned during your many conversations) you were surprised he didn’t know. Or that wasn’t the reason he’d picked you up in the first place; either that or he was playing the long game, and if he was you were impressed. The whispers began to stir, and although you were listening to your companion you were aware of the strange hostility suddenly building in the room. Ah, shit. The hand not tipping your drink back reached to click the safety off your pistol. Payne clapped his hand to your shoulder; “Thata girl!” causing you to almost spit the bright green alcohol all over the bar. You swallowed with a cough and were about to turn to him to offer your sarcastic thanks, when in the bottom of the glass you caught the reflection of movement behind you. “SHIT!” You exclaimed, slamming the glass on the bar you whipped around – your shot rang out, but he wasn’t alone. You realised maybe a little too late that the whole saloon was up on its feet. You have GOT to be kidding-!? But you didn’t have much time to think beyond your trigger finger and your bullets flew in rapid succession; before you ran out of them and immediately turned to Payne – who was both stunned and useless. Snatching his gun (thankful it was loaded) you dispatched a few more, movement across the bar allowing you to dodge flying bullets and take a little bit of cover whilst collecting further scores of loaded weapons. All the while you noticed that Payne would rather sit back and watch; and wasn’t taking any fire himself. That only lead to you jumping to obvious conclusions; Asshole! I KNEW IT! The last shot rang out and the final body collapsed onto the floor; you stood shakily and brushed yourself down, blowing out a breath. “What a mess…” “Fucking extraordinary, though.” Your eyes flicked to Payne, still sitting on the bar stool – eyes wide and slow blinking as he surveyed the damage. Your pistol arm shot up immediately to turn his own gun straight at him. Payne bolted from his seat hands up; “WOAH! Y/N! Don’t take this the wrong way-!” “You expect me to believe you didn’t have something to do with this-!?” “Why would you think that-!?” “They didn’t appear to be shooting at YOU!” The accusation in your voice was apparent. “They were all so interested in you-!” As you kept walking towards him he paced backwards; he had no line of defence. “How did so many know I was going to be here, huh?” “That’s bad luck! That’s not on me, when have I had time to tell anyone?!” “You have a group, that’s what you said…” Your eyes flashed and your finger didn’t falter on that trigger. Payne inclined his head, yeah he had a gang, but he hadn’t seen them for a while since he was busy with you. Then his eyes flicked back to the barrel of the pistol, realising there were more pressing issues at hand. “But you wouldn’t want to waste a bullet, right?” You raised an eyebrow; “Huh?” He grinned, “I’m bulletproof…but please, don’t shoot me.” Then cleared his throat; “I mean, that’s not something you have to test – you should know it’s the truth.” He waved his hands towards everyone else, “They all knew, that’s why they didn’t bother.” You very nearly laughed, but instead kept walking, hand steady; “Uh huh. Which is why you don’t want me to shoot you?” “Like I say, waste of precious resources… clearly you need ‘em.” You were a few steps from him now, hard look in your eyes that he couldn’t place. Angry and powerful; and had certainly just proved yourself a formidable force. “I’m impressed, though.” You didn’t think he needed to voice it, behind the slight fear in his eyes that you were quite capable of pulling that trigger, his expression said it all; fairly soon it faded to a cocky little smirk; “So, you have a bounty!” “Yeah.” By now the barrel of the gun was against Payne’s chest, and he had to be very careful with his choice of words if he didn’t want to end up like the rest of the patrons. “I do.” “Well, I don’t know about that, but I suggest that maybe you aught to tell the guy you hired as an escort that kind of information before he took you all the way across the West, huh?” You flashed a smirk of your own; “Wow, tell a bounty hunter I have a bounty. Sounds like a smart move for a girl trying to be careful.” By now the metal was digging into his skin, and Payne really had to hope against hope that you were being playful. You drew a breath, and that smirk become a sweet smile, blink bringing your eyes back to the gentle warmth he sometimes caught a glimpse of; “It’s good I like you.” “Oh? Why’s that?” Payne didn’t need to ask, because suddenly you’d yanked him to your lips by his coat. Your grip was strong, and even if he’d have wanted to Payne couldn’t have pulled away. Instead he went where you dragged him, arms winding around you and hands firm on your body – you knew he wouldn’t leave them respectful. You didn’t give a damn though; right now you wanted him wherever he’d place them and the kiss became hot, hungry and passionate as you backed him into the bar. He growled into the kiss, pulling back for just a second, eyebrow raised. That smug smirk of his hasn’t really dissipated; “So that’s how it is, huh?” His eyes flicked to the back of the room, and that look on his face became suggestive; “Y’know… this place has guest rooms.” You sighed with a gentle head shake; “Payne. Just shut the fuck up for once in your life and keep kissing me, damn it!”

--- Thank you for Requesting!! Thank you for reading!! 😘😘😘

1/16 down!

#Slow West #Payne #Ben Mendelsohn #Linzi Writes Requests #Linzi Writes #Elera #I thought my Modern!Payne thing would come up first but I'm having a few difficulties with getting that /exactly/ right #so it was nice to get some work in here-!#Smol Bean Drabbles #145 #At least one of you already knows this song! And likes it! Yay!#I hope this was a lovely surprise!#Like I say sometimes I like telling everyone what's coming - sometimes I like leaving you to find out as I post-!#it's such a stupid sentence but I love it which is why I picked it!!!#For anyone who requested and is still reading (HI!) everything is about 2000 words so far!#A nice length-!#You know the most I read this back the more I like it #Another writing Angel helped me with this one :)

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