#all that and my other hobbies its a miracle i get anything done at all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shoichee · 3 years

Note

okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)

HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻‍♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here

Akashi x Reader

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints

basically you have crackhands

in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely

you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself

your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder

no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health

Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)

when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.

both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands

both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass

you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support

Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is

you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you

even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces

talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular

you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??

to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball

so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine

picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight

your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive

you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand

Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else

“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Kise?”

“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”

“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”

“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”

“H-How did you know?!”

“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”

“N-No way!!”

“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”

spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you

one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:

“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”

“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”

“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”

“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”

Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”

and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills

her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills

you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised

it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you

these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer

there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters

after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?

there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory

the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars

Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym

Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)

Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”

Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking

now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well

Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…

Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them

the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder

oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you

you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi

and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi

it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently

so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted

at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)

not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess

Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door

you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart

POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic

that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you

chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions

at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint

Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”

when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion

to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)

they still scolded your ears off:

“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”

“That’s…”

“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”

“Er, no, that’s…”

you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress

you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were

they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)

HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss

especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next

Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later

End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT

436 notes · View notes

tenacityreturns · 3 years

Note

momoi shifts , carefully drinking her bubble tea. today , she was waiting on sakurai to show up for their bi-weekly shopping trip and had seen kagami out of the side of her eye so of course, she had to say hi! leaning back in her chair , she gets a flash of lunch with aomine wondering about fate. " hey , kagamin, " she starts, " do you believe in fate ? " / from momoi <3

@peachmuses

kagami is watching a tall girl across the mall cafeteria demonstrate, without a ball, how to shoot a basketball. he assumes it's a basketball. she's laughing as her friends have a go, none of them caring that they're in public and everybody could see them. one friend says something as she puts her wrists together, it looks like she's talking about volleyball or something. he wonders what it's like to have friends with different hobbies. he hasn't given it much thought since finding a love for basketball, but he'd still be a loner if not for that. not everyone is as out-going and friendly as tatsuya used to be. the girls sit down at their table again, and he loses interest. he wonders, briefly as the thought is soon interrupted, whether putting all his chips into basketball is the right idea. maybe he should join a cooking class or... run a cooking class ( inspired by present company ).

“kagamin,” he repeats with a grumble as she continues speaking, more to himself than to her. what is it with these people and giving out nicknames like it’s christmas! all these generation of miracles do it, just about. it’s so annoying! kagamin, kagamicchi, bakagami, even! will they ever stop?

but this thought, too, is interrupted before he can make a scene with it. kagami’s got an expressive face, and every emotion sparked by the random question is displayed clear as day. surprise: raised eyebrows, opening mouth as if to speak but with nothing yet to say; incredulousness: squinting eyes, now a frown; contemplative: downturned lips tightened into a line, averting his gaze. does he? why the hell is she even asking? without having given it much thought, he sighs.

“where the hell did that come from?”

“nowhere,” she smiles, then taps her chin with her index finger, “it’s just, dai--- aomine-kun brought it up the other day, and i haven’t gotten it out of my mind.”

“dai-chan brought it up?” kagami deadpans, “no way did that idiot come up with a thing like that.”

“oh, but he did! he’s impulsive, which sometimes comes across as inconsiderate or inattentive, yes, but he thinks about these things a lot.”

“what did he say?” he sits back in his seat, careful not to kick her. kagami folds his arms across his chest.

momoi lowers her drink and hides behind her hand, suddenly acting all embarrassed. “maybe i shouldn’t say!”

“now you have to, saying a thing like that! i won’t tell anyone.”

“he said-- he said!” she’s playing up her embarrassment, right? there’s nothing dai---- aomine could have said that would make her go all... gooey... right? unless-- he didn’t confess to her or anything? no...

“momoi,” he grumbles, “come on.”

“very well!” she sets her drink directly in-front of her on the table, frowning seriously. her hands grip the edge for a moment before lacing together. when she looks up at him, her eyes are cold and calculating -- but gentle. “i trust you, so i’ll tell you. aomine-kun believes that it’s fate that you met.”

here comes the incredulousness again. it distorts his face into a squinting grimace. “he didn’t say that.”

“he did.”

“about me?”

“about you,” her hands release and then fold again.

ah. his cheeks are the first to betray him. in fact, his blush is currently his only reaction, besides downturned lips. does he have any thoughts right now? kagami is short-circuiting. momoi’s eyes are putting him off, so he stares out the window finds nothing easier to look at there. fate, huh? fate. alright. he’s got to say something. or leave. fate. stupid idiot aomine said he thinks it’s fate that they met? what the fuck? what the fuck! alright. alright. alright! alright? alright. alright! that’s a song, right? an american song or something, it’s in english at least. there’s a hook he’s got stuck in his mind now. it’s something else to think about, anyway. alright, now fellas! what’s cooler than being---

“please don’t be upset with aomine-kun,” she says quietly, “or bring it up. he’ll only deny it.”

“no-- no, i--” he sits forward, “i’m not upset. i told you i wasn’t gonna tell anyone so i won’t. he really said that about me? specifically?”

“yes! how you met us at exactly the right point in time, how you happened to join tetsu-kun’s team, the best you could have met first. wouldn’t things be different if you had joined some other team?”

“this is a lot to think about,” he rubs his temple, “you mean aomine thinks like this all the time?”

“well, not all the time,” she reaches into her bag to bring out her pink phone, and replies to a text as she speaks, “but he does talk about you a lot.”

“me? what’s he say?”

“mmm,” she looks around the room searchingly, tentatively standing. no, don’t leave now! what kind of fate is this?! in his desperation at the fleeting moment of opportunity, kagami also stands. as he does, he notices a guy a full head and shoulders taller than most other people around them. speak of the devil! somehow, seeing aomine’s frown dissipate into a smile ( even if that does turn into a smirk ) makes everything worse for once. “oh! what’s he doing here? i guess i’ll see you around, kagamin!”

“huh?!” he feels like he’s being left behind, and stands helplessly as she runs over and greets her friends. sakurai says something, momoi says something, and aomine walks straight passed them. kagami stands straighter, shuts his gaping mouth, and returns to that downturned look of embarrassment.

“oho, what did she say to you?” he’s smirking, but he’d probably just leave if he knew the truth! kagami’s resolved to not say it, of course, but it’s too much to look at him right now! kagami picks up his backpack and pulls it over one shoulder. when aomine repeats his question, it’s with a touch of horror in his voice. “what did she say to you?”

“nothing!” kagami blurts, “nothing. you--- uh, you’re not hanging out with them today?”

“maybe i will,” aomine takes a step away, like sand through fingers, “you’re being weird.”

“uh-- yeah,” his brain is in overdrive right now. “i am? sorry.”

“look, half what she says is bullshit to get a rise outta you. i know it doesn’t look like it, but she likes pushing people’s buttons too.”

“no, no-- i don’t think it was like that.”

“okay,” he turns and starts off in the direction of the others. he must have been able to sense that kagami was off ( no, you fucking dumbass, it’s literally so obvious that you’re uncomfortable and don’t know up from down. cute to think you were being subtle though ? ).

well, that’s no good! if aomine leaves now, kagami doesn’t know how long it will be until he can face him again! better to conquer the fears and awkwardness and butterflies -- however the fuck he’s feeling right now -- and grab the bull by its horns! or, in this case, to catch up and throw his arm around aomine’s shoulders, steering him away.

“no way, you think you can get outta playing a one-on-one with me?” kagami’s trying to be normal, but aomine’s scrutinising glare is a lot to deal with. he gives his best toothy smile, and gets shrugged off but not in the don’t touch me, you weirdo kind of way. hopefully?

“maybe losing will knock some sense into you,” aomine grumbles. “wait, you don’t even have a basketball?”

“uh,” yep, hadn’t thought of that. “i could just buy one-- ?”

“nah, let’s go to the arcade and i’ll whop your ass in there.”

kagami does his best to bury the whole fate concept, which has clearly done little else but freak him out, as they make their way to the arcade. he doesn’t have it in him to talk shit, though, so there’s no reply to that last comment. kagami isn’t sure if he believes in fate, but it’s weird knowing someone else thinks that about him. he’s got butterflies he can’t shake, and he finds himself fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. like that would help anything! instead, he balls up his fists and shoves them into his hoodie pockets. just as he can feel a frown forming, he glances at aomine and notices the familiar red hoodie. kagami’s red hoodie. just as kagami is wearing one of aomine’s. what. that’s--- that’s kind of funny, actually. they could just swap back right now, and that would probably be the normal thing to do, but it looks so good on aomine. kagami’s smiling before he can do anything about it.

“what the fuck are you looking at?” aomine’s alarmed when he spots the change, and instead of sounding insulting or argumentative, his question just sounds surprised.

“nothing, dumbass!” kagami elbows him, giving in just a little. aomine hits him straight back, even as kagami’s continuing. “that’s my hoodie, is all.”

“yeah, so what? you’re wearing mine.”

“you think i don’t know that?”

“you ain’t getting it back, pal,” aomine looks away again, with the excuse of looking around the arcade as they walk inside.

finally, kagami pulls his eyes away. what is it aomine talks about when kagami isn’t around? is it his cooking? his basketball? what does he think of him? usually, kagami doesn’t care-- or at least, he pretends not to. and he cares a little bit about how aomine feels about him... naturally, his eyes settle on the basketball hoops in the corner and he grabs aomine’s arm to drag him over. aomine shrugs him off again.

“what the-- oh kagami,” it’s a groan, but aomine’s smiling. “you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“loser buys the next game!”

“better get your money ready, bakagami.”

“like hell i will!”

he isn’t thinking about it anymore, but maybe it’s fate that kagami noticed that they’re wearing each other’s hoodies at such a crucial moment. it frees him up, somehow, to enter the present. soon enough, fate is completely out of his head, and he’s playing the hoop shooting game backwards because the two of them can’t help but show off. then they’ll play racing, kagami pays, and a platform game, and then kagami’s talking about the arcade he used to go to as a little kid with tatsuya. then they’re talking about something else. something else. nothing and everything. maybe it’s fate that he wasn’t carrying a basketball today, so that they could have whatever today had turned into.

#answered.#peachmuses #drabbles.#aokaga.#aonon.#ok this is my favourite thing ever #i always go way over the top with these and this time it comes with 3 DIFFERENT CHARACTERS' ICONS SDHSJDHJSDJHSD #anyway i really played all my cards #fate is a strange mistress and tonight her name is robyn #JSDHJSHDJHSD

11 notes · View notes

pidgeonspen · 3 years

Photo

Carey’s dad, Bernard! I gave him heterochromia based on my URL namesake, a childhood dog of mine named Pidgeon, who had one blue eye and one brown.

Bio under cut! CW for descriptions of death, illness, and mentioned suicide!

Name: Bernard Jess (Birth name: Ralph Ellis) Playlist: Here! (Spotify)

Age: 48 Occupation: Con artist Location: Varies; travels around Northamer in his RV Birthplace: Sand Blast City Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Species: Dog (Based on tricolor Cavalier King Charles Spaniel) Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: +Positives: Charismatic; Clever; Exuberant; Jolly; Optimistic; -Negatives: Conniving; Fraudulent; Cowardly; Selfish; Opportunistic A real “people person” at his core, Bernard knows exactly what to say to get people to drop their guard around him. Armed with his wit and a silver tongue, he picks his marks and runs his scams, playing his short cons and booking it at the first sign of trouble. While he isn’t shy about his lifestyle of lying, cheating and bullshitting his way through life, he does truly love his wife, and holds the memories of his mother and father close to his heart. Likes: Bluegrass; Country music; Whiskey; Swindling people; Dislikes: The law; working; his hometown; dwelling on the past; violence; hospitals Hobbies: Acoustic guitar, fishing, storytelling, people-watching

Backstory (remember to heed the content warnings above!):

Born to Shirley and Maverick Ellis in the smog-filled, dome-covered rogues gallery known as Sand Blast City, Ralph had a fairly average childhood. While he attended school, his mother Shirly worked as a waitress in a dingy but well-known diner and his father, Maverick, worked the nearby mines. The Ellis family were very poor, and young Ralph often wore hand-me-downs and frequently struggled to keep up with his peers, making him a target for bullying.

When Ralph was 9 years old, Maverick perished as the mine collapsed. Shirley took a second job in a desperate effort to both pay for his funeral, and provide for their son. Ralph found himself targeted by bullies even more, though found support from other children who lost family in the mines. Life went on, the Ellis’ struggling to make ends meet and cope with the death of Maverick.

With no one to babysit, Ralph began heading into the diner after school, sitting at a booth and doing his homework. Over the years, he came to know its patrons, became familiar with its regulars and staff, and slowly began to master the art of people-watching. Ralph would sit, and listen, and watch these people - and got an earful of all the latest gossip. He learned that the man living in the apartment across had a nasty divorce and was a recovering alcoholic. The mother of one of his bullies was working the streets to keep food on the table. The stories of the neighborhood gambler, the old woman who also lost her son in the mines, the local politicians, of the baker who was having an affair, of the rich tourists who would make yearly stops in town - Ralph knew everyone.

And just like that, school life had become easier. No one would dare cross Ralph Ellis, because Ralph had all the dirty laundry on everyone - kids were less keen on bullying him when he threatened to expose their families as drug addicts or whores, or when he could tear their family apart with news of an affair. It wasn’t long until Ralph realized the power he held over his peers, and began blackmailing them into doing favors, such as carrying his stuff, doing his homework, and buying him clothes -- for the first time in his life, Ralph was able to wear more than hand-me-downs from the local thrift store. Life was starting to look up, and things were good.

Then it wasn’t. When Ralph was 15, his mother discovered she had cancer. They couldn’t afford treatment, and Shirley certainly couldn’t stop working her two jobs. Ralph took up a part-time job as a delivery boy, then a full-time job as Shirley’s condition worsened, dropping out of school to help. Within a year, she passed away.

And suddenly, at the tender age of 16, Ralph found himself orphaned, and within a few months, homeless. Despite everything - his father working his whole life and dying in those rotten mines, his mother taking two jobs, and Ralph himself giving up his education and taking up work - the Ellis family just couldn’t get ahead. Honest work didn’t pay. But he remembered coasting along in school, being able to pull peoples strings and manipulate others into working for him. He remembered the woes and weaknesses of the people around him. In a dog-eat-dog world, Ralph was determined to make his mark and make the most of the lemons life gave him.

Then, when Ralph was 19, a great plague swept over Sand Blast City. People were dying in the streets, and even more were panicking, desperate for a way to save themselves. Ralph saw an opportunity - his customers already trusted him, and he’d made it this far. It was time for his biggest, and riskiest, con yet. With a few local herbs, clean water, and a bit of cheap cold medicine, Ralph began marketing his miracle potion, promising immunity from the plague. With help from his silver tongue and the trust of the locals, the potions flew off the shelves. Ralph made more money than ever, and was, briefly, toted as a local hero. He knew he should have packed up shop and gotten the hell outta dodge, but he wanted to milk this operation for all it was worth. He stayed, intending to make and sell more of his miracle tonics…

And then, the plague got him.

The virus wracked Ralph’s body. For days, he lay by his wagon, delirious with high fever, struggling for breath, believing this would surely be his end -- and it almost was. Family of his customers tracked him down, furious that their loved ones weren’t protected as advertised. They beat the sickly con artist, and left him at death's door.

Ralph survived by the skin of his teeth, although not unscathed; as if a reminder of his treachery and what he’d done, his lungs were ruined, leaving him athsmatic, with a persistent cough and physically frail. But Ralph was nothing if not determined - as soon as he was well enough, he high-tailed it out of Sand Blast City.

Ralph would spend the next 5 years as a vagabond con-artist, selling cheap or bootlegged wares, which he either stole from yard sales or breaking and entering homes, pulling cat-in-a-bag cons and change raising, and continuing with his snake-oil salesman act. He often found himself being chased out of town, or on the run from local bounty hunters for crossing the wrong people. He also began using different names, switching his alias every few months or every year.

Then his life was changed when he stumbled into the Southern Baronies; an uppity, bountiful region famous for its large chao gardens and wine exports. It was then he met Margaret Blanche, one of Josiah Blanche’s daughters.

The Blanche’s were a prestigious family, renowned for their famous vineyard and exports, as well as owning the land upon which the Chao Garden was located. They were filthy rich, and acted the part -- which may be precisely why when Ralph, under the name ‘Bernard Jess’ - showed up, Margaret was smitten. ‘Bernard’ was exciting; he was handsome, charismatic, entertaining, funny, and judging by the stories he told the Blanche family, he led quite an adventurous life. Margaret had grown so bored of her life and wanted what Bernard had. Likewise, Bernard wanted what the Blanche’s had - their lavish lifestyle and money. He had come to them with the intention of robbing them blind, but found himself enamored with Margaret.

Josiah, of course, didn’t approve. He forbade the young couple from seeing one another, and had Bernard escorted from the property, deciding the young man wasn’t good enough for his daughter. Bernard knew he couldn’t really do anything about it, and focused on his cons with the other families in the Baronies. He and Margaret occasionally crossed paths during this time, and the two would spend time together in secret. Margaret fell more and more in love with the whimsy and rebellious attitude Bernard had towards life, and when it came time for Bernard to leave the Baronies, Margaret ran away with him

Life on the run together was golden. The two of them staged robberies, worked cons, and had made a small name for themselves. However, within a year, things suddenly took a turn when Margaret realized she had become pregnant. Fearing for her future, she pleaded with Bernard to take her back to the Baronies -- this had been great fun, but she was already tired of living off meager meals and on the run, and the pregnancy scared her. She wasn’t cut out for Bernard’s lifestyle, but promised him that upon returning, they would marry and he would join the Blanche family proper, and be able to leave this life behind.

And so they returned to the Baronies… Only to be humiliated by Josiah and the rest of the Blanches as they sneered and mocked and chastised Margaret for her stupid naivete and revealed that during her year-long romp with Bernard, they’d completely disowned her. Margaret, Bernard, nor their unborn child would see a penny of the Blanche fortune, nor were they even allowed on the property. Margaret was disgraced, disowned and suddenly, for the first time in her life, left with absolutely nothing. She was terrified and heartbroken, and all Bernard could do was be a shoulder to cry on - while knowing all too well this was his fault.

Bernard managed to make a very small arrangement with Josiah to make things just a little easier; on the very edge of the Baronies, hidden out of sight so as to not tarnish the view of the Chao Gardens and beautiful manors, was a small trailer park known as Barrow Creek. Bernard convinced Josiah to at the very least buy them a small plot of land, allow them to set up a RV to live in so Margaret could, at the very least, have a roof over her head. Josiah agreed, and the young couple moved into their new home.

Carey was born that year.

Margaret hadn’t wanted the child; as far as she was concerned, this was more Carey’s fault than Bernard’s. It didn’t help that Carey had been born with a defect - her left arm hadn’t formed past the shoulder. The baby was weak, requiring constant care and attention, and oh, how Margaret wished to smother the life from it and be done with this burden.

It was only on Bernard’s insistence that Carey was kept alive and fed; already, he was scheming how to make the most out of the situation. He felt nothing towards his daughter but inspiration -- he could make this work to his advantage. A disabled child would bring out the sympathy in people, making his cons go a lot smoother. People would give money out of pity or adoration for the disadvantaged family, he could spin a thousand sob stories about how she lost her arm, open donations to go towards putting her in school or getting her a prosthetic - in reality keeping the money for himself - and the possibilities for profit were endless.

For much of her infancy and childhood, Carey was toted around during Bernard’s many schemes, helping rake in donations from charitable and kind people. As she got older, Bernard got Carey more and more involved in his cons, reciting lines with her and having her partake in more elaborate schemes. He also taught her the art of picking pockets, breaking locks, lying, and stealing. By age 7, Carey was doing all this and more, being made to cook and clean and was expected to earn her keep for living with them, with Bernard making sure she understood that she was a financial burden unto her parents, all while using his charisma and manipulation to keep her adoring him.

However, during all of this, Margaret’s mental health was declining.

Gone was the bright, sheltered woman who wanted a life of risk and adventure - Margaret was bitter, angry, and jealous… but never directed any of it towards her husband, instead taking it out on their daughter and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross her path. She spent most of the day drunk and unhappy, or waiting for Bernard to return when he’d drive with Carey out of town to run a con.

Bernard was oblivious, for a time - and when he did become aware, he tried to ignore the problem. The rising tension between Margaret and Carey, Margaret’s drinking problem, and their growing debt were all things he tried to brush off, even as Margaret attempted to drown Carey out of jealousy for her spending so much time with Bernard.

By the time Carey was 10, the Baronies were no longer safe for the Jess family. People had wisened up to their act, the bounty hunters were closing in, as was the law. Desperate to get some cash for the road ahead, Bernard conspired to rob the Blanche’s estate. It would be a final sendoff, the last big gig before the Jess family laid low for a long time. Margaret was eager to reclaim what she’d left behind, but Carey had grown ill from neglect. She was sick with pneumonia, and thus sluggish and of little help - and so Bernard put her on guard duty, to keep an eye out if the cops or other signs of trouble appeared.

The heist didn’t quite go as planned.

In the end, the cops were called, and Bernard had shot and killed Josiah in an altercation. As Bernard and Margaret fled the scene, they left behind Carey purposefully, knowing the cops would stop for the small, sickly child. This allowed the couple to make a clean getaway, while ridding themselves of Carey’s burden.

It has now been 13 years since that day.

Bernard’s working alone now, with Margaret having taken her own life a few years ago. He carries that weight with him, knowing full well he ruined her life and that his neglect led to her deteriorating mental health. He still wears their wedding band, and insists on remaining loyal to her memory, though he does oftentimes feel lonely.

It’s difficult to pin where Bernard is at any given moment, as his cons often see him travelling all over Northamer. He’s still running his cons, hoping for that one big break and dodging bounty hunters and cops at every corner, keeping his past and his regrets close to his heart and hidden under lock and key.

#my art #my sonic fcs #sonic oc #sonic fc #OC: Bernard #ref sheets #they always say yeehaw but never ask haw yee :-(

49 notes · View notes

drops-of-moonlights · 3 years

Text

I LOST THE FUCKING ASK FOR THIS BECAUSE THIS IS A FUNCTIONAL WEBSITE, but to the anon that asked me which out of the 6 Winx I don’t like? The answer’s Flora.

Well, that’s not completely accurate. Sometimes I like her. But by and large she’s definitely my least favorite of the main girls, and is the one character that just frustrates me most of the time.

Being fair to my own biases, over the years I’ve grown bored and annoyed with the stock Kind And Shy character archetype, so of course I wouldn’t be as fond of Flora as I was as a kid (tho even as a kid I wasn’t really super into her either), but as the seasons moved on, I found myself getting even more annoyed with her.

Outside of her being the absolute flattest characterization-wise of the entire main cast a good 90% of the time, being reduced to “flower mom”, Flora also ends up as a hypocrite and on accident, constantly giving (often unwanted) relationship and communication advice for the girls when a) she’d rather ask the new girl in the group to stalk her crush, up to and making her commit breaking-and-entering to dig info on the dude instead of ATTEMPTING to initiate a normal human conversation, and b) instead of actually talking with her boyfriend about the jealousy she felt when seeing him with a childhood friend of his or actually talking with said girl to establish some sort of boundaries, she decided to just sit still, hope that everything is sorted out on its own, and when it wasn’t fixed by a miracle she was like “welp we’re over. nothing to do about it”. And this wouldn’t be an issue in other situations! It’s a good character flaw! But it’s not PRESENTED as a character flaw but a virtue of hers, and that’s what bothers me.

On top of that, as much as Flora and Helia are flauntered as the perfect couple, they never actually attempt to show that. For starters, we never see them ACTUALLY spend time as a couple until Season 5, when they started dating at the end of Season 2. Of course it helped that Helia simply Does Not Exist in S3, but even in S4 they didn’t have many moments that aren’t also shared with the other couples, and the few they did have on their own, they weren’t the best, mostly arguing about Musa and Riven’s break-up. And the reason I make this point, despite already hearing people be like “but Drops isn’t that true of all non-Skoom/MuRi couples?” the answer is no! It’s actually not! Brella and Tecmmy get completely separate scenes that are just about them throughout the series, however small. Florelia doesn’t get them as often.

I already pointed out the issues she had relationship-wise in S5, but HOO BOY WERE S6 AND S7 WORSE ON THAT. S6 had her be angry with Helia because he was almost murdered by a plant and thinking he was not reliable to do even the most basic tasks she asked him to do, while Helia was angry with Flora for not bothering to explain said tasks. S7 gave us the epitome of the terrible writing, as during that season Flora is 2 steps away from murdering Helia due to the simply act of existing. Throughout the season she’s constantly bothered by his presence, blames most of the minor mishaps on him even when he wasn’t present, and the less we talk about their clashes regarding how to raise the pure being that is Amarok, the better. THEY MADE SKOOM SEEM A PERFECTLY STABLE COUPLE. S K O O M

I admittedly don’t remember much about S8 (waiting for the Latin Spanish dub to drop to do a full rewatch), but they also made a point of marking them as the perfect couple in the same episode they almost break up because they were angry the other decided to support Musa/Riven instead of Riven/Musa, the other party obviously in the wrong.

Even with this, I do give her a small amount of slack because bad romance writing affects all non-Tecmmy couples, so it’s not something completely unique to her, but the show trying to give Flora/Helia the perfect couple status despite clear evidence to the contrary is why I don’t cut her too much slack.

I also don’t like how Flora’s referred to as the second-strongest Winx after God-Power-Infused Bloom despite how often she’s the first girl to get knocked the fuck out in a fight, and even when she doesn’t get out first, she never does anything meaningful for the fight either, not even act as healer or other forms of meaningful support. Flora tends to simply use one (1) spell, see it fail, and be like “well my job’s done y’all deal with it”. And that’s if she’s not fighting anything nature-related after S2, in that case she will willingly put herself between the thing they’re fighting and the rest of the Winx’s attacks, even when the enemy is actively trying to kill her. And sure, this isn’t unique to her and more of the stock Plant Lover Activist trait, but when it happens every single episode, as with S5 or S7, it gets grating really fast and ends up seeming as an excuse for her to not actually do anything at all.

And even with all this I WOULD be willing to enjoy and even like Flora if she had any significant subplots, but oh, what do we have here? She has absolutely nothing outside of her relationship with Helia and her power over plants. Nothing! Because Flora’s entire personality (what little she has, at least, even with the previous ranting) is entirely about plants, and nothing else. She doesn’t get anything else going on for her, no subplots about overcoming her supposed shyness, no subplots about her relationship with the girls outside of the generic friendship she has with everyone that isn’t Bloom or Aisha, not even any meaningful subplots about ANYTHING ELSE she might like! The girl doesn’t even have hobbies outside of her plants! And sure, Tecna and Musa suffer from the same but at least they get stuff outside of it. The closest thing Flora has to any kind of subplot is her strained relationship with Miele, and that’s only because SHE HERSELF strained it via her sudden distrust for her little sister’s agency.

I feel like I have to reiterate that I don’t hate her, but god, she’s one of the biggest wastes of potential in the franchise, and what bothers me more, with all this I’ve said already, is how everyone in-universe praises her, how she’s the canon’s Golden Child that does no wrong. Flora is the perfect fairy, the perfect friend, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect everything.

Whenever people talk about completely-perfect characters that never get confronted on anything and when they do the other party’s wrong, they shouldn’t herald Bloom as the main example.

The main example is Flora.

#Drops screams into the abyss for Winx #Winx Club #Flora

44 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another fic for @bingokisses - Part 1 fills the prompt “Back of the Head kiss/Knees Brushing under the Table.” For once, just some nice easy fluff, little bit of anxiety, and happy ending (in part 2). Also available on AO3!

Part 1: The First Fifty Days

The first night at the South Downs cottage, Aziraphale cooked dinner while Crowley finished setting things up on the upper floor. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything that wasn’t a pastry, but pasta was simple enough, and salad, and…well, rather more dinner rolls than two beings needed, but he’d had more time than expected.

They ate and talked for hours, neither quite believing that they had done it, that they were in their place. Their home. Sometimes, Aziraphale would hold Crowley’s eyes a little too long and need to look away, waiting for his heart to settle down again.

He kept glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. That they were exposed, that someone was watching, that something was about to happen, though he couldn’t say what. But no – only the long wooden table, the stone fireplace, the steps leading upstairs, dark carpet on pale wood.

He shivered anyway.

“Alright, Angel?”

Breathe, Aziraphale told himself and took another sip of wine. All night, his feet and his knees had brushed Crowley’s under the table. It was daring, and thrilling, and more than a little terrifying.

“Perfectly fine, Crowley.” The bread rolls had gone cool hours ago, but Aziraphale reached for one anyway, tugging at it with his fingers. “I was wondering what…what you…planned to do? Once we’re all unpacked and such?”

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations.

They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships.

Three weeks. Six thousand years and then some of dancing around certain emotions, certain thoughts, and somehow Aziraphale had thought three weeks was enough time to plan such a drastic change?

“The garden.” Crowley nodded towards the window, but the sun had gone down and all either of them could see was his reflection. “Plenty needs to be cleared out. Maybe lay a new path. And the planting – not a lot of options for fall blooms, but some of the best spring flowers should be planted now.”

“Where would you start?”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table. “Have to see what that garden shop in the village has. Tulip bulbs for certain, they need time to settle in before the cold. Daffodils or geraniums. Scilla, crocus, maybe fritillaria. Snowdrops, I think.”

“That all sounds…” Aziraphale glanced at the potted plants in the windows and the corners, the remnants of Crowley’s flat. All were tall, lush, and unvaryingly green. “Sounds very colourful.”

“Thinking of experimenting.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a challenge. They need different soils, different amounts of sunlight, different watering schedules. And you always have to be thinking about the next season, and the next.”

“Seems like a great deal of work.”

“Only if the flowers try to be disobedient brats.” Crowley shifted his fork around his empty plate. “Might get some more trees, too. S’a good time to plant saplings.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled just a little. “Apple trees?”

“Well…maybe,” Crowley grudgingly admitted, with that particular frown that was also a sort of smile. “Pears, too.”

“It would be nice to have some fresh fruit next fall.”

“Nah. Takes years for the trees to be ready, maybe a decade.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced out the window now himself, trying to remember what the garden looked like. They really should have spent more time preparing, studying, learning the ins and outs of this cottage. A few days of feverishly sketched plans over bottles of wine. Hardly anything at all. “Well. I suppose I’ll be buying my fruit from the market, then. A few trees might be nice, eventually, though. If you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Nmmmh.” Crowley arched his back until it popped. “Speaking of hard manual labor, I think it’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Crowley pushed to his feet, “I’ve been moving two-stone boxes of books all day and we’re not even half done. You want to order me around again tomorrow, I need some sleep first.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s stomach turned to ice. His eyes flicked to the stairs, remembering how he’d rushed down them to start on dinner that afternoon. “Oh, I – I – I, you know, I still have to – to clean all the dishes and – and pots and pans – there’s so much to do…”

The tall, dark form rounded the table quicker than he expected, and Aziraphale tensed – but Crowley merely stepped behind his chair and gently kissed the back of his head. “Take your time, Aziraphale.”

“I…” He shredded the bread roll in his hands. “I…think you…you’ll regret saying that.”

“Never. I mean it.” One more kiss, quick pressure on the back of his head. “Take all the time you need.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good night, Angel.”

The stairs creaked under his feet as he went up without another word.

On the second night, Aziraphale served mushroom risotto. It wasn’t the only thing he’d cooked that day – he’d been secluded in the kitchen since before Crowley rose, trying every challenging recipe he could think of. The bins were filled with burnt croissants and raw beef and a baked Alaska that had gone horribly wrong.

“You planning to cook that much every day?” was all Crowley asked, as they settled back in their seats after dinner. “You could probably feed the whole village with all that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the kitchen. “I suppose…I mean, it certainly fills the time, doesn’t it?”

Crowley tossed his head, the way he did when he was thinking, and his growing hair swirled around him in a red cloud. “I mean, yes, I suppose it does. But. Is that what you want? To fill time?”

“I’m not sure what else there is to do,” Aziraphale said. “Not much of a theater scene out here, no museums, no restaurants, no customers.”

“Do you miss the city?” He asked it a little too fast, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with even more guilt.

“No, dear, of course not. I just…well, I’ve been there so long…I’ve rather forgotten what there is to do out in the country. But I know I must keep myself busy.”

“Only if you like.” Crowley turned his plate. “We should be done with the big items tomorrow. I’ll be able to start the garden and…just, do whatever makes you happy, alright?”

They continued for hours. They seemed to have run out of the excitement of yesterday’s conversation, and now alternated between awkward chatter and pauses so long, Aziraphale feared they’d run out of things to talk about and would remain silent forever.

Finally, Crowley stood. “Better get some sleep,” he said, stretching.

“Oh! Is it – is it really that late?” Aziraphale glanced at the clock in a panic. “Oh, drat, there was, you know, so much more I meant to do today.” Crowley started walking around the table. “I – I – I mean, as you said, I wasted quite a good deal of food, a few miracles ought to put it all back into its original state and – and perhaps I can donate—”

Crowley paused behind his chair, and kissed the back of his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to memorise it, the feel of Crowley’s lips and breath stirring his hair. They hadn’t really decided if their new partnership would involve kissing, or hand holding, or…other things of that nature. They’d done a few anxious experiments, made rather more assumptions and…never really articulated anything.

But this…Aziraphale thought he might like this.

“Good night, Angel.” A quick shoulder squeeze, and Crowley headed up, stairs creaking under every step.

On the fifth night, Aziraphale stopped making excuses. It was starting to feel silly, as Crowley never acknowledged them anyway. When Crowley rose from the table, he simply said, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“Always.” A quick kiss to the back of the head. “Good night, Angel.”

By the tenth night, nearly everything had been unpacked and put into some semblance of order.

They’d spent two hours rearranging Aziraphale’s armchairs, carrying them up and down the stairs as he decided which would go in the study, which in the living room. When Aziraphale was satisfied, Crowley had gone outside, leaving him to rearrange his books in peace.

Aziraphale soon discovered that, with the window open, he could hear the sound of footsteps in the garden, of spade into earth, of a grumbling, threatening lecture delivered to each sapling before it was lowered into its new permanent spot. It was a comfortable sort of background noise, and Aziraphale smiled as he worked.

There was a second door on the upper floor, across the hall from his study. Aziraphale did his best not to glance at it all throughout the day.

After supper, they moved into the sitting room, Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale comfortable in his favorite armchair. They talked, glanced at each other, smiled. Crowley played with his mobile phone while Aziraphale flipped idly through a book.

“How was the village?” Aziraphale wondered, since Crowley had finally made it out to the plant shop.

“S’alright. They’ve got a bakery you’d like. And the market.”

“Mmmm.” They’d visited a thousand villages and towns together through the years, yet somehow the thought of walking together through this one in particular made Aziraphale feel cold.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure when that might be.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. At least Aziraphale no longer worried it would last forever.

When the demon abruptly stood up, Aziraphale’s fingers only twitched a little, curling around the pages of his book. “Well, that’s it for me tonight.”

“Of course.” He stared fixedly at the page. “Have a good rest.”

“I will.” A kiss on top of the head, almost absent in its familiarity. “Good night, Angel.”

On the twenty-third night, Aziraphale waited for the Good night, Angel, then grabbed Crowley’s hand, a little too fast, perhaps. Studied it. Crowley had been in the garden all day, and the dirt was still there in the beds of his nails, his hair probably thick with sweat. Aziraphale rolled Crowley’s hand over, studying the lines, the shapes of his fingers, the length of his palm.

Finally, he gave it a squeeze. “Good night, Crowley.”

Perhaps there was something more he should do. Kiss the knuckles. Brush them against his cheek. Something.

But it all seemed so…much.

Every night, then, he simply gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze, and received a smile in return.

The thirty-second night, they returned to the cottage late. The weather had been just right for a walk through the woods, which had turned into a walk to the village, followed by dinner at the little restaurant, and ultimately Aziraphale trading recipes with the chef over a glass of wine.

Crowley had waited patiently, almost-smiling, and they’d finally started the walk back under the stars.

“Did you have fun?” Crowley asked, walking beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling between them. “The walk? The village?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale conceded. “I must try this squash au vin recipe soon. And it is…rather pleasant out here.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale was suddenly very aware of the forest, the brilliant stars, and his proximity to Crowley. “Hmmm. But I’d like to get back and finish reading, if you don’t mind. Rather a lot of lost...reading time.”

“Yeah.” Crowley tucked his loose hand into his pocket.

Aziraphale didn’t read, though, when they returned. He held a book on his lap as they sipped wine, talking about places they’d visited through the years. Then Crowley mentioned that time they’d run into each other at a performance by Mozart – one bottle of wine turned into three – and a great deal of reminiscing ensued.

When, more than a little after midnight, Crowley finally stood to head upstairs, he paused to give Aziraphale’s forehead a clumsy kiss. “Night, Angel.”

Aziraphale gave his hand an easy squeeze, and they smiled at each other without restraint. “Good night, dear.”

On the forty-eighth night, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and didn’t let go.

He wasn’t sure why. They had a rhythm now, a pattern, something sustainable.

Almost sustainable.

Aziraphale still never went upstairs after dark, still never looked at the door across from his study.

On some level, he knew what he needed to do.

They both waited, countless seconds, for the other to speak. But Aziraphale had lost his voice, and Crowley’s expression was as masked behind the glasses as it had been for many centuries.

The cottage was utterly silent, except for the ticking of the clock.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Angel,” Crowley said for the second time, and Aziraphale finally relinquished his hand, heart racing.

But on the fiftieth night, fingers wrapped tightly around Crowley’s, on the fiftieth night, Aziraphale stood up, on the fiftieth night he let Crowley lead him up the stairs. He trailed slightly behind, hand clutching the bannister as they ascended, noticing how much heavier the creaks were under his own feet.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley turned right, away from the study, and pushed open the other door, the one Aziraphale could never quite bring himself to walk through, and—

The bedroom was just as they’d arranged it, fifty days before. Heavy red curtains, cream area rug over dark wood, bed in the center of one wall, an end table on either side.

The tartan pillow still lay at a skewed angle, exactly where Aziraphale had dropped it when the sudden panic took him, the sudden realisation of what they were doing, and it was all too much, too fast, and good lord, here he was again, what was he thinking?

Crowley led him to the left side of the bed, the side nearest the door, with black pillowcases and the down duvet slightly rumpled. Pulled his glasses off, and at the first sight of golden eyes, Aziraphale pulled back, eyes slamming shut, hand clenching, seizing up. Crowley snapped his fingers—

Then, for a long time, nothing happened.

Aziraphale finally, cautiously opened his eyes, to find Crowley in black pyjamas, watching him.

When Aziraphale nearly met his gaze, Crowley half-smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Angel.”

Crowley dropped his hand and climbed under the duvet.

But Aziraphale stood stock still. Now that he was here what was he supposed to do? Fifty days and nights, he should have had a plan but here he was, still just as afraid as the day they’d arrived.

Crowley’s voice, a little rough, with that curious burr in it: “S’alright, Aziraphale. Take your time.”

“But…But it’s already been…” He looked around the room, the one room they’d discussed all night in his bookshop, all the papers they needed to buy their cottage piled on the desk between them. The room they’d breathlessly planned, whispers escaping uncertain lips and bright red faces.

It certainly looked as though it had been planned by two drunken fools with no idea what to do with a cottage, the most atrociously mismatched combination of colours and styles.

But it was all here. The little shelf to hold his favorite books, the electric kettle for if he wanted tea in the night. The overstuffed rocking chairs by the largest window, overlooking the corner of the garden with the little duck pond. The planters lining the rest of the windows, filled with sweet-smelling herbs. The record player, Crowley’s awful music already organised in the stand below it while Aziraphale’s awaited him in a box nearby.

It was a jumble, a mess, it was everything that represented their life together.

And he wanted this life. He truly did. But it had all come too quickly, too suddenly, he wasn’t ready—

“Aziraphale.” Their eyes finally met. “Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He hung his head, burning with shame. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He could feel Crowley watching him, but didn’t dare look up. “I…I mean, look. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After several more breaths, Aziraphale gathered his courage, stepped forward, and pulled the duvet up to Crowley’s chin. Bent down, lips hovering just shy of Crowley’s forehead, his breath stirring crimson strands. “Good night, dear.” His courage broke, and he fled the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good night, Angel,” muffled but still as gentle as ever.

Part 2 to be posted on Wednesday. If you enjoyed, please drop a comment on AO3!

#good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #asexual ineffable husbands #south downs cottage #aziraphale and crowley #anxious aziraphale #crowley not going too fast #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #my writing #ao3 link

61 notes · View notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Note

I’m in desperate need of some Tagalong escapism. A happy family moment would be just the ticket. 🙏

anonymous asked: Has Tagalong Roger discovered his talent for music and singing yet? Imagine Jamie and Claire et al. realising Roger can sing like a thrush 😄

Tagalong One Shot #3

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Part Twenty-Three, Epilogue; One Shot #1; One Shot #2

******************************************

It began as a sort of game between Roger and Fergus when no one was around, a way to deal with Roger’s homesickness, especially in those first months. What things from their lives in the future did they miss the most? Football. Bicycles. Their friends from school. Going to the cinema. Listening to the radio.

Playing in the woods when their chores allowed, Roger would imitate the broadcasters or recall commercial jingles with a clarity that had Fergus doubling over with laughter.

But the underlying sadness was more than Fergus could help his friend with alone. So he volunteered them to help Claire on one of her gathering trips in the woods. When it was just the three of them, Fergus began the game and Claire joined in.

She had spent far more time in the future. Like Roger, she was of the future in a way neither he nor Brianna were (young as she was, she had already lost her memories of where and when she was born).

When the game petered out, they continued their scavenging quietly. At least, until Roger recognized the song Claire was humming and began to sing along.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way...

Fergus recognized the tune but couldn’t remember the words and certainly wouldn’t have sounded as good as Roger did.

Claire joined Roger, grinning along and dancing a little making both boys laugh.

When they’d finished the song, Claire complimented Roger on his singing and asked if he’d picked up any of the songs Mrs. Crook knew (she always sang quietly as she went about the kitchen, though she wasn’t particularly good).

Roger hadn’t but the seed was planted and Roger had a new hobby.

******************************************

“He has a surprise for us,” Claire informed Jamie as she tidied him up. There were dried leaves in his hair which needed to be trimmed or the dun bonnet would be useless for covering the distinctive hair of Red Jamie.

“And do ye have any idea of what his surprise may be?” Jamie asked. He winced as Willie gnawed on one of his fingers.

“Hold still,” Claire scolded, smiling behind Jamie’s back as their three-month-old son gurgled in his father’s lap. She knew how much it meant to Jamie to have been there for Willie from the beginning (how bittersweet that Brianna couldn’t remember being without him). It was also a minor miracle that Jenny had goaded him into giving up the cave for the priest hole while winter bore down on them.

And it would take another for her to convince Jamie it was safe enough for him to make an appearance at the Hogmanay festivities (having been so recently arrived the previous year, they’d kept the day as a family but learned of the tenants’ disappointment soon after). It would mean a great deal to so many for a glimpse of the true laird with his family reunited as the British army continued to raid and terrorize the countryside even three years after the loss at Culloden.

“As a matter of fact, I do know what it is, but telling you would mean ruining the surprise for both of us,” Claire informed Jamie, “And it means too much to Roger for me to do that so you will attend and you will be surprised. And you will enjoy yourself,” she tacked on as an afterthought.

Jamie rolled his eyes at Willin in the mirror. The babe ceased gnawing on Jamie’s finger in order to giggle.

“Alright. Time for you to have a proper wash so we can get the rest of this rat’s nest under control.” Claire took Willie from Jamie, holding him so he could watch as his father sighed and reluctantly stripped and climbed into the lukewarm tub, the chill in the room having quickly sapped the water of its heat.

******************************************

Despite Claire’s assertion, Jamie remained reluctant to risk being seen too publicly.

“I can stay above stairs wi’ Willie and Brianna,” he told Claire. “Have Roger tell ye when for the surprise and I’ll slip down for that bit.”

“If it makes you more comfortable, I believe you can enjoy his surprise from the banister upstairs,” Claire compromised. “I’ll let him know he’ll be able to spot you there.”

So Jamie made sure he was in place as a handful of tenants arrived for the modest festivities (given the universal hardships, the family had decided to rotate who would be invited year to year).

Willie was teething and fussy in Jamie’s arms as he looked around for Roger in the small crowd below. He spotted Fergus first. The lad was helping guide a few men bearing instruments to one side of the hall, ushering folks to clear the space for imminent dancing. Roger was close behind conversing with a man carrying a fiddle.

There was something in Roger’s arms but none of the others took it from him when the group settled in their places, laughing as young couples eagerly gathered ready to dance. Roger ended up shuffled off to the side but still stood with the players.

The largest and oldest of them looked around at the others, nodding as fiddles and flutes were raised. Then he motioned to Roger who began to beat a steady rhythm on his bodhrán. Soon the others joined in and the couples began to clap along and dance.

Jamie couldn’t follow the music itself very well, but he could pick out Roger and that steady bodhrán beat, keeping time for everyone else. At the end of the first piece, Roger glanced up to where Jamie stood at the railing with Willie. Jamie gave him a proud smile and nod, then lifted Willie’s hand in a wave. Willie fidgeted and bounced enthusiastically. He squealed with delight as they began the next piece.

Jamie stood watching through three more songs before carrying Willie off to put him to bed and check on Brianna. Besides, they’d be sending the firstfoot out soon and they’d want him safely tucked away for that.

Claire ushered Roger and Fergus up to bed a short time later, the festivities downstairs winding down.

“You played beautifully,” Claire told Roger, sitting at the edge of his bed and brushing his dark hair away from his eyes.

“Alec Mackinnon said he’d continue to teach me the songs he kens,” Roger said with a tired but somehow still excited yawn. “No just the bodhrán either. Though, it doesna quite feel like Hogmanay wi’out… you know.” He raised his eyebrows at Claire who smiled in a way Jamie recognized too well. She never wanted the children to think she was laughing at them, no matter how amusing the things they said might be.

“You’ve done very well not to say anything about it,” Claire commended him. “But now it’s just us. It should be safe now and, I agree, it doesn’t feel complete without it,” she said with a conspiratorial glance to Jamie and Fergus who were both baffled.

Roger smiled and sat up in bed. Fergus lounged with his head propped up on his hand. Jamie took a seat next to Brianna’s cot where she and Willie slept. They’d take Willie to his cradle when they returned to their own room for the night.

“Softly now,” Claire reminded Roger before nodding for him to start.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot…

Claire dropped off after the first chorus but Roger remembered and sang the second and third verses as well.

“You sing as beautifully as you play,” Claire assured him. “Like a songbird.”

“A smeóraich,” Jamie agreed. When Claire gave him a confused look, he explained, “A thrush.”

“Time for bed, smor– how do you say it again?”

Jamie repeated it for Claire a few more times, eliciting giggles that turned into yawns. She gave up and tucked Roger back in.

******************************************

“The song you and Roger sang earlier… It’s of the future?” Jamie asked as he held Claire in bed a short time later. He’d be back in the priest hole the next day but refused to spend the first night of the new year anywhere but next to Claire.

“Yes and no,” she said with a sigh. “It will come to be associated with celebrating the new year in the twentieth century, but the words will be penned by a great Scots poet in another decade or so.”

“A great Scots poet,” Jamie mused, grinning in the dark.

“Mmmhmm. And it’s not just in Scotland that he’s celebrated or that song that gets sung. It becomes popular the world over… At least, to my knowledge. There’s even a night celebrating his birth that’s a sort of unofficial holiday.”

Jamie scoffed. “Now ye’re teasin’ me, Sassenach.”

She curled into him and nuzzled against his chest. “Not at all,” she yawned. “I’ve been to my share of Burns Night celebrations over the years.”

“Hmmm… Sounds nice,” Jamie murmured as he drifted off to sleep, the words of the song – which he’d had Claire repeat for him slowly – ran through his dreams.

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne…

#Anonymous #The tagalong #featuring: fergus #featuring: roger #featuring: bree #one shot #canon divergence au

64 notes · View notes

skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

42nd Moon Pt 12 (end)

Description: By some stroke of luck, you get off the waitlist of your biology class. You’d never have guessed you’d find your soulmate there, let alone that he already has a girlfriend… Or that he comes from a fraternity of werewolves.

Warning: mentions of death/killing

Word count: 2.2k

Pairing: werewolf!Hyunjin x fem!reader, werewolf!Jisung x fem!reader

Chapter List

You’ve been to every country on your list, quit your job, and tried every activity you’ve dreamed of. Now there is just one thing left to do.

I, L/N Y/N, being of sound and disposing mind, hereby declare the following:

A knock sounds at the door. It’s Jisung.

“Hungry?” he asks. “They’re ready outside.”

I have no children and declare no spouse. I appoint Bang Christopher Chan as personal representative of my will.

You tuck the paper you are looking at into an envelope while answering him. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

You hear him walk down the hall and knock on another door.

“Hyunjin?” he calls. “You coming?”

The sound of your chair scraping against the floor drowns out his response. You straighten out the envelope on your desk and make your way out of your room.

“Want a drink?” Minho offers as soon as you step into the fraternity house’s kitchen. Well, Chan’s kitchen as of half a year ago.

You decline, and the male shrugs and downs the contents himself. You watch him walk away with a small smile on your lips.

To Lee Minho, I bequeath $2000 to his Cat Rescue Foundation. May this monetary effort touch the lives of misfortunate kittens just like he has touched them with his heart of gold.

“How’s it going?” greets Changbin with a chin tilt. This party is intended to celebrate the man’s recent hire at some office job, but you all know the true reason behind it.

“Good,” you reply.

“Awesome,” he nods. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll be creaming Felix at some video games in the living room if you need me.”

“Hey!” objects the Australian. “We’ll see about that!” He flashes a grin in your direction as a greeting before racing after the other male.

You can’t help but laugh at their antics.

To Seo Changbin, I leave him however much it takes to repair his synthesizer and purchase a microphone set in hopes that he continues pursuing his musical hobbies.

For Lee Felix, I have purchased the newest gaming console so that he might always have something to bother Changbin with. I leave an additional $500 for him to one day adopt a dog from the shelter cafe he frequents.

“Fried or seasoned?” you hear a voice call out to you from the kitchen island.

You turn towards that direction to see Seungmin indicating at a few buckets of chicken. Despite his question, he’s already putting food onto your plate.

“Half-half,” you answer. “Thanks!”

He nods and hands you exactly what you ask for.

To Kim Seungmin, I transfer all ownership of my stocks. As a man of great intelligence and even greater ambitions, there is not a doubt in my mind that he will take these shares and multiply their values beyond their monetary ones.

“Fried please!” yells Jeongin as he runs up to you so quickly, you nearly drop your plate.

He looks up to you with a cheeky grin while holding you in a side hug before making his way to Seungmin for food.

To Yang Jeongin, I grant $1125, the amount required to apply to all the post grad programs he is interested in, even the one he gave up on despite it being his dream school.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You nod in response to the leader’s question. “It’s quieter than your college frat parties.”

Chan laughs. “Guess we all got old. Wanna sit?”

You nod again and follow him to the living room where most of the boys have gathered.

To Bang Chan, I bequeath all benefits of my insurance and whatever is left in my accounts. I trust him to use this disproportionately larger sum to benefit the future of his Mu Alpha Theta boys. I trust that he’ll always be by their sides, nourishing them like he has done up until now. I also trust that he will take a generous portion for himself, so that I may attempt to thank him for the stellar leader and friend he has been to me.

“So who’s winning?” you ask.

“Me,” Changbin answers. Felix’s laugh tells you to believe otherwise.

“Who cares? They both suck,” Seungmin scoffs, taking a controller for himself as he plops down next to you.

You look fondly upon the group of boys. Never in your life had you imagined meeting a whole fraternity of werewolves, but you are so glad you did. You look at your wrist; it’s almost the same colour as the rest of your arm now. You try to imagine what life would be like if you were any other office lady, unaware of the Mu Alpha Theta wolves and soulmateless. You could be downtown, enjoying a candle-lit dinner with a boyfriend or jamming to karaoke with some co-workers and not dying.

Yet you can’t.

You can’t imagine being anywhere else right now than in this room with your eardrums being blasted out by game jargon and having to be hyper aware of your surroundings because fried chicken can still fly across the room when it’s in the hands of twenty-some year old boys. You can’t imagine not having got off the waitlist of your biology class and not having met Jisung or your soulmate.

On the topic of Hyunjin, you frown realizing that he isn’t here. He usually stays at a friend’s with his daughter during events like these where the other boys are drinking-- it is actually a habit you initiated-- but you were still hoping he would come tonight. After all, it is the last time you would see each other.

After chicken and games, Chan announces that he has bought cake. Before you can even recognize it as your favourite flavour, Jeongin has already smeared cream onto your face, and thus a war begins with the most popular target being you. By some miracle, you end up with a proper slice in your hands after all the commotion, but by then, the boys have quieted down significantly, having been worn down by earlier activities or passed out from alcohol.

“Hey.”

You turn around while swallowing your last bite to see Jisung again.

“Wanna get some fresh air?”

“Sure,” you reply.

He hands you a napkin and chuckles, “You might want some water to help you out. I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.”

You take his suggestion and clean yourself up in the restroom. You giggle when you take in the damage the wolves have inflicted, but you don’t dwell on your reflection for long as to not keep Jisung waiting.

With your hand on the front door knob, you pause and take one last look at the house. Several boys lay asleep in front of a staticky television. The only one awake, Chan, looks up from his phone to shoot you a wink before looking back down, trying to keep things as normal as possible.

You look to your left for Hyunjin’s room. You wonder if he’s still awake and how he is doing since his soulmate is dying and all. You hope he will not miss you too much; at least he has Jisung again. Speaking of Jisung, you push open the door to meet him. He turns around with a smile to greet you as you descend the front steps.

To Hwang Hyunjin, I would like to give my sincerest apologies for making him go through the pains of being left alone once more. I know this will not compensate for his loss, but I leave for him my jewelry and gold. I pray that these gifts will ease the hardships of being a single father. Know that I leave more than just these earthly possessions; I also leave with you my heart and spirit. I am always with you and your daughter through every up and every down.

“Wanna go somewhere?” Jisung asks you when you join him on the pavement.

You shrug. “I’ve already been everywhere I want to. Do you have any ideas?”

“Actually, I do. Hop on.”

You wrap your arms around the neck of your personal werewolf taxi, and he takes off. The night wind blows through your hair, and although the moon is shy tonight, the city lights in the distance are enough to fill your heart. You hand brushes over the wolf’s fur, thanking him for the experience.

And to Han Jisung, the dearest and greatest blessing of my life, I know you wouldn’t want anything of monetary value from me, so I have left for you a memory box. In it, you will find my life: diaries I’ve written as an angsty teen, CDs of my favourite songs, my lucky charm socks that I save only for test days, my perfume, and more.

“Jolly Land?” you shout over the wind as Jisung easily hops over the gates. You are surprised at his choice, but not as surprised as when he starts climbing the twenty story ferris wheel, one carriage at the time until you have reached the top.

Oh, and please take care of Jolly Quokka. You are the reason why I have him, and he is one of my favourite memories I have with you. Please don’t cry too much, Jisung. Jolly will be watching over you for me to make sure you don’t!

“This is so illegal!” you laugh.

“Don’t worry, the werewolf council will cover up our tracks,” Jisung says while draping his jacket around you for the last time. “How are we supposed to explain the sudden death of a healthy young woman if she dies in the middle of a police interrogation?”

You are glad Jolly Land keeps some of its lights on after hours so that you can look around the park. You see a familiar stage and point towards it. “Look! That’s where we won the couple contest.”

Jisung leans over to take a gander before pointing at another spot. “And that’s where we got the headbands, and that’s the ride you forced me to go on.”

“And that’s where we had to sit for fifteen minutes afterwards because your legs were wobbling too much.”

“Hey!”

You both laugh at the memories. “I’ll miss coming here. This was a great idea; thanks for taking me tonight, Jisung.”

“No problem,” he hums.

“Which reminds me. Aren’t you afraid of heights? You couldn’t even take that roller coaster; how did you manage to climb up here?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Some things are worth being afraid over.”

You chuckle at his sweet words. “Things would have been simpler if I were your soulmate… Ah, sorry, that is insensitive for me to say,” you apologize.

“It’s fine. It’s the truth.”

“Still,” you frown.

He reaches over and gives you a reassuring pat. “Did you have a good life, Y/N?”

“I would say so, yeah.”

“I’m glad.” He pulls you closer, and you lean into your best friend and close your eyes. You can feel your clock ticking. You know Hyunjin can feel it too.

Ten.

Inside one of the rooms in the frat house paces a brown wolf as his child lays sleeping in her bed. Unlike what you had assumed, he has not left his room since you said your unofficial farewells this morning. Since then, only one question has dominated his thoughts: can he do it?

A sharp pain in his wrist reminds him of the limited time he has left.

Nine.

Jisung takes your cold hands in his, making sure you feel warm until the end. You shift in your seat to get a little more comfortable.

Eight.

A tear drips from his eye as he walks over to his daughter. The memory of you sitting beside him, stroking his back after his ex left replays itself in his mind. Then comes the memory of you waiting patiently for him outside the custody court. Then the memory of you holding his hand in the ER when his child’s fever spiked at three in the morning. Then the memory of you laughing with him when he drenched you both in water while trying to fill up a kiddie pool.

Seven.

You begin humming a nursery song, one that you often sing during the child’s bedtime. Jisung drums along with his fingers against your hand.

Six.

And then the memory of your arms around him in the forest. He was so close to losing you. So close to never holding you against him like that again. Hyunjin snuggles his daughter’s head upwards so that her neck lies between his two canines.

You will hate him for this. You will absolutely hate him for this, but Hyunjin has been giving you reasons to hate him since the day you met. It’ll be alright if you finally did.

Five.

Your fingers curl themselves into your palm as a sudden fear of what is on the other side creeps up your spine. Jisung moves to loosen the tension by interlacing his digits with yours.

Four.

Another teardrop lands on his daughter and wakes her up. She blinks a few times. “Daddy?”

That one single word pierces his heart.

Time is ticking.

Three.

“Jisung?” you whisper, lifting your chin slightly more towards him.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Two.

But then there’s you, and he loves you. He loves you so much. There is no denying now. You are his soulmate, his heartbeat, his existence...

... And just a bite away.

One.

Dear readers! Thanks for making it this far and coming on this 42nd Moon journey with me! All your notes, comments, and asks really touched my heart. I used to think creators on this site were so dramatic with their thanks to their followers until I found out that THAT’S ACTUALLY HOW WE REACT. So thank you all so, so, so much! I hope to see y’all around here again! (maybe for another 42 moons? Hahaha). PS: Please send in asks if u have any! We’ll be replying with badly drawn pics :P ~ ad.gold SPECIAL THANKS TO AD.GRAY WHO LET ME PESTER HER DURING THIS WHOLE PROCESS! And for editing, but tbh I think my annoying-ness is worse. kekeke

#stray kids #han jisung #hyunjin #werewolf #skz #werewolf!jisung #werewolf!hyunjin #42nd moon #ending!#THANK YOU #purple #05312020

100 notes · View notes

tinycrow · 3 years

Text

I don’t believe in miracles

Chapter 5: To keep you safe

General Rules for citizens of the Antarctic City (abridged):

The following rules are subject to change.

No divulging of any secrets of the Antarctic City to anyone not listed as a citizen of the Antarctic City. Secrets are—but not limited to—the location of said city, technology, or the names/existence of other citizens of the Antarctic City.

No theft/removal of technology, resources, or sparklings (youngest frame, also known as ‘the children’) from the boundaries of the Antarctic City. This excludes food, drink, and most luxuries, which can all be replaced.

Lying about acquisitions using funding from the Antarctic City is a punishable offence.

No unauthorized ground bridge (Gate Room) access.

No unauthorized defence system access.

No unauthorized forge access.

Hacking into any network and evading the appropriate methods of access is a punishable offence.

No illegal street-fighting.

No illegal street-racing.

One month later...

Even though they butted helms sometimes over the care of sparklings, Ratchet not only got his permits but also gained Ray’s confidence within a month after the first visit, though he didn’t know it yet. It was a persistent month spent at the Antarctic City with little Decepticon activity elsewhere in the world and no serious injuries to mend. Sideswipe did manage to damage part of his arm from messing with his blaster, which brought more of Ironhide’s ire than Ratchet’s own.

All the Autobots managed to get at least two visits to the strange city by that time except for Optimus, who had spent the entire month trying to dismiss the humans’ worries about their prisoner escaping. All in all, it was a good month, considering the circumstances.

It was a nervous but perky Ray that greeted the Autobots in the Gate Room, again.

“Hi, Ratchet! Oh, hey Sideswipe!”

“You don’t need to greet us here every time. We know the way by now,” Ratchet grumped, though with no real fire behind it.

Sideswipe grinned, skating smoothly around her as he remarked, “Well, I’m not complaining. Hey, gorgeous.”

Ray audibly vented air to lower her core temperature. She could give it but not take it, it seemed.

“Yes, well,” Ray scrambled to say, “It’s—it’s nice to see you again.”

Highly amused by her reaction, Sideswipe responded, “It’s- It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Don’t you start,” Ratchet warned.

“You worry too much, Hatchet.”

Sideswipe skated over to the door, and turned around to face Ray, servos on his hips. “We should get some Energon sometime.”

Ray’s optics focused intensely on the cocky frontliner. Ratchet seemed to frown at him.

“Yes. Let’s,” she said sweetly, keeping it short to avoid stuttering.

When the warrior left, the medic turned to Ray, a question in his optics.

“Do you mind if I accompany you for a while? Otherwise I can just head to the forge to make some tools.”

Ray jumped a little when he spoke, which confused Ratchet even more. He tensed, thinking back to figure out what he may have done to warrant that behaviour.

“Did I do something wrong? I apologize if I did—”

“No, no, no,” Ray responded fervently, “I’m just a little nervous... there’s something I wanted to show you.”

Ratchet calmed, and patiently waited for her to explain.

She started, “You’ve been very patient and... consistent, this past month. I really appreciate you taking what I said to heart—or, er, to spark. Ratchet, I think I can safely say I trust you.”

His optics widened in understanding.

“Follow me. I want to show you the Nursery.”

The door was deadlocked and secured by a number of physical and electronic methods. She even went so far as to explain the traps/weapons hidden in the wall and floor that would even stall a Cybertronian in the event of attempted break-in. Passing through the door, he noted the thickness of the walls, indicating layers of material that would insulate from not only heated blasts, but possibly other kinds of radiation. It would protect from most kinds of intrusion as well. Also, the placement of the building was conveniently near the Gate Room, so there’s easy evacuation. He was impressed but not at all surprised at how secure this building was. Surely, if the All-Spark had truly passed on its power, it had chosen one of the most paranoid mothers of their children. What did those humans call her?

Mother bear.

Shaking his helm, Ratchet turned his attention to the small crowd of impossible little lives, and their small blue or green optics staring up at him. Oh, this brought him back. There used to be so many young lives on Cybertron, too. The loss of the youth sectors was still felt today, millennia after.

Ray’s servo met his back, and in a show of compassion, patted him and crooned consolingly. Ratchet eventually gathered his composure and relaxed. Her servo lifted, but she still looked at him warily. He nodded to indicate he was alright.

“Being the only being capable of addressing any hurt or other problems with them, I used to be their only caretaker,” she told him, “but that number has expanded to include a number of older children as well as humans.”

“Who is watching them now?”

“There were a couple humans and one of my older younglings watching over them, but I told them to take a break while we’re here. Feeding time comes a bit later. We can watch them do so if you’d like.”

There was a break in conversation for a bit as Ratchet visually examined the little ones. Eventually, Ratchet broke the silence.

“I’m curious... why is it that you decided to make more of our kind? Especially in the current political climate. I know you’re aware of our war coming to Earth.”

Ray hummed, thinking on how to answer.

“Well, it’s a little hard to explain,” she said. “It’s like an urge. I know logically I could’ve just hidden and waited for more peaceful times. But something in me was... not quite telling me, but... urging me to do something. When Linda suggested I make a place of my own, then I realized what I wanted to do.”

She picked up one of the fussier children in a firm hold and held them near to her spark. The little one calmed, and Ratchet watched as she brought them to one of the rooms. He tried to move to follow, but a bunch of curious bodies stopped him. A couple obviously older children watched him warily from afar.

The sparklings chirped at him inquiringly, wide eyes blinking and focusing on him intently.

He softened and kneeled down carefully. “Hello, little ones,” he tried in Cybertronian.

They chirped and clicked in understanding, excitement causing them to bounce in place. One of the larger frames grabbed his hand and tried to lead him to where surprisingly a few Cybertronian-styled games were. He wondered at how Ray knew about these, for not being born on Cybertron. Sparklings of their kind were born fast learners and needed games that would challenge and stimulate their minds in ways different from humans. These games were just the kind they needed. Though he felt a little too old to play these, he acquiesced and let himself be led into a game with the children.

When Ray came back from the other room, it was to the sight of a too-large Ratchet sitting down at one of the games practicing math, reaction time and judgment. He was surrounded by tiny bodies making encouraging noises. She smiled sappily, and simply stood nearby with arms crossed.

She did not regret anything in that moment.

Linda was laughing at her.

“Man, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous before,” the woman remarked with great amusement.

The much taller femme was pacing and occasionally wiping down imaginary dirt/smudges on her plating with a large cloth. Her voice dripped with embarrassment and nerves as she almost pleaded with her human best friend, “Linda, it has been too long since I’ve been on a date with someone. What do I talk about? What do we do?”

“Woah, slow down. I imagine it’s just like how you would go for coffee with someone. You ask them about their day, how they’ve been doing, how’s work, ask them questions about themselves like... ‘Do you have any hobbies’ or ‘Do you like jazz’.”

Ray, tired of being nervous, stopped pacing and muttered reassuringly to herself, “Right, right.”

“Hey, look at me,” Linda called to her, and the femme did so, “You’ve got this. You’re a good person, and great to be around. If they get bored or whatever, that’s their problem and not yours.”

“Thanks, Lin’.”

“You know, we should go for coffee sometime, too. Maybe you won’t get kidnapped this time.”

They both laughed, even though they doubted it.

Later in the day, Ray went to the Gate Room. The console had no one manning it because it wasn’t a workday for the warehouse workers. To her knowledge, there weren’t any other planned ground bridges. It would be her job to open the gate for her ‘date’. She checked her internal clock and decided to briefly comm them asking if it was all clear. Receiving the OK, she walked up to the console. A few taps to its controls brought the shining feat of engineering to life.

In a much more relaxed fashion than the usual, Sideswipe rolled in through the bridge. Ray’s countenance brightened when she saw him, and forgetting her nerves for a moment, she greeted him like usual. His neutral expression broke into a lopsided grin when he saw her.

“Why, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he teased.

A little used to his teasing by now, she simply placed a servo on her hip and replied, “I could say the same to you, handsome.” Her spark quivered nervously in her chest.

“You can close the ground bridge. It’s only me today.”

As she closed the bridge, something niggled in the back of her processor that something was up with the mech. It was distracting. She just couldn’t place what it was. His demeanour didn’t give away that anything was wrong, he looked fine and relaxed, but something...

“You know,” Ray said, pretending to think, “You look like you could use a drink.”

Sideswipe joked back, “I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of that.”

She giggled and stepped toward the door with him in tow. Before they could leave the general warmth of the building, she raised her arm, stopping him. He focused on her with a questioning tilt of his helm. Her happy expression darkened to something less cute, and she looked him up and down with a considering rumble from her vocaliser. Not expecting this forwardness, he didn’t have a comeback ready. He felt something stir in him as he opened his dermas to say something.

She interrupted softly, “I was joking earlier, but you really do look like you could use a drink.”

Sideswipe simply blinked at her, having to go back and reframe her earlier action as... Was that concern? How’d she even—aaand she was gone.

He was fast to follow her out the building. They weren’t that far from the Energon dispensary, as it was apparently called, so they didn’t bother driving. He rolled up beside her, and they slowed to a comfortable ambling pace.

Sideswipe examined his companion. She was the same height he was, which admittedly was great for a change. Her movements were smooth and her heel struts barely clacked when they touched the ground, traits that he would usually associate with a light-footed fighter or a dancer. He would need to see her run to know for sure. Her shoulders though gave her true feelings away—she was tense.

His earlier question of how she knew he wasn’t feeling alright was set aside. He started by asking her what she’s been up to, and how her children were. Her tone was nonchalant at first, but when she got to talking about her children, it shifted to something more genuine. She was invested in what she was saying. They continued talking about life in the city until they reached the dispensary.

This is nice, the femme thought. She realized suddenly that her earlier nerves had been vanquished by the trivial conversation. Talking to Sideswipe came surprisingly easy. Maybe she had been overthinking things again.

They entered the dispensary, seeing a couple of her children just chilling together with some cubes of Energon. They walked up to the dispenser and the nearby computer that served as the menu.

Dispensary? It looked like a bar. This sparked a mischievous thought in Sideswipe, and he nudged Ray.

“Hey, I just thought of something. Have you ever tried making high-grade?”

In retrospect, it was a bad idea. But Ray indulged him anyway. It’s not like she ever reached her daily/monthly limits for Energon.

“And then by complete coincidence it bounced into the ‘cons store of Energon, causing a rippling explosion. You can just imagine their anger as their precious Energon stores blew up. One. By. One. It was... beautiful,” Sideswipe said as he pretended to wipe a tear from his optics.

The two were leaning so heavily on the table that they were almost touching helms. They were grinning like loons, sharing stories of crazy events in their past. They didn’t seem to notice this, or that they attracted the curiosity of some younglings dining nearby.

“I can’t believe you. Reckless, that’s what you are,” Ray laughed, shoulders shaking.

Sideswipe insisted cockily, “It’s not recklessness if you know what you’re doing. Besides, you can’t tell me you’ve never done something reckless before.”

“Well... there was this one time with Linda where we had to run away from some cops.”

“Go on,” Sideswipe encouraged.

“We... I had the brilliant idea to cross this drawbridge. While it was opening. Linda did not approve.”

She halted, wondering if this story would be as amusing to him as his stories were to her. At Sideswipe’s insistence, she continued.

“I remember her clearly panicking screams as the bridge drew up. I wasn’t that great at driving at the time, and I had neither the power or momentum. We almost didn’t make it. At the last second though, I used a partial transformation to shift the weight of the car so we would land properly. But the chase didn’t end there.”

She shook her helm slightly as she recounted what happened.

“We had made good time because of the drawbridge, but then more cop cars came out of nowhere followed by helicopters. Lin’ and I were yelling at each other over what we should do when up ahead I spied a... gosh, what was it called.” Her optics dimmed as she recited what she searched for on the internet, “1998 Dodge Viper RT.”

When her optics brightened, the story continued, “It was also speeding. As soon as we cleared the helicopter, I transformed into that instead. Keep in mind I wasn’t that great at driving yet, so weaving through traffic was this crazy sedan that magically disappeared on the roadway.”

She wasn’t sure if her story was as funny as the ones he had told. To her relief, Sideswipe tittered in amusement. He commented, “I knew you had it in you.”

“What, to be a criminal?”

They shared a laugh.

After a while, Ray commented thoughtfully, “I’ve been switching alt forms for a while, though I haven’t found one I want to keep.”

He straightened suddenly at the mention, eyeing her critically and saying, “You know what would look good on you? I think...”

Many hours later, the two stumbled out of the ‘bar’, an undeniably inebriated Sideswipe holding up a completely plastered Ray.

His vocaliser skipped, hiccupped if you will, as he said, “Wh-oa, gorgeous. You don’t ha-ndle your high-grade well.”

“Youuuu,” she slurred impetuously, attempting to turn to face him.

The shifting weight caused Sideswipe to stumble a bit, but he managed to catch her before she could fall. He wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t realize how close their sparks were in this new position. He could feel his own pulsing faster as she looked up at him with those very green and very rare optics. Damn. Green is a nice colour.

He replied softly, “Me?”

“You keep saying tha-t,” she vocalised quieter, as if she was suddenly aware of how close they were.

He brought his helm closer to hers, asking, “Sa-ying what?”

“Gorgeousss,” she mumbled in reply.

Blinking, he smiled at her, “Just sta-ting how I see it. Do you want me to sto-p?”

She moved her helm closer, whispering, “No.”

:: Somewhere in the Indian Ocean ::

It was a very late and overcharged Sideswipe that slid quietly back through the ground bridge. Sending a comm to Ray, the bridge closed. He took a moment to straighten himself out. His fuel lines were filled with high-grade and his internal temperature was through the roof because he was suppressing his vents. He vented hard and relaxed as his temperature started dropping. It wasn’t so bad in the cold of Antarctica, but here it was much warmer.

He skated to the door, thinking up excuses to tell the others. He would have to avoid Ratchet for sure. As he opened the door, he startled as on the other side of the door was the very ‘bot he meant to avoid.

He sagged in defeat, muttering, “Slag.”

“Slag is right! Do you know how long we’ve been trying to contact you?”

“Aw, you do care!” Sideswipe joked, and then added, “Don’t worry about me, Ratchet. Just lost track of time.”

“Why are you venting so hard?” Ratchet’s optics narrowed in suspicion.

“Well it’s a little warm right now...” A scan hit him. “...And so I thought I’d chill for a bit—that’s really unnecessary.”

The sound of grinding metal reverberated as Ratchet bared his dentas at him. “Where in the pits of Kaon did you get that much high-grade?! You’re overcharged!”

:: Somewhere in America ::

All things considered, it could’ve gone much worse. While the Autobot leader didn’t so much care what his officers did in their off time, he cared about them ignoring their comms—intentional or not. Being enlisted in guard duty somewhere in the countryside with dirt clinging to every surface of his frame wasn’t the worst punishment. He wasn’t Sunny; he could take a bit of grime.

Granted, he was now forced to make conversation with some squishy organic he didn’t quite know, but he admitted the soldier he was ferrying wasn’t that bad. At least it got him out of that base in the middle of the ocean.

They were being sent to investigate a mysterious signal’s disappearance in a town close to their current position. Speaking of which, he could ‘see’ it now. He kept his senses alert, knowing that he could possibly be heading into a dangerous situation.

#my fanfiction #i don't believe in miracles #greyscales #transformers

1 note · View note

yaz-the-spaz · 4 years

Note

What are your theories about this pr*gnan*y? You think they will fake a miscarriage, that G*gi's a surrogate or she will fake having a baby bump and then we will never have news about this b**y?

Anon #2: do you think quarantine made it easier for them to do babygate, which is why they’re pushing it now, or do you think it was already planned for this month / date? what do you think?

putting my answer under the cut for reasons*

i’ve said it before in tags but yeah, as absolutely shitty and diabolical as it sounds, a miscarriage is basically the only realistic way i see this playing out for her cause it just does not make any level of sense for her to blow up her entire modeling career right at its height and saddle herself with a whole child i.e. a whole 18-year commitment THIS young and with a man she can barely even maintain a stable relationship with no less (and had also only just gotten back together with - for the 678th time lol - around the supposed conception date), while also risking her own health and her baby’s health (given her supposed hashimoto's disease which would make this both a miracle pregnancy and a high-risk pregnancy, ripe with the threat of a multitude of dangerous complications) all for A LITTLE extra attention.

and while i think there’s a possibility it may have already been planned for sometime around this period, i absolutely think quarantine made it easier for them to do this right now b/c they’re able take huge advantage of the fact that this is a time where no one can really confirm anything outside of family for a good long while, so there’s less opportunity to invite questions and speculation since there’s no one else really seeing her that would be able to go and say well she definitely didn’t look pregnant when i saw her, or to let something slip about how she was doing stuff that a 5-month pregnant woman - esp a high risk pregnant woman - should not be doing (nvm that she slipped up all on her own by posting shit of herself riding horses, and drinking wine and coffee and her stomach looking flat af in the weeks prior to this announcement lmao) but the fact remains they can very easily keep everything locked up tight within the family, where the story and any others details or pics and vids that are released can be very much controlled

also news is fairly slow rn and everyone is literally just sitting at home with not much else to do THAN watch the news (for updates of this virus situation mostly ofc, but it also kind of forces a wider audience that maybe wouldn’t normally see it/pay attention to it to now be inundated with announcements of it whenever they go to check into the news) so in terms of making a huge splash this is probably literally the BEST time in actual modern history that they could have conceivably done this because it is one of the only big things/news items going on for ppl to talk about rn outside of the pandemic

tl;dr - b/c as usual this got way long but anyway all that said, the short of it is that the only way i can really realistically see this playing out in a way that makes sense for her, as shitty as it may sound, is that they're trying to make a huge splash/huge deal out of the fake pregnancy news, which they’re gonna milk for as long they can while playing around with camera angles and clothes, and take advantage of this quarantine where no one can really confirm outside of family for a good long while and where the story and surrounding “evidence” can be easily controlled, and then claim she had a miscarriage or something (or maybe just complications that resulted in the loss of the baby) due to her hashimoto’s disease to make an even BIGGER splash from the ensuing sob story

again, its SUPER fucked up but it's the only thing that makes sense cause i really cannot see her destroying her career and foreseeable future over all this just to get a little more attention. alternatively there’s the possibility that she is pregnant (but just not by zayn obviously lol) and has just been extremely reckless and unsafe during this pregnancy in her hobbies and eating/drinking habits, and therefore this baby is severely underweight and that’s why she’s barely showing at 5 months and doing things that she should really not be doing, esp this far along into what should be a high-risk pregnancy if she does in fact have hashimoto’s and that was not just a giant lie too to cover up her alleged drug use and fluctuating weight...but again, given that she was just at the height of her modeling career and presumably still has a fair bit of opportunities that she would lose out on by getting pregnant and taking on the responsibility of raising a child right now, i would think she would do everything in her power to avoid getting pregnant (or going through with the pregnancy once she found out she was) and bury the story. not shout it from the rooftops as loud as she can and create a whole narrative around starting a family with a man that just last year she made out to be “too unstable” to even maintain a two-person relationship but is suddenly stable enough to raise a whole child???

a man who btw has literally not said A WORD about any of this, and whose family i’m pretty certain have also not said A WORD about it publicly. a man who has has not been "present" for his gf’s or any of the hadid family members "announcements" about it either and like...in what world is that normal lol? like first off in what world is someone who's being painted as such a happy/proud boyfriend and father-to-be NOT there with his gf and/or her family for the announcements being made about his own soon to be family lol? and second of all, and biggest of all, IN WHAT WORLD WOULD THE BABY-LOVING CLOSE-KNIT AF MALIK FAMILY NOT BE LOSING THEIR MINDS WITH OVER THE TOP JOY AND PRAISE AND EXCITEMENT OVER A NEW ADDITION TO THE FAMILY (if it was real lol) FROM THEIR BIGGEST PRIDE AND JOY ZAYN??????

and moreover, i’ve said this before also and i will say it again as many time as i need to, but why is no one seeing how weird it is that so many members of a boyband have babies by women they're not married to?? when THE FUCK has it been normal for so many members of a boyband to have kids before the age of 30 and NONE OF THEM BE MARRIED TO THE ACTUAL MOTHER OF THEIR CHILD???? like i know the people behind the scenes are trying their absolute hardest to make that seem normal and like it's just the millennial way or whatever but THAT IS NOT FUCKING NORMAL

#asks #anons #tagging this as #ziam #because honestly these are some of the biggest red flags for me as to why ziam remains real if there ever was any lol #you shouldn’t have to put this much work in to make a pregnancy make sense #and the only reason i can think of for why someone would feel the need to jump through this many hoops #is because there really IS something there to cover up #and ppl aren’t buying your bullshit #so you’re trying your damndest to distract from the giant gay elephant(s) in the room #while taking the added bonus opportunity to milk the ensuing attention for all its worth #anyway #z*gi #babygate 3.0 #my thoughts #(*reasons primarily being that just in case antis are still monitoring my blog #they will literally have to do extra work just see this #and can't claim they just 'happened' upon it lol)

66 notes · View notes

kittenshift-17 · 4 years

Note

Either 2 or 141 for Hermione and Fenrir. 2. “How long have you been standing there?” 141. “Use your words.” Hope the these help with the funk. Do you mind how many are sent?

Hey lovely! I don’t mind in the slightest how many are sent as long as the prompts are one at a time, or combining a few. One drabble per ask. Though, this one you sent has grown from a drabble into something much bigger. Teehhee! Hope you like it! xxx

Under the glow of the full moon, a witch stole down a garden path, her feet bare and her hair all in a mess. She was a wild thing stalking the darkness and she felt no fear of what lay among the shadows. Or at least that’s what she told herself. Moonlight gardening wasn’t a hobby she’d expected to enjoy, but one that bought her great happiness. By the light of the waxing moon, she harvested moonlillies and snowdrops, she weeded flowerbeds and tilled the soil, preparing the ground to sow the next batch of hollyhocks and miracle seeds.

She tended to it without a care for her loneliness until the low growl sounded from the darkness and the hairs on the back of her neck all stood on end.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked quietly, for though only the growl had sounded, Hermione could think of only one beast bold enough to stalk her by moonlight.

Another soft growl met her ears and Hermione tensed, one hand on her wand, the other gripping her secateurs tightly, lest she have need of them. She never knew when he came to her if he meant her ill will or something else. She never knew until the very last second when he was close enough to lunge.

“Use your words, Fenrir,” Hermione encouraged when the growling persisted until she looked over her shoulder, searching for him in the dark.

It was futile. She might imagine herself a creature of the night, but she could never blend so well into darkness as the werewolf haunting her back garden. He had a knack of folding himself into the smallest shadows and stealing away before the sun’s first light could kiss them from the world. Until he was good and ready to reveal himself, she knew he would simply growl from the shadows, perhaps prowl back and forth beyond the edges of her vision.

When first, he’d come, she had believed he meant her harm, and she’d fled to the house and sworn she would not return to the garden after night had fallen for as long as she lived. But there was power in moonlight, and she’d learned a simple pleasure in gardening, and if she had to face the werewolf in the wisteria bush to indulge both needs, so be it.

“You’ve been gone a long while,” she said conversationally, turning back to the seeds she was preparing for planting. “It’s been strange, tending my plants without the prickle of your presence sending a chill down my spine.”

Another growl met her ears at her words and Hermione tensed, hoping to Merlin that it really was Fenrir back there, and not some other werewolf who’d smelled Fenrir on her property and come to investigate. She didn’t imagine her strange visitor would take kindly to another encroaching on his territory.

“How have you been?” she asked, speaking softly while she leaned on her hands and knees to reach the middle of the bed where she dug rows in the soil with her fingers before laying out the hollyhock and miracle seeds one after the other. She would have grass stains on her knees and dirt under her nails before she was done, but there was a simple pleasure in touching the earth and letting its soothing presence cleanse her spirit.

“Words, Fenrir,” she reminded him a short while later as she moved around the bed, still planting. “Use them. If you’re not going to talk to me, why are you here?”

The next time he growled, the sound came from a lot closer behind her and Hermione startled a little, gripping the handle of her trowel a little tighter as she tilled the soil. She peered over her shoulder and blinked in surprise at the sight that met her gaze.

A monstrous wolf stood in the middle of her garden, the glint of the moon setting the grey fur stripe along his spine and down his tail to a bright silver glow. He was terrible and beautiful to behold, and the breath caught in Hermione’s throat at the sight of him. He’d never come to her in wolf form before. In the past, even if he arrived as a wolf, he never stayed that way in her presence. He always shifted in the shadows before revealing himself to her only when he was a man.

Hermione turned to face him, folding her legs beneath her and sitting in the grass by her flower bed, watching the wolf as he watched her, padding slowly closer on paws larger than dinner plates.

“Are you stuck in that form?” she asked mildly, still holding her spade and willing to use it should he choose to lunge for her throat, intent on ripping it out. For months now, he’d come to her by moonlight and sometimes he snarled and raged and yelled at her, coming to her for the sake of fighting with her before disappearing for weeks on end. Other times he came to her and he was sweet and apologetic, and she didn’t understand how they could be one and the same man.

He growled again, softly, still padding closer and Hermione watched him, entranced by the sight he made.

“Merlin, you’re big,” she murmured when he padded even closer, skirting carefully around the flowerbed she’d dug to stand before her, looming well over five foot at the tops of his ears. When he was stood before her, Hermione had to tip her head back to look up at him, and he sat back on his haunches before lowering his front half at the elbow until he half crouched in front of her, sniffing at her face intensely.

“May I?” she asked, suspecting this was one of the times he meant to be sweet to her, and so setting aside her trowel to reach a hand toward his ruff.

He nodded slowly and Hermione sank her hands into his thick grey fur, digging her fingers in and ruffling it. She smiled widely when he lowered his head to rest the top of it against her sternum, still sniffing her but surrendering to being petted. She never seen him in his form before, but she couldn’t resist treating him like every dog she’d ever encountered, devoting herself to the task of scratching behind his ears and ruffling his fur until he gave a canine groan and leaned into her hands.

Just when she thought she might’ve found a happy spot to set his leg to kicking, Fenrir tensed and used his enormous head to topple her body backward until she sprawled on the grass.

“Fenrir!” she complained, gripping his fur tightly when he moved to stand over her threateningly, beginning to sniff her in earnest, his muzzle butting against her chest, and her stomach and then lower.

“Hey!” Hermine protested when he nosed aside the skirt of her nightie to try and sniff between her legs. “No!” Not okay. You’re still a wolf! I don’t go in for that.”

He growled, pulling back from her and stepping over her. Hermione frowned at him as he padded into the middle of her freshly planted seed-beds.

“Greyback, come on. I just dug that. What are you doing? You’re going to crush the seeds, big as you are.”

She watched in surprise when his huge body began to shimmer a little, morphing before her eyes and she blinked when a large amount of grey fur fell from his body to scatter over the garden bed while he shook.

“Really?” she asked when he was human, balanced on his hands and toes over the plants and naked as a newborn.

“What?” he rumbled. “Hair is good for soil. Dig in in with the seeds. Be the best batch of Hollyhocks you ever grow, girly.”

“Get out of there before you crush something,” Hermione complained. “And what’s the big idea sticking you muzzle up my nightie?”

He smirked at her, and Hermione blinked when he jumped from his hands and feet as though he was still a wolf, clearing the flowerbed and landing neatly in the same position before rising to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked when he walked across the yard and into the shadows.

He didn’t answer, but when he reappeared, he wore jeans to hide his modesty.

“Do you have a secret stash of clothing in my yard somewhere?” she asked, surprised.

“Didn’t figure you’d appreciate me turning up naked,” he shrugged.

“Where are they? Why don’t you keep them in the house? Won’t they get wet and mouldy out here?”

“You worry too much, girly,” he said gruffly, crossing to where she sat and offering her a hand to help her to her feet. “Come on. Are you done with your planting?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “All the seeds are in.”

“Lets get you cleaned up, then,” he rumbled quietly, nodding her in the direction of the house though he turned his head this way and that, listening the sounds of the night.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked.

“Been away too long,” he said quietly. “Take your harvest. Head inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hermione frowned up at him.

“Is there someone else out there?” she asked.

“Just go inside and get warm, girly,” he told her. “You’re covered in mud.”

He pointed to the stains on her knees.

“Yes, some big brute shoved me to the ground,” Hermione deadpanned.

“If you don’t hurry up, the same brute will shove you into a shower,” he told her. “Now go on.”

Before she could say anything else, his head suddenly turned sharply to the left and Hermione watched his eyes narrow before his hackles rose and he growled menacingly. Taking that as her cue, she headed for the backdoor quickly, the basket with her harvest tucked in the crook of her elbow as she went. When she reached the door and looked back, Fenrir was gone, but another loud growl from somewhere in the darkness followed by more snarling and some yelping made her think he wasn’t alone.

Shaking her head, she set aside her flowers and headed for the shower quickly, knowing he’d invade the bathroom with her if she took too long by his estimation. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it. She’d learned many things about Fenrir Greyback in the long years since the war, and when he invaded her shower it typically wasn’t because he was a pervert but because that’s where she was and he didn’t think twice about her nudity.

She dressed quickly once she was clean and headed back to the kitchen where she found him slipping in the back door with blood on his mouth and a nasty bite mark on his shoulder, some scratches on his stomach.

“Did you pick a fight with the neighbourhood cats?” she asked, though she suspected the intruder had been someone of a more magical origin.

“Anyone new moved to town while I’ve been away?” he asked.

“I don’t spend much time in the village,” Hermione reminded him. “I think the woman at the grocery store mentioned a new chap had moved in on the other side of town. Why? Werewolf?”

“Mmmm,” Fenrir hummed, washing his mouth at the sink. “Not sure if he scented me and came to investigate, or if he’s been loitering near your property.”

“Crookshanks has been out of sorts all week,” Hermione offered. “But I haven’t seen anyone snooping around, and I can typically feel where there are things lurking in the darkness on my property.”

“He wouldn’t have crossed the wall onto your property,” Fenrir shook his head. “He wouldn’t have dared.”

“If you’re about to tell me about having whizzed on all the fences to mark your territory, I’m going to be cross with you,” Hermione told him, putting her hands on her hips.

Fenrir darted a look at her before looking away and using a tissue to wipe at the blood from his wounds without speaking. Hermione had learned he did that when what he had to say was what she didn’t want to hear.

“You better not have whizzed on my vegetable patch,” she warned him. “I eat those.”

“I’m not a complete barbarian,” he said, shaking his head at her. “No one’s made any attempts to call on you, or say hello in the village?”

“I haven’t been down there in a few weeks,” Hermione shrugged. “What supplies I’ve needed, I’ve grabbed in Diagon Alley on my way home from work.”

“Might just be a curious pup, then,” Fenrir nodded. “But he was lurking. I don’t like it.”

Hermione smiled softly. “Perhaps I emit some beacon for werewolves that lures you all here,” she joked, grinning as she moved over to fish out the first aid box so she could put antiseptic on his wounds.

“Yeah, well. About that,” he said gruffly, surprising her when he tangled one hand into her damp curls and used the grip to tilt her head before lowering his nose the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent deeply.

“Good Lord, Fenrir, must you?” Hermione asked, goosebumps prickling across her skin.

“You’re not far off with your beacon idea,” he told her, his mouth by her ear as he continued breathing in her scent. “You said the kneazel’s been out of sorts all week?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Why? Don’t pull my head so far. You’re cricking my neck.”

He eased up on his grip slightly, but he didn’t release her, and his next exhale came out as a low growl.

“Are you worked up after your scuffle?” she asked. “Is that what this is?”

“Mmm-mmm,” he hummed negatively. “Bloody hell, girly. You’re...”

Hermione tensed when he breathed her in again before she felt the tip of his tongue tracing over her skin.

“I’m what?” she asked tightly, unsure how to react to his attentions. In all the months he’d been calling on her, the closest he’d come to what he was doing right now was the night he’d bitten her shoulder angrily when she’d whacked him with a frypan.

“Fuck,” he groaned roughly, his free hand snaking around her hip to fist the fabric of her shirt at the small of her back and pulling her forward, moulding her body to his. “You’re in heat, little witch. Merlin, I could eat you up.”

“I am no such thing, thank you!” Hermione snapped, pushing her hands against his chest and forcing him back, holding him at arm’s length. “I’m not a werewolf. I cannot go into heat.”

“You know what I mean,” he told her.

“I don’t,” Hermione huffed.

“I don’t know what it’s called in human terms. All I know is that you smell like if I was to fuck you right now, you’d get pregnant,” he said.

Hermione’s cheeks brightened to pink.

“Ovulating?” she asked. “You can... smell that?��

He raised his eyebrows at her and pointed a finger at his own chest. “Werewolf,” he reminded her.

“Right...” Hermione said, embarrassed. “But you can... oh Merlin, don’t tell me what else you can smell. I don’t want to know.”

He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Don’t look at me like that, Greyback,” Hermione huffed. “Go and shower, please, so I can treat these properly.” She waved a finger at his wounds.

“They’ll be fine,” he dismissed.

“Fine, you stink,” she told him. “Go and bathe. Now.”

He curled his lip at her, looking like he didn’t believe her, but Hermione scowled at him until he conceded and prowled out of the kitchen. She didn’t bother directing him; he more than knew the way. Whenever he came to call on her in one of his good moods, he tended to make himself right at home in her cottage, so he knew where to find a clean towel and in truth, the toothbrush she’d given him was still in the holder beside hers.

While he was gone, she fixed herself a pot of tea and set out a cup to make him one too, before helping herself to the biscuit tin with the freshly baked shortbread she’d made that morning. She carried it all into the lounge and curled onto the sofa to wait for him to return, ferreting a book from the bookcase, but also flicking on the telly, knowing he rather liked watching it. She was immersed in her novel when he reappeared, and Hermione jumped violently when he leaned over the back of the couch to whisper in her ear.

“Happy now?” he asked, before laughing when she dropped her book in surprise.

“I hate you,” Hermione told him, scowling over her shoulder.

He didn’t answer before clambering over the back of the couch rather than walking around it, sliding into the seat beside her and helping himself to the teapot and the biscuits she’d put out. They didn’t talk while he devoured the food, and Hermione noticed that he’d been right about his wounds not needing tending. They had already healed to shiny pink scars; something she could still see because he was still shirtless. He was always shirtless when he called on her. She expected he only owned one pair of jeans, actually. The rest of the time he simply wore fur.

“You were gone a long time,” Hermione said conversationally once he sat back with his tea in one hand and slung his arm along the back of the couch. Hermione knew it was an invitation to burrow into his side if she wanted to. Fenrir Greyback, much to her surprise, was quite touchy feely and fond of cuddling when he was in a good mood.

“Couple of months,” he agreed. “Was travelling.”

“Travelling?” Hermione frowned.

“Aurors are hunting me again,” he shrugged, his eyes on the telly.

“Harry again?”

“New group,” he answered. “Led them a dance to the North. They won’t come looking for me here.”

“Of course they won’t,” Hermione sighed. “They expect that if you did, I would know, and I would notify them.”

“Why don’t you?” he asked, darting a look at her before sipping his tea. “I’m usually a shit to you when I show up. Why don’t you tell them where I am so you can be done with me once and for all?”

Hermione sighed. She’d been asking herself that question for as long as he’d been calling on her - well over two years now, though often with long stints between visits.

“Who else is going to whizz on all my fences and scuffle with the neighbourhood beasts to keep them out of my garden?” she wanted to know, twisting around to lean back against his side so she could prop her book against her knees with her legs pulled up on the cushions.

She noticed the way he turned his head and lowered his nose to bury it in her curls, breathing in her scent again before he curled one scarred arm, ropey with muscle and sinew, over her chest and across her stomach to rest intimately on her hip.

“Why really, girly?” he asked into her ear.

Hermione bit her lip.

“Does it matter?” she asked in return because the truth was, she didn’t know why she never reported him, and why she let him keep coming, so much so that he had his own toothbrush in her bathroom, and his own teacup in her kitchen.

“It matters,” he said softly, “Do you know why you haven’t chased me off? Or are you unsure?”

Hermione turned her head to look at him.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Sometimes you come and you’re vicious and mean and you bite me and snarl and break things. But other times you come and your nice and you hunt down things to put in my freezer so I don’t have to buy protein, and you see off the local creeps that think I’m unattached - not by my own free will - and imagine their sad attempts to woo me will surely win them a place in my bed. I ought to hate you, knowing what you are and some of the things you’ve done... but...”

He watched her intently and Hermione watched him in return before shrugging her shoulders.

“But?” he prompted when she didn’t continue. “But sometimes I’m good company? But you secretly want to jump my bones and rut like dogs? But you can’t resist my charms? What?”

Hermione laughed softly, though she suspected he’d like answers to all three suggestions.

“But I just haven’t,” Hermione said. “I can’t explain it. The same way I can’t explain why I live alone on the far outskirts of an almost-all-muggle village or why I don’t keep in close touch with Harry and Ron anymore, or why I like to garden by moonlight and feel the earth under my fingernails when I do it. There are lots of things in my life I can’t explain. You’re simply one of them.”

He nodded slowly before the laugh reel on the telly distracted them both and Hermione turned her eyes to it for a few minutes when Fenrir huffed a soft laugh along with them. For the rest of the night, they stayed there like that on the couch, her leaned against his side reading her book, while he watched whatever programs took his fancy on the telly until well after midnight.

“You got work tomorrow?” he wanted to know when she yawned loudly, stretching languidly against him.

“Mmmm, no,” Hermione sighed, snuggling her cheek against his shoulder. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Good,” he said. “Come on, girly. Let’s get you to bed.”

He nudged her a few times, but when she didn’t budge he laughed softly and twisted, scooping her into his arms and carrying her out of the living room and to the stairs.

“I can do it,” she said, resigned to going to bed after all.

“Shhh,” he told her, carrying her up the stairs with ease.

At the top of them he buried his nose in her hair again.

“Hermione?” he asked quietly, surprising her with his use of her real name when he preferred calling her nicknames.

“Yes?” she asked, curling her head under his chin and enjoying how petite she felt when he carried her.

“Do you want answers to why you live out here alone, and why you don’t bother with your old school friends much anymore, and why you like gardening by moonlight?” he asked, shouldering open her bedroom door and carrying her to the bed where he set her down sliding her between the sheets.

“Do you have answers?” she asked, frowning up at him.

He met her eyes before shrugging but he nodded.

“Go on then,” she invited, blinking sleepily.

“You remember when I bit you?” he asked raising his eyebrows at her.

“In November?” she clarified, referring to the last time he’d showed up at her place highly out of sorts.

“The first time,” he said. “During the war. That day in the forest.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “That time.”

She reached to touch the scar on the top of her right shoulder, where sometimes she would swear, she could still feel his fangs embedded in her flesh.

“That was a full moon day – right before the night of the full moon,” he told her quietly. “I wasn’t transformed, so you’re not a werewolf. But… I was so close to it that you’ve got some… traits.”

“Traits?” she asked. “Is this the part where you tell me I have a hairy back or something?”

He snorted, shaking his head and lowering himself down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Not that I’ve seen,” he told her. “Though I’d be happy to do a thorough inspection, just to be sure.”

Hermione laughed and burrowed further under the covers.

“You see better in the dark,” he told her. “You take comfort in the glow of the moon. Take your steak rare…. And prefer the company of werewolves.”

“I…” Hermione frowned, prepared to deny him, but she knew for a fact that her favourite colleague at work was secretly a werewolf – something she’d only learned when Fenrir had smelled the scent of Hayley on her jumper one evening when he’d come to call after a work function where Hermione had loaned Hayley her coat after red wine was spilled on her dress in an unfortunate location over the bust.

“You do,” he told her. “It’s why the dates you used to go on with regular wizards all fizzled. It why you find no solace in your friendship with Potter and Weasley. It’s why you live out here alone, and yet make room for me in your life, even when I’m awful. You’re not a wolf, little moonlight, but you’re as close as one can humanly get without the wolf-bite.”

“But I…” Hermione began. “I don’t feel any ill effects at the full moon, or suffer like you do,” she pointed out.

“No, but you always know when it’s full, don’t you?” he asked. “You mark the days without even thinking, but you always know what phase the moon is. It’s why moonlight gardening appeals to you and works for you when so many others fail at it. You don’t feel any pain, but you feel the glow of it in your skin when it’s full, don’t you? You spend the full moon nights when I’m not here out there in the yard or even wandering the moors, don’t you?”

Hermione bit her lip, looking out the window as she nodded.

“Is that why you said I smell like I’m in heat?” she asked, frowning. “I don’t feel any different than I usually do.”

“No?” he asked. “Not at all? You don’t even feel like you need to shag someone?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, her cheeks turning pink, though she ought to have grown accustomed to his habit of discussing the basic needs of her body in the same tone he would for the weather. They were one and the same to him, simply natural phenomenon to be dealt with accordingly.

“No more than I usually do when you’re here,” she answered without thinking.

“Makes a difference when I’m not here, does it?” he grinned and Hermione blushed.

“Um…” she said.

“Don’t answer that one, little moonlight,” he shook his head, grinning when she rallied her courage to admit that, yes, it did make a difference. “Not tonight, with the full moon so close. Not smelling like you do right now.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“Because if you tell me you want to rut more when I’m around than you do when I’m not, all while you smell like you’re in heat, ripe and ready to carry my pups… I might just plant one in you, girly,” he told her, rising to his feet and pulling the covers up to her chin before making for the door, intent on patrolling the garden again, she expected.

He was in the doorway before the words blurted out of her mouth, unbidden.

“Would that be so bad?” she asked, unable to bite the question back before it was out of her mouth.

Fenrir stumbled in surprise, catching himself and bracing his hands in the doorframe as he stood there with his back to her, unmoving. Hermione instantly regretted her words. Gods, had she irreparably decimated this strange thing that had grown between them? Was there any going back from a question like that?

Slowly, he turned back to look at her and his eyes glowed the gold of the wolf. Had she angered him? Usually his eyes only went like that when he was angry with her…

“What was that?” he confirmed quietly.

“Um…” Hermine said, clearing her throat nervously. “I said…”

“Don’t say it again unless you want me to join you in that bed right now, little moonlight,” he warned her.

Hermione gulped audibly and picked at the duvet for a minute, weighing her options before latching onto her courage. She cleared her throat and look up to meet his eyes once more before she repeated, “Would that be so bad?”

Fenrir’s low growl filled her eyes and Hermione squeaked when he pounced from the doorway, all the way across the room to land on the bed with her.

“You sure?” he confirmed, giving her one last chance to change her mind.

Hermione reached up, carding her fingers through the mess of dark hair hanging about his shoulders.

“Certain,” she whispered, before pulling his lips down to hers and kissing him until she couldn’t breathe.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211959

or FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13641085/1/Little-Moonlight

26 notes · View notes

theidiotwhowritesthings · 4 years

Text

Your Kind of Heaven

The prompt from @that-one-weird-fangirl2020 was this:

Can I get #27, the angsty/fluffy list, with a Cayde-6 x Female!Gunslinger!Reader? Maybe throw in a passionate, romantic, first kiss?

Cayde-6 x (Gunslinger) Female!Reader

Warnings: non descriptive fight scene, internal demons, past trauma

1,991 words

Song Inspiration: To Hell & Back by Maren Morris

“Smoke was comin’ off my jacket and you didn’t seem to mind, I left a long trail of ashes and you said, ‘I like your style’.”

There were skeletons in your closet, demons in your mind, and there was only one way you knew of to deal with them. It involved your light, your gun, and a trail of ashes where your enemies used to be. If you kept moving, kept shooting, then you didn’t have to think.

That’s when the trouble always came, when you were still.

You were reborn a guardian 3 days before the start of the Red War.

You had been introduced into a world of community and Light only to watch it crumble beneath the Red Legion. Somehow, by some miracle, you had escaped. You had managed to get off the Tower, get out of the City, and slipped out into the wilderness. There had been other guardians with you. Older guardians who tried to help, to show you the way while being lost themselves, had perished before your very eyes. It felt like you had been born into a world only to be useless. No matter what you did someone would die. Sometimes it was guardians, sometimes it was civilians, and many times you had wished it had been you rather than them.

When the Light finally returned, it was too late. The damage had been done. Your Ghost tried to reassure you that things would be different now, and as much as you wanted to believe him it was still difficult. It was why you avoided the other guardians now. You had lost so many people back to back to back. The idea of getting to know someone now was terrifying. What if war came again? What if you lost them? What if you weren’t strong enough to save them?

It was safer to keep to yourself.

To focus on missions.

To focus on bettering yourself.

To focus on your only working distraction.

Three shots, three dead Cabal. You stared at their motionless forms briefly before glancing around. The EDZ was quiet today, and now it was even quieter. You heaved a sigh in disappointment. The hope had been that Cabal in the EDZ would keep you busy for the whole morning, not just a couple hours.

“The area is clear.” Your Ghost confirmed.

You dismissed your helmet and rubbed the back of your neck. The area around you looked like the remains of an old city, abandoned and empty. Overgrown with vegetation all around, like nature had reclaimed what once belonged to it.

It was too quiet. The itch was back, and that dreadful voice whispered in the back of your mind. Before you could ask your Ghost to transmat you to the nearest world with a pest problem the sound of someone else transmatting distracted you.

“Hey there, partner.”

“Cayde.” You gave him a tight grin. Your Vanguard was the closest thing you had to a friend. He was the only person you really spoke to on a regular basis, other than your Ghost, and it was oddly because you actually enjoyed talking to him. Granted, it had started as just mission reports and training exercises, but somehow it had turned into drinks and ramyun and laughter.

He glanced at the empty buildings then looked back to you, “You really cleared this place out, huh? Busy morning?”

“Not busy enough.” You replied. “You need anything done? Anything at all?”

Cayde took a step toward you. It was closer than you were used to, but you didn’t move back. He had this look on his face, but it wasn’t concern. It wasn’t pity or worry or disapproval. Those were always the facial expressions you expected, but he never showed them to you. He always looked at you like this. With curiosity, with care, with amusement.

“Ever think about taking a vacation? I hear the pools of Io are nice this time of year.” Cayde suggested. He had his hands on his hips, his head tilted slightly.

You shrugged, “Sounds a little too…quiet.”

“And you don’t like quiet.” Cayde nodded. You had mentioned this to him before. That you needed action or movement at all times. The only exception being when you went to bed for a night of restless sleep. “Guess we just need to keep working on finding you a new hobby.”

“A new hobby?”

“Yeah, something that calms that brain of yours”, He lifted his hand to tap your temple with his gloved hand, “Without having to throw yourself into the fray again and again.”

You chuckled at the thought. That’d be nice. You weren’t sure anything could really quiet your mind. You were kind of positive this was just the curse of your existence.

“I’m not sure I’m capable of that kind of change, Cayde.”

Cayde shook his head, “No, no, no. Not change. I don’t want you to change ever, partner. I like you just the way you are. I just think a break every now and again will do you some good.”

He liked you the way you were. Skeletons, demons, cracks, and all. Cayde was staring at you again with that same look on his face. Amusement and adoration. His blue eyes glowed with a warmth that always seemed to reach the core of who you were. He wasn’t scared of you and didn’t bat an eye at your flaws.

And it was then that you realized that things were quiet. With Cayde looking at you the way he was, the softness of his Exo features focused only on you, it was quiet. Your mind wasn’t racing with regrets of the past or fears of the future. You felt at ease.

“I can’t think when you keep looking at me like that.” The words fell from your lips before you were fully aware of them. They were nearly a whisper. Cayde was closer now, he was the only thing in your vision, and you were ok with that. Your eyes darted down to his mouth unintentionally.

The urge to close the small gap between you was strong, and it scared you. Things would be different if you did that and that voice in the back of your mind nagged and nagged. The decision was taken away from you when the sound of whistling filled the air. The two of you recognized it around the same time, you could see it on his face, and both of you whipped around just as three Cabal containment pods hit the Earth a few yards away kicking up dirt and dust. Honestly, you were just lucky they hadn’t landed on top of you. You had the bad luck of being a containment pod magnet. And maybe you were also lucky that your usual distraction had showed up just in time to prevent a potential life altering mistake.

“They didn’t even give me time to stretch.” Cayde said as the Cabal began to open fire.

You called back your helmet and dove out of the way of a tossed grenade. What was supposed to be a quick battle, turned into a rather large mess. More Cabal had come after you and Cayde dealt with the first wave, but their presence had attracted a nearby squad of Fallen. So now the two of you were sandwiched between two enemies who were both shooting at you and behind you. Some wandering Guardians had happened upon the scene though, and the enemies were quickly dealt with. While Cayde had his back turned to you, greeting one of the Hunters that had stumbled onto the scene, you had your Ghost transmat you back to your ship.

The entire flight back to the Tower you were kicking yourself. You had been so close to doing something so stupid. Letting your professional relationship with Cayde turn into a friendship had been stupid. Opening up to him about your fears and worries one drunken night had been stupid. Wanting to kiss your Vanguard in enemy territory just because you liked the way he looked at you? That was downright crazy.

Once at the Tower, you made a beeline to your living space. The plan was to grab some supplies and then book it out to Nessus or Io. You could scoop up a long surveillance mission from someone who didn’t want to spend a month out in the wild and do so yourself. That’d keep you busy and distracted.

“Someone is here.” Your Ghost hummed before disappearing from your sight. Before you could question him a heavy knock came from your door. Your apartment was tiny. It consisted of one room with a second small room branched off it that worked as the bathroom. This meant there was only one door in and out unless you were going to try and escape through the window, but you weren’t that desperate. Yet.

“I know you’re in there, partner.”

Your eyes glanced at the window in temptation.

‘If you climb out the window, I won’t revive you when you fall.’ Ghost joked internally.

You knew that was his nice way of saying you needed to answer the door, and more so you knew he was right. After steeling yourself, trying to push all non-professional thoughts of Cayde out your head, you walked to the door and pulled it open.

He was leaning against the frame, his armor still messy and dirty from the last fight. The moment your eyes caught his all the steeling of your mind had fizzled out in a hot mess of fireworks in your brain. You were back in that same position you found yourself in earlier. Except now the chances of the Cabal interrupting you were slim to none.

“You left before we could finish our conversation.” Cayde said firmly.

You swallowed the lump that seemed to have formed in your throat, “I think we both know that we were done talking.”

This time is was his gaze that dropped down to your lips before slowly dragging back up to your eyes. Cayde nodded once, “You’re probably right.”

You didn’t know if you moved first or if he did, but the two of you collided. Your lips were on his mouth and his hands were cupping your face then tangling in your hair. Thoughts weren’t needed when you were kissing him. It was all action and instinct, like your body was moving on its own accord and you were just there for the ride. Your gloves traced his firm armored chest while he pulled back on your hair slightly to expose your neck enough for him to pepper kisses down in until he reached the edge of your armor.

You sucked in a sharp breath of air when his mouth caught a sensitive spot on your neck and that was like throwing gas on a flame. You pulled his face back up to yours to kiss him. In one swift movement, Cayde’s hands went to the back of your thighs to scoop you up while his foot kicked the door shut behind you. He turned and pushed your back against the door deepening the kiss. He tasted like his favorite drink and you wondered if he had stopped to take a shot before coming here.

After another moment he pulled his mouth away leaving you breathless. His face lingered close though as you took in air. You had your arms wrapped around his shoulders, but now you brought your hands in to cup his face. Your thumb traced the edge of his cheek as his warm eyes didn’t leave yours. It was quiet in the room and you were ok with that because it was also quiet in your mind.

“I think this could be a good hobby for you.” Cayde spoke up suddenly, his tone sounded breathless despite Exos not technically needing to breath. “Thoughts?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled out an agreement, “Yeah, this could work.”

Cayde shot you an amused look before pulling you into another kiss. You wrapped your arms around him and melted against his chest.

Yeah, this could definitely work.

#Cayde-6 #cayde-6 x female reader #destiny #destiny 2 #cabal #guardians #ghost #exo #gunslinger reader #reader insert #hunters #skeletons in the closet #a smidge of angst #but mostly comfort #red war #pls listen to the song I love it k thx

100 notes · View notes

mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Text

BATIM - Helping Hand

Summary: All stories have a beginning and an end. Henry’s ended with kindness, Joey’s began with cruelty.

---

Back when he’d been trying to reintegrate into civilian life after going to war, Henry had no conceivable way of explaining his experiences in an eloquent fashion. It was very difficult to put into words the sort of visceral feelings that made his chest tighten with a mixture of white hot panic and instinctual terror. There were no feasible words to express the sensation of looking another human being in the eyes and knowing that they were just as reluctant to be there, and that one of them had to die for the other to live. War was a topic that muted him to a somewhat permanent degree. Too hard for him to talk about. But the studio? The horrifying atrocities Joey had committed in his absence? The lengths he'd gone to get what he wanted? That was the one horrific happenstance in which he could find his voice and curse out a supposed friend for their heinous crimes, especially when he found himself back on that familiar doorstep that led him into that repeating nightmare... The mockery of a long-dead dream. Yes, Henry Stein, the man of few words, would end up spewing out as many acidic profane words that he could conjure up on the spot. So foul they were that they would have had a sailor as shocked and disgusted as a blushing nun. Not that anyone could judge him for it. A man of routine could only bend so much to the insatiable will of another, before he slowly found himself pushed over the precipice of madness. It was by pure miracle he hadn't lost his senses long ago. Because, thankfully, Henry made due with what little leniency and creativity he had to keep himself entertained. Every few loops he changed things up just a little bit.

The “Long Runs” as he called them, were a respite of sorts Henry had concocted long ago as a means to give himself a break from the main storyline Joey so vehemently forced him through, with little to no choice in the matter. They were, in a sense, somewhat of a sacred thing. His sanctuary, as Sammy would put it, and one that he'd long since forced his puppeteer not to disturb. If Joey didn't want his marionette to flop onto the ground in defiance of restarting the same old stale song and dance all over again, he'd have to allow him some time to relax and get back on his game. Otherwise Henry would simply sit down and refuse to even go near the Ink Machine, much less begin this charade. Without the hellish thing as his driving point, it’s not like Joey could find any reason to push him forward anyway. Not without the Ink Demon being let out to take on its role of the relentless hunter. So, having learned this, Joey seemed to begrudgingly allow him to explore the studio to his heart’s content without pushing him to do anything that would immediately set him towards that final stage. That repetitive speech that made less and less sense the more Henry experienced it.

On these breaks Henry took his time and did what he’d done back when he was a kid: He people watched. An odd hobby, but one that taught him something quite valuable about creating characters. Traits and qualities. Everyone had a way of being that was entirely unique to them. Be it the way they walked, if they spoke just with their mouth or with their hands, or how they chose to project themselves out in the world. Dress and speech patterns, certain ritualistic habits, likes and dislikes...All things tended to be readable on a person if you just stopped, watched and listened for long enought. Which is why, on every one of these breaks, Henry took the time to figure out everyone’s gimmicks. Soon after, he’d started his little gestures of kindness...

It all started with the swollen searcher with the nice hat. Jack Fain, the once lyricist that had aided in getting the right words to Sammy’s jolly little tunes. Henry had been absentmindedly exploring the sewer tunnels near the music department when he’d noticed the searcher in a rather bad way. Overstuffed with the thick ink that Twisted Alice so coveted from his brethren. So large and nauseatingly lumpy that he couldn’t even move out of his current spot. He supposed that was his inevitable fate unless crushed with a crate, which made him feel a little less upset about dropping such a heavy object onto the poor thing. Then, much to his surprise, Sammy Lawrence himself sauntered down from one of the adjacent tunnels to find the pitiful creature blocking his path. And even more surprising, he actually seemed sad about it's sorry state. “Oh you silly sheep… This is the 4th time this week that I’ve found you so heavy with your precious wool…” How Sammy could count the weeks, Henry wasn’t sure, since he knew for a fact the music director often forgot his own name. Come to think of it, Sammy forgot a lot of things, reminding Henry of a fellow in his platoon that was afflicted with early onset dementia. He’d been discharged due to becoming a liability, and seeing him fight the disarray of his own mind had been a honestly terrifying spectacle. Henry had felt a great pity for him, which is about the same way he felt for Sammy now. The poor guy could have been great had he not ended up in Joey Drew’s grasp and then tossed into this nightmare realm. “Not to worry...Your shepherd is here now, although you’ll have to forgive me. I have no shears.”

He’d watched in morbid fascination as Sammy dug four-fingered hands into the swollen searcher’s mass, pulling out chunks of it in a way that made Henry’s stomach twist in discomfort. If Jack felt any pain, he didn’t show it. If anything with each clump of ink removed, he seemed almost relieved. Finally, once returned to his regular proportions, the searcher let out a much softer humming sound. One that was much nicer to the ear than the wet hiss he reserved for Henry whenever he got too close to the skittish creature. “You’re welcome my little sheep. The others will be most pleased with the wool you’ve so generously provided…” The pile of thick ink was truly massive, and the old artist could only wonder what Sammy hoped to do with it. “Please refrain from consuming more. Excessive indulgence is a sin you know...”

From the way Sammy had addressed Jack upon arrival, this seemed to be a recurring issue. One the self-appointed prophet seemed to exclusively come down into the sewers to solve himself. It piqued Henry’s interest in such a way that he’d begun to wonder… If he helped with that, would this in any way benefit him? Couldn't do him wrong to have some thick ink at hand... And then he wondered: Would helping them benefit Jack and Sammy in any way? Only one way to find out!

He'd left it for the next time he decided to take a break. First going through a few more loops to give himself time to figure out just how to help the prophet and the swollen searcher that lived down in the sewers. He couldn't exactly allow Sammy to sacrifice him. It would only end with the delusional ex-music director dying faster. So what could he, a humble artist, possibly do for someone who was so lost to devotion? And then there was the question of what could he do for Jack. The only thing he seemed interested in, was being left alone and keeping a hold of that dang valve. Henry hadn't personally known the man, so this was a difficult task. Luckily he found an answer in the form of an audio log Buddy had collected well before the older man had set foot in the studio. As it turned out, Jack Fain was a fan of coffee. That at least was something to look into, as he made his way all around the studio. He'd mostly only found rations of bacon soup, but surely there had been a coffee machine in the break room, right? And if he could keep his seeing tool, maybe he could keep anything else he kept on his person until the end of another run? He'd tried it once with Wally's keys and he was pretty sure he'd kept them on the next loop, only to lose them again later (the man should have invested in a better key ring, that one was a slippery bugger!). But could it work for heftier items? That too was a theory he tested, and Joey surely must have found it quite odd when he'd begun his end of the loop speech, only to stop as he stared in confusion at the bag of coffee Henry had brought along with him. "...I have questions..." He deadpanned as he stared at the bag of coffee with slight distrust. A bag of coffee beans. Nothing could be less threatening. "Funny, I thought that was my job?" Henry grinned. "Asking questions, and never getting any answers?" "Funny indeed… Whatever you're up to, don't think it'll do any good." Joey frowned. "Your path is set, and nothing can change that. Even if I’ve been rather patient with your excursions." "We'll see." That only gave Henry more motivation to try. If just to spite Joey. Another guilty pleasure of his that he indulged in from time to time. He too needed a bit of fresh unpredictable entertainment after all…

To not lug around a bag of coffee everywhere he went (which wasn’t very practical), Henry had decided to take another break on his next run to begin experimenting with this little idea that had been borne out of curiosity. It was easy to set a goal for it: If offering something of comfort to someone that had minimal impact in Joey’s puppeteering did anything of value not only to himself but for the person in question that he sought to offer some kindness to, then what could potentially happen if he tried the same trick with some of the "main cast"? It was, in all honesty, a rather clinical way of thinking and planning things out. He was essentially detaching himself from this reality to test those around him, having superior knowledge of what was truly going on (albeit in a limited and at times fleeting fashion) thus a sort of intellectual advantage over their situations. He was being a less harmful manipulator. Setting up events like Joey. The morality of it all came crashing down just as he’d gotten a coffee machine to work. “Keep it together Henry.” he shook himself out of that nasty train of thought as fast as he could. “You’re not doing anything malicious...You’re just...Making coffee.”

He could maybe use a cup or two himself. If just to settle his nerves. How ironic that a stimulant could calm anyone.

"Yeah, just a simple cup of coffee. No harm, no foul…" Except to his hand when the damn coffee maker scalded him for no particular reason. If anything, he hoped this was the best damn coffee that the swollen searcher had ever tasted in his whole life as an ink slug. There was just one tiny problem with this plan: Henry didn't have any cups. Nor any mugs. Not even those tiny little plastic cups that came with these sorts of machines. The studio was apparently in a "bring your own mug" policy just to skirt around buying a refill of those. "Joey you damn cheapskate…" he had to improvise. Thankfully he wasn't short on containers or an appetite for bacon soup. He just hoped the taps in the bathroom would still have access to clean water...

To Joey it must be quite a sight, watching an old man make his way down into the sewers balancing three cans of soup containing piping hot coffee in them. The stairs weren't exactly up to code and the ink coating them was slippery, so this whole journey to sate his damn curiosity might leave the old artist with second degree burns and potentially a ruined back. Thankfully he managed his way down into the depths with no real issues, and noted the shadow of the prophet following his every move. Good, he hoped an offering would appease him. Play on the same field as Sammy in a sense, just to see what he might do. Granted treating Jack nicely might grant him the cultist's mercy if he treated him like a friend still. At the sight of him, the thing that had once been Jack Fain began to flee as usual. "Hey, wait… I have something for you!" He watched the creature skirt around a corner, hat barely staying on. He stood there, unwilling to run, and simply held the cans of hot coffee with a slightly disappointed look on his face. And then…

...Snhiff shniff shhhhniff…

The wettest sniffing sound Henry had ever heard assaulted his ears, as the swollen searcher peeked back around the corner at him. Its mouth shut but the hollow sockets where it's eyes should be appearing to be wide as it tracked what must be an alluring aroma to it. It appeared searchers still retained a sense of smell, which begged the question of how Jack could stand to live down here. "Smells nice doesn't it? I uh…" he waved one of the cans carefully so as not to spill its contents. "Got a coffee maker upstairs working again." "Ksshhhff…Eeee..." he couldn't understand what it said, but Henry was pretty sure Jack was trying to say "coffee". He recognized what it was, and most importantly it looked like he desperately wanted it. "Yes. It's coffee. Do you want it?" He outstretched his arm, trying to entice the swollen searcher with his peace offering. It looked at the can, the sloshing dark liquid inside it, then stared at Henry. It seemed to be trying to decide if it was worth risking its "hide" to get what it so desperately craved. Finally after an agonizing minute, it went for it.

Henry nearly toppled over as the swollen ink abomination lunged for the can. He damn near spilled the other two on himself as well. Luckily he'd regained his footing and managed to keep everything nicely contained in the repurposed cans. The searcher on the other hand was less the skittish thing that ran circles around him, and more like an overexcited puppy. The slurping desperate chugging noises as it inhaled the coffee were a little gross, but that was easily overlooked by just how happy it looked. "That good uh?"

The gurgling purr that followed got a chuckle out of him, and he couldn't help give Jack a gentle pay on the hat. He couldn't have imagined just how happy the poor fellow would get. And he wasn't the only one. That worn out Bendy mask peering from the corner gave Henry a good idea of just how impactful such a small gesture had been. "I have an extra can if you'd also like some…" He'd brought one in the hopes that Sammy might appreciate some as well, but he wasn't sure if he liked the stuff. In the little time they'd worked together at the studio, the music director had been more of a smoker than a coffee enthusiast. Shame he wouldn't be able to get such an item for him… To Henry's surprise, rather than keep his distance and wait for his dramatical reveal, Sammy actually responded to him. "My stomach does not react kindly to most substances besides the Lord's plentiful gift..." His words were devoid of emotion. Awfully cold but also contemplative. "I'm sure my darling sheep would be more than happy to consume my share…" The happy gurgling more than confirmed this, and Henry wasted no time to give him the extra can. Jack took it gleefully and began to drink it eagerly. "A picky eater…" Henry felt slightly disturbed at the idea that Sammy was drinking any of the ink just laying around. "I can respect that." "I assure you, it is not by choice." The mask cocked to the side, studying him. "Although I must admit the stomach aches have helped ensure my physique stays at the peak of perfection to ensure my tasks are well done."

Henry frowned and stared down at his own stomach. He was a little on the pudgy side nowadays, and honestly chugging cans of bacon soup probably didn't help. But he wouldn't call Sammy's proportions the peak of perfection. "Doesn't sound too fun, getting sick unless you drink… the Lord's gift." Best not step on any toes, if Sammy still had any that is. Play it casual. "I do not believe you've come down here to critique my practices as a devout follower of the Ink Demon." The Bendy mask turned to watch Jack devour the can of coffee. Henry felt like he must have been smiling fondly. "You have… Come down here to present us with offerings. Kind ones." "Yes." He replied calmly, remaining just as calm when the mask turned back to him. Sammy's body language spoke for him more than his words did. He was doubtful. "Why?" A good question. "I had nothing better to do." He responded truthfully, albeit only partially. "And you could both use the kindness I'm sure."

They could, they honestly could. After having their minds, bodies and souls taken from them, their identities torn asunder, both Sammy and Jack could only benefit from being treated with the one thing Joey had stripped from them. Humanity. That run, for such a tiny little gesture as offering Jack some coffee, Sammy let him go without a fight. Joey's speech was much more heated than usual, but nothing really seemed to change on the next loop. At least he didn't think so until he found a can of hot coffee waiting for him in Sammy's sanctuary, as well as a bowl of extra thick ink with the valve propped in the middle of it.

His second gesture couldn't have been more easy. While Sammy still tried to sacrifice him, his speech was more subdoed. Almost playful in a way that said "I know what you did and I'm grateful, even if my actions don't show it". Joey's grip on him was too strong to escape with just one kind action, but not enough that Sammy even in his state of forgetfulness could get the mental image of Henry treating Jack to some coffee out of his inky brain. The alterations to his pattern gave Henry plenty of time to figure out just what to do for his encounter with Twisted Alice. Playing slightly into Sammy's delusions had allowed him to get close, so focusing on her obsession might coax what little of Susie was left. Because he'd gotten wise and asked what it was like to become a toon to the only other person qualified to give him a proper response. Sure Buddy couldn't talk, but his reignited personality had given Henry insight on what it was to become a cartoon character. There was a power struggle at first. The original human personality and the Toon's personality clashing in an effort to remain in or take full control. A chaotic and confusing process until one came out victorious. At first Boris had won… then Buddy had slowly begun resurfacing the more loops Henry went through. Now they had a mutual agreement. They needed each other to survive, and the same turned out to be true for Alice and Susie. Alice being the more dominant and jaded of the personalities, having long since fallen from grace after witnessing the sheer cruelty and lack of hope this abominable studio had to offer. Susie ended up being the weaker of the two, guarded by her dragon like a princess in a twisted castle. She sometimes spoke up, clearly disturbed by what their shared hands had done in the past, but Alice had too much of a grip on her to ever let her go. If Henry could properly appease the angel, he might be able to get to Susie as well. Give them… What? A glimmer of hope? Better than let them stew away in their rotten despair. "You're staying. I'm going." He pleaded with Buddy after taking the gifts left behind by Sammy and Jack. "Don't give me that look, I've told you what she does when she gets her hands on you…" A soft whine as the toon wolf pleaded for him to reconsider. "I know you worry, but I need to reach out to them. Even if it doesn't change much, they deserve some consideration." He pauses to think back on the tapes Susie had left, and then her final speech before he was forced to confront the brute Boris inevitably became. "After Joey used them it's the least I could do." Buddy (and no doubt Boris) growled in frustration before eloquently writing just what he thought of Joey. Henry crinkled his nose at the rather uncharacteristic choice of words, but the very last sentence made him smile somberly: “You don't have to fix Joey's mistakes.” "I wish it was that simple. I really do." It wasn't like he had a choice, not when Joey thought he could evade the responsibility himself and pin it on someone else.

Alice was fairly easy to butter up to. He'd entered her lair and sat through her little song like the patient man he was, and then when she finished up with her usual screeching finale he did something she didn't quite expect. He applauded. She was so caught off guard that she just stood there, even as the lights turned back on. Flabbergasted at the sudden adulation. "What a finish, truly miss Angel, you're quite a gal." He'd continued to clap, bowl of thick ink balancing precariously on top of his head. "I'd offer flowers, but sadly all I have on me is ink…" "...Why, what a flatterer…" She sounded uncertain, a hint of Susie just barely at the surface. She must have been quite shocked as well. No one had ever reacted to Twisted Alice's presence with such a welcoming embrace. She was a creature to be feared after all. "Flatterer? Me? My goodness miss Angel, don't tell me you don't get the occasional fan…" he removed the bowl from his head and made sure the thick black blob was quite visible to her. An enticing offering provided by Jack Fain. It's not like he needed the excess ink. "Sadly not. If only most visitors were as well mannered as you..." She crossed her arms, Alice's suspicions breaking through. "But that's to expect from the real creator, isn't it Henry?" "Glad to see some recognition, but honestly I can't be credited for any of this. Not when it's been… Altered to such a degree." Henry looked around with a saddened expression. "Joey really managed to taint everything he touched..." "Only if you let him." The Angel's hiss was a terrifying thing. "But it was so easy to let him in, wasn't it...? He had a way with words…" Susie was such a meek girl. A scared chick in a world conducted by the big bad wolf. And Alice? Alice was a fox that offered her protection. But Henry could be just as cunning provided he was given the chance. Always for a good reason, rather than satisfying his selfish desires. So very unlike his childhood friend. "Words were his weapon of choice, until that wasn't enough." Henry offered her the bowl, watching as she inspected it. Tested it's stability. She seemed pleased. "Why are you here, Henry? Why come back to this miserable place?" Alice's gaze was piercing, but not as malicious as it often was. "And I'm sure it's not due to nostalgia, or an excuse to flatter your way up to the heavens." "I think I knew once." He replied in truth, because you didn't lie to an angel. "But now? Now I'm not so sure… I think Joey liked that naivety on my part. It certainly worked to his advantage." "That it did, little errand boy. You're just as trapped as the rest of us…" She dismissed him. "You may pass freely… But don't think I'll show you mercy twice. You are, after all, still a thief." "What's a man to do but try to protect a poor pup?" He couldn't help tease as he made his way to the door. He was free to explore her lair and go on about his "day" without her tasks or her looming presence. That was good enough a reward for him, even if it didn't promise Buddy's freedom from the cruel fate that awaited him. "Such a shame that pup wasn't meant to be." Alice responded. "A shame indeed. He was such a nice boy..."

This particular encounter gave him a lot to think. The people he'd once assumed to be monsters weren't inherently malicious. That much he'd figured from Sammy's behaviour after he'd played nice. But while most chose to cower and cry, or lose themselves to desperation and lies, Alice was simply resigned to the hand she'd been dealt. Because, honestly, she was in a terrible position to begin with. Even if Susie clearly wanted better, for the both of them. In the end, the angel was only trying to protect her vessel even if Joey set her on a most cruel path. She was tired of grasping on to shallow hopes of ever getting out. Rather be the hunter than the prey. That run, his old friend seemed even more frustrated with him. "Stop humanizing them. There's nothing you can do for them." Joey had grit out through his teeth, trying to keep a smile that was as insincere as his speeches. "You're wrong. There is something I can do." He'd responded, unbothered by the anger in his captor's words. "And what's that?" "Treat them with decency, which is something you never did."

The Projectionist was a challenge. From what he could tell, Norman Polk had essentially gone feral from years of agony and isolation. Most of the Lost Ones even considered him a dumb and very violent animal. Alice thought of him as useful. Susie felt a terrible pity for him. And Buddy? Buddy both feared and felt anguish when confronted with the Projectionist's presence. Henry had known him for a short while, so he could understand the sentiment. Norman had been a good albeit quirky man. "He looked after us…" Susie spoke over the intercom. "He was so kind. It hurts to see him like this… A monster."

While Alice didn't let up on her list of tasks, and did indeed always take the cartoon wolf as scripted, she'd started letting Susie come forth to speak to Henry. She had a lot to say. "If I knew how, I'd help him." He watched the Projectionist walk through the flooded maze of projectors and hearts. Each step heavy, and the clicking of the projectors somewhat deafening. Occasionally it let out a soft crackly noise from its speaker. "You'd die." Alice interjected. "How so?" "Why do you think it takes hearts, Henry?" The twisted angel asked. Come to think of it, he'd never considered the why of its actions. "It's because its own was stolen long ago." "Joey stole his heart?" "No my dear errand boy." Alice chuckled bitterly, before Susie took hold. "Sammy did…"

Joey was getting awfully frustrated with him, so Henry gave in and followed the plot to a t on the next three runs. He needed to think anyway. Think of how to address the problem. Because, really, how would he convince Sammy to halt his ritual to look for something he might not even recall ever having stolen? And then there was the matter of giving it back to the Projectionist without getting brutally killed. He decided to just wing it on his next break. Starting with visiting Jack with more coffee, if just to get Sammy to talk. It worked, but the prophet seemed hesitant to talk about the resident of level 14. "That beast is a dangerous one… Nothing but my lord can stop it's rampage." "That beast is looking for something someone took from him." Henry explained. "Or so I've been told." "And how am I to fix this exactly, little sheep?" The deranged cultist crossed his arms. "Surely you mustn't think of me as a miracle worker?" "Help me find it. I've been told you might know where to look."

Truth be told Sammy had no idea what he was on about, but he was adamant to repay him for once again bringing some semblance of joy into his favourite "sheep's" life. Luckily there wasn't any need to run around in futility, searching for something that might be long gone. The prophet's memory issues resulted in Sammy placing items he considered of value in the same place. A box hidden under the floorboards beneath the cot he'd set up in his sanctuary. Unluckily, a heart was not among the objects he'd stored. At least it seemed so since it wasn't anywhere to be found in the box of trinkets. "Damn it…" he sighed sadly. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. "I am sorry to disappoint." The Bendy mask betrayed no real emotions, so Henry wasn't too sure if the apology was genuine. He sounded a little miffed about having his personal space invaded, but didn't act upon it. "What is it you seek, exactly?"

Looking through the box, Henry gave a nonchalant shrug. He picked up a golden locket that was coated in dry ink, turning it slowly in his hand as he tried to figure out how to surpass this bump in the road. Sammy quickly reached out and took it from him, clearly upset that he'd touch his personal belongings. "Don't touch that." The cultist hissed. "Sorry…" he watched him put the locket back into the box, next to what appeared to be a series of unlabeled tapes. There was also a chain with a ring on it, and a few other trinkets that seemed to hold some sentimental value. "I know you can't remember much… but… Did you ever take a heart? A literal heart?" "A… Heart..." "Yes. I know it sounds strange but--" "Not at all. They're plentiful down below." Sammy shrugged "Delicious too… More so than the ink or the soup. I cannot explain how."

And Henry would rather not have him explain, because his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. He’d killed people before as a soldier, seen horrific things, but the thought of someone describing eating a human-ish heart made him sick. "Then, yes a heart. Maybe not an ink one." He added, trying to keep the conversation on track. The ex-music director paused, tapping a finger to the chin of the mask, before staring down at his own chest. Much to Henry's horror, he plunged his fist into his own torso and pulled out…Well it must have been a heart at some point. Now it looked like an amalgamation of stitched flesh and all sorts of wires and weird clicking mechanisms. A perfect fit for the quasi-mechanical monster skulking around level 14. "Would this be the heart in question?" "W-what were you keeping it literally on your person for?!" He couldn't help spit out, much to the annoyance of the deranged ink man. "Where would YOU keep a heart?" He huffed "It was safer here… And it felt important."

No kidding. And important it was, to the point where Sammy didn’t want to give it back. How was Henry going to convince him to do so? Well… “The person it belongs to needs it back.” He pleaded. “Can’t you please hand it over so I can give it to him?” “I cannot trust that you’d find the rightful owner.” Sammy stated. “Sheep need guidance, not to guide. And you, little sheep, are risking falling prey to the wolves.” "I can assure you I know the owner, and so do you." At least he had, once. "The Projectionist needs it back Sammy. Please, be reasonable." "I am being reasonable. I'm protecting this from that horrific beast!" He held the heart closer to himself, very likely glaring beneath his mask. "It doesn't need protecting from him! It needs to go back to him!" Henry argued back. The old cartoonist was getting fed up. "No!"

That was… not the right answer. At least not when Henry was so close to a breakthrough. Or so he thought. He regretted what he had to do to get that heart in the end. Killing an unarmed man felt like cowardice, even if it was for a good cause.

Level 14 was always such a dreary place. Even with a newfound goal, an old veteran like Henry still felt uneasy going through such a maze. After being forced to kill Sammy that run, he wanted good results. If just to justify his actions as being for the greater good. They… weren't. The Projectionist charged as usual upon seeing him, and Henry had to fight his instincts to flee. Instead he held out his gift, closed his eyes, and prayed. No pain came, but the scream… That gutteral and mechanical crackling of sheer agony. Like hot iron had struck flesh. The Projectionist was screaming, it's chest ripping itself open to reclaim the missing piece. And then, when the wires shot out and took back the heart, the screaming only intensified. Boris took hold of the body he shared with Buddy. The cartoon wolf howling in despair to match the screams while curling into a tight shaking ball in the elevator. The Projectionist fell on its knees as it continued to scream. Henry's mind was fraying just listening to it. Watching the pitiful beast claw at its mending chest and screech until its speaker could handle no more. A loud pop filled the air, and suddenly there was no sound. But the clawing continued The convulsing carried on. It was screaming without a voice and it was all Henry's fault. Coward that he was, he ran to the elevator and slammed a hand against the buttons. His eyes too blurry from regretful tears to see where he'd end up. Alice and Susie remained quiet. Their silence was damning. Condemning his actions and allowing his conscience to fall heavy with guilt.

That time, once he set foot in the quaint New York apartment, Henry shakily sat down at Joey's table and stared into nothingness. A tired hollow man that couldn't bring himself to look at the grinning devil that was positively gloating with joy. "I told you so." A choked sob and bitter tears followed. Henry hated how careful Joey's hands were as he wiped away his tears, and as he murmured sweet words into his ear. That burning cobalt gaze aglow with the flames of victory. Fuck him. Fuck Joey Drew. This old war veteran would not give in so easily. He just had to try harder.

There was no point in following the plot. He felt like he had to fix the mishaps of his last run before he even tried to offer his services to either Tom or Allison. This much was clear once he stepped foot in the sewers, because instead of being happy to see him or even feeling timid, Jack outright attacked him on sight. Gurgling and hissing in rage at him having hurt Sammy in his last run. "I know… I'm sorry…" he kept the irate swollen searcher at bay if only just barely, hoping to appease him with his sincerest regrets. "Can you take me to Sammy? I… I want to make it up to him. What I did was wrong."

More than wrong. It was damaging. Because instead of the usual inky figure clad in overalls, boots and a Bendy mask, Henry was met with a shivering searcher with said mask. "Oh Sammy… I'm so sorry." He was at risk of getting his throat ripped out, but he still couldn't help kneeling down to make himself look less threatening to the frightened creature. The searcher didn't try to retaliate, instead it clutched its chest and groaned pitifully. "I know what I did was wrong. But so was keeping Norman's heart." Not that Sammy wasn't aware of this. He'd claimed it to be important, and he'd wanted to protect it, but he'd also been reluctant to give it back. People's selfishness had already done so much damage to this studio, it was only cruelly ironic that in trying to do the right thing Henry too had been quite selfish. "Is there any way I can make this less painful for you?"

Gesturing vaguely at the searcher's current state explained enough. The creature that had at one point been a prophet that had in turn been Sammy Lawrence, seemed to hum in thought before nodding slowly. It dragged itself towards the upstairs, motioning for Henry to follow. He did so, with Jack right on his tail if only to keep a suspicious eye on him. Back in the music department Sammy proceeded towards his Sanctuary, which Henry quickly got to work on unlocking for himself. He couldn't exactly do the little wall trick Sammy did to get around. Once the projector turned on and he plucked or hit every correct note, Henry strolled towards the opening shutter. Sammy greeted him with his box of trinkets. "Is there something in there you need?" He adjusted his glasses as he asked, trying to get a better look at the contents. The searcher nodded eagerly and pointed at a vinyl record, way at the bottom of the pile. "Oh… you want me to play that for you?"

More eager nodding and a wet sounding slap on the ground. Well it wasn't much but considering Sammy refused to touch it for fear of covering it in ink, Henry thought perhaps he hadn't heard any music in far too long. Besides the "hymns" he played for his Lord. "Willow Weep for Me? I don't think I've heard this one." With careful hands he took the vinyl from the box and began to look for a record player. The dinged up gramophone in the corner was almost beckoning him to play it. Once he'd turned it on, the melody was quite soothing. His two searcher companions seemed to think the same. Jack seemed to finally relax and practically curled up near the record player, while Sammy seemed to bob slightly to the tune. Henry simply closed his eyes and listened to the music, only opening them back up when broken words began to sing along. Sammy's form was repairing itself. Slowly, but steadily. Going from slouching and being half submerged in a puddle to looking like he was kneeling on regenerating legs.

"Willo- we'p for…" the prophet coughed "...me."

Not too long after Sammy's recovery, Henry left the music department. He had a lot of preparations to make if he wanted to do any more actual good rather than having a repeat of the last run. Hopefully Sammy would be in higher spirits once they met back up in the harbour. As loathsome as it was to fight him, it was better to see him so full of energy than cowering in a puddle. He already knew what he could do for the duo of survivors, but he had to make a few stops along the way. Starting with giving Buddy the notebook he carried on his person, and Boris his favourite bone. It was a delight seeing the toon wolf's eyes light up as he flipped through several pages of doodles, while he happily gnawed on that suspiciously human sized bone. Then he went to Alice and requested an actual "date" with the angel. Not in the romantic sense mind you, he loved his beautiful Linda like the goddess she was. He merely wanted to sit down, have a can of coffee, and talk. Let Susie feel normal for a little while after both she and the angel witnessed what happened to the Projectionist. Afterwards, he checked up on said ink creature and noted that it wasn't roaming like usual. Instead the Projectionist was sitting on a crate, staring at the wall where one of several Bendy cartoons was playing. It even chose to ignore Henry when he approached, one hand clutching its chest in slight pain. Still adjusting to what had been restored. On his way out, Henry swore he heard a soft "thank you" under all the crackling and static of its speaker.

The Lost Ones greeted him with their sorrowful gaze as usual and he replied not with fear or revulsion as he once did, but with a kind smile and promises that one day he'd find a way to make it better. It wasn't immediate freedom like they desired, but it was something more tangible. Something more human. The path to fighting Buddy in his brutish form was as harrowing as ever, but Henry's mind was set. He left cans of soup out for the Butcher Gang, oiled the joints of the octopus ride Bertrum Piedmont's disembodied head resided in, talked to the animatronic despite having no proof that it actually moved, and even greeted the Ink Demon from within the Little Miracle Station where it always fought the Projectionist. Henry could practically feel Joey's outrage at his nonchalant actions. His carefree actions despite the hopelessness of his situation. Of their situation. Then when he met with Tom and Allison, he promptly disarmed himself and offered them his tools,before accepting captivity without a word. Once questioned, he gave them the honest truth. Hard to believe, but Allison was not as suspicious as her canine companion. It wasn't difficult to give her the proof she needed to know he was being genuine. Pity to see her so crushed that there really was no escape in their foreseeable future. Not just yet. But still a possibility. After all, the others were remembering with each gesture of kindness he offered them. "Joey wants us to feel less than human." He told the not-quite-angel. "It's how he keeps us in the linearity of his failed ending. He can't accept that he can't win." "But neither can we. Otherwise we'd already be free?" Allison sighed, Tom offering her a gentle pay with his good arm as they left the Harbour. "Maybe, but giving up hope is the last thing I'd ever do. Then I'd just be letting him win." Henry calmly replied,ready to plummet very soon as he began walking over the precarious boards. "Joey is a man who dreams big. What he never did was have any faith in said dreams… Instead he forced others to do it for him. I'm tired of being his scapegoat, and maybe we won't get out today or tomorrow, but there's only so much he can throw at me until he gives in." "So we outlive his dreams?" Allison asked. "No. We just outlive Joey instead." With that said, Henry walked forward and felt as light as a feather as he fell into the depths. There was one last person to show some decency to. Even the demon deserved a gesture of kindness.

Joey Drew was furious. For all that he'd spoke of belief and dreams in his many speeches he knew that Henry Stein, that stubborn fool, was right. There was only so much he could throw into the plot before he grew tired. His body was already giving in to time itself, and he'd never quite perfected his methods enough that he could make himself a reliable new form. Not without risking becoming one of the abominations… Buddy Lewek's Boris had been a fluke. A lucky match. The rest? The rest were adamant to not be what he'd set them to be reborn as. Even Susie had failed to emulate the character she so loved. And Henry? Oh his blood boiled… Why couldn't Henry give in?! Joey was so close,so close to getting his perfect Bendy. If the traitor would just let the Ink Demon consume him!

A knock on the door caused him to rip up his storyboard with the ink pen he'd been using. Cursing himself, Joey crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash can besides his desk. Already it was overflowing with similarly crumpled papers covered in ink stains. Looking at the clock, a few more profanities spewed from his mouth as he turned his wheelchair around. Who, for the love of God, was knocking on his door at 3AM?! Wheeling himself over, Joey practically ripped the door open. "What?!" He didn't care if he was rude. His mood was completely sour and he hated being interrupted. To his shock and confusion, he was met with a face he thought he'd never get to see again. Nathan Arch smiled down at him with that unnerving toothy smile of his. "Hello to you too, Mr. Drew." Joey blinked up at his old friend and rival. He hadn't heard from Arch since… Since he'd bought the studio and the Bendy IP… What could he possibly want now, when he'd already taken so much? "Mr. Arch." He regained his composure. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Oh, just dropping by to discuss something… Something very interesting." The man used his leg to gently push Joey out of his way, arms crossed behind his back as he invited himself in and began looking around. Joey glared behind his back and closed the door. "At 3AM? Even for you, a punctual man, this is a bit much." He stated as he uneasily observed Nathan as he looked through his storyboards. "Couldn't it have waited until a more reasonable hour?" "Since when were we reasonable men, Joey? Especially when you've been so… Cruel to me." The other turned to stare at him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "The machine… Joey. You took the machine." "Of course I did. It's mine." And no one else's. Not that fool Thomas Connor's, nor GENT's. The Ink Machine was his and his alone. "Yours is the studio and even my work. But the machine will never not be mine." "Oh, that's where you're wrong. You see,the GENT contract you signed stated that it belongs to the studio… Thus, it belongs to me." Nathan stalked over, arms coming to rest on Joey's shoulder. "It's as simple as that." "Not quite. As it is, it can't be moved…" "Ah yes. Your little… Project." Nathan chuckled. "Show me. Show me the homunculus…"

There was no saying no to Mr. Arch, and no actual way he’d be able to physically force him out, so Joey complied to his request. Wheeling back into his office where the machine resided, Nathan followed and watched with glee as Joey called upon the Ink Demon itself. It stood there, in all its despicably gruesome glory, staring at both men without visible eyes. It shrunk away from Joey, just as it always had. "It's magnificent…" the awe in Nathan's voice was disturbing. "It's a freak of nature." Joey hissed. "Imperfect and incomplete." "In who's eyes, dear friend? Here stands defiance to God's will. Life created by the creation." The Ink Demon shivered, holding it's head in its mismatched hands. Trying to block out their words. "Why throw it away so eagerly just because it didn't correctly follow the template?" "Because it's not enough! It needs to be perfect! It needs to be all we've ever dreamed of!" "We? Oh Joey darling… did you really think creating a living toon would ever bring back your beloved Henry? Did you think he'd ever want you? When he had such a lovely girl that could give him what you never could?" Nathan laughed cruelly. "Henry Stein left you, because you were a selfish boar. And then you were so hung up on trying to win him back with extravagance that you couldn't stop and see what you already had! God above Joey, you were so desperate you hired a mere child that reminded you of Henry, only to torture him the same way you tortured your employees…"

The Ink Demon looked to them again, flinching when Nathan stalked forward and grabbed it by the chin. "This, Joey, is not a failure! It's the doorway to immortality. A vessel of timelessness. A godly power that you rejected vehemently." Nathan's eyes were becoming crazed, that dangerous spark devolving into an inescapable madness and anger. "For what end exactly? To give it away to some shmuck that could never truly appreciate it?! Well… that won't do. That won't do at all!"

And without warning Nathan Arch did something Joey couldn't believe he'd ever dare. He plunged a fist into the Ink Demon itself, and tore out it's heart. "NO!" "If you won't accept this gift, then I shall!"

There was nothing to be done. The ink demon shrieked and soon the machine began its work. Ink flowed out of the nozzle, mixing with the distorting melting figure of the demon and pulling both it, and both men inside. As the world around them passed by, Joey could only watch as the ink began to claim both his form and the form of the one who dared intrude in his project. They both fell with a wet splat, a large puddle, before taking two very distinct newly reborn and remade forms. One a towering grinning demon with disturbingly human teeth. The other a little devil in a suit. The studio was without a narrator. This was the end.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Henry Stein #Joey Drew

12 notes · View notes