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taizi · 3 years

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the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter three: build bridges with these arms

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying, jiang cheng/wen qing word count: 3794 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

Jiang Cheng doesn’t remember dropping the phone, but he must have, because Wen Qing is holding it now and talking to A-Li in the sharp, rapid-fire way she speaks when she’s frightened. He doesn’t remember getting off the couch or leaving the room, but he’s pacing back and forth on the veranda, the warm glow of the porch light pushing away encroaching nightfall. And he doesn’t remember Wei Ying coming after him, but his brother is there, watching with wide, anxious eyes, his hands balled into fists in the front of his shirt.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Jiang Cheng bites out, his heart beating so fast it’s painful. “I can’t believe she didn’t fucking—she didn’t fucking call? She couldn’t let us know that—that our sister—”

“Maybe she meant to,” Wei Ying says hoarsely. “Maybe she—forgot.”

“Our mother never forgot a single thing in her fucking life as long as she could hold it against us.” He’s so angry he feels brittle with it, as though moving too much or too fast would cause his body to break. “A-Li asked her to call us and she didn’t. A-Li wanted us there and we weren’t.”

His baby nephew was coming early, and his sister was having an emergency C-section, and his brother-in-law was pacing a waiting room by himself for hours waiting desperately for good news, and Jiang Cheng was just fucking around in a lake the whole time.

A-Li’s voice was so tired and shaky that Jiang Cheng knew, inherently, how bad it was.

She didn’t say it on the phone, of course she didn’t, but she didn’t need to. All of Jin Ling’s useless uncles have been reading every article about pregnancy and prenatal care that they could get their hands on from the moment A-Li told them she was expecting, and they each, to a man, could probably write a white paper on the risks of preterm labor.

Yanli could have died from complications. It wasn’t unheard of even now, in the twenty-first century. She could have bled too much, could have been gone, and Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have known until it was too late. He wouldn’t have been there to hold her.

Mother was supposed to call. She didn’t.

It’s like the sudden collapsing of some integral foundation. The weight-bearing limit was reached and the floor is crumbling beneath him and this building he’s lived in his whole life that he mistook for mortar and stone is actually some childish construction of paper and wax. This place he thought would withstand storm and fire and erosion is finally falling apart after so many years of careful repairs, so much frantic patchwork.

Mother hurt them over and over and over again, but she was still their mother. Family is just hard, Jiang Cheng had always thought. Family hurts. That’s just the way it is, it just costs you every day, and you’re always discovering how much farther you can push your threshold, how much more you can actually take.

Except... his siblings never hurt him. Never on purpose. He doesn’t look at A-Li or A-Ying and feel anything but fondness and exasperation and loyalty for them. He would do anything for them.

Wen Ning plainly adores his sister, and Wen Qing’s world revolves around her brother. None of their immediate relatives stepped in to help them after the fire, clearly screening their calls, none of them eager to sacrifice their time or money, but Granny has been almost a constant presence in their lives since they got here. She adopted all of them, no relation required.

Wei Ying came to the Jiangs when he was five, an emergency placement with the second family listed on his parents’ will, because his legal godfather was dealing with the death of his brother and sister-in-law, and the subsequent adoption of his young nephews. By the time Lan Qiren could be reached and came dashing to New York, it had been almost a week, and Wei Ying and A-Li and Jiang Cheng were all comfortably attached at the hip.

Rather than uproot his traumatized godson again, so soon after the initial upheaval of his young life, Lan Qiren reached an agreement with mother and father to let Wei Ying stay with them. He paid for all of Wei Ying’s expenses and then some. Jiang Cheng only knows because mother likes to complain about being short-changed when she’s drunk.

And then when his nephews were a little older, and he could step down from his role as director of a ridiculously prestigious music school, Uncle Qiren retired, and relocated his family from Suzhou to New York City. Wei Ying always had a second place to go home to if he needed one. His siblings were always welcome there, too. Uncle Qiren was strict and never let them get away with a goddamn thing, but he keeps all their pictures on his desk.

Family, Jiang Cheng finally realizes at twenty-three years old, isn’t supposed to hurt.

You’re supposed to be loved. You’re not supposed to have to buy it.

Wei Ying is crying in that awful, silent way he cries, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to make a sound. Jiang Cheng storms over and drags him into a hug that’s probably too tight, and Wei Ying hugs him back just as hard, and for a moment that’s all there is.

Night is creeping in around them, inky and inexorable. They’re suspended in the warm orange porch light like a couple of sailors marooned at sea. Jiang Cheng holds onto his brother, and finally lets go of someone else.

It is silently agreed-upon that Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying need to see their sister. Wei Ying tries to apologize for leaving in the middle of retiling one of the bathrooms and Wen Qing gets properly angry with him for it.

“He’ll finish when he comes back,” Jiang Cheng promises, which ends up sounding more like a promise that they’re going to come back at all.

“The tiles in the bathroom are literally the least of my concerns,” Wen Qing snaps, and that sounds more like she’s saying she doesn’t need a promise, she knows they will.

They barely pack anything, they just sort of move around the house in anxious circles until the airport shuttle shows up, and then they shove on their shoes and grab blindly for bags and jackets.

Goodbyes are made on the veranda. After living together and rebuilding a home together, the embraces come easily. Jiang Cheng doesn’t even have a chance to feel self-conscious about any of it.

“The tickets should be in your email,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying checks his phone and frowns. “You only got two?”

Lan Zhan says, “I will stay here.”

His eyes are dark and unreadable, but Wei Ying must see something in them that Jiang Cheng doesn’t. He drops his bag and shuffles forward and Lan Zhan puts his arms around him. He stands there like some ancient, immovable structure, like a load-bearing wall, like Wei Ying could bring absolutely anything to him and Lan Zhan would help him hold it.

“Give the bunnies a hundred kisses for me while I’m gone,” Wei Ying mumbles against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, muffled and wet in a telling way.

“A hundred kisses,” Lan Zhan agrees solemnly, and presses the first one into Wei Ying’s hair.

A-Yuan, holding Wen Ning’s hand, largely confused and a little troubled by the tense atmosphere, earnestly assures that he’ll take care of the bunnies. Wei Ying ruffles his hair playfully, and then finally seems ready to go.

“Try not to let the place fall apart without me,” Jiang Cheng says to Wen Qing.

“I’ll do my best,” she replies. She doesn’t reach out to him with her hands, but her eyes seem to.

Jiang Cheng can’t get her eyes out of his head.

Yanli is pale and tired and beautiful. She lifts her head as they come into her private hospital room, and then lifts her arms immediately, and Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying both run to her like they’re children again. She’s sobbing, trying to wrap her frail arms around them as hard as she can.

“I missed you so much,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Jiang Cheng can’t think of how close they came to losing her or he’ll go insane. He just sits on the edge of the bed and holds both of his siblings and doesn’t make fun of Wei Ying for crying as much as Yanli.

Jin Zixuan comes in with a nurse and a bassinet at that point, and there are deep bruises under his eyes and his clothes are as unkempt as Jiang Cheng has ever seen them, but he’s smiling.

The nurse bustles around cheerfully, checking vitals and talking to A-Li about how well the results of some screening or another turned out, but Jiang Cheng can’t focus on anything except the tiny little swaddle of butter-yellow blankets that Jin Zixuan is lifting out of the bassinet.

“A-Ling, this is your Uncle Cheng,” Jin Zixuan says softly, passing the infant into Jiang Cheng’s arms. He doesn’t take his hands away until Jiang Cheng’s apparent panic must have faded, and then he’s suddenly sitting there holding his nephew.

Jin Ling is faintly purple, and his tiny limbs are all curled up like he still hasn’t realized he has room to stretch them out now, and his face is pinched in a moue of absolute distaste for the world in general.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says. He leans against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, smoothing a finger against the soft mop of dark hair on Jin Ling’s head, and the tiny seashell curl of his ear, impossibly gentle. “What a weird-looking baby.”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Jiang Cheng snaps. Now he’s crying, too. “He’s perfect.”

Yanli is beaming at them, leaning into the arm that Jin Zixuan wraps around her shoulders, and asks about California. Wei Ying launches into animated chatter about all their projects and all their progress. Surrounded by them, some jangling, dislocated thing in Jiang Cheng’s chest finally begins to settle.

The day that A-Li and Ling-er are discharged from the hospital, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng are skulking around the overpriced gift shop on the first floor. Lan Huan is with them, and Jiang Cheng is trying to talk him down from spending eighty dollars on a giant teddy bear, when he sees her.

His mother, making her way through the lobby toward them. Something cold and sharp replaces the warm golden core of him in an instant. He puts a hand on Lan Huan’s shoulder and says, “Keep my brother here.”

Lan Huan blinks. His eyes follow Jiang Cheng’s gaze, and his pleasant expression sours.

“Of course,” he says. “He can help me pick out a bear.”

“Jesus christ, with the bears,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and shoulders past him to get out of the gift shop, cutting his mother off outside the door.

“So you’re finally home,” she says by way of greeting. “Did you enjoy your vacation?”

“We’re not doing this here,” he mutters, hyper-aware of Wei Ying puttering around somewhere not even ten feet away. Turning on his heel, Jiang Cheng leads the way past the gift shop, away from the busy atrium and the receptionist’s desk, trusting his mother’s need to have the last word will compel her to follow.

He stops abruptly in an empty hallway somewhere between the billing and record departments and turns to face her.

“I didn’t come here today to play childish games,” mother says, sounding weary of him, of all things.

And it hurts, how much Jiang Cheng still loves her. How much he still wants to love her. His entire life is a series of attempts to trick her into feeling something for him, feeling anything for him. Trying to win her affection. Attempting the impossible.

“You didn’t call,” he says.

Yu Ziyuan scoffs. “You made it fairly clear that you weren’t interested in anything I had to say to you.”

“A-Li wanted you to call,” Jiang Cheng insists, the temper he inherited cresting inside him like a wave, or a wall of fire. “She could have—do you even care that she could have died? That she was scared? She wanted you to call us. And you just decided not to, to get back at us for disobeying you? I’m twenty-three years old! If I want to go to California to help my friends, I’ll go to fucking California!”

He’s never in his life raised his voice at her like this. A small, childish corner of his heart quails from the stunned anger on her face.

He clenches his fists to keep his hands from shaking.

“You stay the fuck away from us,” Jiang Cheng snarls. “All of us. I mean it. We’re done.”

Family, he thinks, isn’t supposed to hurt.

When he starts to step past her, mother grabs his arm hard enough that her long nails manage to pinch even through the sleeve of his denim jacket.

Knee-jerk, he rips himself away from her. He never forgets to flinch.

His mother stares at him like she’s never seen anything like him before, her hand hovering in the air between them. Jiang Cheng takes a step back, and then another.

He thinks of his sister’s precious life, his nephew’s, used as some sort of bargaining chip.

“We’re done,” he says. It comes out quieter than he meant for it to. It comes out sounding like he really, actually means it.

If something flickers in his mother’s expression, if her hand trembles, if she shifts towards him, he doesn’t see it. He’s already spinning around and heading back the way he came, not quite fast enough to call it fleeing. When Jiang Cheng rounds the corner, he runs headlong into someone who catches him by the shoulder before he can stumble.

Wei Ying’s gray eyes are wide and full of pain. Jiang Cheng doesn’t need to know how much he overheard to know that all that hurt is for Jiang Cheng’s sake, and A-Li’s, with hardly any left over for himself. Wei Ying never had to wonder if Yu Ziyuan loved him—he always knew she didn’t, no matter how much his siblings tried to convince him she did.

Jiang Cheng sinks forward against him, head falling against Wei Ying’s shoulder. He’s still trembling with anger, but now it feels more like grief.

Wei Ying hugs him, cheek pressed to Jiang Cheng’s hair, and after a moment he rocks them both from side-to-side.

“Come on, A-Cheng,” he says gently. “You’ll feel better once you see how much Lan Huan spent on Ling-er’s teddy bear.”

“Oh my god,” Jiang Cheng mutters. He already feels a little bit better.

They end up leaving a week later. A-Li promises to come visit the second the baby is cleared for travel, and kisses Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying both on the cheek. Jin Zixuan waves goodbye at them with Ling-er’s tiny hand.

Flying stand-by gets them home whole hours ahead of schedule, and they land in California at something like two in the morning. Neither of them want to wake up their friends, so they spend a small fortune on an Uber instead.

Predictably, Wei Ying’s eyelids start to droop the second the car pulls onto the highway. Jiang Cheng only nudges him awake when they enter city limits. As they pass the township sign, Jiang Cheng’s heart twists in his chest, like a dog perking up at the sound of a key in the front door. The Uber driver squints in confusion at the GPS screen, so Wei Ying leans up over the middle console to direct him down the proper county road.

They pull up in front of the villa and Jiang Cheng’s whole body sort of sighs in relief.

Wei Ying is beelining towards the front door before Jiang Cheng is even entirely out of the car, juggling bags to dig his keys out of his pocket. He’s got that look on his face of single-minded focus, a look that says he is going to get to his fiance in the next two minutes even if he has to break a window to do it.

“You’re so dumb,” Jiang Cheng says, and shoulders him aside to unlock the door.

“Your face is dumb,” Wei Ying retorts maturely. He kicks off his boots and drops his bags by the door, and then races for the stairs like it’s been thirteen years since he’s seen Lan Zhan instead of like thirteen days. “Night!” he whisper-shouts over his shoulder.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and locks the door behind him. He leans against the wall to tug the laces of his sneakers loose and tosses them toward the shoe rack. Shouldering Wei Ying’s bags with his own he deposits all of them inside the big French armoire that functions as an entry-way closet.

Reflexively, he checks in on the rabbits on his way through the living room. They’re fast asleep in their expansive two-story hutch that sprawls half the length of the wall. Muttering derisively about his brother’s taste in men, Jiang Cheng snags a blanket off the back of the sofa and steps through the narrow doorway into the den.

Wen Qing is fast asleep at her desk, face buried in her folded arms. She’s been doing this ever since she resumed her classes.

Shaking his head, Jiang Cheng leans over her laptop to save all her work, then closes it so it’ll have some battery life left in the morning. He drapes the blanket over her slumped shoulders carefully.

“I’m home,” he tells her quietly. She doesn’t wake up, but he didn’t mean for her to.

Wei Ying is greeted the next morning by a screech. A-Yuan flings himself away from the breakfast table to attach himself to Wei Ying’s leg.

“You’re back!”

“I’m back!” Wei Ying says, hauling the kid up into his arms. “And I brought you so many souvenirs from New York!”

There are mouth-shaped bruises on Wei Ying’s neck, because of course there are. Jiang Cheng prays to god for any shred of fucking patience and pointedly doesn’t look at him or Lan Zhan. How fucking dare they be like that right in front of his eggs.

When they’ve eaten, Granny says, “Everyone has a big surprise for you two. They hurried to get it done before you got home. A-Ning, go find your sister. Let’s show them.”

They’re shuffled outside, through the conservatory and down the back steps, and Jiang Cheng sees it a half-second before Wei Ying does. He grins, full and wide, and hears his brother gasp.

“You finished the dock!” Wei Ying yells. “It looks amazing!”

He goes running down the hill with Wen Ning and A-Yuan like a summer storm composed of loud, delighted noises and waving limbs. Lan Zhan follows slowly with Granny hanging onto his arm. Jiang Cheng watches after them, reaching into the corners of his chest for the pain that always comes hand-in-hand with moments of impossible joy like this, but he can’t seem to find it.

“The contractor said he would give us an estimate on a pavilion,” Wen Qing’s voice says from behind him.

Jiang Cheng turns to find her standing on the porch, leaning against the door, her hair still messy from sleep. She’s holding the blanket around her shoulders where he left it. Her eyes are reaching for him.

He’s braver than he was when he left.

“That’s a pretty permanent fixture,” Jiang Cheng says, heart beating wildly. “You sure you’re invested in something like that?”

She sighs in that way that means she’s laughing and comes down the steps to join the rest of her family by the water.

When the pavilion is finished, they have a wedding there.

It’s a small ceremony. The Lans are invited, of course, along with Jin Zixuan’s half-brother and a scattering of close friends, like Mianmian and Nie Huaisang. A-Yuan is the ring-bearer, and when he’s successfully delivered the rings to the grooms, he lifts his arms in a bid to be held.

Laughingly, Wei Ying scoops him up. His hair is loose and his eyes are bright, and Lan Zhan is looking at him the way he’s always looking at him, like he would follow him absolutely anywhere.

Just this once, Jiang Cheng will allow it.

The daylight is fading fast, and the night is going to be perfect and clear. Yanli and Wen Ning are spinning each other around in time to the music, totally out of step with everyone else and laughing brightly. Granny is taking a fussy A-Ling back up to the villa to put him to bed in the nursery that every single one of them spent way too much time and energy on, leaving Jin Zixuan free to nurse a glass of sparkling grape juice and stare judgmentally at his half-brother for flirting with Lan Huan. Jiang Cheng might join him for some judgmental staring, actually.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are slow-dancing with a giggling A-Yuan held between them. The water rocks gently against the posts, crowded with the lily pads and lotus flowers that Jin Zixuan carefully maintains for A-Li. Wen Qing crosses the dock to Jiang Cheng, and her hand slips easily into his.

And none of it hurts. It isn’t supposed to.

Their house waited empty for a long, long time, but they’re all finally home.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #yunmeng shuangjie #wangxian #jiang cheng #wei ying #wen qing #lan zhan #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #the ship sways

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stuckonvenus · 3 years

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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 » Ellie & Becca

Ｊｕｌｙ３１ｓｔ，１９９８

The saying goes as such: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb... or whatever. Honestly I have only ever applied this proverb to my relationship with my sister whenever we weren’t in mortal peril. While I have plenty of friends and acquaintances who I’ve shared battlefields with (i.e. the morning after a party), that never made me any closer to them in a real crisis. I would say about seventy-five percent of the time that the blood is thicker than the water, and the remaining twenty-five percent is when the water isn’t necessarily thicker, but more pressurized. That’s the only time in our lives when we’ve ever come together as sisters.

Well, this is the twenty five percent, and never has the feeling of being sucked and trapped against a fissure at the bottom of the Challenger Deep been more realized than now. It doesn’t help that my bladder is about to implode and leak the citrus-flavored toxic waste I’ve consumed in rapid succession over the past half hour into my visceral fat and contaminate all my vital organs.

I waddle awkwardly through the narrow doorway of Page One and slam my tiny palm onto the countertop. A bookkeeper who I can recognize as my lab partner from sophomore year chemistry pokes his nose out from the novel he’s immersed in. Moby Dick. Jesus, who reads school assigned books after graduation?

“Hey, Drew-Drew,” I greet him, a lopsided grin fitted on my lips as he brushes his hair out of his eyes and offers me a smile in return. He has a lot more charisma than I remember. I think his eyes have gotten bigger and bluer, too. It reminds me of the water’s surface I’m staring up at from the very bottom of the ocean. “Where’s Becky at?”

Drew dog-ears his page — which is kind of disgusting to me, do they not sell bookmarks in this busted ass joint? — and he points toward the graphic novel section. “Over there, we just got Spider-Man #76, she’s stocking up.”

“... Didn’t #76 come out in January? Of last year?” I ask him. He opens his mouth so he can answer but I stop him with a raised hand. “No time. You’re lookin’ good, Drew-Drew, considerably less like a delicious pepperoni pizza. Keep it up with the Oxy Pads.” I say before pushing away from the counter and venturing off to my destination.

Indeed, my older sister is crouched down and rustling with a display, slightly disgruntled by the symmetry of the copies of Spider-Man she’s stocking. I don’t really have any witty remarks as a smooth enough introduction, so I settle with, “Need help?”

She whips around and I can almost hear the crack in her spinal cord from the velocity. “Lily?” she half-whispers. I forget that I haven’t seen her since late May, and also that I swore I’d never see her again.

“In the flesh,” I confirm and do a curtsey, which threatens my full bladder. I really need to piss soon or else I’ll die a terribly death in the shittiest bookstore on the eastern seaboard. “Do you have a sec? It’s 9-1-1.”

Becca’s expression shifts from awe and minor annoyance to something resembling concern as she pushes herself off her knees. “What is it?” she asks me, crossing her arms over her chest as a last resort defense mechanism.

I don’t hesitate to hold up the plastic Walgreens bag I’ve carted with me for two blocks. She recognizes the items inside and her eyes go all moony and her jaw slacks a bit. I jerk my brows up expectantly and she assumes the position of utter bewilderment.

“Do you have a place I can empty the biohazardous contents of my bladder? It’s about to necrotize,” I hiss at her. She reaches down, digs in her pocket, unearths a bronze key and walks ahead of me at full speed. I have to waddle after her like a newly hatched penguin chick. It would be more humiliating if over half the population of Eden were literate, but alas...

Becca jams the keys into the lock and just about bodychecks the door so we can enter the rectangular bathroom. It’s cramped and the lighting resembles something out of a Hitchcock film, but who the fuck am I to be picky about where I take the most important whizz of my life?

I place the bag on the counter and take out the three empty full-sized cans of Surge I used to fuel my bladder before picking up the grossest thing I have ever held: a pregnancy test. I keep it in my grasp for a few passing beats, nearly crushing the box underneath my iron-tight grip before man-handling it open and tearing out the plastic stick that will determine my fate.

“This is by far the most unholy fortune telling experience ever,” I decide to joke as I witness my sister cower in the corner. You’d think by the looks of it she were the one whose life was about to change forever. “You think if I shake it a genie will come out and grant me three wishes?”

“... Only if it’s negative, as a gift,” Becca chimes in at last. “Otherwise not even God can save you.”

I let out an involuntary snort, because while my reflexes register this as a funny joke, I am actually scared shitless.

I stare at the porcelain toilet bowl. I feel sicker now looking at it than when I’ve genuinely been at risk for vomiting up my lunch. I could still do that, I’ve been puking like a bulimic for weeks now. The thought is almost comforting. Almost. I bite the bullet instead and yank my pants down, my boy pants, which I normally wear as a boy when I’ve got slightly wider hips and more junk to hide and taller legs to protect with denim fabric. Fuck me.

“I just... Hold it and piss, right?” I ask her, as if she’s gone through this before. I know for a fact she hasn’t, or else this wouldn’t be our first time. I’m surprised it’s our first time, actually, thinking that karma would’ve caught up with me a long time ago.

“Just don’t get any on your hand.” Becca replies. Very helpful, I think, but rather than respond verbally I give a sigh of defeat and do what needs to be done. When my bladder is emptied an eternity later, I pull up my oversized pants and briefly grieve my dick before I place the test on the counter.

I glance over my shoulder at Becca, “It’s seasoned. Just gotta let it marinate.”

“Gross.” she says with a scrunched up nose.

I turn around and slide down the wall, an action she mimics a couple seconds later. I stare ahead, up at the light that’s screwed into a 70s pendant-shaped fixture, and pass the silence by making them flicker. I do this as a distraction from the materializing tension between us. Normally, this doesn’t happen, but then again our peril has only involved either extreme intoxication, pedos on AOL (during high school), or something about her and Gabriel’s arguments, which felt like walking through Reactor 4 in Chernobyl.

She’s the first one to say something.

“Whose is it? ... If it’s a thing,” she wonders, and as I look over at her I notice that her eyebrows are knitted together and her mouth is fixed downward. “... Please don’t tell me Topher’s.”

I chuckle at the idea. “I think if it were a thing and Topher’s, it’d have grown like a xenomorph baby and ripped itself out of my stomach by now,” I tell her. “I’d deserve that kind of karma for getting knocked up by him.”

“Xenomorph?” she says, and I open my mouth to offer an explanation before she finishes, “Alien. Right.”

“... Yeah, exactly,” I nod along. How in the hell did she remember that? We only ever sat through Alien and Aliens once, and I could’ve sworn she was too preoccupied reading a magazine to actually notice what was happening on screen.

I also notice that she’s wearing my favorite striped turtleneck. Stone cold bitch.

Some things never change, huh?

Shit, I think I might cry.

This is why we’re siblings, I think, so I can hate her for wearing my favorite turtleneck while sitting by her side as we await Satan’s final decision on the state of my cursed uterus.

Tears prickle my vision but I blink them away.

“Whose is it, then?” she wonders again. I visibly tense. This is probably where our unspoken, once-in-a-blue-moon loyalties end. How do you tell your sister that her ex-boyfriend is the reason you’re sitting in the dingy bathroom of her workplace with a piss-riddled stick inches away?

In the end, I don’t have to say anything at all. We look at each other simultaneously and she reads my expression with ease. Her features soften and I can see a glint of hurt in her eyes, and I expect ripples of betrayal to make themselves known across the rest of her body soon enough. But those ripples never come. The water I thought was loosening from around me doesn’t make a goddamn move.

I’m still at the bottom of the Deep, but she’s with me now.

Her hand grips mine. Tight. I can feel our pulses match up in our paralleling wrists.

“I think it’s been enough time.” I say eventually. She doesn’t release my hand. Our shared warmth creates a comfortable friction between us. “... Will you hate me after this?”

Becca squeezes my hand. A heart beat jumps out from her touch to mine. “I think I’ve hated you enough for one summer.”

A smile flickers on the corner of my lips and I slowly depart my hand from hers. My palm is slick with sweat but I don’t mind. I stand up and feel my equilibrium struggle to steady itself before I’m ready to approach the counter. The test is still there, so I know this wasn’t an abstract fever dream I’ve had after discovering so much eerily similar history.

I’m not a fucking coward. I’m looking this shit straight on, no matter what. Do you think I’m afraid of a sign? Totally not. I lean over and stare down, my gaze idling at the base before finally fixating on the panel.

Holy shitstickers.

“... Becca?” I call out, my voice half gone from unknown forces. She perks up and I see her reflection in the mirror with widened eyes. “Do you have five bucks? I’m gonna need more Surge.”

#self-para #teheheh i couldnt nap until i finished this

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staticscreenwriting · 5 years

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Until we say goodbye || two

Warning! This multipart story takes place after the events of season 3. There’s huge spoilers already in the synopsis down below. I warned you.

Synopsis: (Y/N) Hargrove has to come to terms with the fact that her twin brother is dead and she had to watch him die, unable to do anything about it. There is something she can do for him now though and that’s keeping a promise. The promise to go back home to California. Together. In order to drive cross country and spread Billy’s ashes in a place where the Hargrove kids used to be happy, (Y/N) enlists the help of Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who decides that it’s time to break out from his parents expectations and be the person he always wanted to be.

This time on “Until we say goodbye”: The teens stay at a quirky motel. Steve talks to mama Harrington and (Y/N) give us a look into her childhood.

(caution: mention of death, emotional abuse, slight mention of physical abuse, mention of alcohol // if you need me to tag any other possible triggers let me know)

One //

Part 2 of ?

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Help a girl out with a reblog, thank you ♥

And if we hit on troubled water

I’ll be the one to keep you warm and safe

And we’ll be carrying each other

Until we say goodbye on our dying day

A cool breeze is blowing past (Y/N) as she sits on edge of the old abandoned lifeguard tower, feet dangling in the air. She’s well aware of the fact that the wind is making a mess of her hair, leaving it a tangled mess. She doesn’t really give a shit though.

The beach is practically deserted except for her and the couple strolling by the shore, throwing sticks for their puppy every once in a while. They seem so happy, as if nothing matters but them and their dog and the ocean.

Her thoughts wander towards Pumpkin, the little Jack Russell puppy they adopted a few years ago when dad was dating this woman named Laura. Laura loved dogs and dad loved Laura and so when she moved in, so did Pumpkin.

(Y/N) loved that stupid dog, hell even Billy did. But like all good things in the Hargrove’s life, this one didn’t last very long either. Dad messed up his relationship with Laura and Laura was smart enough to get the fuck out and take Pumpkin with her.

The thumping of boots against the wooden planks of the lifeguard tower, pulls (Y/N) back from her trip down memory lane.

Billy plops down next to her, fumbling a cigarette from the pocket of his denim jacket and lighting it. He’s started smoking a few months ago, just after the twins 13th birthday. Dad was really mad when he found that first cigarette hole in the carpet of their room.

“ Why are you here ? ‘s about to storm “ Billy mumbles around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips.

“ Dad’s being as asshole “

“ As per usual “ Billy scoffs, “ what happened ? “

“ He found out that I pierced my ears, said I look like a slut. “

The words still sting even now that she repeats them to her brother. (Y/N) doesn’t think it’s something a father should say, especially to his daughter. It’s just earrings, what’s the big deal ?

It doesn’t make her a slut. Right ?

“ What the fuck does he know. He still lives in 1971 with his ugly ass mustache“ Billy jokes, effectively getting a laugh from his twin sister.

“ You know what the worst part is ? “ (Y/N) asks.

“ Hmm ? “

“ I think my ears might be infected. They burn like hell. “

“ Ya know what ? That’s your own damn fault. I told you using Galliano liqueur was not the best way to sanitize the needle. “

(Y/N) chuckles, nodding her head in agreement. “ Yeah, you were right, I admit it “.

“ Good. “

She turns to look at her brother. His hair is growing longer now, the curls sitting messily on his head reminding her of crashing waves during a thunderstorm.

Dad hates that Billy is growing his hair and and (Y/N) is fairly sure that’s part of the reason why Billy likes his hair so much. Everything that pisses off their dad is a good think in Billy’s book.

“ Still think you should’ve let me pierce one of your ears. Would’ve looked damn cool. “ she says, teasing smirk playing on her lips.

Billy shakes his head, curls bouncing from the motion. He’s mirroring her smirk though.

“ No fucking way. Never. “

(Y/N) finger plays with the tiny silver spike dangling from her ear as her eyes focus on the scenery passing by the window. There’s not a lot to see really, it’s almost pitch black outside. They’re on the road for about an hour and a half now but Steve keeps bringing up stopping.

He’s tired, (Y/N) can tell. Tired and still a bit freaked out by the whole situation.

“ So Terre Haute is coming up at I think we should see if we can find a place to stay the night, then stock up on food and gas tomorrow morning and drive through the entire day “.

Steve speaks up, more of a monologue than anything else. (Y/N) doesn’t mind how long the journey takes as long as they get to California in the end. She doesn’t mind stopping for the night. Doesn’t mind the occasional food or toilet breaks. Leaving Hawkins behind already feels liberating.

Every mile they put between themselves and that fucking town feels like a weight lifted off her shoulder.

“ Alright, sounds good to me. We gotta find a cheap place though, I don’t have a lot of cash with me “.

“ S’alright I got it “ Steve exclaims.

“ I don’t need your charity, Harrington, “ (Y/N) snaps at him. Maybe it’s a Hargrove thing, being bad at accepting help from other people. From basically strangers.

For the biggest part of her life, (Y/N) only had Billy to depend on. Now that he’s gone it feels absolutely terrifying putting her trust in someone else.

“ Sorry I — that’s not what I meant. “

“ No, “ (Y/N) sighs “ I’m sorry for snapping. I know what you meant. It’s okay. “

There’s a thick awkward tension filling the car and (Y/N) absolutely hates it.

“ Can I turn on the radio ? “ she asks motioning towards it.

Steve nods in agreement. “ There should still be a mixtape in the player. “

With the push of a button the opening chords to Mötley Crües ‘Shout at the devil’ echo through the vehicle, making (Y/N) raise her eyebrows in surprise.

“ Steve Harrington, I did not expect you to listen to this kind of music “.

Steve just shrugs “ why not ? I like all kinds of music. “

“ Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ golden boy listening to the Devil’s music. That’s a surprise. “

“ Golden boy, “ Steve scoffs “ yeah right. I just about graduated High School. I didn’t get into college. I work at a video store and my own dad thinks I’m goddamn loser. “

“ You wanna talk about shitty dads ? Cause let me tell you, I’ll win that one. “

It’s quiet for a moment, before Steve clears his throat and speaks up again.

“ Can I ask you something ? “

“ Mmh “

“ What did they tell your dad happened ? Did they — did they really tell him that whole fire bullshit ? “

“ Yup. “

“ And he believed it ? “

(Y/N) nods. “ He did. He has no reason not to “.

The fire story. Authorities told Neil and elaborate story about how Billy died in a tragic accident in the big fire at Starcourt mall. Something about wrong place wrong time.

(Y/N) was there when they told him. Susan was crying hysterically. Max was — numb. Neil though. Neil didn’t even flinch. There was no sign of emotion. No sign of grieve. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“ I don’t think he gives a shit either, to be honest. “

“ That’s horrible. “ Steve exclaims.

“ That’s my dad for ya. “

Steve’s BMW rolls up to the parking lot of the Cardinal Inn Motel. It’s a small Motel complex and it looks like it’s seen better days. The walls are a dirty white, almost gray color and all doors are painted a bright red although most of the paint is chipping off.

The kids enter the motel lobby, a small room decked out in all kinds of kitschy decor. There’s cross stitch art and paintings and decorative throw pillows. And all if it proudly features various images of a red cardinal bird.

“ Welcome to the Cardinal Inn Motel. “ a chipper voice speaks up from behind the reception desk. “ I’m Ruth, how can I help ya ? “

Ruth is a plump little woman with a kind smile, round cheeks and extremely curly ginger hair. She looks more like a caricature than an actual person. Though (Y/N) thinks she fits this place perfectly.

“ We would like twooo — ? “ Steve trails off and glances towards (Y/N) in question.

“ One “

“ — one room. With two beds though “.

“ Oh sure sure. Let me see. It’s 32 $ for a night. “ Ruth says and opens a book, probably looking up which rooms are occupied and which rooms are free. She walks towards a board holding a lot of keys and takes one of handing it to Steve.

“ This is your room key, It’s number 44. When you step outside, the room is located in the building to your right. It’s on the first floor, first door once you walk up the stairs. I would have to ask for a down payment though. Just in case. “

Steve hastily pulls out a bundle of cash from his jeans, counting the right amount and handing it to Ruth. “ That’s the entire amount, we’re only staying for one night “.

“ Very well then. I hope you have a pleasant stay at the Cardinal Inn. “ Ruth chirps almost like a bird herself.

“ Thanks “ Steve says and walks towards the door.

(Y/N) stays rooted though, eyes wandering around the room from one red bird to the next to the next.

“ Hey Ruth, “ she chimes up.

“ Yes, dear ? “

“ What’s with the birds ? “

“ Oh the cardinal ? That’s Indiana’s state bird. “

“ They’re funky looking little guys, huh ? “

“ Truly. They’re also very interesting. If you want to learn about them, they’re an informational brochure in every room. “

(Y/N) gives Ruth a soft smile then rushes after Steve, out into the chilly night air.

“ Knight Rider, really Harrington ? “

Steve sits up from his slumped position on the bed as (Y/N) comes back from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in her pyjamas. A choice of pyjamas she thoroughly regrets now as the cool air inside the motel room hits the skin of her legs.

She’s dressed in a pair of short red pj pants and one of Billy’s old band shirts. One she’s stolen from his closet after — the incident. It smells like him. Makes her feel like he’s still there.

“ What, It’s good. “

“ It’s so stupid. It’s a talking car. “

“ Okay, whatever. You keep on hating but I tell you this show is gonna last forever and it’s gonna win all the awards. Trust me. “

“ Mmmh. Sure. Shower’s yours. “

Steve gathers some of his stuff from his duffle bag and moves towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

As she is left alone in the room, the gravity of it all comes crashing down on (Y/N). This is it. That trip she wanted to go on with Billy. That trip they had fantasized about since the moment they left California.

Now it’s happening but it doesn’t feel right. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. With Billy in a thermos. With Billy — dead.

The room suddenly feels too small. Like the walls are gonna close in on her any second now. She needs air. Fresh air. Needs to get out of here. Now. Now.

So she does.

Slips on her shoes and the room key and dashes out through the door and into the night. It’s cold. Way too cold for the amount of clothing she’s wearing or not wearing depending on how you see it.

For a while all she does is walk up and down the road, wishing she had remembered to take her pack of smokes with her.

When it gets too cold though, she spots a neon sign in one of the windows of the Lobby building. “Souvenirs”.

She wonders if all of those souvenirs have red birds on them.

They don’t. Most of them do, but not all of them. A lot of them display what she can only assume are important buildings of the city of Terre Haute, Indiana.

(Y/N) remembers the few trips she used to take with her mom and Billy, when they were just little kids. Mom loved to take them to the little quirky little towns across the coast and the kids loved exploring them. Billy always got a postcard, from every single place. (Y/N) got keychains. She still has a box of them stuffed beneath her bed at home.

Her eyes wander around the room before they fall onto a display of all kinds of different postcards. Most of them, as expected, have birds on them. Though there’s one that doesn’t. It says “Terre Haute” in big bold letters. It reminds her of the ones Billy used to get from those coastal towns.

Greetings from … the few happy childhood memories she can remember.

(Y/N) takes the card over towards the reception, where Ruth greets her with another of her signature Ruth smiles. Kind and warm.

“ Hi, dear. “

“ Hi uh — I want to buy this postcard. I can’t find a price though, ah shit I left my money up in the room let me just — “

Before she can hurry towards her room though, Ruth stops her.

“ It’s okay, Darling. You can have it for free. “

“ Oh no, I — “

“ Please. You asked about the birds that pretty much the most anyone has cared about this place in a while. Take it. I want you to have it. “

It’s kinda sad, (Y/N) thinks. That her just asking about those silly birds made Ruth this happy. That people pay so little attention to her adorably little bird room.

“ Thank you, Ruth. That is very sweet of you. And this place is adorable. “

“ Thank you, dear. Do you need a stamp for that ? “

(Y/N) sighs “ No. No I don’t. “

The Bean is a little diner at the edge of town looking out onto the Wabash River. It’s emitting a perpetual smell of coffee and waffles and breakfast food.

Steve is munching down an entire plate of eggs and bacon. Oh to have the metabolism of a teenage boy.

(Y/N) takes another sip of her black coffee, hoping that the caffeine is gonna help keep her awake and not get too tired during their drive. After all they plan on being on the road for the entire day.

The pancakes on her plate are long forgotten. She hasn’t really been feeling like eating since it all happened. It’s like she’s acting on power saving mode. Always tired. Always sad. Always working on half speed.

“ You should eat something. You need it. “ Steve remarks.

“ Are you flirting with me ? ”

“ I uh — what ? “

“ Male cardinals feed females as part of their courtship ritual. A female’s partner bears total responsibility for satisfying her dietary needs. “

“ How do you know this ? “

(Y/N) smiles and takes another sip of coffee “ my friend Ruth recommended me some interesting reading material “.

She doesn’t mention that the nightmares didn’t allow her much sleep and that she spent most of the night staying up reading the informational magazine. There’s things Steve just doesn’t need to know.

“ Alriiiight. “ Steve exclaims, eyebrows raised “ Hey, what’s that. You gonna send a card home ? “ he asks and motions towards the postcard she’d been scribbling on while he had been ordering their food.

“ Nah. Not really. This one’s for someone else “.

“ Alright … hey uh. I think I should call my parents “

She looks up from her cup at Steve’s words. This can’t be happening. She can’t go back home now. He can’t bail on her.

“ Harrington “

“ Don’t look at me like that, I’m not turning around and crawling back home. I just don’t want my mom to worry. I need her to know I’m safe. “

That’s right, Steve has a mom too, not just an asshole dad. A mom who cared and who worries and who loves. God it’s been so long since (Y/N) had one of those.

“ Okay, yeah. But um — can you not mention my name. I don’t want any news to get to my dad. “

“ Of course. Yeah, no worries.“

“ Thanks “.

Despite what Billy always said about him, Steve seems to be an alright guy after all. His hair’s ridiculous though.

It rings once, twice, three times before someone picks up.

“ Hello ? “

“ Mom, it’s me. “

“ Oh god Steve. Honey where are you I’m worried sick “.

That sends a little pang to his heart. His mother is a nice lady, she loves him deeply and she doesn’t deserve for him to worry her like that. But this is something Steve has to do, if not for (Y/N) then for himself.

“ I’m alright mom. I’m taking a friend on a — uh a roadtrip. “

“ A roadtrip ?”

“ Yea. To uh — “ his mind wanders to Billy. “ We’re going to help her brother “.

“ Okay, well are you alright ? “

No. He hasn’t been alright in a long time. Since 1983 to be completely honest.

Maybe this trip is just what he needs. A way out. An escape.

Steve leans his head against the payphone, taking a deep breath.

“ I don’t know, mom. But I’m safe and I need to just — just get away. “

“ Is this because of what happened with the Holland girl ? Or the mall ?“

Yes. All of it. If only she knew.

“ It’s just a lot lately. Can you just trust me in this, mom. That I’m doing what’s best for me ? “

His mother hesitates for a moment before clearing her throat.

“ Of course I do, sweet boy. But I am a mom and I do worry. I always will. “

It warms his heart. To know someone does care and someone does love him, no matter how much he messes up.

“ I know. I love you and I’ll be back soon. I promise. I just need to do this, for me.“

“ Be safe, Steve “

“ I will. “

Before he hangs up he can just about make out his father’s voice in the background, asking if “that’s him” and “what’s he messed up this time ? “

And it once again becomes crystal clear why getting on the road with (Y/N) is the best decision he’s made in a long time.

He walks back over to her, as she leans against his car chewing some bright pink bubble gum.

“ You ready to head out ? “

“ Yup. Your parents mad ? “

“ No. Surprisingly not. Mom just wants me to be safe. “

“ Aw little Stevie. How adorable. Anyway let’s go. “

As they both settle back in their seats, Steve slides the signature dark shades back onto his nose and turns towards (Y/N).

“ Sooo, snacks ? “

“ Snacks “ she nods and throws him one of her signature smirks “ definitely need some twizzlers to survive this trip “.

“ Happy Birthday to me “ a freshly 9 year old (Y/N) mumbles as she buries her feet in the warm sand. It’s almost time for the sun to set behind the horizon and color the sky in beautiful shades of reds and pinks and oranges.

For the last 8 years this has been a moment she has shared with her mom. Every birthday the two of them would come down to the beach and watch the sunset. Just them two.

Billy had the morning to spend alone with mom, going to the beach to catch some waves, and (Y/N) got to have the evening.

They’d sit and talk for hours and hours and hours. About everything. The silliest things.

This year she hasn’t so much as called. As if neither (Y/N) nor Billy ever existed in her life.

Billy’s been grumpy all day, refusing to spend time with his sister and deciding to go hang out with some of those stupid boys from the neighbourhood that always call (Y/N) dumb names.

(Y/N) watches the sun lower itself as if to drown the light in the dark water of the ocean, when a little plastic bag lands next to her. Just a moment later Billy drops down onto the ground too.

“ Got you some candy. Twizzlers, your favorite “

“ Did you steal them ? “

“ No, dingus. I bought them with my own money. “

“ Good. Means I don’t have to feel guilty when eating them. “

It’s silent for a moment as they sit beside each other, watching the sunset.

“ Hey I’m sorry “ Billy whispers, as if speaking any louder would mean destroying the magic of the moment.

“ It’s okay. You’re sad. I’m sad too. “

“ I’m not sad “ he claims “ I’m angry. So angry. “

“ You can be sad and angry at the same time. They’re not mutually exclusive. “

“ Stop using big words. “

“ Sorry. “

Billy takes a big breath “ I’ve decide “ he exclaims “ that from this moment on I’ll missing her. If she doesn’t want to come home, doesn’t want to see us. Screw her. I don’t need her and neither do you. “

(Y/N) knows that’s absolute bullshit but she also knows that Billy has a certain way of coping with loss and sadness and maybe she doesn’t share his ways or understand them fully but she can respect them if it means he’s less angry and less sad.

“ Okay. “

“ We don’t need her because we have each other “ he says, placing his hand on hers “ right ? “

In that moment, little (Y/N) knows that whatever the world is gonna throw her way, it’s only half as bad with her twin brother by her side.

“ Of course. Always “

If only they had known how terribly short ‘always’ would turn out to be.

_________

tags:

@sargent-barnes //

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

116 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 5 years

Text

Forbidden Love – Part 5

Summary: Dean, Sam and the reader grew up together. The boys loved her like a little sister…until they started to love her in a different way.

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader, OMC Stan, mentioned: John Winchester

Warnings: language, angst, arguments, sad reader, violence, sexual assault (mentioned), angry Dean

Forbidden Love Masterlist

Another month later...

“Come on, I need a drink and I can’t bear to sit in the goddamn bunker any longer!” You grunt.

“It’s not safe!” Dean lies.

“I’m a hunter, asshole!”

“Don’t care.”

"With two strong Winchesters by my side, nothing will happen to me." You try to charm Dean. Giving him a shy smile you play with the seam of his shirt.

Clearing his throat he exchanges a look with Sam. You always knew how to get what you want from Dean. He was never able to resist you puppy dog look.

Throwing his hands up in defeat Dean sighs. “Fine, but you stay close to us the whole time.” Dean insists.

“Shall I sit on your lap too, Daddy?” You snap at him.

“Don’t push your luck young lady, Dean grunts.

“Fine Sir, I’ll stay by your side the whole time. Now! Drinks!” You squeal excitedly.

Changing clothes to skinny jeans, a red silk top and killer heels you wait for the boys to meet up with you in the library.

"No, no! Change your clothes." Dean warns.

"What? That's jeans and a top. What shall I wear a knight armor or what?”

"At least a jacket," Sam says eying you up and down.

“Fine. You’re much worse than John or Bobby.” You giggle. Grabbing your leather jacket you leave the library swaying your hips.

Groaning Dean watches you walking toward the garage. Shaking his head Sam chuckles.

“Self-control Dean. We will need some time to win her over. Till then we need to keep any guy away from her.”

“Fine, Sammy. Let’s go.”

Grunting you sit on a bar stool, you’ve got barely enough space to breathe right.

To your left sits Dean and to your right Sam. Almost flanking your sides they chased away any guy getting close to you.

Not that you would’ve been interested in any of those guys…

Two hours later you’re bored to hell and back. The music is the worst. All guys a smeary and the drinks a beyond bad.

"Well, I've got enough. Gotta pee and then we can leave. Except you two have other plans? The girls over there wouldn't mind having a piece of you two."

“No, we came together. We leave together.” Dean insists.

“Okay, Sir. Hold my jacket and purse I’ll be right back.”

Leaving the restrooms you bump into Stan. Great, you hate that guy, he so smeary and...

"Oh, Ms. Winchester!" He starts.

“Hi Stan, bye Stan.” You grunt.

“Don’t be like that. I heard you and the Winchester boys parted ways. How about I give you a good ride?”

"No, thanks and I don't think you're able to give me a good ride." You snap at him.

Turning to leave you get stopped by Stan. Grabbing your arm harshly he grins at you.

“I’m not good enough for your pussy? Do I need to be a Winchester to fill you up? Such a good slut, sucking her brother's cocks."

“Let go of me and Sam and Dean aren’t my brother’s, asshole!”

“I bet you sucked old John’s cock too. He played your father in public and in the bedroom you called him daddy I bet."

“Let go of me!”

“Did Johnny Winchester fuck you good and hard? That old bastard knew how to choose a good slut. Should’ve focussed on hunting instead on your pussy maybe he would be still alive...”

Seeing red you punch Stan’s face, follow by a hard kick into his balls.

“No one says shit like that about John. He was a righteous man, a good man. John would’ve never done such a thing! Even if he made mistakes, like dragging his boys into the life of a hunter he was a good man. You shouldn’t be allowed to walk on the same ground like John Winchester. If you ever say a single word about my foster father again I’m going to take the gun he gave me and plant a goddamn bullet into your ‘not there’ brain.”

“What about the boys? They fucked you for sure. Banging their own sister. Sick bastards.” Stan snickers.

Taking the gun out of your waistband you unlock it. Aiming it at Stan’s forehead you grin.

“Sam and Dean aren’t my brothers. The only sick bastard here is you. If you ever say a bad word about the Winchesters again I’ll come after you, cut your tiny pity cock off and then I’ll shoot your brain out. Got it?”

“Should’ve fucked you years ago! But Johnny had to disturb me and you.”

“John mopped up the floor with you after you tried to touch me! I was 14 years old you sick bastard! He only let you live as you were beyond drunk!”

“That sick bastard!” Dean grunts. “Going to rip his heart out!”

“John did that years ago. He barely made it out of the motel alive.”

"Dad never said a thing," Sam whispers.

“As I asked him not to tell you or Dean. I didn’t want you to think I’m weak…”

“You were only 14 years old! I swear I’ll kill him.” Dean yells.

“Dean, don’t!” You warn. Resting your hands on Dean’s chest you shake your head.

“What if he tries to do that to another girl?” Sam asks.

"He can't…John shot his tiny pity cock. He asked the doctor at the hospital and they assured him Stan can't…ya know."

“Get hard?” Dean asks.

Humming you shove Dean further away from Stan. “Still I should…”

“Dean, no. Let’s get out of here…”

“You defended dad and us.” Sam sighs.

“John was always good to me, even if he was grumpy, loud and determining. He always protected me…just like you two…”

"Let's bring her home, Dean."

“Okay, let’s bring our girl home…”

-----

Back at the bunker Sam and Dean don’t stop looking at you. Searching your face they dare not to ask you what happened back then.

“John was hunting with Stan. He never liked the guy, but he knew more about ghouls back then. Sammy was sick so you took care of him, Dean. I had my own room this time and John met up with Stan there so you could sleep a bit.”

"So it was my fault," Sam whispers.

“No, Sammy, no. John told me to stay with Dean in his room. After an hour I remembered I forgot my bag in my room so I knocked to ask John to give it to me. Stan opened the door and I entered the room to get my bag. I wondered why my bag was open and my underwear was lying on the bed.”

“That sick bastard!” Dean grunts clenching his jaw.

“I grabbed my bag and tried to leave but he was faster. He tried to move his hands under my shirt. I kicked and yelled. He earned himself a black eye. Before he could try anything else John was standing in the room…Furious. He shoved me in the bathroom before he started hitting Stan…”

“Shit…I hope dad gave it to him really good.” Sam grunts.

“He almost killed him. After Stan was only a sobbing and bloody mess John picked me up and brought me and my bag to your room. He said something to Dean but I couldn’t hear it…”

“He said I need to protect you from now on. That I shall never let you out of sight again.”

“Oh…He never said a word to me, but I saw the worry in his eyes. That’s why I trained even harder, to be able to defend myself better.”

“I knew something was off, I saw it in your eyes. Later you curled up by my side. Not letting go of me the whole night.” Dean whispers.

“I felt safe with you…always."

“I’m sorry kiddo, should’ve followed you to your room back then. He would never have a chance to touch you.”

“Dean, that wasn’t your fault. Stan is a sick bastard. He didn't touch me. I kicked his shin and gave him a black eye. You trained me, good Dean.”

“It is my fault I had to protect you and Sammy! I failed you.”

Moving your hand through his hair you look into his sad eyes. Leaning forward you kiss his lips softly. Holding his breath for a minute Dean dares to no move a muscle.

After breaking the kiss you stroke his cheek gently, smiling at him.

"You always protected me, Dean. Even when you were a kid you protected me and Sammy. That was Stan's fault. No yours, Sam's or John's. John blamed himself too.”

“Dad never said a word. But I saw his damaged hand the next day.” Sam says.

“After he brought me to Dean he dragged Stan out of the room drove him out of town and shoot him … he called an ambulance later… The next day he showed the doctor a fake FBI badge to get information…”

"I'm sorry. This should've never happened to you." Sam whispers.

Sighing you hug the tall hunter tight, pressing your body against his chest you stroke his back.

“Not your fault Lurch.”

“Don’t call me like that! That guy doesn’t look like me!” Sam mutters.

“Hmm…yeah…you’ve got more hair Lurch.”

“At least she has a nickname for you.” Dean winces.

“Are you jealous D’?”

“No.”

“What a pity. I could’ve tried to soothe you.”

“Maybe a bit…”

"D' that's your nickname. I like it, don't you?"

Humming Dean looks at you in Sam’s arms, feeling a hint of jealousy well up.

"So I call it a day boys. Dean don't blame yourself or I'll kick your sorry ass! John was the father, not you. He did his job and you yours. You held me tight the whole night and made me feel safe."

Leaving the boys alone you enter your bedroom. After taking a shower you try to find some sleep.

-----

Waking up screaming some hours later you curse. Since years you didn’t have a nightmare. Meeting Stan again dug out some bad memories.

Silently leaving your room you walk towards Dean’s. Hesitating for a moment you debate to knock or just enter his room. Shaking your head you enter his room. Lying down next to him to feel safe you crawl under his blanket.

Turning around Dean smiles at you. Moving his arms around your waist he holds you tight to make you feel safe, like he used to do as long as you can remember. Dean was always your safe haven, even after he disappointed you.

“Nightmare?”

“Hmmm…”

“I’m here. No one hurts you when I’m by your side kiddo, no one.”

Humming you close your eyes falling asleep soon after…

Forever Tags

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#SPN #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #sam x reader #angst #violence #forbidden love masterlist

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angelfiume · 5 years

Text

Mouth Like A Sailor Part 1

Hey so I have no idea how to publish a fanfic on tumblr besides just putting it up like this so hopefully this goes well. I was posting on qoutev but it kept crashing my computer so tumblr it is.

Marlena Curtis May 1965 5 months before "I hope all of you will take this summer to exercise your minds... You wouldn't want to go into your senior year with a head full of nothing, would you?" Mr. Mays shouted at the class, he wasn't angry, just obnoxiously loud. I looked across the room at my brother's best friend, Steve, hoping to have someone to smile with or pass a note too, but he obviously was not interested and instead was tracing the hand of a short girl with bobbed hair. She was giggling as he made ugly monster claws out of her manicured fingers, it was kind of sweet honestly. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, looking around the room for anyone else that might be alright with me. Mr. Mays voice quieted as he saw no one really cared about his speech on polishing the young mind, he resulted to letting us free for the rest of the period. I rested my head on my arms and decided to spend the class just sleeping instead of awkwardly trying to make conversation with the dry, ginger soc next to me. She seemed like she wasn't very interested anyways. The bell rung two minutes in to my daydream, which couldn't have made me happier, I jumped out of my seat and yanked my bag with me out the door. Finally I could just do jack-shit and paint my nails instead of listening to the same monotone creeps lecture for hours and hours. I nearly ran down the hallway towards my friends, Sophie and Jean, they were talking fast and smiled big when they saw me running down to see them. "MARLI, tell your brother you're gonna be at my house tonight baking cookies or some sweet shit, Gene Vincent is gonna be at Sophie's cousin's bar tonight in Oklahoma City! Her cousin said we can all get in no sweat." Jean said, she was so excited her heavy eyeliner was creasing from smiling so wide.

"Holy shit, Sophie did your cousin really say we can go? How much money?" I asked with a small twinge in my stomach, the past few months have been pretty tough on my wallet, I really wanted all my money to go into my younger brother's secret college fund.

"None baby! That's a perk of having friends with connections, just pitch in two bucks or so for gas, my daddy is letting me take the Malibu, ain't that exciting?" Sophie cooed, she had this soft voice that could have sounded polite even if she was telling you where it seemed your head was stuck. She was rich too, man her family did well. But she was still my friend, because she didn't care if I lived in a hollowed out coat closet my brother set up for me, she didn't believe in the social class war going on.

"I'm in man! I'll tell Darry I'm going to have a sleepover with ya'll, he won't ask questions, he's too wrapped around the axel with Soda right now." I grinned at them and listened quietly to the rest of their chatter. They could get awful excited about something real fast, it was damn cute.

We walked out to Jean's boyfriends car, he was a doll, always chauffeuring her and her friends around Tulsa. Speaking of the devil, Tommy came sprinting down the concrete steps and bear-hugged tiny Jean, making her scream and laugh.

"Hello sweetheart, ready to be done with the bullshit for a whole 2 months?" he was another one of those guys that seems to really just shout instead of talk, he nodded to Sophie and I and smiled nicely, "ya'll hangin' or goin' home?"

"I can stay a little, we're supposed to be in the City by 9 and we gotta leave at 7 or so.." Sophie chirped

"Just straight home for me, thanks, I gotta make an appearance so Darry doesn't get suspicious" I knew full well that he would expect the worst if I never showed up at home. I jumped down from Tommy's pick- up and yelled to Jean I would be at her house at 630. I smoothed out my black corduroy skirt and re-tucked the ratty pink shirt I had owned since 9th grade. My sneakers crunched down the gravel covering the alley behind my house as I walked towards the backward, where I heard my brother and their friends. Not even the whole gang was there, but it was still loud as hell.

"Hey Marls how was the last day of school? I miss anything important?" laughed Two-bit, the rusty haired boy lay lazily on our back steps.

"Ha, it was fine, you didn't miss anything important. Just that Mark guy offered me a whole year supply of marijuana if I would flash the principal at the assembly this morning" I told him as I took a carton out of my bra and lit a smoke, I giggled a little when I saw him cock an eyebrow. The nimrod probably thought I went through with it.

"So ya did it right?" Demanded a bored looking Dallas Winston. He sat next to my twin Soda, who was laughing quietly to himself, he probably knew I was too much of a wimp to leave school one some crazy note like that.

"Nah," I took a long drag, "I could get that shit for free by just winking at some of the squares in this town... But anyways, where did Darry go? He working late or something?"

"No, he should be home in ten minutes or so, you gonna bail soon?" Soda asked

"Around 6ish I'm going over to Jean's, Sophie and I are gonna spend the night with her." I told him without much worry, I was used to making up white lies at this point, Soda would likely not even care that I was going into the big city tonight, maybe he'd even think it was tuff I was sneaking off to a high class bar with my socy friends.

"Ain't Jean that middle-class broad with the giant jugs?" Dally half-joked, it was almost a long running gag that we had, since he couldn't make a move on me, being three of the gangs' sister, he has always tried his best to get at my friends. I just rolled my eyes and took another drag of my cigarette, lettings the boys' conversation go this way and that and just listen. That's kinda been my go-to lately, when my mom and dad died three months ago I lost a lot of my talkative edge. Shit it's been three months already... I pushed my body lightly off of the side of the house and dragged myself inside. My room really was just a scraped out coat closet. I ain't gonna complain too bad about it though, Darry really did make it alright and it wasn't even too small of a closet to begin with. Hell, if we were able to fit my little mattress and even my record player I bought when I was 11, it can't have been that bad. My stomach was beginning to feel a little green, I had been smoking like a chimney since I got home, and my room ain't too breezy so that tobacco stench really liked to hang around.

"Marlena?" I heard my oldest brother knocking at my door, he opened it and immediately looked a little peeved, "Oh lordy! Did ya just set a whole carton of marbolos on fire? It's a goddamn wildfire in here, you keep smoking like this and I'm gonna have to start checking what you buy at the store now, ya dig?"

"Yeah, I know. Hey Darry?" I said, without the slightest intention of cutting down on my habit, "I'm gonna go to Jean's tonight, Sophie will be there too, that cool?" "That's fine" he said walking back to the kitchen. I followed him out and just followed suit, he got a glass of water, I got one too. We didn't even talk the whole time, he's kinda been quiet lately too. When our parents died in that accident everyone took on a different kind of burden, but sometimes I think Darry feels like he took the whole load, and maybe that's why he's so damn stressed. Coming home from the funeral with my brothers felt like I had just taken a few strangers from the graveyard and said "you'll do." Darry used to be that real fun, hilarious older brother. We used to go out all the time and just talk about everything. We would talk about how mom was a little too harsh sometimes on people and that it was pretty funny that dad would just push her buttons when she would get annoyed by the little things. My youngest brother, Ponyboy, well he just downright terrifies me the way their deaths changed him. He didn't use to be so dreamy all the time, he always had a big imagination, but this time it's different, he tried to follow mom and dad's souls up to heaven and got stuck somewhere between space and the East Side. Sodapop though, he seemed to take it the healthiest, he wasn't shy about bawling and howling like an idiot at the funeral. He had to express how he felt, so he did. But one thing that did change was the side of him people usually forgot about started to rear its ugly head just a little more every once in a while. Soda is charming and nice, but he's also reckless and clumsy and he won't look before he just starts running. I'm not trying to but my brothers in a bad light though, I certainly haven't been perfect since the accident either.

Jean's dad was in the army, and her mom was a nurse, so they got along pretty okay. She wasn't by any means rich, but she surely never had a shortage of cash by the end of the month. Her house was just a quick bus ride from my neighborhood, it was two stories, well kept, and all the bathrooms were pink. I knocked on the door and not even a second later it was the bermuda triangle of "can you answer that?" between her and her parents. It was her mom who came to the door, she was a real neat lady. Joan's mom was actually real tough, she had a hard life as a kid and she don't have the easiest job in the world.

"Hello Marls! Don't you look like a doll tonight?" She smiled up at me, I am pretty tall for a girl and I usually tower over most ladies I meet.

"Thank-you Mrs. Massey, it's just my school clothes, but I figured it would be alright for tonight, ha," I tried my best to sound like a nice girl, but she was just so damn down to earth I really don't think she'd judge me too harsh. She let me in and walked me all the way to Jean's room, asking about my brothers and if Pony was proud of himself that he came in 2nd at his last track meet. It was nice talking to a mom.

Jean popped up from the floor when I walked in, "You ready to leave soon? I just gotta find my lipstick and Sophie will be here soon, we're gonna get burgers at Dairy Queen on the way out of town, my mom gave me food money if any of us need." she spoke briskly and with a butt-load of excitement.

"Yeah I'm all set" I giggled quietly as she threw tubes of makeup to the floor trying to find her token lipstick. She got it and we tumbled down the stairs just as Sophie was pulling up to the house.

#the outsiders #Dallas Winston #curtis sister #Ponyboy Curtis #darrel #darrel curtis #Sodapop Curtis #two bit mathews #Steve Randle #cherry valance #S.E. Hinton #Johnny Cade

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crashdevlin · 6 years

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Marion: 1-Family

Marion Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version). This started as an excuse to write some Castiel/OFC loving, but it blossomed into an epic-length fic and even an AU where Marion was with them the whole time.

Summary: Dean gets a call from Bobby sending him and Sam back to Lawrence to pick up Marion, Dean’s twin sister they thought died before Sam was even born.

Pairing(s): none yet

Word Count: 2478

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, slight language

Dean pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket as its ringing pulled him from his sleep. He sighed when he saw Bobby's name on the screen. Phone calls from Bobby rarely brought good news anymore. It was always 'the angels are doing this horrible thing' or 'Lucifer is doing this slightly more horrible thing' or 'you idjit! What horrible thing are you doing?'. Dean almost let it go to voicemail, wondering if he even cared what horrible thing Bobby was about to report to him. At the last second, he flipped the phone open.

"Yeah, Bobby?"

There was a long silence before Bobby started to speak. "Dean, uh, I just got a news alert outta Lawrence." There was another long silence. "They found Marion."

Dean clenched his eyes shut and sighed, sitting up and running his left hand through his hair. "Any leads on her killer?"

"You misunderstand me, boy. She's alive."

"What?!" Dean exclaimed, not even trying to keep Sam from waking up.

"Article says the scum that took her started givin' her house privileges, let her out of the basement a few months ago, I guess. Guess they thought Stockholm Syndrome woulda kicked in after 25 years. She did what they wanted for a few months until they weren't watchin' 'er for a few minutes and she grabbed a knife and stabbed one of 'em in the stomach. Says he lived, but she got away. Article says she's in police custody until they can assess her mental state and find some family to take her in."

Dean struggled to find words to say. "I-I'm not quite sure what to do here, Bobby."

"What do you mean, yer not sure? You get in yer car and go save yer sister, you idjit!"

Dean sighed and nodded. "You're right, Bobby. It's just... the timing sucks. But I'll get over there as soon as possible. Thanks for letting me know." He hung up the phone and dropped his feet out of bed. He started trying to simultaneously get dressed and get packed, before walking over to Sam and hitting him on his bicep. "Wake up, dude. We gotta go. Now."

Sam stirred and blinked up at his brother. "Is it Lucifer or a case?"

Dean shook his head. He clenched his jaw, then relaxed. "No. You remember... you remember me and Dad tellin' you about... about Marion?"

Sam sat up and rubbed the sleep from his face. "Uh, yeah. You guys were at a park a few months before I was born. Dad went to get you guys some ice cream and Marion disappeared."

"She's been in Lawrence this whole time. Sam, she's been... chained up in some pervert's basement for almost thirty goddamn years. Cops are holding her at the hospital to make sure they didn't completely fry her brain. Come on, we gotta-"

"Wait, Dean." Sam interrupted, dropping his feet to the floor. "Before we drive halfway across the country, we've gotta ask ourselves a few questions."

"Like what?" Dean asked, irritated.

Sam took a deep breath and tried to catch his brother's eyes. "Like 'isn't the timing a bit suspicious'? We're in the middle of the Apocalypse. We're ganking demons and horsemen. We've both got angels on our ass who'd do anything to get us to be their vessels and, suddenly, your twin who's been missing longer than I've been alive shows back up?" Dean didn't respond. He didn't want to think about the possibility Sam was laying out. He just walked past Sam into the tiny motel bathroom and began brushing his teeth. "And let's say she passes the tests. She's not some demon or a shapeshifter or something; it's really her. What do we tell her? Mom and Dad are dead, she's never even met me, and the last time she saw you, you were both still in Pull-ups. What do we tell her about our lives that won't break her fragile psyche more than whatever was done to her in that house?"

"We'll figure something out." Dean said, spitting foam into the sink. "We'll tell her as little as we can get away with at first so we don't freak her out, then we'll ease her into the rest of it."

"Dean, it's not like we can take her with us. She doesn't have the training we had. She wouldn't be safe traveling with us. Besides, Dean, we really have other things we need to focus on."

Dean threw his bag on the table, "This isn't up for discussion." He said, resolutely. "She's my twin sister, Sam, and I haven't seen her in twenty-seven years. I don't care if it's difficult to explain our lives. I don't care if we have to take some time to train her to freakin' survive. She's a big part of our family that I thought we'd never see again. She's family. We're going."

Sam knew better than to keep arguing with him. Even if Dean weren't the most stubborn son of a bitch Sam had ever met, he'd taken an intro Psych class at Stanford which taught him about the bond between twins. The loss of his twin could actually account for more of Dean's distance and coldness than how they were raised. Sam just nodded and started to get dressed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spent the drive in relative silence, Dean's old Zeppelin cassette joining forces with the Impala's engine to fill the emptiness that was getting more tense with each mile. Dean's mind kept vacillating between excitement and anguish. He was ecstatic to be able to see his sister again. She was like a limb he'd been missing since he was four years old. He'd learned to live without her, but he wasn't ever whole. But what if she was broken by her kidnappers? What if she's fine but can't handle how the other Winchesters' lives had turned out? What if she was a ploy from the angels? Zachariah or Michael dangling his twin in front of his face with a 'Look what we can give you. Just say yes'. Or worse, what if she was sent by Lucifer to keep tabs on Sam? Dean didn't want to think too hard on the possibility that his sister might be some demon in disguise, but unfortunately he had to think about all of the ways that this could fuck him in the ass.

It took them 18 hours to get to Lawrence. Dean didn't bother driving them to a motel, pulling right into the hospital parking lot and heading inside. He all but ran into the building and up to the reception desk in the front. "My name is, uh, Dean Winchester. I, uh, I hope I'm in the right place, but..."

"You're here for Marion." The receptionist said with a smile. "I'm just gonna need some ID and then I can take you up to see her. She's in our psych ward. Don't worry, though, they've just had her under an observation hold, that's all."

Dean handed the woman his ID, fumbling for his real one, which she seemed to think was adorable because she smiled as she handed it back and walked away.

"So, how is she?" Sam spoke up as they followed the receptionist to the elevators.

"Well, you'd really have to talk to her doctor about that, but..." She turned to them, a bit conspiratorially, as they waited for the doors to open. "The way I hear it, no one has ever seen someone go through what she did and come out so... well-adjusted."

"Well-adjusted?" Sam asked as the doors opened and they stepped on.

"That's a good thing, Sammy. Don't sound so upset." Dean snapped. Sam kept it to himself that well-adjusted was suspicious.

"She claims that the people she was with, they didn't really hurt her, they just kept her. Allegedly." She pressed the button for the fourth floor. "The female kidnapper even home-schooled her. She really just wants to go home now, so I'm sure she'll be super happy to see you boys."

Dean looked into the window on the door the receptionist stopped in front of. He took a deep breath as his eyes fell on his sister for the first time in almost thirty years. Her dark blond hair was so long that it touched the mattress she was sitting on. The hospital had her in the plain white scrubs of the other psych patients, but it was clear that she was beautiful, just like their mother had been. The receptionist opened the door and ushered Sam and Dean inside.

Marion Winchester looked up. "Yes?" Her voice was soft and sweet and Dean's breath caught in his chest.

"I've got some visitors for you, Marion." The receptionist said, smiling.

She looked up at Dean skeptically, two sets of hazel-green eyes meeting each other. "Can I... help you?"

Shock and disbelieve stopped Dean in his place for a minute before he smiled, bright white teeth shining at her. "Break my heart, Marion. Only woman to ever forget my face and it's my twin sister? You're killin' me."

Marion looked confused as she stood from the bed, never taking her eyes off of Dean. "D-Dean? Oh, my lord! They told me you were dead!" She exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him. She was only five or six inches shorter than him so she was able to embrace him easily and the hug she wrapped him in was stronger than he'd expected from the thin woman. She pulled back and looked at him, like she was certain her eyes were playing tricks. "They drove me past the house. I remember seeing the scorch marks. They said there was a fire, that everyone died!"

Dean shook his head. "There was a fire, little under a year after they took you, but Mom's the only one who didn't make it. Me and Dad and Sammy, we survived."

"Sammy?" Marion asked, her brow furrowing.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I guess you probably don't remember but Mom was pregnant when you got grabbed. Our little brother, Sam." Dean didn't look away from her as he waved at Sam. "That's your cue to introduce yourself, Sammy."

Sam walked forward from his spot by the door, an awkward smile on his lips. Marion giggled, softly. "This Sasquatch is our little brother?" She asked, moving away from Dean to wrap her arms around him, too.

"I'm glad you're okay, Marion. It's, uh, really great to meet you."

"Hey, I'm gonna see if I can find your doctor, see when we can get you out of here." Dean said, walking out the door with a grin.

"So, uh, the lady from Reception, she said that the people who took you, they weren't... you know, they weren't abusive or anything, that they even home-schooled you?" Sam asked, eyeing the large stack of books on the nightstand, the only surface in the room.

"Oh. Yeah. Mister and Missus were never really mean to me... unless I talked about leaving. Missus taught me all the way up to when I should have graduated high school, then she gave me college text books for my favorite subjects. Mostly that was different forms of history and British Literature." Marion picked up a large book of poems with a spine so cracked that Sam couldn't even read the title. "I know this might sound, I don't know, weird, but I don't think they were bad people. They never blatantly harmed me. Quite the opposite, actually. They shared the delusion that God had told them to take me, to protect me. They were the most God-fearing people you can imagine and I'm sure that, were it not for the sickness in their minds, they would have been wonderful and charitable people."

"God told them to take you?" Sam was sad that he'd been right to be suspicious and he was not looking forward to having to tell Dean.

"They seemed certain of it. They couldn't ever tell me what they were saving me from, but they knew they were saving me. I know religion can be a touchy subject but to think that God would have his angels swoop down from Heaven and tell two people to steal a four year old away from her parents is just absurd."

Sam watched her set the poetry back on the table. "Maybe the angels did it because they wanted you away from us, not God." He turned back to the door as Dean bounced back in. "Hey, Dean. Can I talk to you outside real quick?" Sam followed Dean out into the hall and closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath. "Marion just told me that the couple who took her said they were instructed to... by God. More specifically, by angels."

Dean gritted his teeth together trying to contain his rage, but lost the fight and punched the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. "I was really hoping this would just be a good thing and not some stupid... angel bullshit!" He pulled his phone from his pocket and angrily flipped it open. "Cas. Lawrence, Kansas. Lawrence Memorial Hospital, fourth floor." He demanded, before hanging up.

Castiel appeared in front of them within seconds. "I knew nothing of this, Dean." The angel defended without provocation.

"Yeah? Then, how'd you know what I was calling about?" Dean asked, his jaw tense.

"I was told that Zachariah recently traveled to 1982. I was looking into the reasons behind this when I found out about your sister. I knew the two must be connected and your call has confirmed that. Again, I did not know about this beforehand."

Dean took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "So... what do you think the point was, Cas? Why do you think Zach took my sister from me?"

Castiel looked down, his brow furrowed. "He didn't, Dean, take her." He looked up, blue eyes catching Dean's greens. "Technically, he's giving her to you. Before he went back in time, before he convinced the Cornwells to take her, she was meant to run into the street and be struck by a vehicle... just an hour after they took her. I'm not sure why he's chosen to bring her into your life, but... perhaps you should ask her."

All color left Dean's face. "She was gonna die?"

"Yes."

"But keeping people from dying who're supposed go, isn't that-" Sam started.

"Don't worry, Zachariah didn't change anything, really. Dean, and the world, would have dealt with her death exactly as they did her disappearance and the fact that she was mostly kept sequestered means that she was unable to affect the world." Castiel looked to the door to Marion's room. "Again, only Zachariah knows why he saved her, but perhaps Marion can shed a little light on the situation."

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Supernatural Tag- @letsby

#spn #spn fanfic #sister winchester #epic fic #twin fic #castiel/ofc

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tutti-writes · 5 years

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Let’s Play a Game of Ghost or Hallucination

You’re dead.

You’re gone. You’ve kicked the bucket. You saw the light. You are no longer alive. Alive and you are now mutually exclusive entities. You have run out of time. You are six feet under. You gave up the ghost. You went out for a pack of smokes and ended up in the gutter. You pulled the trigger and it worked. You are dead. You are a once was. You are a has been. You are fucking goddamned wasted.

You’re dead.

There’s a lot of living people do without ever being alive.

FUCK! Another wasted hour on a deadbeat score. I sit up and crouch over the steel bench, warming the goosebumps popping on my arms with the rub of my hands. I cannot say I am particularly surprised. I pushed the embalming fluid through Mortimer Saperstein’s blotchy purple shoulder almost four days ago. The effects of the fluid wear off by day two; day three if the person really fucking believed in something. No, Mortimer was a goddamned Catholic. You can’t get a day three out of shoulder tapping and breadcrumbs, let alone a day four.

A huff and a sigh expel from my lips causing a white puff to form as I shove the frozen Mr. Saperstein back into the freezer once more. My dry cracked fingers squeeze my temple as I turn around to scan the area for who could quell this ache. Fuck, I needed a fix and I needed it bad.

I take a spin around the room, opening and closing the metal bins in search of some morsel not gone stale of fridge aftertaste and rotting innards….

Now for the ever-popular Morgue Styles of the Stiff and Lifeless, featuring Hedy Lincoln, Rose DeMastris, and Leeroy Ginkin. Hedy was an art teacher from Pekin whose rollover time in the peace movement of the sixties earned her a fine for doping it up in the oncology bathroom just before she croaked. Rose studied English Literature in Chicago until a wealthy proctologist persuaded her into mastering the domestic life. She died surrounded by family, without a book in sight. Lastly, poor Leeroy. Leeroy led his life fighting the good fight. From becoming a respected black soldier in WWII to being beaten by police at a peaceful protest. What a hero! He froze to death alone in a back alley, homeless.

Goddammit! Fuck! Shit! Damn! Hell! Fuck on a stick on a brick none of these yesterday’s headlines will work. Hedy and Rose will get their time in the casket spotlight tomorrow morning, a week after their arrival. I’m not going to risk fucking up my work for a less than ten percent chance of a high, no matter how devout Rose was. It’s been two weeks since Leeroy came to join us and we still can’t find his family. Three weeks since the subzero temperatures petrified Leeroy’s feeble shivering body causing his organs to shut down one by one until not even a last breath was left.

BAM! The sound of my slamming Leeroy’s slot shot through the room. I glance up at my metallic reflection in the locker. Dark brown twists matted and rested in waves of a tangled nest of unwashed, unbrushed hair. A complexion paler than beach sand barely reflected against the white walls behind. White walls are my tiny body’s camouflage. The most prominent feature beyond the dip in the bridge of the nose was the dark smudging circles encasing the startling light green eyes. Part of the bruise looking came from unwashed eyeliner, the other half from four nights without sleep.

This is what you did with your life. You took the heaping piles of money your fucking Romeo and Juliet parents left you and bought a fucking funeral home. Not a pony, not a car, not a goddamned Italian Villa….but a hearse and a mortuary.

BEEBOOPBEEBOOOP…..

The sound of my cell phone breaks me from my moment of pity. I dig the rectangular device from the black hole of a pocket in my charcoal colored smock and swipe over the scratches on the screen several times before it allows an answer.

It’s Cadence.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Got one for you. Coming in around back in five minutes,” she says and immediately hangs up.

The tension releases from my shoulders and I race up the stairs to tell my apprentice to get ready for a new arrival.

“C’mon Marley! We got an un-live one!” I yell reaching the top of the stairs. Marley’s obnoxiously large suede shoes appear in the kitchen entryway a second before the rest of his towering gangly self catches up. His tan skin appears darker in the shadowed entryway as he stands peeling a banana, shoving it whole into his mouth before speaking.

“Y’know, I did not find that funny the first time you said it. I still don’t.” he manages to clearly say amidst the mushy chomps and hint of a British accent, the result of his living in London for twelve of his childhood years. He came to live with his aunt after his parents died in an accident. Maybe that is why I took him on as my first apprentice; some orphan bond or orphan hood or something. We both have dead parents, just his did not involve matching revolvers.

“Look, I don’t have time to argue if Brits even have a sense of humor. Cadance has a new client for us to meet. Should be arriving any minute. So please, swallow your banana in your unusually large throat and make yourself useful.” I say, emphasizing the double entendre of his throat size until a red flush grazes over his modelesque cheek bones. I swear, if death did not fuck people up, he’d be in Hollywood.

Marley rolls his iridescent mahogany eyes and shrugs his squared shoulders as the buzzer rings. His robin’s egg blue polo ripples catching the whites of the overhead light as he makes his way past the four tables adorned with fake flower arrangements. I stare down at the just flung grey patterned carpet to avoid the wind of the doors Marley just flung open. I chose grey to mask any stains, and carpet to muffle sounds of feet and falling. People are so unaware of how many of their loved ones tipped over like wine bottles being carried in.

“Ms. Hugh, I believe we are going to need your help. This fellow is rather large.” Marley says.

“Will you fucking not call me….” I begin.

“Darcy.” He grins as a child in knowledge of their own mischief.

We roll in our new resident, who Cadence calls Jason Malone. I ask how he bit the dust and she explains he literally bit it on a back road on his motorcycle. Not necessarily the smoke and glory most riders aim for, but I guess it is better than my last rough rider who died of dysentery in a men’s stall in Jersey. Cadence and I tuck Jason Malone in on top the of the cool metal frame of the morgue car before she departs. She waves through the thin window of as it shuts with a thud. Cadence hates how clinical the morgue smells so she always leaves quickly, but frosted guts and Lysol is the odor of home to me.

“48. Wife. Children. Bloody hell grandchildren. Geesh, what a mess.” Marley exclaims flipping through the police and coroner reports, breathing deep heaving sighs. He keeps his empathy as a family crest, or as the only family he has left I’m not sure which. The iridescence in his eyes flicker to a dark, almost reaper black, as he turns to put down the file and pick up the disinfectant.

“Marley, it’s late. Why don’t you call it a night? I got it.” I say, giving him an out to escape.

“I’d rather stay and learn…” He begins.

The grit of getting past the tinge of loneliness lingering on every syllable he spoke and getting to my oasis outweighed any faculty of loyalty to his teaching. “This is going to be a solo job, tonight. Got it?” It is past six in the evening. The family shouldn’t call for arrangements until tomorrow. Marley can compose himself tonight and deal with them tomorrow.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. If I’m to learn anything you’ve got to let me help sometime…” He said, drifting off in defeat as he saw my shrug of an care when the door drew shut.

I begin the process and make Mr. Malone a sparkling gem, certified clean by scientists and moms everywhere. The needle goes into the artery of his right shoulder next to his chivalrous and patriotic tattoo of an eagle emerging from the American flag with U.S.S. Navy written underneath. The deep crimson and purplish hued blood drains and pours from the body like nectar in a sieve. When all the life juice finally drips from his veins I fill him back up with the fluid that makes people look like people and not rotting masticated meat from Thanksgiving dinner. I finish through the veins and replicate the procedure through the abdomen. And there lay Jason Malone, safe and soundless.

Washing up I barely kept my fingers from twinging in anticipation. The lock clanked as I chained the door and dimmed the lights to where everything was barely detectable. Grabbing a syringe from the cabinet next to the washing station, I held it to get a reflection and smiled openly at the prize before extracting some of the embalming fluid from Jason’s tattooed shoulder.

What do you believe? What is your life after death? Do you stay in your memories and relive your childhood and children? Do you anal fuck twelve virgins because you deserve it? Do you reach heaven’s gate? Do you stay here on earth reliving your homerun over and over? Do you find the cure to cancer? Do you sit with Buddha? Allah? God?

This is what I find out. What you believe is what I get off on.

I sit back in my frigid chair and use my teeth and my right arm to wrap the tourniquet around and tie to reveal my vein. The needle pierces the already circular red marking and I breathe in relief.

They ask:

How does she know what music my grandma likes?

Why does she know the names of unknown corpses?

Why does she seem so familiar to my brother/mother/aunt/sister?

I’m not a fucking psychic. I’m not a fucking medium. I’m fucking high.

I’m tripping balls on grannies’ memories. I’m getting fucked up on grandpa’s Jesus juice. I’m walking next to fucking John Lennon on a bed of clouds with your acid dipping uncle. I am watching your priest blow David Bowie dressed in feathers and glitter.

This is my stage and I must perform. In front of the bereaved I am the goddamned ringmaster and I light up the show. But here? Behind the curtain, I am the hallucinogenic spectator with popcorn and a beer. You die, I get fried.

The rooms clinical atmosphere begins to shape shift as I hear the chain stretch and I jolt up with a start. The cart in front of me crashes and the needle spins into unknown places.

“What the fuck!” I shout, looking heinously at the idiot who dared to disturb me.

“Sorry Ms- I mean Darcy. But…the Malones just arrived.” He stammers.

“Who?” I manage to say amidst the fluttering orbs of light around me.

Marley points to the corpse on the slab. “Mr. Malones family is here to see about him.”

The hallucinations pour from a liquid state to a solid and I freeze, staring wide-eyed back at Marley’s casual overcoat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. An infinite amount of fucks for this situation. I am at the tipping point of nonsense and about to enter the green fields of Jason Malone’s eternal happiness when my own eternal damnation personified in Marley’s earnest voice slashes the whole illusion to pieces. I’m running in strides back to the reality line…

“Darcy? Darcy? DARCY!” Marley’s voice turns to an almost hysteria as the clanks of him tying to barge through the door snap me to the present. “Darcy open the damn door!”

“Alright, alright. Jesus, Marley, who knew you even had a pair of anything.” I assure him of my state of being in my own quip nature as I pull the chain out of it’s lock. Marley treads back a couple steps and looks me up and down, studying.

“Are you alr-“He begins to ask.

“I’m fine.” I bat back quickly.

“But your eyes, they’re dark and your pupils are…”

“And Oh My, grandma, what big teeth you have!” I reprimand sarcastically, cutting him to a place that makes him wince back in hurt.

“Well, you look like shit and you smell ghastly.” Marley manages to say with a singe. I am actually impressed by his tone, but not enough to show it.

“What I am is considerably irritated. I’ll use the back way and shower quickly, change, and be back in ten. Just stall, okay?” I state, and Marley begrudgingly offers a nod of adherence. I know he wants to ask more but there isn’t the time. He couldn’t have seen everything, but he saw enough to warrant an inquiry. Thank the godless I installed the chain on the door.

Once Marley sways his dancers’ hips around and disappears to the upstairs I return to my state of frenzy as before he called my name. The door sweeps my hair behind me as I fling it as fast as it can open, searching the floor with eyes for any sign of the needle. Five fucking years of painstakingly careful execution of hiding my high ended at my own foil. Good job, Darcy, your common failure of crash and burn now comes to your favorite hobby.

On this episode of: Dude, Where’s My Needle? I hit the floor on hands and knees and scour the place to find my evidence. The jagged edges of my fingernails extend out in marks along a black tar highway. Wind brushes through my arms and around my waist as I stare forward to the dreamy fuchsia, orange, and burning yellow sunset horizon….

Shit. I shake myself and the horizon fades black into the marble flooring. With a push, I jump from the floor and look at the standard doctor’s office plastic clock. Three minutes I lost on Mr. Malones highway ride. There’s no fucking time to find the damn needle.

A shine gleams off Jason Malone’s nose as I shut off the light. My fingers flip the switch back on and I walk in inches towards the corpse. There, atop the corpse like a birthday cake for a funeral, the needle stands up. The tip of the needle stuck directly in Jason’s wide bridged nose. I poke the top of the injector and it waves back and forth like a metronome. It’s real, I’m sure of it I think, as I grab it and fling it into the wastebasket before heading upstairs to my quarters.

I don’t stop to turn on the light and illuminate the catastrophe that I call my upstairs apartment. Trudge through, shower, move the fuck right along. No amount of makeup will ever cover the hollowness incased in a shell of a tiny little pale whiny bitch such as myself. Suck it up, fucker, you’ve got business to do. You do your best work while being barely alive.

The echo of grinding my teeth ricochets in my brain as I stomp down the stairs. Fucking high cock blockers, this family, coming in here unannounced after hours. The dead may not keep hours, but I sure as hell do. I curse Jason Malone’s nightshade blue motorcycle and put on my “condolences” face as I enter.

Action! Time for the scene. Sweet docile funeral director enters stage left with a woeful demeanor and a basket full of tissues. She assures them their dearly departed is in the best of care while handing the grieved a napkin to wipe their fresh and relieved tears away. The director keeps decorum and shows the best salesman review of how to usher the dead a final farewell…

“It’s about damn time you get here!” croaks a raspy male voice.

Marley chimes in ahead of me, “Ms. Hugh, this is the Malone family. Everyone, this is Ms. Hugh, our director here at…”

Each of the family members give me their names. Old lady grey-fro is first to tell me she is the poor Jason Malone’s mother, Blanche. To the left of her sits her leather clad biker gang appearing eldest daughter, Marie, who despite her appearance talks in a delicate voice. Next to Marie, pen and paper ready for notes and blonde hair disguising her face, a girl who says her name is Roe. Across the table Jason’s older daughter Mona attends to two children while her husband Brent introduces them. Seated to my right in a barely audible voice a petite woman tells me she is Jason’s wife, Diana.

“Okay,” I say, “Now that I know at least your names, I think we can begin to talk about the arrangements if you are ready.” The quiet of reluctancy puts everyone to a silent moment. It’s the type of silence I hear nearly every day. The silence that screams, “No we’re not fucking ready!” No one is every fucking ready, especially not this crowd.

An overpowering scent of musk chokes me as Grandma Blanche leans over passed any personal space and plants her bosom on my shoulders, adjusting her silver spectacles to look. “You see,” Blanch points… “right there…I want that one and….”

“Jason….JASON….are you even listening to me? Bet you can’t hear a damn word I’m saying on that motorbike of yours. You love that motorcycle than you do your own mother! You hear me! I’m done!”

I’m blinded by bright lights and the honking of a large vehicle……AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

SMACK!

“Mom doesn’t want that package, Grandma, she wants this one.” The voice said dragging me back to reality with a jolt. It was Mona’s manicured finger with I am sure some polish titled, “Slutty Pink” or “Tit Juice” or some other obnoxious name for fucking pink contrived by the bored and corporate. Tit juice nails Mona’s colored her thin lips in with almost the same color lipstick and rouge for her cheeks. She talked like a reject eighties popstar from New Jersey with hair to match.

Blanch places a hand to her heart as if she’s a thespian of a great Shakespearean work in the deep south., “But, I am…”

Mona cocks her head and points her index like a trigger, “I don’t care who the hell you think you are, but that’s my dad and over there is his motherfucking wife, so if you don’t just back off…”

“I AM HIS MOTHER!!!!!” Blanche exploded, throwing both her hands in the air like this expression should render awe and applause from the audience instead of eye rolls. “Fine, fine, FINE! I can see I’m not wanted here. None of my kids care about me. My grandkids don’t care about me. I’m leaving!” Blanche’s hair ignites in a grey fire as she leaves the room, but I know that’s just the hallucinogens…I think. Marie and Diana chase after her, but no one shouts, “FIRE” so it’s just me tripping balls. I can deal with their fucking crazy, I just have to keep my fucking unreal crazy separated from their crazy. Sometimes reality is more batshit than tripping balls on highway to heaven.

“Now, mom, no one wants you to go anywhere. We want you here. But we..” I hear Marie tell her mother in as calming a tone as possible.

“I don’t think my poor heart can take any more, Marie! No one knows how hard it is to be me right now. I’m his mother!” Blanche says in sobs that put the Academy to shame. The award of the night, however, did not fall to her, but to Mona. She leapt up, leaving behind a mist of hairspray and face powder behind her and shuffled out the door.

“Oh, hell the fuck no!” she exclaimed as she walked out, her black dress flowing behind her like a cape in heroic flight to the villain. I don’t think I’d have a better vision stoned in the basement. Super Tit Juice rushed towards her grandmother followed by her sister and husband who ran passed me to hold her back. I went to the entrance to calm down the commotion when I felt a tug on the back of my skirt.

I turn around to see a girl no more than five looking up at me. Her features were barely grown but enough to know she’d always have dainty features. She looked down and tugged at the hem of her floral dress before she asked, “Aren’t you the funeral lady?”

“Yes, yes I am.” I say sweetly.

“Where does he go now?” she asks genuinely. Her bangs tread around her eyeline giving the impression her eyes are twice the size than their normal state as the sea blues begin to flood with burgeoning tears. Fuck, I had to come up with something. Luckily, my extracurriculars make this occupational hazard easy.

I bend my knees to reach her level and place her hand into mine. “You see, there is a bright green field and a never-ending stretch of highway, and he never has to get off his motorcycle. The skies are always clear and never rainy. And every evening has the most beautiful sunset where he can ride and never get weary.”

“Are you sure?” she questions, pursing her thin lips together.

I smile almost completely sincerely, the top of my overbite protruding over my lower lip, “You know what? I had a lot of those same questions when I lost my parents at a young age. It is one of those questions if you focus on too much, you’ll miss every real thing right in front of you searching for the afterlife. But I can assure you almost one hundred percent, he is where he believes is the happiest place for him.” The happiness shining on her face suggests she understands as much as a five-year-old can. The girl giggles and skips down the hallway.

My head throbs as I turn back around to the screaming match between Blanche and Mona. Here we are ladies and gentlemen for another round of Family Smackdown! Here in the first corner sporting her turn of the century musk de old person and fanny pack, It’s Our Fair Lady Grey-Fro with the dramatics to keep you sighing and the pacemaker to keep her going, going, going.

In the adjacent corner, wearing her patent ant Pepto-Bismol colored and decades old everything, is Super Tit Juice! When she’s not busy fighting for family justice, she can be seen at the local dollar mart getting a fresh manicure for those cat scratches!

One-Two-Three- Let’s go! First strike comes from Grey fro with a swift, “I’m your grandmother you won’t treat like that!” But Super Tit Juice recoils quickly with a, “You’ve never been there for us!” Grey fro takes a few paces back to recover but then comes from behind with a “I’m not going to be around forever, you know! “Super TitJuice is no fool and grabs Greyfro by the head and body slams her with a, “It’s not about you right now! It’s about our dad and he’s dead!” One-Two-Three-Four-Five-Six-Seven-Eight-Nine-Ten. Victory!

“If you all are finished, we can adjourn back in the room. Otherwise, the police can escort you out.” I say, causing everyone to file in silently to the conference room.

Once seated, I begin, “Everyone here is very passionate, and that can be a good and bad thing. Sometimes it allows us to show those who have passed how much we love them. Sometimes it makes us say things we regret…And sometimes you can’t take back what you say before it’s too late,” I pause on my words and Blanche settles a little lower in her seat and looks away, “But what we can do now is sit here and decide together what Jason would have wanted. Jesus Christ, this little girl here acted with more common sense than any-“ the looks of bewilderment on everyone’s faces stopped me in my moment of rally.

“Uh, Darce..” Marley interjects quizzically.

“What” I asked.

“What girl are you talking about?”

“His granddaughter.”

“Darcy, Mr. Malone only has grandsons.”

Fuck.

#short story #fiction #writing #chuck palahniuk #funny #satire #fuckmywritingteacher #words #death #funeral #drugs

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averyonelovesjack · 6 years

Text

baby sister ~ zach herron

requested: yes

Do a Zach imagine!

summary: on a trip to visit her older brother jack, y/n and her boyfriend struggle with a decision on how to tell him.

warning(s): cursing, angry jack, mention of sex (briefly), hella long

word count: 2715

A smile peered on my face as my feet lifted off the ground, launching my body forward onto the curly haired boy I’d missed more than anyone could imagine. My ears filled with the soft laughter of my brother who held me tightly, spinning around in a circle.

More pressure was applied to my tiny feet as Jack set me down and grabbed my bag from next to me. Most people would argue that they could carry their own bag, but honestly i just took a four hour flight out here to see him before the holidays, this bitch can grab my luggage. Jack’s car was going to be a good bit away, i know that, but there were conversations to be had in that time. We’d been away from each other since before summer, during his graduation. Despite anytime that Jack would come home, I’d be out of town or busy.

Jack smiled over at me, “i still can’t believe mom let you take a flight by yourself”

i playfully rolled my eyes, “you do understand that i’m sixteen right? i know you’re not good with birthdays, but come on”

he nudged me, “that’s pretty young! and i sometimes know your birthday”

a scoff escaped my mouth, “i get that i’m your least favorite sister, but damn. that hurt”

“there’s a lot to choose from,”Jack joked, shrugging, “not all four of you can be my favorite”

i used my two hands, turning and pushing him so that he was further away from me, “you’re supposed to disagree!”

he laughed, “i’m kidding”

i rolled my eyes, “no you’re not”

“yeah, you’re right. i’m not”

The door to the house opened and the smell of burning food filled my nose, realizing that it would probably be like this for a while. I looked over to see Daniel taking a very steamy cup of ramen out of the microwave. knowing these idiots, someone must have forgotten to take it out or put it for much longer than the timer says and then it was destroyed.

Jack set his keys on the table, yelling through the house, “WE’RE BACK”

I heard a few footsteps and then I was immediately tackled by a blond boy. Giggles left my mouth as Corbyn nearly knocked my over, hugging me tightly. A few more boys appeared from around the corner, each taking their turn to hug me, Zach’s being the shortest. Despite a normal length hug not being suspicious, we didn’t like to take chances. Our eyes glanced towards each other, but then away.

Jack had my bags in his arms, walking away from the large group of guys, “i’m gonna put your bags in my room”

i nodded my head at him, continuing to socialize with the four boys i hadn’t seen in so long. It was nice, chatting with all of them about what we’ve each been up to. Primarily what i’ve done recently, since their recent events can easily be found on the internet.

Jack playfully rolled his eyes as I stepped away from the living room that the two of us sat in to go answer my phone out by the pool. It wasn’t necessarily important, but it was a friend and it was an excuse to talk to Zach. I quickly answered Lila’s call and as soon as i hung up, i felt two arms grip my waist.

I was surprised, but I knew he was coming. My body jumped, but an adorable laugh left Zach’s lips, giving me comfort as I turn around. One of his arms stayed on my waist as the other lifted up, pushing my hair out of my face and landing on my cheek as his lips touched my own softly. A blush appeared on my cheeks as I kissed him back, taking in the taste of the flesh i’d missed for all too long.

When we separated, i looked up at him with a smile, “i’ve missed you”

“i’ve missed you too” He brought my body close to his, wrapping me in his warmth for longer than before as if to make up for what happened when i first arrived, “i hate having you so far away”

i nodded my head, “it truly sucks”

“and i hate having to share you,” Zach admits, “i just want everyone to understand that i miss you the most”

i laughed a little bit, “i wish we could tell them, zach. you know i do”

“i know,” he let out a breath, “it just sucks keeping the most important thing in my life from everyone”

i nodded, “it’s too risky. i want to tell everyone too, trust me”

“no one can do anything about us wanting to be together, y/n” Zach tried to convince me but fear of what could come rushed my mind.

“it’s jack we’re talking about,” i remind, “as much as i want to trust that he wants the best for me, i don’t want to ruin or wreck any relationship you have with him”

“i’m dating his little sister,” Zach told me as if i didn’t already know, “how would that ruin our relationship?”

i sighed, looking away, “i don’t know. if we– like maybe one day if we were to break up and-”

“why would we break up?” Zach was defensive now, hurt by what i’d suggested.

“i don’t know,” i sighed, “i don’t want to, ever, but you never know”

“baby, we’re not breaking up, right?”

“no, of course not! and i don’t want to” i tell him, “i just don’t know what to do about this whole jack situation”

“my relationship with him is separate from my relationship with you,” Zach informs me.

“i know,” i sigh, “just give me some time to think this over”

Zach nodded his head, slipping his fingers onto my cheek and feeding me a small and beautiful smile, “i love you”

“i love you too” i wrapped my arms around his body, taking in the scent that i could never get enough of.

I sat on the counter top of the bathroom, Zach standing in front of me as the door was lightly closed. Despite the pretty wide chance of someone walking in, it seemed less suspicious than the two of us being locked in one of the bathrooms together.

My eyes dazed into his as we talked about anything and everything. His smile lit up my world, making everything about the day seem amazing, even the boring times. The way his laugh filled my ears made me want to crumble beneath him.

His lips came closer to mine, nearly touching my own before the door opened and he quickly pulled away.

Jack looked highly confused, but within the .5 seconds of silence, his confusion turned to anger and rage, “what the fuck is going on?”

i was quick to spit out a few senseless words, “zach was just- my contact,” i realized this didn’t make sense and jack gave me a look and some time to continue on and make some sense of the words i’d blurted out, “he was just checking to make sure my contact was still in my eye”

“why wouldn’t you know if your contact was in your eye?” Jack glared, crossing his arms over his chest, “and why can’t you just check your case to see if it’s in there?”

“she might have dropped it,” Zach went along with what i was saying.

“might’ve dropped it?” Jack didn’t believe a single thing we were saying.

“yes,” i blurt more words, “i couldn’t tell if it was still on my finger and then i had a hand cramp”

jack took in every bullshit lie i said, thinking about it for a second. for a split second i thought he was gonna believe me until fury filled his eyes, “you don’t even wear contacts! you hate touching your eyes!”

this was true. he’d caught the fact that i was completely lying about wearing contacts and he knew me too well. i quickly came up with the reason he wouldn’t know about my completely fake affiliation with contacts, “we’ve been apart for a long time. i got over my fear”

He rolled his eyes, “you’ve literally been wearing your glasses all day! you can’t even deny that”

my jaw dropped at the fact that our lie had come to an end and i didn’t have any ideas on how to save it, “well i–,” i started, “we–”

Jack realized that there was no way for me to explain the close proximity of Zach to my face and quickly turned to shove Zach, his fingers digging into my boyfriend’s shoulders and forcing the younger boy against the wall. a squeal escaped my pleading lips as jack spit words at Zach, “what the fuck were doing with your face so close to my baby sister’s?”

zach hadn’t any idea of what to say, “jack! stop!” i squealed at my older brother, but it was ignored.

“fucking answer me!” Jack’s fingers pushed Zach back against the wall as zach tried to move off of it. another squeal left my mouth as i tried to yell at my protective older brother who didn’t seem to understand what was happening.

“hey, calm down,” Zach tried but my brother only grew closer to him. Although i couldn’t see his face, i knew jack was getting angrier by the second.

“what the fuck were you doing with my baby sister?” Jack questioned him and I heard footsteps running closer to us as my squeals and stops grew louder, “you have a fucking voice, answer me!”

The three other boys living in this house came in, Jonah immediately stepping between jack and zach, pulling jack back and away from him as zach quickly walked away from my raging older brother and back towards me.

i got down from the counter, stepping in front of my boyfriend and staring at jack, “i’m not your fucking baby sister”

Jack’s eyes turned from rage to sadness in the matter of two seconds after processing what i’d told him.

“it’s not your job to protect me,” I continued, feeling the need to go on with my argument against my brother, “i’m my own goddamn person and i’ll do what i fucking please. you can’t keep me in this little box like i’m four years old jack. newsflash, i turned sixteen months ago. i know you weren’t there, but trust me, it happened”

It was silent as i scoffed and walked out of the bathroom, trying to find some place safe for me to be alone, but it seemed like being in someone else’s house gave me no option. everyone had a room and i couldn’t find a spot to just sit.

instead of staying in this poisoned house, i went out the back door. LA was cold at night, but my anger kept me warm as i walked as far away from the house as possible, sitting down on the ledge that overlooked the city. it was quiet, other than the sounds of cars driving down the street and fireflies looking for mates.

a cool draft tickled my shoulders, making me shiver as i felt the presence of someone next to me. despite my usual fear of someone murdering me, i felt safe in the fact that it was one of the two people i’d have liked it to be.

a short breath left his mouth as i continued to stare out at the pretty city lights at night, not daring make eye contact, “can you at least look at me?”

jack’s voice cracked and i felt my heart shatter. i didn’t know what to say, but i figured it’d be easier than looking at him, “what for?” it was a cold reply, but nonetheless he deserved it, “you gonna push me too?”

a soft and sad scoff left my brother’s lips, “i don’t care what you tell me or how old you are, you will always be my baby sister”

“you’re two years older than me, jack,” i say, “you don’t even remember me as a baby”

“that’s not the point,” he paused, “the point is that i don’t care that you’ve turned sixteen because you will always be my baby sister. you have to live with the fact that i won’t like it when you get boyfriends, it doesn’t matter how old you are”

“and you have to live with the fact that you don’t get to protect me from everything in the world,” i finally looked up at him, “maybe i’ll always be your baby sister, but i am sixteen, despite you choosing not to abide by it. i’m going to act my age. i’ll get boyfriends and i’ll have sex and i’ll make mistakes because that’s how a person is created. if you want me to be the best person i can be, and to live up to my potential, then you need to stop protecting me from the world. i am very much aware of the damages that could do to me, but if i don’t make mistakes i’ll never learn”

“i don’t want to watch you make mistakes, y/n” Jack told me, “i want to protect you from making them. what you make a mistake that’s too big for you to handle?”

“we’re given the things we can handle,” i stare at my older brother, “the strongest soldiers get the toughest battles. i will find a way to handle what i need to”

jack looked back at me, “so are you and zach a thing?”

i sighed, letting out a deep breath, “yeah, zach is my boyfriend”

“how long did you keep it from me?” he questions and i suck in a deep breath.

“maybe six months?” i estimate and his eyes sadden.

“you really didn’t trust me to keep it?” i didn’t answer, “did anyone else know?”

“mom, sydnie, and ava,” i tell him, “i wanted to tell Isla, but you and her have this bond and i had a feeling she’d tell you”

he laughed a little bit at what i’d said about isla, “at least i’m not the last one to find out”

“i guess that’s true” i say, “i didn’t tell dad either. i figured that i should probably tell you first to prepare myself for what he’d have to say”

“oh shit, i’m not even the worst of your problems”

“i don’t see what the big deal is,” I admit to him, dangling my legs, “sydnie’s had boyfriends, she has one right now. and you two have still got ava and isla to protect from boys”

he sighs, “how long do you think we’ve got with single ava?”

i giggled, “not long. she’s thirteen and already prettier than me. i give it six months, a year tops”

“shut up!” jack nudged me, “you know that’s not true”

“yeah yeah,” i rock and then look at him with a small smile, “now i love this sib moment, but can i go see my boyfriend and make sure you haven’t scared the shit out of him enough to break up with me?”

“go getchya man” Jack smiled widely at me and stood up, helping me up as i ran towards the house, opening the door and leaving it for jack as i searched around for zach.

I found him sitting on his bed in his room, his head in his hands. the boys were all sitting in the room too, but watching tv and trying not to bother him. i looked into the room and then moved in front of him quickly, sitting down next to him.

he looked up as the bed sank and the smile on my face gave him a bit of hope as he wrapped his arms around me. i heard a few awes as i hugged him back, falling over onto the bed.

“ok ok, i don’t care that you’re dating but please, no pda around me” Jack walked into the room, cringing.

i stared at jack and then turned around, planting a kiss on zach’s lips, making his cheeks turn red.

“i swear to god she just likes to bother me” Jack gave up, sitting down on Jonah’s bed as the boys laughed.

#zach herron #jack avery #jonah marais #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #zach herron imagine #why don't we #wdw #imagines #imagine #fanfic #brother

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buckyscrystalqueen · 6 years

Text

Half Blood, Whole Heart: Part 4

Pairings: Jax x Reader, sister Winchester!reader- SOA/SPN Crossover

Warnings: Swearing, fluff. Lots of fluff.....

Word Count: 3,592

A/N: So I decided to repost my novel- the story that someone stole from my old blog and put up on Wattpad. PLEASE don’t be an asshole and steal my stories. It CRUSHED me when it happened and almost ran me off Tumblr.

Half Blood, Whole Heart Masterlist Aesthetic by @ravenangel33

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Lowell, kick me that pan over there.” You called from under the old Chevy you were laying under. You heard the metal tin scrape across the ground followed by a voice you weren’t expecting.

“Didn’t I teach you to keep everything within reach when your under a car?” Dean asked. You smiled as you began to drain the coolant from the engine.

“Yea, well guess you gotta tell me again. Maybe it will stick this time.” You slid out from under the truck and Dean reached out his hand to help you up. He glanced at the truck you were working on, sighed and looked back at you.

“I get why you’re staying here.” He said as you wiped your hands off on a bandana you had hanging from your pocket. “I don’t like it and I don’t agree with the little things but I am proud of you for this, Button.” He gestured to the truck and gave you a weak smile.

“I need this, Dean. I’m not cut from the same cloth you and Sam were when it comes to that shit. It was never my fight.”

“I know, Button. Still don’t like it but I know.” You smiled and bumped him with your shoulder as you looked out of the garage for Sam.

“You’re gunna take care of him, right?” You asked as you looked back at your brother and he nodded.

“Best as I can. It’s not going to be easy but I know dad is sending us to Colorado for a reason.”

“Just let me know when you find him, OK?” you requested. Dean looked at you sarcastically and rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m just going to leave you in the dark.” You shook your head as he pulled you in for a hug. After a moment, you pulled back and looked at him.

“Look, if you find this thing and you really need help, let me know. I’ll talk Jax into tagging along to teach more about our family business.”

“Ha! I’d pay to see that happen.” Dean teased as Sam headed into the garage.

“Pay to see what?” he asked

“You dressed in drag.” Dean quipped.

“Dad belly dancing.” you said at the same time. The three of you laughed as Sam gave you a quick hug.

“Take care of yourself, (Y/N).” Sam said as he stepped back. “And thanks for putting us up last night.”

“And putting up with our shit.” Dean said and you swiped your hand at them.

“Hey, that’s what little sisters are for. You two take care of each other and find dad. Now, I gotta get back to work because this engine isn’t gunna remove itself.” You said bye to your brothers and paused just long enough to watch them walk across the lot. With a heavy sigh you grabbed your socket wrench, laid back down on your creeper and got back to work.

——

“Hey darlin’, you almost done?” Jax called out as he strolled into the shop. You jumped at the sudden noise and managed to knock the transmission lift and it shifted the entire thing an inch away from where you needed it.

“Goddamn it, Jackson!” You shouted from under the truck as you tried to shove the lift back in place. “Push this back toward me an inch or so.” You waited only half a second before the transmission shifted back into place. “Why do you always do that?” You called out as you started to tighten the torque converter bolts. You saw a flash of blond appear beside you and you glanced over to your boyfriend.

“It’s fun to watch you get all feisty.” You rolled your eyes and looked back up at the truck with a small shake of your head.

“You’re an ass.” You grumbled.

“Yes, but I’m your ass. You need a hand baby girl?” You nodded as you tightened the mounting bolts and Jax jumped up to help. With the two of you working together like a well oiled machine, the job that would have taken you over an hour to finish alone, took you only 25 minutes and before you knew it, you had the truck idling right outside of the garage just as the sun was setting.

“I don’t think I have ever redone a car so fast in my life.” You bragged as you smoked a cigarette and checked under the car for any leaks. Jax laughed as he leaned against the shop wall.

“I don’t think anyone at the shop has. Shit, I don’t even think I could get a turnover done that fast.” You shrugged as you went around and turned off the truck and shrugged.

“No one will ever be…”

“You get that truck done already?” Clay called out as he walked out of the office. You looked over at him and nodded.

“Yes sir. I’m gunna wait until tomorrow to take it around the block and check it.” He paused, pursed his lips and shook his head.

“I’ll have Lowell do it. I got something else in mind for you.” Without another word, he walked off toward the clubhouse. You turned around and looked at Jax.

“Should I be worried?” You asked and he slowly shook his head.

“Nooo… but I will try to find out what it is. Come on, though- can’t be late to your own crow party.” You smiled as he took your hand and headed toward the clubhouse.

——

You were washing the shampoo out of your hair when you heard Gemma call your name from your room.

“In here!” You called out as you grabbed your conditioner. The bathroom door swung open and the sound of her heels clacked across the tile.

“I brought you two different color tube tops.” She said as you poked your head out of the shower curtain. She gave you a quick kiss before sitting down on the toilet. “Now, I know you wear a lot of black so I brought a black one but I have a peach one that I know will make your eyes just pop.” You smiled as you grabbed your body wash and poured some on your hand.

“Mom, if I wear the peach one it’s going to get blood and tattoo ink on it and it will be ruined.” She hummed and tapped her foot.

“Fair point. So wear the black one. The ink won’t show on that one. Are you wearing jeans again or could I convince…”

“Mom, will you let my old lady shower in peace?” Jax interrupted and you smiled as you washed out your conditioner.

“Oh alright. I’m just so happy for you two.” You heard her heels cross the tile floor again and you looked out of the shower at your boyfriend.

“I like the sound of that.” He chuckled as he walked over to you.

“Like the sound of that?” He cooed and you nodded as he gave you a kiss. You gently grabbed his chin and smirked at him.

“You know this makes you my old man, right.” He rolled his eyes as you giggled and gave him a chaste kiss before ducking back behind the curtain to finish rinsing off. You got out of the shower and quickly wrapped your towel around you as you headed over to your dresser.

“You ready to get branded?” Jax teased as he pulled on a clean shirt. You smiled and looked over at him.

“Is it going on my forehead?” You joked and he laughed and nodded.

“I’m doing it too.” You shook your head as you pulled on your jeans and Gemma’s shirt.

“I will let you give me a tattoo as long as I can give you one too.”

“Absolutely not! I’d end up with like a flower on my chest or some shit.” You glared at him as you brushed your hair.

“It wouldn’t be a flower, baby. It would be a mother fucking unicorn shittin’ a rainbow on your arm.” You threw your long wet hair up into a messy bun as Jax put on his kutte over a blue flannel shirt.

“Then I’d give you a giant middle finger on your back.” You pointed on him as you slipped on some flip flops.

“This is why you will never tattoo me.” He shrugged as he walked over and opened the door.

“Maybe I’ll just do it in your sleep.” You grabbed his hand and squeezed it as you headed toward the club.

“You even think about it Jax and I will kill you.” As you walked into the room, you were a little surprised by the amount of people that had showed up and even more surprised when they started cheering. Jax stopped and pulled you into his chest with a giant grin. For show, he spun you to the side and dipped you as he gave you a kiss and you smiled against his lips. He stood you up right and brushed his thumb across your cheek as he searched your eyes.

“I love you, (Y/N).” He said softly.

“I love you, too, Jax. Always will.” He gave you a chaste kiss before he reached down and took your hand.

“Come on. Let’s let the professional ink you up.” As you headed over toward the spot Happy had set his stuff up, your stomach suddenly clenched with nervousness. You could almost hear your brothers and your dad’s voices in your head yelling at you and telling you how stupid you were being. Almost as if he could read your mind, Jax stopped short and looked back at you. He pulled you to him and cupped your cheeks in his hands. “Listen, if you don’t want to…” You shook your head and smiled.

“First tattoo, babe. Little nerve wracking one way or another. I want this.” He held you in place for a few seconds before he nodded and smiled.

“It’s easy. I’ll be right there the whole time. Besides, I already have a question for you to distract you when he starts.” You cocked your eyebrow as he gave you a chaste kiss and before you could ask what the question was, you found yourself at Happy’s side. He gave you a quick hug before he showed you the crow design. It was identical to the one Gemma had.

“Umm… can I actually make one tiny request?” Both men looked up at you as you blushed as you pointed at the sketch. “Would it be possible to have Jax write out the word ‘forever’ and add his name at the bottom?” You looked up at him and gave a small shrug. “Makes it a personal for us.”

“I have no issue with that whatsoever.” Happy said as he grabbed a new sheet of sketch paper and a pencil from his bag.

“You’re too cute, do you know that babe?” Jax asked. You smiled as he kissed your forehead and he sat you down on the chair.

“Make sure you spell it right.” You teased as he took the pencil from Happy.

“Got it. F-U-C-K-Y-O-U.” He said as he wrote. You rolled your eyes and he laughed as he wrote his name. You showed Happy exactly where you wanted the tattoo while Jax went over and got himself a beer from the bar.

“So what is this question you have for me?” You asked as he grabbed a chair and pulled it to your side. He took your hand in his as Happy laid down the stencil against your skin.

“Well, I’ve heard Dean call you ‘Button’ like a dozen times. So, what’s the story behind the nickname?” You huffed a laugh as Jax glanced at the tattoo stencil and with a small nod, you heard the tattoo machine buzz to life. With a smile of encouragement, he squeezed your hand and you forced yourself to focus only on the blue eyes in front of you and your story as Happy got started.

“Well… when my mom dropped me off with my dad, she left me with this ugly brown teddy bear. Other than baby essentials, my birth certificate and my social security card, it was the only thing she gave him. That bear became my security blanket of sorts. When I was like 3 or 4 maybe, one of the eyes fell off when I was sleeping and when I woke up and saw my bear was ruined, I cried for hours. Dad had left us in a motel once again with Dean in charge and he didn’t know what to do. So, he ripped off one of the buttons of his shirt, borrowed some superglue from the front desk because he didn’t know how to sew, and he gave the bear a button eye. For some reason after that, the only part of the teddy bear that mattered to me was that button. Over time, the bear fell apart and I got rid of it but I kept the button; still have it sewed into the sleeve of my hunting jacket at the wrist. Dean started calling me ‘Button’ a few months after he fixed the bear and the nickname stuck.”

“That is freaking adorable.” Jax said.

“Shut up.” You said behind a yawn. He kissed your knuckles and chuckled.

“How come you don’t really talk about him?”

“About Dean? Well, Dean and I are 5 and a half years apart in age where as Sam and I are only a year and a half. We had to move a lot, so we never really had the chance to make friends. That combination made Sam my best friend almost by default. Dean and I didn’t really get that close like he and Sam did and I think it had something to do with the fact that I was a girl and the fact that I was only his half sister. See, he knew Mary; had four years with her as his mom before she died. So when I got dropped off a year after that by a different mother than his and he had to call me his sister? To a five year old, that’s kinda like a slap in the face to his mother’s memory.”

“So then what happened to your relationship with him when Sam went to Stanford?”

“It was complicated. My dad and Sam used to fight like cats and dogs because they have very similar personalities… but don't ever tell Sam I said that. Dean used to get in the middle and stop their fights and I typically stayed out of it. As we all got older, my dad started letting the boys take smaller jobs together but he started focusing more on what I was doing. He got a little over-protective and controlling when it came to me and cases he had and I spent a lot of time left behind to do research.

Of course, I wanted to be with my brothers that I knew better than I knew my own father so when I was forced to stay behind, it would start a fight. Then Sam would step in to protect me, Dean would step in to protect him… vicious circle. So when Sam took off for Stanford because he couldn’t take my dad’s shit anymore, dad spent a lot more time nit-picking what I was doing and Dean, went back and forth. Sometimes he would side with dad and make the situation worse, sometimes he would stay out of it completely and sometimes he would step in and defend me like he did Sam. Don’t get me wrong, I know Dean loves me but I always knew that it was a different kind of ‘sibling love’ then the kind he felt for Sam. I don’t blame him for it… that’s just Dean.”

“Sounds like one hell of a family circus.”

“It was; that’s why I left. Dean and my dad are nearly one in the same when it comes to work; they hear about a job, they go out, they take care of it, they move on to the next, repeat. After Sam left, dad deemed it time for Dean to start working on his own. Me being there and fighting with my dad just made Dean’s life more stressful and I didn’t want to do that to him or keep fighting with my dad and like I said, it was never my fight, anyways. So I walked away… and found you instead.” Jax smiled as he absentmindedly played with your fingers.

“Thank God for little miracles on that one.” You hummed in agreement as you rested your head against the back of the chair. It only took a minute for your mind to realize just how tired you were from less than three hours of sleep and a long day at work before you drifted off. What seemed like only seconds later, you were woken by a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t think I have ever seen someone fall asleep for a chest tattoo before.” You heard Happy say.

“I’m not sleeping, I’m just resting my eyes.” You grumbled. Jax laughed as you forced your eyes open.

“Babe, you have been sleeping for two hours.”

“I have not.” You falsely claimed as Happy handed you a mirror. “I heard everything you said.”

“Oh, yea? What were we just talking about?” Jax asked as you held the mirror out in front of you. A huge smile spread across your face as you looked at your crow.

“How amazing this tattoo looks and how Happy has never seen someone fall asleep for a chest tattoo.” Jax chuckled and gave you a kiss.

“I knew I should have written ‘smart ass’ after my name.”

“Move your face; mom didn’t make glass when she made you and I’m not done lookin’.” You sassed as you gave him a quick kiss before leaning around him to see. He stepped back and took a look himself with a smile on his face.

“Looks good, darlin’. You did a good job, Hap.” You looked up at your tattoo artist and nodded.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“It’s truly an honor.” You handed him his mirror and gave him a quick hug before you got up and wrapped your arms around Jax’s neck with a smile.

“Now the whole world knows I am all yours, baby.” He hummed and leaned down to kiss you as the sound of heels approached quickly.

“Alright, enough of that. I want to see my future daughter’s crow!” Gemma demanded. Jax smiled and rolled his head to the side.

“Mom, can I have a second with my old lady?”

“No.” Gemma said as she put her fists on her hips. “You can have her back after I see.” You laughed and turned in his arms so she could see. She tilted her head to the side as she lightly ran her fingertips just under her son’s name across your chest. “That’s your handwriting?” She asked and he nodded.

“Her idea. Gives it a personal touch for us.” She nodded and winked at you.

“Way to own it, honey.” As she walked away, you looked up at Jax.

“Cigarette and a beer?” He nodded and walked you over to the bar with his arms still around your waist.

“Hey… can we get my old lady a beer?” He called out to the bartender and was met with a collective shouted cheer from the room. You laughed and grabbed a barstool as Jax lit a cigarette for you.

“They are going to do that every time you say that tonight, aren’t they?” He nodded as he handed you your cigarette.

“It’s a big deal. It’s like the equivalent of an engagement party. Celebration all around.”

“Well I don’t mind celebrating being in love with you one bit.” He smirked down at you as he handed you a beer.

“Good because I don’t either.” Over the next few hours, nearly everyone had come over to look at your tattoo and congratulate the two of you. As the party started to thin out, Clay finally made his way over to you.

“Congratulations you guys. Crow looks good on you, (Y/N).”

“Thanks Clay.” He raised his beer and motioned to the two of you.

“I wanna see both of you in the office tomorrow morning.” Like he always did, he turned around and walked away. You looked over at Jax.

“I kinda feel like we should be worried.” He shrugged and draped his arm around your waist.

“Don’t be. He wants us both in there; probably just to privately congratulate us.” You nodded as you tried to stifle a yawn. “Tired baby?” You laughed and nodded.

“I feel asleep while I was getting a tattoo; what do you think?”

“I think, it’s bed time for me and the old lady.” Jax said loudly on purpose. You shook your head at him as the whole room cheered once more. You hopped off the stool and finished your beer.

“You’re such a dork.” You teased. Without warning, Jax bent down, put his shoulder into your stomach and lifted you off the ground. You fought to hold back your squeal as the few people around you laughed.

“Yea, well you’re stuck with me.” He said as he carted you through the room. He paused just long enough so the two of you could say good night to Gemma before he carried you, giggling to your room.

Part 5

#Jax x Reader #Half Blood Whole Heart #SOA/SPN crossover

50 notes · View notes

dragon-fics · 4 years

Text

S&H: Ch. 24 The Big Day

Chapter summary: Molten and Zion finally get to have their big day.

Notes, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15, Ch. 16, Ch. 17, Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20, Ch. 21, Ch. 22, Ch. 23, Ch. 24, Ch. 25, Ch. 26, Ch. 27

Molten combed his damp hair slowly. Fireworks erupted in his stomach as the teeth ran through his strands of hair. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black suit trousers—the most formal thing he had worn since Ember’s christening. He stared back at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was ten in the morning, just an hour before he’d be standing in front of the altar, waiting for his beloved Zion to arrive.

He thought back to his early days of being a DJ, how he’d often be around wedding parties. He remembered how happy the newlyweds looked, sitting side by side at their table. He hoped that Zion and he would be that happy today.

Once he felt he had fixed his hair enough, he entered his hotel room. On the bed lay his suit jacket, tie and a set of horn cuffs—a piece of jewellery worn by married dragons. This set was silver, with a gold band above below the silver on the band. An icy blue sapphire set in each, to match Zion’s engagement ring. The rings matched the wedding ring Zion would give Molten today—it just wouldn’t have a stone in it. Their ring bearer—Kate—had their wedding rings. It just so happened Zion forgot the horn cuffs. And by Roanain tradition, neither groom could see the other during the week up to the wedding. So Molten was begging that fate would let them give the rings to Kate before the wedding began.

Molten picked up the white box and looked in at the velvet embraced jewellery. He blew on the cuffs and clicked his fingers. A small blue flame ignited between his fingertips. The silver and gold reflected the blue light shiningly, while the sapphire reflected it glowingly. He nodded approvingly at their shine and closed the box. He placed the box back down and started on his tie.

“Molten?,” called Flame from outside the room. “We’d better get moving soon; just remember that we still have to travel to Askel.” He strode into the room as Molten fiddled with the tie. He sighed quietly and did it for him. “You nervous?” he asked.

“A little,” Molten admitted.

“Good,” Molten looked at his sire, confused. “It means you care about him—” he pulled the knot tight “—and that you’re in love." Molten pulled on his jacket and Flame brushed it off. “Now, we better get going,” he said, grabbing the jewellery box and leaving the room.

“Right,” Molten whispered. He spun on the spot, looking around the room before leaving.

The next time I’ll be entering this room, I’ll be carrying Zion in my arms.

*-*-*-*

Zion sat in front of his dresser, a hairdresser trimming his blonde strands. Under the hairdressing cape, he twiddled his thumbs, fighting the urge to mess with his hair out of nervousness. He allowed the hairdresser to finish and leave the room before standing up. He was nervous, excited and anxious. He knew he loved Molten, and he knew Molten loved him. He just wasn’t sure if it was the right step. He was 25, Molten 24. A year after they had moved into their new house, two years since Molten proposed and three years since they’d met.

His thoughts interrupted as his sire entered the room. Already dressed in his best of royal suits.

“I knocked,” Arryn said.

“Sorry, I just...”

“Panicking?”

“... Yeah.”

“Don’t. I’ve seen how you two look at each other, how you are together. And I know for a fact you’ll be both very happy today,” he said softly, fixing Zion’s white tie around his black shirt collar. “And I’m sure he’s just as nervous as you are right now.” He rested his hands on Zion’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “And I know she’d be happy for you.”

Zion knew who he was talking about; his dam, who was rarely ever mentioned. He gripped his sire a little tighter. “Thank you.”

And then they were interrupted by another knock on the door.

“That would be your maid of honour,” Arryn said, as he they released their embrace. “And don’t forget your crown,” he said, leaving the room.

As soon as her sire had left, Mona rushed into the room, seeing Zion in only his white suit trousers and black shirt.

“You jacket and tie?!” She exclaimed in a rush. “Have you seen the time?! And we still have to get to the church through the massive crowd of people who want to see a royal wedding!” She was practically yelling at him.

“Alright, I’ll hurry.”

*-*-*-*

Molten stood in front on the huge white alter at the front of the Roanian church. A mass of mumbling echoed through the church filled with high lords of Roania, Molten’s family, and journalists. Compared to the Wyrmian churches, the stone wasn’t laced with gold wire embroidery or scattered with gems, instead it was engraved with messages in Old or New Roana—the native language of Roania—or basic tongue. There were also pictures from their religious book, which—after a bit of inspection on Molten’s part—wasn’t very different to the Wyrmian religious book.

It was about ten minutes past eleven, ten minutes behind schedule. And Molten really wasn’t sure what to do. Not much could’ve gone wrong. Right? He had got from the hotel in north Shovania to the church without running into crowds. Then again, he came from Wyrmia, not Roania. And he knew Zion’s sisters wouldn’t let him fall behind schedule... Well, not by a huge amount, anyway.

He glanced back to his family sitting in the front row, unease resting on his face.

“Relax,” CJ whispered beside him, He was his best man. “He wouldn’t do this purposefully.”

“I know, I know,” Molten whispered back, but his voice contradicted his words. Then the muttering was silenced. Molten looked around. The royal families of both Roania and Wyrmia had arrived; this wedding was more than a show of love between a couple, it was a sign of peace between two segregated countries. While the families settled Molten saw Kate take the jewellery box from Flame.

At least that’s sorted(I), CJ said to him. Molten smiled and drew in a breath.

Then the organist played Bridal Chorus. Molten had never felt so relieved at the sound of an organ play.

About time!

He saw CJ’s lips curl.

A lifetime seemed to pass as Zion walked up the aisle, Mona by his side. He wore his white suit proudly, along with his silver crown. What Molten didn’t know was coming was that Zion had taken some artistic liberties in wearing a shoulder-length veil, because same-sex weddings weren’t traditional, and that there were no rules in place.

So when he joined Molten at the alter, Molten was somewhat surprised, but he liked it.

“Hey,” Molten whispered as the Archbishop made his way out.

“Hi.”

*-*-*-*

The ceremony itself wasn’t all that long, a basic wedding ceremony, but what happened after took the more time than expected. Pictures. Goddamn pictures. The one thing Zion and Molten hated more than anything else in the world. But they had expected it, and Molten had brought his iconic shades, so there wasn’t much worry on that part. But the newlyweds still had to pose for dozens of photos, say thank you to the high lords and royal family of Wyrmia, sign autographs and had to make their way to their Rolls Royce stretch limo. The ceremony and escape route took the better part of an hour, and Molten was sure his family had escaped unscathed long before that. Well, he hoped, because they were never as keen on paparazzi either, and no fan truly knew who Molten’s family was—apart from Mona.

It took another hour to get to the reception at the hotel Molten had stayed in the night before. Most of the guests were already there, chatting away, so the couple freshened up quickly before they had to face the crowd.

The couple stood in front of the door for a moment as Molten unlocked with his key card. As soon as it was open he turned to Zion, a somewhat devilish look on his face.

“Go on,” Zion sighed. No sooner as Molten got permission, he scooped Zion up and carried him—bridal style—into the room. He then placed him down.

“So what dis hold you up?” Molten asked, checking his tie in the mirror.

Zion nudged him over a bit, so he could fix his crown and hair after removing the veil. “I got distracted by my dear sire, that and the hairdresser took forever.”

“In other words; you slept in? Or you procrastinated? Which?”

“I hate you,” he said, looking up at Molten. He looked back down at him.

“No, you don’t. Otherwise we won’t be wearing matching rings.” He smirked. Zion snorted, but his lips curled into a smile. Molten pressed his lips against Zion’s.

“I think we have some guests to see to,” Molten said.

“Ugh,” Zion groaned. “Fine.” He said starting towards the door. At the last second, he picked up his veil. “Can you put it in for me?” Molten took the veil from him and slid the ‘comb’ into Zion’s hair behind his crown.

“That ok?”

Zion tapped the veil. “Yeah, I think so.” As they left the room and started down the corridor, Zion slid his hand into Molten’s. “So us your war veteran, racist, homophobic, sexist grandsire gonna be here?” He asked.

Molten sighed. “Yep, but after our last encounter with him, I think he knows that today is the worst day to voice his opinions.” Zion smiled.

“But we are going to kick him out if it happens?” Molten looked at him.

He hesitated. “I... I.”

Zion laughed. “We’ll just try to enjoy today,” Zion stopped in front of Molten. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” He pecked Zion’s nose. They looked at the double doors to the ballroom. They could hear the bubbling atmosphere inside. Molten walked in, still holding Zion’s hand, but didn’t go straight for the guests, instead going towards the tiny appetisers laid out on a line of tables.

“Molten!” Zion hissed.

*-*-*-*

It had been a few hours since the meal had started. Molten and Zion had escaped for a few minutes onto the jetty by the ballroom. The air near the sea was cooler than that of the city, and the sun held a warm evening-like glow almost constantly at this place in Wyrmia.

The sound of water lapping up against the wooden posts of the jetty tickled Zion’s ears as they both faced the water. Molten held his arm around Zion’s waist. He nuzzled his hair to get his attention, before spinning him around, as if they were dancing, to face him. Zion looked up at him and looked at him to say he wanted to tell him something. Molten leaned his ear close to his mouth.

“I think its time for the cake,” he said.

Molten laughed. “Yeah, I suppose so.” Zion tugged Molten back towards the ballroom.

The cake stood on its own table beside the head table where both of their families sat. One side of the cake was black with white sheet music printed on the icing, the other was white, with black speckles on the icing, to represent stars. The divide between the colours was a curve, hidden by flowers made of icing, all lined up to look like a rainbow—or as others might see it, the stereotypical pride flag. The colour either side of the cake represented the grooms’ suit, and the printed music notes and stars represented their passions.

They made their way towards the cake. They went for a piece from the divide in the cake. They went for a 5 tier cake, each tier was a Victoria sponge. Most of the room took photos or a video of them cutting it. So once they were done, they took it back with them. The waiters cut and dispersed the cake. They seemed to relax a bit.

“Just out of interest,” Lika started, “Is this an actual song or is it a random mix of notes?” She asked as she ate her piece.

“It’s an actual song,” Molten assured.

“What’s it called?” Came Sarabi.

“What was my last album called?”

Mona squealed with her mouth closed. “That’s adorable.”

Zion looked at him questioningly.

“He doesn’t know your album name?” CJ asked.

“My dear husband isn’t so keen on my mixed music style.”

Zion looked to Mona.

“The title of his album and one of his songs was called Zion.” She said, looking to Molten. He smiled, embarrassed.

“I had to alright?” he said at Zion’s dumbfounded face.

Mona slapped Zion on the back. “How did you(I)—” she poked his chest “—not know that?”

Zion raised his hands up in defence. “I have my taste in music!”

“He’s your fiancé-now-husband!”

Molten chuckled at the twins’ argument. Zion whipped his head around at Molten.

“Aren’t you gonna defend me?”

Molten sighed and shrugged. He turned to the DJ, who had been playing soft music in the background. He gestured for him to play their song. The DJ nodded and Molten stood up.

“C’mon,” he said, holding out his hand. Zion smiled a little and took his hand. As they walked passed Molten’s family, Molten flicked Ember’s hair, making her giggle. They walked onto the dancefloor, in between the DJ and the guests.

“Ready?” He whispered.

“As I’ll ever be.”

#Scales and Hooves

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contrivedcoincidences6 · 7 years

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The Invisible Cord ch. 3

I FINALLY got my ass back in gear! Here is the third chapter which was edited by @alittlemissfit :)

Catch up: Chapter 2

November 2011 Washington D.C.

I watch the clock tick by and when my phone rings I realize I've been staring at the clock for nearly a half hour. The caller ID says ‘Mulder’ so I answer.

“Hey, I’m thinking of driving into the city. We can go out to dinner. What do you think?” he asks when I pick up.

“That sounds nice. You pick the place and text me the time.”

In truth I’ve been exhausted all day. All I want to do is curl up in bed or sink into a warm bath. But the hope in Mulder’s voice convinces me that he needs this. He wants to get out of the house and keep busy. Losing Emily had been his loss as well. Two children. We’d lost two children. On William’s birthday there was a measure of comfort in knowing that he was out there somewhere happy and loved. This day just reminds us of the little girl who’d had a short painful life. The little girl who’d been stolen from us right out of my womb. There were times after we discovered her true origins where I’d lie awake at night and picture the life we could have had. I imagined a younger me with a growing belly and a proud Mulder holding our tiny baby. In some of my saddest fantasies Melissa was with us holding her niece with a smile. In these dreams we were happy. I block out these daydreams now to keep myself from breaking into a million pieces.

“How about a movie afterwards?” Mulder says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” I reply, meaning it.

“Good. I’ll set everything up and text you.”

“Sounds good.”

Some time later Mulder texts me with our plans and I go back to watching the clock.

November 2011 Gateway theater Chicago, IL

When we exit the theater a man and a woman with blank expressions on their faces accost us. The woman has curly brown hair reaching down to her shoulders, and a pretty open face with round eyes. The man looks like some kind of stiff android with a blond crew cut and an expressionless face.

“April Meeks, May and Brian Rollins.” The man states as they stand in front of us.

The three of us nod mutely. May’s hands go to her hips and her eyes narrow while Brian and I wait passively.

“We don't have time to beat around the bush so we’ll tell you upfront that we know who and what you are. We are similar to you. We’ve been working since your respective births to free you from those who have kept you in an invisible cage. We know they have an antidote they give you every two months to prevent you from running away. It has taken years but we have finally cracked their formula. This means that it is time for us to escape.”

The woman says, taking turns making eye contact with each of us.

The three of us fall silent. I feel numb as I try to comprehend everything she’s telling us.

“How the hell do we know we can trust you?” May asks with her usual bite.

They look at each other and then back at us, “Well I suppose you don’t. But you don’t have many other options. We know you’ve been trying to find a way out. This is what we are offering,” the man says.

“You’ll take us to our parents?” The words are out before I can stop them and my face grows red as Brian brushes his hand against mine.

The man and woman share another look before speaking, “Yes. But both sets of your parents believe you to be dead. That applies to all of you.”

My eyebrows rise but May speaks before I can respond.

“So we're supposed to believe you found the antidote to ensure our own blood doesn’t kill us? And you expect us to trust that you won’t just do the same thing to us that these people are now? That all sounds really goddamn nice but why are you interested in looking out for us. What are we to you?” May questions.

“We care because we are related to you in a way. I was grown from the genes of your mothers. She was grown partly from their genes as well as some genes taken from April’s biological aunt. We are invested in what happens to you and your parents.” The man says.

“Who are you?” Brian asks.

“My name is Samantha and this is Kurt’l the woman says, gesturing to herself and her companion.

“But we do not have much time. If you want to come with us you’ll need to go back and pack now so we can leave before dark.” Kurt says.

“I want to see proof of the antidote first.” May demands.

They seem prepared for this and Samantha pulls up a briefcase she’d been holding. She hands it to Kurt to hold so she can open it and show us the contents.

Inside is the same green serum they injected us with every other month. There were multiple vials of it along with syringes.

“We need a moment to talk this over. Excuse us.” May says as we tear our eyes away from the briefcase.

“Understandable. We’ll return to our vehicle,” Samantha points to a car parked on the street, “If you wish to join us come to the car. We’ll drive you to the foster home where you can pack and prepare for the journey.”

“Journey to where?” I ask.

“Virginia.”

We watch them leave and for a few moments we go silent.

“What do you guys think?” May asks, breaking the silence.

I shake my head and stare at my shoes, bite my lip before speaking.

“I want to believe them.”

We end up going with Kurt and Samantha. In the end we almost feel like there’s no other choice. It's not as if we have much to lose. I leave brief notes to the Sisters, thanking them for all they did for us and giving as much of an explanation as I can. I feel some guilt over leaving them. I know they’ll dedicate time and effort in trying to find us but with what we're doing, it's probably better we not be found.

Being absent from school isn't a problem. In general we know more than our teachers and we figure wherever we end up we’ll be getting an education of sorts anyway.

May is cautiously excited about the whole thing, so Brian and I sit back and let her handle everything. We make our way out of Chicago before dusk, ready to face our futures.

“April. Wake up! April! We’re in Pittsburgh. It’ll be our last stop for a while.” I wake up to May shaking my shoulder and I groan, turn away from her.

“C’mon. If you don’t go now you’ll have to pee in a couple of hours,” she says, continuing to shake my shoulders. “We’re getting food, April.”

That gets my attention.

Rubbing my eyes I get up and follow her inside where Kurt, Samantha, and Brian are waiting in line at McDonald’s.

It takes eighteen hours for us to get to Washington D.C. We’d been driving for ten. It seems Kurt and Samantha don't have the same kind of human needs as the rest of us. They didn't seem to get tired when driving and we'd hardly stopped for bathroom breaks. Even food didn't seem very important to them.

I walk over and stand next to Brian, rest my forehead against his shoulder and rest my eyes. Around the six-hour mark a wave of exhaustion had hit me and it hadn’t gone away since.

Brian, anticipating my need, touches my arm. Feeling a new wave of energy I gave his hand a squeeze in thanks. He's always been the most special of the three of us. May and I were smart, sure, but he was extraordinary. May insisted we would develop special skills at some point. I didn’t really care either way. All that I really wanted was to be normal and to finally have a home.

Kurt and Samantha buy us each a meal and before we leave we go to the bathroom. As soon as I finish my food in the car my eyes grow heavy again and I slowly slip into the fantasy world I’d created. One where I have a family. Brian and May have always done a good job filling that void, but deep down I’ve always wanted parents. A mom to curl up next to and watch a corny movie with; a dad to take me to baseball games. Typical kid stuff that every other typical kid has and typically underappreciates. Typical kids don't know how could they have it.

Sometimes when May does my hair I close my eyes and picture a woman with my hair and eyes running her manicured fingers over my scalp. These fantasies blur into dreams as we continue to drive.

#the invisible cord #i wrote this #txf fanfic #x files fanfic #x files

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ghostbustermelanieking · 7 years

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x files fic: under the stars (minimal fate required)

or: ways mulder and scully could’ve been happy

for @leiascully‘s challenge: list sort of

01.

The X-Files are never shut down and Scully is never abducted.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm of partnership: an incredible solve rate, an easy repertoire. (He never convinces her to believe in aliens, and she never convinces him not to.) They start spending time together outside of work - getting drinks, watching movies over long-abandoned paperwork. It’s at least two and a half years before Mulder realizes that she is his best friend. (Even over the Gunmen, he thinks about telling her, but how would that go down? They don’t say things like that to each other. She’s only ever called him Fox once, and he’s called her Dana a total of six times before she asked him to stop; what kind of friends are they?)

She almost dies - goes to pick up a witness while Mulder stays at the tiny local police station, doesn’t come back; he finds her five hours later in a basement with a gun pressed to her head from behind, has to negotiate for twenty tense minutes before the witness shoves her to the floor and tries to run out the back door, where the local police are waiting. His heart rate doesn’t slow down the entire time. He helps her off of the floor and pulls her into a fierce embrace. We never do anything like this, he thinks. She might smooth his hair, take his pulse, rub his neck, check for head injuries if he’s hurt, but they never full-on embrace each other. Her arms are pinned between them; she wasn’t expecting the hug. You must really like me, she teases, poking him in the arm. If you’re this relieved.

Nah, he says. I hugged Frohike like this that one time we brought him on a case and he almost took a bullet; remember?

Glad I measure up to Frohike’s standards, she says seriously. Like she really thinks he likes him better than her. He hugs her tighter because his heart is still pounding too hard and she could’ve died, really; his best friend dead in a crummy little basement because he didn’t go with her to pick up a witness or he didn’t negotiate right.

They keep meeting with Skinner, and he keeps looking at them disapprovingly over his glasses, and Scully keeps going head-to-head with people for him. Mulder, I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anyone but you, she’d said, and goddamn it, she was right. She’s vicious in a subtle, professional way that makes people want to look to her for authority, especially him (he’d make her the supervising agent if she’d take any good cases, or if it wouldn’t ruin her career).

You should ask for reassignment, he says one day over beers, studying the stem of his bottle seriously.

She flicks her bottle cap towards the trash can, and it lands perfectly. Tired of me, Mulder? That might be hurt in her voice, because she isn’t looking at him.

No. Just worried you’re never going to be able to go anywhere else. That you’ll be stuck with me forever.

Her ocean-colored eyes meet his. What if I don’t want to go anywhere? she says, taking a sip from her bottle.

He watches the motion of her throat as she swallows the beer. He smiles. So, I’ve finally convinced you of my paranormal beliefs, Scully?

She smirks. I didn’t say that.

(When she grabs his hand later, it’s not as much of a surprise as he thought it’d be. It feels right.)

02.

Melissa doesn’t die and neither does Scully. She and Melissa arrive at the same time, and as she’s unlocking the door, she hears the rustle of people inside, the cocking of a gun. She tells Melissa to keep a low profile and runs to Mulder’s apartment where she finds Skinner, and then Mulder. Skinner refuses to give them the tape and they run.

Skinner tries to negotiate the tape for their reinstatement, but it doesn’t work. Skinner meets them the next day, covertly, wearing a hood in the park. (He looks ridiculous, like he’s trying to be hip with the kids, Mulder whispers in her ear, and she has to jam her hand in her mouth because it’s definitely not a convenient time for laughing.) There are warrants out for the both of your arrests, he says. They have proof, they say, that Mulder killed his father and you’re hiding him, Scully.

Mulder pales. It’s not true, Scully says firmly, standing her ground. The evidence must’ve been manipulated. They’re trying to take us down.

Skinner looks uncomfortable, but he says he believes them. I’m going to work on clearing your names, he says (awkwardly, because, you know, he’d pointed a gun at her the other day). In the meantime, you need to disappear.

(I’m sorry, Scully, Mulder says in the car. They’re both grimy, in need of sleep and bathing. I didn’t mean for this to happen to both of us.

She tells him it’s okay; she’s sacrificed so much for this, the truth, that this feels almost mundane in comparison. Her family will be worried, but at least she isn’t dying. She thinks maybe she will resent him later, but for now, she’s just relieved he’s alive and okay.)

(She hugs Mulder for the first time since his return from the dead when they stop for gas; says I’m sorry instead of I missed you into his smelly shirt. She’d thought maybe he’d killed his father but knows it isn’t true, knows how much he must be hurting.)

The Gunmen get them fake IDs and Scully cuts and dyes her hair a dark brown in their crappy apartment bathroom. She asks them to get a burner phone for Melissa, something she can use to check in and reassure her family that she’s okay. She and Mulder leave with the burner’s twin and hastily packed suitcases with cheap Walmart clothes in a car paid for with cash from Mulder’s father’s will. What’s our identity? Married couple? Mulder asks casually from the driver’s seat, raising an eyebrow at her. (He’s been joking around since they left that gas station, after embracing for what seemed like forever, and she recognizes it as a coping mechanism. That night, when they’d stopped, she’d put her hand on his knee and asked him to talk to her - I can see you’re hurting, Mulder, please, this isn’t healthy. He got mad at first, stalked off into the darkness. He returned upset, later, cried and let Scully hold him, buried his face in the crook of her shoulder. He was a bastard, but he was my father, he’d whispered hollowly against his skin. They don’t discuss it the next morning, but they can tell a barrier’s broke. Since then, she’s let him joke, pretend that nothing is wrong.)

We don’t have any rings, she says, fingering the ends of her dark, shorn hair. (It hasn’t been this short since 1993, at least, and never this dark. She yanks it back in one of the half-ponytail things she used to wear all the time then, and Mulder smiles familiarly and tugs at it. She’s glad he’s not dead.)

They get a ratty little hotel room with one bed (married couple, remember, Mulder says, waggling his eyebrows). Scully calls her sister and pulls at the comforter with her overlong fingernails while Mulder showers. She smiles as soon as she hears her voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into a pickle here, Day, Melissa says, and it sounds like she’s teasing, but it comes out strained because she’s worried about her sister. I blame your partner.

Oh, me too, Scully says loudly as he comes out of the bathroom. He’s impossible to live with, really. She giggles - giggles, my god, has she gone off in the deep end - when Mulder lobs a balled-up t-shirt at her head.

Seriously, Dana, Melissa says. Are you okay?

Yeah, Scully says. Mulder flops on the bed beside her, mattress rippling under his weight. It’s beyond bizarre to be actually sharing a space with him. Are you? she continues, tugging a thread loose from the duvet. I’m worried about you and Mom. (Because maybe the people who were going to kill her, and probably Melissa when they saw her, won’t hesitate to go after her family. Leverage. Punishment. She thinks about convincing Skinner to put them in witness protection.)

We are, Missy says. They… question us about you a lot. About Fox. About where you are.

Scully bites her lip. Skinner swore he was doing his best the last time they talked, but she hates putting her family through this. It’ll all be over soon, she promises. I’ll be home someday. I love you.

Love you, too, Day. Melissa sounds less relaxed than Scully’s ever heard her in her entire life when she hangs up.

You okay? Mulder says.

Yeah, she says. She’d say what she’s thinking - that she’s just happy Missy’s alive, that she heard what she did before opening the door - but it seems selfish, considering what’s happened to Mulder’s father, considering Samantha. She ignores the thought. They’ve been ignoring a lot, here; sleeping in seedy hotels is an easy escape, they can joke and flip channels on the TV and pretend nothing from the outside world exists. It’s the most mundane existence she and Mulder have ever shared, and it’s somewhat blissful: Mulder is fun, almost, when he’s not absorbed into the monster of the moment, and this is the first time they’ve ever hung out, at least without work as a pretense/distraction. (Even if hanging out involves sharing a bed to keep their identity in place.)

Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the floor? he asks, almost nervously, as she stretches out beside him.

No, you just came back from the dead, she says. It’d be cruel. She flips off the light.

(On the first night, she ends up curled against his back, face pressed in the space between his shoulder blades. On the third night, he rolls back against her, burying his face in her chemical-y hair, soft from the hotel conditioner. By the seventh, she’s unintentionally grabbing him in their sleep and he rolls closer instead of away. They don’t talk about it.)

On their fourth week as fugitives, they’re playing Blackjack on the cracked concrete under the street lights, feet dangling in the five foot end of the pool. Mulder’s been quiet, chewing on a straw in his mouth. Hit me, Scully says.

He starts, sets a card down absently. She resists the urge to swear: 24. Are you happy, Scully? he says softly.

She’s startled by the question, tempted to say as happy as anyone can be in this situation. I’m thinking of it as an overdue vacation, she says instead.

He nods, straw bobbing in his mouth. I just feel bad about tearing you away from your life, he says. You didn’t ask for this.

Scully deals them a new hand, trying to meet his eyes. I didn’t ask for it, but they involved me when they abducted me and tried to kill me and my sister, she says. And hurt you, poisoned you, killed your father, she adds silently. And besides that, even if I wasn’t dismissed from the FBI, I would’ve come with you anyway.

He looks up at her in shock. She smiles shyly, setting the cards down between them, pokes his foot with hers in the pool.

I guess it’s just for the X-Files credential, he says finally, waggling his eyebrows. A real life man come down from the dead.

Shut up, she says, splashing him. They play cards until a family comes out with grouchy kids wrapped in striped beach towels; they never want to risk being recognized.

(Eventually, Skinner gets their names cleared and they come home and get their old jobs back and Scully hugs her sister gratefully. But for now, they play cards under the stars. It’s almost good, almost perfect.)

03.

Hey, Scully, he says, watching the curve of her neck as she puts files away.

Yes, Mulder? she replies, somewhere between amused and irritated.

He scuffs his shoes on the floor. Would you, uh. Like to get dinner with me? Jesus Christ, he hasn’t been this nervous asking anyone out since college. Of course, he’s only dated Diana since college, and that didn’t go over very well.

Sure, she says, not looking up. I get to pick this time, though. And can I put a veto on discussing certain cases? It’s Friday night, Mulder.

I know, he says. I, um, actually. Wanted to know if you wanted to go out. With me.

She looks up at him with surprise, although not rejection or disgust. His stomach flips like a pancake. On a date, he supplies, and immediately wants to slap himself.

You’re asking me on a date, Scully says. Matter-of-fact. Clarifying tone.

Um… He scuffs his shoe again, looking at the floor. They need to sweep in here; the janitor only comes down by request and he has a vendetta against Mulder for his discarded sunflower seeds. Yes? he says questioningly, and waits for the end of their friendship.

Okay.

He looks up; she’s replacing files in the cabinet calmly again, as if he’s asked her to pick up a candy bar at the store or something. Okay? he repeats.

She looks up, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. Okay, she echoes, warmly.

The relief is overwhelming. Okay, he says another time, smiling. Okay.

04.

They kiss in Mulder’s hallway, and Scully doesn’t go to Utah.

(I wish you wouldn’t quit, Mulder whispers against her scalp that morning in bed, and Scully tugs his t-shirt and says, I’ll keep fighting. This isn’t over.)

Mulder tries to get the X-Files back, tries to convince Skinner to let Scully come back, but it nevers works. Scully becomes a doctor, takes up permanent residence in his bedroom. (She goes to Nevada with him, on a dare, and when they come back, there’s a waterbed, and she agrees to stay over at his house; every once in a while, she says sternly over his pillows. [It’s a lot more than every once in a while, and he never lets her forget it.]) He steals X-Files from their old office under Spender and Fowley’s noses and they argue about them over takeout.

(I miss it, sometimes, being at the FBI, she tells the space between his shoulder blades one morning, hugging him tightly from behind. She’s become clingier since, doesn’t quite know why. She didn’t know she could love someone this catastrophically.

I miss you being there with me, he tells her, clasping her hands and pulling them up to rest against his chest.)

After they’re dragged to quarantine and the Syndicate dies off in a fire, Spender doesn’t recommend Mulder be reassigned to the X-Files. Quit, Scully says that night. The FBI hasn’t done anything for you but ruin you. They don’t deserve you, and you don’t need them.

I don’t want to quit, he says. I don’t want this to be over.

We aren’t over, she tells him. We’re both still here. We don’t need the FBI. We can still find the truth.

It’ll be dangerous, he says into her mouth. (She’s pressed him up against the cabinets, kissing him so hard he thinks he’ll melt.) Without their credentials, there’ll be a lot more roadblocks; and no one cares if two ex-FBI agents die in a random accident. They’ll be vulnerable.

She smiles. When has that ever stopped us before?

05.

The IVF works.

Mulder doesn’t expect it to, because honestly, how the hell could anything happen in their lives that’s as perfect as this? They are the type of people who don’t get to kiss, whose sisters stay lost and whose daughters die before they get the chance to know them. He expects this to end in tragedy, expects it to end with Scully crying into his shirt and him unable to comfort her - although he doesn’t want it to. He wants to make her happy, to be able to do one damn thing right. He waits for her on her couch. The Christmas tree she’s set up in the corner sits dormant and dark; he thinks about plugging the lights in.

Scully comes home, and his stomach twists when he turns over and sees the smile on her face. She looks happier than he’s seen her in months; the last time she smiled like that is when he opened his eyes in the hospital at some point after she woke him up from Spender’s botched brain surgery; she’d smiled like he was the entire world, squeezed his fingers. Scully? he whispers in wonder, shifting on the couch to sit up.

She smiles, hand ghosting her abdomen. It worked.

He gapes at her, mouth hanging open a little. Scully, that’s fantastic! He moves towards her, expecting a hug or a chaste kiss to the forehead, but she kisses him first, hands cupping the side of his face.

She pulls away a minute later, red already spreading across her face. I’m sorry, Mulder, she whispers, I don’t want to obligate you to anything, you didn’t agree to…

He kisses her again before she finishes; he’s wanted to do that for years now. Scully, I want this, he says. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t.

She smiles again, eyes welling up, and buries her head in his shoulder. He rubs circles on the small of her back, trying to remember how he ever got here. This is all I’ve ever wanted, she says into his sweater, so quietly he almost can’t hear her. This is it.

06.

Mulder doesn’t go to Oregon, or he doesn’t leave three days after their son is born, or he comes home to find them waiting for him and he and Scully cry in the threshold of her apartment, or Scully never gives William up and the three of them disappear into the sunset after breaking Mulder out of prison. They get to raise their son, watch him grow up to morph into a child who inherited their looks and intelligence and Scully’s snark and Mulder’s curiosity. In some cases, there is another baby, and in other cases, there’s only ever William, their miracle baby. But in every case, there is the three of them and they are happy. A family.

07.

The IVF doesn’t work, and Scully never gets pregnant. (She gets uncontrollably sad about it, sometimes, like when Bill and Tara call to announce that their second child is on the way, or she talks to an old friend who has to go in the other room because her kids won’t let her talk on the phone in peace, or - one time - because they see a baby in a dingy small-town diner, and she gets teary and tries to hide it with scratchy napkins. Mulder tries to comfort her every time, although he’s worried he’s just making it worse - it’s his fault she can never have a baby. He has his moments of teary-eyed weakness himself.)

They go to Oregon, but Scully isn’t sick and Mulder isn’t abducted. Two months later, the X-Files are shut down. Too much money towards a dead-end project, the man who comes to tell them says. Scully surprises them both by being the one to retort sharply, standing up and glaring at him like he is the scum of the earth and sliding in a sir at the end to barely pass it off as respectable. Scully, it’s okay, Mulder says quietly when they’re alone in not-their-office.

Mulder, this is your life’s work, she says, still breathing a little hard and glaring at the door.

He reaches down and takes her hand. It’s okay.

They’re reassigned to the VCS - Skinner fights hard for them to stay partners. (They go to his office to thank him, and he looks at them critically, says, As long as you don’t let… whatever this is… interfere with your work, then we won’t have a problem, agents with a spastic motioning towards them and red spreading across his cheeks. Which leads to a ten-minute bickering about who is the reason Skinner knows.)

They stay at the FBI for two more years. Things are different, darker, in the VCS, but Scully still does autopsies and they still have to travel out of town sometimes (it’s almost more exciting to be in a hotel with ten other agents; it makes sneaking into one of their hotel rooms more risky, and Scully seems to like it) and they still are a singular unit no matter how many people are in the room.

(Things come to a head when they are both taken by a serial killer, found bound and bruised and traumatized together just before the man starts to kill them.)

Let’s quit, Mulder says in the hospital that night, tracing her fingers with his. Their hands haven’t stopped shaking since they were rescued; they’ve held hands since their wrists were untied, in front of the entire task force, and don’t care.

Mulder, she says, astonished.

The X-Files are gone. And besides that, we can’t keep doing this, Scully. We can’t keep almost losing each other. He kisses the back of her hand, a small, warm patch on her chilled skin. Remember what I told you in Oregon? There has to be an end. I’m ready.

(Skinner looks almost sad when they hand in their resignations. He shakes their hands and tells them their services will be missed and not to be strangers. I’m surprised he didn’t hug us, Mulder says in the elevator. Skinman’s gone soft.

Let’s invite him to our wedding, Scully says slyly, and can’t stop giggling at the expression on Mulder’s face.)

They buy an apartment together, one that doesn’t have bloodstains or monsters in the corner, where no one has ever died. They get jobs teaching at Quantico - Scully teaching pathology and Mulder teaching profiling, at first, but eventually an additional class on paranormal investigations that takes a large amount of fighting to receive. He writes books at night, putting his insomnia to good use. (Thank God you have something to do at night, Scully says, or I would never get any sleep.) The X-Files are eventually reopened by an eager agent, Monica Reyes, and a more reluctant agent, John Doggett, who have some dark past no one asks them about and no one wants to - they’re good friends, good partners. Agent Reyes insists on Mulder consulting, which leads to them being semi-regular appearances at the apartment (there are usually arguments where Reyes and Mulder gang up on Doggett; Scully feels sorry for the guy, has to intervene at least 70% of the time; she grows an affection for these outcast agents that remind her of she and Mulder when they were young).

Let’s have a baby, Mulder says one lazy summer night almost three years after they’ve left the FBI. They have a habit of taking blankets up to the roof of their building and watching the stars (or looking for UFOS, as Mulder calls it), and Scully’s curled beside him, nearly asleep.

We can’t. The IVF process didn’t work, she says sleepily, sadly into his shoulder.

So we try again. I have more money than I did when we tried the first time - my mom left the entire estate to me. We can afford it. His palm nearly covers her forehead, brushing hair away from her face. Or we could adopt. Save someone. We could get Skinner to write a letter of recommendation.

I love you, she says. At his sharp breath of pleasant surprise, she realizes she’s never said it. She rises up on her knees and kisses him under the stars.

08.

Mulder doesn’t join the FBI because Samantha is never abducted. Dana joins the FBI, stays at Quantico. They meet by accident - she’s guest-lecturing at the university where he teaches. There’s a teacher’s lounge and a friend of hers tugs her towards him, saying she needs to try the coffee loud enough for everyone to hear, but whispering something about how she should go talk to the psychology professor because he’s cute and exactly her type, she swears.

Her friend tugs her forward and she stumbles, almost crashing into him and the table at the same time. Sorry, she says sheepishly, reaching for a mug on the rack.

It’s fine, he says. Although the coffee isn’t nearly that good. He smiles; he has a nice smile. I’m Fox Mulder. He extends his hand.

She takes it. Dana Scully.

#technically its not a list but it kind of is? it started as a list i made in the shower this morning #xfwritingchallenge #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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brachylagus-fandom · 3 years

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12 Days of WIPmas - Day 5

The first chapter of They Are All Fire (And Every One Doth Shine), a 39 Clues/Hunger Games fusion.

Chapter 1 - Omnium Rerum Principia Parva Sunt (The beginnings of all things are small)

Capitol

When Ian wakes, the apartment is entirely silent. Natalie is still sleeping (she seems to hold the odd belief that sleeping ten to twelve hours each night will magically erase her unibrow and the spots on her chin), and their parents are, of course, at Games Command, where they'll probably remain until the victor's train leaves. Ian stretches, checks his bedside clock - he's got an hour until the very beginning of One's reaping and two and a half until people will start to arrive for their watch party - and rushes to the bathroom. Natalie will probably want to take one of her absurdly long showers once she wakes up, and it takes forever to get his hair right.

Forty minutes before the first guests will start to trickle in, Natalie swears and rushes into the bathroom. Ian rolls his eyes; of course his sister would leave becoming presentable to the last moment and him to do all the prep work by himself. At least they prepared food in advance this year, so all he has to do is lay out the snacks around the screen room and the drinks along the PermaCool strip in the kitchen island. He doesn't bother to turn the screen on; the first two reapings of the day are almost always dull, and if something vaguely interesting manages to happen - if no one comes up to volunteer, or if the fights for the volunteer spots are more violent than normal - it'll be on the recaps.

Natalie, wearing a yellow dress covered in feathers, finishes getting ready and claims her favorite seat on the middle couch less than a minute before Chrissy comes in with a cake from Silversmith's, which she immediately sets on the kitchen island. It's only a one tier high, but even a one-tier cake from Silversmith's costs almost a months' (for Chrissy, probably closer to two months') allowance, and it's chocolate raspberry, Ian's favorite.

"Have you seen what's happened yet?" Chrissy asks.

"No," Ian says as he turns the screen on. Currently, the female tribute's name has been called in Two, and the race to get the coveted volunteer spot is turning into an all-out catfight, complete with hairpulling.

"Should we have?" Natalie asks. On the screen, a lithe girl with scratches on her face and a blood-stained handbag is announced as tribute.

"The boy from One this year is adorable," Chrissy says. "Not that you'd know adorable if it hit you in the face. Natalie, what are you wearing?"

"Next season's trend," Natalie says. "My dress is from Valentine Greene's latest collection, and I saw one of the stylists wearing a violet one the other day at Games Command. I'm not Chernova, Chrissy; I do have some taste."

"Sure you do," Chrissy mutters under her breath as the door opens again and more people trickle into the Kabra's penthouse apartment. In Two, a massive blond boy literally wades through the competition. The escort quickly announces him as Hamilton Holt, District Two's male tribute. There's a shot of the pair walking into the Justice Building, well-wishers and visitors already swarming around it, before the seal of Panem flashes across the screen and the feed cuts back to the commentator's desk. The pair of announcers at it right now, Calpurnia Young and one of the younger Heavensbees, are new to the Games and more or less passable; they're saving Caesar and Claudius for mandatory viewing tonight.

"Well, Hamilton Holt is certainly representative of the strapping stock District Two offers," Calpurnia Young, known to frequent the Victor forums (but not to partake, to the best of Ian's knowledge, not that he knows much) says. "I'm being informed that he's only seventeen years old, having skipped the last year of his training for an early Games showing! However, my bet's still on Sterling from One to take the crown."

"And this is a quick reminder that you can start placing your bets at your local Credit and Loans Center at noon Capitol standard time, after the District Twelve tributes have been announced," Heavensbee junior says. Odds may change, and standard interest rates apply. Now, on to District Three, land of technology! District Three was founded shortly after the founding of Panem, once it became clear that salvaging civilization would require specialized technology that couldn't be built in the Capitol…" Ian yawns; he hates the mini history lessons at the beginning of each reaping.

***

District Three

The sky is overcast on Reaping Day, dreary gray clouds promising rain, and Main Street is packed. Narrow aisles separate the holding pens, which are divided by age (eighteen-year-olds in the front, twelve-year-olds in the back) and gender (boys on the left, girls on the right) to allow the tributes to get to the stage in front of the Head Office quickly, but there's no other empty room in front of the cordons that parents have to wait behind. Peacekeepers stand in a straight line in front of the cordon and along the side streets, their expressionless white masks impassive. They get edited out of the outgoing coverage, Sinead knows - their presence is unusual, she infers - but she's long since gotten used to the solid line of white-armored bodies. They've been doing this since she was eight, after all, since Maxwell Young got called, since the tiny twelve-year-old tried to run away and his parents tried to help him. (Since Sinead's mother tied the scarf holding her hair back around his face and Sinead's father took hers to do the same and they both told her and her brothers to stay together and go home and neither he nor Mom came back.)

Sinead glances across the aisle at her brothers. They're only fourteen, and even with all three of them taking out the maximum amount of tesserae, so is seventy percent of Shop Four, most of whom have larger families. The odds are in their favor. Any risk to them should be balanced out by the weight of the bodies in front of them and the mound of hers and Ted's productivity credits.

(It's just that the tributes the past five years have been… anomalous. Edith Young, Maggie Clarke, James and Frankie Williams, Kelvin from first shift, Thomas Swan the manager's kid, living in the lap of luxury without a need to take out tesserae… all of them had relatives - parents, aunts, uncles - implicated in the Young incident and shot for treason six years ago. Those odds are much worse.)

Their escort, Aurelius, is in his usual getup - gold wig to match his gold eye jewelry, shiny gold suit, and sequined gold shoes that look like they've never touched dirt - and plunges his hand into the ball with his usual amount of gusto, barely taking time to say "ladies first!" beforehand.

For a second, the square is totally silent. It's as if District Three is collectively holding its breath. Then -

"Our female tribute is… Sinead Starling!" Aurelius shouts, and Sinead gulps. She resists the frantic urge to straighten out her reaping outfit (otherwise known as the last set of work clothes she owns that don't have holes or non-matching patches) as she slowly, carefully, walks up to the stage; fidgeting will not help her here. Aurelius stares down at her like she's some strange bird; from here, she can see his irises, too, are tinted gold.

"And our male tribute is… Ned Starling!"

No. Dread pools in Sinead's stomach. A year ago, the card would have only evoked resignation that she would have to watch her brother die, but a year ago, her triplet brother hadn't mouthed off to Peacekeeper Willis and gotten a baton to the back of the head for it. A year ago, Ned wasn't stuck in bed with headaches for days at a time, and even if they can keep those secret during training, managing them would be impossible during the arena. Ned would die, and it would be Sinead's fault, and Mom and Dad told her to look after them (but it's Dad's and Mom's fault that they're in this goddamn mess in the first place because they decided to disobey an implicit Peacekeeper edict) -

"I volunteer," Ted says, shaky but certain, and Sinead clenches her fists so she doesn't cry. "I volunteer as tribute."

"Well, what an exciting turn of events!" Aurelius says. "We haven't had a volunteer in forever! What's your name, young man?"

"Ted Starling," Ted says.

"Oh, that means he was your brother!" Aurelius gasps, eyes wide. "And our other tribute - Sadie -"

"Sinead," they say in unison, teeth clenched.

"Is your sister! Is that so?" They both nod. Aurelius claps his hands. "What a delightful, delightful games we'll have this year!" He makes them shake hands; they only cling a little. The cameras flick off, one by one. The Peacekeepers start to lead them inside. And then the crowd, which had been struck silent by a most unusual reaping, starts to scream.

***

Capitol

As the coverage switches from District Three (two teenagers, both with fiery red hair and emerald green eyes, jaws set and heads stubbornly raised - they look like statues on the Road of Honor, like figures in one of the murals in the Hall of Heroes, like proper Panem citizens, not dirty district kids who will be dead at each other's hands in a week) to Honorius Heavensbee's nattering about odds (as if this had anything to do with chance), Ian turns down the volume. It'll be at least fifteen minutes until Four's reaping starts, and although that occasionally turns up surprises, it's still not good TV.

"So," Chrissy, flung out across Ian's third favorite couch says. She's sipping at a pomegranate cocktail made with Trinket vodka - only the best for the Kabra family, after all. It looks more than a little like blood. "Sibling tributes. You've been holding out on us, Gameboy." Ian grimaced and picked at his piece of cake.

"Chrissy, you know Mom never says anything until the Games are over," he says. "She's not as dumb as Crane, for Treaty's sake. And tribute management isn't her department until they're in the arena." At least, it wasn't until her most recent promotion; now, Ian's not sure. (He hopes it isn't. Mostly because he doesn't want to think of his mother as deciding explicitly which kids out of thousands deserve to be offed so the Peace can be preserved. Sure, volunteers can come, but unless they live in One or Two or Four, they won't. And the Chosen are never from One or Two or Four.)

"Still… any more surprises this year?" It's Chernova, who's wearing an emerald sequined dress (to complement the District 1 synthetics implanted into her cheeks as a birthday gift - Lilya's parents let her get alterations, Natalie constantly whines) asking this time. Natalie giggles.

"You'll just have to wait to find out," she says. Ian rolls his eyes - he doesn't think she knows anything more than he does, and what he knows is nothing - and turns the volume back up. The history of District Four is almost over - they've gotten to the clip from Finnicks' victory, at least, where he decapitates the girl from one and then licks the blood from his lips, and Ian is pretty straight but hot - and the reaping is set to begin.

The girl they call up is nothing special - fourteen, bone thin, sobbing when her name's called, probably taking out tesserae for a dozen siblings and aunts and uncles like every other stupid district citizen - but is quickly replaced by a Career, eighteen, muscle-bound and golden-haired. Her name is Andi - short for Andromeda - and her partner, just as tall and broad and handsome, is named Perseus. Chernova yawns.

"I thought this year was going to be interesting," she whines. Natalie tosses a pillow at her.

Five is equally as predictable - two scrawny factory kids. The boy, whose name is "Pony" of all things, is eighteen and stoic; the girl is twelve and cries when she's selected for the honor of being in the Games. They don't share a surname, but there's a likeness there, beyond what Ian would expect from the founder effect in a district as large as Five.

Six, though. Six breaks the mold, just a little bit.

***

District Six

The sky is gray. The sky is always gray in District Six; if it's not raining, it's filled with exhaust fumes from the car plants, and just because it's That Day doesn't mean that the factories stop running, running, running for the people who don't have dependents of reaping age. Nellie's eighteen, on her last year in the ropes, and to celebrate she has a half-shift tonight to sate Peacekeeper demand for hovercrafts. Next year, she'll have only two hours off to watch the reaping itself.

Irina's dressed in gray, too, maybe to set her apart from everyone else onstage. The morphlings wear bright colors, sky blue and safety orange and powder pink and lime green all running into each other, and Cordelia, their escort, has picked a feathered violet gown this year. After finishing a chipper speech on loyalty to the Capitol (she must be angling for a spot in a better District), Cordelia chirps "ladies first!" and delicately plucks out a name from the girls' bowl.

The odds, relatively speaking, are in Nellie's favor. She's eighteen, sure, and she's taken out tesserae, but she doesn't have any siblings, and everyone in District Six takes out tesserae if they can. That doesn't change the fact that the name on Cordelia's lips is "Nellie Gomez."

Nellie barely needs to walk to reach the stage; the pens for eighteen-year-olds are right up against it, and she's been pressed towards the front by people who arrived after she did. Cordelia grins down at her; Nellie can now see that she's embedded amethysts in her teeth and filed them into points. Then she reads out the boy's name.

Sammy Mourad is not someone Nellie knows; from the stink that permeates his clothes, he probably works in one of the refinery plants, so the last time they could've met was maybe pre-career training nearly a decade ago. They shake hands nervously and head into Main Station. Nellie's parents take her excess jewelry - she doubts it'll still be in their possession when she returns - and give her a nose stud shaped like a snake to take into the arena and hug her goodbye. A man in a jacket made from actual leather sneaks in the back entrance to visit Sammy Mourad; Nellie gets the distinct impression he's not on the up-and-up with the peacekeepers.

They head out of the district on a high-speed train. Its wheels thud against the track just out of sync.

***

Capitol

"They look like contenders," Ian says absently, and they sort of do. At least by District Six standards. They're both eighteen and relatively well-fed, and their eyes are clear; not being morphlings puts them a step above most tributes from the Transportation district.

"They look like cannon fodder," Chrissy says. "I'm saying beginning of week two, max. A batch of those new tea truffles from Gardener's?"

"You're on," Ian says. "I think at least one will make top eight."

"I hope it's the girl; she's got a sense of style," Natalie offers from her spot to Ian's left. She's picking at the gold-leafed cookies Chernova brought. "Real punk chic. Or will be, once they get the soot and grease off her, at least." (Ian can practically see her thought process: maybe if we get a Victor with piercings, Mum will let me get some before I'm a hopeless eighteen-year-old virgin.) Ian rolls his eyes. "The boy's awfully exotic, too. Rather dashing."

"Natty's got a cru-ush," Chernova sings. Natalie chucks an empty glass at her head, shrieking "shut up, Lilya!" Ian rolls his eyes and glances back at the screen.

The reapings from Seven rush past; a twelve-year-old boy and fifteen-year old girl who share a last name. (They're cousins, the girl says, and from the group home. The odds weren't in their favor; the group home kids are directed to take out tesserae for all of each other, not just their biological siblings. Ian still doesn't think it's chance.) Then they're on to the introduction for District Eight:

"District Eight specializes in the production of thread, fabrics, and clothing. Its most famed exports are the embroidered garments from its Rainbow Street…"

***

District 8

"Young lady!" Beatrice snaps. "In what world would that be appropriate for the Reaping?"

"I-its the best outfit I have that st-still fits," Amy stutters. She'd finally outgrown her old Reaping outfit - an itchy dress that's tight at the shoulders and loose at the bust - over the winter, and the blouse and skirt she thinks were once her mother's fit almost perfectly. Besides, it's not like she'll be underdressed in them; at least half of the kids will be wearing work clothes.

"Fine." Beatrice rolls her eyes. "Daniel, get dressed! We need to leave soon." While Beatrice is distracted, Amy goes over to Beatrice's one and only bookcase. (Half of which, of course, is populated by ceramic cat figurines and faded childhood photos of Grace and Beatrice and a boy Amy's never met but who looks just like Dan; most of the books on it are - were - actually Grace's.) One of the benefits of this particular outfit is that the skirt has pockets deep enough to hide a small paperback, and a good book will take away some of the stress of the endless wait in the pens.

They report to the square two hours early; any later and getting there from Beatrice's inner-city apartment would be next to impossible. Parents are already starting to cluster around the back of the square, where the younger kids stand, but Beatrice stands as far away as possible. She's never liked this place; it has too many bad memories, Amy thinks, between Grace and Hope and maybe even things that happened during the Dark Days. (She's old enough, Amy knows. Barely, but Grace won the Eighth Annual Hunger Games when Beatrice was twenty, which puts her at ten when treaty negotiations started, and that has to count for something.) Discreetly, Amy takes out her book and starts to read.

Amy's seventy-five pages into a history of weaving (and this had to have been Grace's, because this can't be on the Approved Texts List) by the time Theophania coughs into the microphone to start proceedings. Her pantsuit is robin's egg blue this year, to complement the turquoise gems implanted into her forehead like a crown, and her wig and lipstick are bright silver.

"Greetings, District Eight!" Theophania begins. "We are gathered here today to commemorate the end of the Dark Days and the Signing of the Treaty of the Treason, which stipulates that as a method of reparation…" Amy fights back the urge to yawn. She can recite Clause Seventeen from memory - all of District Eight's citizens over the age of ten can - but Theophania insists on repeating it, with emphasis on important phrases, every year. She only tunes back in when Theophania says "ladies first!" and dives her hand into the glass bowl.

Amy's odds are good; Dan's are as well. Beatrice absolutely refuses to let them take out tesserae (not that they really need them; the Cahill family, home to two of Eight's four total victors, is relatively wealthy even though said victors are now dead), citing bad luck, so their names are in only a minimum number of times. Of the thousands and thousands of slips in the girl's ball, three have Amy Cahill written on them in plain, bland typeface. But the odds of a victor's daughter - of the daughter of a victor's daughter who was a victor herself, and one of the youngest in games history to boot - are never in her favor.

The name on Theophania's silver lips is "Amy Cahill." Suddenly, Amy's world shrinks to her sweaty hands and the sound of her heart thudding in her ears.

The walk up to the stage is interminably long. The camera crews that have mounted themselves on top of Mill B zoom in on her face and blast it onto the screens on either side of the stage; absentmindedly, Amy glances at them and notes that she doesn't look scared. Not really brave, either, but her eyes are dry and her mouth is set. Fierce, maybe. Strong enough for a fourteen-year-old from District Eight. The others stare at her as she walks up, trying to place her as the mouse who works inventory for Mill F. (Or, maybe, the victor of the Forty-Fifth Games reborn and re-reaped; Amy has always looked like Hope, even when she's not wearing her hand-me-down clothes, and she could use all her mother's luck right now.)

As soon as Amy is on stage and staring back at the audience, Theophania digs her hand into the boys' bowl. Her manicured nails barely graze the top layer of slips before one is in her fingers, and Amy's not watching closely, but she swears it was up her long bell sleeves and not in the bowl. Theophania unfolds it, and Amy's close enough to read the name over her shoulder.

It's "Dan Cahill."

The world goes from silent to impossibly loud very, very quickly.

***

Capitol

Coverage from Eight (brother and sister and Cahills, Ian didn't even know there were any Cahills left but they're there, they're tributes) cuts out abruptly due to technical difficulties. Natalie whines; the boy wasn't even on stage yet, and the girl - so stoic, so fierce, so brave - looked like she was about to start crying. The reapings are going to be the best TV until at least interview night if not the games themselves, and they just cut out right when things were getting juicy. It's not fair.

The rest of the reapings are much more subdued. No surprises. No tributes who are related or even look like each other. Just a normal year of the Games. Chrissy and Chernova and the others file off, promising to come back for the interviews, just after the boy from Twelve - a miner's son, and a well-fed one at that, black-haired and broad-shouldered and spitting anger - is reaped. Coverage then goes to short biographies of the Career tributes, as it usually does before the Reaping recaps. The fours, surprise surprise, were practically born with net and trident in hand if their friends are to be believed. The boy from One, Jonah, already has something of a pop Career; his partner, Sterling, has her own jewelry line, which she models wearing it and little else. The twos fulfill the general "mountain man of the people" image; Hamilton's entire family, from his parents to his younger twin sisters, embodies the Career mindset, and Marble's father raised her and her six (six!) siblings on his own after her mother died of the pox. Calpurnia mentions that Dan and Amy Cahill are indeed children of dearly departed Hope Cahill, and there's the money shot of Hope luring the boy from Two into a pit trap and then going for the jugular, but it's glossed over quickly.

Ian wonders if the house cameras are on, if Lavinia's stopping by tonight. He needs to look at mother's records.

#39 clues #hunger games #fic brainstorming #12 days of ficmas #outline of this to be posted tomorrow

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sciomenihilscireee · 7 years

Text

Non sequitir part III. Reflections (Explanations?) and realizations about the past (February-Early March 2011).

I’m sure what I’m going to write here will be difficult to read if you have issues with eating. Please take note.

THE LOWEST POINT, THE TURNING POINT, AND FORWARD PROGRESS.

It is what it is, so here goes. I couldn’t help it. I dropped down from my knees, sitting on the carpeted bathroom floor, vomit and blood on my fingers and tears rolling down my cheeks. I couldn’t do it anymore. I think that was the first moment that I really admitted to myself that if I continued on like this I would probably end up seriously ill or perhaps dead. The first time in months I let myself break, that what was left of myself gained a foothold. I realized that all I wanted was forward progress and that I had to acknowledge my problem head on if I could ever hope to have a life worth living again. Later that week I admitted to my parents that I had an issue with eating.

**********

LUCK AND CRAIGSLIST

Being broke as a joke at this point (Southern California on a server’s wages is tough) and uninsured the idea of finding medical treatment was laughable, so I started to scour Craigslist for support groups. Depression, addiction – anything that could remotely tie into something like this. By some enormous stroke of luck I came across a notice that there was an ED outpatient treatment discussion group being held in Thousand Oaks (about 25 minutes away from where I lived at the time) on Saturday mornings (which I had off of work) that was open to the public.

Saturday rolled around. At about 8.30 AM I got in my car and started the drive to T.O.; I remember white-knuckling my steering wheel while driving up the grade out of Camarillo. I felt like a fraud, going to a counseling session for something that I wasn’t in treatment for, that I fell into so quickly. What business did I have intruding on this session? I didn’t feel worthy.

The treatment center was located just off the main road (I don’t remember names anymore), right near the dealership where I got my car serviced a few weeks before. I remember tall trees surrounding the building and the air being just the slightest bit chilly as I got out of the car and double, no, triple-checked the address. I walked in the door, found an empty waiting room and closed door, and immediately breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t look like there was anyone around. Maybe I could just go back to Camarillo because “oh I couldn’t find the meeting.” I got back in the drivers seat and put my keys in the ignition, only to develop a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My hands were shaking. I was still shackled to the voice (it’s not really a voice you hear…that’s just the easiest way to describe it) telling me that I could drive back and go on a run before heading off to work and it would be perfectly okay. But I didn’t. I don’t know how, but I opened the door yet again, headed into the treatment center, and opened the closed door.

The next hour and a half that I spent in that room with a circle of about 6 other women was so incredibly painful and tough, but it fueled my desire for progress, for freedom. The leader of the support group was a woman in her 50s with blonde hair. She sat towards the corner down the wall from the door and everyone else sat in chairs arranged in a big circle around her. It was like an AA meeting (going around the circle and introducing yourself and sharing why you were there). The thing we were all addicted to, however, was our issues with something we needed to survive: food.

My turn came to introduce myself. “Hi. I’m Ciaran, I’m 22, and I obsess over food and I overexercise.” I made no mention of the purging. Tried to sound as generic as possible. Fade into the very chair I was sitting in. Despite this I was welcomed into the group and was invited to participate in the discussion…I believe it was about how eating disorders take you away from the people you love. I made one comment (“this is a prison” – I felt a tiny bit more human upon seeing the others nod in agreement) but spent the rest of the meeting just listening. I still remember the stories. I don’t remember the names, but the stories will stay with me for life.

The middle-aged woman and her mother who were there because their sister/daughter was anorexic, refused treatment, and was withering away physically and as the person they loved. The mother cried and angrily asked (no one in particular) “why won’t she eat?! She’s dying!”

I remember the woman sitting directly across from me, her thin red hair, how she was absolute bones. Goddamn bones. Her voice sounded so hollow and tired, and I learned that she was currently an inpatient at the treatment center. She had dealt with this for years and every day was a struggle; she had been in so many treatment programs over the years that she had lost count, had seen her friends die from these illnesses. But she gave news of her progress, her baby steps, and her eyes lit up and I saw hope.

There was a woman to my left who struggled with EDNOS, who didn’t look like she had issues with eating, but who was a slave in a mental prison just like the rest of us (binge eating, purging, restricting…you can’t tell if a person is sick by looking at them. Remember that). I admired how open she was about everything, how she acknowledged it for what it was. And I remember that she told us about how one day her girlfriend came up and wrapped her arms around her waist. Embarrassed by her body, she told her girlfriend to stop “touching her fat.” Her girlfriend responded with “I’m not touching your fat. I’m touching the body of the woman I love.”

Everyone in that room came from different backgrounds and walks of life, but we were all being torn away from the people we loved, from our hobbies, from our passions, from enjoying life. After the meeting, two people spoke to me. The first was a woman who had recently been released to outpatient treatment and was still very frail. “I saw you get back in your car. I was hoping you’d come back in. I’m glad you did.”

The second person was the mother who had come because she was concerned about her daughter. She took a second to gather her words and said something quite powerful: “You’re strong. You recognized your problem and want to help yourself. I hope my daughter can do the same one day.” I drove back to Camarillo in kind of a state of shock. I was comforted in knowing that I wasn’t alone, but unsure of how I would ever make it back to the bubbly happy person I used to be.

I don’t know if the mother’s daughter ever sought treatment, I don’t know if the red-headed woman is still achieving small victories every day or if her body finally quit like those of the her friends. I don’t know if the woman who was to my left is still with her girlfriend or if they’ve broken up.

But goddamn. I hope with every fiber of my being that they are still fighting with every ounce of strength that they have.

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