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spasmsofthought · 4 years

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rituals. (zuko x water tribe!reader)

+This turned out to be far longer than I anticipated it to be, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I’m sorry if Zuko feels out of character; I tried my best to not make him so. I wrote him in my mind to be older than 16 and with, at least, a year of Fire Lord experience with him. All of the things he says in this fic may not be completely on point, but I hope I made sense of his character in this situation and kept an accurate frame of reference for you to hold onto!

I’ve been thinking: What would it have been like to marry the Fire Lord if you were an outsider, from another nation/element? And where that question led me is what produced this.

I tried my best to have accurate research, but if something’s off or wrong, please kindly let me know! I’m not an expert about the fandom here.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this mess of fluffy Fire Lord Zuko and a Water Tribe OC just trying to navigate the way between two different cultures.

Read Part II here!

Like, comment, reblog!

“Thank you.” You smile softly as some Fire Palace officials make their way out of the giant, ornate room. Their faces are more stoic, but there is one older man who gives you a slight quirk of his lips before they are back in a thin line. He’s been the only one who has been semi-kind to you. The rest of them have just been rigid and downright insufferable. It takes a few moments before their footsteps recede and you are surrounded by silence.

It turns out that the Fire Lord asking you to become his wife comes with a lot more than you thought it would.

And of course, you had never been blind to the fact that Zuko is of royal lineage. His family has passed down the title and office of Fire Lord for generations. The people of the Fire Nation have known this family for over a century.

The blood definitely feels thicker than water here, though Zuko’s own familial situation may testify against that.

How naïve of you to think any of this would be simple and easy. Nothing about this past century has been.

You press your head to the solid table beneath you, hand-crafted and polished so that it shines like the stars you remember seeing at night back home. Frustration and stress knit your shoulders together, your arms curling in towards your midsection.

Deep breath in, the voice of your mother reminds you. You can barely remember her face now, lost to time, but her voice still somehow stays clear. You hope it stays that way for a long time. Now let it go, she says, too.

If you close your eyes, you can almost picture your little family’s home. The sea squid hanging out to dry so that it can be prepared for supper and her bed disheveled but lined with furs that keep you both warm at night and during the coldest days. It’s probably empty now, a home to no one.

You exhale, forehead still pressed against the table. You repeat the process a few more times, trying to somehow expel the tightness of your shoulders. The weight stays. Despite whatever you may lose, being with Zuko is the closest to home you will ever feel now.

You get up from your seated position at the table and move to a window, looking down at the picturesque landscape of a quiet pond garden. You lean against a pillar supporting the ceiling and try to absorb yourself in the peaceful scenery. You close your eyes and try to listen to the sound of the soft breeze rustling the leaves of the tree. You just want it all to go away for a second.

“Have they exhausted you yet?” A gravelly voice behind you asks.

You turn to see Zuko standing in the open doorway. He’s dressed in all his formal attire, of course, but he seems to carry his own weight on his shoulders today.

Idiot, you think, of course he looks stressed and weighed down. He’s trying to re-establish peace among four nations after the 100-year war his ancestor started.

“Yeah, sure.” You mumble and smile softly.

The moment doesn’t last long before you turn back to the pond, stomach churning now. The grief and the stress mingle together. You miss home, you miss the weather and wearing your furs. You miss your parents, who have been gone for four years; your father to the war and your mother to sickness. The ache never seems to go away, but it dulls when Zuko is able to be around.

Zuko makes his way to stand beside you, saying nothing as he directs his gaze also to the peaceful pond, undisturbed by people or the noise of the outside world.

Despite what you had been told about the Fire Nation your whole life growing up, and what you’d been told about Zuko during the War, you’d always appreciated when he did this. Despite his title and the lineage he carries, he’s always treated you like an equal. You are no less to him because you are female, and you are no less to him because you come from the Water Tribe.

If it had been a few years ago, you wonder if he would have thought differently. Or perhaps he has always been able to understand honor more than most since he was a child, and that was part of the reason he was the one who was destined to be Fire Lord all along.

You take in the side profile of his face for a moment, trying to gather the strength you’ve always had inside you.

“I don’t want to worry you,” You begin, turning back to the view of the pond.

It’s still and quiet and sounds like a great place to escape to in this present moment.

“I’ll let you know when I can’t handle it,” His sardonic tone answers back.

You know he means it as a joke, but there’s a stark truth to his words. He’s handled much more than a trivial conversation about what may be bothering you.

You take a moment to organize your thoughts so that you don’t come across as an emotional train wreck. Zuko has always seemed to have infinite patience with you while you express your emotions, but emotional intelligence is new to him as well. You don’t want to burden him with trying to figure out your emotions while he’s trying to cope with and understand his own.

“I just... I didn’t know how difficult this would be.”

“What?” He sounds a bit surprised.

“Adopting your culture as my own,” Zuko opens his mouth but you stop him before he can even begin. “From a shallow frame of reference, I had always known your culture and your people would be different than mine. And the time I spent traveling back and forth from the Water Tribe to here when I was only your girlfriend gave me some exposure, but I didn’t know. Not really. Most of your people have been so indoctrinated by nationalistic propaganda that our union wouldn’t have really even been conceivable a few years ago.”

There’s another moment of silence as you take a breath and exhale it. In and out. Zuko doesn’t try to interrupt the moment with platitudes or words of comfort, and that’s another thing you’ve grown to love about him.

He doesn’t say something he doesn’t mean. It’s not in his nature to do so.

In allowing each of you to struggle with the weight of your words and emotions, he honors your emotions without dismissing them. Sometimes, it leaves you speechless because the practice is so ingrained in him, there are times he doesn’t even notice he does it.

“I can adapt. That’s not what I’m worried about. My people are strong because we are so willing to adapt to change, just like the ocean: strong and flexible. I can belong here without losing myself. I just don’t have anything to bring with me. There is no recognition of my culture, and since these meetings have started a few days ago, I get shut down every time I try to bring something into what should be the happiest day of my life.”

You turn to him also and take a step closer. His expression remains neutral and you can tell it’s going to take some time for him to digest all of this. For a moment, you place your hands on his chest, clothed with the finest robes available in the Fire Nation.

“When I said yes to your proposal, to the reality of a life with you, I meant it with all of my heart. I still do. But I have nothing tying me to my homeland or the place of my birth like you do here.”

He looks like he has a thousand things to say, but then the words fade away before they even make it out of his mouth. Zuko’s face turns back towards the outside, looking out at the pond as a soft breeze again disturbs the tree by the water. He always gets this look in his eyes when he’s in deep thought. The dilemma is less with him and his position as Fire Lord and more with how to integrate you in his world without making you “fit in” in ways you were never supposed to.

“If I’ve learned anything over the past few years,” He begins, still standing straight and looking outside. “It’s that nothing in the world is right if there is no balance.”

He reaches inside his formal robe and pulls out a box. Your brows furrow in confusion, because Zuko is not one to give gifts.

“I was going to give this to you later, but it seems like the right time now.” He shrugs and hands you the box while a hand goes to rub his neck.

He always does this when he feels shy or flustered. It’s kind of cute to see the “decisive Fire Lord” act like a teen aged boy. He had rare opportunity to act like one before.

The box is like a square and a silk ribbon is tied around it. Your fingers work at the knot while you raise your eyebrow at him. You place the ribbon on the windowsill once it’s unraveled and gently pull the lid off the box. It may have looked inexpensive, but you never truly knew in the Fire Nation.

The thing inside almost takes your breath away. It’s all blue, every single bit of it.

It’s a betrothal necklace.

You didn’t even know Zuko knew they existed, let alone what it would have meant in your culture if he gave you one. (Granted, he’s already asked you to marry him, but for the moment you dismiss the thought.)

It’s true, most marriages are arranged by parents or parental figures in the Water Tribe. Most people at home are not as lucky as you have been to freely choose a partner, whether inside the Tribe or outside of it. Sometimes it seems a more hollowed out gesture when neither party is truly looking to get married for love. But the ones that do always give the necklace its meaning and purpose.

“I asked Katara for some help,” He began to explain as you stare at the necklace. “I didn’t know what I was doing or where I should go, so she was the one who guided me. She gave me some ideas of what the carving in the stone should represent, but in the end, I came up with the design by myself.”

Zuko rubs the back of his neck again as you glance between him and the necklace.

The choker is dark blue as always, but the color gives you some semblance of peace. Blue isn’t a very prominent color displayed in the Fire Nation. Indeed, the stone fastened to the choker has already been carved into. The design is somehow intricate and simple at the same time. It is intimate without being gaudy or overdone. It is all blue and reflective of the culture you grew up in and the one you still carry with you.

“You carved it yourself?” You whisper, not doubting the answer but still needing to ask it. Zuko just nods and your eyes well up with tears. He doesn’t even know how sacred this necklace is to you in a place where no one else will ever understand its full importance and meaning.

“Will you put it on for me?” You hand the necklace to him as you also discard the box on the windowsill and turn your back to him. You’re thankful your hair is already tied back (still adorned with various blue beads from your background) as you sweep it to the side so Zuko can clasp the necklace around your neck.

The weight of it is unfamiliar but grounding. It anchors you to the truth. It reminds you that no matter what marrying Zuko looks like, you carry your culture with you wherever you go. The way you treat others, hold yourself, and what you, hopefully, pass down to your children is far more important than what traditions you do or don’t adhere to in a ceremony.

“I’ll talk to the officials,” He offers as he clasps the choker together. “You should be able to have all the customs that are important to you when we get married. You have always been my equal, but this time it will be a fact and not just an assumption.”

You touch the stone with your fingers as you turn back to face him. The tears are already sliding down your cheeks, but you also give him a sweet close-lipped smile. He knows but he doesn’t. And that is what makes him so beautiful.

You cup his face between your palms and feel him relax a little. Physical affection had never been a priority in his childhood or adolescence, but you can tell he’s starting to understand why you think it’s important to give and receive it.

“Thank you,” You say, smiling wider.

You close the distance and bring your mouth towards his. The kiss is steady and soft but also full of unrestrained emotion. Zuko gives you a second one before you both pull apart. He just shakes his head.

“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.” He whispers back as he brings you to his chest.

He is home now, and that is what matters.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #atla #atla zuko #zuko x oc #zuko x reader #prince zuko #fire nation #water tribe #avatar the last airbender one shot #zuko one shot #zuko imagine #zuko #avatar: tla #fire lord zuko

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eerythingisshaka · 3 years

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Ficmas Day #23 “Snow In Manhattan”

[Dr. Manhattan/Cal Abar x OC]

Word Count: 1.4k

Dr. Manhattan finds the holiday season intriguing. With him being a blue god that can control matter in every form, somehow the thought of a white man giving presents around the earth one day a year just didn’t seem to meet his level in his opinion. Santa comes into your house uninvited and just because he lives a gift, he is celebrated, yet Dr. Manhattan is feared just for the potential his power has.

He gets that ignorance is bliss, so it doesn’t bother him that much. The issue he has, though, is the disappointment that people face during the holiday season. The cards and commercials and movies exhibit images of goodwill and compassion for the less fortunate, yet constantly he sees those with more passing the poor by in order to fulfill selfish desires and feed the commercialization of the spirit of the holiday.

However, at one time, he did sense the presence of a human who appeared to have a different heart, not just for Christmas, but all year long. Raye made herself useful to others through community service and volunteer work at a local shelter. Working two jobs during the week, and volunteering on the weekend, she has little time for herself to even enjoy a walk in the park before she is exhausted.

One night, leaving the shelter, Raye says her goodbyes to volunteers and inhabitants alike. Walking to her car, she finds a $100 dollar bill sitting crisp and flat against the asphalt. When she picks it up, she looks around her for anyone nearby.

“Incredible,” Dr. Manhattan says to himself, as she walks over to a woman sitting outside the shelter, handing her the money.

“Take this. It isn’t mine so I’ll let you have. I’m sorry we are at capacity, but make use out of this. Hope it helps.”

“Bless you, baby! God bless you so much!” the woman replies, getting up and walking off down the street.

Dr. Manhattan knew that would happen, however seeing it in real time always felt stronger. A week ago, Raye won a small fortune from a scratch off ticket and wasted no time to take it to a church so that they may expand their food ministry.

Dr. Manhattan laid several ‘traps’ along Raye’s path to test her heart. A regular person would’ve claimed if not one thing, all of them in order to better their own lives and those closest to them. But she refuses every single one to instead pass on to a neighbor.

One day, during a rare off day between jobs, Raye sits on the rooftop of her apartment overlooking the city. She takes a deep breath in her chest, letting out a heavy energy on her heart. This time of year made her the most excited and sad at the same time and when it gets to be too much, being in the air makes her feel the most grounded.

The door to the stairwell opens as a man pops out.

“Excuse me.”

Raye looks back, watching him closely as he meanders across the roof. “Hello.”

“Don’t mind me, I was just looking to get some fresh air. Or is air pollution thicker the higher you go?” He looks at her with bright eyes. His tailored trench coat and turtleneck are out of season for the weather despite wearing them well and not a drop of sweat rolls off his brow.

Raye shrugs. “Maybe, but it’s quieter from the noise below.”

He leans over the wall to check out the traffic quietly.

Raye hugs herself, feeling compelled to commit to small talk. “So, do-”

“You don’t have to speak to me. If you don’t want to.”

Raye snaps her jaw shut, looking away embarrassed.

He leans against the wall, putting a hand over his heart. “I don’t mean to sound rude. I understand I initiated conversation, but I don’t want to disturb your meditation.”

She nods. “Thanks. I’m not great with it but I’ll try if I want to.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, coming closer when he says. “If you could entertain a question: do you have plans for the holiday? Besides sitting up here?”

Raye smirks. “Well, I won’t plant myself here all weekend since I have soup kitchen duty and then toys for tots in the evening.”

“You’re a giver. That’s nice.”

Raye nods proudly. “I like to give my time. It helps not to have an idle mind and hands.”

“Still it would be nice to be with family or friends for a day, right? When do you get that time?”

Raye thinks for a minute on this. “I don’t. I mean I have them, but since I’m so busy, I think they just decided to stop asking me to do things? And I’m fine because they’re right, but it still…” her voice trails off before she fidgets uncomfortably. “Well, I know you didn’t ask to be my therapist, huh?”

He shakes his head, sitting next to her. “No, it’s ok. I like to listen.”

“Aw. Who are you by the way?”

“Cal Abar.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Cal turns to her slightly. “One more question, if I may ask.”

Raye perks up. “Ok, go for it.”

“Imagine your perfect holiday. What does it involve?”

Raye pushes out her lips and closes her eyes to activate her critical thinking brain. “What would I want…” She snaps her fingers. “Snow!”

Cal nods knowingly. “I see. Why such a simple request?”

Raye sighs. “I mean...I don’t live in a snowy area. It’s like 70 degrees but can you imagine if it snowed here?”

“Wouldn’t it be beautiful?” Cal says.

“Yes, but that would be one more obstacle for people I see everyday. Living on the street with ice and snow? I’m grateful that’s one less thing to worry about for them.”

Cal points a finger as if he suddenly thinks of something. “Take a trip! Somewhere snowy for the holiday?”

Raye scoffs. “With what money? I can’t afford a trip like that.”

“That does sound nice.” Cal stands up, pacing in front of Raye. “How about this, close your eyes.”

Raye eyes him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Visualization. If you imagine yourself being there, just maybe you’ll get the effects.” Cal closes his eyes with his hands in front of his face in prayer position. He peeks an eye at her. “Try it.”

Raye closes one eye, until trust takes over the other.

“Imagine the snowflakes falling on your face. Cold wind biting your nose. The crunch of tiny ice formations under your feet as you step.

Raye gets caught up in his storytelling, trying to create the picture he is painting in her head. She feels something drop on her forehead, she touches something cold.

“Whoa, this is kind of working Cal!” Wind blows her face as she opens her eyes and sees slopes of snow in front of her. Raye’s jaw hits the floor in amazement as turns around, unable to comprehend what has happened.

“Cal! Cal, what’s going on!” She takes a few steps forward, kicking the fluffy snow, touching the clumps and breaking it up in her hands. “How is this possible?” Ahead of her, she sees a figure, she assumes to be Cal. Running towards it, the wind whips her face and the knee deep snow makes each step heavier than the last. Once Raye approaches the figure, she sees that it’s actually a snowman.

She walks around it, seeing its carrot nose and coal eyes. “How did you get here?” She touches its face and in a flash she is back on her apartment rooftop with Cal’s face in her hands. She snatches her hand back self-consciously. “Sorry! But what the fuck?”

“You made it back! How was your visualization?” Cal asks warmly.

Raye is taken aback. “That wasn’t a visual, I was in a snowstorm!”

“Eh, a flurry at worst.”

“But I don’t get...How did you?”

Cal raises an eyebrow with a sneaky smirk. “I’ll let you know one day, not now though. Do you want to try again?”

Raye nods. “Yeah! But come with me.” She closes her eyes, feeling the rush of adrenaline through her veins.

“Next time you see me, I’ll be there with you. Imagine the snow again.”

As she visualizes, she doesn’t feel the same immersion that she had before.

“Cal it’s not wor-”

As quick as he came, he was gone. Raye ran to the stairwell calling his name in the building but no one answered.

Dr. Manhattan witnesses her searching for him from afar, coming closer to the main development of their relationship. Once Raye is ready, he will appear again.

#shakafic #ficmas

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zandracourt · 4 years

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Steve’s Playlist

Written for @the-sad-hatter’s Weird and Wonderful Challenge. This is the first fic I’ve written with a first person narrator. I tried to write it fully as an inserted reader, but that was just too weird for me, so I tried to make the first person as neutral as I could.

Prompt 26: I Put a Spell on You, Nina Simone

Steve’s Playlist

Rated T/PG

It’s a few minutes before 1700 and Director Fury shouts my name as I turn off the light in my cubicle.

“Agent, before you leave, can you take this to Rogers?”

I swallow hard, trying to play it cool. “Captain Rogers?” As if there is another one. Well, there is a Rogers down in accounting but I’m pretty sure the Director has no idea he even exists. He barely knows I exist. Though he did call me by name, so maybe it’s not a good idea to underestimate the Director’s pulse on the plebes of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Yes, that one.” Bingo “Do you know where his office is, on the 3rd floor?” Everyone knew the Captain had chosen an office across from the hanger bay. It faced the interior of the Triskelion, meaning its window looked out mostly on the walls of the other two buildings; nothing but concrete and glass. It was the kind of office some middle manager would have, not the leader of the Avengers. But the Captain liked being close to the hanger, often eating lunch in the Machinists Lounge with the ground crew.

“I do. Just that then?” I held out my hand towards him.

He passed me a 11”x 17” Manila envelope, about an inch thick. “That’s all. Good night.” He turns away before I can wish him a good night back.

As I get off the elevator, I can hear the steep trumpet crescendo of the opening stanzas of Sir Duke playing. Normally, the halls are quiet, but someone must be using the after-hours nature of their work to play music. S.H.I.E.L.D. rules prohibit connecting to any streaming services on company computers, so whoever it is has brought in speakers and must be playing it off their personal phone. Turning down the hall brings the music even louder.

Music is a world within itself, it’s a language we all understand, with an equal opportunity to sing and dance and clap your hands.

Stevie Wonder’s distinctive rhythm filled my ears, getting louder as I walked. My mom used to play this song on her Hits of the ‘70’s CD. You can feel it all over. You can feel it all over, people!

By the time I round the corner to the inverted half-circle that makes up the interior of the uniquely shaped office complex, the source of the the music becomes obvious. It’s pretty loud now and I can see him standing at his elevated computer desk, his feet stepping in time to the music as he types that is rather adorable, but I tamp such thoughts down hard. This is Captain America for fucks sake. My knock clearly gives him a slight startle and I feel bad.

“Oh, hey.” He reaches over quickly and taps pause on his phone.

“You don’t have to stop on my account. I was told to bring you this.” I hold the envelope out for him, still standing just outside the doorway like a dumb-ass. It’s just an office, but it’s an Avenger office, which feels more sacred.

Steve chuckles, “There’s no magic force field there you know. You can come in.”

Crossing the threshold, I can’t help but look around. He keeps his office pretty sparse. There’s a whiteboard on one wall and to the left of his desk, a framed picture of what looks like Benjamin Franklin holding a large balance scale with an old-time baseball player standing on half. Over the top of the players’ images are the words “Brooklyn Dodgers” on the left and “New York Yankees” on the right. Looking closer, you can see it’s from the 1941 World Series.

“Whoa, is that original?”

He raises his eyebrows and whistles slightly. “Man, I wish. No, it’s a replica poster. But I had the playbook from that series. Went to every game and managed to get signatures on it from everyone but Riggs and Frank. I’d left it at my mom’s place when I enlisted but now it’s lost to time. If it survived, I’m sure it’s in some collector’s wall safe by now. You follow baseball?”

I shrug. “Not like that. I’m always up for a Nationals game if I get a chance. There is an energy watching live games that I enjoy, especially with good friends. But I don’t ever watch on TV.”

He nods. “TV wasn’t an option when I was a kid, just radio. But I agree with you. I still listen to games sometimes, but I don’t like watching them on TV. ‘Course, they aren’t in Brooklyn anymore, so they aren’t my Dodgers anyway.”

I looked down at the only picture on his desk. It’s a plain, pine framed image of three people sitting in what might be a large restaurant booth, but it’s hard to tell. They look happy, and maybe a little drunk. The woman I recognize immediately because her portrait hangs in the main foyer. Margaret Carter, one of the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D., though she’s much younger in his picture. The other two men I don’t know, though one is kind of familiar. “That’s Director Carter, right?” I ask, pointing at it.

Steve picks it up and hands it to me for a closer look. “Yeah. Spring 1944. Peggy. Howard. Bucky.” He points to each face. “That was taken at this restaurant Howard knew. No matter where we were, he knew the best places to go that hadn’t been bombed or raided and every waitress knew him by name.”

Now I knew why the man in the middle was familiar. His picture hung downstairs next to Director Carter’s, but he looks so good this picture. Now that I’ve made the connection, I can see the Stark resemblance.

“Woah, Mr. Stark didn’t age real well.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I wanted desperately to take them back. “I’m so sorry. That was...sorry.”

My stomach clenches and temples throb with embarrassment. Who the fuck am I to criticize his friends? These people are portraits on a wall to me, but to him, they were drinking buddies. Best friends. The heat of my emotions races under my skin and I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

“It’s OK.” He takes the photo back, looking at it as he speaks. “Howard was so full of life and playful energy when I knew him. From what I understand, that changed as he got older. This is my memory of him though. And I’m glad I have it.”

His words shift my embarrassment to shame. “I’m glad you have it too. Can I ask...” He places the picture down and looks at me with such kind eyes I continue. “Where did you find it? I mean, it’s more personal than any S.H.I.E.L.D. photo I’ve seen and you said your stuff didn’t seem to stick around.” I was trying to cover my embarrassment with curiosity, seeking some neutral ground again.

“Tony gave it to me. I shot the photo, but I’d never seen how it turned out.”

I’d heard that he and Iron Man didn’t always get along. Mostly gossip about how they bicker and would annoy the agents waiting to deploy on an op, so the Director had stopped sending them to the same places if he could help it. In this moment though, it was clear that Tony was a strong conduit to Steve’s past and it was hard to ignore the wave of loneliness that rolled off him. “It’s a great one. They look so happy.” He nods, continuing to look at it. I don’t want to step on his reminiscence so I turn to leave him to his thoughts.

“Agent?” I stop and pivot just a little towards him. “The envelope?” I realize it’s still tucked under my arm and I look towards the ceiling in a desperate plea for The Powers of All to save me from any more stupid moves in front of this man ever again.

“Right, sorry.” I say, hoping some old-time stage hook will just come drag me away.

“Thanks. And you don’t need to apologize all the time. You work here, same as me. You have as much right to be in this office as I do.”

O, Captain, that is not at all true. Thankfully, my brain stops my running mouth before I straight up contradict a superior, though I appreciate that he wants that to be true. “Good night, Captain.”

“Good night.” As I leave the office, the music starts again; this time playing playing Earth, Wind, and Fire’s September.

******

In any other context, I might object to being tasked as Director Fury’s delivery person with ever increasing regularity, since I’m an analyst, not a messenger. However, the only person he sends me to is Captain Rogers, so how can I complain? Yeah, he’s the 8th level of Dante’s Inferno kind of hot, but these end-of-work assignments have let me see Steve Rogers for who he is, not just a magazine cover story. Most of our conversations only last 4 or 5 minutes, but they are the best part of any day they happen. He’ll ask about my work and genuinely seems interested the data analysis I do. I don’t ask him about the rumors of missions he goes on because my security clearance is slightly above the kid who delivers our sandwiches at lunch time so I stick to topics of life outside of work. Surprisingly, he never seems to hold back personal stories. Especially ones of his past. Something extremely rare in this building.

Every time the elevator doors open on the third floor after 1700, I can hear the music play. Marvin Gaye, Earth, Wind, and Fire, Aretha Franklin, Al Green, Otis Redding, Stevie Wonder, ...he definitely has a specific taste for 60′s & 70’s R&B. Today as I approach, the song plays slow and melancholy.

You know I can’t stand it. Your running around. You know better, daddy. I can’t stand it, ‘cause you put me down. Yeah, yeah. I put a spell on you, because you’re mine.

Something made me stop just outside his office this time, listening. I can see him sitting with his arm resting on his desk, playing with a metal coin of some kind while looking out the window. The coin is bigger than any currency I’ve seen, and thicker, like a medal or medallion. He idly flips it through his fingers, lost in thought as the trumpet plays a jazz rift.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you anyhow. And I don’t care if you don’t want me, I’m yours anyhow. I put a spell on you, because you’re mine.

A deep, mournful scatting ends the song so I knock lightly, knowing I’m interrupting something. He turns his head a little and nods, so I enter. As I get closer, I see wetness in his eyes. Not falling, just holding a firm tension at the edge of his lids.

“You OK, Sir?”

He sits up a little and shifts his chair so he’s fully turned towards me from behind his desk. “No need to call me Sir. And yeah, I’m fine.” He taps the coin on the desk and lays it down as he reaches over and pauses the playlist, which had shuffled to Bring It on Home to Me by Sam Cooke.

“Please. Sit and talk to me for bit.”

This is the first time he’s asked me to sit during one of these after-work deliveries, making me wonder if he really is OK. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just needed to bring you this.” I slid the folder with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the front towards him. This one wasn’t classified, or I never would have been asked to bring it in an open file folder.

“You really gotta stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault or responsibility. You’re here because you were ordered to by Fury.”

“I don’t mind, really.”

“Well, it’s not exactly in your job description to bring me files. It’s probably my fault you keep getting asked. After the first time, I was talking to Nick about the information you’d given me and I told him that I enjoyed talking to you.”

My ears feel warm at the compliment. “I enjoy talking to you too.” This feels so awkwardly intimate that I have to shift gears to ease my nervousness. “What is that?” I point to the coin.

He hands it over. It’s about an inch and half in diameter; punched brass in deep relief. The edges are slightly worn down but readable. The words “107th Infantry” along run along the outer edge with two crossed rifles in the center.

“It’s a Challenge Coin. They became a thing with the OSS during the war, but after all they’d been through with Hydra, the 107th felt they deserved them too. So the junior officers had their own made.”

“Was that your unit?” I wished I recalled more from 10th grade history class.

“Not exactly. I was kind of my own unit, but I ran missions with the 107th and a few others once the Howling Commandos came together. That,” he gestures to the coin in my hand, “was Bucky’s.”

I glance at the photo on the desk. After our first encounter, I’d Googled Bucky Barnes so I wouldn’t make any more asshole remarks about his friends and learned he’d been a Sergeant in the 107th. “Wasn’t he enlisted though?”

Steve raised an eyebrow.”You’ve been researching. Yeah, but he was also very good at placing bets he knew he wouldn’t lose. Won it off an LT we both didn’t like very much.”

Remembering his other stories of items lost to the past, I ask, “However did you find it?”

“Never lost it. The night before the mission where...” He paused and took a breath, “before he died, Buck had given it to me. It was still in my uniform pocket when they thawed me out.”

The question floated in the silence and I wasn’t sure if it was one he wanted me to ask or not. In all our conversations, he was profoundly honest, and he’d brought it up, so that seemed like a green light.

“Why did he give it to you?”

“I’ve thought about that over and over since the day he fell. At first, I thought maybe he knew somehow...that he wouldn’t make it back. In the years since... it seems more of a promise. Not sure what he was promising exactly, but that feels more right to me. Bucky never believed a mission would fail, so it makes no sense for him to give to me as a goodbye.”

“And that song? The one playing before I came in? I know it’s an oldie, but I didn’t think it went back to the ‘40s.”

He chuckled. “What’re talking about? To me, Nina Simone’s a baby.”

“That was a woman singing?” I’d heard of Nina Simone, but realized I didn’t know which songs she was famous for.

“Yeah. Don’t you just love her voice?”

“She’s amazing.” I agree. “You listen to the blues a lot, I’ve noticed. Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“You think my music is sad?” He asks, not accusing, but with genuine interest.

“Well, isn’t that what the Blues are? Songs for when you’re feeling down?”

“I read a quote once by Etta James, ‘When I’m singing blues, I’m singing life.’ I know a lot of folks around here think my life is sad; ‘cause of what I lost. And there are times I am. But when I listen to the blues, I don’t even think about the time since I woke up. I think about times before. Brooklyn. My mom. Breadlines around the block. Not enough coal to keep the room warm. Bucky. The War. These songs, they feel like mine, even if it’s music from a later generation. Ya gotta listen to them with your heart. They aren’t sad at all really, just honest. The blues is life. Thanks for this.” He slid the folder over and placed it in his in-box.

I hand the coin back to him and he places it in the front pocket of his cargo pants. “You’re welcome. Thanks for sharing. I always learn something when we talk.” I stand up to leave.

“You’re easy to talk to. That’s a real gift. You ever thought of field work?”

I shake my head firmly. “No way. I learned real fast in academy that I’m as likely to shoot you or the wall as any target. I suck at firearms.” He laughs and bestows on me smile that reminds me why everyone loves him. “I like the work I do and I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“Gotta love someone who knows their strengths and weaknesses. You don’t have to limit your visits to delivering Nick’s paperwork, y’know. Come by anytime.”

I nod. “G’night Captain.”

“Good-night.” He’d touched the music back on before I’d even turned around.

If you ever change your mind about leaving, leaving me behind, Oh baby, bring it to me

The lyrics followed me out the door and down the hall as I pulled out my phone to start making a new Spotify list.

#the-sad-hatter #steve rogers x reader #canon-compliant #Captain America fic #Zandra_Court #fic challenge #Weird and Wonderful Hatters Challenge #Pre-Winter Soldier

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

friends in various places

AYDTD ‘verse

Summary: Ash and Roger's son had landed the part of Tom Zutaut in the up and coming film The Dirt, where some old family friends are having their lives dissected on screen. Only problem is, the rest of his fellow cast members don't actually know who in the hell he is. Of course, when his sister arrives, it can only mean bad things.

A/N: literally no-one asked for this but i’m cleaning out my drafts. or attempting to.

----

Tommy greets Barney like an old friend, wrapping him up in a hug, talking about the last time he saw him, he was knee high to a grasshopper. Barney, who does his best to appear smaller than he is, slouching a little as he stands, making him appear to be just a bit shorter than the six-foot-two drummer, gives a slight smile.

“All the guys on ma’s side of the family are giants, apparently, I just grew into it.” He grins a little, and Tommy’s smiling, his eyes lighting up a little at the mention of Barney’s mother, and says Barney sounds so much like her. The tall ginger’s smile is wry as he raises his eyebrows skeptically. “’difference is you can understand me if I mumble.” Barney sounds the way a gently foggy Scottish moor looks; when not acting he speaks with a accented yet calming monotone drawl, which a lot of people don’t realise since he’s so quiet, so a lot of the cast and crew first heard him speak at the read-through, and thought he was American.

The others who catch a glimpse of this interaction, Colson and Iwan and Douglas, all take a moment; they’ve known Barney because he always seemed to be around, on set, mentioned in passing; it seemed like everyone in the industry, whether they’re in the film or not, had heard of Barney Clarke, but they were never sure why, and they thought it would be confined to film.

Vince, on one of the rare occasions he makes it to set, asks about Barney’s sister. Later, Barney will explain to the other cast members that his sister is a mechanic, and that she sometimes worked in a pit crew for celebrity motor racing events. No-one thinks to question further, they accept it, they think she got the job on Barney’s recommendation; they don’t realise just who he is, just who’s around him. For now, Barney just shrugs a little, says that last he heard she was in Germany ‘for some car thing’.

He gets along with the rest of the cast well enough, he and Daniel taking quite a shine to each other as the others were a little more out there in the day-to-day; Colson because he’s always somehow full of energy, Douglas because he was in character, though Iwan was a bit of a dark horse, who enjoyed being loud as anyone else whilst not in character.

Barney’s level and calm, and credits boxing as his outlet. For the longest time, it seemed as though nothing got under his skin, that he was just this chill, vaguely Scottish giant. If anyone was looking for a calm moment, with him they’d get it. Much to everyone’s surprise, especially Colson, he hung out a lot in the makeup tent, offering to help while the team of makeup artists covered Colson’s various tattoos. And maybe, yeah, there was a little bit of resentment building - of course, aside from being humble, well connected, and reasonably talented, he also had to be the kindest fucking Samaritan in the world - but then he sees Barney wrap his arms around Mickey, the assistant to the key makeup artist, press a kiss to their cheek before heading to his own trailer. It’s such a soft, intimate gesture. How had he not noticed the wedding band on Mickey’s finger before now? Barney’s willingness to hang around and help the makeup team, of whom his spouse is a part of, makes a lot more sense.

And yet, it manages to just add to the confusing puzzle of ‘who actually is Barney Clarke?’.

A Running List of Facts The Main Cast of The Dirt Knows About Barney Clarke (a list compiled by Colson, with notes from Iwan, Douglas, and Daniel)

He’s Married - to Mickey Sun, makeup artist and social media personality

He’s Scottish (?) - observation based on his accent

Literally Everyone Seems To Be ‘A Friend Of The Family’

He’s Been Acting Since He Was 14 - based on his IMDB page

That’s it. That’s the list.

There was a fifth item, that he was the chillest dude in the world, but that’s scrubbed quickly when they come to film the party and scenes around Razzle’s death.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?” His natural accent comes in thicker, surprising the rest of them, when they get to set and see a beautiful, red car sitting on the curb outside the mansion they’re filming in, and a little blonde sitting on the hood of the car with a smile sharp as knives.

“I’ve got a car for you to crash,” and the woman sitting on the car sounds like him, accent, similar cadence even, and she hops off, stands with her hip cocked and arms crossed, looking over the rest of the cast, “actually, I had the shell of the model they needed rusting in my backyard, so I promised to paint it up right and fix it to the body of a far more expendable car, ‘s long as I got a trip to the states out of it.”

Barney looks like he’s quickly forming a headache.

The woman, tiny and pretty and wearing grease-stained jeans, introduces herself as Astrid, and when asked how she knows Barney, she raises her eyebrows with disbelief. Barney pinches the bridge of his nose.

“He’s my baby brother,” she says, grinning.

They look almost nothing alike. With almost a foot of height difference between them, it’s jarring to think that Astrid’s the older one, but seeing them interact over the two weeks they’re together on set, it begins to make it’s own kind of sense. Astrid is the complete opposite to Barney in almost every way, apart from the fact that, like her brother, she was seemingly unflappable. She’s a smooth-talking, outrageous flirt who oozes casual confidence, and it seems the only thing she liked more than whiskey, neat, was driving fast.

“Hey, a friend of mine owes me a favour down at EXR,” Astrid’s grown very fond of Colson, and when the first week’s up, and they have a day off, she can’t help but want to share her favourite LA experience with him, “wanna go drive supercars?”

“Fucking absolutely.”

They drive a few hours into the desert until they get to the track, and the owner of the course, of EXR, Exotic Racing, greets Astrid with a kiss on both cheeks, and calls her Trid.

“Oh dude, oh fuck, you’re- fuckin’ MGK, shit Trid, you could have warned me,” the owner flusters for a moment, and Astrid gives a half-smile.

“Come on, Luca, it’s not a big deal,” Astrid tries to calm him down, and Luca sighs, before handing her a set of keys. Astrid and Colson head for the pits where a lineup of shiny cars are waiting, and Colson’s still reeling a little. The whole track is clear, closed so they’re the only ones around.

“What did you have to do to get this whole place to yourself?” He asks, and Astrid tosses him the keys, climbing into the passenger seat of a sleek, black Ferrari.

“I work pit for free a few times a year.” Is all she tells him.

Colson isn’t a slow driver, not by a long shot, and Astrid seems content with him by the wheel, speeding down the straight with his foot on the floor, cutting corners close, and Astrid plugs in her phone to the aux cord and plays rock and roll so loud he can hear it hammer in his heart.

When they’ve done a few laps, Colson offers her a turn behind the wheel, and there’s a fire in her eyes that’s both terrifying and awe inspiring. They start of slow enough, two thirds of the speed he’d been going, but after a lap, she speeds up, her grip going white-knuckled on the wheel as she takes hairpin turns going 60mph, drifting around corners with such ease and efficiency without losing momentum, almost getting air off of the hill that leads into the final straight of the track. She drives like she doesn’t fear death.

This is the day Colson learns that Barney’s oldest sister is a professional stunt driver, as well as being a mechanic and general nuisance.

And she’s fucking awesome.

“She’s magic,” Luca tells Colson as they watch Astrid do a few laps on her own. She’s even faster now, without a passenger to worry about, making it look easy as she goes around fast enough to stir a breeze each time she goes past.

“She drives like a maniac,” Colson laughs, and Luca hums with agreement, chuckling. When she stops beside them, the tires squeal against the tarmac, and her smile is breathless when she steps from the car, offering the keys enticingly, asking Colson if he wants another go around. He accepts, hopping into the drivers seat as Astrid heads to the bathroom.

When they get back on set the following day, Barney looks like he’s bitten a lemon the moment he sees Colson step out of Astrid’s fancy, iridescent teal car.

“You’re doing it again,” Barney warned her, and Astrid gives him a blithe smile.

“No idea what you’re on about -”

“Leave Daniel out of it,” he’s quietly almost begging her now, and Astrid’s smile turns sharp, “Astrid you are the devil,” he tells her, feelingly, as he watches her wave to Daniel, who was mooning over the car with the rest of the cast. They both see him mouth ‘she’s cool as hell’ and Barney knows he’s already lost.

Colson catches on first, the way Astrid seems to get under her brother’s skin without even trying, around the time she’s grabbing lunch with Daniel and Iwan a few afternoons later.

“Astrid,” Barney starts after a long moment taken to order his thoughts, “has chosen to model her life after Horace fucking Slughorn,” he seethes, and Colson’s confused for a moment before it clicks.

“From Harry Potter? The dude from the sixth one, right?”

“Right,” Barney sighs, and Colson quietly marvels at the fact that it’s the most he’s ever heard the ginger speak, “she collects the people I work with that she likes; it’s easy because she’s...” and he sighs like he’s terribly put upon, “actually really cool. Much cooler than I am, unfortunately.”

“She steals your friends?” Colson’s not quite sure if he should laugh, it all sounds a little childish, but Barney seems deeply troubled by it.

“No...” Barney muses after a moment of deliberation, “not exactly,” he amends, “she is the most supportive person I know, and I really do love her dearly, that’s not the issue, it’s that... well, she’s better at keeping in contact with people, despite only being on the peripheries of the industry.”

“Does it really bother you?”

“Yes!” Barney, surprisingly, explodes at the question, eyes going wide, throwing his hands into the air; it’s the most agitated and animated Colson’s ever seen him, “she’s so insufferably smug.”

“You know you’re like... fuckin’ cool as shit, dude, right?” Colson admits with a half laugh, and Barney’s expression softens to something grateful, “I watched you in theaters dude, fucking big screen, man, X-Men’s not something to sneeze at.” He assured him, clapping a hand on Barney’s shoulder, who perked up considerably.

It’s more of an insight into Barney’s character than anyone else had gotten during the entirety of filming, though Colson thought it would be best to keep this particular set of revelations to himself; Barney’s familial insecurities weren’t anyone else’s business. Much to his surprise, however, the following day, while covering his tattoos, Mickey brings it up.

“Barn really appreciates what you said to him,” they tell him, dabbing foundation on his chest, and Colson blinks a few times before he remembers.

“Oh, no big deal; you guys are married, right? Mickey Sun?”

“Michelangelo Sun-Taylor,” Mickey says, pausing and giving a sharp smile, to which Colson nods, and tries not to look as winded by the name as he feels. Sun-Taylor. Huh. How does that fit into the equation that is Barney Clarke? But he’s not given enough time to ponder that before Mickey’s working again.

“I hear you’re being headhunted by Astrid,” they add, and Colson can’t help his slight smile and nod. Mickey makes a noise of understanding, “of course you are; she’s a fan of pretty blonde boys.”

“She’d be the most envied woman in Hollywood if anyone knew her name,” they added, and Colson frowns a little at that, a little confused.

“Is it a status thing?” Is she using me? Is what he wants to ask, which Mickey seems to get easily, shaking their head.

“She genuinely cares for her friends; she’s a shit-stirrer, but she’s seen every movie Barney’s been in more than ten times, and she’s always willing to lend a hand - if you need a mechanic, call her, seriously; the thing is that she attracts pretty blonde boys who like cars and hot girls, and by the time they realise, she’s already solidified herself as a good friend.”

“Realise?”

“Well, it’s not my place, but she’ll tell you when she’s ready.” Mickey tells him earnestly, “lift your arm, please?”

Colson finds himself spending more time with Barney, dwelling. Barney won’t tell him either, insists it’s only Astrid’s place, which Colson respects, but he won’t bug her about it; he’s happy enough speculating.

“She has a kid?”

“Nope, that’s my other sister -”

“Other?” A tantalizing piece of new information about this man who’s slowly becoming less of an enigma.

“Cait, you’d love her, she can get wild -”

“More wild than Trid?”

“Not anymore,” Barney pauses, giving a half smile, looking over at where Colson is watching Astrid and Tommy argue animatedly about something, “Trid?” Colson shrugs, “she’ll tell you soon.”

“Can we meet your other sister?”

“If you want to,” Barney shrugs, offhandedly, “I think she’s in New York now with her partner, but I’m sure she’d be happy to fly in.”

“Is Trid married?” Colson asks, squinting, and Barney laughs in his face.

She tells him by the end of the day, mostly because his curiosity got the better of him.

“I’m gay; it’s not a secret,” she seems confused, and Colson frowns, though it does make a lot of sense, “I dated Cara Delevingne, does no-one remember that?”

“Fuck, man, I knew I knew you from somewhere,” Colson nods sagely, and Astrid snorts a laugh.

“It’s noble of Barn and Micks to not out me, but like, I’m kissing girls on tabloid covers, it’s not news,” she paused, shrugging, “I dunno, guys seem to be distracted by the, ah,” she gestures awkwardly to herself, and then to her car, “to see the kind of obvious signs.”

“You hitting on Leven wasn’t a bit?” Colson said with a half smile, and Astrid grinning.

“If you caught that, I’m not sure how it took you so long.”

“Cards on the table,” Colson raised his hands in mock surrender, “I was kind of distracted by the -” and he gestured to both her and the car, mirroring her from just moments ago, getting her to laugh. The tension broke, and they went to get dinner. Knowing what he knows now, it’s easy to be friends with Astrid; she ends up being a good wingman, apart from that time she accidentally went home with the girl Colson had been chatting up, and she’s got expensive taste in booze, which he appreciates.

And he realises too late that he has no idea what to expect of their other sibling.

Cait is both the middle child, and seems like a strange middle-ground between her two siblings, at 5′7 and with the air of someone much wiser than her years. The moment she spots Astrid and Barney on set with the rest of the cast, eating lunch, she calls out.

“Ay-oh!” It’s a strangely familiar, and without missing a beat, both Barney and Astrid call back in the exact same manner, beaming, much to the bemusement of the rest of the cast. After a round of hugs, greetings, and introductions, and the strange realization that the siblings, despite not looking too much alike, all sound eerily similar, Cait sits herself with them all.

“Ben sends you and Joe his love,” Astrid adds, and Cait grins, thanking her for the message. Barney glowers into his pizza, “cheer up Barn, he sends you his love as well,” she pauses, grin all teeth, “Lucas does too.”

“He was my damn co-star, Astrid,” Barney huffs, “we still talk.”

“I know, I’m just teasing,” she offers, and Barney rolls his eyes.

“The collection of hot blonde dudes?” Colson asks bluntly, to which Douglas snorted water out through his nose, and Astrid turned scarlet.

“I do not-”

“Trid,” Cait said, giving her an exasperated look.

“I know you from somewhere,” Douglas mused, finally getting a good look at Cait, who just smiled blithely back.

“Ben Hardy and Lucas Till,” Barney fills in for the rest, who just seem to grow more confused, “so yes, part of Astrid’s harem of pretty boys.”

“They’re my friends, it’s not a damn harem - you’re an asshole, Barn,” Astrid glowered.

“I learned from the best,” Barney countered with smugly, and Astrid rolled her eyes.

“Is that little Caity?” Came a call, and Cait stood abruptly to greet Tommy Lee with a bear hug. “You’re gotten so big, fuck, kiddo, I can’t believe you’re running Queen’s socials; you’ve been killing it from what I’ve seen.”

“Okay, seriously, who in the fuck are you people?” Daniel finally snapped, and Tommy blinked at him a few times, stepping back from Cait, casting a confused look between the three siblings.

“Did you not tell them?” Cait asked, eyes wide, and Barney scowled, though Astrid answered.

“Of course he didn’t,” she rolled her eyes, before turning on Douglas and Iwan, “you two ‘ve probably worked with our mum before; Rocket Taylor.”

Like a switch had been flipped, both Iwan and Douglas’s expression lit up, and behind them, Tommy turned a little pink around the ears. A chorus of ‘no way, holy shit’ rang out, and Cait nodded, while Barney hung his head. After a beat, however, Tommy stepped forward.

“You kids always downplay your dad like he’s not the drummer for Queen,” he adds, and the whole table explodes with shouting at that, highlights of which include Astrid’s ‘he’s a dork, Thomas!’ Cait’s ‘I was getting to that in a moment!’ and Barney’s ‘I’m excommunicating myself’ amid the cast’s sudden delight.

#mgk #machine gun kelly #colson baker #roger taylor #tommy lee #daniel webber #iwan rheon #douglas booth #the dirt #the dirt cast #the dirt imagine #the angry lizard writes

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themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years

Text

The Hand That Reaches for God -Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

“He touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.” - Richard Siken

-26 Days After-

Pheli’s boots banged down the stairs, her heart thrumming in her chest and her ears ringing from her close proximity to the gunshot. She couldn’t believe she pulled the trigger. Her hands were still shaking. At least it was finally over. Her watch beeped at her wrist, telling her that her hour was up. “Fuck!” She shouted, hopping steps, gripping the handrail. She ran, pushing forward, until she made it out into the street.

The Jeep was running, but hadn’t left three minutes later by some miracle. She flung open the back door and slid in. “Let’s go!” She said breathless, still trying to catch her breath from the run.

Dean frowned at her. “Where’s Gordon?”

“It’s been sixty-four minutes, do you not follow directions?” Pheli asked, patting Ash’s shoulder. “Lets go!”

Ash looked back at her with a frown. “What happened back there? Where’s Gordon? We heard a shot...”

“He’s gone.” Pheli said flatly through clenched teeth. “We need to go. It isn’t safe.”

Ash exchanged a look with Dean in the rear view mirror and put the Jeep in drive.

Pheli watched the city bleed past her as Ash pressed play on his cassette. Her hands gripped hers and Gordons packs that sat on her lap. Dean took her trembling fingers from their tight grip on the fabric of the bag, and into his hand. “Rogues?” He asked her softly.

That would be easier, wouldn’t it? He could’ve been overrun, but she wouldn’t have escaped. They’d question that. A good hunter compared to a girl who still owns lipgloss in an apocalypse, who would believe that he was taken down? She tried to focus on her breathing.

“I can talk to Cas when we get back.” Dean offered.

He was too nice. Would he still offer if he knew what Pheli did? She felt sick to her stomach. “I’ll handle it.” She told him. It was time that she started doing things for herself.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride. She just looked out the window and tried to think about how things would be better. She was still convincing herself as they pulled up to the camp. She hopped out of the Jeep before it came to a complete stop. “I’ll take the bag.” Dean said cautiously.

“Take Gordon’s too. I was able to grab it before...” She stopped herself.

“You got it.”

She nodded thankfully to him and jogged back to her tent. She opened the flap slowly to find Emerson curled up and still asleep, like she never left. She smiled at her sister, and shedded herself of her weapons and boots. Pheli climbed under the blankets and snuggled in close to her sister. “Em.” She whispered, pressing a kiss on her nose. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I took care of it.”

Emerson’s eye slowly opened, confusion flooding her face. “What?”

“You won’t ever see him again.”

“Pheli, what did you do?”

Ophelia pushed Emerson’s hair out behind her ear. “I just wanted you to know that it’s okay now. He’s gone, and we will never see him again.”

****

“So I’ve been thinking.” Dean said, leaning against the tree outside of Emerson’s tent.

“God, Dean!” She shouted, holding her chest. She’d been inside of the tent long after Pheli left to go visit Sam. She was only leaving, because her growling stomach was keeping her awake.

“Man, you Maklen girls gotta stop calling me God, it’s just awkward.”

“You’re so annoying.” Emerson huffed, feeling her heartbeat in her ears.

“Like I said before you so rudely interrupted, I’ve been thinking.”

“Well that’s never a good sign.” She said, crossing her arms.

“Hurtful.” He raised an eyebrow.

“So you just wanted me to know that you were thinking? I know it’s rare, but not exactly news worthy.”

“No.” He said, grabbing her hand before she could walk away. She winced and looked down at their hands. “I wanted to talk. I was thinking we needed to talk. There’s been a big misunderstanding...”

She pulled her hand from his. “Dean...”

“Come on.” He said quietly, stepping closer to her.

She fought the urge to run, digging her heels in the dirt. She tried to remind herself that she wasn’t afraid of Dean, but it was hard to when he was blocking her way.

“Just five minutes, Em. I don’t...” He sighed. “I don’t want it to end like this. Not when this... not when we just got started.”

Her eyes flickered to his, and she swallowed the ball in her throat. “Five minutes.” She agreed.

“Come with me.” He offered her a hand, and she crossed her arms in response, but nodded to indicate that she would still follow him.

Dean put his hand in his pocket instead and walked toward the back of the camp. It was dusk, the sky a deep shade of blue, lit and glowing from the sun that hung low on the horizon. It was the time when day kissed the night. Emerson felt a chill run up her spine despite the heat of Summer that still was heavy in the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

They reached a solid portion of wall and Dean settled his foot in a crack in the wall and effortlessly hoisted himself up to sit on top of it, favoring his uninjured knee. He reached a hand out to Emerson, and she stared at his palm and extended fingers. “What are you doing?”

“Come on.” He said quietly, offering her a vulnerable smile. “I’m doin a thing.”

She sighed heavily.

She used to be afraid of Dean. She was afraid of the potential for pain. She saw him from the roof, sneaking out back to smoke a cigarette. She saw him kissing girls, pressing them up against the door of the Impala after he learned how to drive. She wouldn’t be one of those girls. She wouldn’t give in to the wiles of someone like Dean Winchester. She knew by looking at him that he could destroy her. It was easy to keep him at a distance then, before she really knew him, but as she looked at his hand and his kind face reaching to her, she knew she shouldn’t be afraid.

She placed her hand in his and let him pull her up. The wall was thicker than she expected, and she was able to easily settle on to it. It was about three feet wide, and she settled close enough to the edge for her feet to dangle. Dean did the same, his pinky brushing hers. “Alright, you’ve got me up here, what now?”

“Now we watch.” He said quietly, pointing at the glowing sky, and the stars that were appearing out of the darkness. “We haven’t really looked up since all of this started, have we?”

“This is what you want to talk about?” She complained. “You have five minutes and you want to talk about the sky...”

“Em.” He placed his hand on hers. “Just look, okay?”

She sighed again and turned her face up. Without the lights from the city, the clear sky was glistening with flakes of sparkling white. Little twinkles winked hello at them. There was still a hint of the sun on the horizon, but yet she was able to see the stars better than she ever did in the city. “Wow.” She whispered. The sight knocked the breath right out of her body.

“I figured we always had our best talks on your roof lookin at the stars. I missed that the most when I went away.”

Her eyes flickered from the speckled night sky to his face. He looked at Emerson like she imagined her face looked like when she saw those stars. His lips were parted, emitting shallow breaths, his cheeks were flushed, and his pupils were wide. “I missed it, too. I stopped going out there when you left.”

“I never wanted that. I didn’t want your life to change when I left.”

“But it did, Dean.” Emerson snapped a bit. “We were never together, but we were never apart either. You were always there, even when I didn’t want you to be. How was I supposed to just keep things the same when a permanent fixture in my life was gone? That’s fucking ridiculous.”

A grin grew on Dean’s face and he laughed a bit to himself. “I think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” She asked, pulling her hand away from his so she could cross her arms.

“How cute you are when you’re mad at me. When I was away I always tried to picture your face, but it was never quite right. It’s this... this is what I was tryin to remember.”

“Well, I’m glad my annoyance is entertaining to you.” She huffed, turning back to the sky. “Is that all, Dean?” Her heart was tired, and the darker it got the more the fear bubbled up inside of her. It had gotten so much worse since Pheli said she’d taken care of it. Emerson knew that couldn’t be good, but she hadn’t figured out how to get the answers that she needed.

“No, that’s not all.” Dean said, clearing his throat. “This shit with Lisa... it’s caught me off guard, and I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to ever see her again and then there she was...”

“I get it, Dean. I saw the baby... he’s...”

“He’s not mine.”

“He could be. You wanted him to be, and it may be your only chance at a family. She’s single.”

Deans face scrunched up, his nose wrinkling, and his eyebrows coming together. “You’re not seriously suggesting that.”

“I am.”

“I don’t want to be with Lisa.”

“Can’t forgive her?”

“Don’t want to.” Dean grunted, staring at Emerson. He was waiting for her to turn her head and look at him, but she was planted with her chin up toward the stars.

“Seems unreasonable.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” He groaned in annoyance.

“Aww, I forgot how cute it was when you were annoyed with me.” She said flatly.

“Touché.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m serious, Em. Lisa was never... she was never right for me. She was just there in my darkest time. She was there after my accident when I needed someone the most.”

-2 Years Before-

“Where is he?” Emerson asked as she ran through the hallway at the hospital.

Mary Winchester stood up from her chair in the waiting room, her tissue against her mouth as she tried to stifle her sobs. John was nowhere to be found, but that was no real surprise.

Sam took his mother into his arms and they cried together. “He’s strong, Mom... he will make it... he...”

They were watching a movie at the dorm when they heard. Dean was in an accident. Some kind of explosion, and he was stable enough to be transferred back to the states for surgery. They didn’t have any other information. She felt sick, like the room was spinning. It was the feeling of being too drunk. It wasn’t fun, just dizzying. She gripped ahold of the arm rest of a chair and closed her eyes.

She wanted to channel anger and annoyance like she usually did when it came to him, but how could she when he was hurt? Her legs shook and she fell to her knees. He told her he thought he would die out there. His words from so long ago rang in her ears. “Part of me thinks I’m gonna die out there.” She gripped the small lobby trash can that was next to her and vomited.

It all seemed so stupid. All the times they fought, all the times that she pushed him away even though she wanted to pull him closer. She wanted to go back in time and beg him to stay. She wanted to kiss him at Happy Fun Land. She wanted to take it all back, so then at least if he died they would’ve had that time. Now they had nothing but missed opportunities and mistakes.

****

He came out of surgery a few agonizing hours later. They only allowed one visitor at a time in the ICU, so Mary went in, then Sam. Emerson and Pheli sat in the waiting room with their hands tangled together.

“He’s out of surgery, this is good.” Pheli said gently.

“Yeah.” Emersons voice was small.

“You know he won’t die, Em. He’s got to live another day to annoy you.”

“Sounds like something he’d say.”

“It is something he’d say. I’m sure he will tell you it himself when he’s awake.”

Emerson’s nose and eyes burned from the tears she was holding back, and her chest felt like it was in knots. “What if he... what if he doesn’t wake up, Phel? He was in an explosion... and the last thing I said to him was that talking to him was a mistake.”

“When was that?”

“Christmas senior year.”

“When you left the house? I knew it!”

“He just...” She let out a desperate gasp. She was drowning. She couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Hey, hey.” Pheli said, alarmed. She turned and grabbed the paper bag that held their earlier dinner order, and put it up to Emerson’s lips. “Breathe, come on. You’re hyperventilating.”

Emerson breathed into the bag. In and out. In and out. In and out until she was steady again. Until the tears stopped streaming down her cheeks. “Sometimes I think I’ve done everything wrong.”

“You’ve done your best.” Pheli promised quietly.

“I haven’t. I should’ve done more... I should’ve...”

Sam came into the waiting room, causing both of the girls to sit up straighter. “How is he?” Ophelia asked, because Emerson couldn’t find the words.

“He’s... he’s stable right now. The surgery went well, but they’re worried about infection. He was...” Sam’s voice cracked and it took him a moment to recompose himself before he met Emerson’s eyes. “He was left out there for a few days before someone found him. There’s a lot of damage, but they hope he will walk again.”

Her stomach dropped. She didn’t know what to say. The words hadn’t been created to describe what she was thinking. Or if they had, she didn’t remember them. She wasn’t even squeezing Pheli’s hand anymore. Her fingers were just limp inside of her sisters.

“Is he awake?” Pheli asked.

“No. They’re keeping him sedated... they say he will be in a lot of pain.”

“Can I see him?” Emerson found herself asking, before she could stop herself. She wasn’t family. She wasn’t his girlfriend. They didn’t exactly end amicably. She never sent him a letter back. She didn’t deserve to see him, but yet.

“That’s why I was coming out. I’m going to take Mom home. I was hoping you would sit with him. Phel, you mind driving? I don’t think I should.”

“Of course.” The girls said at once, and Pheli reached for Sam’s hand.

“Room eight” He told Emerson, before they hurried off to grab Mary.

She stared down the hallway and his room seemed miles away. She suddenly felt very small, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one hurt. He was. So Emerson walked to him like she should have a thousand times before.

Sam didn’t prepare her, but when she looked at him she didn’t know how she would’ve taken it, knowing ahead of time. Dean Winchester wasn’t a small man. He towered over six feet tall, and he always had a thicker frame. He could’ve been a body guard or a football player, so it was heart stopping to see him laying a hospital bed looking so small. She approached him slowly, as if her presence would disturb him somehow.

There was a tube down his throat, and tape on his chin. His lips were chapped and cracked. He looked so pale. There were tubes going out all over him, and his leg was out and wrapped up in a metal contraption to keep it in place. The more she looked at him, the more stitches and cuts she found. He was bruised and beaten.

She pulled up the chair next to him and lowered herself onto it. “Dean.” Her voice came out small, like a child’s. “It’s me... Em, I don’t know if you can hear me.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back her emotion, and find the words all in one motion.

She decided to go with what was the most familiar. Something that was easy. “You just have to get all the attention, don’t you?” She forced a smile. “God, that’s so annoying. We didn’t forget about you, so you really didn’t need to go and get blown up to make a statement.”

Her fingers found his. There was still dirt under his nails. Why didn’t anyone clean them?

“This is the most ridiculous thing you’ve done to get me to come to you, but I’m here. Guess I’m the sucker, always falling for your tricks.” Her thumb rubbed circles on the back of his hand.

Her chest was tight and she sucked in a breath. She was suddenly aware of the sterile air, the constant beeps and hums of the machines. She wondered if he even smelled like himself and if he ever would again. “I told you not to die. You didn’t listen. God why don’t you ever listen? I’m so mad at you... I’ve been mad at you for a long time now, but this... I won’t be able to ever forgive you if you die. You hear me, Winchester? You know me, I have ways... I’ll...” She lifted his hand and pressed a kiss on the back of his hand. “I won’t survive that. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? If I lose you it’ll fucking break me. I know we aren’t... I know I didn’t write you back. I know the night you left was... I just know, okay? I know we aren’t in love. We aren’t together or meant to be or any of that shit that Pheli is obsessed with, but knowing that you’re out there just makes my life a little better. If I knew you were gone it’d just... it’d be a goddamn tragedy.” She reached forward and touched his cheek.

“I don’t believe in all that stuff. The stuff that people write romance books about, but you... Dean I could write a book about you.” She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

After a week Sam and Pheli had to go back to school. He was studying Pre Law and he couldn’t miss anymore class. Mary went back to work. Evidentially when the boys moved out of the house she kicked John out. Emerson was proud of her for that, and she knew Dean would be, too, if he didn’t already know.

Everyone left, except for Emerson.

Most of the next two weeks he was sedated. He developed an infection in his leg, and it was touch and go for awhile. They thought he would lose the leg.

“You aren’t losing this leg, Dean. You hear me?” Emerson said sternly. “I won’t let them cut it off, so you have to fight.”

She told him to, and he did. He had another surgery, and despite how mangled it looked, he was able to keep the leg.

“We can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for this family, Emerson.” Mary said, as she offered Em a cup of coffee.

“It’s no problem, really.” She said awkwardly, shifting on her feet. She blew on the coffee before taking a sip. “If It were me he would be up here annoying me, so I thought I’d return the favor.”

“He was always a little lost on you.”

Emerson coughed in surprise, her coffee shooting down her wind pipe. “I.. what... how do you mean?”

Mary smiled bashfully, looking down. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. He was always looking at you through the window, or when he was working on the car. I thought you were much too young for him, but that was then. Age is more of a number the older you get, don’t you think? When he convinced Sam to ask out your sister, I was sure it was the start of something, but he is shy.”

“Dean never came across as shy to me.”

“He acts very confident, but most of it is a show. It’s a distraction from what’s real. It’s easier than being vulnerable. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have.” Emerson said quietly, her cheeks warming up. “I just didn’t think... I don’t know. I thought it was all a game.”

“With you? No, sweetheart. It never was a game. Girls come and go, but you never have.” She offered a warm smile and pulled Emerson into a hug.

She left as quickly as she came, like she always did. Emerson watched her go with a wave and went back to Deans room. She opened the door and her coffee fell from her hand and crashed to the floor. “Dean?”

He was sitting up in bed, just barely propped up by a few pillows, but there he was. He was awake. He smiled at her. “Hey Sweetheart.”

“Oh my god.” She sloshed through the coffee and closed the space between them. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty.” He admitted.

She reached for her water cup and placed the straw at his lips. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He said After a few satisfying sips. “What happened, Em? I’m not dead, am I?”

“What? No... There was an accident... an explosion.” She pressed her lips together. She hoped for the moment that he would wake up. The moment he would smile at her, but she didn’t know what to say, not really. Nothing seemed like enough. “Sam got the call when we were all together, and I came. Of course I came.”

Dean smiled a bit. “Well that’s a fuckin relief. I was sure I was dead. Looked like heaven in here.” He tilted his head to the side.

“You’re medicated.” She said, trying to meet their usual snark, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She couldn’t hide how happy she was to see him up and talking.

“Missed me, huh? Couldn’t wait to run to my side.”

“That’s it.” She rolled her eyes. “Can’t stay away from you anymore, Dean. I’m head over heels.”

“Knew it.”

“God, some things never change.”

Deans face softened, his shoulders wilting. “Aw, Em. Hey, it’s okay.”

She reached up and touched her cheek. She was crying. When the fuck did that happen?

“I’ll try to not be such an ass...”

“No... Don’t. I’m glad it didn’t change. I’m glad you’re still you.”

“‘Mere.” He said, opening his arms.

Emerson moved before she could really stop herself, and she allowed herself to sit next to him opposite his bad leg.

“Nah, all the fuckin way.” He said, widening his arms and gesturing for her to come closer with his fingers. “I won’t break, promise.”

“You don’t know that.” She grumbled, but complied, laying down curled against his side.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Thanks for bein here.”

“There’s nowhere else for me to be but here.”

“How long has it been?”

“Almost a month.”

He frowned deeply. “Where are we? Shouldn’t you be in school...”

“No.” She said, sitting up a bit to look at him. “Everyone else had to go back. Your mom... Sam. I told you, I have nowhere else to be but here. I wasn’t going to leave you to fight alone.”

Dean looked at her, shaking his head with a smile growing on his lips. He brushed her hair behind her ear with his fingers. “You’re something else, Emerson Maklen.”

“You already knew that.”

“I must’ve forgot, because this... I dunno, this feels new.”

She had an unbelievable urge to kiss him in that moment. To hear the heart monitor on his finger send his pulse leaping. She wanted to feel him smile against her mouth and pull her closer, but there was time. Looking at Dean awake and smiling, laying in his arms, it felt like they had all the time in the world, so she laid her head back on his chest. “It’s not new.” She murmured.

They laid like that, her head on his chest, and his arms wrapped around her for what seemed like a life time.

They listened to the beeps of the monitors like rain on a tin roof. Emerson was so used to the sounds of the room, the chatter of doctors and nurses, the lights and beeps, the drips of his IV that it was almost soothing to her. She closed her eyes and thought that maybe; just maybe things would finally work out. After everything they’d been through it felt easy, it felt so damn easy. It felt like it was always like that, and would always be like that.

Emerson thought seriously then about telling him. She thought out the words in her head to say everything she’d wanted to say all those times that she held back, because there was love and then there was her and Dean. There wasn’t a name for it, and she was thankful that there wasn’t a monitor showing her heartbeat. It was flying away, a fluttering bird against her ribcage. She was desperate to know if he felt it, too.

She opened her mouth to tell him, to take the leap, the risk, because they were worth it. She opened her mouth to tell him, and his arm that rested on her hip fell limp next to her. She thought he’d fallen asleep at first, until she heard the endless beepof the monitor flat-lining.

It all happened so fast, in a blur. She sat up and saw his lips turning blue-gray. She blinked at him and before she could process, a team pushed into the room. A nurse removed her from the bed and another started CPR. They pushed on his chest hard, rhythmically. Emerson knew CPR. She learned for her mom, but yet she didn’t. It didn’t even occur to her. She just sat there, useless. “What happened?” She found herself asking. She wasn’t even crying. She was in shock.

“Somebody get her out of here!”

Emerson was pulled out, fingers wrapping around her biceps, taking her back out into the hallway. The door clicked shut, and she fell to the floor, her back pressed against the wall.

He had a Pulmonary Embolism. He threw a clot in his leg, and it caused cardiac arrest. His heart stopped right as Emerson was memorizing the sound of it beating. His heart stopped, and she just stared at him like an idiot. She couldn’t bring herself to call Sam and tell him that she felt Dean die. She couldn’t tell him that she felt his life leave his body.

Thankfully, for her, she didn’t have to. The staff got his heart back beating and started him on medication to dissolve the clot. He was sedated again. They called Mary, and she called Sam.

It felt like the pirate ship ride at Happy Fun Land. It was a massive boat with benches that swung back and forth. The higher it swung, the more the patrons felt like they were falling. Emerson lost her stomach. She felt like she was swinging higher and higher. She worried she would hit the stars and disappear. It was an eternal swing at the hospital. The moment it looked like things were evening out, it would swing the opposite way again. She wanted to get off the fucking ride.

Ophelia, Sam, and Mary arrived at the hospital later that night, but Emerson still felt impossibly alone.

Dean woke up two days later, but when Emerson asked Dr. Ramsey if she could see him, he informed her that Dean didn’t want visitors. He was back in the ICU, and he removed everyone’s name from his approved visitor list. Even Sam. He wanted to be alone.

“I don’t understand.” Emerson’s voice cracked. “I’ve been here the whole time… Why doesn’t he want me there now?”

Dr. Ramsey sighed, and he took Emerson’s hand. It was a kindness, but it felt more like a betrayal. “He doesn’t remember much from the last month, if anything at all. He was very out of it from all of the medication. We were prepared for that possibility.”

They’d discussed it before, but to call her prepared was a bit of an exaggeration.

“But he was awake…”

“I know this is difficult, but this was his decision. It’s not uncommon for short term memory loss after a major cardiac episode.”

“Will he ever remember?” She asked, her heart sinking through her chest, and stomach into the floor.

“There’s always a possibility, but it’s unlikely. I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nowhere else for me to be but here.” Emerson grabbed her bag and walked out of the hospital, not turning back no matter how much she wanted to.

-26 Days After-

“I understand.” Emerson said softly, staring back out into space. It was impossible to see the city scape in the darkness.

“I don’t think you do. Just because she was there then doesn’t mean she didn’t throw everything away. Doesn’t mean I owe her...”

“You don’t owe me, either. I wasn’t there, after all.”

“That isn’t what this is about.” He sighed. “This is coming out all wrong.”

“Things usually happen the way they’re supposed to, Dean. It isn’t a coincidence that she’s here, it can’t be.” Emerson said, trying to lean into the idea that her distance was from Lisa. She wished it was that simple.

“The universe is a sick fuck, that’s all.”

“That’s one thing we can agree on.”

“Let’s not let it ruin this.”

“It already has.” She murmured into the breeze.

—————

Chapter Eighteen

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writingsofmyimagination · 6 years

Text

Red and Gold Chapter 5

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***I’m writhing, screaming and restrained. My Dad’s shouting to me, he’s not here and can’t reach me. My body is burning, through my watery eyes the face of my captor. His eyes burning daggers slicing through my soul, that evil smile flashing his irritatingly perfect teeth***

I jerked awake knocking my phone clattering over the floor, beads of sweat had formed round my temples, and my body temperate had risen considerably. I recovered my phone and checked the time, I had just under an hour to transform from whatever state I was currently in to a picture glamorous enough to be seen with Tony Stark.

I loitered to my room and stared aimlessly into my closet; not that I had much choice. My going out section was minimal I had more suits than dresses; I decided to go safe with a black number. The dress was simple but alluring finishing mid-thigh with thin straps holding the deep V neck plunge front securing in place teasing the inside of my cleavage and the top of my stomach. The straps round the black were slightly thicker and sat in an X shape. My hair hadn’t taken me too long; it never does being only shoulder length, and the coal colour of my hair highlights how blue my eyes are. I quickly finished straightening my hair while slipping my feet into a pair of blood red eye catching heels with the straps wrapping delicately round my ankle. Placing the straighteners to cool on the marble side amongst the debris of lotions, brushes and sprays I scrunched my eyes while dousing my hair with spray which I then slightly ruffled adding some volume to the style. As I shut the bathroom door a down draught of way too many different smells combined causing me to cough, after much deliverance I decided for a floral and fruity scent.

As I made my way down the cold empty hallway my phone sounded breaking up the echoes of my heels, the loudness muffled by being in my bag. Upon seeing the sender a small smile took over me and I clicked it open. My longest friend Tyler was being way too curious about my outfit choices. He was pressing for a picture, I denied him saying he could wait; his appetite for the gossip was still not satiated I was bombarded with questions about the date I’d yet to actually go on.

I got down to main floor before I stopped realising I had no idea where I was going. My knowledge of Tony led me to believe that if he was going out he’d want to take one of his extravagant cars. Quickly walking over to the elevator hoping no one noticed that for a few seconds I probably looked struck with amnesia; I depressed the button for the elevator down to the garage. Tony of course had to keep his cars separate to everyone else. Not sure if I had the clearance to access the area; I found out quickly when the box I was in jolted before transitioning smoothly downwards. The elevator doors revealed a spectrum of cars and colours along either side of the pristine looking floor leading out of the building. I heard the roar of an engine and the beam of the BMW lights slowed towards me. The metallic ionic silver body with accents in blue came to a halt in front on me. The door nearest to me lifted up and excitement escaped to my face in the form of a raised brow accompanied by a large smile. Tony replicated my expressions and indicated to the passenger seat “Well let’s go then”

As soon as the door clicked shut the engine revved ferociously, feeling the vibrations beneath me before Tony pressed the accelerator and we sped forward and merged onto the streets of New York. The smart black interior was broken up the by the same blue as the outside, the dim blue glare of the multimedia screen drew my attention slightly before it was diverted to the top half of Tony’s suit. It was nicely fitted as always, tight enough to happily notice his biceps. The black dinner jacket was slightly intruded by the leather lapel which contrasted to the white shirt beneath. His hair was the usual perfectly messy style along with the precise sculpture of his facial hair. “Well Miss Chase you do look enticing tonight” Irritatingly I couldn’t get a read of his eyes through his purple tinted glasses that he likes to hide behind all too much. “Well I just hope the effort is enough for a Stark and is appropriate for where we’re headed” I said calmly hoping to pry a destination but to no avail. “Do you trust me?” He asked seriously, glancing over in my direction.

“Depends on the context” I responded curious as to where this was going.

“That’s probably wise with my record, will you trust me if you put this on?” he reached into his pocket and presented a blindfold. I laughed to myself “Of course I trust depriving one of my senses and relying on you” I said over dramatically and willingly complied with Tony’s request.

“Distrust noted, on another note am I correct in that you minored in psychology? And you had keen interest in brain chemistry and electrical activity?”

“That is correct, but you knew that”

“I did, I actually read one of your papers”

I turned and raised my eyebrows at him in surprise.

“The one about different responses in the brain to stimuli of immediate and delayed gratification and impulses and the relevance and benefits of both” He continued pausing after waiting for confirmation.

“What drew to you that one I wonder” I shot back sarcastically

“Never too late to learn about yourself , biology is more Banners area”

I thought quickly to responds in simple terms,

“Surely you knew you’re immensely impulsive and are all for the instant gratification, not exactly a secret is it Stark”

“Ouch Jamie” He toyed, a smile creased across his face. The atmosphere in the car was calm and playful, completely relaxed in my blinded state.

“We’re here” The engine quickly died and the rush of air caused me to jolt in my seat as the doors opened. I fiddled and freed myself from the low seat. I heard soft footsteps stop by my side “I’m going to take your hand okay” he softly spoke. I offered my right hand cautiously

“I’d be pissed if you didn’t” His hand firmly gripped mine; I took comfort in the warmth of them as he helped me to my unsteady feet. In trying to gain more stability I instinctively linked my arms through his. Our footsteps changed from an almost inaudible sound against the passing traffic to distinctly clacking on the hard loud surface. Tony stopped gently unhooked me and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze and backtracked quickly followed by the sound of doors closing. The smooth footsteps stopped in front of me, I jerked as I felt pressure around my head “This is where I bring my test subjects” Hardly keeping the amusement from his voice “You can remove the blindfold now” he instructed after securing me to my ambiguous headpiece. Reaching round to my blindfold I curiously felt the band around my head, it felt mostly plastic with some cold metal sections, the band sat horizontally around my head with two small circular metal plates resting on my temples.

“Tony you really have lost your touch if you think taking women is anyway to imp..” I stopped mid-sentence as light flooded back to my eyes overwhelming the retinas momentarily before adjusting to the misleadingly dim room. The room was a large spacious crescent shape, what really had me speechless was the fact that the room I was standing in was in the building I had left minutes earlier.

“I’ve technically not taken you anywhere” Playful sarcasm etched in his cool voice. As familiar as the room was I’d rarely seen the room empty, the gleaming beech wood flooring blanketing the whole floor including the slightly raised platform at the far end of the room. There was a single table in the centre of the room which was dressed elegantly. “Would you like a drink” he offered angling his head toward the fully stocked bar which ran along the curve of the right-side wall.

“I needed one yesterday” I was still looking round at the bare room I hardly recognised it without the live band and sea of slightly drunk partygoers. I followed Tony and leaned against the bar whilst he played bartender, I smiled to myself watching him prepare two very strong martinis, the back drop of the glowering shelve of bottles was lightly illuminated by a white light behind a plastic fixture imbedded in the wall. The gentle hum of the fridges below the bar was drowned out by the cocktail shaker before its contents were poured to their final destination. He nodded his head triumphantly before heading over and taking a seat at the only place he could. “So explain my flattering headwear”

He leaned back slightly and pulled another head dongle and placed it on his own head. He produced a small round remote with three buttons and placed it down in between us, his face softened and slid it over to me “green button”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously before proceeding with the green button. I gasped, a small shock shot through my temples, two large projections engulfed the area above us. I looked up in awe at the stringy web like jumble, small clumps had multiple legs joining to another forms; the clumps occasionally flashing before going dark again. The structure as a whole was a faint blue, it was magnificent. It made sense now why I was asked about my study; after admiring the structure which I could describe in the simplest terms as a map of the brain synapse and chemistry. I was left completely speechless in my little brain orb which was now firing a lot more frequently.

“This is literally the coolest thing I’ve seen and had done for me” I said excitedly; which is saying something at Stark’s Industries.

“Better than the Gala?” he returned slightly confident.

“Definitely” I responded almost immediately “Thank you Tony this is incredible” I beamed looking into those chocolate eyes which melted right in front of me at my approval and happiness.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y play the Gala playlist please” whilst Tony took the last swig of his drink and walked over and quickly made another and came back over and offered his hand out to me “care to dance?”

“I really don’t dance” I said hesitantly knowing no was not going to be an option. He waited until I caved in and stood up into his arms. He inspected my outfit with playful eyes “I’m supposed to be a replacement date, at the Gala you would have to dance at some point” he spoke triumphantly. Our bodies started swaying in sync one of his arms round my waist and the other gripping my hand firmly. “I just wanted to say thank you for the other night and you know what you did for me” his words were hesitant and eye contact was avoided, knowing him he’s not the best at apologising or saying thank you he was trying and he had succeeded in my books. He let go of my hand momentarily and took another swig of his drink trying to fight the feeling of vulnerability which probably had just flooded over him. “How’s my dancing?” trying to break the silence. The hand which was round his neck ran through his hair in an attempt to reassure him. How soft his hair felt brushing over my skin, I tried to ignore the intoxicating smell of his strong aftershave I suddenly began to wish he’d start exploring me with his hands. “It’s ok, so tell me what’s your deal how did you get where you are at such a young age” he quizzed

“You don’t need to have been surrounded by genius your whole life to be one yourself you know” I played “ With that being said my dad was a leader in his field in virology” I stated

“I guess growing up with that you’re bound to have picked his smarts up”

“ I wish I could say so, my dad took his own life when I was 12” I was not going to share that It was because after I escaped from kidnappers he would rather die than give them the information they required to do terrible things.

“I’m sorry..”

“it’s fine, anyway I have always had a gift of retaining information and analysing it, I flew through school often put up a couple of grades; before I knew it I’d secured a scholarship to MIT and thus enters Nick Fury into my life” I was half telling the truth.

“Uh oh” he laughed

“Yep” I agreed jovially “He gave me one of his famous speeches and wanted to take me under his guidance; we all know you can’t refuse him” Tony rolled his eyes in a knowing fashion and chuckled

“Enough said I get the impression you don’t get out much, a beautiful young woman like you should be …….” Tony presumed correctly

“Personal much” I gently tugged at his hair

“I have a few close friends college and developing some here, I do have trouble maintaining relationships as I get too immersed in what I do and the fact I can be rather awkward” I admitted

“You sound like such a well-rounded stable individual”

“No more than you” I countered

“Touché.” sounding happily defeated. We broke apart and took a seat and continued to infuse our bodies with more alcohol than was needed. I’d definitely drunk enough to impair my inhibitions significantly, I think we both had.

Permanent tags: @txnystarkimagines

#Iron Man Fic #iron man fanfiction #Tony Stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #robert downey jr iron man #red and gold #andybubblebath #marvel fanfiction #Marvel Universe #marvel imagine

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eremika0000 · 7 years

Text

(Ferriswheelshipping) Awakened Emotions Chapter 18

Hey guys, I'm back with another chapter! Once again, thanks for the feedback so far, it means a lot. I hope you guys enjoy this one.

White sighs in contempt, stretching her arms high above her head as the wind gently billows her new jean skirt. "It's so nice outside. It's so great to be back out again."

N nods in agreement, taking in a deep breath of the fresh afternoon air with a small smile. Steven also chuckles, who was also seemingly uplifted by being able to travel again.

After N's injury and White's blood loss, they had ended up booking the hotel room for a handful of days in order to let the pair rest and heal up. Although they all greatly appreciated the rest, it was making them all a bit stir crazy. They were glad to be back to traveling again, healed up, healthy, and ready to go.

The trio continue along the route, noting that it was beginning to become a bit more chilly as they were traveling farther up in the region. They were definitely growing closer to their destination, Snowpoint city. The name definitely suited the city. If they were this far away and already getting a bit cold, who knew what lays in store for them once they actually reach the city.

White definitely notices the cold airs more than Steven and N, since she was still dressed in her jean skirt and off the shoulder black tee that she had bought back in Jubilife city with N.

As the wind continues to blow upon her, it begins to lightly lift up her skirt, and she quickly pats it down in frustration.

*Damn skirts, I really wanted another pair of jean shorts. But I just couldn't say no to the sale…*

N and Steven notice by now that the petite girl was shaking from the cold winds. At the same time, both men shrug off their outer layers to hand to the girl. N takes off his white button up, leaving on his black sweater. Steven takes off his suit jacket while leaving on his white shirt. "Here." They both say in unison to the shivering girl, but look at each other with a glare as they realize that their intentions to White were the same.

"You should take mine, White. It's made of nice soft cotton!" N says as he brings his white button up shirt closer to her. N really didn't want White to wear Steven's shirt. He wanted White to snuggle and become warmed by his clothing, and although he didn't want to admit it, he wanted his shirt to smell like her later…

"He's a fool, White. Take mine instead. It's made of much thicker material and will keep you much warmer than his shirt ever would," Steven flashes a victorious grin to N, and he glares back.

White looks between the two shirts with the expression of someone who was being overwhelmed. She shakes her head, lightly pushing the shirts back towards the two men. "Really, don't worry about me. I don't need them..." She shivers again, and the guys push their shirts back towards her, making it clear that they weren't going to give up.

White sighs, a small smile making its way upon her lips as she gives in. "Alright fine… Thanks, both of you." She takes both of the shirts and shrugs them over her shoulders. Since both the clothing articles were much too large on her and went nearly to her knees, she looked like an oversized teddy bear.

They continue their trek ahead, and Steven and N find themselves staring at White. They both thought she looked so adorable in their clothing.

*Though I'd definitely prefer if she were wearing only mine and not his too.* They both think in unison as they both look at each other again in annoyance.

Suddenly, Steven's xtransceiver rings loud and clear from his back pocket. Steven raises an eyebrow, confused as to why someone would be calling him at the current moment. He pulls it out and answers it. N and White watch in curiosity as the video feed loads in on the device, revealing an older looking man on the other end of the screen.

"Steven! How have you been, son? How is the Sinnoh region?" The older man exclaims in joy, looking extremely happy to be talking to Steven.

Steven rolls his eyes, but keeps on a smile. "It's fine Dad so, what's up?"

Steven's so called father seems to have noticed N and White peering over Steven's shoulder from the video feed. The old man's eyes light up in excitement. "Steven! You brought along some friends? I never see you with friends!"

Steven looks away, blushing furiously as he evades the whole no friends statement. "Yea, they're traveling with me for now. Anyways, why'd you call?" He seems to be desperately attempting to steer the conversation away from the whole no friends deal.

His father seems to be completely oblivious to his son's embarrassment. "It's so rare to see you with friends! I thought you'd be a loner forever with your weird obsession with rocks! Haha!" Steven blushes deeply as his father laughs hysterically. He calms down after a few moments. "Anyways, Steven, since you have some friends with you, would you like to take them shopping at my company? I have a building nearby. You can all spend to your hearts content, it will go on my bill. After all, you should always treat your friends."

White's jaw drops at the mention of him owning a company. What surprised her even more was that this man was so casually offering to spend so much money on some strangers Steven had just met. It all seemed a bit strange to her, but she didn't question it.

Steven turns around to face White and N, his face still a bit flushed from earlier. "So, how about it, guys? Would you like to take a little shopping trip to my dad's store? We can probably buy some winter supplies there for the route to Snowpoint city."

White nods eagerly, and N just goes along with it.

Later…

The pair step into the grand store owned by the Stone family. The exterior had already surprised N and White enough, it seemed modeled after a Greek palace, with intricate columns holding it up. After they went inside, they were surprised by the massive size of the store as well as the amount of items it had. The store seemed to have millions of fancy shelves filled with everything and anything you could ever want or need.

White's eyes light up as she sees all the various things in the store, but particularly at all the traveling gear. She always was in need of a nice new backpack for traveling through the regions, since her current one was falling apart, She decided she would use Steven's father's kind hospitality to buy some new gear. She heads right over to the outdoors section as N is still staring around in wonder.

*They said pick anything I want… But there's nothing I really truly want, other than White…*

N looks down at the fancy marble flooring, wondering about what he could possibly ever want other than White's affection. He ends up looking lazily through random rows of clothing as he finds himself thinking of White again.

Meanwhile, Steven is also looking around the large store. Currently he was looking for something to pick out that White might like. He wanted to impress her and make her happy. After browsing through the gigantic store for a while, he looks around to see what White was doing. He sees her a few aisles away, looking quite frustrated as she walks back and forth in the outdoors section.

Steven walks closer, wondering what she was looking around so desperately for. As he grows nearer, he hears her mumble under her breath, "Where do they keep the damn backpacks?"

He chuckles lightly at her cute frustration. Little did she know, the backpacks were located a few aisles away from the one she has been pacing back and forth in. Steven continues to laugh under his breath as he heads over to the backpack aisle, deciding that he would help White out by surprising her and finding her a nice backpack.

He scans through the aisle, eventually picking out a cute pink backpack which has many cute Eevee designs across it. He noticed that it matched her Eevee themed tee shirt she always wore, and he thought she would quite enjoy it.

He heads back over to White, and sees she is still looking around, but it seems she still had not found any backpacks. Steven taps her on the shoulder gently from behind, gaining her attention as she turns around. Meanwhile, N notices from farther down the store that Steven and White appeared to be talking.

"I heard you say you were looking for a backpack, White. I thought you might like this one." With a slight blush to his cheeks, Steven hands the pink backpack with the Eevees on it over to White.

Her eyes glimmer in excitement as she takes in the adorable designs of the backpack. From the other end of the hall, N walks closer to them, wondering what they were talking about. White continues to look at the backpack. Upon further inspection, she realized it was a large backpack which had many compartments in it which would be useful for her while traveling. She looks up at Steven with a big smile. "Thank you for finding this! It was exactly what I was looking for! You always know just what I need, Steven."

A dull pain throbs in N's heart at White's loud declaration. He wished he had found something that White would like, too. Currently N felt like Steven was outshining him in every way.

*He's rich, he's from a nice family, he is a former champion, he wears a suit, and he seems to be a gentleman who always knows what to say to girls to make them happy… He is so much better than me… White says she won't go to him, but why would she not? He has everything I have, plus more. He could provide for her so much better than I ever could.*

Steven pats White on the head with a big grin, and N growls under his breath, not liking when he did that. N thought that the head pats were a little intimate gesture that was shared between him and White, but Steven didn't seem to think so. "You're welcome, White." Steven says, still smiling down at her. He notices N's approach, taking in his jealous expression. He directs a little victorious smirk in his direction before going back to talking to White.

*That… That bastard! He always looks so confident and sure of himself, it makes me angry…* N clenches his fists together tightly in frustration. He wanted to make White happy as well, and he definitely didn't want Steven to outshine him and steal White away.

N steels his resolve, deciding he would find something in the store that White would really wanted to make her smile more than Steven ever did, and he wanted to see her eyes lighten in excitement for something he did.

He begins to think deeply as to what he could get White that would really make her happy. His mind begins to trail back to the time back in Jubilife city when she had gotten him the Zorua plush. He vividly remembered when she gave it to him, since it was the first time someone ever gave him a gift. He remembered how his heart swelled with joy and he had felt like he was soaring through the clouds. He wonders to himself if she would enjoy it just as much if he also got her a pokemon plush.

*I think she would enjoy it… I remember how excited she got when she saw all the pokemon plush's for sale at the market. I think she'll like it if I get her one...But should I? Is it the right choice?*

N finds himself being stuck in a conflict for the next few minutes, thinking deeply about whether or not he should get her a plush. Eventually, he decides that it would probably make her happy, since he knew for certain about her love for pokemon and cute things. He goes off in search of the plush aisle of the store.

*I'm not going to have Steven's dad buy this for me. Although he said he could pay for us all in his own store by putting it on the company bill, I want to do something for White with my own power. I want to buy her something that I truly worked for.*

After finding the plush department, he was sure White would love the gift he had picked out for her. There were so many cute pokemon dolls in the aisle, and it was hard to choose. He ended up picking out an Eevee plush since it would match her shirt and new backpack.

As N heads towards the checkout line with the plush in hand, he keeps a careful eye out for White. He didn't want her to see the plush just yet, since he wanted to give it to her properly later as a nice gift. He passes by more shopping aisles and sees White and Steven at the end of one, still appearing to be talking.

N overhears their conversation.

"Are you sure you don't want this, White? I think it would look quite lovely on you." Steven is handing over a very fancy looking white lace dress to her, and she gently pushes it away. "You don't need to get me anything more, Steven. But thanks." White resumes to her casual browsing of the items, and Steven feels a bit dejected.

It was obvious that he was trying to impress White with the wealth of himself and his family, but it obviously wasn't working on her. N was very happy that it turned out this way.

*Steven… White isn't the type of girl to be swayed by wealth alone. Plus, she really was never one for dresses. She always talked about how much she loved her jean shorts and comfy tees. You claim that you love her but you hardly know anything about her…*

N continues towards the checkout, making sure that White hadn't noticed him with the present. At the checkout counter, he takes out his very small sum of spare cash that he had, which was barely enough to pay for the plush. After purchasing it, he carefully stuffs it into the fancy shopping bag, a smile growing upon his face at the thought of doing something for White that would make her happy.

The trio continued to shop for a while, but didn't buy much else. N didn't want anything else, and Steven already had everything he wanted. White ended up buying a lightweight jacket for the travels to Snowpoint city, and that was it.

As they step outside the shop together after finishing everything up, Steven receives another call on his xtransceiver. He answers it, and it seems to be his father again.

"Dad, what's up?" Steven asks.

The old man sounds almost nervous, like he was afraid of something. "I will need some help in a few days from now… We need your presence at the conference tomorrow since you are the vice president of the company. I really do need you there, especially since the other company is one of our big business partners." The old man looks sheepishly to the side, knowing Steven wasn't going to like this.

Meanwhile, N and White listen in. They are both surprised to hear that Steven was the vice president of the huge family company.

Steven sighs deeply. "Another company conference? Is it really essential that I attend it?" He trails off in silence, and the old man nods from the video feed. Steven sighs again as he accepts his fate. "Fine, where will I need to go this time?"

The old man seems to brighten up a bit at this. "Well, it's not all bad news. We will be having our conference on our cruise line's business section. It just so happens that the ship will be arriving in your area soon at the port, and you can board there. You will be able to relax for a day or two on the ship before we have the conference. You can even bring your friends, if you like. There is going to be a formal ball that I'm sure they would be interesting in attending."

White's eyes widen at this.

*What the hell? They have a ballroom and a company room on a cruise line? Just how rich is this family? Though I have to admit, a cruise vacation does sound nice…*

Steven considers his father's proposition in silence, and his father notices this and decides to sweeten the deal. "Plus, we have a large pool on the ship. You and your friends can use it as well, if you like."

N finds himself thinking of White in a bikini, water dripping down her body as she splashes the water against him playfully. He mentally slaps himself, trying to force the lewd thoughts away.

Steven gives in. "Alright, I'll go on the cruise and attend the company conference." He looks over to N and White. "Would you guys like to come with?"

N and White both answer in unison. "Yes, please!"

Little did they know, they would regret this decision later. The cruise line definitely was going to be more than a vacation…

Yay, another chapter done! The story arc of Steven will be climaxing soon, and it's definitely going to get... Interesting. I hope you guys enjoyed, and please leave some feedback, it means a lot to me. Anyways, please stay tuned for the next chapter!

#ferriswheelshipping #pokemon #pokemon black and white #n x touko #trainer touko #toukowhite #touko pokemon #trainer hilda #hilda pokemon #fanfic #fanfiction #pokemon fanfiction #romance #love

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redditnosleep · 7 years

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My Mother Always Taught Me That Baked Goods Were The Best Way To Make A New Friend

by D0nutblink

Remember growing up watching sitcoms where these young, broke twenty-somethings lived in glamorous apartments and managed to eat out every other day? I do too, which is why I felt a little bit jaded when I first started apartment hunting and realized that the places within my budget were much less chic. The building I finally settled on was older than my grandparents, and still overpriced, but the freedom of having my own place to live that I hardly minded.

I managed to spruce up the place, first by throwing every cleaning product I could afford into every nook and cranny. Then with my meager budget I found a few cool older pieces of furniture and art at goodwill and garage sales and went full on pinterest DIY at decorating my new home. At the end of the day, it still wasn’t the movie set of a rom-com about a spunky young girl, making her way into the real world, but it did feel a lot more like home.

Even though I had moved to the city, my suburban sense of neighborliness was instinctual, so not long after settling in I found myself wanting to reach out to those who shared my floor. My mother always taught me that baked goods were the best way to make a new friend, so I pulled out my Betty Crocker cookbook and set to whipping up a batch of ooey gooey chocolate chip cookies.

After coating my newly cleaned kitchen and myself in flour, I had three batches of cookies, one for each apartment on my floor. I cleaned myself up and took my first batch to the place right next to mine, Apartment C.

I had barely tapped on the rotting door, rust making use of the knocker impossible when it swung open quickly. I had to look down to see who stood in the opening. The old woman was tiny, the top of her head barely coming up to my breasts. Her snow white hair was curled into elegant but dry and frizzy curls. She wore a floral housecoat that looked far too thick for the warmth of spring, creeping through the hallways.

“Hello?” Her voice crackled like a bonfire as she spoke, “Who are you?”

“Hi there!” I put on my best pageant smile and held up the tray of cookies, determined to win over my new neighbor. “I just moved in next door and I thought I’d come to introduce myself.”

The woman stared at me, her expression unreadable. My smile was unwavering as I held up the cookies.

“I’m Molly.” I reached out a hand to shake.

“Molly?” She parroted back to me.

“Yes, I brought you cookies!” My voice was coated with sugar, sweeter than the cookies, hoping to warm her up. I guessed that no one had come to see her in quite a while, she seemed confused and even though I’d found her in her own apartment, she was lost. “What’s your name?”

“Agnes” her voice was so soft and gravely that it almost sounded like a rusty door hinge opening.

“Hi Agnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I lifted the foil off of the cookies, the smell of chocolate and vanilla wafting off of them. “I hope you enjoy chocolate chip!”

Her lips spread into a hesitant smile, the skin around her lips cracking as she did so. She reached out and took the plate of cookies before abruptly shutting the door.

The whole interaction struck me as odd and it wasn’t just the woman’s demeanor. Something just felt wrong. I opted to go home instead of visiting my other neighbors just wanting to be alone. I don’t know why I felt so offput, sure Agnes was strange, but usually nothing could make my friendliness and extroverted nature waver.

Back inside my apartment I felt much more comfortable, lighter. I spent the rest of the evening relaxing. I took a nice long bath, soaking in epsom salts and peppermint oils. Afterwards I wrapped myself in a fluffy robe and snuck a few cookies off the top of the other neighbors’ plates as I flipped through the channels.

As I snuggled into the cushions of my cheap couch, one of the only new things in the apartment, I settled on a rom-com I’d seen a few times before. I couldn’t hear the dialogue through the music coming from next door. A loud waltz played through the wall. I tried turning up the tv but I just couldn’t tune out the music.

Eventually, irritated, I decided to head next door. I plastered on my award winning smile yet again and walked into the hallway. The music was so loud that the knocker on Agnes’ was shaking. I nervously lifted a fist to knock on the door when it stopped. Silence rung heavily in my ears, louder than the music had been. Although irritated, the cause of my frustration was gone and I no longer had a reason to complain.

The next day I decided to stop by to see my other neighbors. Taking my tin foil covered plates I knocked on the door of Apartment A, but no one was home. Heading over the Apartment B I met Roger. Roger was in his late twenties and well put together in a cardigan and pressed slacks. He invited me in for coffee and we shared the cookies.

“It’s nice to finally have another person living on this floor.” He mused, pouring the coffee. “It can get a little lonely here.”

“The other neighbors aren’t very social?” I asked, accepting a mug.

“What other neighbors?” He laughed, “Cream or sugar?”

“Yes, please to both” I nodded and he turned to the cupboard, “Well I haven’t met whoever lives in A, but I brought cookies to Agnes.”

“Agnes?” Roger raised and eyebrow, setting down the cream and sugar and taking a seat.

“Yeah, the little old lady in Apartment C?” I supposed that she kept to herself and that he’d maybe never seen her. She certainly looked like she never stepped outside.

“Nobody lives in C” his brow furrowed. “You and I are the only two on this floor”

“Maybe she’s just moved in?” I pondered, “or perhaps she just rarely goes outside and you’ve missed her? She certainly did seem like a shut in”

Roger’s brow had furrowed deeper, his demeanor changing from friendly to concerned.

“Molly, I’m not sure who you met,” He shook his head, “My brother-in-law, Jason owns the building, he bought it cheap because of all the renovations that it needed. This entire floor and part of the second was damaged by a fire. It wasn’t liveable. Jason has been having it fixed but this apartment was only finished about six months ago, and yours he finished last week. He didn’t even have time to clean the place before you applied for it.”

“Well then maybe he’s just finished Apartment C, and Agnes moved in?” I took a sip of my coffee, my explanation seeming thoroughly logical.

“No,” Roger shook his head again, “He’s starting A this week, but it will be awhile before he gets to C, that’s where the fire started. It’s going to take months to repair and replace everything in there.”

“Well then who did I see?” I asked, growing concerned, “there was a woman who answered the door.”

“Most likely a squatter,” he shrugged, although I could tell that he too was unnerved, “I’ll call Jason tonight and have him check it out.”

I agreed with Roger that his plan was solid, although I wasn’t exactly comfortable with living next door to a squatter, I’d only lived in the city for a week, I really wasn’t ready for that.

“So I suppose you thought that I was the one playing music so loudly last night.” I laughed, “I’m surprised you’re being so kind, assuming I caused such a nuisance.”

Roger tilted his head to the side slightly, his features wrinkled in confusion. “What music?”

I laughed assuming that he was messing with me, but his expression remained.

“You know, the waltz that was playing last night, you have to have heard it!”

“No, I didn’t hear a peep.” He shook his head.

I didn’t press the matter, maybe he had an odd sense of humour, maybe his walls were thicker than mine were. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I thanked him for the coffee and made my farwell. He was polite in his goodbye, telling me to stop by whenever I liked. He was nice, and cute, and I found myself thinking that I may just have to do that, and maybe give him my number as well.

Back in my place I sat down at my computer and opened up facebook. Roger had introduced himself with his full name, and I figured that I might be able to do a little snooping to see if he had a girlfriend, or whatever.

I searched for a while, scrolling through page after page of Rogers with similar last names. As I was about to give up, I remembered that he was related to the landlord, if I could find him then surely I’d be able to find Roger. He popped up right away, it even looked like we had a few mutual friends, which wasn’t surprising, the building is close to the college I attended.

Jayson’s page didn’t list him as married, which I found odd, but guessed that maybe Roger used “brother-in-law” as a catch all term for “guy my sister is dating.” I scrolled through pictures looking for a girlfriend that would link him to Roger. I found vacation photos, family reunion pictures, etc. but no girlfriend. As I clicked through an album I reached a photo of Jayson all dressed up, next to an older woman in a housecoat, Agnes.

Her grin was the same as it had been the other day, her dark eyes looking right through me. I don’t know what came over me, but I had to show Roger. Grabbing my phone, I snapped a picture of the screen and ran out into the hallway in my pajamas. I marched right to his door and knocked as loudly as my shaking hands would allow.

The door creaked open and I expected to see Roger standing there, looking at me like a crazy person. Except he wasn’t there. No one was. I pushed the door open a bit further, looking inside. The apartment was empty. The table I had sat at only a few hours earlier was gone, the tastefully decorated living room barren.

I’m sitting on my apartment floor as I write this, shaking. I turned around almost immediately after seeing what I saw in Roger’s apartment, as I rushed down the hallway, Agnes stuck her head out of her door to smile at me . . . and wink. I don’t know what any of this means, or what’s even real. All I know is that I’ve locked the door, and put on earplugs playing the loudest music I could find but I still can’t drown out that waltz.

#creepy #horror story

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orderofdeathrp-blog · 7 years

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Faceclaim: Osric Chau || Age: 19 || Pronouns: He/hm/his

Order of the Phoenix

Cisgender Male

Half-blood

Former Gryffindor

Employee at a Muggle bookstore

Taken

Possible triggering content of blood, death, mental illness, violence, and war

The first five years of Remus Lupin’s life were a charmed existence, centered around the semi-detached home on the outskirts of Newcastle proper, with the tiny bedroom tucked away within an alcove and the small parcel of land in the back. His mum had even tried to keep bees one year, but there’d been a cold snap in July and they never really took. His dad said she was a good cook, although Remus always thought his dad made a better cup of tea, nice and strong, like they did at the Ministry, but Remus always got extra sugar in his.

Whenever he went into London with his dad, he always got to sit at his dad’s desk and look at pictures of the most recent finds from the Pest Advisory Board; he recognized gnomes because he had seen them in their garden before and wanted a pet Nogtail, but he liked the more exotic creatures his dad had shown him, rare and dangerous, the ones his dad made him promise he’d never go looking for.

Remus nodded, eyes wide, and swore he would never, ever go looking for trouble, and he meant it.

He remembered the small bedroom, with the old quilt folded at the foot of the bed, and he remembered the sound of a window shattering and wood splintering and the sharp smell of blood that welled from a cut across his eyebrow, and he remembered a sharp pain where his neck met his shoulder, and thankfully, he did not remember anything else when he woke up in a Muggle hospital, a thick white bandage under his pyjamas. His parents told the doctors that Remus had been playing outside, that a wild dog, perhaps a fox, had attacked him, and no, they had no idea where the animal had gone, that it had all happened too fast. It was a lie, but he was too small and too tired to argue back, and he never asked what actually happened or where his quilt had gone, or why there was a new hand-crocheted rug on the floor that had never been there before.

Remus did not ask when, one month after the attack, his father and mother borrowed a Muggle car that made funny noises and drove out to the Lake District, to an old mineshaft, long abandoned, and waited outside as the whole moon burned in the night sky.

It was something they never talked about, just another routine that happened once a month, and Remus grew used to it, assumed it was something other children did. It wasn’t like he knew of many other children to ask, after all. His world was contained within the small bedroom, the plot of land, and the mineshaft. There were his books as well, but Remus knew they were Muggle fantasies, imagined worlds that he could lose himself in but would never quite exist.

Hope against hope, he waited for his Hogwarts letter, more a story from his childhood than a reality, and felt a bitter sting of anger and disappointment when his eleventh birthday came and went with no letter. Midway through the summer, when Remus was starting to feel too big for his own skin even though the moon was two weeks away, he heard voices downstairs and teacups clattering, and he could not help but sitting on the stairs, silently listening, when the guest looked at him and smiled kindly and invited him to join them and asked if he would like to go to Hogwarts in the fall.

Remus never knew what strings Albus pulled or how he convinced his parents, but come September, Remus was on board the Hogwarts Express, a shabby trunk packed full of books and a set of new, if threadbare robes on his shoulders. Never in his life, even when he had been small and scared in the hospital bed, had he felt so alone.

For the first few months, Remus felt that nagging loneliness at every moment, from when he shakily walked to join the Gryffindor table to polite applause to when Albus woke him up in the middle of the night once a month to take him to an abandoned home on the outskirts of Hogsmeade to when other students, Slyhterins mostly, shoved him and smirked every time he was caught sleeping in class. Some of the older ones especially seemed to follow him wherever he went, watching him a little too closely. But Remus couldn’t keep his guard up forever, and a group of sixth years followed him into the bathrooms, tugging at his shirt and threatening to test new hexes on the little mutt. It was the closest Remus had ever come to losing control, to allowing the wolf in him to take over, and he was so close to biting one of the older boys, to letting his teeth sink into skin, when his saviors came.

They weren’t much bigger than Remus, and in the case of Peter, shorter than he was, but they had come in at the right time, with James loudly complaining about needing to piss and Sirius immediately lunging at the older boys, adolescent fists raining down and hands grabbing him and a voice yelling at Remus to run and come on then. They had raced as a pack back to Gryffindor Tower, and when they caught their breath, Sirius cheerfully told Remus that he liked beating up Slytherin wankers and that he was pretty sure he had made Lucius Malfoy cry.

And just like that, Remus had friends for the first time in his life.

There were still things they did not know, could not know, like why Remus crept out of the dorm once a month like clockwork, and if Remus had his way, they never would have found out. He did not count to stumble into the common room, exhausted and shaky after a transformation in his third year, only to find James, Peter, and Sirius eagerly waiting for him. None of them spoke, and then Remus burst into tears and told them everything, or what he could remember, told them about the quilt and the broken window and the blood and the mineshaft and the shack that became his home once a month. When he was finished, blushing and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Peter blinked slowly and Sirius grinned, wolfish, at him, and James clapped him on the shoulder and said that if Remus became an animal, so did all of them and that way, he’d have someone to keep him company.

Over that long summer before what was supposed to be his fifth year, Remus read his friends’ letters eagerly, easily picturing Peter melt down into a rat, laughing at the image of James with a rack of horns, and wondering what Sirius looked like as a dog. There was one more moon to go alone, Remus told himself, one more month, and then he and his friends would be reunited, and he would never have to spend another transformation alone. When a letter, thicker than one he had ever received arrived, postmarked from Hogwarts, Remus’s heart rose and then fell as soon as he opened it, as soon as he skimmed the first paragraph and his eyes were drawn, magnetic, to that damning phrase, closed until further notice.

September came and went, and Hogwarts’s doors remained shut, and Remus’s life returned to the small bedroom, the plot of land, and the mineshaft, interspersed with letters from his friends. He lost himself into his textbooks, reading and rereading the potions and spells until he knew them like the back of his hands, studying for O.W.L.s that he would never take. Hyperaware of the grey streaking his father’s hair, the fact that his trips to London were far less frequent, the cough his mum had that never went away, her face drawn and gaunt, Remus beseeched his parents to let him take up a job, to do something, anything to help out around the house before it felt like his skin was tightening and he lost control, and somehow, they had agreed to let him work odd jobs, delivering packages on an old Muggle bike around the city.

And yet, Remus still felt restless. It was a matter of time, Remus knew, until he would have to leave, but he waited it out, unwilling and unable to break his mother’s heart. He held her hand as she died and helped her father dig her grave in their little plot of land, among the herbs she had so loved, and then, within the week, he packed up his shabby trunk and the money he hadn’t had the chance to send to Gringotts and bought a train ticket to London and his friends, a second birth at the age of eighteen.

London was loud and bustling and lonely in ways Remus did not know possible, but he fell in well enough, finding a job at a Muggle bookstore that paid enough for a tiny one-room flat with enough left over to send back home each month, so his dad wouldn’t have to take a job in a Muggle mine or factory. It was tough work, on his feet, with little thanks for the long hours he worked, but Remus liked it well enough, blending in with the other Muggles. And on the rare day he had off, if he wasn’t exhausted, he met up with James and Peter and Sirius down at the Leaky Cauldron, or spent the day with Lily, learning to cook eggs and sausage on his hot plate and shopping with her for second-hand clothes to replace whatever he wore out.

It was an existence, tough and relentless, and Remus loved it.

He hadn’t expected to come home one night, bone tired, to find Albus seated comfortably in the old arm chair he had squeezed into his room, wedged into a corner opposite his bed and trunk, and he had almost hexed his old savior, but Albus had smiled calmly and Remus lowered his wand. Albus asked Remus if he had been following the news, if he was aware of the disappearances, the tortured corpses, the dead Muggles, and Remus nodded, feeling something ugly and cold in his throat, reminded of that day in the bathroom from so many years ago. His eyes gave something away, because Albus smiled, cold, and asked if he would want to find the man who had attacked him all those years ago, and Remus was unable to speak, just nodding furiously.

Still, at night, as Remus drifted into uneasy sleep, he often wondered if being part of the Order of the Phoenix was worth it, if Albus had played him, if he had made some sort of horrible mistake. And then, he remembered that his friends, that Sirius, were there with him, and then could close his eyes at last.

Connections

Fenrir Greyback, Regulus Black

Wand

10 and ¼ inch, cypress wood, unicorn hair core

Patronus

Wolf

Boggart

Full moon

Amortentia

Breakfast tea and wet dog

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