#as for how frank felt... A Confusing Tangle Of Emotions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roger-that-cap · 3 years

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all the flowers will bloom

happy birthday to me- and what’s mine is yours so here’s your present y’all! i hope y’all like this one-

summary: you would have never tried to leave your mother if you knew that bringing that pomegranate tree back to life was your ticket to the underworld. or, maybe you would have, because it turned out that hades was quite the opposite of the evil goddess that you had been drilled to know.

warnings: HA

word count: 3.6k

this is part- damn what part is this- five!!

You knew what a kiss was. Of course you knew what a kiss was, but there was something about what you and Natasha shared that made it feel like much more than what you had seen. You had seen many people kiss before, humans and gods alike, and rarely did they ever seem half as entranced by the action as you were. To be frank, you could have sworn that your soul- if you even had one- was floating while she kissed you. And it was still sort of floating.

The thoughts of whether or not you had betrayed everything you had been told ever since you were alive were going strong. You betrayed your mother, your own mind, all of the other gods above who were wary of her. You, everyone’s favorite young goddess, had done the unthinkable and kissed the Goddess of the Underworld. If they heard of what you had done, would they even want you back? You had purposely danced with death, put your lips on it, and if you were to be completely honest with yourself, fallen for it.

You wanted to hit yourself after that thought. She wasn’t just death. It wasn’t fair to call her that, even in the privacy of your head. It wasn’t fair for them to see her that way, either, but that was the way that the world worked. She was powerful and dark and lived in a place where no one wanted to be, therefore, everyone naturally shied away from her. Most were more afraid than hateful, but of course your mother was the exception. And suddenly, you knew that everyone else wouldn’t be a problem. Once they realized that she was actually very kind to you throughout your stay, they would take you back. But your mother would never accept that. She would call you weak in the mind, tell you that you were imagining acts and words of kindness that weren’t really there. She would never grasp the fact that Natasha could be kind.

Well, she wasn’t being the nicest at the moment. Every time she saw you, she would turn right around and walk so far in the opposite direction that you couldn't even make out her red hair. You would sometimes see her poke her head around the corner and then retreat so quickly that it scared you sometimes. If she got to your garden before you did, you would see her with her back to you, staring hardcore at your beds of flowers until she felt you coming, your energy no doubt tangling with hers. And then she would leave without a word.

At first, you let her be. You figured that she was having the same exact feelings you were- a lot of things rolled up together just for a singular, bold emotion to come up front: uncertainty. You knew that she felt the same way that you did. When you kissed, there was something that fell into place, something so pure and right that it was nearly impossible to ignore it. You know she felt it, and she knew you did, too. You knew she wasn’t ignoring you because she didn’t feel for you. She was ignoring you because she was scared. And so were you.

The garden was more than halfway done. You had gotten most of the plants strong enough to live without you, to the point where you weren’t worried about them dying once you left. The soil was even stronger than the stems of your plants, supportive and ready to nurture. Every toxin that your mother put in the soil had been removed by you, and you had no doubt that if you worked day and night, that you could be released from the Underworld within a fortnight. Weeks ago, that would have been a glorious thought. It would have been everything you wanted to hear, your ticket to paradise. Now? It sounded almost like a death sentence. You didn’t want to leave.

You wanted to see your mother. You wanted to feel her dote on you and you even wanted to hear her scold you. You wanted to see the nymphs. You wanted to see Steve and your plants above ground. You wanted to watch the humans fool around and talk worry about things that were nothing in the grand scheme of things. You couldn’t do that from the Underworld. But you couldn’t see Natasha from above.

You knew that one you left, there was no going back. Your mother was going to have you on a leash so tight and short that she would never lose sight of the back of your head. She was probably going to demand that the cave and tree be demolished and that whatever portal sat under it be destroyed. She was going to make sure that you were miles away from Natasha and her world at all times, maybe even make you stay on the mountain. She was going to tug you away by your arm, nails digging into your skin like you were a child all over again, and then that would be it. And all you would have left of the queen would be memories. And you would have to live with it.

Yet with every second that passed, you were less and less sure that you were going to be okay with that.

Even before the night where you kissed, you knew that there was something different about her. Something different about the way you felt when you were with her, even. She wasn’t what you expected, which led you to curiosity. Your curiosity was one of your most famous traits, and of course, and that led to you wanting to know her more. The more that you got what you wanted, the more that you fell for her, irreversibly. You knew that you were beginning to feel something otherworldly with her. You couldn't ignore it.

That was what got you standing up from a little patch in the ground that you had already set aside in your mind for a few peonies. You had it committed to memory, and you whispered a little promise to the life beneath you that you would be back.

You were walking so quickly and with such purpose that your sage green dress moved with your steps. Your eyes narrowed as you walked through the halls, seeing a few straggling souls roaming around without a care, not even looking twice at you. You were so intent on making it to Natasha’s room, the only place besides her dismal office that she could be, that you din;t hear someone else’s footsteps coming your way.

You stumbled backwards when you collided with someone, a soft grunt escaping your lips as you hit the wall with your arm. “I wasn’t- oh. What are you doing here?”

You blinked at the women in front of you and tilted your head to the side. She was painfully familiar, and so was her voice. But you felt like you had heard it in a more urgent setting- “Are you the woman who saved me earlier? From eating breakfast?”

“Just doing a civic duty to the living,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “Or, the half-living. Whatever you gods classify as.”

“Well, thank you.” Although, a moment of insanity occurred in your mind, and in that moment, you swore that eating that full tart and being obliged to stay wouldn't be so bad. There would be no debate. You shook your head and cleared your throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“It’s Maria.” She looked you up and down. “You’re the gardener?”

You furrowed your brows at her and then looked down at your attire, a lively yet muted green that reminded you of watered grass, and then remembered how harshly Natasha had barked your name when she thought you had eaten. Your name and occupation was all too obvious. “Y-yeah, kind of.”

“I wasn’t focused on who you were when I was saving your life,” she admitted, and then you nodded your head. “It kind of only hit me afterwards.” She looked you up and down, and you crossed your arms over your body out of insecurity. “When I was a human, your mother used to be my favorite.”

Your eyes widened a bit, and your defensive posture left you immediately. “Really?” It was known that humans weren’t supposed to have favorite gods. Gods, no matter how much they said they weren’t were selfish and they loved to be adored by humans. Old gods, especially. They were used to being seen as doting yet punishing creatures, with egos so fragile yet large that they took up entire seas and skies. You were never one to care, but knowing that a human freely admitted their favoritism still shocked you. Even if it was your mother who was her favorite. “Why?”

“I used to farm,” the woman said, and you immediately caught the whimsical nature of her tone, and the way her eyes nearly glassed over, like she was thinking about something so sweet yet so far away. “I had my own farm, just me. I prayed to her for good seasons, for good crops, depended on her more than I ever did any human. And I was loyal. My devotion was paid back in full, every season. She always looked out for me, being a woman on my own farm.”

It sounded like your mother. She was a strong woman who supported other strong women, and when she saw someone who was loyal to her and a true follower, she would bless them. Her occasional cruelty was spoken about almost more than her kindness, but you knew that both of her hands were just and firm. She was just as warm as she was cold. This woman seemed to have gotten her warmth.

“My name is Maria,” she finally said, and then you nodded and mouthed her name, trying to commit it to memory so that you could ask your mother all about her when you returned. The thought put excitement and dread in your stomach. “Are you looking for the Queen?” You nodded slowly, and then a smirk spread across her face. “Yeah, she’s looking for you, too.” Before you could show any confusion, she turned around the corner with a wave of her hand and then you were following her.

While you walked a few paces behind her, you couldn’t help but think about her story. Who was she before this? How alive was she really? Had the Underworld dimmed her or was she unaffected by it? She still seemed to have a confident bounce in her walk that only belonged to humans, the only living being who weren’t completely aware of how much and how little life really meant. Only a human could walk with so much confidence. Gods knew better- they knew it was a cycle and that they weren’t the only ones in it, contrary to popular belief. But a human might as well have been the star of their very own orbital system.

“Where did you live when you were-” the words were stolen straight out of your mouth when you felt something strong, something so brooding and dark that your tongue went still in your mouth. It nearly choked you, even though Natasha had done that strange thing where she made you feel as if you weren’t surrounded by death. You coughed, and then Maria planted her feet to the ground.

Fast footsteps rounded the corner, and there was only a flash of pin straight red hair before you felt a grip on your upper arm, tugging you forward without a word. Immediately, you pushed through the dark haze to protest, only for something deep rooted inside of your soul to realize who it was that had you in their grasp. Who seemed to always have you in their grasp, physically and mentally. And once you realized it was her, you didn’t really mind. You did, however, mind when you were placed into a room, and jumped when the door slammed. Before you could even scold Natasha for her harshness on the inanimate object, both of your shoulders were being held by each of her hands.

“If you wanted to leave so badly, you should have just fucking said that.”

Immediately, her language put something sour in your spirit. Typically, she held her language around you, just like she held back her domineering nature. At one point, she even told you that you were too soft for such words, and there she was not even days later, eyes ablaze and doused in so many emotions you couldn’t even place them.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, blinking at her.

Everything else washed away for a moment, and then it was just sheer disgust on her face. Your brows furrowed as your heart rate started to pick up, and you wrung your hands out in front of your body, something your mother had scolded you for a thousand times. “How could you-” she huffed out in disbelief and then took a deep breath. “Why?”

“I’m really not quite sure-”

You should have seen it coming. The way that her eyes were turning dark, and the feeling of the air becoming more and more suffocating should have been more than enough for you to realize that you were about to see the worst of her that you had ever seen. But once you realized it, it was far too late.

“How did you do it?” She asked, somehow growing taller and just larger all around, the dark energy around her swirling into a frenzy. “You contacted your mother and told her that you were being tortured, is that what you did?”

“What?” You shrieked, shaking your head as you tried to understand what made her come to that conclusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You found a way to talk to the gods Above Ground and you-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Then why did I receive a declaration of fucking war, Persephone?” The breath caught in your throat at that. It was silent as you stood staring at her, and she did the same to you, only there was the animosity of a thousand men in her eyes, anger flowing from her to you and sinking into your pores until you felt her hatred tenfold. You stumbled back. You opened and shut your mouth, trying to process it in the pause before she started lashing at you again. “Why is your mother declaring war on me with three others on me and my people? For you?”

You still stood there, nearly trembling as you absorbed all of what she was feeling took every word, wilted with every single syllable she uttered to you. It couldn't have been the same goddess who refused to touch one of your flowers. It couldn’t have been the one that smiled so sweetly when she realized the petals weren’t falling off and sinking back into the ground to restart the cycle at her touch. There was no way that the angry goddess in front of you was the same one that held you so gently when you felt like you were suffocating in darkness. You didn’t see a trace of any of that in the woman standing before you; just irrational and unanswered wrath.

You saw the woman your mother had warned you about. And that thought was enough to make your nerves steel, for just a second.

You shook your head twice. “I don’t know.”

“So you didn’t tell them all these terrible things, asking to be rescued?” She asked, her voice resembling the hiss of one of the snakes you used to play with when you were much younger, one of the green ones that liked to hide in the tall grass of the first garden you had made on your own. “Then why are they planning to march on the Underworld?”

“Natasha, I don’t know.”

“I’m so fucking stupid.” She said, laughing with bitterness that made your stomach churn, and she turned her back to you and began to pace around the office floor. In that moment, you realized that you had never been in her office before, and that the only memory you would have of it would be the moment you were in. “How could I ever think you actually-” she shook her head, and you saw a bittersweet smile creep up onto her face.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone up there since I got here, how could I?” You asked, exasperation leaking into your voice. “Why do you think I would tell her all those things? Do you have no faith in me?”

“You want to go home. I know you do.”

A sob burst through your chest faster than you could even contain it, louder than you could have imagined, and sounding so animalistic that it had Natasha halt her angry steps. “I don’t even know if I want that!” You wailed, putting your wet face into your hands, just like a child. “I don’t know- how could you know?”

You looked up slowly to see her face, her pacing stopped and her eyes slightly wide as she stared back at you, all anger drained from her face. And just like that, every emotion that you had ever felt came forward.

“How am I supposed to want to stay when I came here as an unwanted prisoner? How am I supposed to want to stay when my whole life is up there? Why would I want to stay here? My mother is up there, all my friends, every garden I’ve ever been in, it’s all up there. Everything I ever wanted is up there, but how could I-” another cry, “ how could I ever want to leave?

“I’ve fallen in love with this place. The darkness grew on me, the people grew on me, I’ve grown attached to every single flower that blossomed here. I would miss the feeling of this terrible soil so much, maybe even more than I miss the ground from above now. But I know that’s not it, I know that’s not what the main decision is- you fucking-” you sniffled, your angry face not connecting with the despair in your voice. “ I can’t leave you behind.”

Heavy breathing. Beating hearts. Twitching fingers. Silence. And then there wasn’t any.

“I don’t- I don’t think that I’m going to be able to wake up and not see you, Natasha.” Despite how angry she and her outburst had just made you, your heart still ached to tell her what had been bothering you since you realized it. What had been stirring inside of you ever since you met her eyes for the first time. “But I don’t know if I have it in me to stay.”

Just like that, the anger on both sides was gone. You understood where she was coming from earlier like her thought had been your very own, and something inside of you knew that she was experiencing the same thing. You stood in the middle of her office, head hanging low as a singular tear ran down your face in the aftermath, and before the first sniffle could echo across the room, Natasha’s arms were around you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She murmured, but there was a tremble in her voice, and you melted into her.

She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to know why she was so upset earlier. It wasn’t about the possible war- she was afraid that you wanted to leave as badly as she wanted you to stay. “You don’t have to choose,” Natasha’s voice was soothing in you ear as you and your stupid heart forgave her. “You don’t have to. I’m not going to make you.”

No, she wouldn’t. But there was another goddess who wasn’t even going to give you an option.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she apologized again, her voice even gentler as her familiar energy wrapped around you just like her arms did. “I just- I don’t want you to think I don’t want you here. I want you to know that I… I want to be able to see you.”

A few seconds of utter silence passed, and then you were talking again, dipping your toes into a question you’ve always wanted her to answer. You wondered if she was going to allow herself to give you anything. “Does it scare you any?” You asked, burying your face into her neck. Your heart was still racing.

“Does what, sweet thing?”

“What you feel. What I feel.” Her arms loosened around you for a second, and you took that chance to look her in the eyes. “I know you’re not very expressive, but you can’t lie to me. I may be young to you, but I’ve seen relationships blossom through others too many times to not recognize what’s happening.”

There was a silence between the two of you that should have made you nervous, but all you felt when you looked into her eyes was the way something foreign yet familiar clicked, like the way two metal pieces fit together after wiggling them for a few seconds. Her blue eyes blinked. “Are you trying to say that Eros has snuck down here and struck us both?”

“I didn’t, but you did.”

Her lips quirked upwards for a moment, and then they pulled into a frown again. You frowned back. “What are we going to do?”

“For now, we can just pretend that nothing is happening. Business as usual. We can deal with it in the morning, but not tonight.” You went back into her arms. “I just want you beside me tonight, is that okay?”

You felt her nod, and you closed your eyes. If she was what you wanted, then she would give herself to you. And you would do the same for her. For however much longer you had, anyway.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #lesbian!natasha #hades!natasha x persephone!reader #hades!natasha #greek mythology au #marvel au #natasha x fem!reader #natasha x female reader #lgbt marvel #lgbt #gay marvel fics #sorry this took so long guys #my fics

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whereflowersbloom · 3 years

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Sealed Fate

The Western horizon was on fire: hot pink turned into mauve, wild orange into gold, the bright colours fading into paleness, then darkness. It was the day they whisper their vows before the gods, both Raven and Damian believed that love was not what stood at the foundation of their pledge, at least not the kind that fate had in store for them. No, that’s what they want to believe, what truly mattered most at this point was peace, peace through political marriage rather than an overwhelming affection. Peace. Damian, the youngest son of King Bruce and the noblest of all of Gotham’s princes, living or dead. As King Bruce was only left with Damian and Richard. Raven, a demigod, sired by Trigon the Terrible and mortal Arella.

The fragile truce between Gotham and Azarath balanced on the tip of a blade, depending on this union of convenience. Kon-El was wearing a scowl that would freeze unquenchable fire from the House of Hades. She could feel Trigon’s dark eyes burning into her face, the harsh, singeing heat of a desert behind it. She wanted to run, but she was also afraid of him giving chase. What was the point anyway. Before coming to Gotham, she knew how to fly, wings spread wide, flying away, her shoulders have borne heavy burdens, heavy burdens of solid stone. Oh she prayed to fly away from them, and roam the freedom of the sky, but her father had cut off both her wings and left her rooted to the ground. There would no longe mountain's peaks with the promise of wondrous views to keep. It all came to an end the day her father told she had been promised to Damian: Prince of Gotham, the great. Gotham the glorious. Gotham the magnificent. She should be honored, but her thoughts and feelings on the matter were inconsequential as the advice of a woman in wartime.

A week later she found herself at her wedding feast. Wearing a silver attire, a veil, a lilies and myrtle garland, and a golden headband. The Brothers and sisters her husband had in plenty, raised to be warriors they fought during war to lose their short lives. Helena and Timotheos had fallen. No body of Jason had been found after the last battle with Crete. She only met her husband her wedding day. He was reserved but polite and not overly perfumed, and when her eyes fell on him she thought of Narcissus. Narcissus, who had been unable to pull away from his own reflection in the pond, enchanted by his own beauty until death claimed him. Although the way her tutor had prattled on and on about Damian’s innumerable virtues, Raven had not expected him to be as radiant as a god. The sun-kissed skin stretched to wrap around muscles built from years of practicing complex military skills, broad shoulders and powerful arms, displaying strength and virility akin to a noble lion, movements of disconcerting grace for one so large. His facial features had a frank and honest quality to them, bright and deep-set eyes, as green as spring leaves with the touch of Persephone, a Greek nose, full lips. He was a God in beauty and stature. Reluctantly, tore her gaze from his beautiful face and focused on her new family. They have been so impeccably polite, specially Richard. ‘Welcome my good sister. We are all so blessed to have you.’ Blessed. Blessed child she had been called once long ago.

Do you feel blessed, my dear sister?” Richard asked, passing a golden wine cup into her hand. His wide smile meant no harm nor his words. As she grew up Raven was left to learn how to smile and laugh prettily at compliments that made her skin crawl, feign the innocence of any maiden her age.

Blinking several times, she looked back at him and smiled weakly. “Of course, brother.”

Richard was all dancing, light and lean seduction, dark myrrh hair and flushed red lips, rosy cheeks and aristocratic arched eyebrows, adorning himself in a blue and gold tunic. Her new brother appeared to be content to sit in the shadow of his younger brother and watch him gleam in all his glory. Cassandra did not speak with her, she was the only calm in the midst of a storm of abrupt adjustment. She tried to pay no heed to the murmurs of gossiping women at the feast, eyes green with envy as she had married the godlike prince. Foreign seductress. Demon spawn.

Bruce and Olivier discussed vehemently about warfare and politics with Kal-El and Kon-El. Diana and Artemis were carrying an excited conversation about traveling and Shiera’s recent journey in Egypt. She caught no sight of Trigon to her relief.

Trigon. Other gods might have roared their pleasure at the skills and intelligence of their offspring, praised their achievements for all to hear whilst filling themselves to the brim with nectar. Not Trigon, who wanted to sire no child but found himself infatuated with Arella, bedding her out of enjoyment.

If she were godly, truly a deity, in all of its ways with fantastical unlimited power, then one could not help but ask: Would Trigon praise her then? Did he not want her because she bled red as earthlings. As I’d guessing what she was thinking her husband finally spoke.

“For a deity to come down on solid ground isn’t seen many times. For her to wed a mortal willingly is even more ambiguous.” Damian exhaled softly, standing right next to her. His voice was so deep, so soothing and alluring as she had imagined.

“I am no deity. I am the undesired offspring of the god of death.” She said in a choked voice. Not sure if he was mocking the nature of her position. Green eyes alight with amusement.

“You are anything but undesired, wife.” Damian responded, voice low in his throat, and private; a voice she knew in her bones he meant only for her. His face reflected an earnest expression filled with so much pure-hearted sincerity that it stole Raven’s breath away

No man had ever spoken of passion or desire to Raven, and all that she knew of such words she had overheard her tutors speak, or learned from old songs; the glory of being called beautiful in tones, not of cool reason but burning emotion flooded her entirely. She was desired. Biting her lip, her face flushed, and shining starlight hair drooping over her face as if that would somehow hide how obviously close to tears she was.

Damian smiled serenely and Raven felt like he’d seen the sun. Resembling the sun and light, Apollo.

He had a gentleness to him that is completely foreign to her experience, not seen at first sight, discerning the heavy emotions in his eyes. Raven did not know before that it was possible for men to be gentle. One glance and she thought of him kissing her mouth, just as he thought of tasting her skin. Uncertainty lies in her desire for the reciprocal dedication to infallible ardour.

Air. Her lungs were in need of air.

~~~

She went to the garden of Thetis, to sit among the flowers and watch the moon-washed stars. The goddess of flowers must have visited bringing brightness and beauty wherever she stepped, as she appreciated a patch of narcissus, foxgloves, hyacinth, and delphinium displaying tightly clustered flowers upon tall stalks in varied blues and purples, in full bloom, surrounded by the thick chorus of crickets chirping all around. With all thoughts of threats and protecting her homeland, Raven found herself strangely empty. It wasn’t hollowness: it was the emptiness of shock, of disbelief and misunderstandings when everything you’d imagined was pulled out from underneath you and she was suddenly living in a reality where someone admired her? Yearn for her touch rather than fear her.

“Raven.” Kon-El sighed her name as he walked closer to her, fabric softly trailing on the grass and it made Raven tremble. His ocean eyes saddened, darkened, burning through her and reducing anything to ash, to nothingness. There were things that must be said but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize.

“When Morpheus came to me in my dreams. I did not dare look upon his godly figure. But I heard his voice like a thunder from grand Zeus. He promised your hand would be mine to hold.” The words had come bitter and aching with such profound loss that it made her throat tighten with his emotion.

“I have a husband now, Kon.” She mumbled quietly, using his infancy name, casting her gaze downwards. “They were nothing but hollow words, grains of sand carried upon the wind of Aeolus.” His disapproval at the mention of the word husband was obvious.

Attempting to reason with him to not make a claim of a right that was no longer his. She could sense his anger, regret, sorrow. Envy . Why do you look at me in such way? Why do you look at me as if you pity me? Why do you look at me with eyes filled with sorrow and hatred, all at once? Where did her sweet and naughty Kon go? She wished to voice those questions.

With clenched fists, he nodded. “It’s for the gods to decide as our fate lies in their hands.” Kon-El spoke solemnly with unshakable conviction. “You have a husband tonight, but take heed as The Fates could cut his thread of life coming morrow.” He bowed down and left without saying no more.

No. No. He would not dare. Notion spit forth from such a place of hate, fear and confusion like its like a venom small at first or great yet if allowed it to take over fully.

The night was calm, witness of the conversation between two old friends, the stifling hot of the day finally giving way to a coolness which smelled like an approaching storm. Yes, she could feel it, there was a storming coming with the unforgiving and celestial ire of Zeus.

~~~

The feast passed quickly, with laughter and high spirits carrying it along. However, Raven could never quite relax after hearing Kon-El’s threatening words. And there was the bedding ceremony to proceed, not in public. Thank to Merciful Elea.

Torchlight played on Raven’s face as she motioned with her hands like a sorceress, then the royal peplos she wore dropped off her like the skin off a snake and she emerged. Goddess Nyx in human form, her breasts round and ripe and firm, her belly flat and sculpted thighs, the tangle of dark hair between her legs an invitation and a challenge. She was bare before him. So very delicate, so vulnerable, so unlike anything he’d ever laid eyes upon. It intrigued him, that vulnerability, laid bare for him to see under the soft glow of the torches. The daughter of the God of death.

What a curious creature she was. Gifted with the beauty of Aphrodite, the mysterious eyes of Nyx, holding the stars of Orion in them. They had been in his mind on and off at the feast, wrapped up in the hazy, sweetly intoxicating lull of inebriation.

As he looked down then back up her body, to her timid eyes, no challenge in them, though her lips still twisted in a semblance of indecision. Doubt. It was obvious that while she was not truly frightened of him, nonetheless the shadow of doubt and tension was present. Damian swallowed hard. He had avoided looking at her more than necessary during the ceremony but he gave into temptation as Aphrodite whispered in his ear all the ways he could have her. He did not like Gods nor their offspring. The Gods enjoyed tricking mortals for their own merriment. But, she was his wife and there was no escaping now. He cursed quietly for his mortality.

Raven dug her pearly teeth into the fleshy hills of her bottom lip, reminding herself to stay in control, taking a deep breath, fists clenched at her side as she took a brave step forward. “My prince.”

“Damian.” He corrected immediately as he straightened up for a fraction of a second before he bent his head and allowed his lips to graze Raven’s ear. “My name is Damian.”

With uncommon courage, she reached for the clasp holding his jade tunic under his chin. The heavy cloth sighed down around their feet. With a delicate feather-like touch, Raven traced the longest scar on his bronze body that went from Damian’s left shoulder down to his right hip. His breath hitched at the sudden invasion, but relaxed into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. No one had ever dare touch him intimately without his permission.

She could see hidden amongst the bright hues an emerald green clouding over with Damian’s lust. Their lips melded together as if they were made for each other and moved in sync as Damian threaded her fingers into Damian’s thick raven locks. Damian gently nipped her lower lip, and when she gasped heavily against his, he slid his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth to meet hers.

Her mind temporarily muddled with an electrical charge coursing through her veins making it hard for her to focus on any one part of her anatomy than her mouth against his. Everything tingles, starting at the back of her neck and rushing down, an uncomfortable yet exhilarating heat razing through her nerves only to whirlpool in her lower belly, churning, before continuing down all the way to her toes. He tasted like pure ambrosia.

As they continued kissing, his lips become eager, desperate, feverish. She’s never been kissed like this before. Kon-El had kissed her cheeks out of mischief a few times when they were children. Innocent love. Never with parted lips and tongue, with a hunger that would scare her had the same kind of hunger not driven her own greedy mouth to kiss and suck and nip. And yet she knew with the wisdom of Athena, that even if she’d kissed a hundred men a thousand times, nothing would ever compare to this.

Peppering her neck with kisses and listening to her gasp his name, he carried her slowly to the crimson bed where he laid her down. Dragging his teeth gently downwards, along the expanse of her sweet, alabaster skin. There all shyness was replaced with audacity and devotion. Not being able to resist the urge, he bit into her neck, at her pulse point where he could feel her unsteady heartbeat against his tongue as he laved at it.

Hands that were calloused and large and warm and so very gentle for a warrior, as they find their way roaming her natural curves. They skimmed over her thigh and hip, caress the soft skin of her waist, ghost over the swell of her breasts. His mouth, hot and wet, closed around her breast and sucks lightly, thus making her suck in a sharp breath. Expert tongue swelling around her pink nipple. What in the name of Hera he was doing to her? She wanted more. More. More.

Raven cannot utter a single word. Her mouth too dry, her mind too drunk on arousal, to form any coherent phrase. Calling his name between small whimpers showing her heightened ecstacy. This must be Elysium in all its glory. It was such a sweet torture.

Damian thought to himself she tasted like earth, starlight, like flowers blooming in the night. What was he thinking? She was his wife, no more. Daughter of his nemesis. His young heart hammering inside of his chest, the memory of his mother’s voice haunting him as she vanished with the wind.

Something flared in Damian then, flared up in his chest and his belly like a flaming arrow shot high to signal the start of a nighttime raid, and he seized her hips and pushed up inside her. Raven groaned softly in pain. Fear sent her stomach and chest quaking, her breaths coming short and fast, mind flooded with words of maidens about the pain of maidenhead being taken. At first, his strokes were slow, but his eyes do not look upon her face. The flower garland tumbled off her head and was crushed under their grappling bodies, the scent of a summer noon briefly filling the night.

She opened her legs wider and wrapped them around Damian following her instincts. Her velvet heat encased him, and he had to restrain himself from descending into madness at the pleasure. He felt like he was drowning in the Aliakmonas, the river swollen with melted snow. Raven’s round breasts goaded him, her hands caressed him tenderly, her ripeness clenched around him. As he started thrusting faster, harder, pumping in and out of her at an erratic pace. Damian drops his forehead to her shoulder, an animal like grunt in her ear, and she heard herself moan along with him. She even shifted her hips so that he hits her just right, his pubic bone rubbing against a sensitive spot his hand had touched.

He could tell she was close by the way her walls were fluttering around him, and he brought one of his hands down between them to rub circles onto her bundle of nerves. Damian also angled his hips enough to reach for the deep spot in the center of women that made them cry with satisfaction with each push.

Something inside her tightens, inside her belly where a babe will grow with the blessings of the gods, and then another wave of pleasure washed over her, pulling such a loud moan from her it should leave her ashamed, but she doesn’t care. Sweat beds clouding her vision, and the ragged breath of her husband hot against her moonlight skin, salty with sweat.

He reached climax and came harder than he had ever. His thrusts slowed, hips stilling as he emptied himself, thick, hot, white ropes of his seed filling her up to the hilt. Letting out a weary sigh he removed his body atop hers, carefully. It was done. Fulfilled his duty he told himself. A clear lie. Damian considered cupping her cheek and kissing her temple but he couldn’t do it. No. His features hardened as he turned away from her.

“I will show you respect as my wife. I will please you in all the ways a husband and lover can. But do not ask me to love you, for that is not an oath I can honor.” His voice came out hoarser and raspier than ever in the darkness, before rolling to the other of the bed preparing to fall in the arms of Morpheus.

There was an emptiness inside of her soul, her center she couldn’t describe. Waiting to be full again. Aching. Pulsing. Whirling.

“But I thought…” Raven began, a lump forming in her throat, not wanting to admit that she had hoped he could ever find love with her. Perhaps fondness. What about the gentleness he had shown her? The words died with the quietude of the royal chamber as if Harpocrates had made himself present.

Perhaps coming morrow with the grace of Apollo, he would bring Damian’s gentleness back to her. All she can do is hope and pray tonight. A lone tear slipped down her face as she closed her eyes.

Notes: Hello it’s me again with a new AU. Sorry not sorry. Had to get it out of my system 😂😂😂😂🙈🙈🙈🙈

Do not panic please. This is the first chapter and there will be Damirae fluff I promise. Happy Damirae moments and probably more smut than in other stories 👀👀

Hope you all enjoy. @ravenfan1242 @tweepunkgrl @chromium7sky @deepbreadlover @timid-soot-sprite @kallura-juniblade @shewhowillnotbenamed1 @andthendk @alerialblu

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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All in the Family

Chapter 142: The Half-Blood Prince

The shop was brightly lit, causing more whiplash from the last room into this place and giving no one a chance for a decent landing as they all crashed into shelves of items none would reasonably like to be around.

Peter fell into a barrel of rat spleens, Regulus had a whole jar of bezoars fall on his head, and Lily cried in distress as her hair was tangled up in an array of poppy heads and unicorn tails strung together in the ceiling from the high shelf she landed on.

When Lily got herself down though and looked around at the apothecary, she felt a swirl of emotions for this place even as she put a feather and extension charm on her bag and made her way purposefully around, trying not to dwell on memories of her first trip here with Sev, this had been their favorite shop right off the bat as she went around touching everything she could despite the harassed shop owner chasing them and pleading otherwise.

When she found Frank studying a batch of cauldrons she took her time selecting the most well rounded one and said, "I think I'm actually going to take a leaf out of those boys book and start packing. Couldn't hurt to have a few ingredients on hand, yes?"

"Brilliant," he agreed, "just in case. I'll start looking around for some ingredients if you want to start on supplies, I passed a sign promising some new scales around here."

"Perfect," she grinned. Neither of them were going back on their promise to interact with the others exactly, but why waste this opportunity?

Sirius happily helped Remus to his feet, and then gave a flirtatious grin and let his hand rest on his ass just to amuse himself Remus was sure.

Looking for any petty reason to pick a fight and stop this, but also genuinely looking around first to make sure Padfoot wasn't being an arse, he hissed, "will you stop that!" Sirius immediately dropped his hand, but he still didn't look as chagrined as Remus would hope. "Merlin Sirius, you've been making passes at me under the table how long now, someone's bound to notice eventually. Don't pretend you don't know boundaries!"

"Okay, okay," Sirius finally said with a look of some regret. He knew Remus wasn't a fan of public affection, Moony was one of the few Prefects who annoyed some couples in the Gryffindor common room for taking away points if they got too handsy. Still he insisted, "how are you ever going to relax if you won't bloody have some fun?" He'd checked first too, and there was nobody nearby.

"Maybe I don't want to," Remus snapped.

Sirius looked very annoyed now, and considering it mission accomplished Sirius should avoid him at least for now, stalked off. He could hear Prongs' voice at the front and made a beeline for him instinctively even if that was where Sirius headed too, though Padfoot instead stayed in place just watching him leave, which he did not glance guiltily over his shoulder to see thank you.

Dancing a complicated path up and down isles full of unpleasantly smelly things, he finally caught sight of his mate near the register talking to Smith in surprise and not the person coming up behind him.

"Hey, ah, Remus?"

Said teenager looked over in surprise. Frank had never addressed him so directly, let alone by his first name. The older boy still had an air of awkwardness around him, but he didn't scream bloody murder when Remus looked right at him, so he answered politely, "yeah?"

"You know all about creatures right?" He was clutching something in his hand that was starting to make Remus nervous. What a poor time to have this fight with Padfoot, now clear on the other side of the store, but at least James was hovering nearby.

Remus quickly tried to scold such cowardly thoughts, he didn't need backup to talk. Longbottom had never done anything remotely vicious to him, and he was apparently the more nervous of the two as he just watched patiently for an answer.

"A bit yeah," he downplayed. Frank gave a hesitant smile and Remus was quick to return it out of surprise, deciding to elaborate, "it's a hobby I suppose, with me and my dad."

"So, you know the properties of this?" He asked, now showing in his palm a fang Remus instantly recognized. "I knocked a couple things over when landing, and Lily and I decided we're collecting ingredients for a few possibilities while we're in here, but we're both better at plants than animals. Mind, um, helping?"

"Not at all," Remus agreed at once. He followed Frank back down the aisle as he started pulling containers that were near where he'd found this one and beginning to juggle a few items down into the crook of one arm. A glass jar of newt's eyes, some crushed dragon's claw in a leather pouch, frog brains in a silver preservation vial, and a hefty jar of dragon's blood in an old urn.

Remus was prattling off facts he knew each were used for and properties they enhanced in potions and watching in concern as he kept trying to reach for more.

Frank looked away distractedly from the tin of sardines too far back for easy reach to ask, "Lily's made a mention you aren't a great shake at potions, you really know all this stuff just from studying the animals?"

"Studying the creatures' lives is how most wizards figure out what potions they are useful for," Remus shrugged, reaching out on instinct to balance the glass jar back into the crook of his arm where it was wobbling. Frank didn't even flinch. "It's not remembering all that, it's doing the practical's, I fall asleep so often in the warm classroom and then accidentally skip steps because my eyes are tired and shite."

"Girl in my year has the same problem," Frank nodded, now reaching up on his toes for the stubborn thing and crushing everything to his chest in concentration. "Stays up all night reading and then keeps trying to do it in class, I can't count the amount of times she's set her book on fire. Even when Slughorn confiscates it she's burnt out by then and still doesn't stay awake."

Remus laughed in surprise and finally offered as he came down to balance back on his feet with his prize, "like me to take some of that?"

"Oh, yeah," he eagerly agreed, better than making two trips.

Mindlessly passing the lot along, Remus began juggling it all in confusion, he'd only been offering to take the two bigger items. Something burned so unexpectedly, he sent the blood crashing to their feet, coating both of their pants in it instantly. The newt's eyes and fish rolled and flopped away in all directions, while the silver vile remained pressed to the palm of his hand for a few moments longer by the leather bag hooked onto his thumb before he shouted in pain and shook those off too.

Frank startled in surprise, slipping a bit on the slick floor and catching himself on a shelf just as James and Alice rushed over in concern.

Alice put her hand on her boyfriend's elbow to help steady him while James instantly went to Remus, who was doubled over clutching his hand and breathing through his teeth in pain. James's eyes landed on the little culprit still rolling innocently amongst their feet, and shoved Moony instinctively behind him while looking at Frank incredulously. While standoffish, he'd never been so cruel to him. "The hell do you mean by that?" He snapped in disgust. "I ought to transfigure you into a pretzel!"

"I, what?" Frank looked legitimately confused at what had happened though, already tempering off some of his anger, while Alice was scowling at Potter bowing up to her boyfriend like that deterring him from saying anything further, like the actual spell.

Instead he turned around and gently grabbed Remus' wrist, who was already trying to tuck it up his sleeve and promise, "it's fine Prongs, really-" despite his watery eyes and tight voice barely choking out the words.

James was having none of that and gently uncurled Remus' fingers from where they were trembling just above his palm to see the now shiny red mark in the perfect shape of the silver that had laid against his skin. James hissed in anger at how deep it looked, like it had been pressed in, but by the time he turned around trying to figure out where some dittany in this place would be, it was being pressed into his hand by Sirius with a furious expression barely being held together.

The others had come over at the noise and some put the situation together faster than others. James began dabbing the medicine in while Sirius held himself ramrod straight and watched only James, fearing any further movement on his part would cause him to do something he might regret, the look of pain on Remus' face burned into his mind needed no silver to linger for him.

A decision that almost seemed worth it when Remus was straightening back up moments later flexing his hand as it started to fade except for the faintest glimmer to show what had happened, and then used the same hand to brush against Sirius' fingers while telling James, "thanks."

Prongs nodded and turned back to face Longbottom with far more apprehension than the glowering Sirius was doing, his arm held protectively up still as a barrier while Remus caught Sirius' fingers and gave them a purposeful squeeze to which Padfoot returned before dropping his hand and saying quickly before anyone else as Sirius properly looked at him, "he didn't do it on purpose." As if, for just a moment, he'd forgotten he was talking to a werewolf... Then his eyes widened as he really looked at Frank, who finally seemed to have realized what happened himself as he looked guilty from the floor and back. "You really didn't, did you?"

"No," he said instantly. "Didn't even occur to me-" then he stopped with the same exact look as Remus.

"Wow," James finally dropped his arm while drawing the word out comically. "Okay then. I don't take back the pretzel threat though, let that be a warning," he grinned, like he was actually trying to turn around and tease him like nothing had happened.

Frank decided that was better than acting on the threat, his mind was still boggling on Sirius not having done worse. "Duly noted," he promised.

James patted Remus' arm one last time before casually waving his wand to clean up the mess, the vial sailing into his hand to be put back on the shelf.

Peter finally cleared his throat and spoke to no one in particular for the awkward silence, "don't worry, you're not the first person to do that. Last week in potions Grace Wilkes passed him a silver spigot and he screamed bloody murder, Prongs cursed her tongue to swell up in her mouth for three days in retaliation, and to distract the rest of the class."

"I didn't hear about that!" Sirius yelped in protest, before he went cross-eyed and took an uneasy step away as he realized why. He hadn't been speaking to them last week, and had only sporadically remembered what class to be in he'd been so out of his head. It was almost a miracle he'd even been there at the start of this mess. Merlin that felt like such a lifetime ago now...

"Must be awful, having to constantly be on edge just to be handed something," Frank said remorsefully. "I am sorry."

"I know," Remus said at once, rubbing his thumb into his palm absentmindedly and taking that step back towards Sirius without even thinking. "Don't worry, I told James off for that and refused to get him out of the detention Slughorn gave, they're a little...."

Protective, the word hovered in the air, and who could blame the two purebloods who knew better than anyone how others would react to their friend. Most students could find a picture in the papers of a werewolf, and the silver burned into their skin from Ministry interrogations splashed across the page when they actually caught one, bragging they were one step closer to catching the infamous Greyback.

Lily certainly hadn't questioned any of this in that exact class, she'd just thought Wilkes had accidentally splashed or burned Lupin and Potter had been an arse as usual, or Black had turned down her advances and they chose this moment to get her back, or just sheer boredom on Potter's part in a class he so disliked.

Potter didn't particularly look like he regretted it, but there was also something in his face Lily had never seen before, a question for nobody here as his eyes flickered around for the book. She didn't really think Harry would begrudge his father for this particular instance, but it was fascinating he was finally asking at all. He caught her eye suddenly, and there was that usual gleam of awe, before it clouded over once more and he turned back to his mates, whirling Sirius Black around and forcefully breaking his eye contact with Frank while muttering something about getting back into Diagon Alley for some fresh air if they could. His best mate did not relax as usual, but didn't protest being dragged off. Lupin went too with a small smile, catching Frank's eye one last time without dropping it as he followed them.

Pettigrew and Regulus offered to help Frank collect more ingredients, and she smiled softly and turned away to go find that book. It really was nice to understand why he was such an ass.

Mercifully the door opened onto the cobbled streets and James finally released him properly so he could take off for the ice cream shop.

"I wasn't going to do anything," Sirius could hear the lie in his own voice as he followed more slowly behind than usual. He well knew if both hadn't scolded him for trying last time he would have in a second.

"We know Padfoot," Prongs sounded a tad pandering, but his smile was genuine as he teased. "Better safe than sorry though, if we had shoved that vile up his nose, it might have gotten stuck there! He'd be even more of an arse!"

"I don't think he's that bad," Remus rolled his eyes, but Sirius could hear the hesitance in his own voice, vouching for him. He was still rubbing absently at his palm, it must be tingling something awful still. "We never have bothered to try."

"Maybe I don't want to," Sirius huffed with the stank eye at Moony, not exactly feeling better when he flinched. He wasn't even sure how a stupid accident like that could happen, but it sure as hell wouldn't have if Remus wasn't being such a ponce right now and he'd been there! No way in hell would Remus have just casually grabbed that, and he would have made sure of it if that had somehow been foul play.

Moony jogged up next to James to try the door to Florean Fortescue's Parlor, which did not open, but they all lounged around in the warm chairs outside anyways.

James still watched between the pair for a moment, rapping his knuckles to his own beat on the table, but when Sirius didn't start humming a tune along, he stopped and offered, "listen Padfoot, better he forget sometimes than be a raging arse about it the rest of this, right? He's eased up a lot since you kept Moony off him."

"I suppose," he agreed more out of obligation than anything. He did relax up some when Moony finally stopped rubbing at the now completely faded mark and closed his eyes in the warmth. Tipping his chair back with one foot, using the other to mimic the beat Prongs just had, he forced himself to unwind too. James grinned at the challenge and started tapping a fast pace on the table he was sure he'd fall over trying to copy, but the two managed to keep the game up the rest of the chapter while Remus listened, smiling softly in the bright light.

Alice gave her boyfriend a quick kiss before going along with Lily, the two stopping to collect a few more ingredients and dumping them in her selected cauldron before stuffing it into her now bulging bag. She summoned the book to her, but Alice caught her arm before she could start.

"Hey Lily, I just want you to know, um, well Frank told me you were really holding back telling me what you thought about my involving with those Marauder boys, and I just want you to know you don't have to do that."

Lily flushed in embarrassment, she hadn't said that to Frank, or out loud at all.

"Look," Alice said soothingly, "I don't know what it's been like with you and Snape, but I promise I'll listen. I won't always agree, but please hun, don't hold back like that. It's what I'm trying to get through to those idiots, feelings fester."

"Thanks," Lily told her sincerely, she'd hated feeling so insecure and biting her tongue before, but she'd been very put-out with herself since she started all this. It wasn't just trusting Frank to help her with collecting ingredients, normally a task she could do blind, and by herself. She didn't trust herself anymore.

She knew she needed to get confidence back in herself somehow, she just wasn't sure where to start, it felt far too overwhelming while still constantly dealing with every other problem going on. She knew how she would have done it, make a few remedial potions to get herself back on track until she was back to her advanced level more confident than ever, but none of that was available to her during all this.

Her independent streak was going to leave her feeling very alone though if she didn't fix that now. "I want to help now though," she told her honestly. "You were right to do so, couldn't hurt to try." She finally glanced down at the chapter title just as Alice smiled and plopped down on a step stool to listen with her, so she jumped up in concern when Lily flinched in surprise at the chapter title.

"More of Snape's shit huh?" Alice easily deduced from that now common reaction of him.

"A nickname he gave himself," Lily quietly agreed. "I thought it was lovely at the time, him embracing his half-blood heritage like that. I can't imagine how Harry's going to hear about that, clearly he despises everything to do with lower forms," she finished bitterly.

Lily sat down on the wide stool in exhaustion and Alice sat next to her, holding her in a half hug as they found out how this came to be. She found herself smiling at the end it was something as silly as his potions book, she had her own copy of course and she denied finishing the chapter for ages as she sat around telling Alice of their wild experiments and many failed attempts because of them all with some hilarious results Madam Pomfrey had taken ages to fix in the two.

By the end they were laughing spiritedly and Lily already felt better than she would have thought possible.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #HBP #apothecary #Wolfstar #Jilly #Marauders #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #Lily Evans #Protective James

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strangerthancamusx · 4 years

Text

Scotch, A HTGAWM fanfiction.

(A Flaurel ficlet, because they should’ve been endgame and now I’m shipping way too hard...)

Frank was jolted awake by a harsh ringing sound. It took him a few moments to realize that it was his cellphone— someone was calling him. Groaning, he reached out for it on his nightstand to find a woman’s beautiful face smiling at him. But not just any woman.

Laurel.

It was 4 o’clock in the morning. She was supposed to be asleep, like he was a few minutes ago. Worried, he answered the call.

“Laurel?” He asked tentatively, voice husky from sleep. “S’wrong?”

There was a pause. “Hellooo, Frankie D,” Laurel giggled. Frank lets out an annoyed sigh. “Is this a voicemail? I don’t know, I don’t care. I just want to say that I really... really hate... how much you make me think.”

Frank swears he forgot how to breathe as he listened to her rambling. She’s obviously drunk. Too drunk, in his opinion. And that’s saying something.

“...I hate that I can’t stop thinking... about you. You’re so damn sexy that it hurts me.” Laurel’s voice cracked and Frank remained silent. “I want to know you, but why won’t you let me do that? You don’t have to protect me, you know. I’m a big girl girl now, I’m tough.” He could hear her sniffling in the background, and the sound of something liquid being poured. It was then Frank made up his mind.

“Laurel? Are you still there?”

“Hmm? Oh,” she giggled again. “I poured too much scotch, Frank. I guess I better not let it go to waste.”

“You in your apartment?”

“Yeah... why?” Laurel slurred.

“I’m coming over. You’re too drunk.”

“You’ll let me... let me get to know you better? Like, better, better?” She snorts out a watery laugh. “‘Cause I wanna do that. I wanna see you, maybe naked, on my be—“

“Alright, princess. I’m not your gigolo. Keep your panties on, be there in ten.”

“Oookay, Frankie D. I’ll be here with my scotch, waiting for ya,” Laurel pauses for a bit, and says something in a small voice that made Frank freeze. “Y’know, I think I love you...”

Frank got dressed faster, if that was even possible. He shrugged on his jacket and picked up his keys, where a spare to Laurel’s was hanging. She didn’t even know that he still had it, after that one time Laurel had slipped it to him discreetly at work. It was an invitation for a fun night, one that Frank had not been able to forget.

He had arrived on her doorstep in record time. Not even bothering to knock, Frank stepped into Laurel’s cluttered apartment.

“I swear to God,” Frank huffs. Despite his ruggedness and overly-manly appearance, he is nothing but a neat freak. “Maybe I can sneak in here one time just to clean.”

He walked into the living and kitchen area only to find it empty. Frank furrowed his eyebrows.

“Laurel?” Frank called out, but was met with silence. He then noticed her bedroom door, which was left ajar. He peeked inside to find Laurel, laid on her back on the floor with her phone still glued to her left ear. She met his eyes and looked at her phone confusedly.

“How are you here already? I was just talkin’ to ya!”

Frank sighed impatiently. “That was ten minutes ago, Laurel. I ended the call before I got ready to go here.”

“Nope, I was talking to you. You were saying something funny. Like, leave a message or somethin’. And that was what I was doing, leavin’ you a message.”

He looked at her, amused now. Frank looked forward to listening to those messages, but right now he has to get Laurel to bed. “Yeah, I bet you were. Come on now, princess, you gotta sleep. Annalise will kill you if you don’t show your pretty face later at the office.”

“M’pretty, huh? You think I’m pretty? But not pretty enough to screw? Not enough to be your girl.”

“Laurel...” Frank half-heartedly threatened. It’s not the time to talk about that, especially since he’s almost certain that Laurel won’t remember any of her words by the time she wakes up.

“No, really, tell me the truth. I just can’t be enough for you, can I?” Laurel asked quietly.

Frank sighed again. Persistent little princess. He cleaned her a bit and hauled her to bed. He was just about to get up and leave when she reached out to him.

“Stay.”

Frank didn’t know if that was a good idea, but caved in when he saw the look in her eyes. He proceeded to prop up some pillows between the two of them to act as a barrier. Laurel shifted on her side to look at him, expecting an answer to her earlier question. Frank settled on the other side of the bed and brushed her hair away from her face. He looks at her decidedly.

“Okay, y’know what... I don’t think you’ll remember this when you wake up, so I gotta say this. You are more than enough for me, Laurel,” he took a deep breath to still the emotions in his heart. Chuckling softly at his current state, he continued. “You make my heart beat everyday, even if I didn’t think t’was possible. I may not be the most religious guy out there, Laurel, but I will always think that maybe there is someone watching over us. I’m the last person to deserve something good in life, but I have you. And I can’t bear it – hell, I know I won’t be able to – if I’d lose you. So don’t say you ain’t enough for me, princess. Maybe I’m the one who isn’t. But you’re it for me. Will always be.”

Laurel stared at him for a beat and gives him a smile. He swears that that was the most beautiful one he has ever seen. Before he could continue or she could say anything, Laurel closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep. Frank laughed quietly. So much for having this conversation.

“Sleep tight, princess. Love you.”

Frank kissed Laurel’s forehead, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. He was comforted by Laurel’s warmth and even breathing.

———

When Laurel woke up three hours later, she was confused. She remembered opening the bottle of scotch she bought on her way home, and settling down on the floor by her bed. Before opening her eyes, she snuggled deeper on her body pillow that was keeping her warm and comfy even in the middle of a really bad hangover. She loved waking up to— wait a minute. She doesn’t own a body pillow. Her eyes snapped open, only to find her arms wrapped around a muscular torso. But not just any muscular torso.

Frank.

And then everything came back to her. The amount of scotch she consumed, the call she made, the voicemails she left in his inbox... and the tender look in his eyes before she fell asleep.

“You’re it for me,” he had said. Was that true? Or was it just a scotch-induced dream that was produced by her fantasies of Frank confessing his love for her?

Laurel reached up and ran her finger through his silky hair, which made him shift in his sleep. He had always been a light sleeper, but she figured that taking care of her last night wore him down. Looking around the room, she noticed his phone resting on her nightstand, but she had to reach across him in order to get it. She had to delete her voicemails, it was embarrassing enough that he took care of Drunk Laurel last night, having him listen to her confessing her love for him might just be too much.

She was lying on top of him and had almost reached the phone when she was suddenly flipped on her back. Frank was awakened by her attempt to reach the nightstand, and was looking down at her with an amused smirk.

“What d’you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing. And stop yelling, my head hurts,” Laurel said, almost whining.

“Mm, looks like you’re trying to reach my phone, princess. You tryin’ to erase something?”

Laurel huffs, annoyed that her plan was ruined.

“What’re in those voicemails, anyway?” Frank asked, grinning. “You confessed to a murder or somethin’?”

Laurel hit his chest. “What do I have to do for you to delete them?”

“Nothin’, ‘cause I wanna hear it.”

“Please, Frank?”

“Nope,” Frank replied, popping the ‘p’. “Get your lazy ass up, princess. Annalise won’t take you being hungover as an excuse for being late, even if she knows the feeling all too well.”

Laurel groans as Frank removes himself above her and snatches his phone before she can even get the chance to reach it.

“Now, can I leave you by yourself to get ready? No more calling while drunk?”

“Just... stop yelling and get out of here.”

“Okay, okay,” he smirked. “See ya later!”

Frank walked out Laurel’s apartment, whistling. He had only slept for three more hours, but he swears that was the best sleep he’s ever had. Waking up next to Laurel is something he wants to do for as long as he’ll have her.

———

Later that day, Laurel and Frank found themselves alone in the kitchen of the Keating House, making coffee. Both were quiet, with questions perched on the tips of their tongues. After they finished, they spoke simultaneously.

“So—“

“Was it—“

They looked at each other and both let out a chuckle.

“Ladies first,” said Frank.

Laurel took a deep breath. “Was it true? What you said last night, I mean.”

Frank, who was about to take a sip from his coffee, froze. “Which part?” He asked slowly.

“That I’m... it... for you. Yeah, that one.”

“You think I was kidding?”

“I don’t know, Frank. I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I was scared that it was just a dream. Maybe you said that just because you want me to go to sleep, or something. Maybe—“

Frank then cut her off with a kiss. For both of them, it felt different from any other kiss they shared. His hands did not automatically rest on her behind, but were cupping her cheeks. Her hands weren’t busy undoing the buttons on his three-piece suit, but were tangled on his hair and pulling him down closer to her. It was a kiss that signified a new start for both of them. A recognition that they were something more, something they both wanted from the start but were too scared to acknowledge. When they broke the kiss, they were breathless.

“You think I was kidding?” Frank repeated after a beat.

Laurel smiled at him. “You love me, huh?”

“Yeah, I do. I hope you got no problem with that, ‘cause I wanna let you know that every day of our lives.”

“I’d like that.”

“Hmm? Sounds nice, no? You my girlfriend now, then?”

Laurel smiled that radiant smile that Frank loved to see. And they kissed again, both filled with passion and love. They only broke away when they heard the front door open.

“The rat pack’s back.”

“I’ll miss you,” Laurel said. She never thought she would end up a clingy girlfriend (girlfriend!) but with Frank, she thinks she’s in for a lot of surprises.

“I bet you will. What d’you say I go to your place later, cook some dinner? Let’s finish up that bottle of scotch you had last night. We’ll just... talk.”

“Sounds good, babe.” Laurel gives him a final kiss and saunters to the doorway, coffee completely forgotten.

Frank then remembered something. “Laurel?”

“Yeah?”

“So... maybe we’ll test your new bed?” Laurel’s eyes widen. The voicemails! “You told me you bought it specifically for—“

“Shut it, Frank!” Laurel warns him, eyes still wide. She hurriedly goes back to the sitting area, face red. Frank was left in the kitchen, guffawing.

He can’t express how happy and light he felt at that moment. Frank never thought he would be capable of loving someone as much he loves Laurel, let alone be loved in return. He was annoyed that he was awoken at 4 o’clock, yes. But Laurel is worth it. Will always be.

#htgawm #frank delfino #laurel castillo #flaurel #why are they not endgame #why do i keep doing this to myself #frank x laurel #how to get away with murder #frank and laurel #laurel and frank #flaurel fanfiction

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trashyslashers · 5 years

Note

Frank, Hillbilly, Billy Loomis, Stu, and Evan with a cheating S/O?

:^)

This was very fun to write and it actually helped me get out some of the n e g a t i v e feelings I’ve had sitting in me for awhile so thank you anon

Also please note that I don’t necessarily see the characters that I chose for the s/o to cheat with as people that’d willingly help someone cheat, I just chose them for the sake of making writing this more detailed.

this came out very long so readmore

———————————————————————————————————–

Billy Loomis:

Billy just kinda… laughs about it at first. Laughs in disbelief, laughs because he doesn’t want to believe that you’d cheat on him so openly.

He won’t let you know that he knows; he’ll play it cool, pretend like he didn’t see anything, like he doesn’t know anything. He’ll still greet you with that same smile, that same kiss on the lips that he always does. He won’t let you have the satisfaction of knowing that he’s aware of and is hurt by your unfaithfulness.

Instead, Billy amps up his game. He makes you think he’s more in love with you than he’s ever been before - you two will probably take it to home base, if you get what I mean, if you haven’t already. Don’t be fooled, though - Billy isn’t very forgiving and isn’t one to overlook something like being cheated on.

You’ll get taunting phone calls from a total “stranger”; ones threatening to share your little secret with your poor, unaware boyfriend Billy. Of course, though - it’s not a stranger making these calls, it’s Billy - and he gets a kick out of how you scramble to make excuses, throw empty threats about how you’ll make them regret telling him, and so on. He almost breaks his cover with his chuckles.

You end up on that list of people Billy wants to take out once the spree of murders begins, but you’re last on it. He’s gonna have some fun with this - it’s the absolute least you owe him after what you did to him.

He’ll act how he did with Sidney in the movies, keeping up the facade of a loving, protective boyfriend - but in reality, he cannot wait to see the look on your face once you realize that he’s been aware of your cheating all along, nor can he wait to see the look on your face once he finally gets his revenge and makes you feel the pain he felt when he saw you with that other guy - only physically, instead of emotionally.

In the chance that you figured out beforehand that he knew about your cheating, then he’d drop the whole facade. You’re welcome to sit there and argue with him - argue about why you did it, how you felt, how sorry you were, how sorry you weren’t, whatever - but Billy isn’t really going to listen, though. He’s already made up his mind about both you and the relationship, and nothing can convince him to change his mind.

In the chance that you try to apologize, or ask for forgiveness, or ask for another chance, Billy’s not going to hear it. You’d already proven your genuine feelings for him and the relationship by cheating - so he wasn’t about to stand there and let you try to lie to him about how sorry you were.

Stu Macher:

“You’re really gonna do that to me?”

Dude’s heartbroken. He may always act as the goof of the group, but he’s got a lot of feelings deep down. Feelings that are easily hurt.

You’d been there for him after Casey dumped him, you’d been by his side for a long time and your kindness was what initially got him so into you. He’d thought you were the sweetest, cutest thing - yet there you were, hand in hand with some guy he didn’t even know the name of, after canceling the date you two had planned for that night.

Stu kinda refuses to even believe that you’d cheat on him for awhile. Surely it was just a huge misunderstanding - there’s no way you’d do something like that to him!

But when you fail to even look him in the eye as you mutter an insincere “Sorry”, Stu realizes that it’s real and that it’s serious. You really did cheat on him - and you didn’t seem genuinely remorseful in the slightest.

Stu’s said it himself before; he’s way too sensitive. He’ll shut himself away for awhile, isolating himself from his friends and his usual activities. Stu’s a pretty social, extroverted guy so his sudden self isolation speaks volumes on how he’s really feeling.

I definitely don’t see him as unstable or keen on revenge as Billy is, but that doesn’t mean he’s very forgiving about this sort of thing, either. He’ll listen to you if you apologize and swear you won’t do it again - but he won’t do it again, either. He won’t put himself through another relationship with you again, even though you swear the cheating won’t happen again.

He’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that he did something wrong that drove you away, instead of assuming you cheated because you were just that kind of person. Most of his time spent alone is spent wracking his brain for anything he might’ve done wrong.

You’d probably end up like Casey though if we’re being honest, especially if Billy heard about what happened and got to him. He still loved you, yes - but the anger and feelings of guilt combined with the peer pressure from Billy became too much to just brush off and ignore.

Frank Morrison | The Legion:

“Oh, so - am I interrupting something?”

He just storms out of the room, area, spot, wherever it was happening. He can’t even think straight.

Frank’s completely numb to it, initially. He almost can’t actually believe that you’d cheat on him - it seriously feels like it was a dream for a good day or two.

But soon, reality hits him right in the gut and he’s fucking furious about the situation.

Joey? Joey? Of all fucking people, it had to be Joey? He can’t get the image of you, sitting on Joey’s lap with your arms and legs all tangled around him, out of his head. He knew you two were close, yeah, but not that close. It made him feel sick to his stomach. Joey was his friend, he thought he could trust him - he thought he could trust you! But the two of you went behind his back and proved him disgustingly wrong.

The fight between him and Joey is loud, ugly, and unless one of the other girls is there to step in, physical. Lots of name calling, yelling, insults - but Frank can’t find it in himself to direct any of it towards you, as much as he wants to. Every time he turns to say something to you, the look on your face - one a mix of shame, anger, regret, and annoyance - makes his voice get caught in his throat.

He’s got no clue what on earth he feels towards you. Anger? Hatred? Regret? Sadness? Love, still? All of the above? His head’s pounding from the swirl of emotions, and he can’t think clearly. Regardless of if you’re in the Entity’s realm or the real world, he’ll disappear for a few days. He won’t be in trials, and none of the other Legion members will see him or even know where he went.

I can definitely see him as the kind of guy that after a bad breakup would have a ton of rebound hookups (is that the term? lmfao), and he’ll probably even try to make you jealous. Even though he knows, deep down, that you probably don’t give a shit that he’s back with Julie or that he’s with someone entirely new, he’ll secretly hope that you’ll get mad or jealous about it.

Doesn’t trust you anymore, barely trusts Joey anymore. You’re no longer welcome to hang out with them. Frank almost acts as if you were never even there to begin with - he won’t want to talk about you, think about you, hear about you - none of it. He’ll pretend that the cheating, that the relationship, that you, never happened.

Max Thompson Jr | The Hillbilly:

Max doesn’t understand what’s going on at first.

He’s felt insecure in the relationship since it’s started - he always worried that you’d come to your senses and realize how disgusting he was - but you’d always reassured him that you loved him. You’d tell him, day in and day out, that he had no reason to worry; you had no eyes for any other men, you only had eyes for him - and he believed you.

So why were you standing there, with your arms around that other guy? Max didn’t know his name - he was another Survivor - but he was what Max thought the ideal man probably looked like. Strong, tall, handsome. Everything that he wasn’t.

He’s more confused than anything when he sees you pull the other guy’s head down to your own so you could give him a quick kiss on the lips before going your separate ways - you had no idea he was there, did you? The trial had only just begun, you two really needed to be more careful.

It takes him a good few minutes to realize that you were doing with that guy what you swore you’d only do with him. You said you kissed him because you loved him - yet you just kissed that other guy! Did that mean you loved him too?! You couldn’t! You said you loved only him! Did you lie to him?

That’s when Max gets mad; it’s an anger he hadn’t felt since the day he first came face to face with his parents - but this anger isn’t at you. It’s towards himself, towards that guy you were with, towards the others.

Maybe if he killed them all and let you go, you’d forgive him! Surely he did something wrong to make you go and love another guy, so he needed to fix it right away - and you always told him how good he was at fixing things.

Max is, unfortunately, the kind of person that’s incredibly naive about these things. Your lies and bullshit promises of “It won’t happen again”, “It was a mistake”, “He just made me feel really special”, convince him. Your lies keep coming and he keeps believing them, even after catching you with that guy again, and again, and again. You don’t even touch Max that much anymore.

It rips him apart. What did he do to make you not love him anymore? Was that other guy really so much nicer to you that you decided to love him more, instead? Max will cry about it whenever you’re not around - or at least, those awkward, dry, croaky hiccups that are his way of crying. He doesn’t know what he did wrong. He can’t figure it out. Maybe this was one thing he couldn’t fix.

Evan MacMillan | The Trapper:

Why?

The first question that comes to Evan’s mind is why? Had he really made you so unhappy that you needed to seek love somewhere else? What had he done?

Evan’s loyal, absolutely no doubt about it - so he can’t even fathom the idea of why on earth someone would cheat - especially someone as innocent and kind as he initially perceived you to be.

You’d really be surprised at how reasonable and calm Evan can be, especially in situations like this where most people would blow up at their significant others. A solemn “I see.” followed by him leaving the area of the woods where you and Danny were all over each other, returning back to his Estate is the only response you get.

Evan sits in silence for a long time, going so far as to even ignore the call of the Killer’s campfire for a short while. He can’t stop mulling over the scene; the sounds of your soft laughter as you sat on Danny’s lap, his mask pulled up just enough to let him press his lips to your neck. If he even bothered to sleep, he’d have nightmares about it, no doubt.

Evan’s not mad, no - he’s a strange mix of sadness, confusion, and frustration. How long had this been going on for? What had he done to drive you into the arms of another man? Were you ever going to tell him and break up with him, or were you just going to keep up the double-relationships for as long as you could?

He’d need to see some serious, genuine changes in yourself before he’d even consider entering a relationship with you again. He still loved you, loved you more than anything, but he cannot get himself to forgive you that easily.

While he won’t go out of his way to target you in trials or anything, he still can’t bring himself to really look at you for to long. He’s much swifter with his delivery of you to the hooks, that is if he even gets you. It really says something when Evan neglects his work as a Killer; the fact that sometimes he won’t even bother going after you speaks volumes about how he’s feeling. Even just looking at you is entirely too painful for him, so a lot of the time he completely ignores you and you get free escapes, much to the displeasure of both the other Survivors and the Entity.

Evan cries. He cries for the first time in God knows how long - the last time he’d cried was back when things with his father were getting rough. He’s not at all the kind of man that’s cry easily, but occasionally while he sits at his Estate in between trials and his mind wanders to you and your betrayal and the ruins of your relationship, he’ll tear up.

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thejoeisthejoe · 4 years

Text

70s HB - Post Soul Survivor Fic - NIGHT TERRORS

Title: Night Terrors (2019) Chapter: Possibly 1 of at least 3 Author: Robin Gurl Notes: I've been wanting to write this properly for years. I had tried 10 years ago only getting the general idea down but I think I finally have the life experiences to make this work (and google). I've done my best to keep them in character. It was fun to try and work a break down into Shaun Cassidy's Joe and I think I did it well. Parker's Frank is just so easy to write over protective brother and I absolutely adore it. Thanks boys for your help xD.

Summary: After Soul Survivor Joe has some healing to do. Involves brotherly love and over protective Frank and broken Joe. Mention of FRANCY.

Disclaimer: I own nothing or no one... just the idea that Joe couldn’t possibly be ok mentally after that episode.

Frank had woken up only briefly to hear a soft knock on his door. He didn't even have to guess on who it was. He sat up and got off the bed opening it up. To his surprise this time it wasn't Joe.

It was their Aunt.

"Aunt Gertrude?" He asked trying not to be too loud and wake his brother from across the hall. He blinked in the bright light turning back briefly to glance at his clock. It said 2:45am.

"I'm sorry to wake you but with your father gone…."

"What is it?"

She glanced back towards his brother's room then back to him. "Follow me." She led him across the hallway into his brother's room. The lamp had been turned on but Joe hadn't awakened.

He lay there tangled in his sheets, his face contorted in a terrifying scream. Frank could see Joe's knuckles were white from clinging to the sheets.

"I-I think it's a night terror.." He whispered.

"That's what I thought, b-but I can't wake him… and I didn't know if I should or not." She stammered wringing her hands. "He cried out for a few seconds which is what woke me up then went silent and all of this happened…"

"How long has this been going on?" Frank ran a hand through his hair trying to wake up so he could think through this.

"About 10 minutes…" She sighed, "I thought the sleeping medication was supposed to stop these episodes."

"Not stop them but help them not happen as often." Frank explained walking to the side of his brother's bed. "They won't stop until Joe's fear of what happened in Hong Kong subsides."

"I knew your father leaving was a bad idea! I just knew it. Your brother is in no condition.." Their Aunt grumbled frustrated as she started to pace.

"Go back to bed, I'll help get Joe out of this."

"But Frank-"

"I've got it. I've done this many times before. I just have to pull him back to reality." He gave the most reassuring smile he could. He didn't want to tell her that waking Joe up too fast could make it worse and cause an episode of sleep paralysis as well. "Thanks for grabbing me. Joe will be ok in a few minutes."

She tsked before walking over and kissing her nephew on the head. "You promise me if you need help you'll come get me?"

"I promise."

She sighed glancing at her youngest nephew before nodding and heading out the door closing it.

The doctor had told them that getting Joe into proper REM sleep could help fight the night terrors but it wasn't 100% effective. He had explained to Frank and their Father that until Joe got over the fear of the situation, nothing would really change.

So far the medication had lowered the night terrors to only a few a week, the ones that did hit were long and exhausting for both Joe and whoever was awake to get him out of it. The other problem that came from Joe hitting REM sleep was if he was woken up too fast his body would go through sleep paralysis and make his panic even worse.

This was what Frank was afraid of happening tonight.

He sat on the edge of the bed and gently curled around his younger brother. With one arm he wrapped it around his brother, his free hand dropped to the hands clenched to the sheets and rubbed them gently trying to coax his brother to release his grip. "Joe…? Joe it's Frank. You're safe. Whatever your dreaming it's not real."

He watched for any changes in his brother's features and saw them relax a little bit. His brother looked confused now. "You're not in Hong Kong. You're at home. I'm alive. Dad's alive. You're safe. I'm right here." A few tears streamed down Joe's cheeks in response to the words Frank spoke.

It broke his heart to see his brother going through this and knowing he couldn't fix it. He could only put a bandaid on it every time the wound was ripped open. "That's it. You're ok." He squeezed one of Joe's hands gently. "Relax your hands, little brother." He felt the hand under his slowly relax.

He waited a few seconds watching his brother's body trying to see how well he was doing at pulling Joe out of it. He only just noticed how sweaty his brother was, this one must have been a big nightmare. "Come on, Joe. Open your eyes… I'm right here. It's only a nightmare."

Frank gently brushed some of the blonde hair away from his brother's sweaty face. He could feel his brother's heart beating quickly in his chest.

After a few minutes of this coaxing, he watched as his brother's eyes opened slightly still heavily lidded. "Joe? Hey..it's ok. You're home." Frank smiled looking down at him.

Joe's body didn't move as he looked around the room. When Joe's eyes settled back on him, Frank realized what had happened. "Just relax, don't panic. It's just sleep paralysis… just let it run it's course."

Joe had heard Frank's voice and could see his face but the voice didn't match up with his brother's lips that were moving. The sound garbled in his ears and his brother's face changed turning black and his eyes turning red.

He tried to scream but was unable too. Several other shadows started to appear around him. Their faces turning into the nurses and doctors from the hospital then back to shadows.

He could hear his heart beat growing louder as he started to panic. He wanted out of this haunted nightmare. He wanted his brother.

A few seconds later Joe could hear his brother calling his name. His vision started to refocus and tingling sensation ran up his body, his arms and legs. "F-Frank…" He was barely able to say. Tears blurred his eyes as he sat up shaking and crying reaching out to cling to his brother. He buried his face in Frank's shoulder sobbing.

Frank sighed and only hugged his brother as tight as he could rocking him a bit. "I know, I know…shh it's over. It's over. You're home. You're safe. I'm here. Dad's alive." He glanced up and saw their Aunt peering in through the cracked door. Frank gave her a sad smile but nodded that he was ok.

She only nodded silently and gave a sad smile before closing the door back. He knew why she was just as upset as they were. This entire mess was hard to deal with for everyone, not just Joe. Joe had never been one to cry or wear many of his emotions on his sleeve out in the open. At least not to anyone that wasn't his brother.

But now that was different.

It seemed like his brother was always on the verge of tears and the sobs always sounded so heart breaking. It was a feeling he'd tried to explain to Nancy over the phone but was having a hard time putting words to it. He had told her it felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest and thrown to his feet and someone stepped on a puppy at the same time.

Frank didn't say anything as he held his brother. He only hugged him as tight as he could not letting go. He could only imagine how he'd handle the news of his brother and father being dead for over a year and he not knowing. This was why he didn't have the heart to joke about this or make light of any of it. His brother was really hurting and was truly scared. "You're good, Joe." He finally whispered. "You're ok."

Joe didn't pull away for a full 10-15 minutes afraid if he did he'd be thrown back into the nightmare again. His memory was starting to forget the dream and the terror.

Frank could tell when Joe had started to calm down. He also knew that his brother was probably a bit confused. As soon as the panic passed it was normal for the person experiencing the night terror to forget what had happened. Sometimes Joe remembered but more recently he didn't. "Joe?"

"F-Frank…?" His brother's voice was hoarse from all the screaming and crying. "W-Where am I?"

"In your room. On your bed." He responded softly.

"D-Did it happen again?"

"Yeah, yeah it did." Frank moved and sat back against the head board petting his brother's hair gently.

Joe rested his head against his brother's chest panting out of breath. "…I-I'm sorry.."

"Don't be. It's ok. I'm here. I'm not leaving." He rubbed Joe's back exhausted himself. "Here, calm down for a few minutes then I'll get up and get you some new pajamas. You worked up quite a sweat."

"O-Ok…" The blonde responded his hug around his brother relaxed and wasn't as tight of a grip. "F-Frank will they ever stop…?"

Frank glanced down at his brother trying to figure out what to say. "One day they will. I promise. And when they do we'll go travel somewhere to celebrate, how does that sound?"

Joe nodded silently. He couldn't see them traveling anywhere for a long time. He barely got out of the house since they got back as it was. When he did go outside he couldn't stay long. He got what the doctor called "sensory overload" and would get over whelmed and start to panic if his brother wasn't by his side and even if he was it would still happen.

When he did have to go out it was planned down to the second what would happen. His brother had even started explaining the schedule to him before hand so he knew exactly what was coming.

Any other time, Joe would have hated being doted on so much and would hate himself for having this annoying thing. But right now, as the doctor had told him, he was broken and needed to accept that so that he could heal properly. Until he admitted it to himself and let himself fully break he wasn't going to be able to put himself back together.

Frank smiled and helped his brother sit up. "Before you crash on me, let's at least change your pajamas." He then reached forward and unbuttoned his brother's blue pajama shirt easing it off his brother's shoulders. He didn't like how flushed his brother's skin was. "Just think where would you like to go? Last year you wanted to go to Madi Gras remember? But dad wouldn't let us, he said you were too young? Why don't we plan on trying to go?" He continued to try and talk normally with his brother as he got up and dug through his brother's messy drawers finding a t shirt and some boxers. He threw them on the bed beside his brother and went out and into the bathroom coming back with a wet wash cloth.

Joe only sat there dazed watching his brother run around. He shivered as he was left shirtless. What was Frank doing? A few seconds later Frank reappeared and sat on the edge of the bed.

"This is going to be cold Joe. But bare with me. I'm worried you may have worked yourself into a fever." Frank explained as he gently washed his brother's chest and arms off. His brother had been prone to fevers since he was born. Anything could provoke them: from getting over heated, to being too cold, to over exhaustion, stress, fear, etc.

Frank had stopped counting the times his brother had worked himself into one and instead kept an eye on him as much as he could to try and prevent them. He was always trying to get Joe to slow down and rest to give his body a tiny break and possibly not cause oncoming fever. Sometimes he succeeded and sometimes he didn't catch it fast enough. They had spent many nights in hotel rooms with Frank helping Joe sweat off a fever.

Tonight wasn't any different.

He sighed inwardly. Only it was. His little brother was hunched over with red eyes from crying, face pale and shoulders shaking broken into pieces mentally from a horrible plan to get information out of him.

He patted Joe's head gently and helped him pull the clean shirt over his head. He then handed his brother his boxers. "I'll let you do that honor."

Joe took them and stood unsteadily dropping his pajama pants before putting his boxers on. While Joe was up Frank quickly changed the sheets as well leaving new ones on the bed. The sweaty ones in the corner. He'd take care of them tomorrow. Right now he wanted to get Joe into bed and back to sleep.

Frank walked over and guided his brother back to the bed. Joe's hands held his brothers as he sat down on the bed. Frank kept one hand holding Joe's and the other helped his brother lay down in the now clean sheets. "Do you want me to stay?"

"P-Please?" Came Joe's barely audible response.

"Of course." Frank slid in beside his brother and placed the wash cloth on Joe's forehead. "Keep that there for a bit. Let it lower your fever." He lay on his side after turning off the lamp by the bed. He heard Joe's breathing relax a bit, his brother still holding one of his hands. "That's it, Joe. Just relax. I'm here. I'm not leaving." He watched in the dark as his brother closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep. He waited for a few minutes before scooting down a bit and pulling the covers up over them. He reached up feeling his brother's temperature. It was only a low grade fever, Joe would be able to sleep this one off.

Nestling the covers around his brother's small frame, Frank got comfortable as well falling asleep quickly just as exhausted curled up around his brother.

#hardy boys #the hardy boys #Shaun Cassidy #parker stevenson #frank hardy #joe hardy #joe torture #robingurl #*pushes this out there* does anyone like Joe Torture?#If so I have a butt ton more #fiction #normal verse

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: Loaded Dice (Chapter 10)

In which there is magic! and flashbacks! and more magic! and revelations! and Emma is a badass! and Killian is cleverer than everyone because you don’t live to be 300 without learning a few tricks along the way.

a/n: Happy Sunday! I had a great holiday and now am refreshed and ready to dig into the meat of this story. Things are really kicking off now!

Thank you as always to everyone who is reading this and especially for your lovely comments, which always make me grin like a loon.

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @thejollyroger-writer @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree@bonbonpirate @lfh1962@laschatzi @katie-dub @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @winterbaby89

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please do say so.

Read it on AO3

Loaded Dice:

Walsh stood in the doorway of the farmhouse, a supercilious smirk on his face.

“Hello, Hook,” he said.

---

New York, one year previously

Emma moaned as Killian’s hand slid over her ass, squeezing it as he snagged his hook into her belt loop and dragged her up his thighs to settle her more securely in his lap. She writhed against him, grinding into his erection, triumphant when he growled “bloody siren” in her ear, his breath hot on her neck, his hand clenching on her soft flesh harder than he intended. She loved making him lose control, driving him past the point where his mind switched off and he ran on pure emotion. Despite his short, violent temper Killian was level-headed and deliberate in most of his actions, the heat and fervour of his emotions hidden behind tall, thick walls of the sort that were very familiar to Emma. As he had broken through her walls so had she broken through his, though Killian insisted that this was the wrong metaphor.

“I took one look at you and they went up in smoke, leaving no trace behind,” he had said wryly. “I’ve never had any self-control around you, love. No one else could wreck me as you do, dash me against their shoals and make me glad to be dashed. You are a siren and I would happily be ensnared by your song forever.”

Emma wished she could scoff at this, shrug it off as she did most praise, but his unabashed adoration, the naked love in his eyes whenever he looked at her was hypnotic, like a drug, like medicine, healing the wounds in her soul. Killian’s love was her drug of choice, she was addicted to it, desperate for it, still unable to fully believe there was an inexhaustible supply despite his effusive declarations, despite that he was now her husband.

She cupped his head and pulled his lips to hers, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth as his hand tangled in her hair and she felt a rush of moisture surge between her legs. His obsession with her hair turned her on ridiculously hard, just as her love of both his hook and his stump did him. Their kinks fit together just as their bodies did, tight and perfect and better than anything either had ever known.

She pulled his shirt free from his jeans and trailed her fingertips along his skin, her touch deliberately light enough to make his muscles leap in response. He retaliated by flipping them over in one smooth motion and pressing her down into the sofa as he kissed down her neck and his hand slid beneath her sweater to cup her breast and tease her nipple with his thumb. She threw her head back and spread her legs wider, her moan desperate now as he rocked his hips, grinding his erection against her core.

“I want you naked,” she gasped, tugging at his shirt. “Naked and deep inside me and—”

And the doorbell buzzed, jarring in the sexually charged atmosphere of the room.

“Who the devil is that?” Killian snarled against her neck, and Emma struggled to think through the lust clouding her brain. Someone was coming over, she dimly recalled, there was something she’d been planning to do before Killian came home early from work… then she remembered, and this time her groan was one of frustration.

“It’s Walsh,” she said. “Remember, Henry invited him.”

Killian sighed and let his head fall against her shoulder. “Aye.” His voice was still sinfully rough but she heard the concern in it as well. He had never loved her plan to continue ‘dating’ Walsh, delicately probing him for information —lately with the additional aid of some of the confounding spells she’d learned— but especially not in the past few weeks as Walsh had become more and more impatient with Emma’s reluctance to allow their ‘relationship’ to go further than a chaste goodnight kiss.

Something was going to have to crack soon, she knew. She was nearly certain that Storybrooke had returned; Walsh’s twitchy response each time she mentioned her ‘lifelong wish’ to visit Maine all but confirmed it, and Emma was very nearly prepared to go. All the falsified documents were ready: Killian’s birth certificate and driver’s license, his college degrees and sailing certifications, Henry’s new birth certificate proclaiming him the biological child of Emma Swan and Killian Jones. Emma had no idea how long she’d need to be in Storybrooke or what she might encounter there, and if she was going to leave Henry in Killian’s care in New York she wanted there to be no question of his right to guardianship.

Everything was ready and she was set to leave in two days. She just needed a few more bits of intel from Walsh.

The doorbell buzzed again and Emma pushed on Killian’s shoulders. “Let me up,” she said and he reluctantly did, scowling as she stood and adjusted her clothes.

“Be careful, love,” he cautioned, running his fingers through her hair to comb it.

She smiled and kissed him. “I always am.”

Emma buzzed Walsh in then went to wait in front of the elevator, remembering seconds before it arrived at her floor that she was still wearing her new wedding ring.

“Shit,” she muttered, and performed a quick glamour spell to conceal it just as the doors opened and she looked up to greet Walsh with a smile.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Emma suppressed her shudder of revulsion, well practiced by that point in pretending she didn’t find him abhorrent.

“I thought we could go up on the roof,” she said. “It’s such a nice night out.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily, draping his arm around her shoulders and steering her back towards the elevator. Emma forced herself to relax. She just had to get through tonight, she reminded herself, then she’d never have to see Walsh or put up with his passive aggressive attempts to control her again.

“So how was your day?” she asked as they strolled out onto the roof, Walsh’s arm still around her shoulders.

“Pretty good. I sold that huge dining table that was taking up so much space in the showroom. Place looks empty without it.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling, and Emma remembered how charmed she had been by his eager, slightly dorky demeanour before she’d learned what he was. If Killian hadn’t come for her and returned her memories she would probably have dated Walsh for real, with everything that such a relationship entailed. The thought made her stomach roil, and she smiled brightly to conceal it. “That’s great!” she said.

She slipped out from under Walsh’s arm to open the door and they emerged onto the pretty wooden roof terrace, equipped with a grill and a table, and some young trees that would provide great shade in the summer when they got a bit bigger, Emma thought rather wistfully. They sat down at the table and Walsh took her hand. “Hey, I’ve been thinking. You know how you’ve always wanted to visit Maine?”

Unease prickled between Emma’s shoulder blades. “Yeah?”

“Well, how about we take a weekend trip up there? There’s a little town I know with a really charming little B&B. Henry can stay with his friend and you and I can have some time to ourselves. What do you say?”

Emma kept her smile in place though her thoughts were whirling. Walsh had always put her off any time she brought up Maine, clearly wishing to distract her from the subject, and now he wanted to take her there? What had changed? And was he really proposing to take her to Storybrooke?

Subtly she called to her magic, pulling it from one of the pocket reserves that Frank had taught her to find, and sent a confounding spell at Walsh. Tendrils of white light curled out from her fingertips towards his temples, where they bounced harmlessly against the invisible shield of a protection spell.

“What?” she gasped.

Walsh shook his head, his expression almost mournful. “Oh, Emma,” he sighed. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

She laughed, trying to cover her confusion. “Done what?” she asked.

“I really hoped I was wrong about you,” Walsh continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “You seemed so wonderfully oblivious that when Zelena said you were using magic on me, I couldn’t believe it. There isn’t supposed to be any magic here. So all this week I followed you, and I saw you going to that bookstore, learning magic, saw you with the pirate.” He spat the word, his face twisting into something dark and ugly.

“Pirate?” Emma attempted to bluff. “What are you even talking about?”

“Hook,” Walsh hissed. “I know he’s living with you, I know you’re fucking him. Damn it, Emma, I can smell him on you.”

“You’re crazy—”

Walsh leapt from his chair and grabbed Emma by the shoulders, pulling her against him. “Don’t lie!” he shouted, shaking her when she tried to pull away. “Tell me how long he’s been here, tell me what he brought you that makes you able to do magic. Tell me and maybe I won’t have to—” he broke off abruptly.

Emma stopped struggling, alarmed. “Won’t have to what?”

Walsh shook his head, tightening his grip on her shoulders. “No,” he said, almost to himself, “You’ll never cooperate. There’s no choice. You have to come with me.”

“Like hell I will.” Emma brought her knee up hard into Walsh’s groin, spinning away from him as he doubled over in pain. She looked desperately around for a weapon, just managing to get hold of a piece of pipe before Walsh grabbed her again. The Saviour on the roof with the lead pipe, she thought, swinging the pipe at Walsh’s head.

He ducked clear of her first swing and when she swung again he caught the pipe, trying to yank it from her grasp. She tugged back, but for all her toned strength he was still stronger and with a burst of effort he wrenched it from her, stumbling backwards as he did, right up to the railing of the terrace. His eyes were bright and almost feverish, sparking with fury and what looked terrifyingly like madness. As she watched they began to glow red, and his shape blurred and shifted into the winged monkey she and Killian had seen in their dreams. He screamed, baring his sharp teeth, and Emma didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward and pushed him with all her strength and all her body weight behind her, her hands landing flat on his chest and toppling him over the railing just as Killian burst through the door.

“Swan!” he cried. “What in blazes was that?”

Emma watched as the monkey that was Walsh fell, still screaming, and burst into dust on impact with the sidewalk ten storeys below.

“A reminder,” she said, as Killian’s worried gaze raked over her, checking for injuries before he pulled her into his arms. “That we need to stop being complacent. Something is going on in Storybrooke and we need to find out what it is. We’ve waited long enough, Killian. I’m leaving tonight.”

---

One year later:

“Hello, Hook.”

Killian sneered, brandishing his namesake attachment. Wearing it in Storybrooke was a risk, but then he and Regina had basically decided that the time had come to throw caution to the winds and also Killian hadn’t been keen to venture into the forest unarmed.

“Walsh,” he snarled. “You’re looking hale and hearty. Suspiciously so, considering that when last we met Emma pushed you off the roof of our apartment building.”

“Aren’t you forgetting our little meeting outside Granny’s last week? When I was with my wife?” Walsh taunted.

Killian shook his head in mock disappointment, refusing to take the bait. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, you know, assuming you were simply cursed, as she is. I see now I was being too generous.”

“Just as I was naive to assume that you would know what was good for you and stay away from her after you’d seen what I can become.” He held up his hand, which as Killian watched lengthened, sprouting coarse grey fur, the tips sharpening into claws, which he proceeded to brandish menacingly.

Killian snorted. “Do you even know who I am, mate? I pursued my first love’s killer over centuries and across realms, and he was the bloody Dark One. Do you really think I’d do any less for Emma? That I’d just let you take her away from me, let you hold her under a curse, control her mind, and be too scared to come for her because you can turn into a monkey?”

He gave the last words a mocking, singsong intonation and Walsh’s face hardened with anger, his skin taking on a hint of an odd, sickly hue. He stepped into the room and waved his monkey hand over the crystal ball, which was clear again, the image of Emma in her office gone. “You know,” he said conversationally, though with anger still plain in his voice. “This ball is really terribly useful. It showed me your adventures with the Saviour in Neverland, your little… dalliance, I believe you called it? I could see even then that she was in danger of developing feelings for you, and that if I wanted to neutralise her I would have to remove you from her life, once and for all. The ball is never wrong about such things. So why aren’t you gone?” His voice rose shrilly on the final word.

“And just where do you imagine I ought to be?” queried Killian, who was beginning to put two and two together in his mind.

“In Neverland, where I sent your ship.”

“Ah. Curious that your ball, which is never wrong, didn’t inform you of whether I was actually on my ship before you went to so much trouble.”

Walsh’s eyes flashed fury and his greenish tinge darkened. “Yes that is curious. Though in a way, you being here now is actually better. Because it means I can do this.”

He thrust his hand forward as though to plunge it into Killian’s chest, his face a rictus of triumph tinged with insanity, clawed fingers flexing in anticipation of crushing a heart when a bright flash of white light burst from Killian and he was flung backwards, hitting the far wall with a crash that shook the house.

“I’m a bit confused as to how you’d think that would be better,” smirked Killian.

Walsh had gone properly green now, visibly fuming as he scrambled to his feet and attempted to gather his wits. “What?” he shrieked. “How?”

“I think you’ll find that Emma placed one or two protection spells on me before she left New York,” said Killian mildly. “Best not to go for my heart again, she tells me that the more you try the stronger the reaction will be.”

With an oddly high pitched scream of frustration Walsh shot a jet of green light from his hands right at Killian, where it fizzled harmlessly against the white glow of the protection spell around him. Killian gave an exaggerated sigh. “Really?” he asked. “After I just told you about the protection spells?”

Walsh attempted to calm himself, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply. “Is this what’s become of the feared Captain Hook?” he taunted. “Cowering behind his girlfriend, chasing after her like a puppy? Letting her protect his soft little heart?”

Killian laughed outright at this, not even in mockery but in genuine amusement. “The cowering is debatable, but of course I’m staying behind Emma,” he said, “Only a fool would get in front of her, have you seen how powerful she is?” Walsh bared his teeth at this, and Killian’s observant gaze sharpened as he pressed on. “There’s a reason she’s known as the Saviour, you know. Product of true love, the most powerful wielder of light magic yet born, or so I am reliably informed. She has never been defeated.”

As Killian spoke the green hue of Walsh’s skin deepened, his face narrowed and his eyes turned an icy blue. Killian smiled.

“Are you sure you’re all right, there, you’re looking a bit peaky,” he said. “Bit green around the gills, mate. Or should I say lass?”

Walsh hissed in fury and waved his hand. Green smoke whirled up from the ground to envelop him and when it dissipated he was gone, replaced by a tall, slender woman with sharp features and wild, curling red hair.

“Zelena, I presume?” remarked Killian.

“Oh, very clever Captain,” Zelena hissed. “You are proving to be a much more… challenging adversary than I had anticipated. However did you figure it out?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a one for the evil monologue,” drawled Killian. “Explaining all the details of my nefarious plan and so forth. I reckon that’s more your sort of thing. Shall we simply say that subtlety does not seem to be your forte, whatever form you take, and leave it at that?”

Casually, he reached into his pocket and pressed his thumb against the half of a compact mirror that lay inside, applying pressure until he felt the mirror go ice cold. Beacon sent. Now if he could just keep Zelena talking for a little longer…

Her lip curled and her hands glowed with green light before she remembered what had happened the last two times she attacked him and she attempted to calm herself. “Oh, but I insist,” she said, half-purr half-snarl.

“Well my first clue came when Emma pushed Walsh off a ten storey building and he exploded into dust,” Killian replied. “Though she was always of the opinion that the fall alone would not have killed him, it was still something of a surprise when he then appeared in Storybrooke as her husband.”

“She was right,” said Zelena. “The fall didn’t kill him. That pleasure I am reserving for myself.” She waved her hand over the crystal ball to reveal Walsh looking pale and drawn, his clothing ragged, shivering in what appeared to be a dungeon. “Once I am certain he can be of no further use. Though his misadventure in New York did prove that he could not be trusted with even so relatively simple a task as ensuring the Saviour did not return to Storybrooke.”

“Was that his role, then?”

Zelena was beginning to fume. “Yes. All he had to do was offer love and stability to a woman who’d never known any. To keep her happy and away from this town. How bloody hard could that have been?”

“It would likely have been far easier if she hadn’t already found love and stability with me,” remarked Killian, unable to keep from goading her slightly. “I confess it surprises me that even with this all-seeing crystal ball of yours, not to mention your simian spies, you weren’t aware of my presence in her life.”

“Naturally I didn’t think to look for you in New York, I had sent you away!” Zelena shrieked. “I sent your ship through a portal to Neverland, a portal only I can control. With the magic virtually gone from that place, it should be completely cut off from the other realms. You should have been stranded there forever. How did you get back?”

Killian shrugged. “I never went to begin with. As I said before, it seems your ball neglected to inform you that I had traded my ship for a magic bean. To get back to Emma, you see.”

Zelena shrieked again and before she could think better of it sent another jet of green light at Killian. Once again it dissipated with a gentle fizz the moment it struck the protective barrier around him.

Killian rolled his eyes with exaggerated boredom and examined the tip of his hook. “Are we going to be doing this all day, love, because it’s growing a bit tiresome,” he drawled as the mirror in his pocket began to grow warm. Just a few more moments… “Perhaps you might entertain me with the tale of how and why you cast this most recent curse?”

“Oh and wouldn’t you like to know?” sneered Zelena.

Killian rolled his eyes again, slowly, as if entreating the heavens for patience. “Yes, I would. That’s why I asked.”

“Hah,” cackled Zelena as she spun on her heel, no doubt preparing to pace the length of the room as she gave her evil monologue, but before she could speak a fireball burst through the open doorway and hit her square in the chest. It was followed immediately by Regina, gasping for breath, her clothes torn and her face scratched and with evil-looking twigs clinging to her hair.

“What the devil took you so long?” snarled Killian.

“There’s a magical barrier around this clearing,” panted Regina. “I couldn’t poof directly here. I had to run through the forest and let me tell you, that forest does not want people running through it.”

Zelena recovered quickly from the fireball blast and she stood glaring at them. “So, you’ve found an ally in the pirate have you sister? You think he can help you defeat me?”

“He’s doing pretty well so far,” snapped Regina.

“Hiding behind his protection spells,” Zelena scoffed. “But magic isn’t all I can bring to this party. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Her lip curled into a vicious snarl. “Let’s see how well you both manage when something you love is in danger. Something like, oh, your precious son, for example.”

Regina summoned another fireball but as she was pulling back her arm to throw it, it turned to cold green light and fizzled harmlessly out. Regina shrieked in frustration as Zelena cackled and Killian lunged at her, hook first. Before he could reach her she gave a final sneer and a flick of her wrist and disappeared in a swirl of green, still cackling as she went, and Killian’s momentum sent him flying headlong into the kitchen table where he lay for a moment, waiting for the ringing in his head to stop. When it did he rolled over with a groan to find Regina glaring at him. “Well, this is a disaster,” she said.

“It is the worst case scenario,” he conceded, rubbing his temples.

“Worst case scenario, yes you might say that. Our plan has completely failed and Zelena knows we’re working together. We have lost the advantage of surprise, and now she’s after Henry.”

“Ah, but we have one final tool remaining in our arsenal. Emma.”

Regina looked tempted to call up another fireball. “Emma is cursed,” she hissed.

“Aye, she is,” agreed Killian, getting to his feet. “So we’ll just have to remedy that. Are you able to poof us out of here?”

Regina probed at the magic permeating the air of the farmhouse and clearing. “Yes, I think so. The barrier seems designed to keep me out but not in.”

“Good, then take us to the Sheriff’s station.”

“The Sheriff’s station.”

“Aye, that’s what I said.”

Regina curled her hand into a fist and ground it into her hip. “Emma could be anywhere, she spends most of her morning on patrol, and I do not want to go on some wild goose chase,” she snapped.

“Don’t worry, she’s definitely at the station.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

Killian remembered the image of Emma in the crystal ball. “I’m sure,” he said. Regina opened her mouth to argue further but he cut her off. “Trust, remember? Emma’s at the station, I’m certain of it. Now let’s go.”

Scowling, Regina waved her hand. Purple smoke swirled up around them and they were gone.

---

They reappeared on the sidewalk in front of the Sheriff’s station and Killian wasted no time, all but running through the doors with Regina on his heels. Emma was exactly where the crystal ball had shown him she would be, at her desk pretending not to think about the car keys she had transported magically the previous afternoon.

“Swan!” Killian called and she looked up, a smile breaking across her face before she remembered the previous day and apprehension chased it away. Killian halted just outside her office door, realising with a jolt he had no idea what to say to her, or even precisely what to do.

There was one easy way to bring her memories back. A simple kiss, the soulmate kiss, the same kiss that had already returned memories to Emma when he’d found her in New York. It was an option that had always been available, of course, from the moment he’d arrived in Storybrooke. But he and Emma had agreed that it should be kept as a last resort, hoping they would have enough time for Emma’s cursed self to fall in love with him so they could try for True Love’s Kiss, break the curse and bring everyone’s memories back, not just hers. They had hoped there would be time for that, before anything happened that required Emma to remember.

Well, thought Killian, that ship has bloody well sailed.

Still, he had a feeling, the same sort of soul-deep, instinctual feeling that had guided him through the forest to the farmhouse, that the soulmate kiss was not the best option here. His instincts were telling him that Emma needed to remember on her own.

But how could he trigger her memories? Could he?

“Er, is there something I can do for you, Killian?” asked Emma, who was beginning to squirm under his intense gaze.

He gave himself a mental shake, reminding himself that Henry was in danger and they had no idea how long it would take Zelena to locate him. “It’s my son,” he said, and Emma jumped from her seat in alarm.

“Henry?” she cried, sounding so much like her old self that even Regina gasped.

“Aye. We think he’s been kidnapped. Or— is about to be.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s— a bit hard to explain. We were, let’s say advised of a threat to him.”

“Advised? By who?”

Killian sighed. “Zelena.”

“The mayor?” Emma looked disbelieving, then frowned and shook her head. Killian recalled their last dream, how he had suggested to Emma that she should warn her cursed self that Zelena couldn’t be trusted. If she had, if she was even now pushing against the influence over her own mind, then there was a chance that telling her the truth, all of it, could help her break through.

It was a small chance, but he’d have to risk it. Henry’s life might hang in the balance.

“Listen to me carefully, Emma,” he said, taking a step towards her and holding her gaze. “This is going to sound insane, but I need to you to listen with an open mind. Right now you have a voice in your head, your own voice. It’s been speaking to you for some time now, trying to remind you of things you’ve forgotten, and it’s telling you now to trust me, and warning you against Zelena. Listen to that voice, love, it’s you. The real you.”

Emma gasped, staring into his earnest blue eyes. “How can you know that—” she began, then caught herself. “I mean, there isn’t any voice.”

Don’t lie to him, Emma. It’s useless anyway he knows you too well, said the voice.

Her voice, there in her head, louder and more confident than it had ever been.

You know he’s telling the truth.

“No…”

Killian was watching her carefully, his gorgeous eyes far too perceptive. “You hear it right now, don’t you,” he said. “Your voice.”

She shook her head, trying to deny it through sheer force of will. “I don’t.”

“Now, love, we both know that’s not true. Has she told you who I am yet? Who we are to each other?”

He’s your husband. He’s Captain Hook.

“Captain Hook,” she scoffed. Now that was just ridicu—

“Aye.” Killian held up his hook and Emma’s eyes widened. How could she possibly not have noticed that his lifelike prosthesis had been replaced by a very not-lifelike huge pointy hook?

You noticed. It just didn’t register as odd because you’re so used to seeing it there.

“I did tell you my original prosthesis was somewhat primitive,” Killian reminded her.

“That isn’t— that doesn’t mean— Captain Hook is fictional and you can’t be my husband we just met—”

“No, darling, we haven’t. We’ve known each other for a few years now, and in that time we have forged a bond that is closer than any I’ve known in all my life. Which is saying something.”

She continued to shake her head but he could see the doubt creeping into her eyes and he pressed on. “Would you like to hear some of the things I know about you?” he asked gently. “Your name is Emma Swan. Middle names are common in your realm but you don’t have one because you were found on the side of the road wrapped in a blanket with ‘Emma’ embroidered on it and none of your foster families gave you another one. You still have that blanket; it was the one thing you carried with you to every foster home you went to. It’s white, loose knit with your name in purple and a purple ribbon running through it.”

Emma knew her mouth was hanging open, her forehead crumpled in confusion. How the hell could he know about her blanket?

Oh, I think by now you know perfectly well how.

“When you were sixteen you gave yourself the surname Swan as a symbolic gesture of transformation,” Killian continued, relentlessly. “My words, love, not yours, though you did concede that was the reason. This was right before you ran away from your final foster home and soon after met up with a man whose name, the one he told you, was Neal Cassidy, though he is actually Baelfire, son of Rumplestiltskin.”

“Rumplestiltskin,” repeated Emma in a flat tone. “Who spins straw into gold.”

And is a lot more scaly than in the fairy tales. That’s him.

“Aye,” Killian confirmed. “You fell pregnant by Baelfire and bore his son. Henry.”

(A storm, a hospital room. Her ankle chained to the gurney.

“Do you want to hold him, Emma?”)

“Henry?” she gasped, an echo of profound love rising in her chest. “Not… your Henry?”

“Aye, my stepson Henry. You are his mother, Emma, and Baelfire his biological father. And Regina here is his adoptive mother.”

“No.” Emma shook her head, wishing she could shake away the growing certainty that all this… this insanity… was all true.

She attempted to scoff, to deny it. “You’re a crazy person.”

“Always so stubborn, my love, but you know I’m not. As I was saying, you had Henry, gave birth to him in prison, where you had been left by Neal for a crime he committed, and you gave Henry up for adoption though it tore you apart to do so, because you didn’t feel you could be a good mother to him.”

(“Emma?”

Her anguished moan. “No… I can’t be a mother…”)

“But he found you, darling, on your twenty-eighth birthday, and he brought you to Storybrooke. Here you broke the curse that had been laid upon this town, the curse that had brought it into existence and brought the people who live here from the Enchanted Forest.”

“The Enchanted Forest? And you really expect me to believe all this?”

You do believe it, though. You believe every word. How else do you explain why you’ve always felt so connected to Killian, and to Henry?

Emma shook her head again, wanting, almost needing to believe it, but something still held her back.

“Do you remember how we met, Emma?” Killian’s voice was gently persistent, patient, though Regina was beginning to fume and pace impatiently behind him.

In the Enchanted Forest.

“At Granny’s.”

“No. In the Enchanted Forest.”

Told you.

“I attempted to deceive you but you saw right through me, love, as no one ever has before or since. You tied me to a tree and threatened to allow ogres to eat me.” He grinned wryly but the heat in his eyes made her heart pound. “You’re rather fond of forcibly restraining me in fact—”

Oh, he likes it too.

“—not long after that you chained me at the top of a beanstalk and left me there at the mercy of a giant.”

(“I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you…”)

That giant was never going to hurt him.

“He was never going to hurt you— no, what?”

Killian pounced. “He wasn’t going to hurt me, no, you made certain of that. And although you leaving me there made my life considerably more difficult I couldn’t help but admire you. Meeting you, it set my feet on a path away from the vengeful one I’d followed for centuries. You made me wish to be a better man, and though I had little hope of ever winning your affections I wanted to be worthy of them all the same. I gave up the revenge I’d pursued for hundreds of years and took you back to a land I’d made great sacrifices to escape for the sake of helping you find your son.”

Neverland.

“N— Neverland?”

(…thick, humid jungle, terrified boys with poisoned arrows… Killian in a long leather coat pulling a flask from his pocket…)

“Aye. We grew close there; against all odds we found kindred spirits in each other. It was there we shared our first kiss—”

“Hah,” said Regina under her breath. “I knew it.”

(…his lips hot against hers, following her lead even as they coaxed more from her than she’d planned to give… his hand in her hair… the sharp flare of longing in her chest…

“As you wish…”)

“—but you were focused on saving Henry and conflicted because Neal had returned, and I didn’t wish to put any pressure on you,” continued Killian, his words somehow managing to penetrate the mess of confusion in her mind.

Promising me ‘fun’ when we got back to Storybrooke, that’s his idea of no pressure?

“You promised me fun…”

Hope lit in his eyes. “And I would certainly have offered you some, darling, had Pan not cast a second curse, one that would return us all to the Enchanted Forest. All but Henry.”

He wasn’t born there.

“Because he wasn’t born there…”

“Aye. So you and he moved to New York, with your heads filled with false memories—”

(“Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.”

“Good.”)

“—and it was there that I found you a year later. Do you remember how I found you?”

The dreams.

“I— I dreamed about you,” she whispered.

“You still do.”

“How could you know that?” Knowing her past, if it was her past, was one thing, but how could he know her dreams?

“Because I dream of you, Emma. The same dreams.”

Behind him Regina stopped pacing, her eyes widening in astonished comprehension and a bit of awe.

“That’s… that’s not possible…”

“But it is. You know it is.”

Come on, Emma.

“NO!”

Killian could see the conflict raging behind her eyes, the war being fought inside her. She was so strong, but the curse and the poppy soil were still stronger. He had only one move left. With a deep breath, he braced himself and made it.

---

New York, one year prior:

“I don’t like this Swan,” said Killian, leaning against the doorframe of their bedroom as he watched her pack. “You’re still going in far too blind.”

“I’m not wild about it either but what choice do we have? Walsh is gone, maybe not for good but he won’t be coming back here anyway, and we have no other source of information. We’re just going have to play the hand we’re dealt.”

“I never play the hand I’m dealt,” growled Killian. “That’s how a pirate gets himself killed. Any game you go into without loaded dice is one there’s no guarantee you’ll walk away from.”

Emma spun around, planting her fists on her hips. “So you’re telling me we should cheat.”

“I’m telling you we need to adjust the parameters of the game to give ourselves an advantage.”

“That sounds like cheating to me.”

“Call it what you like, darling, but I haven’t survived this long by underestimating my enemies. I will do whatever is necessary to win, or at least not to lose, and the stakes here are far too high for us to play by what you think are the rules, especially when we know that the other side is not doing the same.”

“Do we know that?”

“We know almost nothing,” he snarled. “But tell me, love, what do you imagine Walsh intended to do to you, once he had you alone and away from home? Why do you think he suddenly changed his tune about going to Maine? He knew I was here and he was trying to get you away from me, and away from Henry. There is obviously something in Storybrooke that he thought would neutralise you as a threat, and if you insist on going in without knowing what that is then the least you can do is indulge me by loading your dice. Metaphorically.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

“Take your magic with you. Store it somewhere, somewhere no one else can touch it. O— Frank must have shown you how to do that.”

Emma frowned, crossing her arms as she considered his words. “Yeah, he did. He said the same as you actually, that I should have my magic somewhere safe. He suggested an amulet but I’d feel dumb, not to mention obvious, wearing some big jewel around my neck.” She fiddled with the delicate silver chain she did wear around it. “That’s not exactly my style.”

Killian took her hand and held it up, scowling. “Where’s your ring?” he asked.

“Oh.” Emma waved her other hand and her wedding ring reappeared. “I glamoured it so Walsh wouldn’t see.”

“Hmmm.” Killian rubbed his thumb across her ring, a speculative gleam appearing in his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“If you hid something with a glamour spell, would that spell hold even if something happened to you? If you were put under, say, a curse, would your spell still hold?”

“Um, I think so?” A small smile curled her lip as she caught on to what he was suggesting. “You think I should store my magic in my ring, and glamour it.”

“Loaded dice,” he replied. “No one knows we’re married or that you have magic here. Walsh didn’t know it so it stands to reason that whoever is directing him doesn’t either. And that is exactly the sort of thing that could give us the advantage we need.”

“All right,” she agreed. ��I guess that does make sense. I’ll load my dice.”

He grinned. “I always knew you’d make a hell of a pirate, Swan.”

---

Storybrooke, one year later:

Killian took Emma’s hand and held it up. “Where’s your wedding ring, Emma?” he asked softly.

She tried to tug her hand away, but he held fast. “I told you, I don’t wear it because it gets in the way—”

“But where is it?” he pressed. “Is it in a drawer, in a box, in a safe? Is it in your bedroom, your bathroom, a closet? Where is it?”

“I— I don’t know,” she lied.

Seriously, Emma? It’s on your finger.

“You do know, my love, we both do. It’s right where I placed it just over a year ago. Right here, just hidden.” His thumb brushed gentle strokes over her knuckle, sending sparks all up and down her arm as her heart tried to beat out of her chest. “I can feel it,” he said softly, “And I think you can too.”

She could.

Remove the spell.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

Yes you can. You have to.

“Please, Emma,” Killian whispered, sensing she was close, so close to breaking through. “I love you. Please come back to me.”

Emma closed her eyes and opened herself to her magic, to that terrifying sensation she’d felt only yesterday when she’d summoned her keys in the bookstore. The bright white light flowed through her again, pulled from—from where?— from a reserve somewhere close to her, and when she waved her hand over her finger an engraved platinum band identical to the one Killian wore appeared on it. She could feel it there in earnest now, heavy on her finger, and when she opened her eyes and saw it glowing bright with her magic, she gasped.

(“Emma Swan, do you take this man…”

“I do”

…bright blue eyes warm with love as he slipped the ring on her finger…

“…husband and wife…”)

She looked up to find those same blue eyes, brimming with that same love and with a desperate hope. “Killian,” she breathed. “I remember…”

“What do you remember, love?”

“Our wedding…”

The memories were trickling back now, slowly though, too slowly, as something in her head still tried to push them down, stamp them out. Emma pushed back against it with everything she had but it was too strong. She couldn’t defeat it alone.

He can help you.

How?

You know how.

There were too many voices in her head, too much confusion. Desperately Emma focused on the only thing that seemed steady and sure, the only thing that made sense. She reached for him, hand fisting in the front of his sweater, and did the one thing she’d been longing to do since she’d literally run into him that day at Granny’s.

She pulled his lips to hers and kissed him.

The moment their lips met her magic surged through her, pulled from the ring into her body, its slow trickle now a raging flood, suffusing her with light. It swept away the cobwebs in her mind and brought her memories, all of them, tumbling back, sharp and distinct as if they had happened moments before.

She pulled back, gasping, and when she looked up at him he was grinning, pride and delight glowing in his eyes. “You did it, love,” he said.

She nodded, still overwhelmed by the power in her veins and the images in her head. “I did it,” she repeated. “I remember everything. Killian— oh, God,” she choked as tears filled her eyes. “I’ve missed you—”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely, the tears falling unheeded down her cheeks as his arms closed around her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. Who needs oxygen anyway, she thought, and the thought was entirely her own; the voices in her head were gone.

She never wanted to be out of his arms again.

Killian was crying too, with relief and joy and the sheer delight of holding Emma close, finally, after far too long without her. He knew he was holding her too tightly, his hand hopelessly tangled in her hair, but he didn’t care. She was here and real and she remembered him, and he was never letting her go again.

Dimly through the haze of sensation and emotion they heard Regina’s voice.

“This is all very touching,” she said drily. “But might I remind you that our son is still in danger.”

Killian and Emma broke their kiss but remained locked in each other’s arms, their foreheads pressed together.

“Henry,” said Emma breathlessly. “Zelena has him.”

“She might not have him yet, but she’s after him,” said Killian. “We’re banking on her trying the school first before looking anywhere else.”

“He’s not at school?”

“No. We thought she might go after him if we weren’t able to use that poppy powder on her, so we put him someplace we didn’t think she’d look.”

“Where?”

“We’re wasting time with this,” snapped Regina. “I’ll poof us all there. Let’s just go!”

Emma nodded, stepping out of Killian’s embrace but taking his hand and gripping it tightly. “You’re right,” she said. “Let’s go get our son.”

#cs ff #cs fic #canon divergence #3b canon divergence #alternative 3b #captain swan #cursed captain swan #cursed storybrooke #a hint of smut #their way by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff #I freaking love this chapter you guys #i hope you do too

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ofwizardsandmen · 5 years

Text

I like me better when I’m with you

Characters: Tara Lee, Mark Yang, Tyler Lee (briefly).

Word count: 3,9k

Genre: angst, fluff

OST: Ed Sheeran - Hearts Don't Break Round Here

A knock on the door interrupts Tara from staring soullessly at the screen of her laptop. It’s only been a couple of hours since she left the Yang Residence and yet she has completely lost track of time. She can’t remember how long she’s been sitting on her bed, wrapped in a duvet, but the memories of her conversation with Mark are all vague and hazy, like scenes from a Frank Capra film.

Yet, it is probably the hopeful melodies or the fact Julie Andrews’ sweet innocence in The Sound of Music always manages to put her in a good mood, but Tara almost feels like she’s been transported to some benevolent alternate universe where she’s just a regular Oxford student chilling at home on a summer night and procrastinating her summer school paper for Medieval Literature.

There are no boys.

No magic.

No famous ex-boyfriend or fake fiancé.

It is just Tara and her muggle musical.

“I’m fine, Ty” Tara whines as Captain von Trapp walks into Maria’s room and finds his children singing along My Favorite Things. “Go to sleep!” Mentally cursing at her brother for disturbing her hardly-found peace of mind, Tara pulls the fluffy duvet tighter under her chin.

Another knock

Tara lets the duvet fall to her shoulders, feeling as though she doesn’t have the strength to deal with anything right now.

“Ty, seriously…” she utters wearily. “I want to be alone-”

“I’m coming in” A voice that definitely doesn’t belong to her brother announces.

A second later, the door gapes open and Tara’s ex-boyfriend walks in, closing the door behind him.

Mark’s presence catches Tara off guard. From all the people she could’ve expected to see, her ex looking aggravatingly good was definitely not on top of her list, so she nearly chokes in her inhale.

With her heart picking up, Tara pauses the movie and then holds on to the duvet tightly. Almost as if her life depended on it.

And yes. It is a life-threatening situation if you consider that Tara can’t imagine a greater humiliation than letting Mark see the sweatshirt she’s wearing beneath. It is one of the many clothes she had raid from his closet during her last visit to Seoul, claiming that she would use them whenever she missed him.

Why did she have to be so freaking ridiculous? That is beyond Tara understanding, but now, letting him see that goddammed sweatshirt on her would be yet another moral defeat on the same day. Not to mention it would be downright mortifying.

“Hey” Mark stands at the door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his favorite bomber jacket as Tara holds on the duvet for dear life.

“What are you doing here?” She turns her head in the other direction as if her vanity was the most interesting piece of furniture she’s ever seen.

At her sour expression, Mark’s expression falls. For a split of a second he seems to be unable to form a coherent sentence or push himself to do anything at all, but eventually, he quietly steps towards Tara and without saying a single word he sits on the edge of the bed.

But Tara avoids his eyes. She can’t bring herself to look at him because his presence is suddenly reliving the embarrassment and humiliation she felt during their conversation earlier that day.

“I saw the album,” Mark says, his breath hitching as Tara blinks twice without really understanding what he means. “Jae said it was a present from you”.

With the trauma of facing Mark, she has almost forgotten about his birthday gift. Of course, she now regrets spending so much time putting together a photo book with pictures of the two from childhood up to the months previous to their breakup. If she had known Mark was going to behave the way he did, Tara would’ve accepted Enzo’s invitation and instead of the comfort of her bed, she would be on a luxurious yacht sailing the Greek Islands. Or she would’ve asked Tyler to lock her in her room so there were no more chances to land on the cover of scandal-hungry tabloids and gossip sites. Yes, she likes the second idea better.

But no, against her better judgment, she went to visit her ex-boyfriend so he could shatter her pride in pieces and humiliate her.

“And I’m truly sorry” Without another word, Mark reaches to pull Tara to his chest. Initially, he meets resistance from her part. She briefly struggles to free herself, but when her name escapes from Mark’s lips in a soft whisper that makes her feel a wonderful sense of loosening inside, she gives in with a sigh. Too exhausted and emotionally drained to fight him back, she also lets go of the duvet in favor of letting Mark wrap his arms around her.

“I’m so, so sorry, T” He repeats as his hands move to stroke her hair and pat her back gently, slightly desperate to show he how apologetic he truly is. “I am sorry”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Tara speaks, her voice breathy with a contained chuckle.

“I know”

Mark is so thankful when she wraps her arms around him and buries her face against his chest that his heart races embarrassingly and his throat moves when he swallows. Yet, Tara seems unfazed, wrapped in her own thoughts and the scent of oolang and bergamot from Mark’s signature perfume combined with the faint smell of Febreze that Taeyong uses religiously in their clothes.

Mark smells like spring and his embrace makes Tara feel like home, so she stays that way for a few minutes, eyes closed, easily sinking into his arms and basking in the familiarity of it all. It is just a simple hug, but it conveys their feelings with much greater clarity than words could have; it is almost a reminder of easier days when everything was less tangled and a simple hug could put everything back in its right place.

Now everything seems as it could be fine.

That is, of course, until she pulls away and notices Mark’s eyes brimming with tears.

It’s probably too soon to draw conclusions, but for some reason it makes Tara’s former optimism deflate.

Not like this is the first time Tara sees Mark cry. Oh no, she has seen him cry plenty of times before, although when she tells those stories to other people, they believe she’s making them up because Mark is a strong man by any standard and he has never shown any sign of weakness in front of anyone else. Particularly not in front of his bandmates or his fans.

People regard Mark as always cool and collected, that one person who always knows what to say and what people expect from him. He didn’t cry when his group reached the Nº1 spot for the first time in the South Korean charts, nor during his first concert or that time he injured himself in a rather foolish fashion and subsequently skipped a whole round of promotions with his group. If you were to ask anyone, Mark is described as a hardworking young man with a somewhat detached and serene outlook on life.

But that is Mark, the rapper of NCT. The Mark Yang sitting next to Tara cried when she went to Hogwarts for the first time and when their first bunny died. Mark cries over a sad movie plot and whenever he misses his family. The Mark Tara knows is anything but detached. He is loving and slightly clingy, although he always justifies himself claiming that he barely spends time with his loved ones.

That’s exactly why doubt wings through Tara when her eyes fix on Mark. Granted, her concern is slightly unreasonable given the circumstances and their unspoken reconciliation, but she knows him by heart and he looks merely appalled.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, eyeing him suspiciously

“Nothing” He musters dismissively. Tara doesn’t know he’s fighting hard to keep the tears at bay, but she can guess, by the way he bits on his lower lip, that there’s something he wants to tell her. And she simply expects the worst.

“Then what’s with that expression?” she says, forcing a soft laugh. “You look as though you’ve murdered someone.”

Mark doesn’t respond. There is silence and then a simple head motion

“I don’t know how bad this actually is or if Jane will be able to fix it before it goes out, but…” A frustrated breath slips from Mark’s lips and he moves to grab Tara’s hand “Earlier today I kinda told a reporter we had broken up.”

“What?” Tara’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“Listen T, I am really sorry, I just…” Mark runs his free hand through his hair “I got this question about you and the rumors and I-“ he tightens his grip on her hand “I just lost it. I saw that article on the news and I don’t know what got into me. Please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to-“

Amusement swirling in her chest, Tara doesn’t even attempt to hold in a laugh.

“Mark, people have been speculating about our break up for weeks and if they couldn't tell yet after the pictures of you and Mindy walking by the hand late at night” She said the last bit with the tiniest bit of accusation in her voice “They probably did after the headlines of this morning, so unless you had told them I cheated on you or that you hated me, I think we’ll be ok”

“No, I would never” Mark says softly, once again wrapping himself around Tara “I only said that we broke up and I wished not to be asked any more questions about the topic”

“An answer straight from the idol book. Well done” Tara laughs, but still, that emotion written on Mark’s face —that she recognizes as guilt— doesn’t seem to go away. “Oh, come on, Mark, change that expression! What’s wrong now?” Tara rolls her eyes, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I…” He falters “I also made you cry”

“When did you?” Tara asks, moving away from the hug and turning so they’re finally face to face. “I haven’t cried” She frowns, although her slightly puffed eyes aren’t painting the most convincing picture.

“Tyler told me” Mark smiles with a swift rise of his cheekbones. If Tara didn’t know him better she would assume that he is amused.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself” Tara scoffs, but Mark is still smiling at her with a sort of smug twinkle in his eyes.

“I hate I made you cry, I really do.” He says solemnly “But the fact you did…” Mark finds the auspicious moment to caress Tara’s face with his thumbs, making her huff once she notices his cheeks going all squishy and his eyes crinkling in a smile.

She would definitely be offended if she didn’t know there’s no malice to it, just Mark’s attempts to lighten up the mood.

“I swear I will never make you cry again” He says, interlacing their hands “Please, don’t ever cry again” Mark places a gentle kiss on her cheek before adding “Plebeians like me don’t deserve the tears of a princess”

Tara cringes and laughs, smacking Mark’s arm softly

“That’s so cheesy” she complains, faking a retching noise. “Please never repeat that”

“Why?” Mark catches Tara’s fist before it lands on his chest, pulling her towards him for the umpteenth time. It almost feels like he wants to make up for the lost time and Tara is not in a position to complain or criticize him because the longing is mutual so she only throws her arms around his neck, shaking her head. “Yo, it’s true though…” Mark says, his boyish manners coming out in full force when he speaks.

“That you’re cheesy?” Tara jokes.

“That I am a plebeian and you are a real princess… my princess”

“Ugh… cheesy” Tara’s face contorts into what could be disgust, but a split so second later she bursts out laughing. Mark chuckles too, but he becomes solemn as his hands slide under Tara’s —his— sweatshirt and his fingers glide up her sides until they reach for the curve of her waist.

“No, but seriously, T… I’m sorry” he repeats as Tara plays with his hair distractedly “I was rude to you and that was just off-limits. Nothing justifies the way I behaved.”

“True” Tara concedes with a nod and a small smile spreading on her face.

“You didn’t deserve any of that and I apologize for it”

“True again. You were acting stupid” She replies simply, looking away as she removes her hands from Mark’s neck, a noticeable frown on her face “But I guess I can take that apology”

A hearty laugh fills the room when Mark realizes Tara is just faking the angered expression and seconds later she ends up throwing him a poorly executed wink.

“Thank you, T” The guy’s amusement quickly vanishes, a warm feeling of elation coming over him. It is the kind of feeling that makes you believe an enormous burden has been lifted from your shoulders and you can finally be at peace.

He beams, his smile so bright that it almost makes Tara feel blinded by it. Then, a teasing glint fills his eyes “Though now that I remember, you did call me an idiot…” he dramatically places a hand over his heart “That hurt”

“Should I even be sorry? You were acting like one” Tara states matter-of-factly. She raises a brow, trying to ignore the way Mark’s hands have returned to hold her at the waist pulling her closer.

“What?” Mark opens his mouth in an exaggerated fashion, pretending to take the offense.

“It’s true, you were acting like a di-” Tara stops midway, giggling as Mark tickles her sides. “Oh, come on!” Laughter escapes from her lips abundantly. “Mark... please…” She twists, fighting desperately to escape from his attack, but Mark continues to dig his fingertips on her sides, chuckling and occasionally letting out a full laugh.

“Please what?” He asks, watching amused how Tara tries to push him off with her knees.

“Stop!” She giggles “Please, Mark, stop!” She smacks his hands away when they reach her ribs and then places both her hands against his chest to stop him from ambushing her again “I’m sorry. Ok?” she says, catching her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you serious?” Mark’s doe eyes flutter open as though he can’t believe his ears and Tara only nods, still focused on regulating her breathing pace. “Oh T. Don’t be.” Mark places a hand over one of hers, squeezing it and pulling it to his lips to kiss it briefly “I actually deserved it because what you said back then was true. I was just trying to get back at you.”

“I know” Tara replies, wondering if Mark is aware of who he’s talking to. Of course she knew, even if he wasn’t fully aware back then, Tara knew. She always knows. “But that’s not what I’m sorry about. I also owe you an apology for the Mindy misunderstanding and the whole Darius scandal. Although it shouldn’t be a big deal, considering we had broken up, you still deserve to know nothing ever happened between him and I”

Mark blinks not fully sure of what to say next. He remains quiet, letting go of Tara’s hand but a grin —that he had dumbly tried to suppress— slowly makes its way onto his lips. Tara laughs because Mark, as always, is transparent as glass and the happiness that her statement causes him is not even close to been hidden.

“So you’re telling me nothing happened with the perfect Darius Black?” He questions skeptically, smug grin still plastered across his face.

“First of all wipe that grin off” Tara rolls eyes, her hand smacking Mark’s shoulder playfully “Don’t be such a smug jerk”

Mark could be offended, but he ignores that last part on behalf of attending a more urgent matter, which is finding out what Tara has been up to since their breakup. It is a question that has been torturing him for weeks, so he jumps in as soon as the opportunity presents.

Of course, Mark is not generally the jealous or possessive type, but watching the pictures of —his— Tara walking by the arm of another man —a man who had always shown more than just a casual friendly interest in her— had awoken something inside him.

“So?” Mark begins to feel the worm of jealousy squirming in his guts as he imagines Darius' hands roaming Tara’s body, his lips pressing against hers, hot and urgent, an image practically etched in his mind since the morning when he saw that goddamned picture of them looking like lovebirds on the news. “Nothing?” He has no other choice but to pretend to be ok, so he lets out a sigh, easing his chest from that emotional hell.

“Nothing” Tara says, shaking her head from side to side. “I’m offended you even ask.”

“You are a beautiful woman, Tara” Mark ignores her weak attempt to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Men hit on you all the time and that Darius is shamelessly obvious about want-“

“I know how to say no, Mark” Tara says seriously.

“Oh, so he did try to hit on you” Mark insists predictably, causing Tara to chuckle. “I knew he did. I mean, of course he would, you got all dressed up and looked so fine. He would’ve been stupid if he didn’t”

“Mark, seriously nothing happened” Tara interrupts, her voice a mixture of amusement and weariness. “He was just trying to be helpful” She speaks as though she is trying to explain a hypersensitive 4 year-old that 1 plus 1 equals 2, but Mark does nothing but to repeat her last word with a questioning eyebrow. It makes Tara aware of all the explaining left to do, but also gives her the urge of kissing away the furrow of his brows. “Listen” Tara swifts on the bed to reposition herself “I drank too much and he was just trying to keep me safe.” Tara admits, looking everywhere but at his face.

“What?” Mark’s voice suddenly goes harsh and Tara turns to find an unexpectedly tense-looking man staring at her. “Are you sure he didn’t try anything weird-?”

“No, he didn’t.” Tara places a hand on Mark’s thigh reassuringly, but can’t deny the odious thrill his protective side makes her feel. “Trust me, Mark. Enzo or Adela would’ve already killed him if he had”

“Ok” Mark’s face relaxes and he goes back to looking at Tara with the same smug grin from before and eyes alight with mischief “So?”

“So what?” Tara rolls eyes “What now?”

“So why did you reject him? Because I’m not gonna believe he didn’t ask you out” Mark speaks naturally, as though he had just formulated a question about something like the time or the weather. “As far as I know all your friends fawn over him and Jane keeps reminding me that he is one of the most eligible bachelors of... your world” He adds that last bit hesitant.

Tara makes a mental note to scold her friend later “He’s just not my type”

Mark huffs “Tall, blonde, green eyes and handsome is not your type?” He asks incredulously.

“Why are you being so annoying, Mark?” Tara moves until she’s leaning her back against the pillows and crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want to hear? That I got drunk because I missed you and I already made out with most of Enzo’s friends at previous parties so I knew, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t going to get over you going out with someone else and acting like some immature teenager? Is that what you want to hear?” Tara snaps, but surprisingly, her voice is warped and tiny, twisted beyond recognition.

For a second Tara holds her breath expecting Mark to snap back at her. She watches his body stiffen, his face tense up, his eyes looking away from her. Then silence overcomes the room and she mentally smacks herself for every single decision she’s made that day.

“Hey” Mark pushes Tara out of her self-chastisement moment offering a hand a pulling her closer. “I’m sorry. I was just joking” he says, arms wrapping around her tightly “I didn’t realize what you went through.” Tara opens her mouth to say something, but Mark shakes his head and goes on. “That picture on the news… oh, God, T. It’s been driving me insane. I never knew how scared of losing you I was until this morning and I don’t want to feel like this ever again-“ Tara’s hand on his chin, silences Mark and when he looks at her, he’s surprised to find Tara smirking at him.

“Shut up. You have nothing to worry about” she pretends to pick inexistent pieces of fuzz from his jacket. “You know why?” Mark only shakes his head, making Tara scoff at him “Because you are the only person I’ve ever loved.” She says simply. “And I only have eyes for you”

"Hmm" Mark stares at her thoughtfully, almost as though he has been left at a loss for words, but between the smile on his face and the greedy way his hands clutch around her waist, Tara knows he has plenty of words to say. “You know what I really think?" He asks.

"No, but I bet you're going to tell me"

"I think maybe you’ve figured out no one can top me" It is impossible for Mark not to burst into laughter right after pronouncing such cringe-worthy words, his cheeks going a light hue of pink.

“Shut up” Although the muscles of her leg refuse to kick him to shut him up, Tara pushes him slightly.

“I’m kidding” He smooths down Tara’s hair, “But here’s a fact” He looks at her adoringly, clutching onto her with force “I love you, Tara Lee.”

“I love you too” Tara places a hand around his neck “Only you, Markie”

The two exchange a moment as they look into each other’s eyes, none of them daring to move, afraid to ruin the perfect harmony they’ve fallen into. Until Mark decides to break the silence, looking extra worried.

“Did we just miss the perfect timing to kiss?” He asks, dipping his head down to murmur into Tara’s ear.

“I think so” Tara is moving to press her lips against Mark’s when the door flies open.

“Absolutely not under this roof” Tyler barks, eyes throwing daggers at her sister’s boyfriend. “What does make you think I will let you kiss my sister right after you made her cry?”

Mark pulls away from Tara’s arms with such urgency that he nearly falls off the bed. She could’ve found it funny if she wasn’t so busy glaring at her brother.

“Were you listening to our conversation?” Tara forces a laugh, free of any true amusement. “Why are you acting like some creep?”

“Creep? I’m just protecting my little sister from-“ Tyler splutters, catching the way Tara is looking at him. “From some hormonal guy trying to take advantage of her”

“Just get out!” Tara reaches under her pillow for her wand and points it directly at her brother. There’s not even an ounce of hesitation in her eyes “I swear Tyler Lee…”

==============

“I’m sorry my brother is such a jerk” Tara says minutes later, apology evident on her face as she snuggles her head on Mark’s chest. They’re currently cuddling on his king-sized bed, surrounded by dozens of ridiculous pillows Mark has accumulated over the years. The Sound of Magic is playing on his state-of-the-art movie system; an unnecessary waste of money, as Jane had described it since he barely spent time in London, but one of the very few things Mark never hesitated to splurge on. After all, Tara liked watching movies and he enjoyed cuddling her on any normal day.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. He was actually kinda sweet earlier when he threatened to turn me into a toad if I didn’t go there and apologized to you” Tara gaps at that, looking at him with through slit eyes, so Mark is quick to add “which I was going to do anyway without angry brother involved. Well, Jae was already angry and involved, but you know what I mean...” He corrects himself, rambling about his older brother and patting Tara’s shoulder.

Both of them laugh at that, but then Mark sits up slightly and looks down at Tara.

“Speaking of what, Jason told me to look at the last picture in the album, but I forgot to. What’s so important about it?” Marks inquires, an eyebrow going up.

Tara’s eyes widen “You didn’t watch it yet?”

Mark shakes his head a “no”.

“You have to” She rolls eyes at him, moving to pause the movie just before Julie Andrews teaches the Von Trapp children how to “Do Re Mi”. “Now” She orders, pushing Mark off the bed.

Mark groans, but he ultimately gets up and crosses the room. Heis wearing plaid pajama bottoms, a white t-shirt, and rounded glasses. He looks so soft, Tara wonders how she ever believed, even for a second, that he could do anything that hurt her.

“I can’t believe you didn’t see the picture” Tara clicks her tongue when he picks the photo album from the bookshelf. “I thought you went to see me after recalling the good old times”

Mark says nothing, he only shifts the pages as Tara comes behind him and wraps her arms around his chest, tiptoeing to rest her chin on his shoulder. When he reaches the end of the album, he finds himself laughing shakily and blinking rapidly.

“Yo, where did you find this?” He turns to see Tara smiling brightly. “I thought your mother- wow, T. I can’t believe-“ Mark rambles barely making sense. He can’t believe Tara had recovered the first-ever photo they had taken together. Particularly because they had been convinced Tara’s mother had gotten rid of it when she attempted to erase all of Tara’s childhood memories. “I-” Mark’s fingers run over the photo, memories of that day suddenly surfacing in his mind. The picture had been taken on a day trip to the local zoo when they were barely four. Tara is sitting on a bench kicking her legs in the air, dressed in a tomboyish outfit that contrasts with the girly bag hanging from her shoulder. At her left, Mark is holding her hand, standing next to a monkey cage. Under the picture, in neat capital letters in pink ink, Tara had written: “Forever yours”.

“Forever yours” Mark recalls those words. They were part of the confession he’d made on their first trip to the beach together. It was the summer before he moved to Seoul and the first time he saw Tara in 6 months. They had carved a huge heart into the sand and decorated it with shells and pebbles, embossing their initials in the center and promising to love each other for eternity.

Tara says nothing. She waits for Mark to make a move and predictably, seconds later he places his hand on each side of Tara’s arms, rubbing small circles. “I am forever yours” In normal circumstances, Tara would be ready to clown the cheesiness of his words, but she only giggles, wraps her arms around his waist and lets Mark press his lips against her own.

It’s like coming home.

***

#tara #mark #story #tyler #otp #oc

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sergeant-shorty · 5 years

Text

Sweet Emotion

Requested by: anon

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: Fluff, language some angst

Summary: You want him, but you can’t have him. Right?

A/N: I feel like I don’t even need to tell you at this point that I didn’t have time to edit my work. My bad, honestly. Keep sending in your requests!

—————————————————————

This was stupid, probably the stupidest thing you could have ever done to be frank. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, as tears were spilling down your face. He wanted the truth and you gave it to him, hell you’d give him anything he ever wanted if it meant he’d be happy. Now he knew the truth, and you had to deal with losing your best friend and the love of your life, all in one night. How did it come to this?

Your mind drifted back to that morning. You woke up, made your coffee and sat on the couch watching reruns of Friends like you did every Saturday. You were scrolling through your phone when you got a text from your best friend since elementary school. She had asked you to go out with her and her boyfriend that night for drinks and you said yes despite your better judgement.

Over the course of the time that the pair had been together, the three of you hung out quite a bit. But your friend would always somehow disappear during the night and leave the two of you alone. You both became close, and before you knew it you had fallen completely and utterly, head over heels in love with him.

You see there were three major issues with the situation you were. One being that your best friend meant more to you than anything in the world and you couldn’t betray her like that. Two was that he would never feel the same towards you in a million years even if you tried. And finally, your best friend was dating Chris Evans and you would never have a chance with him.

You had gotten ready for the night, making sure you looked amazing, you had full intentions of bringing someone home to forget your sorrows. You grabbed your trusty little black dress and heels and made sure you looked like you had just walked out of a movie. You didn’t want to admit that you secretly dressed up for him, or that you know the last time you worked that dress he didn’t take his eyes off of your body. You knew that you weren’t being a good friend, you tried so desperately to push those thoughts from your mind. It never worked.

The club was packed, sweaty bodies grinding against each other everywhere you turned. There was no room at the bar, but you managed to spot Chris at a booth towards the back. Your friend was ignoring him, staring off at a group of girls dancing by the bar. You scanned her face not recognizing that look. Was she being protective of Chris? Or was it something else?

Chris turned his head and he saw you. He eyes grew three sizes as his eyes trailed your body from your heels, up your legs, passed your breasts and finally to your (y/e/c) eyes. A grin crept across his beautiful features as he stood up to greet you with a warm hug. You worried that your arms had lingered too long as you awkwardly pulled away. Your friend finally took notice of you hugging you tightly, thanking you for coming.

The three of you sat and talked, well mostly you and Chris. You both talked about everything, music, nature, family and work. He was so interesting, you loved the way his eyes lit up when he doted on his family, or the way his nose crinkled when he laughed at one of your cheesy jokes. You looked to your friend who was still intently watching the group of girls. You politely asked if you knew any of them as curiosity got the best of you.

She shook her head chuckling under her breath before she got up excusing herself to the restroom. You and Chris shrugged, your eyes meeting Chris’ face. He watched your friend walk away, he looked almost sad? Why would he be sad? You didn’t question it, instead you continued your conversation.

You were in the middle of passionately talking about your work when you noticed the way Chris was looking at you. His eyes were fixated on you, fully intrigued with what you were saying, but there was something else there. He stopped you mid sentence placing his hand on top of your own, “you are such a beautiful woman, (y/n).” You froze as your cheeks heated up.

You looked down at your drink refusing to make eye contact with him. His thumb lightly brushed across your hand as he smiled at you, “I mean it, you’re amazing in every way.” You jolted out of your seat, panic surging through your body, “I’m sorry I have to pee!” The excuse escaped your mouth as you quickly escaped to the bathroom.

You realized that you and Chris had been talking for a while and you hadn’t seen your friend in a while. As you turned the corner to the bathroom your jaw hit the floor. Your friend was pressed against the wall, one leg wrapped around the slender figure a beautiful woman as their mouths were battling against one another. You covered your mouth in shock realizing it had been one of the girls you’d seen her staring at a short time ago.

You saw your friend notice you, pushing the girl off of her and running towards you grabbing your arm before you could scurry away to Chris, “(Y/n) stop! I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time, I just didn’t know how.” You were angry, not because she had come out to you but because she had the man of your dreams and she didn’t even want him, you had respected her in every way you knew how and this is how she treated him. You looked at her with anger on your face, “I can’t believe you’d do this to Chris. I don’t care if you like women, that’s fine. But that doesn’t give you the right to cheat on Chris!”

Apparently the two of you had taken a while and Chris had gotten worried. Your friends eyes were glued to someone behind you as tears fell from her eyes. You turned to see Chris, shock evident on his face. Your friend looked to you and then Chris. She walked over to him placing a kiss on his cheek sadness coating her voice, “I’m so sorry, both of you.” And she left.

You reached out to Chris placing your hand on his shoulder, “I’m so sorry Chris.” He looked at you, and you could see the anger in his eyes. You knew he wasn’t mad at you, but he was hurting. He pulled away from you, “Why do you even care about me. Go chase your friend.”

You’d had enough, you found confidence within yourself staring up at him you began to yell, “Are you joking?! I’ve been in love with you for months! Seeing you with her and holding her and loving her killed me every goddamn day because I knew I could never have you! And you want to be mad at me because your girlfriend cheated on you?! That isn’t fair and you know it!”

That’s how it all started, tears falling down your cheeks and angry at Chris for your own stupid emotions, and yourself for possibly losing your best friend. You knew you’d have to talk to your friend, you would never hate her for who she was and you hoped that she could forgive you for how you acted. You wanted to support her, she needed to know that, she was your best friend.

You suddenly felt his arms around you, holding you close to his chest, “You love me?” You looked up at him confused, “Yes I do.” You heard him chuckle out of pure relief as a grin crossed his face, “(Y/n) I fell in love with you months ago, but I couldn’t leave her because she didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t want to hurt her. I was stupid, I’m so sorry.”

You chuckled, “I guess we were all kind of stupid.” He nodded the two of you still tangled together, “Chris don’t hate her. She truly didn’t mean it.” He kissed the top of your head gently, “I know, I’ll talk to her. I’m not mad at her.” He leaned down kissing your cheek, “But What I really want to know is if I can kiss you or not?” You grinned, “I think I’d like that.”

He leaned down pressing his lips to yours, it was passionate and needy. The two of you putting every emotion that had been bottled up for months into a beautiful kiss. You both pulled away panting slightly at the loss of air, “(y/n) can I take you to dinner? I want this to be real.” You nodded taking his hand in your own and leading him out of the club, “I thought you’d never ask.”

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banditthewriter · 6 years

Text

Choose Your Fate - Billy Russo - 4

Well here we have another 2.9k words written in less than two hours because I can’t get enough of this fic.

The winner for this part was blackmail.

Also... I’m interested to know what you guys are gonna think about the plot twist!

Click here to vote on the next chapter!

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

***** A romantic comedy played on mute while you sat on the floor next to your coffee table, flipping through the hard copies of some of your files from the law firm you worked at in California. These were your personal files, the ones where you made your notes before court. Every page seemed to be a reminder of the life that you had left behind, but more than that it was a reminder of the life that you had run from to begin with. This started long before you moved to California to travel around the world and fix rich people's problems. This started when you left New York in the first place. Maybe David wouldn't have targeted you before, but he only had the chance because of what happened years before. The more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself feel the guilt and regret. Some days it felt like it was all too much. You needed to finish going through these files to get the information to Frank and Billy so they could send it to Micro. The plan was to use some algorithms that you didn't understand to track who else could be targets by David and whoever he was working with or for. This plan worked at the same rate as trying to track down David in the first place. The day after you met Billy and Frank at Anvil, you had gotten a call from Maria who had wanted you to come to Lisa's play. She had even sent a picture of Lisa performing a monologue with her brother being a very bored stand in for another character. On top of that was Frank Jr demanding not to be called that or Junior anymore, not even from you. No, he wanted to be called Frankie. Maria said that Frank had smiled at that. You told her that having two of them in her life was going to make things confusing, but she had accepted that early on. A noise jolted you from your thoughts. It was your phone but you couldn't remember where you had left it. Digging under the files and sending papers to the floor, you finally found the device that was lit up with a number you didn't recognize. Before, when you were constantly plagued with calls from clients on new phones or from jail or hospitals or rehabs, you would answer your phone without a second thought. Now? For some reason, you hesitated with your finger over the decline. Instead you swiped over the accept button and raised the phone slowly to your ear. "Hello?" There was a moment of silence where you wondered if you had made a mistake. Then you heard his voice. "I was starting to think I had the wrong number," Billy said with a laugh. "It wouldn't surprise me if your brother had given me the wrong number on purpose." "Oh," you said as you felt your body sag, "I don't think he'd go that far. You have a lot of resources at Anvil; he'd have to know that you'd find me eventually." "Yeah, but this is the man I watched pull out the shoe strings of other people's boots just because they said they didn't like Bruce Springsteen." That... sounded like Frank alright. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" "It's a pleasure to hear from me, huh?" His voice was low and teasing, almost sinful, and then he laughed. "Well the last time I saw you, I mentioned blackmail and then Frank said he was almost there so I said we'd talk later. It's later, right?" "Right," you said, drawing the word out slowly. "So, blackmail?" To be honest, it had been on the back of your mind since he had mentioned it. You wondered what you could help him with, what favor you could do for him that he couldn't get from any of the other numerous contacts he obviously had. The intrigue had over powered your common sense but there wasn't any harm in listening. "First things first, this has to be between the two of us. Frank can't know," he clarified at your silence. "I'm not sure I should be keeping secrets from my brother," you said. "I've never lied to him before." "It's not a lie, it's just not offering any information." After a beat where you didn't reply, his voice came back softly, "You don't have to. If you aren't comfortable with it, we'll drop it right now." There was more honesty in his voice than you expected. Although you had heard about Billy for years now, meeting him had been something different. He always seemed to be ready to laugh, always teasing about something or other. The few times you had seen seriousness come through had been when he first greeted you, him showing command with that Baker guy at Anvil, and him telling you that they were going to catch David. He wouldn't push. Despite him asking for help, he wouldn't put you in a position where you had to lie to your brother. You knew that he respected Frank too much for that. "It'll stay with us," you said sincerely. You heard him sigh and wondered what had made him so nervous about you agreeing to that. "I just think that your brother wouldn't appreciate me telling you this. It's not something he's proud of; neither of us are proud of it. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that I might have an answer to it." "I'm going to need context clues here Billy," you said, hoping the smile you were wearing covered the uncertainty in your voice. Billy explained in an even voice about being involved in some things overseas. Their last mission before they both left the Marines was more black ops than military; run by the CIA and answerable only to one man named Agent Orange. He explained that they were told to do things that they didn't agree with, but that they did because it was their job. "We knew it was going down hill and both of us agreed to get out. Frank had Maria and the kids and I was just tired of the bullshit rolling down on us." Here he got a quiet and you had to call his name to make sure he was still there. "The thing you may not know about me is that I'm selfish. I put myself first more often than not and I got tangled up with some things while we were over there." There was a cold feeling growing in the pit of your stomach as he talked about drugs and weapons, explaining how they were smuggled out to the benefit of the very man that was turning them into a kill squad. "The money was good," he said, his voice emotionless. "The money was good and the promises of building something were too tempting." This time when silence fell, you stayed quiet. You were trying to wrap this around what you knew about Billy, about Frank, and you could barely grasp it. "Did Frank..." "He wasn't involved," Billy said seriously, firmly. "He didn't know about it. That's the thing; I did all of this on my own because I knew he wouldn't get involved. He's too good for this shit and I was okay with that. He was a lifer, you know, was gonna stick through the military until it was done with him, not the other way around. Him stepping out after this shit? I didn't expect that. He was supposed to just go back to Force, not leave completely." His voice was winding up as he spoke, the mark of someone feeling anxious. "Okay," you said quickly, cutting in so to keep control of the situation. "Okay, so you were involved with Agent Orange and making profit off of it. You and Frank decide to leave the Marines because of disillusionment among other things. So what now? Where does blackmail come in?" "When we got stateside, I told Agent Orange I was done. Once I realized that Frank was out and was going to be around, that I was going to get the chance to step up and be a human again? I cut the ties that I could. I started Anvil with the money I'd saved while involved, used the connections I had gotten through him, and it was all going legit. I built that company just like I built myself; from the ground up." Billy's voice was shaking with emotion and you were stunned silent. This was a side of him you never expected. You thought about what he was telling you and realized that you were pretty sure you knew where this was going. "What happened Billy?" You needed to hear him say it. "Turns out Agent Orange has a problem with me leaving him high and dry like I did. He let me know that I'm going to go back to helping him, letting him use Anvil as his very own play thing. Told me that if I refused, he'd release all of the proof of what we did overseas." That... was not really what you were expecting. "You only did what you were command. That would be worse for command than it would for you, right?" "Doesn't work like that in this situation sweetheart," Billy said, his tone somewhere between gentle and scolding, the term of endearment slipping out without hesitation. "This was a black group; disavowing any connection is in the playbook. There's no proof that we were supposed to be doing anything other than being glorified hall monitors all while we are traveling around and black bagging locals and torturing them for information they didn't have." Jesus. You knew it wouldn't be pretty, the way Billy had been painting things, but hearing it like that made your stomach turn. The thought of your Billy doing that stuff, of your brother doing it... "Okay, so it would still be bad. I don't want to think about the kind of proof he has of your involvement." That made you pause. "You said we. He threatened to reveal Frank too, didn't he?" There was only the sound of his breath for a moment and you closed your eyes against the sound. "He's the only family I have," Billy said quietly. And then louder with more strength, "I'm not going to let this touch him Y/N. I have plans in place in case it were to fall on me, but I can't keep it from getting on him. Not by myself. Which brings us to that favor I asked of you." "Which is?" "One of the things that Micro pulled on you was that you worked with a man named Jerome Davidson here in the city before you moved to California. He was the head of a high tech security firm called Steele, right?" You had frozen at the name and had to take a deep breath before you could speak. "Yeah, I represented Steele in a bogus civil suit and we stayed in touch for a while." Actually the two of you dated for a while, but you weren't about to go into that just yet. "What does that have to do with this?" You were thinking about all the ways a high tech security firm could help with Billy's problem, but his response still shocked you. "He provides security for Agent Orange directly, including his home. His servers aren't accessible unless you're in his office." It still hadn't hit you yet, but Billy was quick to let you in on the punchline, his voice dry and slightly amused. "I need you to go to his office so that I can hack into his databases and find out where Agent Orange lives so that I can kill him before he reveals your brother and I as government paid assassins." Not even in your wildest dreams could you have come up with that sentence. "Jesus Christ, Billy, way to bury the lead there." You rubbed your forehead as you felt a headache building. "This is a lot to throw at a girl who is scared out of her wits and running from some shady figures." "I know," he said, his voice reverting back to that softness that made you melt just a bit. "I wouldn't ask if I had any other options. I thought about telling Curtis, maybe even telling Micro the full thing, but it still wouldn't get us into the office." And he needed in the office to be able to access the information on Agent Orange. He'd probably have to have Micro's help anyways, unless he had another hacker on payroll. The thought of Curtis going through it didn't have much merit either. "Curtis couldn't afford Steele," you mumbled as you thought it through. "Jerome might do some pro bono work because he supports veterans, but that wouldn't get him in the office." "At least you're thinking about it. Honestly I expected you to hang up on me by now." "Really? You think I scare that easily?" "No, but come on," he said with a laugh, "I just told you what your brother and I were involved in overseas and that it's followed us home and who knows what Agent Orange is capable of doing with that information and that I wanted to kill him to keep that information from getting out. You gonna tell me that doesn't make you wanna run?" You thought about all of the reasons you've run before, thought about fear and anger, the guilt and regret eating away at your mind every day. "I'm not going anywhere Billy. And if I can help, I want to." You could almost imagine his smile when he spoke next. "I'm glad to hear that." ------ The diner was quiet, a few people at the counter. You picked a booth a little ways from the door, your back against the wall. Every time the bell dinged in the twenty minutes you had been there, you looked up and waited. None of the newcomers were the person you were waiting for. Your phone was on the table with no new notifications. The urge to check again in case you somehow missed one came over you, but the woman that poured you some coffee was already watching you warily and you weren't about to give her a reason to be suspicious. Finally the bell rang and you recognized the person that was coming your way. A sigh of relief left your lips even as you stood up and called out. "Matt, I'm over here." The lawyer turned towards your voice, his white cane tapping out as he made his way towards you. You met him half way, grabbing his arm gently and directing him towards your booth. "Thanks," he said with a twitch of his lips, joining you at the table. He folded up his cane, tilting his head as he turned to face you. "Been a long time Y/N." "I've only been back for a few weeks," you said honestly. The waitress came back but all Matt ordered was a coffee. After she poured it, you leaned forward to speak to him. "I don't know that I ever thanked you for what you did." "You didn't," he said with a smile, shaking his head, "and you'll never have to thank me for that." You nodded, spinning your coffee cup around a few times as you tried to put your thoughts in cohesive order. When you had asked him to join you, you hadn't gotten far into the plan before he accepted. The time where you should have been planning had been taken up with nerves. "You don't have to be nervous around me," he said as he tilted his head, correctly gauging your accelerated heart rate. "Why don't you start with why you invited me here?" "That might require making this coffee Irish," you joked. He laughed and you took a deep breath. "You know that thing you said I don't have to thank you for? I might need your help with that again." "Y/N," he said softly, cautiously. "I know, but I don't have any choice right now. I can't explain yet, but I have to do something and if I do it... let's just say, history might repeat itself." Matt reached out, finding your hand without problem. He wrapped his bruised fingers around yours, squeezing gently. "Whatever you need, I'm there." You closed your eyes and let out a breath. "Coming up soon I'm going to have to meet up with Jerome Davidson to help someone out with something. In case it goes wrong, I was hoping you could be nearby." Matt's mouth was set in a frown and you could see him struggling, but he had given his word. And if there was one thing you knew about Matt, it was that he wasn't going to say no once he had already said yes. "I'll be there." You squeezed his hand back, careful of the bruises that looked relatively fresh. This would set your mind at ease, even if you couldn't explain it to Billy. Or Frank. The irony of it all was that you thought that you'd be safer when you came back to New York. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. X A post for voting will be up right after this. X

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insane-control-room · 5 years

Text

The Concept, Chapter Three

Lobotomy

To lose a section of one’s brain via an outdated and inhumane, and clearly murderous surgery for mental illnesses.

Several warnings, dear reader; depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, murder, death, loss of limbs, blood, graphic description of a corpse, drowning, child loss, another attempted rape, and painful words.

Chapter One - Chapter two

He could not hold the ink vial steady.

Jittery, oh so shaky. His hands shook and trembled, and he constantly had to adjust his grip on the pen as he drew the cartoons. He tried not to scream. Every moment, every day, he tried to hold back the aching cry in his chest, clawing at his lungs.

He tried for so hard for so long, and he was so tired… so so tired… he could sleep forever… and ever… and never wake up….

He wanted to see Aramis again… he wanted to see his father again… he wanted to join them, wherever they were, he wanted to be with his family, his family that was torn away from him so quickly, so young… he was so young, and he felt so old, so tired, his bones creaking, his muscles failing, his head aching, his hands stiff and shaky, everything so ruinous and decimated. So corrupted, so disgusting.

What a waste of space.

Johan stayed as far away from the binary computer as possible, hiding in the corner of his bed as the bright, toxic, addictive green beckoned him, he hating every time he gave in to the temptation, giggling the night away as numerical dopamine filled his brain and limbs.

He would never amount to anything, only ones and zeros.

Henry filled his dreams, his, unreal, ghostlike, lips pressed to his, and Joey regretted ever allowing him to kiss him, now trapped by this reminder that they could never be together.

He drank often, now not only using the invisible drug but also the alcohol to drain away his emotions. Bertrum tried to get him to talk, Shawn tried to cheer him up (he accidentally snapped at the Irishman, guilt flooding his system, apologizing a day later), Susie offered to take him to a nice coffee shop (when was the last time he left the studio?), Grant asked if he wanted help with his math, everyone spoke quietly about him behind his back, discussing if anyone should go out and find Henry and get him to visit them, as Joey was clearly losing his grip on reality, if he ever even had one.

He was lost, confused, and more alone than ever, the loneliness of being surrounded by people you do not dare tell your problems to.

So many names flooded the desk with the computer on it, the ink machine always hungry for more souls to chip away at.

Black, black ink, swallowing him up, drowning him.

He drowned himself in his work, creating more formulas on his computer to help him do more work in less time, like the insomnia code, the two times speed code, all little bits and pieces to create the toons faster.

He hated Alice Angel.

Not really.

Hatred is when one destests something, as an eye color or a sickness, hatred is a severe aversion to something, as to the sight of blood or the mentioning of higher beings, hatred is a passionate desire to see something utterly removed, like competition or step siblings.

He did not hate Alice Angel. He felt melancholic toward her, feeling saddened and hurt.

She did nothing wrong, afterall, she could do nothing aside from what she was made to do.

It hurt to draw her.

Such a lovely character, such flow, such grace, so beautiful. Everything Henry made was so beautiful, so wonderful, such a stunning creation.

Johan knew he was losing touch with reality.

He put on a bigger and better act.

Be Joey Drew.

Be the man that would be better than you in every possible way.

Be confident, be intelligent, be suave, be smart, be cunning, and smile!

Smile.

Keep grinning, even though your smile is the most disgusting thing to darken the earth, such a pitiful and stretched smile.

Pathetic. Useless, unnecessary piece of scrapable coding.

The abuse he hissed within his own mind kept him smiling.

At least someone could tell how much of a burden he was.

Even if it was just himself.

People noticed his change in attitude, but quickly learned not to mention it.

A quiet, “Really now?” seemed more dangerous than any threat.

Were there not more workers here before?

Were there?

No one remembered that there were more workers.

Joey did not erase them.

He did not.

Please….

He did not.

He stared at the computer and the list of fired workers, fired for incompetence and lack of productivity, and he was terrified that he would delete them.

He did not want to, and he forced himself back from the thought of ever doing it.

Never. He could not give in to the addiction.

Then he realized what happened.

He no longer needed the computer to erase someone, he found that out much to his horror and abhorrence. He had been watching a worker, after doing nothing for a week, getting drunk in the public room. Johan was about to go over and fire, him, wishing to delete him instead, but not wanting to fall to the temptation, when the man was gone. Erased.

Without the computer.

Johan ran to his room, hiding from himself, shaking with disgust and terror.

He vomited. Blood, ink, and numbers spilled from his insides.

What had he done to himself?

What was he?

He shakily grabbed a knife, preparing to dig into his skin to find out what sort of demon was hiding in the body of a human, but threw away the knife as soon as the blade reached his skin.

It embedded with a crack in his mirror.

He stared at his reflection, nonchalantly noting that the knife was directly on his throat, cutting his head from his body.

It made him giggle.

Oh, what fun!

Lose one’s head?!

Fun! Magical, airy, freeing!

His giggle turned into laughter, and the laughter erupted into howls, the howls into sobs.

He dropped his head between his knees as he cried.

He felt the buzz of the drug being slipped into his system, and he jolted up violently, stumbling to the computer, trying to stop himself. He collapsed in front of the glowing device, removing the narcotic from his body.

He grounded himself.

He tangled his hair in his hands, screaming, screaming louder than he ever had, louder than when his father and later his son were killed, putting all his pain and frustrations into releasing through his mouth, screaming to say that yes, he was here, yes, he was hurting, yes, he needed help, god, please, help him! Someone, anyone, for the love of anything good, help him!

Help!

Please… help…

H-help….

Hel-

A knock on his door.

He leapt to his feet.

Who the hell?

“Mista Drew?” Wallace, Wally Franks, asked, his voice muffled and uneasy. “Are ya alright?”

Joey stumbled to the door, dropping the facade, pulling it open and miserably collapsing onto the janitor.

“Oof!” Wally staggered under his height, not his weight, as the man hardly weighed a feather, and stood, stunned, as Joey shook on him. “Well, uh… alright? You okay? Something happen?”

“Wally, you’re such a good boy,” Joey sobbed, his mind registering the fact the man he was crying on was older than him by a year. But he felt so old… so so old… so tired…. “You’re always positive, you always make everyone around so happy, especially your boyfriends, and it’s so wonderful, you’re such a good person….”

“Ya not so bad either, Mista Drew,” Wally questioningly offered, awkwardly patting his boss’ back. Joey laughed a moment before breaking down into another wave of sobs.

“Oh, shit, what are the comfort words,” Wally muttered, scrambling in his brain to look for the right thing to say. “There there?”

Another strangled laugh escaped Johan.

Wally’s eyes wandered into Johan’s apartment, and he gasped.

“Your place is a mess!”

“S’not that bad,” Joey wheezed, gripping the darker man tightly. Wally shoved him carefully back into his home, settling Joey on the couch. Joey grabbed his wrist, looking at him with an almost intoxicated expression, breathing hard. “Please… please don’t leave me alone….”

Wally pulled his hand away, eyeing the cane on the floor. He set it beside the chicano, and got to tidying the room. He was startled at the lack of food in the fridge, he was uneasy at the amount of bottles lining the shelves, but worst of all were the sticky notes of just ones and zeros. The numbers clearly meant something to Drew, whose head was currently in his hands as he trembled with silent sobs.

The room was clean after an hour. Joey sat him down, and mumbled a, “Wait here.”

He came out of his room with two hundred dollars, giving them to Wally.

“Thank you,” he quietly told the janitor, and Wally’s chest constricted as he saw the absolute sincerity in Joey’s eyes. “For everything. You’re a great worker, and such a nice person. All my wishes for you are for the best.”

“Mista Drew, ya don’t need to gi-”

Joey cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t be silly, Wally,” he huffed with a light smile. He looked so tired. “Keep the money. I don’t have anything to spend it on, anyways.”

Wally reluctantly pocketed the bills.

He tipped his cap and walked out.

“I’m outta here,” he said, shrugging and smiling, “See ya tomorrow, Mista Drew.”

Johan came to wish he never did.

The next day started normal enough, with disgusting coffee (nothing he put in it seemed to make it taste any better, so he went to his computer with a huff and reset his energy from twenty five to one hundred percent), going down to his office, and reviewing the meetings he had planned for the day.

He met with the doctor, who frowned and informed him that he lost more weight and his polio was worsening. Joey had nothing to say in response, merely hanging his head in shame at such a pathetic body. The doctor smiled and tapped him, telling him to keep his chin up.

He said he would try.

He was informed of a mecha leak in the spider ride, followed by an ink spill in the same location, and how they would have to wait a day for the ink and oil to seperate to drain it.

He had another two meetings before the one he dreaded approached.

Jonathan Derekson.

Johnny the organist.

He tried animating to calm his nerves, tried drinking some tea, tried to breathe, but nervousness clouded all his actions. He was terrified. So he straightened his jacket, adjusted his pin, and sat down, stopping his pacing.

Johnny appeared in the doorway, leaning in it. Joey’s vision blurred, his memories meshing with the present.

“Hello, Mr. Drew,” Johnny smiled, looking down at the tall man seated and pale in his office chair. “My concerns are on the organ. So if you please, I’ll join you upstairs as you are bound to use the…” his eyes landed on Joey’s cane, and his smirk grew as Joey flushed, “elevator. I’ll take the stairs.”

“Alright.” Johan forced his voice to be clear and not meek. Not unassertive. He had to be strong, no matter how much he wanted to lash out and avoid this man. He made his way out the door, waiting for Johnny to leave first. “I’ll meet you there.”

He got up achingly, pushing himself up with his cane. So slowly, little steps, his eyes drifting shut with exhaustion. How did he run out of energy so quickly? Why was he so tired? So… very… tired….

“Joey, wake up,” a hand on his arm shook him out of his stupor. Grant was gazing at him with worry. Not concern, but worry. He was already on the elevator, when had that happened? “Joey, are you alright? You look… well, putting it frankly, really unhealthy. Are you sick or something?”

Grant reached up to feel the sides of his neck, checking for a fever. Nothing.

Johan looked at him blearily.

“I’m okay, just tired,” Joey sighed, and smiled (SMILE SMILE SMILE) at Grant. “I’ll see you in a few hours Mr. Cohen. As a quick go over, things are well, I assume?”

“Yes, Mr. Drew,” Grant smiled back and nodded. His smile was so much nicer, so much more real, so much purer and cleaner than Joey’s could ever be. “Far better than if anyone else ran this business. I’m honestly shocked by how much you alone make a week! Two animations for each one of the animators’, and running this whole place on top of it! It’s rather unbelievable.”

“Anything can happen with a little belief,” Joey remarked, forcing his smile wider. Just keep believing it will all be over soon. Grant nodded. Joey wanted to ask him for help, for comfort, for something, anything to ground him. Instead, he got off the elevator, and said, “See you soon.”

He drummed his knees, his useless knees, as he waited for Johnny in the organ room.

Being slammed to the wall, a hand on his che-

Stop.

Choking on something that absolutely should not be in his mo-

STOP.

Chuckles and grunts and wood in his hands, gripping his pants in silent ple-

S T O P.

His hands slammed on the organ’s keys, panting heavily as he leaned over it, his vision pulsing. Breathe. Breathe. It was over. It would not happen again.

It would not.

There was nothing to worry about.

Nothing. At. All.

He looked at the stark white keys against his black hands.

He was not a mexican of a proper, royal, spanish descent.

No.

He always was from the lower class, his ancestors being whatever slaves were left of Mayans, one of his predecessors was a wife to a conquistador, who fell in love with her as they established an encomienda. The wars and fights!

He hated them.

He set his fingers to the keys.

His father moved them to Night Vale when Johan was two, and he loved it. The town was so warm and inviting, even though quite frightening at first.

He loved Night Vale, and hated, absolutely detested, when he had to leave.

He was seventeen.

His son was killed in his arms not two months before.

He had to get out.

He had to.

Running away was so easy. He only got shot once!

The scar on his arm from it hardly bothered him anymore, most of the bullet fragments dissolved by the toxic ink flowing in his system.

It was picking himself up that was difficult.

Other people would not have such difficulty.

Something was so wrong with him.

So very wrong.

Wrong can mean so many wonderful things! Like something inside out, like a skin that did not fit, blistering and infectious. It can also define something avvering from the truth, a liar, a facade, a faker. Being improper, out of the norm, an outlier, queer, those are all wrong things. Wrong is when one is out of order, a mess, broken down, falling apart, lost. When your morals are turned on their head. When you no longer can control yourself. That is wrong.

Johan knew he was so wrong.

Such a blight.

A curse. A ruin. Broken. Queer. Wrong. Wrong wrong wro-

An off key note drew him back to the right reality, not the one in his mangled and twisted brain.

He swallowed, replacing his long, bony, macilent hands on the keys.

He trembled.

He needed help.

He needed someone, anyone, to help him.

He was terrified to ask.

He let out a sob.

“Let me introduce you to the voices in my head….”

He did not even realize he was singing.

He could not stop.

Tears splashed from his eyes.

He yelled the verses that just came to him, lines he was certain would be written in the future.

He sobbed, hoping someone would hear him as he played and sang.

“So won't you save me from myself right now,” he asked the universes, hoping one of them would have one being that could hear his cry, how wrong he knew he was, hoping something could fix him, repair his coding, make him feel better, not feel like he was in someone else’s spot. “'Cause I feel like someone else, somehow….”

His plea died down as the last key faded.

His shoulders shook, so lost, so conflicted, hurting and aching internally and externally, mentally and physically.

Arms wrapped over his shoulders.

“It’s alright, Mr. Drew,” Johnny hummed in his ear, his voice sending horror and pain shooting through his body. Please, never call him that again, that was not who he was. Please, leave him alone, there were only two people that he would rather not have around more than Johnny. Johnny slipped on the piano bench behind him, his legs on either side of Johan’s hips. His hand pressed onto Johan’s mouth. No no no not again, please…. Johan’s vision doubled over, Johnny was in front of him but he felt him behind him, and reality was phasing into memory and memory was smudging into reality, and he could not tell which was which. He suddenly felt like a wronged animal. He had to get away. He had to escape. He jolted in an attempt, but his legs gave out. Damn polio! Damn it, damn it, damn him! Johnny chuckled, flipping their positions, pressing Joey to the piano bench. Joey whimpered, unable to fight back or scream. “Come on, it’s not like you didn’t enjoy last time.”

Johan saw red, yellow error signs swarming everything.

“I DO NOT WANT THIS!” he screamed, his voice shaking the very core of the studio. Johnny looked shocked, then angered, but Joey was too far lost, to fed up, too fatigued and ill. He tried to escape again, but Johnny was so much stronger and held him down with an enraged ease, so all Johan could do was scream. “I DID NOT ENJOY WHAT YOU DID TO ME! YOU FORCED ME TO MY KNEES, YOU MADE ME GIVE YOU WHAT YOU WANTED, I DID NOT WANT IT! I DID NOT LIKE IT! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME! GET OFF O-”

Johnny’s hand pushed back onto his mouth. He cried out against it, writhing and struggling.

“I’ll make you like it, this time,” Johnny snarled with a feral grin, his free hand undoing Johan’s belt, making him scream again, muffled once more. Johnny’s hand felt him up, smirking at Joey’s discomfort and clearly hated unwilling pleasure as he struggled beneath him, tears blazing out of his eyes. “You can let yourself enjoy it, or I’ll force you.”

Johan struggled against him, a banging barely audible on the door.

He tried to call for help, but Johnny hit him, grabbing him by his lapel and slamming him onto the piano bench repeatedly, knocking the wind out of him, making him gasp and writhe. Johnny covered his mouth again, hooking a hand into his pants and trying to pull them down.

Johan saw hate.

Joey forced Johnny’s hand off his mouth, punching him as hard as he could.

“Get….” he felt pain and anger and hate hate hate hate hate hate HATE welling up within him, and power burst out of every pore, “OFF!”

There was a flashing, bright light, a miniature atomic bomb, rattling the walls of every building in the city. Johan could feel the ink pulsing out of him, he could feel his code rearranging and snapping into place, he could feel hate and PAIN.

He knew it was his own pain.

It was all wrong.

He whited out.

When he came too, there was the taste of blood on his lips. It was not his blood.

He dizzily got up, his ears ringing.

He saw the feet dangling in his pulsing vision.

Oh no… oh no no no….

He looked up.

Johnny’s body dangled before him.

Johnny was pressed into the organ, nearly flattened to it, his hands splayed with his fingers hanging limply in the skin, the joints dislocated, the metal of the piping warping around each visceral limb, as though an explosion forced him into the essence of the organ. His skull was crushed, his eyes forced out of and swaying from their sockets, his jaw slack and unhinged, his tongue slack and dripping red blood and clear saliva, a dark taunting pink. His blood splayed everywhere, his blood all over Joey, his black suit stained maroon. His blood was dripping in his hair and staining on his glasses, on his once white pants, and Joey? He turned over and retched. There was nothing in his system but ink and numbers mixed with acid, and blood.

Blood, the one liquid he hated most.

He vomited again, tears dripping onto the floor, coupling with the sound of Johnny’s blood doing the same.

He could hear pounding on the door through the ringing in his ears.

“Joey! Open this door! Johnny! Open up!” Jack’s voice barked, but he sounded so far away, like he was underwater. “Damnit, someone find Wally! Or his keys, at least!”

“Help,” Johan choked out. Silence suddenly took over the bable outside. “Help me… help… oh help… please… oh god, what did I do… help….”

“Joey, open the door,” Jack demanded, but in a softer tone. A strangled noise escaped the artist. Jack huffed in exasperation. “I’m getting Sammy.”

Johan pushed himself up, leaning against the wall, forcing himself not to look at Johnny’s mangled corpse.

He inched his way to the door.

“Joey, open the door,” Sammy’s soothing voice asked. “It’s just me.”

Johan gripped the handle.

“Sammy?” he whimpered, his voice cracking and high. A low hum of acknowledgement followed. “Please don’t get mad.”

“I won’t.”

Johan shut his eyes as tight as he could, pulling open the door, his head lowered in shame.

“What did you do?” Sammy gently asked him, Joey standing directly in front of the scene, blocking it from view. The blood glistened on his suit, and Sammy, suddenly sensing the urgency and (unfortunately, he did not notice) the delicacy of the situation, looked over Johan. His eyes widened as he beheld the gore on his employer’s clothing, how disheveled the articles were on his body from the molestation, and his head snapped up to look him in the eye, seeing the tears and the distress he was in. “What did you do, Joey?”

“I… I didn’t want to,” Johan whispered, and stepped back, moving to allow Sammy to see. Agonizing pain, guilt, anger, and loss drowned him as he tried to explain. “He… he was… he wanted… I couldn’t stop him… he wouldn’t get off… I… I….”

“What the goddamn fuck,” Sammy breathed, feeling disgust well within him. A fear of the unnatural joined it, and he spun to face Johan, gesturing at Johnny’s limp form. “What did you do?! What the fuck?! You murdered him, but how the hell?! What did you do?!”

“I-I don’t know, I’m sorry!” Joey stuttered, hunching over and gripping his head as it threatened to split. “I… he was… I couldn’t let him do it again, Sammy, I! He… ARGH! I don’t! KNOW! Please, please don’t tell anyone what he was going to do….”

“Everyone knows, Joey,” he informed him calmly. Joey stared at him in horror. Sammy pointed at the ‘Recording’ sign. The bright yellow ‘ON’ was lit up, making Johan’s stomach turn. “Everyone heard what was happening.”

“Sammy, please, then help me cover this up,” he begged. Sammy shook his head. “Then keep people away while I deal with it!”

“Joey… you need some help.” Sammy firmly stated, taking his wrist. Joey yanked it away violently, his eyes wide and fearful. “Come on. I’m turning you in to professionals.”

“Sammy, no!” Joey gasped, trying not to choke on his tears. Sammy scowled and took his wrist again, more staunchly. Johan, yanked on it as the music director began pulling him out of the hall, attempting to force him to the infirmary. “Don’t you know what they would do to me!? Sammy, haven’t you heard of how awful those places are?!”

“You need to go.” Sammy insisted, turning to him with a blank expression. Johan’s heart shattered again as he took in his mask. “You’ve gone too far.”

“I won’t even make it to the institutions… Sammy, they’ll take me to court,” he whimpered, even as Sammy dragged him further, no longer planning on the infirmary, but heading straight to the police. Allison and Susie stared at the two men, Thomas joining the women, exchanging a look, then the three of them collectively making their way to the pair. “Then they’ll kill me. I’ve got a low intelligence, I’m mexican, and I’m gay, Sammy, I’ve murdered someone in self defense, but they’ll kill me….”

“Take it as a mercy, then.”

Johan snapped, feeling… feeling… feeling….

He saw the coding flash before his eyes.

Just numbers.

Move some from here to there.

Do it.

Do it, everything will be better.

Everything will be okay.

You have no choice, move the numbers, NOW.

Johan gasped as reality sank back in. His hand was on Sammy’s shoulder, and the musician….

Sammy dropped to his knees, his jaw hanging open, and his eyes wide and dull.

Suddenly, shrilly, he shrieked, his hands tugging on his hair.

“BETRAYED! ABANDONED!” he shouted, anger and hurt simmering out of his enraged and distraught voice. “LEFT TO SUFFER, LED TO SLAUGHTER!”

Johan stared at the man he turned insane. He did this. He backed up as Sammy continued his screams of loss and forsakenness.

This was how Johan was feeling.

Sammy was merely out putting the data.

A hand slammed Johan’s head against the wall.

Thomas glared at him when the sparks died down.

“What the hell did you do, Drew?!” he snapped, gesturing an arm at Sammy. “What is this black magic bullshit!?”

“Hk… hhh….” was all Johan managed to choke out, tears and blood clotting his throat. Thomas smacked him again, letting him slide down the wall, and stormed over to Allison, taking his best friend by her arm. Sadness filled Johan at the sight of Susie reaching to her beloved, everything sounding so far away as his head spun from it’s abuse. Thomas was tearing them apart… stop. Stop! “Tom… you’re hurting th’m… stop….”

Thomas rushed at him, anger blazing in his eyes.

The kick landed on Johan’s skull before he could even register he was near.

Blood and numbers splattered out of his lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare start,” Thomas hissed as he coughed and wheezed. “I’ll be back for Sammy and Wally.”

Johan only was aware of the stress levels in the room rising higher and higher, Susie and Allison gesturing toward him in distress, Thomas adamantly shaking his head, and he grasped Allison’s wrist again, pulling her away.

Johan saw the stress rise.

He was hurting them.

Tom was hurting them.

All they wanted was to be together.

“St’p,” he slurred again. Thomas did not listen, and Johan felt anger build up in him. He pushed himself up to stand against the wall. He could only hear Allison and Susie’s upset voices. “Stop!”

There was another flash of all the numbers. Without thinking, Johan pushed the glowing ones and zeros into the blinking slot, shoving back the menacing, dripping ones, the ones that reminded him all too much of a fallen angel.

Another bang.

Allison was no longer in Thomas’ grip, as he slammed back into the wall, shattering something.

She looked at her hands.

With her, at the same time, Susie looked at hers.

There were only two hands.

The amalgamated being shrieked, stumbling back over a chair, slumping into in a faint.

Johan stared.

“Heh… haha… hehehehehesssssssskkk….”

What the hell was that?

“Ha! Hahaha! Heh, hehehe-HK!”

Johan slapped a hand to his mouth.

He shook with silenced laughter.

Thomas peeled himself off the ground. A shattered halo hovered above his head, holes cut into his hands, nubs of horns on his head. A fallen angel.

He charged at Johan with a cry of anger.

Johan no longer was where he stood, standing by the fuse.

Thomas whipped around to face him, dashing toward him, Johan vanishing one moment before impact, Thomas’ eyes widening as he realized the grave mistake he had made, skidding in an attempt to stop himself from slamming down the steps. He crashed into the door at the bottom.

Johan gripped the rail to the projection booth, panting heavily, breathing harder when he realized he did not feel the air entering his system, in fact, he choked on it, doubling over and coughing on the air.

He choked on a foreign object around his neck, dragging him back and up the stairs.

He was pushed down to the floor of the projection booth, Jack’s angered visage entering his vision, and Johan blearily realized the man was using his hat to force the air out of him. One of his hands moved to pin Johan’s wrists above his head, the other going and gripping his hair as the younger man thrashed to escape.

“Enough, Mr. Drew.” Norman’s voice thudded against his head, his large hands landing firmly on his throat. “We’re putting you down.”

If Johan had access to his windpipe, he would have laughed.

Putting down.

Like an animal.

Johan kicked and writhed to get out of the two enraged older mens’ grasps, but he could not, their combined strength out weighing his futile and weakened physical state. When was the last time he ate something? Air. Focus on air. Blackness swirled over his vision, pulsing and inky.

More glowing numbers.

He resisted the urge to use them, fearing the result, knowing only more pain and anger will follow the action.

Do not. Give in.

Can not give in.

Need air.

No no no.

Do not….

Please, no….

A rending sound filled the air as his hands moved of their own accord, moving the object on his right and swapping it with the one outlined in red before him.

He gasped in air, the pressure gone.

“Oh my god! Norman!”

Johan coughed and looked up, his blood freezing in his veins.

The projectionist’s head was now the very thing he dedicated his life to, his body slumping onto Johan’s, blood spurting where the projector met his neck. Joey scrambled back onto Jack, knowing full well he was moving out of danger back into it, but he needed to get away from the corpse. A dripping caught their attention, blood slowly seeping down the wall of the booth. Johan and Jack slowly both turned to look up.

Norman’s head, with wide, empty eyes, a clenched jaw, and look of shock, sat where the projector had been. His blood drained from his decapitated head, ever so slowly.

Jack stared for a moment before letting out an uncharacteristic wordless scream, having lost his two closest friends, one to insanity and the other to whatever madness this was, grabbing Johan by his collar, lifting him and slamming him down over the rail to the orchestra below. Johan let out a strangled sob, his hands scrambling against Jack’s chest in an attempt to stop him. Johan found no opening for mercy, and so, he pulled them both over the banister, the momentum pushing them apart. Johan landed on the piano, Jack on the floor. Without thinking, the taller man stumbled up and away, Jack getting up with a shout of anger. A shadow appeared over his head. Everyone in the room looked up.

And watched the piano fall.

The sound it made almost was funny, the keys all hitting at once with a dull thud, and the sound of multiple bones being snapped and crushed discordant beneath the tones.

All the musicians in the room at once turned to face the giggling Johan.

Why was he giggling, he had not even used the drug that kept him numb, this should not be funny, nothing in this situation was funny!

All of them charged, knowing this, this thing needed to be removed as quickly and in any manner possible.

Johan felt… lost, alone, cold, comfortless, searching for something.

Thus the first wave of searchers were borne of ink and pain.

He ran out of the orchestra room, feeling nauseated and sickening.

Thomas and Sammy were arguing, the once blonde director now with ink black, dripping hair. Wally stood between his two lovers, trying to appease them, but the man turned angel was hearing none of it.

Johan watched as the wrench came crashing down on the young janitor’s arm.

He slipped away, covering his ears and trying to blot out the cries of pain and torturous emotion ripping throughout the three.

Poor Wally.

He always was a good boy.

The lost ones began appearing as he sprinted away from the music department, the other floors becoming unstable and corrupted, ink leaking from walls as he passed, walls and floors ruined.

A hand shot out from a doorway, stopping him by his mouth, dragging him into the toy department. A pale Irish face looked at him with disdain, Shawn’s entire department behind him.

“Fuck ‘im up!” Shawn roared, and Johan lost count of how many times he had been kicked, struck, smacked, slammed, punched, hit, and otherwise beaten. He was shocked none of his bones had broken. He was on the floor, his arm twisted murderously behind him, leaving him gasping and shaking. A hissing Irish voice filled is ears. “Say it.”

“Say what?” he wheezed. His head was smacked to the floor.

“Say yer sorry, ye arse!”

“I’m sorry! I am! I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what is happening, I, I… I’m sorry….”

The man shook with sobs, every motion bringing more pain.

“I don’t believe ye.”

“Please, Shawn, I swear, I don’t know how to control this!”

“‘Nuff o’ it.” Shawn barked, making Johan cry out as he pushed his arm up higher.

Bang.

There no longer was a pressure on Johan’s back, and he scrambled away, crashing into a shelf, Bendy plushies collapsing over him. He shrieked and clammored away, so sick of smiles.

An entire room of lost ones, searchers, and bloated ones looked at and regarded him solemnly.

He backed out, running, and running, until his useless, lame, pathetic, weak legs sent him sprawling down to the ground.

He curled up and cried.

He wanted to cry, at least.

He wanted to feel something, anything.

Nothing.

He stared at his hands numbly.

He knew where he could find alcohol. Shawn had alcohol. But there was no way in hell that he would go back into that room.

Grant also always had some form of it in his desk.

Joey pushed himself up, slowly stumbling down more, shaky steps going down, down, down….

He paused by the accountant’s door, knocking in case he was within.

The bottle greeted him, smashing over his head.

Wrong shoes wrong shoes no no no no no no he was not gay please do not smash the bottle over his head again, please no, you were supposed to be a good person not a beast, stop st-

The insanity transferred to Grant.

Joey slammed shut the door as cackles and howls and garbled words slipped out.

“What… what would HE SAY?! WHAT WOULD HE SAY?!”

Joey vomited again.

His own words echoed back to him for the third time that day.

He crawled to the lift.

Lacie greeted him on the lower floors, she and all the workers of Bendy Land.

This time, Johan was not just surprised none of his bones were broken, he was shocked.

The pain was unbearable, he felt his limbs beaten and torn at, he felt his clothes rip and he felt his muscles burn, he felt pain and pain and pain and pain.

Lacie grabbed him by his hair, raising an arm to punch him.

“Wait,” he croaked. “Please….”

“No,” she growled, hir fist flying to his face, and energy burst from him moments before the hit landed, and the blast rattled everything, from the games to the rides. “What the fu-”

Lost ones surrounded him once more, and there was a hollow thud as Lacie’s body landed on the animatronic she had been working on, Bertrum and hir together.

Bertrum was the only being still standing, walking delicately through the crowd of inky monster turned beings.

Bertrum stared at him, shock and terror in his eyes, replaced with sadness and sorrow.

He extended a hand to the man he saw as his nephew.

Johan stumbled onto him, shaking and sobbing onto his shoulder.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Bertrum asked him. Johan shook his head. Bertrum sighed, taking him to another room. The filled spider ride loomed over them. “Johan… go to your machine, upstairs, and undo all this mess.”

He stared at him. No one should know abo-

“Yes, the computer, dammit!” Bertrum rubbed his forehead. “I know it must be hard, but you’ve flown too close to the sun, and it’s time to reset your wings and try again.”

“You don’t know what I’m going through!” Johan yelled, tears pouring down his face. “I killed everyone! I killed Jack and Johnny and Shawn and Norman, I made Grant and Sammy go insane, I don’t even know what I did to Susie and Allison, Wally is dying and Thomas is a toon, and I don’t know what to do, I miss Henry and I’m crazy! I killed Lacie, Bertrum, your fucking spouse, I fucking killed hir, don’t you understand, I don’t know what to do!”

“Calm dow-”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me to calm down! You should!”

Both of them were suddenly by the open top of the spider ride. Bertrum’s terrified eyes met his as he plummeted down with a splash. Johan screamed, his arm reaching down and into the inky and oiled abyss.

He struggled, Bertrum’s arm grasping his.

The ink splashed onto Johan’s bloodstained clothing, both men struggling against the slippery substance. Bertrum was the closest thing to family had since Aramis had been killed, he had grounded and stabilized him, and now he was literally slipping out between his fingers. Johan could not let more pain in. He was alone and afraid, and could not be more alone than he was, he needed some support, and he loved Bertrum. Bertrum was good and kind and protective of him. And he was his Uncle Bertie.

He had to save him, together they could fix this, Bertrum could help him fix his mess.

“Hang on,” he gasped, pulling on the older man, both striving to get him out of the ink and oil. “I’ll get you out of there!”

The world flicked again, Johan no longer feeling solid.

Bertrum slipped out of his hands.

The last thing Johan saw was his face, choking on the ink, drowning in the oil.

The green glow of the computer kept him up that night, as he re wrote everything.

And again. And again. No pattern seemed to work. Nothing he did was good.

Failure. No wonder Henry left.

Disgusting freak.

Johan stared at the numbers, and merely rewrote one line of code.

Save.

He scribbled a note.

He went downstairs, ignoring the glowing pained eyes of the lost ones.

He limped into the organ room.

Johnny’s body was gone, his entire code replaced within the organ’s.

Johan sat and played a note.

A moan of pain welled from the instrument.

“We come full circle, don’t we,” Johan hollowly laughed, enunciating each word with a note. Another groan. “Johnny… I hate this. I don’t hate you, how could I, with what I had done to you? But you… you! You wanted to me to make you moan in pleasure, but what about the pain I would go through?! Why not moan in pain, like I have!? Nightmares and terror are all you gave me! I closed my eyes and saw you in my horrors, I could not sleep, I could not eat, I cannot and will not forgive you! I will not apologize! I can’t! I can’t! You stripped from me the last shred of humanity I had, and now you, you, take the lack of humanity on yourself! I… I hope… that you can forgive me. I’m not apologizing. But I hope you can.”

Johan returned upstairs to his computer.

He picked up the note, and hesitated, but searched for the file.

His heart pounded.

Undo everything, Bertrum?

No, he will one up that.

Delete himself.

The file finished loading.

He swallowed saliva he no longer needed, and pressed delete, and felt everything change.

He felt ones and zeros ebb off of him in waves, he felt his form break, he heard the whispers and the taunts louder than ever, he saw more shadowy shapes than before, and he felt…

Error.

Pain shot through his system and he scrambled through the code.

Where did it go wrong!?

All he wanted to do was sleep forever.

Error, duplicate code, unable to delete Joey Drew.

But… he did not try to… there was no….

There was no Joey Drew.

He deleted Joey Drew.

Error, corrupted coding, cannot make changes.

What is happening?

He searched for Joey Drew.

All his coding, at first. Then branching off. Strains of Johan’s coding appeared everywhere in all sorts of small interactions, anchoring him.

Joey Drew was not Johan Ramirez anymore.

But some parts of him, the glimmers of humanity, were, and so, since Johan was deleted, the coding refused to allow him to edit the world, but since some parts of him existed in the man the only existed from his fears, he remained.

Everything reset, going black, and Johan was alone, afraid, and nonexistent.

Joey Drew woke up in an upscale apartment in the heart of Brooklyn.

Johan Ramirez hated him, the deepest kind of self-loathing.

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ghoulishboyhummel · 5 years

Text

About A Girl | | ANDERHAYMEL

WHO: Blaine Anderson ( @northsideblaine ) and Aaron Hummel (with Ryan Hayes ( @firefightingryan ) at the end)

WHEN: Thursday June 13th, 2019

WHERE: Aaron Hummel’s apartment

TRIGGERS: Stabbing, blood loss, Blaine betrayal

WORD COUNT: 6324

NOTES: Normal - Blaine/Ryan, Bold - Aaron

It had been almost three weeks since Marley had brought Aaron to meet Frank and tour The Farm. What should have been a happy day for all involved, especially Marley and Blaine ended in a tragedy worthy of any Shakespearean play. Of course, Blaine hadn’t known about any of it until his best friend filled in the details a day or two after, which had prompted him to visit Frank. He needed more answers because the Aaron he knew was capable of violence but wasn’t like Dare -- he wasn’t rash or particularly a hot head. So, the sudden punching of his pseudo-girlfriend’s dad didn’t feel right.

But maybe that was Blaine’s lingering attachments just talking.

Either way, he needed more answers from the man he trusted more than anything in this world. It was clear that Frank had taken special interested in the young man who was best friends since childhood with his daughter. He had gone so far as to take Blaine under his wing and treat him like a son -- it had been easy to manipulate him once he had seen how starved for approval and parental affection Blaine Anderson was.

And though, Frank almost had hoped that using the subtle approach of slipping Blaine casually into Marley’s life, allowing her to naturally find her way to The Farm life all in due time -- Aaron Hummel was a hiccup he hadn’t accounted for, so it was time to devise a new plan. It was time to be more aggressive in his tactics and do what he could to get rid of the lowlife Ghoulie standing in the way between him and one of his little girls. If it was successful, maybe he could then focus on the dirtbag Serpents that held his precious Charlotte in their squeeze. Their visits mandatorily became daily, if not multiple times a day, much to the jealousy of other Farmies because Blaine needed special attention as the leader told the young man. There was still so much emotional and crippling pain in him, so much darkness and much poison keeping Blaine from healing properly.

Every day was the same. Every day, Blaine would enter Frank’s office and sit in the oversized and comfortable chair, a cup of tea in hand and a muffin each made especially on the Farm with Frank’s very own recipe. The euphoria would spread quickly through his body, Blaine’s head lulling back and forth to the sound of the metronome ticking along with the soothing voice of Frank filling the crowded spaces in Blaine’s head, helping to clear them out piece by piece -- secret by secret -- and replacing them with ideas of his own making.

At first, the darker manifestations took the shape of Bruce but slowly the morphed into the form of himself with flashes of Dare in support; telling him every ugly truth Blaine had ever been afraid to face, that out of the two of them -- he was the real monster. He caused the pain that had plagued their family and he toyed with people for fun, always under the guise of his good guy façade. That was why he had kissed Sebastian, Aaron, and Marley all within the span of a couple of days. It was what had driven him to lead his twin brother on, keeping him dangling on strings refusing to ever let him go. Even being behind his own father’s actions when it came to Sebrina Smythe. If Blaine had just accepted who he really was, Bruce and Darius would have never done the things they did or almost died as much as they did -- all for his sake.

And it was time for Blaine to accept his true nature. He was someone made to hurt people.

He already knew how to manipulate everyone, making them believe he was harmless and weak when in reality he was capable of the most atrocious sins. Which is what Frank needed him to be. Every day he implanted more of that desire to embrace the need to hurt and cause suffering because some people didn’t deserve to ever feel happiness. Especially when it came to someone who would ultimately hurt Marley. Someone who was unstable, untrustworthy and someone who stood in the way of their fairytale ending.

As each day passed, Blaine didn’t know why but suddenly he couldn’t stomach the thought of Aaron near the person he loved most -- the woman he was in love with. The very idea that his hands were on her, his lips touching hers made his blood boil. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her. And by week’s end, he couldn’t take it anymore.

So, here found himself once more at the doorstep of the Ghoulie’s shoddy apartment, his nose up turning in disgust at knowing what was on the other side. It was time to finally end this and get him out her life for good. Though, he knew that he couldn’t just go in swinging, as that was Dare’s style, all brawn and no brain. Instead, he replaced the grimace on his face with the typical Blaine Anderson bright and alluring smile before raising his hand to knock a couple of times, as though he were a friend just coming to visit another friend. Aaron had been having a rough week ever since the incident at the Farm. He had gone eight days without really talking to Marley and it felt awful, even if he knew he would probably punch Frank again if he had the chance. At least, if Frank told him to "save her from the inevitable heartbreak" again he would. But Marley and him were talking again, so he felt a lot better. And that was part of why he was trying to finally buckle down and snap himself out of whatever scared bullshit he's been feeling that's stopped him from telling Marley how he feels for weeks now. So right now, he was trying to learn how to play that song from Tangled that she liked.

But a knock at the door drew him out of those thoughts and he set his guitar on its stand, heading to open it and smiling when he saw it was Blaine. His feelings towards the older man was still as confusing as ever, always switching between jealousy about him and Marley and genuine happiness because they're friends. Even though last time he was here for a surprise visit, they kissed and confused him even more, he's mostly tried to put that out of his mind.

"Hey, Blaine." His head tilted a little, "To what do I owe the pleasure? Got anymore of those treats from the Farm for me?" He asked, leaning against the doorway for with that almost signature grin on his face. The food was the only part he really liked about the Farm, it was good, and it made him feel good for a bit. Though it only took a quick glance at his friend to know that there weren't any baked goods for him this time. There had been a time that the sight of Aaron’s handsome face opening a door would have made Blaine smile for real. How foolish he had been to be so happy to see this… insignificant piece of garbage, turning their lives into landfills. How many times had those filthy hands been on Marley or how many times had he kisse-- oh God, how could he naively soil his own lips by touching the Ghoulies? In that instant, Blaine almost turned to bolt away to scrub his lips until they peeled and bleed to get rid of all the taint of someone so… unworthy. But the soothing voice of himself, echoed by Frank’s distorted whispers encouraged him to continue the act. He stood planted, a smile pasted on like a mask, hiding every ill intention. “Hey! I was in the neighborhood and I really could use a familiar face. Plus… I sort of wanted to check on you…” Yes, that was a very him thing to want to do. Especially after more dirty deeds of Sheriff coming to light.

It was torture standing there, pretending like they were equals and like Aaron wasn’t a rabid dog that needed to be put out of its misery before he hurt someone but Blaine had to reign in the dark thoughts swirling around. “Sadly, I didn’t have a chance to stop by the kitchens when I left the Farm today.” How typical of a greedy parasite expecting something just because Blaine was kind enough to share bliss with him just once. No wonder why Aaron was an addict and alcoholic. He was so weak and pathetic, it almost made Blaine feel bad for him… Almost “But um… if you have anything on hand, I’ll gladly made you something to eat. I always love cooking for people I…” He paused, having to swallow the urge to vomit. “...care about…” Of course Blaine wanted to check on him. That was also why he visited last time, but this time there really was nothing wrong. Especially since he didn't actually fully believe that Burt killed Liora. "A nice habit of yours, huh?" Aaron was glad that nothing seemed that different after the kiss, it happened and nothing's weird between them. He's kissed his other friends before, no big deal. Even if they both have feelings for Marley, no big deal at all. Blaine was just here to check on him because they were still friends -- best friends, as he was told. Which was still nice to know even after all of the conflicting feelings.

At the explanation of why there weren't any muffins or other baked goods like last time, he nodded, "No worries. Even without bringing food, you're always going to be welcome here." With the offer to cook though, Aaron shook his head, "An amazing offer, B, but you don't need to. I was just going to have some of my leftover lasagna." Feeling the slight breeze pass by, he stopped leaning on the doorway and moved so Blaine could come in, "Come on in, take a seat, whatever. My house is your house." Once the shorter man was in, he shut the door behind him. The longer he lingered in the threshold, staring at Aaron’s face, the more Blaine started to wonder what he ever saw in Aaron in the first place. Long before Marley had gotten involved with the Ghoulie, Blaine could admit he caught his eye. Was his taste so bad that he would have stooped so low--- ’No! Stop! This is Aaron! He is kind and protective. He’s talented and caring. He stayed with you all night through nightmares. He got you coffee and watched Frozen with you. He got you Anna for your birthday. He lov--’ the last word was squashed like an annoying pest under a combat boot before Blaine’s weak voice could finish the thought. The stronger suggestion, pushing him into the apartment, lingering near the door once it was closed. Of course, it was easy for him to get Aaron to let his guard down to let him in.

“I can’t help but worry about you… You carry so much and I know you probably spent all day probably taking care of the others but forgot about yourself.” Ignoring the offer to take a seat, he still lingered by the door. “Leftover lasagna sounds delicious. Did you make it or?” God, he didn’t even want to ask if Marley had made it because that probably would have been a breaking point for Blaine. However, sucked it up and finished his sentence. “Marley make it?” Blaine could hear the voice in his head telling him he was hesitating or taking too long. The longer he hid behind the mask and kept Aaron’s sole attention on him, the higher the risk it was that the younger man would realize what was happening. “Do you think I can have some of that?” Blaine wasn't entirely wrong about that, since he made himself extra busy with the Ghoulies. "Honestly, I don't know if I believe Burt did kill her. So really, I'm fine tonight." Aaron noticed he didn't move to take a seat, but he didn't comment on it while leaning against the couch and decided to answer his questions instead. "I made it, yeah. Usually when Marley makes food for me it's of the baked goods variety." He nodded at the second one, always happy for someone to try his lasagna. "Of course you can. It's my specialty so I'm sure you'll like it." Aaron told him. Blaine’s head cocked to the side for a moment in curiosity. He couldn’t tell if Aaron was really that stupid or not. Of course, Burt Hummel hadn’t been responsible. Burt was a doughy man who rode the desk most of his career, how could anyone really believe that he’d be capable of chasing down dozens of people. However, the shorter man couldn’t allow himself to get too sidetracked. As much as he wanted to lock the door, trapping them both inside, the brown-eyed gaze on him left no room for stealth. Instead, he headed to the kitchen, pretending to rummage through the drawers, trying to find a knife. “Uh.. Aaron, care to give me a little help here? Your system is… unique…” Waiting for the taller one to join him in the kitchen, handing him a weapon in the form of a knife, Blaine placed it on the counter for a moment, just within reach. They had been shuffling between each other, barely brushing one another while Blaine held back his disdain and the sensation of feeling his skin crawl, he gently took hold of Aaron’s wrist, to keep him from leaving and all but trapping Aaron against the counter.

“Hold on a second...“ He said almost quietly, tilting his head with large hazel eyes up at the Ghoulie. “I think we should…” Blaine bit down on his lower lip as though he were that same bashful man from a few months ago, who would never dream of being this close to him. “...talk…” It felt wrong cornering someone who was supposed to be one of his best friends like this. An alarm in the back of his mind was screaming to stop and for Blaine to leave -- that Aaron didn’t deserve… “We never got a chance to clear the air about the kiss… but… Um… first… I need to know… something...” God, it was so disgusting to feign being someone so pathetic that he couldn’t get a sentence out that didn’t sound like he was flustered. Thankfully sessions with Frank had helped. One of Blaine’s hands had found it’s way to the back of Aaron’s neck, fingers gently tangling in the long strands there, while he was pressing up on to his tiptoes, much like he had done when they kissed the first time, trying to close the distance between them. “Can I…” His free hand seemed like it was moving to wrap around Aaron, but really it was coming to rest on the knife that was just behind him on the counter. “....kiss you again…?” After helping Blaine find a knife, knowing unique was his own nice way of saying "disorganized and messy" he was moving past him until Blaine grabbed his wrist, immediately taking up his attention. Aaron listened to his voice, being worried about what they were supposed to talk about until he brought up the kiss. Though he was more than okay with just letting it go and agreeing it was just a friends, one-time-only thing. And he was about to tell him so but feeling the gentle touch of his fingers in his hair and feeling the distance between them get smaller and smaller.

He was asking to kiss him again. Why? Aaron knew he's only told a few people about him liking Marley, and that Blaine wasn't one of them for obvious reasons, but everyone knew that Blaine liked her. So why in the world did he want to kiss him again? The logical part of Aaron told him no, that he should get back to the leftover lasagna and focus on his plan to tell Marley the truth, but his head was feeling foggy from the closeness and looking into those beautiful and almost mesmerizing hazel eyes made him nod a little. "Yeah...yeah you can." Upset and disgust coiled in the pit of Blaine’s stomach -- or was that excitement? It was hard to tell anymore because there was a time that standing this close to Aaron would have gotten his blood pumping and a desire for more than friendship.

Friendship…

Wow, they were friends once, weren’t they? Aaron had been there through the nightmares of horror movies with coffee and cuddling. He was the only Ghoulie Blaine could trust after the kidnapping. Birthday gifts with treasured memories of a childish sing along song. Maybe even some flirting. Such a long history there, mostly good, between them and it would be easy to say that if Aaron had just chosen someone else as his love interest, their friendship could have continued.

But, as they stood there, almost nose to nose, Blaine staring into those chocolate colored eyes, the promises of a kiss lingering in the air -- there was a moment of hesitation. His brows formed a frown and suddenly his expression distorted into one of genuine pain. A small moment where he could feel the handle of the knife, warm and firm against his fingertips but he couldn’t bring himself to grasp it. He couldn’t hurt Aaron… Not someone who had always treated him so kindly and with such care. It didn’t matter that every fiber of his mind was screaming that this was the only chance he would ever get to eliminate the threat -- he just couldn’t… That was before he heard Aaron’s answer, the dizzy expression on his face and how quickly he was to simply just agree. It reminded him so quickly of what garbage this man was. This man who flirted needlessly with people who were not Marley. How he spread around his affections to lowlife junkies and the former Ghoulie King, and God knows who else. How easily swayed Aaron was by anyone and anything. If it wasn’t flesh, it was drink and all matter of other ugly things.

Sure, Blaine had been weak himself, once or twice, finding comfort in people like Sebastian but it was nothing in comparison to… this thing. And that very idea that Aaron had the power to hurt someone he loved more than life itself and he simply chose to throw away that trust, was enough to help fuel the shoving of Frank’s words in his head and push them into action. Leaning in Blaine wrapped his arm around Aaron as though to embrace him in a hug, bringing him that much closer.

A tiny smile pulled at the corner of Blaine’s lips, replacing the previous conflicted look from before. “For someone who’s supposed to be a King, you really aren’t all that bright. There are hundreds of people in this town and you really shouldn’t have gone after the one that was mine.” he said, words dripping with malice before his hand was wrapped around the handle of the knife. And in one quick motion, so quick in fact that Blaine didn’t even have a chance to gauge the full weight of the weapon in his hand, he stuck. The knife plugging in as he forced it into Aaron’s body. The blade cut through clothes better than he expected, slicing through the fabric and caramel flesh hidden underneath from Aaron’s back to the abdomen, deep enough to saw through the muscles and fatty tissue just above his hip, the warmth of blood almost instantly gushing out. Aaron was confused by the pained expression on his face, and glanced down for a moment to make sure he wasn’t accidentally stepping on his feet or anything. Seeing that he wasn't, his eyes moved back to his face. Then, Blaine leaned in for a hug, which wasn’t unusual for him, so he pushed the confusion out of his mind until he heard him speak, his words bringing the confusion right back. He’s never heard him sound so...awful before, and he was about to take a step back while asking “Blaine? What are yo-“ though his words were cut off. For a few moments, it felt like he was moving in slow motion, unable to make any sound as his hand moved down to see if what felt like had happened, really happened or not.

Once his hand was back within his eyesight, which was admittedly getting blurrier by the second, and he saw the blood, he finally managed to make a sound. And that sound was a scream from pain. Aaron’s eyes shot to Blaine, suddenly confused and scared about what was happening and trying to go over his words in his head. This was about Marley?, his supposed best friend stabbed him because they both like Marley? “You fucking stabbed me!” That was obvious, but he was still so surprised by it that it was the first words out of his mouth. “We’re friends and you fucking stabbed me! What the hell is wrong with you?!” He tried to move away from the shorter man, looking for his phone to call 911 or something or looking for a way to stop the bleeding besides holding his hand there and feeling the warm and dark red blood gushing out of him. The cry and scream of pain should have sent a chill through his bones, and the part of Blaine that felt guilty even stepping on a spider, normally would be in a panic right now. But... all he felt was... What was this feeling? It was... intoxicating... A feeling like he had never experienced before and to be honest he wanted more, to see how high it could go. That voice that told him that this was a friend and someone he should never hurt was silenced, as Blaine yanked the blade free roughly to admired the way the crimson liquid had stained the stainless steel.

It was beautiful. A work of art. Transcendent in a way all its own. Maybe this is why there was so much pain and violence in Riverdale. It felt good. It felt powerful and Blaine wanted to focus more on that feeling but the screaming at him was making it hard to focus. "Oh shut the fuck up, I barely even cut you," he barked back with a disgusted look on his face. "A supposed Ghoulie King, hardcore gang member and you can hardly handle a paper cut without pissing yourself. How pathetic..."

Watching Aaron scramble and look around for an escape, Blaine sighed because he knew now this was going to be the hardest part. The Ghoulie was in defensive mode, a fight or flight mentality and none of it would do. He wouldn't give him the chance to get away or worse, alert the neighbors. The shorter man reached up grabbing a fist full of long dark brown hair, yanking it one way at the same time that his knee came up to knock against Aaron's longer legs without enough force that it should knock him down. It had worked plenty of times in self defense classes, so it was about time it was being put to us. As soon as he has the lithe body of the other man knocked to the flood, he climbed on top of him, nose wrinkled at the mess he was making out of his neat clothes. These were his favorite pants too but now they were ruined. "Listen..." He sighed heavily at the boy who was still making noises of pain as the knife came up to press against his throat. "You are nothing more than a disgusting man whore... You sleep around with anything that will have you... Hell, you even kissed me and tried to kiss me again, all while pretending like you give a shit about Marley. And I'm not happy about it because she deserves better. She is everything that is good and special in this world and you... You are nothing..."

Blaine could feel himself getting angrier by the second at the very idea that his best friend could be confused about her feelings all because of this piece of garbage. "She is going to be my wife. We are going to have a very happy life together and it's going to be better and more fulfilling and better than that asshole Darius with his bastard child, even though he said he never wanted children in the first place and his dumb who--..." He was getting sidetracked. Bringing back focus, Blaine took the knife away from Aaron's throat and without warning drove it into the man's stomach just above his bellybutton.

There was so much blood now. It pooled and gushed like a scene from a horror movie, that you would laugh at for being fake. It briefly made him wonder, if he opened Aaron's sternum up, would it look like it did on Grey's Anatomy? And he did consider it but this wasn't the kind of place he would have that much time to do something so extensive. Which made him glare that much more down at the man under him. "This is almost too good for you, you know. Dying in the comfort of your own home when there are probably people out there who died in gutters choking on their own vomit, thanks to you. But, I guess since we used to be friends and all... I can be this nice." Giving the knife one more twist before pulling it out, Blaine couldn't even bring himself to care anymore that he looked like Carrie at the Prom, because he had accomplished the greatest achievement of his life. He climbed back to his feet, giving the body a kick. "Sorry, friend. Maybe the next documentary that comes out will be about you and this moment." He grinned and turned to walk out the door. God this felt good and he knew exactly where he was going to go from here to keep cashing in on this euphoria. Barely even cut him. Did Blaine really just say that he barely even cut him? Because all of this blood was proving otherwise. But Aaron didn't have time to think on it, think on those words or how disgusted Blaine looked, he needed to find a way out of this. Though he didn't get a chance to, because before he could even realize what was happening, his former friend yanked his hair and knocked him to the ground, a low groan turning into a louder one of pain once he climbed on top of him, which was definitely not helping the first stab wound at all.

The knife being pressed against his throat was probably as terrifying as it was having to look up at Blaine and be forced to listen to everything he was saying. The man who tried to help his own self esteem was now calling him a man whore, saying he's nothing. "You...you kissed me." It was pretty much the only words he could manage to get out without moving too much and accidentally cutting his throat himself with the knife. Though he agreed that Marley deserved better, that she was great and could do so much better than a drug dealer like him. He doesn't have a lot of standards when it comes to sleeping around. Everything Blaine was saying about him was right.

Even through his miniature rant about Dare and Charlie gave him a bit of a chance to attempt to collect his thoughts and find a way to get Blaine off of him, it wasn't long enough. The stab to his stomach made him scream more, it hurt so much, more than anything he's ever felt before. And he had the nerve to say this was being nice? Like he was generous for letting him bleed out all over his floor? And the twist made it so much worse, Aaron's other hand moved to try to stop it just like he did earlier but there was no chance of that happening. Then Blaine kicked him, causing another groan. "Fu...fuck...you." The words were kind of hard to get out, not just because of all the pain he was feeling but because he never thought he'd have to say 'fuck you' to Blaine Anderson.

Aaron struggled to move, what was the point when he said a lot of true things? Marley deserved better. The Ghoulies deserved better, what kind of leader was he being right now? He was going to die and unless Marley stopped by for a surprise visit, it could be days until someone found him. He was going to die from blood loss because of his best friend stabbing him.

But...Marley loves him. She definitely deserves better, but could he really lay around in pain without even telling her that he likes her? Let her think he died just not being sure of how he felt? Wonder who could have killed him and then have to move on? Possibly move on with Blaine? And that thought was what made him keep trying to move even though it hurt insanely much, he couldn’t die here with Blaine’s betrayal being the last thing on his mind. He needed to call an ambulance and get at least some chance to stay alive, if he dies at the hospital then at least it won’t be alone in his messy apartment to be discovered in a few days.

He managed to get to his phone, knocking it off of the counter with various items he could reach from his spot on the floor, trying to go quickly, ignoring that he was getting blood all over his screen as he dialed 911 and with a large struggle, managed to say he was stabbed twice, bleeding a “shit ton”, give the address, and add a “hurry the fuck up” for good measure.

It had been a semi quiet night for Ryan so far, Aid Car was all or nothing usually. When the call came through to an apartment in the Southside he quickly got in the Aid Car with his partner for the night and they headed off, sirens blaring.

When they reached the apartment he banged on the door and heard the curing from inside, he thanked whatever God was out there that the door was unlocked. The apartment was a disaster, he had no idea what could have gone down in here. When he looked into the kitchen he saw the last person he expected to see, Aaron Hummel, bleeding out on the floor. He rushed over and immediatly put pressure on the wounds. "What the fuck happened to you, Aaron?" He asked with urgency as his partner started handing him supplies to attempt to pack the wounds. Aaron had been cursing and groaning in pain ever since he made the 911 call, and he was glad when he finally heard the banging on the door. Though Ryan being the one to show up wasn't what he was expecting. But it was a very good option so he can distract himself from the blood gushing out of him. "Didn't want to...to uh, light my curtain on fire to get you here. Figured stabbing would do the trick." Jokes and flirting, that was how he was planning on getting through this. Even if for a moment he considered telling the truth, that his friend stabbed him because he likes Marley, he figured that wouldn't end well for him. Plus, who could possibly believe that Blaine Anderson would stab him? He wouldn't believe it if it didn't happen. Ryan immediately let out an exasperated sigh. Of course he'd say some stupid shit like that but based on angle alone, he knew he hadn't done this to himself. "Aaron, shut the fuck up and tell me what happened," Ryan replied, cutting Aaron's shit away from the wounds to get a better view. There was so much blood, not that that phased Ryan too much, he was used to this sort of thing, but he could also feel the younger man shaking below him, obviously this was something new.

"Try to steady out your breathing, hyperventilating isn't going to help." Those words were easier said then done, but he did try to steady his breathing. He hated this, he knew he'd end up in the hospital again and for a fleeting moment he was regretting that he called 911. Because now he'd have to deal with Blaine wanting him dead, instead of him just actually being dead. But Aaron knew he'd have to tell Ryan something, he just couldn't figure out what to tell him yet. "I was stabbed." Was the first response out of his mouth.

Ryan actually raised his brows for a moment. "Ya don't say," he replied. That was obvious and if Aaron thought he hadn't already known that, he was more of an idiot than he'd previously thought.

"Look, you were obviously stabbed. But what happened?" Ryan had no idea what they were dealing with here. Was this a gang thing? Were he and his partner in danger right now? He needed to get Aaron stable so they could move him. Aaron decided to focus on the breathing thing and only partly so he can have an excuse to think about what his story was going to be. His main options seemed to be gang related, which would be shitty to do to Dare, maybe even just a maniac stabbing people. "Can you just stop the bleeding first? Thinking on anything but your hotness is difficult right now." Ryan did exactly that, probably repacking the wound probably a little rougher than absolutely necessary, earning him a quizzical look from his partner when Aaron reacted.

"Working on it, Aaron," Ryan grunted, annoyed. "Whoever stabbed you did a decent job. It's amazing you're this coherent." Aaron hissed a bit in pain when the...whatever the fuck Ryan was doing to him, hurt more than it did earlier, "Hot fire..people keep me like that." He said, honestly just trying to think about anything but the situation he was in right now. And he was glad when they finally got in the aid car and he could get closer to not dying, even if he'd have to deal with the possibility of Blaine coming back to really kill him since he failed this time. Ryan's partner quickly got in the driver's seat and Ryan stayed in the back, tending to Aaron. "Hey, hey, hey, eyes on me, buddy," Ryan said, voice dropping into something much more tender. The kid was starting to go loopy and he needed that not to happen. "Who hurt you, Kid?" He asked, hoping the nickname might bring him back to reality at least a little. Ryan's tone of voice was definitely new to him, but he kept his eyes on him and frowned when he was called kid again. "Not a kid. You can't be rude to me, I'm dying." Aaron said, still trying to avoid the question because it felt like his mind was too loud to think about a good excuse at the moment. Ryan rolled his eyes. "No one dies on my watch," he replied easily. He decided to drop the whole conversation, at least for the time being. "We'll be at the hospital in no time and you'll be well taken care of. Hot doctors all around." He almost gagged at the idea that he was almost giving into the young man's flirting, but anything to keep him awake and talking. "I never get the hot doctors, it's not fair." Aaron complained, though really he's only been at the hospital once so this might be different. "I clearly only get hot firefighting DILFs to take me to the not hot doctors. But I guess it's good enough." He was trying to focus on staying awake because he knew that taking a nap on the way to the hospital probably wouldn't go well. "Even if you're rude to me" He added. "I'm saving your life, you're hardly in the position to call me rude," Ryan said lightly as the continued on their way to Riverdale General. "Plus, I have it on good authority that Alejandro Hart is working the ER tonight, so you'll probably see him." Ryan knew they were close enough to the hospital and anything to keep Aaron from sleeping was worth it. "I'll call you rude if I want, I'm the one bleeding." Aaron said, nodding slightly at hearing that Alejandro is working tonight. "Yeah, he's hot. But I would probably still pick you. I mean, firefighter and complete DILF material, checks off all my boxes." He sighed, not looking forward to having people find out about being in the hospital again. Especially Marley. Ryan let out a sigh, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. Aaron really never stopped, though, part of him had to admire it. He’d been a bit of a mess when he’d been fighting for his own life all those years ago. As they pulled into the hospital he started grabbing everything they’d need to unload and when his partner opened the doors. “Just a few more seconds and you’re in much more capable hands, Buddy,” he assured. “But I told you, no one dies on my watch.”

The doctors came rushing out to meet them and Ryan briefed them on Aaron’s vitals and watched them take the boy into a trauma room and he hoped his words stayed true, he couldn’t die.

#para #para: about a girl #para: blaine anderson #para: ryan hayes #chara: blaine anderson #chara: ryan hayes #stabbing tw #blood loss tw

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onebatch2batch · 6 years

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Kastle prompt: they’ve been making out a few times and every time they get closer and closer but Karen is always the one who stops because she thinks frank is not ready and one day, just as Karen is going to stop before it’s too much, Frank says something like “I’ve never asked you to stop. Not once.” And then they finally do what they have wanted to do for a long time 😏.

This was such a cute prompt, and I tried to write it like ten different ways. This is the best I could come up with 😅

By now, Frank has memorized Karen’s lips.

He’s memorized the way they curve in a sigh when she’s frustrated; how they lift into a smile when he cracks a joke she’s not expecting; how they purse when something annoys her, but she’s too polite to say so. How they taste when he steals the breath from her. He’s also memorized her body language. They subtle tilt of her head when she’s confused; the tensing of shoulders when she’s in the mood to argue; the sudden absence of movement when she regrets doing something.

Usually the taste of her lips and the regret go hand in hand.

“I should go clean up from dinner,” Karen murmurs, hand immobile on his shoulder. They’re tangled on the couch, lips glistening, chests heaving. Frank is painfully, painfully aware of how much he wants to continue kissing her. He lets his grip go slack.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, unable to keep the confusion from his voice. “Am I–doing something wrong?”

Karen turns to him, surprised. She does that soft, half-laugh half-sigh that happens when she’s taken aback. “What?”

“You always…” Frank detaches, moves half a couch cushion away. The last thing he wants is to pull back, stop holding her, but anxiousness eats at him. Has she been entertaining him this entire time? Has she grown tired of babysitting the once-vigilante, and now she’s ready for some good guy with a boring, normal job? Has he been assuming that they’re more than they are? “…pull back.”

“Frank,” Karen breathes. She slides her grip from his shoulder to his hand and holds tight. “Frank, no.”

“Then what?” He tries to keep the hurt from his voice, barely succeeds.

Her eyes alight on him with a careful cocktail of emotions. She hesitates, like she’s unsure of how to voice her thoughts. “Frank, you lost everything.”

Her answer takes him by surprise, and it temporarily chases away the hurt and replaces it with something sharper. He looks away, furrowing his brows. Karen’s hand comes up, turning him back towards her carefully.

“I’m not going to be the one to push you into something you’re not ready for,” she says, searching his face. “Okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Ah. Frank feels the tension leave him in one long exhale. He brings Karen towards him and presses a kiss to the crown of her head, relief coursing through him. “Shit, Karen–that’s why you were holdin’ back?”

She pulls back just enough to give him a nervous smile. “I felt like it was the right thing to do. This isn’t exactly a normal situation, you know.”

Frank brushes his thumb over her cheekbone lightly. There’s a familiar pull in his gut, an ache in his chest he gets when he looks at her. It’s the same feeling he had that pushed him to find her that day in the hotel. “Karen,” he says, voice low, “I’ve never asked you to stop. Not once.”

Karen feels her smile grow; she leans forward and kisses him, soft.

“Then we better not stop, hm?”

#mine #Anonymous #answered #kastle #kastle fic #kastle ff #kastle fanfic #my writing

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

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I was (?) a Lyatt shipper who loved Flynn since S1 bc I love a good bad boy. I've been sympathetic to him since the 70s (ha!) when we found out about his wife and kid being murdered. So I found your blog and was loving all the Flynn stuff but I wasn't into Garcy. Thought "ew"--isn't he more like cool young uncle material for her? Fast forward to today and I have read every Garcy ff you have written and have fallen completely into the trash can. I know you prob hear this a lot lately...(1)

(2) but I wanted to thank you so much for writing The Tangled Web of Fate. What a masterpiece! You make the storyline in the same tone as canon somehow. You really have Flynn’s emotions and voice down pat. So good. Makes me believe in Garcy. In fact, makes me want Jessica and Logan to figure out their crap and that way everyone can be happy bc at this point I don’t want Jessica to be unhappy or go away either. Anyway, I went from Garcy sounds gross to GIVE ME MORE. So thanks?

(3) sorry. I feel panicked that we are running out of time (unoriginal pun) and might only get 5 more episodes and Flynn won’t get the full character development and happy ending he deserves. If it were up to you, would you give him a redemption arc and a happy ending or would you keep him as garbage boss? Also, dude is a full head taller than the industrial fridge in the bunker and they need to find a couch he can be comfy in. He looks like a giant living in a tiny house. My poor baby.

Ahaha. This delights me to no end, ngl. My powers are groooowing. And you have given me a lot to talk about here, so thanks. :)

Honestly, the people insisting on reading Garcy as familial/platonic/theorizing that Flynn is somehow Lucy’s son/they’re otherwise related are… very confusing to me? To say the least. Though to be totally frank, it’s often clearly by people who have an agenda in discrediting Garcy as a viable alternative to Lyatt (which they… probably don’t need to do, I mean for better or worse, the writers have made their preference/narrative direction clear. Alas). I obviously have no problem with people shipping whatever they want in whatever way they do, but… yeah, Garcy’s vibe ain’t platonic or familial (and if for some wild reason they DID end up Magically Related, like Flynn was somehow Lucy’s long-lost brother from an alternate universe or whatever, I wouldn’t stop shipping it, or even writing smut for it. I’d be like, “well writers, you got yourself into this with this far-fetched and illogical forced plot twist that does not fit with anything that has been written or acted beforehand, so I’m going to just go for Time Traveling Flowers in the Attic. Ooops?”) I’ve had plenty of posts with the way Flynn looks at/acts around Lucy (just saying, if my uncle looked at me like that, I would make sure never to be alone with him at family events) and the way she’s started to look back at him. And Goran Visnjic has straight up said that Flynn is “infatuated” with Lucy and we’ve had a lot of teasing about “does Flynn have a thing for Lucy” re: 2x06 that makes me wonder if we’re going to get some kind of more explicit confirmation of the way he feels about her. Goran has also encouraged us to read between the lines, so people can want it to be just a friendship (because they prefer another romantic partner for Lucy, and again, that’s fine, whatever) but he’s consciously acting it as a pretty romantic fascination. So yes. We aren’t just making that up.

Also, just saying, we KNOW who Flynn’s mom is, she’s a named and identified character, she appeared in an episode, Rittenhouse was originally sending Rufus, Lucy, and Assassin Goon to kill her in 1x15 with the aim of erasing Flynn from history. So “Flynn is Lucy’s son” is just… did you guys not notice Maria Thompkins? Who was awesome and I love her? Besides, if Flynn was Lucy’s son, she wouldn’t NEED time travel to meet him, and we know the journal is connected to new time tech (traveling on your own timeline). He couldn’t be anything less than her grandson and that would still be ludicrously complicated, as it would require Lucy to have Maria at some point while traveling in the past, then… straight up abandon her, then go back to her own timeline, then wait for Flynn to grow up, then travel back to meet him…. etc. It’s a mess. We know Flynn’s parents’ names (Asher Flynn and Maria Thompkins); hell, we know more about his family than we do about Wyatt’s. Why is no one theorizing that Wyatt is secretly Flynn and Lucy’s son? (I kid, I kid. But still. It makes about as much sense, if not more, which is to say it doesn’t.)

Anyway yes, I always felt like that was a pretty transparent attempt to make Garcy a non-romantic option in order to remove it as a shipper threat, but that doesn’t mean people can’t ship it as a friendship/brotp. I’m just saying, however, that it has been (at least certainly on Flynn/Goran’s end) played as a romantic thing, even if latent and unspoken and complicated. (Also, he went really quickly for the “honey…” and “what my wife failed to mention” lines in 1x11 and 2x04, so even if Flynn won’t admit it, he instinctively sees Lucy in some way as his wife.) So yes. Making them related would be a COMPLETELY illogical stretch, but… if they did that, yeah, I’d probably still ship it. (Shrug emoji.) Because I would recognize that the council had made a decision, but given as it was a stupid-ass decision, would elect to ignore it. (Insert Nick Fury gif here.)

Next, I am obviously glad that you are enjoying my fic and it has converted you to one of us. I started writing the Wyatt/Jessica stuff before she arrived back on the show and am rather pleased with how nicely it fits. Wyatt in canon needs a serious reality check, which I am hoping he gets. I obviously forgave Flynn for being a total fuckup and hurting everyone, I am absolutely willing to do the same for Wyatt, but he needs to have the “well shit I’ve been a selfish ass and am going to substantively make up for it” moment first. I hope the big finale moment is him finally owning up to his dickish behavior and putting everyone else first and otherwise reversing course. Because yeah. I’m judging.

Lastly, I WORRY ALL THE TIME ABOUT US GETTING CANCELLED AFTER THIS SEASON BECAUSE IT WOULD BE A TRAVESTY. A TRAVESTY. The short season has always hurt us narratively, though of course it’s great to get it, but then to cut it off there with no more space at all… god. It gives me the shudders just to think about. And one of the reasons is yes, give me my full redeemed-antihero Garcia Flynn redemption arc. Goran has talked a lot about how we’re seeing more of his real nature this season, and just yes. We saw throughout season 1 that Flynn hated to do a lot of what he was doing, but he did it anyway in the larger purpose of bringing down Rittenhouse (and nobody has yet acknowledged that he was right all along about them…we need more conversations/authentic character moments, guys, NOT SOAPY RELATIONSHIP DRAMA. JUST SAYING). He never really WANTED to be a garbage disaster, but he loved his wife and daughter more, and he was dedicated to taking Rittenhouse down to the point that he thought he couldn’t return to them even if he did save them. So no, he was not a character who was just out there burning shit down for the fun of it (though he does enjoy it in some ways, because… he’s a disaster). But Flynn’s character file in canon has him fighting in a lot of small-scale liberation wars (Chechnya, Bosnia, Kosovo, etc) against occupying/oppressive regimes, and that’s basically what he’s doing with Rittenhouse. He is a good man with a very strong moral code, but also a very grey one. He has correctly identified the overall enemy and is dedicated to destroying them, but he won’t be the hero wringing his hands over it because “it’s not right” to use violence. Which the Time Team is leaning on themselves (they basically left Flynn in 1934 to be a hitman, so… no more judgey remarks about “he’s a killer” would be nice, guys. You know he is and you’re using that because you need it.)

So yes. Flynn doesn’t WANT to be a garbage disaster, so it would be cruel to keep him as one. He is sassy as hell, but he also seems happier working with the team than he ever really did alone (as Goran has also discussed). Again: MORE CONVERSATIONS!!! Did Flynn just see it as business in trying to take out the team before, since they were trying to stop him from taking down Rittenhouse, and now that they agree on who the threat is, he’s happy to work with them? Is Garcia “why do I even delegate” Flynn really trusting them (at least aside from Lucy, who he clearly does) to do what’s needed, or does he essentially think he still has to do it himself? DEVELOPMENT PLEASE!

I wanted Flynn to permanently join the team ever since 1x10 (as that episode threw me down the dumpster in SO many ways) so obviously, I want that to keep up. The 2x07 pic of him and Rufus clasping hands made me hella emotional (also: we still haven’t had a Flogan scene since Flynn arrived in 2x03 and Wyatt stormed out in a hissy fit…still judging for skipping the Messy Boys Trip in 2x05). I want him to be developed and integrated more into the team and made a part of them, because I’m a hopeless sucker for villain becomes weird family member and redeemed antihero and found family and enemies-to-lovers/enemies-to-friends. So yes. Please don’t screw it up, guys.

(Also yes. Yes, I noticed him being taller than the god damn fridge at the end of 2x05. He’s HUGE and it’s ridiculous.)

#lucy x flynn #garcy #timeless meta #timeless spoilers #timeless critical #(not really but just in case)#my garbage boss #anonymous #ask

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