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hankwritten · 3 years

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Quodlibet

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for ImSorry, College

“How do you even know this guy anyway?” Jeremy asked, leaning over Jane’s back in such a intrusive distillation of his character that this particular instant could have come from any singular moment throughout the semester, right down to the mortal threat to Jane’s class project.

“Watch it, Buster! You are dangerously close to causing the greatest second dolphin extinction event since the invention of the six-pack!”

Trying to dislodge his suitemate, Jane threw his shoulder, pushing Jeremy and his grasping arms backwards and away from the fragile, pseudo-aquatic diorama.

Jeremy slid down Jane’s spine. “Fine, jeez, I wasn’t going to squish your bath toys.” He went boneless just long enough to reach the floor, then promptly popped to his feet and began looking at the aquarium from the other side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don't know what you mean by ‘this guy’,” Jane grumbled. “This is clearly a diorama. Not a guy.”

“The guy, man,” Scout nagged, and Jane could already feel the migraine coming on. Jeremy was actually the human embodiment of head pains, to the point where sometimes Jane wondered if he had escaped from a lab that had been trying to bio-engineer the most aggravating person in existence. “This guy that’s making you go wackadoo and put like ten times more effort into a freaking GED project than anyone ever should.”

“This has nothing to do with him.” Jane put an aggressive amount of glue on his last dolphin.

“Right, sure,” Jeremy snickered. “But as soon as I said ‘guy you have a weird rivalry with’ you immediately jumped to him.” When Jane grit his teeth, Jeremy laughed again. “So what is it with you two? You didn’t get the urge to start tearing each other’s intellectual dicks off just because of some Economics of Marine Biology class, right?”

“Applied Oceanography,” Jane corrected, pointedly not looking up.

“C’mon pally, you know what I meant-”

“Hrrn nn brrdaa”

The voice of their third and final suitemate spoke up from a nearby beanbag chair, where its owner was trying to ignite a textbook with a lighter.

Jeremy looked to them, then to Jane. “Really? He plays for the Brawlers too?”

“Yes,” Jane snarled. “Mystery solved. The new power guard is in my oceanography class, and now you will shut your trap, shortstop, so that I can proceed to kick his ass in diorama making and prove that I am the superior guard.”

“That ain’t exactly a perfect chain of events, but you do you pally.” Jeremy pulled to the far end of the couch, drawing his legs into a fold. “Ain’t like, you supposed to develop deep-seated rivalries with players from other schools? Not your own?”

“If you met him, you would understand.” Jane placed some cherry bombs at the bottom of the glass tank. “Plus, he-...” Swallowing his fury, he said, “he got me moved to small guard.”

“To- what?”

“Hurmm umma,” their third put in helpfully.

Jeremy absorbed this for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Oh, oh man. There’s literally a position called small guard? That’s- that’s fucking hilarious you gotta admit.”

“I have to admit no such thing!” Jane rounded on him, diverting his attention from his precious project for the first time in over three hours. “I used to be power guard! Then some one-eyed, Scottish, lay-about, freshman comes in and thinks he can take my spot? This is betrayal of the highest order! A perversion of our constitution!”

“Mrra hudda.”

“I do not care if small guard is ‘technically a step up’,” Jane huffed. “Power guard is further to the front. That makes it better.”

“Basketball’s for chumps anyway,” Jeremy said, apparently having derived all the entertainment he’d wanted from the conversation, laying until he could reach his arms behind his head and dropping his legs in Jane’s lap. “You should try out for a real sport. But hey! Hope your little fish tank fills your inadequacy or whatever.”

“Oh it will.” Jane lowered his face to the glass, breath fogging and obscuring the magnum opus within. “It will.”

“And here you will see what happens when America finally colonizes the ocean!” Jane said to the drooling, glassy eyes of an 8am class.

They were significantly less slumberous when he threw a final cherry bomb into his demonstration, causing a chain reaction as dozens of ‘fireworks’ went off under the ocean, celebrating America’s eventual conquest. To really send the message home, he pulled the ripcord in the back, dropping a miniature stars and stripes behind the tank.

“Oorah!” he concluded.

“...Thank you Mister Doe,” the professor said. “Your time allotted for presenting is up.”

He turned and gave her a big thumbs up.

While some staff at Teufort U insisted you call them by their first names, this professor was not one of them, and it was rumored that the TA who had once dared to call her ‘Helen’ in front of her students was never seen again. However, no one could be that much of a hardass all the time; Jane was confident his project had just blown her out of the water (pun intended.)

She eyed his thumbs up with her perpetually sour face. “...That means return to your seat, Mister Doe.”

Jane picked up his aquarium and strolled jauntily back to his desk.

His good mood dissipated as soon as Tavish was announced as the next presenter. The usurper pulled his aquarium in on a cart, a sheet draped over to allow for a dramatic reveal. Dammit. Jane should have thought about dramatic reveals.

Tavish grinned at his audience, whisking away the blanket with a flourish.

“Behold!” he declared. “You’ve heard of desalination to deal with the oncoming global water shortages, but my proposal is this: a complete and total refinement. Salt water? Pah! Whiskey oceans are where it’s at.”

The tanked sloshed, full of something clearly scrumpy or scrumpy adjacent. Within the alcohol floated an awfully realistic looking octopus, expertly crafted and swishing with the tank’s movements. An eyepatch covered its left side.

“With the addition of boozed-based life forms of course, for an entirely new ecosystem.”

Jane curled his lip. Damn. He was good.

“...Mister DeGroot,” the professor said, “might I remind you that this is an alcohol free campus, regardless of any student’s legal status to drink? And, even without that, you are not currently twenty-one years of age?”

“Drinking age is sixteen in Scotland, Ma’am.”

“Sit, DeGroot.”

Tavish sat. He shot Jane a smug grin. Jane scowled.

“That concludes our presentations for today.” If the professor’s voice got any more disappointed, she could have been a ringer for a Badlands Brawlers fan. “As you know, the diorama that scores the highest marks will receive extra credit toward our upcoming final exam. I use the remainder of the class time to grade, and announce the winner shortly. Please return on the bell if you wish to receive those extra credits.”

The ‘bell’, unlike those rinky dinky little red bowl things they had in high school, was actually a proper bell tower, situated over the science building and able to be heard anywhere on campus. This was where Jane retreated to wait out his nerves, pacing around the semi-enclosed area and mulling over his chances. Fine, Tavish’s had been good. He was used to Tavish being good, the bastard, but Jane’s was better, and this time he was going to mop the floor with him.

“I am going to mop the floor with you!” he declared to the heavens.

“Not with that sad display you won’t.”

Jane jumped. A quiet moment of solitude foiled, besieged by his mortal enemy who’d somehow snuck up on him in order to lean cockily against the door to the stairs.

“My display was anything but sad.” Jane shook his fist. “It was joyous! Victorious! Other words that mean not sad!” When Tavish continued to smirk at him, he added, “plus, your idea is bad anyway.”

“Aye?” Tavish challenged. “How so?”

Dammit. Jane hadn’t thought this far. Replacing the oceans with whiskey really did seem foolproof...except…

“If there is no more water, then you can’t make other type of booze either!” he declared triumphantly.

Tavish jaw clenched. Ha! Good. Let him get angry for once.

He walked over and got right in Jane’s face. “Well what about you? How are you going to light off the fireworks underwater?”

“Oil, salt, and various temperature and pressure difference!” Jane didn’t like the other man in his space, and gave him a shove. They were always doing that to each other during practice, blocking and shoulder-checking harder than necessary, doing things that would certainly be penalties in an actual game.

“Who cares?” Tavish shoved him back. “No one’s going to see them anyway.”

Jane grabbed him by the front of the shirt and shouted, “the dolphins will! You would know that if YOU HAD BEEN PAYING ATTENTION.”

One, dangling, aggravating second stretched on, catching friction as they pressed noses and breathed heavy with the effort. Then they reacted simultaneously, lunging forward and attacking each other in mouth to mouth combat.

Jane growled furiously, trying to gain the upper hand, but Tavish was just as motivated not to let him get it. The pair of them sucked at each other’s faces, mastication muscles competing for this year’s WWE championship belt, crashing against the nearest half-wall surrounding the roof. A more wary observer might have worried about them careening over the edge, but Tavish and Jane had more pressing things on their minds. (And ‘more pressing’ was exactly how they were going to resolve it.) Just a whole mismatched ball of absolute frustration as they worked out several months of pent-up attraction.

Their combined rage might have carried them to hell and back, had the bell not struck 9am at that exact moment.

They both screamed, trying desperately to cover their ears as they hundred and fifty year old bell GONGED above them, rattling teeth inside skulls and causing tears to spring to their eyes.

“God! Why don’t they have a warning sign up? Bloody hell!” Tavish moaned, having found his way to the floor and using his beanie to futilely cover his head.

“What???” Jane, who already didn’t have a good ear at the best of times, worried briefly that he’d finally gone deaf.

“What?” Tavish asked. “I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.”

“What?”

This went on for several minutes, the two men lying on the floor of the bell tower.

When they finally staggered down to class, it was in a terribly haggard state, and new bruises around their mouths.

“Hello professor,” Tavish, the least winded of them, declared. “It’s alright, you can tell us which one was the winner now. We’ve worked out our differences, and determined to let the best man win.”

“The best man will be me, but yeah what he said!” Jane put in.

“If you’re going for flashy, maybe, but on sheer sustainability-”

“No one’s going to eat alcohol-based sushi, cyclops-”

“Enough,” the professor cut in. “Neither of you won the extra credit points.”

“What?” Tavish gaped. “But ours were the best out of anyone’s! How could we possibly lose?”

“The assignment,” she said in a clipped voice that spoke of years of dealing with the exact idiots that Teufort tended to attract, “was to create a physical display of algae chemical reactions at different levels of light and pressure as found in the oceanic zones. Not only did you not win, you have failed this project. Now, since I have a lecture in Hale Hall in fifteen minutes, I suggest you both move out of my way, otherwise you will not have the chance to recuperate those points on the final exam. Goodbye gentleman.”

She stripped the last of the grading notes off her desk, shoved them into a manila folder, and disappeared out the door.

Tavish and Jane watched her go. The minutes ticked by on the wall mounted analog clock, which probably could have told them the time just as well as the giant bell that had nearly deafened them.

“Hey,” Tavish said, elbowing Jane in the side. “I got to take Basic Intergluteal Numismatics next semester.”

“...Yeah? And?”

“Bet I can solve systematic inflation before you can.”

“Oh, you’re on son.”

#demosolly #tf2 fanfiction

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soulmate-game · 4 years

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I might make this a tumblr only mini-series of connected oneshots, and I might or might not put them up on AO3 when they are all done. We’ll see how I feel.

I know I submitted this AU to Multifandomscribette, but this is my take on the prompts I gave them. This is not the same AU, and I am not using their headcanons. Just the same basic premise of Marinette being Stephen Strange’s biological daughter.

You know Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, but this story is about

Lady Strange, the Grand Guardian.

What is with this family and alliteration?!

—*—*—*—*—*

Stephen Strange was a narcissistic, emotionally constipated bastard. But he was rich, well known, and handsome, which counted for a lot when he decided he needed some time to relax, unwind, maybe with another human.

And when Sabine Cheng realized what had happened, that night she had catered for a high society medical conference gala in the States, she vowed to never drink again.

She also vowed to never tell Strange about the child growing in her womb. The only person she ever told about her child’s true origin was Tom Dupain, the man she started dating a month after her chance encounter with Doctor Stephen Strange. Nine months after that, when Marinette was almost a month old, she would propose to Tom in blatant disregard of tradition. She would be waiting for years if she wanted Tom to get up the courage to ask her, and even though it hadn’t been a full year yet Sabine knew what she wanted. Seeing the gentle way Tom held her daughter, their daughter, seeing the way he looked at the little baby as if she hung the stars for him, well that only solidified the little Chinese woman’s love for the french man.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng would not know about her true father’s origin until she was twelve, when a science lecture at school had her asking Sabine who had blue eyes in each of their blood lines.

When Sabine hesitated, Marinette knew instantly that something was wrong. Sabine never hesitated. She was a whirlwind of decisiveness, always knowing what to say and how to act. Hesitation wasn’t a part of her.

Sabine told her everything. How her biological father was someone she only met once, how he was a successful surgeon who had won many medical awards. How he didn’t know she existed.

Of course, Marinette was immediately obsessed. Hurt by her mother’s secrecy, she turned her feelings of betrayal into curiosity and researched everything that there was to research about Stephen Strange. Apparently blue eyes ran on his side of the family. His own were more icy than hers, closer to a blue-gray, but familiar all the same. Both his parents were already dead though, so there went her hope of having another set of grandparents.

Marinette even went so far as to read the research papers he had written, and did follow-up research until she understood as much of it as she could. It helped that Professor Mendeleiev was more than willing to sit down and go over the medical papers with her so they could try to understand it all together.

One day, while Marinette was sewing a new dress, she paused with her needle in the air and stared at her fingers. After that day, she took much more pride than before in how steady her hands were. Her father was a surgeon, it must have been a biological trait. She clung onto anything that connected her to the oh-so mysterious Stephen Strange.

And then came Marinette’s thirteenth birthday. The same day that Stephen Strange was in a car accident and deemed in critical condition.

If Marinette kept an app for American news sources on her phone and set them to alert her if the name of her biological father was mentioned in any reports? Well, her parents didn’t need to know.

She didn’t tell her parents about the reason she was so morose for the rest of the day. She didn’t tell anyone.

She cried herself to sleep when Doctor Stephen Strange was declared to have irreversible nerve damage in his hands, and again when he went missing on a mysterious “vacation” that no media sites seemed to have any information on. She didn’t know why she felt so much connection and pain for someone she had never met, but she couldn’t help it. She would keep researching, keeping her eyes out for any mention of the man online without any luck.

That is, until Master Fu and the Miraculous entered her life. Slowly, she began to neglect her obsession with her biological father. Her passing crush on Adrien Agreste even faded away, never having much traction to begin with because of her overlying concern for the father that didn’t even know he had a daughter.

When Marinette was fourteen, the city of Paris was flooded and she had to swim through the quickly bloating bodies of the dead in order to defeat an Akuma. She reversed the damage and everyone who died was resurrected with no memory of their demise, but Marinette would never forget. All it took was a glimpse of the wrong face on the streets and she would be overcome with a panic attack, with the sight of glassy eyes and blue faces.

That was when Hawkmoth’s attacks picked up in intensity. When people began to die during Akuma attacks more frequently. When Marinette stopped sleeping in quite so much.

Her obsession over her father was a mere footnote by then, something she would idly look into on her ever increasingly rare free time with no success.

When Marinette was fifteen years, six months, two weeks, and two days old, Master Fu died. Marinette assumed the alias of Lady Strange, alongside her identity of Ladybug, so that the Miraculous wielders could contact her and know she was the new Guardian without knowing that she was also their leader in the field.

On the one year anniversary of Lady Strange being the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous, there was a worldwide magical disturbance.

Unlike Fu, Marinette did not limit herself to reacting to Miraculous problems.

—*—*—*—*—*

When Stephen glided back down from the equivalent of thousands of years bargaining and dying with Dormammu, he expected Hong Kong to be in a mess. It had been, from what he remembered of the scene before he created the time loop.

But it wasn’t. Instead, the streets looked as if no damage at all had been created. Kaecilius and his remaining zealots were tied up, quite literally, in what looked like string and hung upside down from a lamp post. Sitting down on the curb of the sidewalk and giving him a dangerously sharp glare was a young woman in a spotted costume, a mask over her face. When Strange realized he could not get any of her features to stick in his memory, he realized what she was.

Another magic user, but different from a Sorcerer. Her Neptune blue eyes bore into him with an intensity he was wholly unprepared for, but had no problem baring. After dying almost a million times, a guy tends to grow a backbone of vibranium.

Wong and Mordo stood on either side of the girl, both at a respectful distance. Wong had this wide-eyed look on his face, so much more expressive than usual that it caught the new Sorcerer Supreme off guard. Wong looked… awed?

Mordo, on the other hand, was regarding the girl with a look of barely disguised disdain and distrust. That was in character though, so Stephen didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, he walked over even as his bargain with Dormammu kicked in and Kaecilius’s cult was banished to the Dark Dimension.

“You reversed the damage, then?” He asked without beating around the bush, glancing down briefly to assure that the Eye was, indeed, still on him. It was. The girl stood up, her eyes continuing to blaze with an unknown soup of emotion.

“I did,” she confirmed easily. It wasn’t until he stopped only a few feet away from her that the sorcerer noticed how small she was. The only detail his mind allowed to stick with him besides that fact was that she also looked young. Too young to have to deal with a mess like this. “You might not know of me. The Temple Of Guardians made a deal centuries ago that all records of their existence and our own magic be removed from any Sorcerer sanctums.”

“The temple that appeared in Tibet out of nowhere more than a year ago?” Strange asked, eyebrow raised. “I remember the Ancient One briefly mentioning how much of a hassle it was to hide their reappearance and teleport the temple’s location somewhere new. I was under the impression that all the members of that temple have been in a pocket dimension separate from this reality for almost two hundred years.”

“They have,” the girl confirmed with a nod. “But before that, one of the Guardians escaped that fate. He became the Grand Guardian, and was my teacher until he passed last year. He named me the new Grand Guardian to take his place,” she turned, looking at something that Stephen couldn’t see. “I have illusions keeping us from being seen by the crowd, but it would be better if we took this inside the sanctum,” she said, nodding her head to the Hong Kong Sanctum’s door behind them. Strange simply nodded, more than willing to distract himself from his immeasurably long torture by indulging his curiosity. If this girl showed up and went out of her way to repair the damage the sorcerers and Kaecilius caused, then he wanted to know why.

“Wait,” Mordo barked, walking up to have a heated discussion with Strange that ended in the former storming off. Stephen knew he should be concerned about his former friend’s desertion, but he couldn’t muster up the energy for it yet. Focusing on the mysterious girl in a ladybug suit was an easier topic for his exhausted mind to latch onto.

When they got inside, the Sorcerer Supreme saw that she had even reversed the damage in the building. He saw a few scattered disciples rubbing their heads and looking around in confusion from their spots crouched on the floor. Stephen was almost certain he had seen those same people as corpses before.

The ladybug-spotted girl had scarcely removed her gaze from him for even a second, and easily picked up on the older man’s train of thought.

“My powers reversed all the damage I could handle, including physical wounds and death,” she told him. Strange blinked.

“That explains why I thought you all looked odd. Your clothes are spotless and you don’t look like you’ve fought at all,” he directed that comment to Wong, who merely nodded. “But that doesn’t explain how you can do such a thing. I’ve been intensely studying magic and magic theory for the past almost three and a half years, and I haven’t come across any healing spell that can be this effective without the subject of the healing themselves helping to work the power through their body. I know you are not a sorcerer like we are, but what exactly is your magic? Who are the Guardians? And who exactly are you?”

The girl pursed her lips, waiting until the two older men led her to the still-wrecked tea room. Her power hadn’t been able to reach that far when she had to focus on reviving so many people without the regular Cure. That only worked on victims of Miraculous magic, what she used on the Hong Kong streets and the Sorcerers was a more advanced usage of Tikki’s powers that she learned from both Fu and her periodic visits to the Tibet temple.

“The Guardians are a group of monks dedicated to the protection and distribution of Miraculous, which is essentially magic jewelry. I would normally go on to say how this might sound unbelievable, but you have a very similar pendant around your neck right now,” she pointed out once they all sat and Wong conjured some tea for them all. Stephen tensed at her mention of the Eye of Agamotto, his eyes narrowing. Did she..?

“I know what is inside the Eye,” she confirmed his silent thought, her voice soft but firm. “And I don’t care about it in the slightest. It is probably a good reference point for my explanation though. At the birth of the universe—“

“The Stones came into existence, each one representing and controlling a core aspect of reality,” Strange interrupted impatiently. “I am the Sorcerer Supreme, girl, I already know that.”

The young female rolled her eyes, huffing. “If you listened patiently, you would know that the story you were told is only partially true,” she snapped back with false patience. “The Stones were not the only things of great power to be created during the birth of the universe. Kwami, the first living beings to be born, were also created. They are each living representations of abstract concepts, some of which overlap with the powers of the Stones. The first to be born is the Kwami of Creation. She is essentially the goddess of creation itself, the living embodiment of that very term in every way. She is the source of my abilities, she lends me her power as I am her chosen Wielder. It is that same power of creation that allowed me to essentially counteract the destruction that was caused today, by having a condensed form of her power combat the direct source of the destruction and nullify it. The second Kwami to come into existence is her counterpart and the only one equal to her in power, the Kwami of destruction. There are a lot more, including the Kwami of illusion that used her power to keep us from being seen outside. And the Kwami Of time, which allowed me to experience the time loop you created,” the girl’s eyes sharpened again, boring into his own. “I left it after the equivalent of a few weeks, when I realized I couldn’t join you and do anything to help. The Kwami Of Time is about two-thirds as powerful as the Stone by itself, and there are more than double the amount of Kwamis as there are Infinity Stones,” she took a deep breath. “My job as Grand Guardian is protecting all of them, and distributing the jewelry they are bound to as necessary to combat world or reality threatening events.”

Strange remained quiet after that, drinking in the information and doing his best to wrap his head around it. Perhaps this young woman wouldn’t mind telling him more at a later date, especially seeing as they held equivalent ranking in two separate secret magical organizations. His eyes trailed down to a necklace she was wearing.

“How many of these pieces of jewelry—“

“Miraculous,” She corrected. “That is what they are called.”

“... Miraculous, then. How many are you capable of wielding at once, if they are so similar in strength to a Stone?” Wond asked, crossing his arms. The pigtailed girl leaned back from her spot sitting on the ground with them, humming in thought for a second as she decided what to tell them. A glance at Stephen seemed to make up her mind.

“Creation and Destruction hold equal power to a Stone. The Miraculous one stage lower than that hold four-fifths the power of a Stone. The last tier, where the Time Miraculous sits, is two-thirds,” she told them from memory. “I can wield Illusion, which is on the second tier, along with two third-their, and both Creation and Destruction at the same time,” she admitted. “But it saps a lot of my energy and I rather not ever do that again, if you don’t mind. I can wield all of the Miraculous though, since all of the Kwamis like me and are loyal. I can wear any three at a time, and I can switch between them as quickly as I need to.”

Strange really needed some sleep. Five thousand year’s worth of sleep would be nice. He ran a hand over his forehead, wondering who in the world gave this much responsibility and power to a child.

“One last question, and then you can spend the night if you wish, we’ll begin reconstruction of all the Sanctums in the morning,” Stephen spoke, forcing his back to straighten and his eyes to meet the girl’s. “You never answered it, actually. Who are you?”

The girl's mouth twitched in the first semblance of a smile he had seen on her yet.

“When I am in this transformation, I am Ladybug the hero of Paris,” she said with a grin. “Spots off.”

A soft pink glow ran down her body, very similar to the ring of power that sling rings produced to make portals. It left behind an adorable teenage girl with blue-black hair pulled back into pigtails, and striking blue eyes. She was clearly of Asian descent, but there was something else very familiar about the sharpness of her jaw or the stubbornness in her lip.

“My real name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. However, I go by an alias whenever I act as Grand Guardian, so that there is an extra layer of secrecy to protect me and my loved ones. I created that alias based on my biological father, who was never told that I was even conceived,” she said meaningfully, never losing eye contact with Stephen. His eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s pitiful, but what does—“

“My alias is Lady Strange.”

Wong barked out a short laugh before he forcibly covered his mouth, his eyes filled with sadistic amusement as he watched Strange’s reaction. The elder Strange, that is.

The new leader of the Sorcerers opened and closed his mouth like a fish, completely caught off guard. He looked over to Wong.

“Is there a spell to test paternity?” He asked warily. Marinette’s smile fell a bit, but Wong nodded.

A few flashes of orange light and two green ‘99% Match’ results later, Strange let his head fall into his hands.

“Alright, Marinette,” he finally managed to mumble through the slightly trembling appendages still covering his face. “I just spent thousands of years in a time loop with the Lord of Chaos, my back aches, my head aches, I will deal with this in the morning. Or whenever I wake up. Figures my own blood relation would end up in a position of extreme magical power, must be genetic. I still have questions, but sleep comes first. Don’t expect me to be a good parent. I really need sleep.”

Marinette just giggled, standing up and helping her father to his feet with surprising ease. “Just tell me where to go and I can drop you off in your room. No more magic for the rest of the day, you’re clearly spent. And as long as you make an effort, I’ll be fine. But don’t expect to ignore me and I’ll just go away, I have ways to track you to the ends of the universe and across the multiverse and time itself, and I will not hesitate.”

“Yep, she’s your daughter alright.”

“Sleep, Wong. It’s good for the brain.”

#mlb x marvel #doctor stephen strange #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #doctor strange #no romantic pairing yet #Only familial pairing right now

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Everybody Knows You're High, 1/4 (Rajila) - Dartmouth420

“I found myself all alone in the grocery store, more stoned than I think I’ve ever been before.”

Summary: Raja smokes way too much weed and develops horrifying self-awareness, Manila’s there to rescue her but takes none of her bullshit. Maybe, just maybe, they fall in love. A lesbian college AU friends-to-idiots-to-lovers tale based on the song Everybody Knows by Partner. Loosely inspired by Off Limits by V&albatross but like wayyyy dumber :)

A/N: my computer died and I’m in the process of getting all my files back so I wrote this mostly in the notes app on my phone to cope lmao

tw: weed induced anxiety & paranoia

It was a wonderful Sunday afternoon and Raja had been taking massive bong rips for the past two hours because why the hell not.

She sat in a sunbeam on her couch in the living room, deeply at peace with the world. Her roommates were out, and Raja was supposed to be working on a paper for her philosophy class that was due this week. But whatever, wasn’t a big part of college about having fun?

Raja glanced over at her Nintendo controller and stared at it for a good minute before reaching for it and selecting Super Smash Bros. After several minutes of staring glassy-eyed at the screen and trying to beat the computer generated competition, Raja blindly reached over for the bag of chips that usually rested in the corner of the couch and found… it was gone.

Raja paused the game and glared at the corner of the couch, suddenly really hungry.

She got up and went to the kitchen, digging around in the cupboards, reasoning she could always pay Delta or Carmen back for chips if they had some… but to no avail. If Raja wanted chips, she’d have to leave the house.

But that wasn’t such a big deal, the grocery store was a block down the street which was part of the reason they’d picked this house in the first place. Raja knew the route like the back of her tattooed left hand.

So, Raja took another big hit off her bong for courage, enjoying the satisfying bubbles in the dank bong water and subsequent thick smoke that went deep into her lungs.

Then she left the house, lazy in loose shorts and a crop top, yellow-tinted sunglasses to take the glare off the sunny afternoon, and her wallet reliably in her back pocket. What a beautiful day, it almost felt like a movie as she wandered down the street in the golden afternoon light. The clouds were small, fluffy and perfect. It just like how Raja imagined the 90s.

Glancing up at the big three-pane window in the house a few doors down across the street, Raja wondered if anyone was home. A few other students lived there, including Manila, who was one of her close friends. Raja decided not to stop and kept walking, the need for chips overpowering the desire to stop by and visit Manila.

At the grocery store Raja smiled to herself, took a plastic basket and wandered gently down the brightly lit aisles. Mmm, food. She got to the chips aisle and put a couple of different bags in her basket, letting elderly people and families and other folks pass her as she moved slowly. Then Raja decided she might, in fact, want ice cream too and moseyed over to the dairy section.

But as the cool air of the diary aisle hit her Raja began to experience doubt. She didn’t smell like weed, did she? Her mouth still tasted a little smoky, but surely it wouldn’t be a problem…

… and suddenly Raja saw somebody behind the glass in the big wall of fridges, blending in to the little cartons of whipping cream. Who the hell was that?

Raja peered closer, curious about the weird gremlin that lived in the fridge only to realize, with absolute horror, that it was her own reflection.

Long, greasy black hair, a slack expression, yellow tinted sunglasses through which her bloodshot and lined eyes were clearly visible. A twenty-year-old mess.

Clearly and distinctly, a voice inside Raja’s head said, Everybody knows you’re high.

Shit.

Raja looked around slowly, and inched into the corner at the end of the aisle between the shredded cheese and a big granola bar display. Her breath grew shallow as the sudden anxiety swallowed her whole. Oh god, oh no, everybody could tell-

What the fuck was she supposed to do now?

Raja gulped, completely glued to the spot as she watched the other shoppers go by. She needed a rescue mission. She took out her phone, holding on to the basket of chips for dear life.

Raja stared at her phone. Delta and Carmen were both out today and too far away, Shangela was mad at her, Raven was out of the question, who else, who else lived nearby…

Raja hit call.

“Hello?” came Manila’s voice, a little out of breath.

“Manila,” whispered Raja, shrinking further into the corner between the display and the glass fridge, as she realized that everyone in the store knew she was high and could probably also hear her conversation, “I need you to come pick me up.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I’m like… super high,” whispered Raja, anxiety spiking as her too-slow body fought her too-fast mind, “I’m at the grocery store and everybody knows and I’m trapped in the diary aisle and I can’t move.”

“What?” laughed Manila, “Oh my god, how much weed did you smoke?”

“I dunno, I did like… thirteen bong hits,” whispered Raja pathetically, “I needed chips.”

“You are so stupid,” said Manila with affectionate exasperation, “I’m out for a run, I’m just around the corner. I’ll come get you.”

Raja whispered a thank you and hung up and took a deep breath and stared at the floor. The floor was moving a little bit not too badly. Maybe she could just walk down the dairy aisle and people wouldn’t be able to tell how high she was- but no, everybody knew. Someone was probably calling the grocery store cops right now and Raja would go to stoner girl jail and she’d never get to tell Manila how much she liked her…

After what might have three minutes or possibly an hour, Raja looked up and saw Manila approaching from the end of the aisle. Raja breathed a sigh of relief, but found she still couldn’t move. Manila’s curly black hair was up in a high ponytail, her face glowed a little from her run, and her colourful leggings were really showing off her legs…

“Hi, bitch,” said Manila, stopping in front of Raja with a huge, teasing grin. “I can’t believe you did this to yourself. Come on.”

With that, Manila turned and motioned for Raja to follow, her but Raja couldn’t.

“Nnh-“ managed Raja, shaking her head. If she left the corner now-

“Raja,” said Manila, rolling her eyes. She reached out and took Raja’s loose hand, forcefully leading her down the aisle. Very shocked to suddenly be moving, Raja followed her passively, letting herself be led. But when they got to checkout Raja froze again, causing Manila to jerk to a stop. Raja shook her head frantically.

“Are you like actually having a panic attack or something?” asked Manila, concerned, looking carefully into Raja’s expression as Raja suddenly noticed a few loose curls that had come loose from her ponytail, sitting soft and almost weightless on Manila’s head-

“Nope, you’re just really high,” said Manila to herself, shaking her head, and then redirected her. “Self-checkout it is.”

They made it through the self-checkout and paid for the chips even though Raja really didn’t like the beeping machine and kept asking it to be quiet. And then finally Manila led her back outside into the sun. Raja breathed out a sigh of relief, glad to have escaped. They crossed the hot expanse of the parking lot and headed for home. It was rare that weed made her anxious and paranoid like that, but it did happen occasionally.

Manila let go of her hand and Raja immediately missed it, because Manila’s hand was warm and soft and fit nicely in hers. Hmm. Manila always showed up for her, reflected Raja vaguely, she was an exceptionally reliable force in a flakey world. Raja kept walking, gently swinging her plastic bag full of chips as her anxiety faded. Manila said something but Raja wasn’t really paying attention.

“Do you want to come over and play Nintendo?” asked Raja instead. “I’ve got Super Smash Bros.”

“That’s your response to what topic you’re doing for the paper for Professor O’Hara’s philosophy class?” laughed Manila.

“Uh, I’m working on it,” answered Raja, noticing the way the sun caught in Manila’s hair. Had she noticed these things about her before? They’d been friends for a while now, and Raja was pretty sure Manila liked girls too… or was at least willing to experiment. “I’m gonna write about Plato’s Symposium, probably.”

“Yeah, cool,” replied Manila, nodding so that her curly ponytail bounced, “I’ve got about six hundred words on The Republic so far.”

“Are you like dating Alexis?” asked Raja, changing the subject, “Or was that just a casual thing?”

“No,” said Manila, momentarily hesitating, “Well yeah, uh, it was unclear. But we ended it a little while ago, she’s with Yara now.”

“Right, I thought I saw them together. I didn’t realize you two were over.”

“Yeah I mean, you had your own drama going on…”

“Huh?” Raja couldn’t recall any drama in her own life. Raja liked to keep things really chill.

“Uh…” laughed Manila awkwardly, “You were dating Raven and then you broke up with her like super callously right in the middle of that party at Morgan’s and she screamed at you and then knocked that bottle of wine off the table and it broke and went everywhere and someone filmed it-“

“Oh yeah,” said Raja, shrugging and recalling the incident, “Well, she’s a very intense person. I don’t remember you being there, though?”

“I don’t know where you went but I was trying to help Morgan get the stain out of the carpet while she panicked about her damage deposit and Raven locked herself in the bathroom,” said Manila dryly.

“Well,” said Raja, and looked up at her house as the approached, blinking slowly, not sure if she had anything to add to that, “I guess I should apologize to her or whatever. But uh, you should come over anyway, all my roommates are out.”

“Okay, I’ll come up,” said Manila, poking Raja’s arm, “Just to make sure you drink some water and don’t green out on me.”

They went inside and Raja threw herself on to the couch on her side with a bag of chips in her arms, melting down into the cushions with a contented sigh. This was where she was meant to be.

Manila walked in to the kitchen and came back out with two glasses of water, sipping hers and handing the other to Raja.

“Ooh, thank you,” said Raja, half-sitting up to take the glass, and chugged the entire thing, only now noticing she was totally cotton-mouthed and thirsty. Finally hydrated, the munchies were hitting hard and she tore open the bag of chips.

Manila sat down on the couch, shoving Raja’s long legs out of the way.

“Mmm, salt,” commented Manila dryly, taking a handful of chips and shoving them into her mouth. Crunching happily, she wiped her hand on her thigh and asked, “So, where’s the controller?”

Raja pointed it out and Manila picked it up, cancelled out Raja’s long-abandoned game on the screen across from them, and returned to the main menu with a flick of her thumb on the mini joystick. She held the controller with an easy confidence, and it made Raja wonder what else Manila could do with with her hands and how exactly Alexis had benefitted from that…

“Are we gonna play two player or are you just watching?” asked Manila, turning towards her.

Raja considered everything for a moment: the beautiful golden sun streaming in the window, the glorious high she’d relaxed back into, the tasty chips, Manila’s truly beautiful ass that was just about touching Raja’s knee given the way they were positioned, and the fact that, well, Manila was really pretty and recently single and Raja had always preferred casual hookups or friends-with-benefits to relationships anyway, especially given the recent disaster- no, situation, with Raven…

“Do you wanna make out?” asked Raja instead, with what she hoped was a very seductive look.

Manila hesitated for a split second, then burst out laughing and said, “Uh, no?!”

“What, really?” complained Raja. She couldn’t recall the last time a girl had said no to that suggestion. Raven, Mariah, Alaska, Bianca, Shangela, Yvie, Courtney… they’d all been into it, even if just for an afternoon or a night.

“As if!” said Manila, affecting her voice like she was Cher Horowitz before she laughed again and shook her head. Manila leaned forward and flicked through the menus, selecting the single player option, then her character and the arena. With a satisfied little smirk on the side of her mouth, Manila added, “Ask me again when you’re not stoned out of your mind.”

The music played out and Raja sulked and ate her chips and watched Manila play without really seeing it. Being stoned and mildly horny was usually a really fun combination, except when the other person wasn’t interested. Which like never happened! Maybe she’d invite Manila to stay for dinner, let her high fade and they could hang out and maybe things would get interesting a little later in the evening…

“Uh, so,” said Raja again, after watching Manila repeatedly beat the computer generated competition as Pikachu. The screen was starting to hurt her eyes a bit and she put the bag of chips down, craving human contact. Their friendship was platonically affectionate and hopefully that would still be on the table today. “Can I braid your hair?”

“Has anybody ever told you how weird you are?” said Manila in response, jabbing the A-button as she kicked Luigi off the platform.

“People think I’m very cool…”

“Yeah, but that’s what you make them think. I can see right through it, though. You’re afraid of commitment, you’re kind of an anxious bitch and you use weed and the idea of being chill to cover all of that,” stated Manila, “But yeah, you can braid my hair.”

Raja decided to ignore the first part of what Manila had said and sat up, shuffling around behind her until she sat with her legs apart, Manila perched on the edge of the couch cushion between them as she bent forward with her elbows on her knees to play.

While Raja was mentally celebrating the perfect position for hair braiding she’d placed herself in, Manila aggressively jabbed at the controller and kicked the other players off the platform and won the round.

“Sweet,” said Manila, as the victory music played, reaching back and pulling the elastic band out of her ponytail to let her hair spill down her back. Happy and hazy, Raja carded her fingers through Manila’s hair as Manila loaded up another arena.

Manila continued, “Better hope Carmen isn’t mad that I’m beating all her high scores. I’m gonna unlock metallic Peach for her.”

Raja spent an indefinite period of time gently braiding Manila’s beautiful hair in a soothing repetitive pattern as her high slowly faded and Manila kicked ass at Super Smash Bros. Raja hadn’t ever really noticed Manila like this before. They were pretty good friends, and they’d always had a flirtatious undertone, and Manila went out of her way to hang out and even do favours for her… but Raja had always assumed she was just like, nice or whatever, but maybe it was something more that Raja simply hadn’t registered before. Playing with Manila’s hair wasn’t helping Raja feel any less horny, and there a low strum of sexual tension between them that Raja was sure Manila must be picking up on as well.

Suddenly the door opened and Raja looked up, dropping her hands. Delta was in the doorway, calling out a hello. Raja called back to her, vaguely shocked by the existence of other humans in the universe other than herself and Manila.

Manila paused the game and got up off the couch and touched the back of her head, feeling at the multitude of little braids in her hair.

“Ha, I must look a mess,” said Manila, then she stretched her arms over her head, grimacing as her back cracked and continued, “Well, you’re barely high anymore and Delta’s back, so I take it my work here is done. I have to finish that paper tonight, see ya.”

With that, Manila sauntered off towards the door, leaving Raja distinctly abandoned on the couch.

“Uh, bye?” called Raja sarcastically after her as Manila shut the door.

Delta gave her a strong side-eyed look.

“What?” asked Raja.

“Since when are you into Manila?” asked Delta bluntly, sitting down into the couch next to Raja. Delta was keenly observant and it was something Raja admired about her, except when she was on the receiving end of that power.

“Since like an hour ago?” replied Raja, and told her about the grocery store adventure.

Delta laughed and totally roasted her while Raja whined complaints.

“She said to ask again when I’m less stoned, so I’m gonna do that the next time we hang out,” said Raja, with complete faith that the idea would work without any problems whatsoever, “What were you out doing this afternoon anyway?”

“Fooling around with that chemistry major I told you about,” replied Delta smugly, poking Raja’s arm, “I can’t believe you got too high and let a cute girl get away on you, you’re losing your touch.”

“You’re a terrible roommate,” complained Raja, but her smile gave her away, “And she’s not just some cute girl, she’s our friend…”

“Sure, but that can all change real quick if you get intimate…”

“It won’t change anything, it’ll be totally casual,” said Raja, casually, “She’s gotta be into me, she’s always nice, and we’re both like queer or whatever,” Raja flipped her hair over her shoulder and adopted a sexy voice, “So why wouldn’t she wanna make out?”

“You’re so annoying,” laughed Delta, and then shook her head, “Just don’t break her heart, bitch, that’ll make our parties super awkward.”

Then they hung out and made dinner and Raja remembered she was still pretty greasy and took a shower. After that she was really, truly, no longer high and it was time to actually work on her philosophy paper.

But Raja knew that something today had shifted. Maybe getting super high, freaking out in the grocery store and having Manila rescue her had brought something to the surface that always been there. Or maybe the affection and desire was totally new. It didn’t make that much of a difference to Raja. The next time the moment struck, she’d simply ask Manila again if she was interested. If Manila genuinely wasn’t then Raja would leave her alone, they’d remain friends, and she’d move on to someone else. But should Manila say yes… well, that would be super fun, wouldn’t it?

#rpdr fanfiction #everybody knows you're high #rajila #raja gemini #manila luzon #lesbian au #college au #friends to lovers #dartmouth420 #tw weed #submission

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cakesunflower · 4 years

Text

Reach For You [Dad!Calum AU] Ch. 20

A/N: so honestly. this story was SUPPOSED to come to an end. like, this was supposed to be the last/second to last chapter and then boom, done! but after writing this chapter and pleading from @irwinkitten & @loveroflrh, and swimming in my own thoughts & falling in love with Aspen, Calum & Luna all over again, i realized this will not be the last chapter. and, if anything, i probably have a few more chaps left in me than previously assumed. so yeah. this story is gonna go on for a little while longer. after reading this chap, you’ll understand why hehe

Chapter 20

ASPEN BOWED HER head, her labored breathing echoing a bit too loudly in the restroom, shaking arms apparently too weak allow her to steadily brace herself against the sink. Her throat was still burning, the taste rancid in her mouth, eyes screwed shut as the shock from throwing up her lunch, and maybe breakfast, subsided. Her stomach lurched and she knew she was in that uncomfortable stage of wanting to throw up more but not actually needing to, and Aspen let out a shaky breath as she rinsed out her mouth, hoping the gum she kept would rid of the smell.

Looking at herself in the mirror, taking in her own dull green eyes and dry lips, Aspen tried to think of why she was suddenly throwing up in one of the bathrooms at the clinic. It had been right in the middle of her eating her lunch, but she knew the leftover spaghetti from last night wasn’t what had her stomach lurching. She wasn’t sick—not that she knew of, anyway. She’d been feeling fine.

Her eyebrows drew together as she peered at her reflection, the porcelain of the sink bitterly cold under her touch. She wasn’t sick. She didn’t have her period. She never got this nauseous during it, either. The only time she could remember throwing up this much was when she was pr—

Aspen’s breath got caught in her throat, eyes widening almost comically as she gaped at her reflection. Holy shit. She wasn’t stupid. She worked at a medical clinic. And she had already gone through this once before to be familiar with the creeping feeling of the world being turned upside down. How the hell had she not realized earlier?

Still, Aspen pulled out her phone, trembling fingers clicking on the tracker app she needed, heart dropping to the pit of her turning stomach when the words 23 days late were shown back to her. She was never late—never this late, at least. Aspen damn near dropped her phone into the sink, a gasp choking her throat as she pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, my God.” Her whispered voice sounded as though she was screaming in the quiet of the bathroom, snapping Aspen out of the overwhelmed, incredulous daze she had found herself in.

She had to think fast.

Pocketing her phone in her scrubs, she quickly exited the bathroom and made her way across the hall towards the supply closet. It was dark inside, but she was familiar with the room to head to the second shelf on the right, third row from the bottom to dig into the box and pull out the pregnancy tests they kept in there. Chewing on her lower lip, Aspen quickly went back to the vacant bathroom, locking the door behind her, ripping open the small package with shaking fingers, pulling down her pants.

And then, after the fact, she waited a few minutes.

She desperately tried not to think of anything. Wanted to keep her mind blank because she was sure she would throw up again if she focused on the situation at hand for too long. Truthfully, Aspen didn’t know what to think—what to feel. If her suspicions were either confirmed or disproven, maybe then she’d know how to appropriately react. For now, there was a ringing in her ears, a flatline of thoughts she denied any attention. She leaned against the wall, eyes closed and eyebrows drawn together. Nothing to think of until there was something to think of.

Her alarm went off. Time was up.

She swallowed the thick, heavy lump that had formed in her throat, inhaling shakily as she took the few steps towards the sink. Her heart was thundering in her chest, echoing in her ears. Was it fear? Dread? Excitement? Aspen wasn’t sure.

But when she looked at the stick resting on the sink, she knew her answer.

*****

Calum hadn’t really thought that a kindergarten graduation was a thing—he didn’t remember having one in his school back when he was five years old. But as silly and goofy as a kindergarten graduation sounded, Calum didn’t care. Because he was utterly content sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair, the springtime sun mellow above them, watching his adorable little girl in a red cap and gown as she and her class sang a parody version of Can’t Stop This Feeling to fit in with a kindergarten graduating class.

The crowd of parents and families sat laughing, clapping along, taking pictures, with Calum unable to tear his eyes away from where Luna stood singing along with a grin on her face. He hadn’t really understood the concept of kindergarten graduation until he realized Luna would be going into elementary school, which of course led him to think of when she’d eventually get to middle school, then high school, then college. . .

Calum inhaled sharply, shaking those thoughts out of his head. He needed to relax. Luna hadn’t even started first grade yet. There was lots of time.

For a moment, Calum had assumed he was the only overly emotional one, getting teary eyed amidst a bunch of five and six year olds making a Justin Timberlake song their own. But he glanced to his right, took in the sight of Aspen who, while she clapped along with a smile, had glassy green eyes that she couldn’t hide from him.

“Hey,” Calum whispered through a fond, amused chuckle, wrapping his right arm around her to pull her close. Aspen sniffled as Calum rubbed her arm, ducking his head slightly to try and meet her gaze. “You alright, doll?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aspen assured, swiping a finger under her eye before letting out a gentle laugh. “Just, y’know, proud of Luna.”

Calum laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Aspen’s head, inhaling her familiar shampoo and perfume. Looking back onto the stage, he mused, “Don’t wanna imagine what you’ll be like at her high school graduation.”

Aspen scoffed, letting out a slow breath before sniffling once more and raising her head. Shooting Calum a look, she said, “A mess. I’ll need five glasses of wine beforehand.”

He kept his arm around him, still chuckling as he rubbed at her arm and hummed, “Noted.”

Calum wasn’t oblivious to Aspen’s occasional sniffles, a tissue in her fist as she used it to dab away tears, and he couldn’t help but glance at her curiously. Truthfully, he hadn’t really expected Aspen to get so emotional over this; of course, Calum understood the pride and happiness he felt over his five year old finally moving on from kindergarten to enter elementary school, but he wasn’t anywhere near shedding tears.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Aspen?” he couldn’t help but ask once again.

“Yeah, yeah,” she brushed him off, offering a smile he wasn’t sure he believed. “Just, y’know, probably about to get my period,” she added with a gentle chuckle before looking ahead once more. He shot her a disbelieving look, and Aspen responded by merely keeping her gaze ahead and reaching her hand up to grasp Calum’s chin to turn his head forward as well.

The ceremony ended with cheers and smiles and lots of pictures taken, Calum’s heart threatening to burst out of his chest as Luna ran up to him and Aspen with a colorful kindergarten diploma in her hand, showing it off proudly. Because she knew it was a big deal and they rightfully treated it as such. They took tons of photographs, FaceTimed Aspen’s mother right away so Luna could show her the certificate and Jodie, who had joined them, took many photos of Calum and Aspen with their little girl, and of Luna with her friends.

Calum hadn’t failed to notice the distance Aspen kept with Bailey Clarkson, not so much as glancing at the other mom’s way as all of her focus remained on Luna. Which he was glad for; the last thing anyone needed was Aspen throwing a well deserved punch to Mrs. Clarkson’s jaw. Though, Calum knew he’d only hold back his girlfriend after the fact—and reluctantly so, at that.

“So no school for two months, bug!” Calum grinned at his daughter, glancing at her from the rearview mirror after they dropped Jodie off once the ceremony was finished. “What’s your plan for the summer?”

Luna grinned, hands in her lap and endearingly bringing her shoulders up as she drawled, “I don’t know.” Then she sat up, green eyes bright as she gasped in that childish, dramatic way and said, “Natalia’s parents are taking her to Disney World! Can we go there?”

Calum chuckled as he made a right turn, not entirely surprised by Luna’s request. Going to Disney World was practically every little kid’s wish, wasn’t it? “I think we can look into that,” Calum hummed, grinning at Luna’s excited cheer, glancing at Aspen as he asked, “What do you think, Mama?”

He had to return his gaze to the road ahead, but Calum still glanced at Aspen quickly, a couple of times in a span of a few seconds, eyebrows raising at her silence. She was chewing on her nail, staring out the window as they drove by buildings, lost in thoughts Calum wanted to be in on. Especially if they were worrying her—he could see it in the subtle furrow of her eyebrows, bringing forth a tense crease on her forehead. Something was occupying her thoughts, enough to throw her into a distracted silence, and it only increased Calum’s curiosity.

“Aspen?” he tried, left hand on the wheel and right reaching over to comfortingly rest on her thigh. “Come back, love.”

“Hmm?” She finally looked at him, eyebrows high up on her forehead before letting out a breath and giving a shake of her head. “Sorry, sorry.” Turning in her seat and grinning at Luna, Aspen mused, “Disney World, huh?”

Luna nodded as Calum stopped the car at a red light, turning to look at Aspen. She was fully engaging into a conversation with Luna, chatting about all the princesses and Disney characters Luna wanted to meet, completely disregarding her spaced out moment earlier. Maybe Calum was reading too into it, and she looked fine now, happily indulging Luna, so he bit the inside of his cheek and let it go. If something was wrong, Calum knew Aspen would tell him. That’s how they worked. That’s why they worked. If there was a pressing matter, Calum trusted Aspen to let him know.

They got back to the building and as they got off the elevator and Luna skipped ahead, Calum draped his arm around Aspen’s shoulders and, despite his decision in the car to let it go, couldn’t help but ask, “You good?”

Her own arm loosely wrapped around his waist as they walked, humming reassuringly as she looked up at him to meet his gaze. Her green eyes were light, absent of any heaviness that Calum had expected to see, the smile on her face genuine. “Yeah, great,” Aspen responded with a breezy laugh, hand rubbing at his back.

Calum watched her for a moment, trying to detect a lie she somehow would’ve become an expert at hiding, feeling guilty when he didn’t find any and for doubting her. So Calum pressed a kiss to her temple as they reached Luna, bouncing in front of the door as she waited for them and Calum used the key to the apartment that was permanently his to unlock to door. They entered and were greeted by Duke, his paws familiarly clattering, as Aspen sat down on the arm rest of the couch to bend down at unclasp her sandals.

She stood once doing so, taking a breath and saying to their daughter, “Hey, Lunes, let’s get that dress off before dinner.”

Luna nodded and followed Aspen into her bedroom as Calum placed his own shoes next to Aspen’s by the door, socks sliding on the floorboards as he approached the couch and collapsed on top. Kicking his feet up on the coffee table, Calum checked the messages on his phone, reading over the texts he’d received from friends and family congratulating Luna. He responded to them all, chuckled at the texts from the boys in the group chat losing it over the short clips Calum had sent of the kids singing on stage, zoomed in on Luna.

He spent a couple of minutes responding to texts, until the sound of Luna’s running footsteps reached his ears, as did her voice as she called excitedly, “Daddy! Look at the new shirt Mama got me! Look!”

“Show me, bug,” Calum laughed, sitting up as he lifted his gaze when he sensed Luna in front of him, almost immediately choking on his laugh when his expectant gaze took in the words written on Luna’s shirt.

Promoted to Big Sister!

There was moment that Calum was completely sure that his heart had stopped, reading over the four mundane words strung together to create a phrase that meant fucking everything a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t somehow imagining them. Was it possible to feel every bone in your body to tremble from shock, excitement? Calum’s eyes were quickly drying out, too wide as he read Luna’s shirt over and over again, deeply feeling the quiver of his lower lip as he took in a sharp, audibly shaky breath to get a hold of himself. He couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.

Big sister.

Heart pounding, Calum looked from Luna’s grinning face as she held the bottom of the shirt in her hands, straightening the words out proudly, to where Aspen stood a few feet behind the five year old. Calum’s throat had gone dry, blinking quickly to rid of the cold dryness in his eyes, aware that his breathing was labored as he took in his girlfriend’s expression.

Aspen chewed on her lower lip, though unable to keep a smile, albeit nervous, away as she wrung her fingers together and awaited his reaction. Because right now, all Calum was doing was gaping at her, bewildered and incredulous and absolutely fucking floored, all too aware of every cell in his body vibrating in unadulterated excitement. His mind was running a mile a minute, unable to grasp a single thought and focus on it, before he took another glance at Luna’s shirt and felt the gasp rip through his throat.

Finally, Calum stumbled to his feet on weak knees, wide brown eyes on expectant and nervous green, and all Calum was capable of whispering was a dumbfounded, “What?”

He stammered a bit, hilariously feeling completely out of his element as one hand cupped Luna’s cheek as he stood over her, aware of her brilliant grin beaming up at him as his throat worked, looking at Aspen for a verbal confirmation. Maybe then the feeling in his muscles would return.

Calum was acutely aware of the wild drumming of his heart, the buzz within his veins erratic as Aspen parted her lips. And just as she breathed out, “I’m pregnant,” Luna had taken the opportunity to yell, “I’m gonna be a big sister!”

Yeah. Yeah, that was all it took. Because once both of his favorite girls delivered some of the best news Calum could possibly hear, he was scooping Luna up with one arm and striding over to Aspen, pulling them in for a hug that couldn’t possibly convey the full capacity of happiness Calum felt in that moment.

He was sure Aspen could hear the pounding of his heart, but Calum didn’t care as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face to Aspen’s hair. The floral scent of her shampoo was brilliant as Calum breathed out a dazed, “Oh, my God,” before finally the dryness of his eyes let up and the thrilled tears that had almost immediately gathered upon confirmation freely fell from his eyes. “Oh, my God.”

It was a cliche, expectant response but for now, that was all Calum could utter as he clung to both Aspen and Luna, the five year old giggling excitedly as Aspen laughed against Calum’s chest. He could hear her own tears as her arms wrapped around him, her hug just as tight, and Calum had to remember to breathe as the excitement and disbelief threatened to deprive his lungs of air. Calum could count his purest, happiest moments in one hand—most of which, when he truly thought about it, consisted of his two girls—and this just made the top of the list. Until the anticipated moment arrived. Until the baby arrived.

“Oh—oh, man,” Calum pulled back slightly with a teary eyed, breathless chuckle as he cupped Aspen’s own wet cheek with one hand, adoring the way Luna’s smaller hand pushed back some of Aspen’s dark hair away from her face. “We’re—we’re gonna have a baby.”

Aspen’s green eyes were filled with elated tears, an image Calum probably mirrored, her cheeks flushed and smile looking its happiest. She looked beautiful. “Yeah,” she replied with a sniffle, her own voice a whisper as her gaze flickered between him and Luna. “Gonna be a family of five.”

Duke included, of course. Calum laughed; a bright, hearty, genuine laugh that carried his excitement, happiness, and disbelief together. He was still in shock, he knew, but he mostly focused on the giddiness that fluttered in his stomach and had his heart racing. Fuck. Holy fucking shit. No wonder he thought she was acting differently today. She’d been waiting to tell him about this. And what a fucking thing to tell.

Calum let out a slow breath, laughter softening as he wiped at his face, licking his lips as he grinned at his favorite girls. They would eventually be joined by another. “We’re gonna need a bigger place.”

*****

“Do you have a preference?”

“Hmm?” Calum hummed, all too focused on drawing nonsensical patterns on Aspen’s still flat stomach. They were laying in bed, hours later after a celebratory dinner—times two—and putting Luna to bed. Aspen had giggled and teased Calum as he lifted her shirt once she’d laid down, wanting nothing more than to use her breasts as pillows as he did so often while tracing his finger on the bare skin of her stomach. Her own fingers were weaving through his hair, playing with the dark strands in the way that relaxed him.

Aspen chuckled lightly at his obliviousness. “If it’s a boy or a girl,” she clarified.

The smile that tugged at Calum’s lips was instant at the mere mention of the baby, probably the size of his pinky nail—maybe smaller. But he didn’t care. That was his kid in there. “So long as it’s healthy, no,” Calum answered, ears picking up on the quiet and disbelieving scoff that Aspen released. Grin widening, he turned his head to look up at her just enough to say, “But a boy—you and Luna have too much fun outmatching me.”

Aspen tilted her head back against the pillow propped behind her as she laughed, knowing his words to be all too true. Calum turned his attention back to her stomach, grin widening as he thought of the appointment Aspen told him she had scheduled for tomorrow. The excitement in his chest, Calum knew, wouldn’t be dying down anytime soon, and the thought of being with Aspen in that room, watching as the doctor showed them the first image of their baby developing—it took his breath away. He would be both embarrassed and not at all surprised if he actually passed out as soon as he saw the black and white image of the screen.

And as he continued to absentmindedly trace patterns, Calum couldn’t help but think that although this was his second child, this would be his first time being an expectant dad-to-be. This time around, he would be there from the very start of the kid’s life and although Calum would always be upset that he missed these moments with Luna, he would be sure to cherish every bit of the next nine months, and every single year after that as much as he was capable of. This was his second chance, and Calum was ready to embrace it with open arms. Thinking about all of which was to come had him chewing on his lower lip, eyes closing as he took in a deep breath that immediately caught Aspen’s attention.

“You okay?” she asked in concern.

“Yeah,” Calum cleared his throat. He was alright. He was just. . . Emotional. So he sat up, causing Aspen to drop her hand from his hair as he sat cross legged by her outstretched legs, licking his lips as his brown eyes gaze met her pretty green. Aspen sat up as well, a slight furrow in her eyebrows, ready to listen as Calum shot her a warm smile to reassure her. “It’s just—this is your second time doing this and I’m—I’ve never been here before, y’know? And it’s dumb that I know how to be a dad but I don’t. . .” He paused, feeling foolish with his words, but Aspen watched him with those encouraging eyes and Calum didn’t feel like an idiot as he finished with a breathless and short chuckle, “I don’t know how to be a dad-t0-be.”

“Cal, no, it doesn’t,” Aspen was quick to assure, smiling that pretty smile of hers that somehow always made him feel like everything was okay. She also crossed her legs, hand reaching out to grasp his. “It’s a learning experience which you obviously didn’t get the first time around. Being nervous is normal.”

Calum let out a breath, reveling in the feeling of her hand holding his, eyebrows scrunching up as he told her, “I don’t want you to feel guilty or anyth—”

“Oh, come on, stop with that,” Aspen cut him off with a wave of her free hand. “We promised to stop being sorry and guilty about everything a long time ago, right?” Calum nodded, feeling that bit of weight he hadn’t known was resting on his chest life away. With a smile, she continued, “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t still be upset about everything in moments like these. You’re right: you did miss out on this with Luna because of me and your mom. And even though nothing will replace that, at least you know there won’t ever be moments that you’re gonna miss out in the future. Not if I can help it.”

It was crazy, in a familiar way, how effortlessly Aspen could ease any bit of troubles he was having. And it only made Calum think of how far they came to get to the point of where they were today. To be so happy, so close. He never knew a happiness like the one he did with Aspen.

So he cupped her cheek with his free hand, pulling her smiling face close to his as he caught her lips in a kiss they both constantly craved for. It was sweet, long, savoring the taste of each other and their minty toothpaste as their lips moved in practiced, perfected sync. “I love you,” she murmured against him.

His heart jumped every time she said it. He didn’t mind one bit. “I love you, too,” Calum returned, bringing his hands to grasp the back of her thighs to pull her close, prompting Aspen to uncross her legs to wrap them around Calum’s hips as she settled in the seat of his crossed legs.

“You better,” she grinned as he kissed her, her arms wounding around his neck. “Because if this pregnancy is anything like the last, my cravings are gonna be wild.” Aspen pulled back just enough for their gazes to meet, and Calum was quick to pick up on the teasingly wicked look in the green of her irises to match the mischievous grin she wore. “And this time I’ve got my baby daddy at my beck and call.”

Calum snorted, not at all finding fear in her words like she wanted him to. With a smirk, he gave her thighs a squeeze and mused, “I put a baby in you; the least I could do is get you food so you don’t kill me for it.”

Aspen pressed her lips together in a close mouthed smile, chuckling as she nodded and gave him another kiss. “Smart man.”

tags: @irwinkitten @loveroflrh @sweetcherrymike @astroashtonio @softforcal @meetashthere @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @malumharmonies @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @wildflower-cth @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood @wildflowergrae

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 4 years

Text

Send me an angel

This is a Castiel Novak x reader one shot.

The wings of a raven had surrounded his form, the color matching his hair. The milky white of skin-matching the moon, his lips usually as bright as a cherry blossom tree, now a beige. You remembered the way they always curled into a smile when he would chuckle as one of Dean's lame jokes, or how if you would win a game of trivia against Sam. You always admired the dark blue eyes twinkling, under the dim glow of the moon in the crappy motel rooms. Dean always had scolded Cas for his prying eyes, although you would encourage it. You saw nothing wrong with his actions, you found it rather relaxing. To know someone will protect you whenever he hears bump in the dark of night. You grew fond of the mysterious creature who observes as if he was a raven watching over their young. You would never confess what you felt, feeling that it was too obnoxious or childish for the angel. You couldn't even bare the thought of what he would say to your confession so you never confessed. Now here you are storming up the stairs and into the nursery. Revenge and redemption on your mind. You didn't care if this was morally wrong hell it was fighting fire with fire, but he caused all this. If he was never to exist then none of it would have happened, your friends, the only family you ever had was almost all gone. Rummaging through every corner and crook you could find for the little bastard. You heard the soft rumble of what sounded like a man's voice sound through your tormented head. "Mother?"

A few days had passed, you came to realize the little bastard wasn't all that little. You had mixed feelings and thoughts about the kid who sat in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, and a scowl on his lips when he no longer understood how to change the channel on Sam's television. You were instructed by Sam to watch the kid while he went to get food. You only obliged with the promise of a large chocolate milkshake. (Those were always rare since the accident in Baby.) You didn't hate the kid. Although you did not like him in the least bit. You were sat on Sam's bed crisscrossed with arms on either side of your ribs, lips huffed in a pout.

You never learned why the good people in the world always had to perish, maybe it is because they were simply too good for the world to comprehend. Especially Cas, he went against his own for the greater good of himself. He knew it was wrong so he did what was right even with some minor, well earth-shattering hiccups in between. You also never knew why he was so persistent on always knowing where you were or what you doing. Maybe it was dumb luck that he wanted to be a possessive friend, he must have learned it from Dean. Sam was Sam, he was the least suffocating but still had his flaws. Like always ruining the end of a book for you whenever it was finally getting good, but none of that matters anymore. Not to jack, not to the banging of the remote being hit against the wall breaking you out of your trance. "Hey!" you shrieked when the remote broke into a billion pieces. Shit. You would never hear the end of this when Sam got home. Bye, chocolate heaven you will be missed but not forgotten.

It was Saturday evening when the hunt was finished, it was tough but the majority of the hunts were easy and a good challenge is needed now and then. This one though it was emotionally draining seeing Dean one of your childhood friends heart stop beating for four minutes straight. "Sam! he said three minutes, three!" panic set in your blood when the hourglass tipped to none. "I know y/n," Sam said quietly trying to keep himself composed. Because he knew as soon as he would lose that composure, he would be like you panicked and throwing sanity out the window as Dean did and look how that turned out for him. You averted your eyes from the now closed-eyed green monster and looked at the glassy-eyed hazel one.

"No." is all he said as he started to slam his clasped fists against Dean's chest where his heart is. He looked like King Kong banging against his chest but against his seem to be dead brother's. "Dammit, Dean." He growled out having enough of his brother's torment. You got up from your stance and walked towards Sams form wiping a few dried tears away from your dirt-stained cheeks. You placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, his muscles stopped tensing and he looked back hair covering his eyes.

You always told him to cut it since he can't see but you should've known from Dean the Winchester's were always a stubborn species. You pulled your hand to his chiseled cheek, the beard coming in prickling your palm, the road life is catching up to him. You tucked a piece of the brown lock behind his ear, you gave him a small gentle smile "Sam.." you let out trying to let him know Dean was gone. "No, he's not you can't say that!" you gave him a look. He shied his eyes away from you and back to the man who did this torture to you both. Sam checked his watch and it clicked to six minutes. He sniffled and slowly started to stand, he turned his back and trudged to the stairs. You were about to follow him when you heard a deep wheeze and coughing behind you.

"I hate you!" you yelled at the eldest Winchester your fists hitting against his chest. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to know that you were angry at him. He just smiled and leaned farther against baby, collected and calm, getting bored with your tangent he grabbed your wrists, arched that eyebrow, then you knew you were in trouble. And that meant nothing good "I know you love me, Sweetheart, now c'mon let's go home." He tilted his head and gave you the puppy dog eyes knowing that your weakness ever since a young age. His calloused hands with years of scars cascading across from them suddenly dug into your skin you tug them free.

"No, listen here Sweetheart," you jutted a finger in his face and you were so proud of remembering that he hated being called his pet name. "One, you will never do that again. That is it! never again or I swear to Chuck, I will skin you and drive Baby to the bottom of the ocean." You growled out his face flustered and taken aback by the sudden endangerment of Baby. You walked past him and tried to open the passenger door, your seat normally being in between the boys, hating the small view you got from the back. "Whatever you say, Darlin'," Dean said with a swift swat to your ass. Dean obviously returned to his old self. You whirled around shocked from the assault done to your rear "Excuse me?!" you shrieked back at Dean. He smirked his tongue in between his teeth getting into the driver's seat, a chuckling Sam behind you his phone in his hand. "Really, you too?" you groaned.

It had been a few hours on the road and your eyes were becoming sore from the number of neon signs you've seen in the past hour. Sam was snoring on your right and Dean was lip-syncing to Take me to paradise city by guns and roses. You assumed that call must have been another hunt since you driving in the opposite direction of the bunker. "You are such a child," you spoke quietly trying to not wake up the sleeping mammoth beside you. You were watching Dean start to ridiculously start headbanging so hard you thought his neck was going to snap. "Where the grass is green," he sang well more screeched out, his Axle Rose impression too high pitched. You clasped your hands over your ears and winced.

"God, it sounds like the angels talking!" you whined. He stopped at a red light. That's a first he leaned over to look at you "Where the girls are pretty!" he slammed his hand on your thigh and you jumped waking up the giraffe beside you. Sam jumped and looked around trying to figure out why in the hell our halfway on his lap, "sorry Sammy, big bump." You raised your eyebrows and smiled sheepishly. He shrugged "It's alright, don't worry about it." He grasped out his voice not keeping up with his brain and went back to sleep. You gave Dean a glare that sent daggers and although it should kill him, he's already dead. He let out a loud hearty laugh and drove on like always.

It was around Midnight, when Dean finally stopped and when you realized you were drooling on Sam's shoulder. Your body giving out from Dean's teasing. It seemed like he stopped in an alleyway by a blue pay phone. A man in a beige trench coat made your brain start. Eyes blurry and not realizing that it was your man in a beige trench coat, but when you did you shoved Sam awake and started screaming. "SAM OPEN THE DOOR, SAM!" you screeched out Sam groaned and opened the door, his body slugging when he got up.

You shuffled your way out of the impala and ran to the front not realizing that this was happening. This had to be just one of your many dreams about the blue-eyed angel. "Cas?" you gently asked questioning your movements, hesitating every step not sure whether this was a trick or not. As he turned eyes squinted and lips pursed he registered that it was you and gave a relieved and half-smile. "Y/n." You're surprised that you didn't trip over your own two feet as you run your way into the literal man of your dreams, you jumped a little because of his height and wrapped your arms around the man's neck. He took a few steps back from the amount of force of your embrace. Although, he wrapped his arms around your waist and shoved his head into your neck, missing the smell of your perfume, missing everything about you. "You have no idea how long I waited for this moment." His voice came out muffled but you didn't care, you had your angel back.

Dean would say that was his favorite scene out of a chick flick, he even slowly clapped when you and Cas walked back to the car. You slid into the back wanting to sit with the man of the hour wanting to get all the missed hours back. You watched as Cas gave the boys their hugs and welcome back's you just couldn't help the butterflies that were having a war in your stomach. He was back, like actually back, and you couldn't wait. They started to walk back to the car and Cas flashed you another smile, which certainly did not help the butterflies but more encouraged them. Dean and Sam slid in the front like they have so many times and Dean sent you a wink in the rear view mirror, you rolled your eyes but quickly stopped when Cas slid in.

He looked marvelous for a person who was dead for half a week, he always did you never understood how he was so perfect. Yeah, he was an angel, but angels were such dicks that confused you. But you couldn't have it any way else, and you have jumbled feelings about it yet you loved him. You decided to tell him tonight about how you feel because you will never forgive yourself if you never do. His hand gently and left a feather-light touch against yours, his head turned out to his window, hard to decipher if it was by accident or not. Dammit, Cas, why do you always have to be so clueless about everything? ugh. Frustrated, you had to know so you bottled up all your dignity and grabbed his hand. He was startled and a bit confused but he gripped tighter, his gaze never leaving yours. God, if looks could kill you'd be dead, for sure. His piercing ocean blues casting a stupor over your brain, all your thoughts were on him, and to say you were loving it would be an understatement.

You scooted yourself towards him wanting to get as close to him as you could, his outer thigh pressed against yours. And how that was a major mistake, the butterflies came back 10 times as hard, and apparently, your poker face wasn't as good as you thought. "Are you okay, y/n?" Castiel asked concern on his face, his eyebrows knitted tight and his lips into a frown. Holy shit, you thought you were so close to him that if Dean were to hit a bump you would kiss him and you weren't objecting to that. "Yeah y/n, you doing alright back there?" Dean mocked. Speak of the devil, you could hear the smirk in his voice. Sam shoved him lightly "Leave them alone, Jerk." Dean looked at him in disbelief and might I add a bit of shock "It's a free continent the last time I checked." He growled out proud of himself for his comeback. "It's actually: country," Sam replied smirking, knowing that he's riling up Dean. Dean glared at him, a silent conversation with the demons in his head.

"Bitch." You didn't know how but your face grew an even deeper shade of red, embarrassment maybe, but you'd be lying, you were way past embarrassment, you tried to hide in the polished leather. You hoped it would devour you whole, just so you could escape this abomination of an event. Cas felt your hand begin to dampen his concern furthered so he persisted on to know what was wrong. "Please allow me to help if you're ill, I can help, I do not like it see you this way," Cas asked softly, worried, growing in his tone, gripping your hand tighter. You couldn't help yourself Castiel was an angel form of a puppy, "Dean turn left." you croaked out, you knew the town fairly well, it was around one of your families homes and you requested him to turn into a restaurant. Dean lifted an eyebrow "Why? we're almost home and then you and Cas can finally fu-'' He snarled out. "DEAN PULL IN HERE AND GO GET FOOD YOU HIPPO!"

You screeched and kicked the back of his seat. He did as said and turned left going into the restaurant's parking lot. Once he did he spun around, his arm resting on the back of his seat, if it could his eyebrow raised impossibly higher "Excuse m-" He stopped his sentence halfway. As you raised your foot threatening to kick him if he said another word. Giving up he retreated his hands raised "Alright, alright, use protection at least, okay?" He asked diverting his gaze to Cas and mouthed 'Do what the pizza man taught you.' he smiled and gave a thumbs up and walked inside the restaurant Sam shoved him and shook his head. Second-hand embarrassment seeping into Sam, he felt so regretful for you. Castiel, on the other hand, was dying on the inside as were you, been back for nearly an hour and Dean was already hitting on the girl he liked. He didn't know how or what to say in this type of situation so he did what he did best, he showed you.

Castiel removed his hand from yours ultimately you felt confused did Dean ruin the moment for the both of you or? but your questions were answered when he lifted your chin and ducked his head down, capturing his lips with yours. You were surprised, her eyes lighting up in delight. You were also in another form of excitement when Castiel started to move his lips against yours, his lips chapped and tasted a hint of salt. Perhaps, he got it from his ocean of eyes, you didn't know but what you did know was that you felt the slightest poke of his tongue on your lip. His hand that was once under your chin now rested below your ear, his large hand took up your cheek, you couldn't describe the sensation that was kissing Cas but it was none the less the definition of bliss. Cas didn't understand the fact that your breath was so taken away from the kiss that you had to pull away against your wishes. When you opened your eyes you saw Castiel chasing your lips with his own. His blown-out bright blue eyes now a dark hue. He shuffled back composing himself and removing his hand from your face missing his touch already. "Cas, that was, where did you?" You tried but your brain was too flustered to make out a simple sentence. Cas's face was too unfazed to understand. Did he not like it the way you? Many questions raced through this time none of them had answers and you quieted down the rest of the time you sat alone with the undisclosed man.

The night took you over your dreams once cast to the angel of the sky. You hadn't talked the rest of the night to anyone, you were a little over halfway home disappointed and regretful over how the night turned out. Dean had lecture Castiel almost all the way home over what he did wrong, Sam pitching now and then telling Dean he was overreacting and how ridiculous he was being. It always was Dean rolling his eyes in response. Although, Cas wasn't listening. He was watching your sleeping form exhale and inhale your form twitching now and then saddened at the thought of something torturing such a beautiful creature. Then he thought how it might be him that was causing you trouble, he hoped that wasn't the case.

Baby pulled to a halt, finally reaching the last destination of the night. Cas peering over to you he had managed to peel his eyes away from you to watch the trees whiz past them. Now, once again they are stuck on you, he was so happy to get to admire the soft features of your sleeping face. It was peaceful to him to see the soft glow of the rosy dust on your cheeks, the soft knit in your eyebrows he found you as the sleeping beauty. In his thoughts, he hadn't noticed when Sam nor Dean had slipped out of his grasp, he didn't care though all he currently cared about was you. Sighing he finally came to the conclusion he wouldn't be able to awake you so he must carry you, he would teleport but he couldn't bear it if there was a possibility if there was a chance to wake you. He opened the door and carefully closed the door pressing one hand against the passenger door and closing it. Swearing that he would smite everyone if the creak of the door would wake you.

He slowly walked behind the impala and opened your door cursing at himself when he realized you were laying your head against the door. "Cas, please.." you whimpered out. Confused and a bit taken aback he questioned your dream he could tap in your mind and see exactly what you were dreaming about but he shook his head finding it insensitive to defile your privacy. He thoroughly tucked your head into the ditch of his arm and had to get creative with how he's going to go about your legs. Once he hefted you into a comfortable cradle position he felt satisfied since he could finally support you in some way, and when you tucked your face farther into his chest he couldn't help the small blush that dusted his cheeks as you did.

As he stepped down the black steps he was relieved to find both of the boys to be both in their separate rooms. It was a bit tricky to walk down the stairs with you in his arms but it was worth it when he proudly set you down in your bed, unharmed and as deep in sleep as he once found you. He lets out a huff and sits down in your desk chair before he did so he took off his coat draped it over the chair rolled up his the sleeves of his white undershirt, took off his striped tie, and kicked off his shoes. Happy and content that he can finally relax through a day's work, his gaze finding you again.

Hair having fallen over your face, he couldn't have that he gotten up from his peaceful sitting and sat down where your face was facing the outside of your bed. His eyes took in your gentle face soft eyelashes plump pink bruised lips that he'd kiss only a few hours ago, he felt greedy for wanting to kiss them once more but rather kissed your forehead. He wanted to proclaim all of what he had done to had fallen in love with you how had you made him fallen under your spell, why did he care for you so much that he would take his life to save yours. He lifted his head and softly pressed it against yours, he softly pressed his lips upon yours not as forceful as the one before but one full of love and care. You awoke to that and kissed him back starting to sit up he slowly pushed you down his face soft and eyes glowing as always "I am sorry to wake you, but I must confess to you that I lo-," before he could finish his sentence of confession he was interrupted by the new member of team free will that he wasn't away of. His winced eyes closed in impediment since he couldn't claim of what he felt. "I must go, but I will finish what I had started in the future." He rasped out and with that promise he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips to seal his proclamation and walked out of your sight, and you were glad whatever god that was up there that had answered your prayer of 'send me an angel.'

#castiel x reader #supernatural #castiel x reader fluff #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #Cute and hot at the same time IRTR #fluff #fanfic #xreader #cuteness #cute guy #misha collins hot #castiel novak #castiel novak x reader #jack kline #jack kline x reader

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itsmrkinney · 4 years

Text

Déjà Vu || Brian & Justin

chefdanielkarofsky:

Justin had started the day pretty simply. He had brunch with Gus and Taylor, his and Brian’s ten year old daughter. Both had finished their school year remotely like most of America the week before so they were officially on summer break. Over the meal they discussed the day’s plans. Gus was going to watch Taylor while Justin went out to one of the local protests with Daphne. He made sure that Gus had money for take-out, after all Gus had about the same cooking skills Brian did when Justin met him, before he hugged both of his children, put his mask and backpack on, and slipped out the door.

Justin took a taxi to Daphne’s neighborhood. Once he was there he met her on the stoop of her brownstone and they walked to the site of the protest. Everything had gone well and was peaceful for the first six hours or so. However around five in the evening all hell broke loose and suddenly cops were pushing them back brandishing night sticks and pepper spray. He stepped in front of Daphne to protect her. The next moment he was shoved hard enough to knock him off his feet. The ground and the sky suddenly switched places. He felt his head slam into the pavement.

At first his head just vibrated with the force of the hit, but once his vision focused again he scrambled to his feet and grabbed Daphne’s hand desperate to escape from what he saw. He weaved through the crowd running from the cop that had shoved him because his badge read C. Hobbs. Justin would never forget those eyes and the coldness in them so he knew that the cop was Chris Hobbs.

Once they were far enough away that he knew that he was not chasing him and his adrenaline was dropping, he began to feel dizzy. “Daph we got to go to the hospital. I think I am going to be sick.”, he told her before vomiting on the street. She called an ambulance and within ten minutes he was taken to the hospital. He hated that they wouldn’t allow Daphne to be by his side in the hospital due to the coronavirus outbreak although he was happy when they said his husband would be allowed in when he arrived as long as he passed the scan.

Justin had been given medications to help with his nausea and had an MRI by the time that he heard Brian’s voice coming down the hallway. He was talking to the doctor who was filling his husband in on what had happened and the damage done. He held his arms out to him as Brian walked through the door. Suddenly he got teary eyed. He wasn’t sure if it was because he felt safest with his husband, because his husband looked harried, because of side effects of the meds he was taking or all of the above. “Bri, come here please?”, he asked.

By the time the cab finally pulls up to the hospital, Brian is practically a bundle of nerves. The fucking mask on his face is hard enough to breathe in by itself, but knowing that Justin is lying in a hospital bed with no one around him just puts him on edge. He can’t help but think to himself, Not again, not again, not again...

When the cab pulls up, Brian tosses a few bills at the cabbie before getting out. He spots Daphne standing just outside the door, and he waves his hand to her before jogging up. Even behind her mask, he can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are glassy and the little bit of skin he can see of her cheeks is all blotchy. He pulls her into a one-armed hug, social-distancing be damned.

“He said he was fine,” she says, right before she sniffles. “But then all of a sudden, he wasn’t. Fucking cops.”

Brian shushes her before pulling back out of the hug. He squeezes her shoulder. “I’m gonna head inside, see what the fuck is going on. You gonna be okay? You’ve got a ride back to your place? If not, you can stay at ours, just use your spare key.” He lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as soon as Daphne nods her head. He squeezes her shoulder again before taking a step toward the automatic doors. “If he’s alright, which it sounds like he is, I’ll have him call you, okay? Just go home, get some rest. Have a drink on my account, and I’ll have him call.”

“Okay, thanks, Brian. Take care of him?”

Brian nods. “Of course.”

He enters the hospital slowly, but not before being stopped by a hefty nurse that could possibly have been a bouncer in another life. He answers the same few questions he’s asked any time he has to go out: Have you traveled recently? Have you been in contact with anyone that has tested positive or is awaiting results for COVID-19? Have you had any symptoms? No. No. And No, again. He takes a step closer so that the nurse can scan his forehead. Ninety-seven, five. Good and healthy.

Once he’s passed the Inquisition and had his hands properly coated with enough hand sanitizer to clean his entire body, Brian makes his way to the elevators, pressing the button for the fifth floor. Once out of the elevator, he stops by the desk to ask where the fuck he should go now, but he’s cut off by a man’s voice coming from the hall.

“Mr. Kinney?”

Brian turns his head to see a man a white lab coat making his way toward him. He nods, turning toward the man. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Dr. O’Connor, the one that’s been treating Justin? I’d shake your hand, but considering the circumstances, I’m afraid that’s not advised. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you up to speed with his condition. And good news, he’s awake. He’s been asking for you.”

Well, that’s a fucking relief, Brian thinks to himself. He walks in step with the good doctor, listening to all that the man has to say, though it doesn’t quite register all the way. There’s only a few words that stick out: trauma... concussion... possible memory loss... And just like that, the mantra from before is back. Not again, not again, not again.

The come to a stop outside a door, and Brian can only guess that this is Justin’s room, but the words the doctor had spoken are too busy buzzing around Brian’s head to give him any sort of coherent thought. He can hear Dr. O’Connor still speaking to him, but he has trouble understanding him clearly, his eyes too focused on the door. It’s only after a beat that he finally understands the doctor’s next words.

“Like I said, he’s been asking for you, so if you’d like to see him, go on in. Just make sure he doesn’t move too much. We don’t want him on his feet just yet.”

Brian nods his head slowly before opening the door to Justin’s room, and heart clenches when he sees Justin lying in the hospital bed, arms already stretched out toward him.

“Hiya, Sunshine.”

#chefdanielkarofsky #deja vu #tw: current events #tw: head trauma

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whatawriterwields · 5 years

Text

Not the Only Ones

The call came first to an office worker. She was hunched, itchy-eyed, over a wide, white desk, tapping out numbers onto a clear, shimmering screen - some mind-numbing report about miracle outputs for the second quarter being below average. She’d been working for hours without a break, and her shoulders ached, complaining of how long it had been since she’d released her wings, and all she wanted in the universe was the chance to go home and take a nap.

The call came and she groaned, turning her attention to the rippling white tablet at the corner of her desk - great, another task, that would put her five minutes farther from finishing this report. She’d been getting more calls than usual, these days. Heaven was busier than it usually was. The bosses didn’t tell the lowly office angels what the celestial armies were up to, but word did tend to spread, and the word lately had been that they were gearing up for something big.

“This is Heaven, Miracle Records Department 63D,” she said, putting on her most polite voice, trying not to convey her exhaustion. “How may I help you?”

The voice on the other end was low and hoarse. The kind of voice you might expect some insidious reptile to possess. Its owner did not introduce himself. “It’s me.”

Read on Ao3

The angel froze. “What -”

“I’ve just heard word from Lord Beelzebub.” The voice, which was already little more than a croak, went hushed and pitched with excitement. “They told us - this is insane, but - they said the War is over!”

She gaped down at the tablet. “What?”

“Big battle’s off. The Antichrist faced down Satan and sent him back to Hell. His friends killed the Four Horsepeople. And you remember that demon I was telling you about? Crowley?”

“Yeah, I remember -”

“He and your bloke Aziraphale got Beelzebub and Gabriel to stand down.”

She couldn’t believe it. This must be some kind of joke. “They got Gabriel to -”

“Look, I don’t know all the details, but here’s the point, all right?” The demon’s voice had grown louder, stronger, like he was beginning to process and believe the news all over again. “The point is the war’s off. They don’t want us fighting anymore. There’s going to be -” he choked off, as though he couldn’t say it, as though he was overwhelmed.

The angel dropped her tablet. It plummeted and shattered on the glassy floor. The sound was deafening in the humming silence of Heaven’s office space, and a dozen or more angels looked up, throwing her looks that ranged from quizzical to irritated.

“What was that for?” said the angel seated next to her.

She pushed her chair back slowly, straightening and planting her feet beneath her. Thirty or more eyes now followed her as she stood.

“It’s over,” she said. “The War is over.”

The eyes - blue and brown and green, and every one bloodshot with overwork - widened as one.

“Peace,” she said, forcing out the word her best friend hadn’t managed to say, hadn’t managed to articulate. “It’s peacetime again.”

The angel next to her was on his feet faster than she could blink. “What are you talking about? Who told you? How did you -”

“I got a call from Hell.”

The other angel folded his arms. “Could be a trick, then. How are we supposed to trust -”

“I know him. The demon who called.” The words rolled off her tongue with no effort; it had been three thousand years since she’d met him, and she’d never once gained the courage to admit it aloud. Certainly not to a roomful of angels, a full half of whom were now paying rapt attention, who had turned away from their work. She stepped back and stared around, feeling her skin begin to tingle with numbness as it crashed over her, peacetime, peacetime, after six thousand years as it began to sink in.

And then she saw one angel turn back to his desk, and pick up his own tablet, and tap out three digits, one right after the other. She recognized the number. She’d dialed it many a time herself, in furtive moments away from her endless hours entering data into a machine.

Everyone watched him put the tablet to his ear. Everyone watched him gasp out “It’s me,” and then, a moment later, “they say the War’s off.”

Everyone heard the wild whoop that came from the other end, though they were separated from the source of it by a million light years and a feud as old as time itself.

The room was plunged into chaos. Angels sprang from their desks, some reaching to make calls of their own, others simply disentangling themselves from their desks, even overturning their chairs for good measure - most sprinting toward the door on feet lighter than they’d felt them in centuries. They spilled out into the hallway, pushing and shoving each other, but there was no annoyance left - every workspace grudge forgiven in the blink of an eye, and they laughed at the tangle of limbs as they all struggled to be the first person out. They blocked a group of angels in uniform who had been striding down the hall.

“Is it true?” someone demanded of the little group. “Peace? Is it -”

“It’s true.” The soldier who answered was stiff, curt, but no one missed the suppressed smile in his voice. “Peace.”

Someone darted forward and yanked open the next door on the hall, shouting within at a seemingly endless row of workers bent over filing cabinets, sorting through stacks of yellowing records. “Hey! You lot! The war’s off!”

Silence, disbelief. Another angel ran for the next door and shouted the same message to the next room, and then voices began to rise, confused questions, dumbstruck hope. It couldn’t be real, surely, not after so long, not so easily? Not off the courage of a couple of rogue agents and a handful of children - surely it was too good to be true.

But the news continued to spread with the electric speed reserved for news so long-anticipated it had settled into some collective neural network. News no one had ever dared voice a wish for, and yet, and yet…

“The War is over!”

“It’s over!”

Heaven was coming alive.

In the darkest depths of Hell, among rank and lightless cubicles, a similar cry was rising. A sea of faces that had been sagging with boredom, seeming in the process of rotting off their skulls, had blinked back suddenly to attention when a bat had swooped down from the ceiling and cried fighting’s done, work’s done! They exchanged disbelieving glances first, but their disbelief was gotten over quicker than that of the angels - and in another moment someone had risen and grabbed the dirty typewriter he’d been working on and hurled it to the floor.

“Good riddance!” he called to the bat as it swooped away.

“They aren’t serious,” said someone else. “It can’t be -”

“You heard the bat.” Another demon, a grin spreading over his face, rose as well. He was holding an enormous stack of carefully sorted files. He stared at them for a moment, then stared around, and then with a wild look he clicked the fingers of one hand and the whole stack burst into flames.

“Good riddance!”

The room was laughing now. It was ugly laughter, but there was no malice in it, not even as other delighted-looking workers began to overturn their desks and smash through their cubicles. No, if any angels had been around they might have been shocked by the feelings running through the space. And they might have been more shocked if they saw what some were beginning to do in the celebratory frenzy - because, decidedly undemonically, downright scandalously, they were starting to hug each other.

“I don’t believe it.”

“Does this mean -”

“We don’t have to -”

“No more temptation records, no more filing -”

“No more keeping tabs -”

“My angel’s going to be so excited!”

The demon who said it clapped a hand over her mouth a second after, but half a dozen other demons were already dialing up their own angels, and no one paid her any mind. Demons that had known angels before the Fall, and demons who had gotten to know angels over six thousand years of endless, endless gearing up for battle, friends and best friends and lovers began calling Upstairs with tears in their eyes.

“Have you heard?”

“They’ve let you off work up there, too?”

“Yes! Yes! We’re free!”

Hell descended quickly into a gleeful destruction spree. Records from sixty centuries of mind-numbing office work came crashing down, up in flames and down to rubble. A group of three demons upended the old fax machine in the corner that was never working properly. Bodies streamed into the slightly better-lit hallways, leaving trails of debris in their wake, and when they were packed together something even stranger than hugging began to take place. Without music, without any conception of rhythm at all, and without the slightest hint of skill, they began to dance.

To dance, incredible as it may sound, with each other. Still reaching out their arms to fellow souls, unrestrained, for the first time in so long. Their eyes still afire with hope. It was real. Peacetime.

___

Somewhere in the ether, a demon and an angel watched in silence.

“This wasn’t how I thought this would go, at all,” said Gabriel.

Beelzebub swallowed. “Yeah, I… didn’t think they were this miserable. I mean, demons are supposed to be miserable, but -”

“I know what you mean.”

The two of them exchanged a glance, then stared back down at their dancing, laughing, rioting troops. They watched as the first demons began to appear in Heaven, in twos and threes, asking to see specific angels, and let through the hallways with no questions asked - and, even stranger, angels popping down into Hell, smiling sunny smiles, snickering at the posters on the walls that Beelzebub had worked so hard on.

“Well,” said Gabriel at last, “this is going to be an interesting week at the office.”

“Tell me about it.”

___

Somewhere on Earth, without any awareness of the goings-on in Heaven and Hell, without any awareness of anything beyond each other and the pleasure of being close, an angel and a demon lay curled up together on a couch.

“I think we should open up a bottle of wine, a little later,” said Aziraphale. “Something really special. To celebrate.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Crowley grinned. “We deserve it.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed Crowley’s cheek, which was positioned delightfully close to his lips, almost an invitation. An offering. An implicit this is yours, another entry in the list of a thousand I love yous. Aziraphale was still getting used to that.

“I think we did something good,” said Crowley. “I think - Aziraphale, I really think we might have saved everything.”

Aziraphale didn’t feel compelled to remind Crowley that last time he’d been accused of being good, he’d slammed him up against a wall. All water under the bridge. Instead he snuggled closer into Crowley’s warm arms.

“I think so, too,” he said.

“Mmm.”

“Crowley?”

Crowley turned his head to gaze down at Aziraphale. His smile was soft, fond. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For staying.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley held him tighter. “It’s all been worth it.” He kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head, not knowing that somewhere high, high above them, at that moment, over a hundred angels and demons were reuniting with loved ones they thought they’d lost forever. Not knowing that far below, demons were tearing holes in the office ceiling to let in light from the world above. Not knowing anything except that this place, and this time, and this kiss felt somehow exactly right.

“It has, really,” said Aziraphale. “I think so too.”

#good omens #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanfic #crowley x aziraphale #this one is a little out of the ordinary #hope you enjoy #robin writes fanfic

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Abductions, Past and Present

AO3

...

“shit. Fuck.” Remus curses, taking off, banging against the wall as he slides back into his room, instantly atop the bed and letting Roman cling to him, murmuring apologies and soft words, rubbing his back.

“Shh, shhh, it’s ok, Ro, it’s ok, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s alright roro.”

“Ree…r-ree” He strokes his hand through Roman’s hair, rocking and humming quietly, slowly bring Roman out of whatever nightmare world he’d been in. He can feel Roman’s shaking stopping, his breath evening out.

“you back, brobro?” He asks, smiling gently as he sees Roman’s clear brown eyes looking back up at him.

“yeah. S-sorry. I j-just panicked.”

“it’s ok, Ro. It’s alright. I’m sorry I was gone, I didn’t mean to scare you. I had… my own little breakdown last night.”

“you did? Are, you ok?” He snorts out a laugh, kissing the top of Roman’s head.

“me and Logan talked it out. Well, some of it. We’re…better. And they have coffee, so.” He shrugs, and Roman lets out a small laugh, eyes bright as he pulls away, rubbing his arm a bit self consciously.

“Kiddos? You two alright? I heard a scream.” Remus jumps at the voice from the doorway, Roman laughing at him. He replies by sticking out his tongue, slipping off the bed to his feet.

“We’re fine, Feathers. Roman just had a nightmare, and I haven’t slept in… hm, twenty six and a half hours?”

“What? That’s not healthy! Remus!” Patton scolds, and he just shrugs.

“It’s not the longest I’ve gone. Just over three days is my record, I think. Though they did something to me that time.”

“That was the thing that made your veins all orange. When you finally passed out, you slept for almost two straight days.” Roman answers.

“Oh kiddos. I’m sorry.” Remus looks at him, a bit puzzled.

“Why? It’s not like you did anything to us.” He replies simply, turning back to Roman. “You wanna go get something to eat?” Roman rolls his eyes.

“I know you just want your coffee, Ree.”

“You don’t know! Maybe I just wanna take care of my baby brother!” Roman laughs, letting Remus wrap an arm around his shoulders to support him as he stands.

“I’m only three years younger than you. That’s not that big a difference.” He points out, and Remus shrugs.

“Still younger than me! And we do still need to eat.” He helps Roman settle on the couch, before practically skipping over to the counter, inhaling deeply the smell of roasted coffee. Oh, it’s music to his nose, and he picks up the steaming mug, barely restraining himself from chugging the whole thing immediately, instead taking a small sip, nearly moaning in pure indulgence as he sinks into a stool, lost in a world of beautiful bitterness with just a touch of cream.

“enjoying yourself?” Virgil asks, and he can hear the smirk in the Wraith’s voice, as he flips him off, figuring that’s a pretty universal gesture. He’s proven right at Virgil’s sharp laugh, opening his eyes in time to see him slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter.

“Play nice kiddos.” Patton says lightly, starting to pull ingredients out of the cupboards. Remus scrunches his brows, trying to catalogue the ingredients. He gasps, legs kicking in excitement.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He yells, making Virgil jump and hiss, Roman peek over the top of the couch, and Patton let out a squeak.

“Language, kiddo.”

“ISTHATPANCAKEBATTERAREYOUMAKINGPANCAKES?” Rushes out of his mouth, as he rockets out of his seat, around the counter, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Can I help?” He asks, excitedly, before flinching back, realizing what he’d just done, shouting, talking out of turn, asking for something, and he stills, bites his tongue, looking down and away. “sorry. I don’t… you don’t have to. I shouldn’t.”

“It is pancakes, Remus. And you are definitely welcome to help. I have the recipe memorized, but you can pour and mix, if you want!” He steels a glance up. Patton’s face is soft and genuine, not a hint of anger or malice, and he relaxes slightly, though he doesn’t get as loud or bouncy as he was earlier.

Patton frowns slightly, at his sudden quietness, his concern growing as he measures out the ingredients then lets Remus dump them into a bowl. He’s careful and slow, frequently glancing at Patton to make sure he isn’t fucking anything up, containing his chaos and stirring carefully, making sure not to get a single drop of batter on the counter.

He passes the bowl off to Patton, standing at the edge of the counter, hands folded behind him, trying to contain his need to sway, flinching back at the sizzle of the batter in the pan.

For a moment he is somewhere else. For a moment that sizzling heat is against his palm, the smell of burning flesh filling the room, his own skin smelling like cooked meat, making him sick, nauseas with the searing, endless, burning, that continues even after they take his hand off the hot plate of metal. It’s still bubbling and burning, somehow hurting more as it’s exposed to air, though he only screams when they plunge it into ice water, blacking out from the violent clashing sensations of hot and cold.

Then he feels something soft and snaps back to himself, realizing he was staring glassy eyed through Patton, and he rubs his hand as he winces, feeling the distant ache of old pain.

“sorry, I’m sorry. I…” He stutters out, not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for.

“hey, hey, hey. It’s ok, kiddo. Should we go sit down? I can have Virgil watch the batter, he’s surprisingly good at pancakes.” He shakes his head.

“it’s fine. I’ll just go sit with Roman. You don’t have to stop, you don’t have to inconvenience yourself.” Patton frowns, and he winces again, because now he’s screwed everything up.

“it’s not an inconvenience, Remus. I promise. I can show you how to preen my feathers, if you want.” He wants that. They look fluffy and soft and he wants to run his hands through them, but the mere thought scares him. He’ll be too rough, no matter how careful he is, and he’ll hurt Patton, and then Patton will hate him, and Logan will be mad, and Virgil will send him back into that dreamscape hell, and he’ll mess everything up. “remus. You’re not gonna hurt me, ok? I know it.” He shakes his head, stepping back, that strange electricity back in his bones.

“N-no. I’m fine, thanks. I’m… I’m gonna go try and get some s-sleep actually. That ok, Ro?” He asks, eyes pleading with his brother to say yes, to not ask, to let him go. Roman responds with a ‘we’re talking about this later’ look, but nods, and he lets out a sigh of relief, as he flees back to his room, closing the door and sliding down against it, burying his head in his hands, unwilling to move as he feels himself shaking, losing control of his muscles as he curls tighter.

It’s so hard. Why is being safe so fucking hard?

…

He wakes up to the smell of pancakes wafting through his door. He groans, running a hand over his face before he forces himself out of bed, slumping to the living room and flopping face down onto a chair.

“Good morning, Janus.” He groans in response to Logan’s greeting, not awake enough to summon words.

“Drama queen. I’m literally a being of darkness. How is it I deal with mornings better than you?” Virgil asks, amusement in his voice.

“because mornings are cold.” He mumbles.

“Actually, the ship runs at a steady temperature of seventy five degrees, which is an optimal temperature for all of our bodies to function at.” Logan answers.

“Fiiine, then my body is biologically evolved to not fully wake until later in the morning when the sun would have warmed up the cold dessert, allowing for basking and removing the possibility of hypothermia, that Nagas are more susceptible to.” He answers, flipping himself over so he’s laying upside down in the chair, head resting against the floor, legs up the back. “That’s what I was told, anyway.” He grumbles under his breath, soft enough he’s certain no one else hears him, except maybe Roman, who glances at him with a startled look.

Patton is in the kitchen, flipping pancakes, and Logan is sitting at the counter, flipping through his star atlas, no doubt reading up on distant galaxies and planets, adding his own notes and observations where applicable. Virgil is sipping a mug of coffee, and Roman is looking around at everyone, simply taking everything in, his gaze occasionally landing on the door at the end of the hall, a worried look on his face.

“Where’s Remus?” He asks, as casually as he can, trying to get a read on the situation. Roman frowns, and Patton shoots him a glance as he flips the last of the pancakes onto a plate.

“He said he went to get some rest. He hasn’t been sleeping.” Patton replies, in a way that lets Janus know Patton doesn’t fully believe Remus’s excuse, but didn’t want to push.

“He’s never been good at sleeping. Even before. He went to a specialist, once, but they said he was too young to try any medication, and all the over the counter stuff either didn’t work or gave him nightmares. He used to keep a dream journal. That helped, until… well.” Roman doesn’t have to finish his sentence, they all know what he means.

Before and After. That’s what life is divided into. Before he was taken, and the After of it all. Janus doesn’t have very much Before, but the brothers do, enough at least to properly mourn what they’d lost. Of course, he had more After than the two of them, though it hadn’t been as rough, as what they’d gone through.

Still, he knows the fear, how the slightest, most unpredictable thing can send you right back to There, something that was fine one day sends you off the deep end the next, and he still has trouble sleeping, sometimes, though he’s too proud and standoffish, still, to ask for someone to stay.

He still hasn’t found a word for After the After, for whatever this is, life cruising around on a spaceship with an oddball group of species, it hasn’t been long enough, to give this a name, to hope that it will last longer than the nearly eight years it has, he still can barely think past tomorrow. Still wakes up and forgets where he is, sometimes.

“Alright. I’ll go bring him some food, see if he’s still up. He should probably eat something.” He gets to his feet, catching Roman’s grateful relief as he passes, and he squeezes his shoulder gently, before sweeping into the kitchen and grabbing a plate of pancakes, drizzling syrup on top, before ruffling the edge of Patton’s wing, ducking his attempt to catch him in a retaliatory hug as he darts around Logan, using him as a buffer.

“Please do not include me in whatever game this is, I would prefer not to lose my place.” Logan says dryly, making Patton giggle. Janus doesn’t miss the slight twitch of Logan’s lips at the sound, and he grins too.

“Virgil, make sure Logan doesn’t start anything on fire. You know how careless he likes to be around open flame.” He calls as he starts down the hall, Virgil snickering as Logan splutters indignantly about how he follows proper fire safety procedures, and the one time he makes a camp fire just happens to be when the winds rolled in and the camp went up in flames!

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tell-me-when-ur-ready · 5 years

Text

Halloween Party

Author’s note: As of one week ago I’m officially in love with David Dobrik so here’s a little thing I wrote

Warnings: PTSD from rape, including flashbacks to the event

Word count: 1,500

She was a friend of Natalie’s who had just moved to LA to work in social media marketing. “You’ll love her,” Nat had said before she arrived, promising her friend was smart and gorgeous and loved a good time.

“I can show her a good time,” Zane had said, waggling his eyebrows, and Nat smacked him with the nearest pillow.

But Natalie was right: When her friend arrived in September, she fit right into the vlog squad, joining in the paintball wars and pranks and crazy conversations with gusto. Until one day when they were all flopped on David’s prized white couch and the conversation turned to dating, and she noticeably tensed up for the first time.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” she said reluctantly when someone pushed her for information on her love life, and Zane’s eyebrows went up.

“Really? You’re 23 years old.”

She shook her head no.

“But you’ve had sex, right?”

She hesitated, wavering. David got closer with his camera and she flapped a hand in his face.

“Go away,” she said halfheartedly. Her voice shook a little.

“Soooo is that a yes or a no?” Zane pushed, and she whipped her head around to glare at him with surprising ferocity.

“It’s a how-about-you-shut-up-and-mind-your-own-business.”

The others howled and Zane threw his water bottle at them. David’s living room devolved into a full-out wrestling match, and he thought he was the only one who noticed the shaky little sigh she let out as she touched a gentle hand to her throat.

She knocked on his open bedroom door that evening, when it was quiet and dark and everybody else had left.

“Come in,” he said, looking up from his laptop.

She stopped just inside the door and stood there, twisting her hands nervously. Her normal bright smile was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“David, please don’t use that footage,” she said quietly. “From earlier when we were all sitting on the couch talking.”

“Okay.”

They both looked at each other for a moment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said.

“No. That’s why I just asked you to delete the footage.” She huffed out a little sigh, but her eyes looked glassy.

“I know. I mean, right now? Just with me?”

She shook her head no.

“Okay,” he said again, softly. She left the room.

She was back to her old self the next day, gleefully helping Natalie fill an enormous ball pit with candy corn and then being the first one to jump in. Everything was fine until a few weeks later when David mentioned the words Halloween party and she froze.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” he said around bites of a Chipotle burrito. They were gathered around his kitchen island eating lunch; it was the middle of October. “I’ll get a DJ and a bunch of pumpkins and shit, I don’t know. Beer. We’ll all hang out.”

She had frozen with her plastic fork in hand, staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

Heath let out a howl of laughter. “Look at that face. Not into parties?”

“Not Halloween ones,” she snapped tightly. It was true, though, now that David thought about it—she’d never come out partying or drinking with them in the entire six weeks since she’d moved here. She always claimed she had to get a good night’s sleep before work or, if it was a weekend, that she needed to go home and feed her cat.

“You should come,” he said gently. “It’ll be fun.”

She shook her head. “I’m going to stay home. I don’t want to be out late on a work night.”

“You were literally here until two AM last night. I’d hate to see what you consider late, if that’s not it,” Jason said, prompting another round of laughter.

She just shook her head again, balled up her Chipotle wrapper, and threw it in the trash.

But eventually David and the others wore her down and she showed up at his house on Halloween night. The place was bumping; Zane had already had three beers and the music was shaking the walls. She stepped inside the house clutching her purse like a weapon and looking a little wide eyed, and David meant to stay nearby because she was so obviously nervous, but then Jason was planning an elaborate scare prank on the entire party and he had to grab his camera so he didn’t miss it because he needed the footage for his vlog. And somehow she got lost in the shuffle and he forgot she was even there.

A couple of hours later, he went bursting through his bedroom door for a new SD card, laughing over his shoulder at something Jason had said, and stopped short. She was perched on the edge of his bed. When he came in, she jumped up, startled.

“Hey,” he said, swallowing, and stepped inside. “I’m just—getting an SD card.”

He grabbed one from the little dish on his dresser and turned back to face her. “Are you... okay?”

She was fidgeting nervously with the hem of her T-shirt. When he asked the question, there was a beat of silence before she shook her head and the tears started to fall.

“Hey,” he said quietly again. He took a step toward her; he’d tried to be careful of her boundaries, but he wasn’t exactly sure what they were. She’d refused to be blindfolded once, sat by Nat instead of the guys if she had a choice, wasn’t touchy-feely at all. “Can I—give you a hug?”

She nodded through her tears and he wrapped her in his arms. She was a little shorter than him and her head fit perfectly on the spot between his shoulder and neck. He held her tightly as she shook with sobs; eventually, when it seemed like she was calming down, he led her back to the bed and sat them down, leaving a few feet of space in between them.

“Now do you want to talk about it?” he said gently.

She drew a long, steadying breath and then started to talk. Last year at a Halloween party, her best friend’s brother—someone she considered a friend, too—had dragged her into an empty bedroom and shut and locked the door.

“He choked me,” she said hollowly, staring at a fixed point on the floor. “The whole time.”

He was wearing a Halloween mask and she didn’t know who he was at first—or at least, she’d tried to convince herself she didn’t know. But she did. Deep down, she knew who it was even before he ripped the mask off on his way out the door, leaving her alone in the dark bedroom.

She saw him all the time; they worked together, and since he was her best friend’s brother, they partied together too. That was a big part of the reason she’d moved to LA—she needed to get away from him.

But LA wasn’t everything she envisioned. Her job was fine and she liked David’s friends, but she still felt nervous around the guys, felt like she couldn’t trust anyone because could she really? She hadn’t been to a party since and this one was a year to the date and it was just too much.

David listened to everything without saying a word.

“I want to go home,” she finished, and for a moment he didn’t know if she meant she wanted to leave his house or leave LA. “But I don’t want to walk back through the party.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he said. “But only if you’re sure you’re going to be okay. I’m so sorry that happened to you. That’s really shitty. Maybe it would be helpful if you found a therapist.”

She shrugged and he decided not to push it right then.

“We joke around a lot, but all my friends are good guys. You know that, right?”

She nodded, briefly glancing up to meet his eyes, but it wasn’t very convincing.

He slipped his forgotten SD card in his pocket and escorted her back through the chaotic house, waving off the drinks and cameras being shoved in his face.

“Be right back,” he yelled to Jason. “She’s not feeling well.”

Outside, he opened her car door.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked, then added, “I hope?”

Maybe it would take more time to prove that this was a safe place—LA was safe, his house was safe, his friends were safe. That he was a safe place. But that was okay with him. They’d get there eventually.

She smiled a little for the first time all night and said, “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

If anyone wants to be tagged in future David fics (bc there will probably be some), let me know!

#david dobrik #david dobrik fanfiction #david dobrik blurb #david dobrik fic #david dobrik imagine

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Weird “Hell School.”

Based on a prompt from a reader hope you like :) Don’t forget to send those critiques, questions, comments, messages, and prompts!

“Adam!”

“ADAM!”

“Coming.”

Krill peered from his spot on the couch as Captain Vir made his way down the stairs quickly at the call of the Alpha female.

“I just got a call from your old High School.”

Krill watched in fascination as the man’s eyes widened his knees locked up and he skidded right into a doorframe.

He rubbed his head as the alpha female peered around the doorframe.

“Well what do THEY want…..” He frowned

“Oh, Adam, don’t sound so annoyed, you’re a bit of a celebrity, and they just want you to come and give a talk at the school about your work, no big deal.”

“I most definitely will not! I’m not going back to that place.”

***

They stood outside the massive concrete and brick building as snow billowed around them. High chain link fences rose towards the cloudy sky.

“It looks like a prison.”

“It IS a prison.” The man muttered trudging through the snow and up to the doors carrying Krill over one shoulder contained within his specialized containment unit. He shouldered open the doors into the warm entryway bombarded suddenly by an array of pulses. The doors ahead of them buzzed once and then blinked green letting them inside.

“That’s new.” The man muttered stepping into the long hallway to stomp snow from his boots on the inner carpet. Setting down the containment tube, he opened the door and allowed Krill to scuttle outwards onto the floor. He looked around in curiosity, eyes wide and wondering at the long hallway lined in doors and strange containment lockers blinking lights red for locked.

“What is this place?” He wondered following the Captain towards the first set of doors.

“Hell Krill, This is hell.” Krill kind of doubted that. Very much as they passed through the doors into a small office space with a long desk manned by two plum middle-aged human females. They looked up as he entered looking confused for a minute before.

“Adam, is that you, I barely recognized you under that.” She waved a hand up and down, “and the gaudy eyepatch doesn’t help.”

He frowned, opening his mouth to respond.

The woman nudged her companion, “Look Susan its little Adam Vir, can hardly believe it.” It was just then, she noticed Krill, and the scream she let off could have ruptured glass if there was any glass in the room to be found. “What is that?!” She demanded leaping backwards nearly out of her chair. Krill found himself oddly satisfied. A lot of Earth humans weren’t nearly as brave as their space human counterparts. He had never made a human scream before.

“That.” Vir said smugly, “Is Krill, my crew’s acting medic and, oh yeah very much an alien.”

The woman stammered for a moment before grabbing a couple of badges and tossing them over the desk towards Vir who caught them and gave a grin.

“The auditorium.” The woman said curtly before retreating further behind her desk, as Captain Vir led Krill back out into the hallway and down. Krill watched the doors pass by peering in through cracked doors at lines of desks and young humans staring glassy eyed towards the front of the room listening to a single voice droning on and on.

“Really captain, what is this?”

Captain Vir sighed, “In this country and on Earth I general, it is mandatory for everyone to receive public education up until about the age of eighteen. One this continent we have elementary middle and high school education. Subjects include science, mathematics, English, communications, linguistics, geography, health and physical education. Then we have sports teams tagged onto that for after school activities.”

“That’s…. actually quite amazing Captain, I never knew that about humans.”

“Don’t worry, it’s generally completely useless and everything about it is designed to torture your soul into apathy.”

Krill followed confused but said nothing as they were met by a man who, claimed to be the “Principal”/ He was thrown off momentarily upon meeting Krill, but eventually let them backstage giving them a place to sit and rest while he called the students from class. He warned that there would be a few more curious people in attendance. Vir was beginning to look a little green.

They waited back stage for over an hour before the principle came back patting Vir on the shoulder. In that time Vir had changed into his uniform.

Krill could hear the sounds of many voices echoing up from the chamber beyond as the principle walked out onto stage. Distantly Krill could hear the speakers booming overhead, “Five years ago, Earth began peace talks with the Galactic assembly, and it took almost two years for earth to finally accept the terms of the peace talks. The six month war with the Drev took place two months after we joined, and a thousand of our soldiers were sent in aid of our galactic allies. Much of this had been made possible by a man who graduated from this very school not so many years ago. At only age 20 Then Lieutenant Adam Vir was the first human to encounter sentient life. Two years later he fought alongside our galactic allies in the war against the Drev. He received a purple heart for injuries received and a silver star for valor in action. Two years later he was promoted to the Rank of captain, and now currently pilots our furthest reaching human space vessel. He has worked, in part, for the Galactic Assembly, and has helped with the construction of many human-related laws, now Please give a warm welcome to Captain Adam Vir.”

The man took a deep breath as the polite clapping began motioning Vir out behind him as he walked onto stage. Upon seeing Krill, the room erupted in a measure of gasping, shrieking and awes of wonder.

Captain Vir leaned against the podium and waited for the crowd to die down. Krill hid behind him.

When they finally did, he responded, “Look I don’t have a speech prepared or anything so if you want me to talk you better ask. Otherwise I can stand here for an hour staring at you and just make it weird and awkward for everyone. Don’t bother raising your hands, I’m not about that.”

Pause, “What the hell is that!” He frowned, “That is actually very rude, so don’t be a Jerk.” He stepped aside allowing the students to see Krill, “This is my crew’s acting medic Krill. If you have one of those universal translator apps on your phone, you should probably use it unless you have the implants and then, more power to you.”

The phones were already out pointed directly at Krill. Questions were shouted out at random and at great vigor.

Krill stumbled to answer most of them unsure how to answer the question. Despite his poor stage presence, the students seemed thrilled that he could even talk. There was never a moment of silence, and why would there be, this was probably the most interesting thing that happened to them all year.

“Do you wear the eyepatch because you think it makes you look cool?”

There was a pause, “I have two answers for that one. One I don’t have an eye, and number two…. Yes…. Absolutely why wouldn’t I wear an eyepatch. My question is, why wouldn’t anyone else?”

“What did you get your purple heart for?”

“Well, I got my leg ripped off by a big ass alien…. Uh sorry I mean a nine foot tall alien.”

A collective, “Woa, can we see it.”

Krill was stunned, little savage.

“Yeah, sure.” He reached down and pulled up the leg on his pants to reveal the robotic leg underneath. “It goes up to about mid-thigh, good model though.”

“Tell us your most interesting story.”

“Oh…. Well sh- I mean uh….. I have a lot, like there was the time I lost my eye, saved an alien race from bubblegum pink overlords, ran a marathon on a class A-1 Death planet to avoid dying, accidentally killed an alien pirate by spitting on him, got locked inside a Rundi prison, navigated an asteroid field manually, killed a serial killer who tried to kill me, saved an alien child from drowning, won a battle by throwing rocks, battled an underwater leviathan, survived an attack by pirates, and uh of course made contact with the first E.T. life.”

The crowd was silent before demanding that he tell them as many of his stories as he could before their time was up.

Krill was encouraged to jump in on the stories, and by the time they were done Captain Vir was significantly more relaxed than before. Krill hid behind the podium most of the time.

Eventually the Principal had to dismiss the students to a chorus of booing, “Alright, Alright, enough of that, and les thank Captain Vir, for coming to speak with us today, no, no I have already gone over all the time I am willing.”

Vir stepped down from the stage greeting and speaking with some of the students as they left. Krill stood beside him as, suddenly the man grew stiff.

“Hey look Alien Adam, Can’t believe it’s really you.” A rather large…. Mildly flabby human walked up to the two of them. He looked Captain Vir up and down, “and you finally got some muscle on you.”

“And you finally got fat.” Captain Vir responded immediately. The other human seemed surprised before his eyes narrowed in anger.

“You-“

“The captain held up a hand, “Ah ah, hold on distinguished veteran with frontal lobe damage, I can’t control my impulses.”

Krill looked between the two men, “You know each other?”

Before the other man could speak, captain Vir held up a hand, “Yes, we do, he made my life a living hell for four years all because he peaked in high school, and I didn’t. Now I’m winningly successful, and he’s been in the same dead-end job for the past seven years.”

“Brain damage?”

“No, that was all me. And one more thing. I was right.”

The man huffed, “Come on Adam, you can hardly blame me. You were a weird kid like I mean what kind of person ACTUALLY believe in UFO’s and Aliens. It wasn’t normal.”

“Oh yeah, and it was only about me being a geek, nothing about how skinny I was, or the graphic T-shirts, or how short I was, or my braces, or how bad I was at sports. And I’m going to go right ahead and point out that a lot of people believed that the sun revolved around the earth for a long time, that didn’t make them right, but you couldn’t leave it alone, and now that it turns out I wasn’t crazy you seem to think it’s just ok to come up and insult me again.”

The man worked his jaw somewhere between anger and surprise.

“What, have nothing to say now, that I won’t just lay down and take it…..” He took a slow deep breath calming himself, “I found what I was looking for, and I don’t need you explaining yourself to me. You were a jerk, and here was no reason to be. You messed me up for a long time, but I am over what you did to me, and I am done with this conversation.”

He stepped past the man with Krill at his heels Krill following after, “What was that about?”

He sighed long and deep, “I wasn’t always as fantastically awesome as I am now.” He chuckled to himself, “When I was younger, a lot of people didn’t believe in Extra-terrestrials, interstellar technology was still in in its infant stages….. And, I well, I believed that everyone was wrong. I was sure aliens were real, so I looked for UFOs, I spent all my allowance on a telescope. I was so obsessed, it came at the exclusion of everything else, health, sports, eating, I was probably really weird, and some people used that as an excuse to be real assholes to me.”

“Is that common in human schools?”

Captain Vir sighed, “All too common I’m afraid, thousands of years and we still can’t shake it…. But I was right.”

“We were never alone.”

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #earth is space australia

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positivelyominous · 4 years

Text

Oxfordshire - 2008 AD

(Next)

You’d think it would be a dark and stormy night. Considering the events to follow, it seemed a bit of a missed opportunity to be anything else. But Mother Nature seldom listened to anyone’s opinion on her work*. So it was a dark, but decidedly un-stormy night. The air was oddly still, and the countryside was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of an especially daring cricket. The graveyard seemed like a darker patch of black against the gloom, a shadow within a shadow. To anyone looking (if they could even see, for that matter,) it appeared completely destitute of human presence, and technically, this was so. There wasn’t a soul about. But there were a pair of yet darker shadows amongst the headstones. One was short, almost child-sized, and completely hidden beneath a large raincoat. The other was taller and poker straight, dressed in clothes centuries out of fashion, and continuously glancing down at a heavy antique pocket watch.

These were demons. Your actual demons, from Hell with a capital H. Specifically Dagon, Lord of the Files, Master of Madness, Under-duke of the Seventh Torment and her assistant, Merrow. Dagon had the pocket watch, and was scrutinizing it.

“It’s almost time,” she muttered, “she’s usually early…”

The pocket watch gave a small metallic clunk, then, which was presently followed by the faint sound of rubber on asphalt slowing to a halt. Moments later, a third patch of darkness added itself to the gloom.

“Ahah,” Dagon shut the watch with a crisp click, “Precisely on time. Hail Satan!”

“Ah yes, Hail Satan,” came the hesitant reply of the demon Azruba’al, Serpent of Eden, Original Tempter, and none too pleased to be here, “Jolly good to see you, Dagon, Merrow…”

Merrow waved jerkily in response. It was difficult expressing oneself without the luxury of a mouth, but somehow Merrow could always make herself heard. To an unnervingly detailed degree, even.

“I, ah… to what do I owe the displeasure?”

“All in good time,” replied Dagon, “First it is customary to recite… the Deeds of the Day.”

Merrow would have ominously echoed her superior if she could have. Nonetheless, the effect was implied all the same.

“I came upon a man who’s best friend had suffered an unexpected streak of good luck,” began Dagon, solemnly, “I put the seed of envy into his head, so that his sympathetic joy might turn to resentment. He shall be ours within the decade.”

There were nods of appreciation all around. It was Merrow’s turn next, and she explained succinctly. The other two demons shuddered.

“And you, Azruba’al?” asked Dagon, turning to grin at her, “What has our great serpent been up to, lately?”

Azruba’al simpered back nervously. Despite Dagon’s genial demeanour, there always seemed to be the promise of teeth behind that smile.

“Oh! Well, I think you’ll like this one. I’ve mucked up the Global Positioning System signal all over the south of England!”

Her words were met with silence.

“Er, right, I should explain,” Azruba’al shifted bashfully, “A Global Positioning System or G P S, is a kind of computer th-“

“Ah, a computer,” interrupted Dagon, smiling and nodding in a way that said she’d heard enough, “And this nets us..?”

Azruba’al coughed.

“Well, it’s very useful for getting around, you see. Gives you directions. Great for tourists, especially. And you know how nasty they can be; especially the Americans…” she tugged at her tartan scarf a little, “so they’ll be lost and exhausted and grouchy, and ‘damn it Karen, why’d we let these blinky boxes run our lives? I can read a damn map for chr- for crepe’sake’ etcetera, etcetera. Plenty of wrath to go ‘round…”

She trailed off lamely. She could explain all she liked, but she knew it wouldn’t make any difference. She’d been trying to explain earth to the others for millennia, but she felt like they’d tuned out somewhere around the time humans had figured out how to hit each other with rocks.** As expected, her words were met with another silence. Dagon’s smile was nearly tangibly sharp.

“Well it’s no Hindenburg, but it will do,” she said at last, “Now that’s sorted, let us discuss the matter at hand.”

“Yes! Yes,” said Azruba’al seizing gratefully on the change in subject, “And what IS the matter at ha… ah… oh.”

The matter was definitely at hand. Or in hand, rather. Merrow was holding up a wicker basket, one she’d certainly not had before. Faint sounds issued from inside, but there was no need to guess what it was.

“It… that…” Azruba’al wrung the words out with great difficulty, “Is that- that isn’t—“

“Yes,” said Dagon.

“It’s happening… n-now?”

“Yes.”

“And I—?”

Merrow nodded with the finality of a guillotine. Azruba’al swallowed, thickly.

“But why- I-I mean, why have I been chosen to carry out this… this honour?”

“Because you’ve earned it, Azruba’al,” and this time Dagon’s lips parted to show off her mouth of decidedly piscine teeth, “what with nearly six thousand years of devoted service to our cause? We couldn’t think of a more deserving candidate.”

Azruba’al eyed the basket warily.

“W-well, I, I…”

“Don’t be so modest!” cried Dagon, pressing a clipboard into Azruba’al’s unresisting hands, “Really. It’s a virtue.”

Azruba’al fumbled with the board and the lapels of her jacket, groping about for a pen. It felt very surreal to be signing for this particular package. Finally she managed to produce a handsomely engraved, gold-nibbed fountain pen, which she pressed to the paper with a faint red spark. She paused a moment, ruby eyes peeking over the clip.

“…it’ll be the, ah, old one, yes?”

“That’s right,” said Dagon.

Azruba’al looked back to the page glumly. With a graceful stroke, she traced out the broken, ruined sigil of someone she could only half remember being. It burned and twisted, flashing momentarily with the suggestion of scales.

The moment she was done, Merrow snatched the clipboard back and exchanged it for the basket. Azruba’al received it gingerly, with the combined emotional charge of someone who had just been handed a duckling, an antique vase and a full diaper.

“The time is nigh,” said Dagon, grandly, “The End is upon us, and victory is nearly within our grasp!”

“Yes, it is, rather,” said Azruba’al distractedly, “Now, erm, what… what exactly do I do..?”

“You’ll know,” replied Dagon, “Now, you’d best be off. You haven’t much time.”

“Oh! Yes,” Azruba’al shook herself lightly and hitched a slightly-too-wide-smile onto her face, “Jolly good! I shan’t let you down. Happy End-Times, Glory to Hell and all her devils and suchlike… Toodle-pip..!”

And with that she was bustling off into the night, leaving behind nothing but the swish of skirts and the very faint smell of apple blossom.

The demons watched her go, silently. Merrow turned slightly to her superior.

“No, no. That won’t be necessary,” answered Dagon, bouncing on the balls of her feet, “if she makes any mistakes, we will know about it.”

After another pause, Merrow tilted her head, looking perplexed.

“I really have no idea,” said Dagon, folding her arms, “She’s always gone a little far with speaking in tongues.”

⧗

Azruba’al marched across the damp grass, teeth clenched. Little golden scales were erupting up the side of her neck like a rash, and her lips were still drawn back too wide.

“No, no, no, no, no!” she hissed under her breath, “Not now- why now?!”

Why ever? Well. She knew why; the Great Plan dictated it so. Earth’s expiration date was fast approaching, and now she, The Demon Azruba’al, Serpent of Eden, was carrying the force that would chuck it down the garbage disposal. How fitting for humanity to begin and end in the same hands…

Azruba’al grimaced and tried to will the corners of her mouth away from her ears. She should be honoured. Excited. Over the moon. The final, decisive battle between Heaven and Hell was drawing near, and here she was playing a star part in it. Any other demon in Hell would have been ecstatic. But that was exactly the problem. They were all down there, and she was up here, and she… she rather…

Azruba’al found herself at the door of her idling taxi. She let herself into the back seat with a floomf and slammed the door. The thing in the basket hiccuped.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but were you- were you in that graveyard?” asked the driver, warily, “what were you doing out there? And— blimey, is that a child?”

The thing in the basket had started to wail. Azruba’al broke out in a fresh rash of scales. Bloody Heaven. She thought she’d paid the man enough not to ask questions. Not wanting him to panic thinking she was part of the most convoluted and poorly thought out trafficking ring in the world, she gave her wrist an impatient flick.

“Take me to…” she paused a moment, and the destination appeared in her head with a small throb, “…The Convent of the Chattering Order.”

Oh. Oh. Of course it would be them. The driver had relaxed, and he gave Azruba’al a glassy-eyed smile before turning back to the wheel. As they sped through the night, Azruba’al steeled herself and set the basket onto her lap.

“Hello, dea- ah, mas- ah— hello…” she cooed as she gingerly opened the two lids of the picnic basket -a picnic basket, why a picnic basket?- and beheld the thing inside.

It looked ordinary. Eerily so, but that was the point, wasn’t it? Small and ruddy and painfully delicate, face scrunched up in a howl of displeasure. If not for the ancient, unfathomable edge to its ragged sobs, it might have been any other newborn. There was a small red blanket tucked haphazardly over it, and suddenly the overwhelming trepidation in Azruba’al’s chest melted into something far more tender. Almost righteous.

“No wonder you’re so cranky,” she murmured, reaching into the basket delicately and lifting the thing into the crook of her arm, “Paltry blanket just sitting on top of you? Hell knows nothing of comfort but I would have thought they’d treat you, of all entities, with greater respect..!”

With a small snap, the demon had a plush blue blanket in her free hand. Ever so carefully, she swaddled the thing in it, keeping up a constant murmur under her breath, in the half conscious hope of soothing its wretched cries.

“No idea what they’re doing. Didn’t even bother to read a single book on the subject, did they? Not that all of them can read, but still. I would have thought that Asherah might have stepped in, at least! This is a travesty. An absolute travesty. I wouldn’t be surprised if they put Hastur in charge of your accommodations. They did, didn’t they? This has Hastur scrawled all over it in daubed faeces…”

By the time the thing was tucked snuggly back into its basket, its wails had subsided to fussy burbles. Azruba’al shut the wicker lids on top of it and gave them a gentle pat.

“We’ll be there any minute now,” she assured, softly.

Unfortunately, it was right then that she registered the cloying, synthesized female voice that had been repeating itself over and over behind the sobbing this entire time.

“Recalculating…”

Azruba’al bit back a bless-word and smacked her head against the back of the passenger seat.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

*She was especially fond of contradicting weathermen.

**They did occasionally check back in to praise things like hammocks, nudie mags and gaunching, though.

#Good omens #Reverse omens #Bearing Apples (Azruba’al)

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todisturbtheuniverse · 6 years

Text

FIC: Love Is A Free Washer/Dryer

Rating: T Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Fluff, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Developing Relationship Word Count: 3000 Summary: Farm life doesn't come ready-made with modern conveniences, but Lydia's laundry situation evolves over the years. Strangely, every step of the way seems to mark a milestone in her relationship with Shane. Also on AO3. Notes: This is a story about laundry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

When Lydia had lived in the city, when she’d worked at Joja, she’d carted a Ziploc bag of quarters up and down six flights of stairs to do her laundry—packing the machine as full as she could, making those two dollars stretch, and who cared if some of her towels ended up with weird splotches of color on them from being mixed with the wrong stuff? No one was looking at her towels. She worked too much to have people over, anyway.

She worked too much to have people.

And then, the move—to a ramshackle little cottage where she was lucky that the plumbing wasn’t in such bad shape. Robin told her so, anyway, upon initial inspection, and Lydia, knowing exactly nothing about pipes except to pour some Drano down them occasionally, had to take her word for it. Robin didn't charge her anything, and if she was trying to rip Lydia off, she'd have done that, right?

She washed her underwear in the sink when it was too dark to keep clearing the land or planting or watering or fertilizing or or or—and she leaned against the countertop to stay upright by the light of the single lamp. Her eyes were always at risk of closing. She'd woken up in the middle of the night on the floor more than once, freezing. Never bruised, so clearly some part of her had made a decision to lie down instead of another part of her making a decision to fall down. Her wardrobe had been replaced: jeans and flannels and t-shirts to match the new lifestyle, the old "sensible" high heels and pencil skirts and satin blouses left behind at her dad's. These new things could survive soaking in the ancient claw-foot tub and then being hung to dry on the line behind her house when the sun was hot enough.

There were no neighbors to see her kangaroo-patterned underwear flapping in the breeze.

Well, there was one neighbor. By some stretch of the word.

"Hey," Shane said, his voice a little gravelly and resentful. "Marnie asked me to deliver your new chicken."

His eyes were squinted up and red-rimmed in the bright summer sunshine. She felt a little red-rimmed herself, mostly from staying up until one in the morning to hang her laundry out on the lines before collapsing in bed. No big deal, she’d thought. No one would come by and see all her unmentionables.

She’d entirely forgotten the chicken.

Best to just forget the underwear, too. Either he’d look over to the left and see them, or he wouldn’t. He was rude, but probably not rude enough to comment on her choice of patterns.

"Perfect, thanks," she said, trying for brisk. "You think she'd like the coop better today? Or, I built an enclosure around it, you know, so she can be outside—too much, too early? What do you think?"

He gave her a somewhat-blank, somewhat-bemused stare. A feathered head with a particularly beady eye poked out of the basket to do the same.

"Let her loose outside and see what she does," he said, holding the basket out to her.

She made a few calculations. Saturday mornings were not the best time to push him; Friday nights were some of his worst, and the mood seemed to linger into the weekend. There was still the faint hint of beer lingering around him, and it was hard to tell if it was leftover from last night or if he'd started early this morning.

Well. What was life without a little risk? The things he'd said at the dock just a couple of weeks ago lingered in the back of her mind, and the last thing she wanted was to allow him to swiftly retreat back to the ranch and a six-pack.

Besides. She liked him, rude or not. She’d seen the suggestion of a dry humor during a couple of their previous conversations, and she wanted to see more of it.

"Let's head over to the coop, then," she suggested, pretending as if she hadn't noticed the attempt to offload the basket.

His eyes narrowed, just a little more, and as she brushed past him on the stairs she held her breath—bracing for a rude outburst, ready to take the basket he would undoubtedly thrust into her arms before storming off. But as she passed him, he let out an exasperated sigh, and his footsteps clunked on the stairs as he followed.

She was so smug in her victory that it came as a nasty shock when he commented, "Laundry day, huh?"

She glanced back in time to see him look away from the laundry lines—from the towels and the jeans and the t-shirts and, yes, the underwear. Had he seen the kangaroos? Could you make them out at this distance? She didn't dare look that way to be sure; her face was red enough as it was. She could pass that off as a sunburn, probably. She'd only learned the hard way, and recently, to be religious about sunscreen.

"Yeah," she said, making a stab at staying casual. "Best day of the week, right?"

"No dryer? Or are you just really trying to embrace the country lifestyle?"

There was a jab in there somewhere; she ignored it.

"No washer, no dryer," she said. "Guess Granddad did things the old-fashioned way."

They were on the path through a stand of pine trees, now, and the laundry was out of sight. She barely withheld a sigh of relief.

"Why?" she continued. "Is this how you're supposed to do things, out in the country? Am I doing it right?"

She smiled at him, so wide-eyed and guileless that he snorted in reaction. Maybe he was just laughing at her, the weird wannabe farm girl who wouldn't stop saying hello to him on the street no matter how many times he tried to put her off, but it was some version of a laugh.

"That why you're raising chickens now?" he said. "Trying to do things right?"

"I'm always trying to do things right," she said, knee-jerk, her mouth running ahead as fast as her brain could propel it. "Trying being the operative word."

He didn't laugh. Despite the lingering scent of beer, he gave her a considering, sidelong look. She pretended not to see it.

"Hey, Marnie’s decided to replace her old washer/dryer," Shane said, one night that first fall when he was fifteen days sober.

They were sitting by the big pond on her property, legs stretched out toward the campfire, backs braced against a sturdy log they'd hauled over just a week or so ago, and he looked both better and worse than she’d ever seen him look: better for the aggressive water-guzzling, worse for the hunted look in his eyes that said a beer would go down real nice right now. Better, but haggard for it, too.

He reached for another one of the lopsided pepper poppers. She had a ways to go for presentation, but clearly, they tasted good. She felt a swell of pride for that. That he liked anything she'd offered him—that was still new enough to delight her.

And that he broke a silence first, sometimes. That he sought her out instead of the other way around. That he'd spent today, a Saturday, his day off, helping her convince her new cow to follow her home from Marnie's ranch. That he'd laughed when they were both braced against the cow's backside, pushing, and she'd sworn reflexively like a violent sneeze when her feet slipped in the mud and he'd caught her by the elbow and hauled her back up and she'd felt a jolt in her chest like—

She stuck another marshmallow on her marshmallow-stick and held it out over the fire, firmly ignoring the dumb list-making that her brain did when it had a crush.

"That right?" she said, refocusing.

He kept a wary eye on her roasting marshmallow. "The dryer doesn’t dry so great." He pulled a face. "I mean, it’s slow as hell. Thirty years old and all. But it works. You want ‘em?"

She turned the marshmallow. It was really hard to ignore the crush when the crush remembered something that caused you an inconvenience and offered to fix it. She did her best, even though her heart beat a bit faster at the idea of a dryer. Even a thirty-year-old dryer.

"How much?" she asked. "I could really use them, but—"

"Lydia," he said, a stamp of exasperation—completely, totally familiar—imprinted on her name. It was how he usually said her name, but it had shifted over the last few months from aggravated exasperation to fond exasperation, and yes, there was totally a measurable difference. "They’re thirty fucking years old. They’re free."

Her eyes stung. She didn't dare blink; it would dislodge the completely excessive tears. She could pass off the glassiness in her eyes as the heat from the fire. Maybe. Hopefully.

She cleared her throat. "I’ll take them," she said. Her voice didn’t waver; that was something. "Thanks. I’ll rent a truck sometime this week—"

"You can just borrow ours," he interrupted again, and then, exasperation and fondness growing in equal measure, "You’re real bad at accepting help, huh?"

She managed a laugh. "It takes one to know one, right?"

He snorted—as good as agreement—and she started planning out how she’d get the machines hooked up, envisioning it, while Shane ate through another pepper popper and considered the pond.

"Thanks," she said again, because she thought it bore repeating.

He shrugged, shifted a little. "They're Marnie's machines."

"But you thought to offer them to me."

Was he blushing? No. Impossible. The firelight was just weird. He cleared his throat.

"Just seemed like you might want to keep your kangaroos out of the snow, with winter coming, and all," he said.

For an instant she was too apoplectic with embarrassment and anger and—yes, a little amusement—to react, and then she smacked him on the shoulder. "You looked?!"

He leaned slightly away from her, as if that put him out of range of future smacks. "You leave them hung up on lines in broad daylight!"

"That's not an invitation to—"

"I didn't go over and inspect them, or anything, just out of the corner of my eye while we were weeding—"

"Oh, I'm sure it was out of the corner of your eye—"

But it was impossible to keep up, this righteous indignation, when there was a hysterical laughter bubbling inside her that burst forth before she could keep talking, and he joined in, forehead thunking down on his knees, as she clutched her stomach and tears of mirth shook free from her eyes.

She dropped the marshmallow and the marshmallow stick, of course. The whole thing got subsumed into the fire. It only made them laugh harder.

And then, without thinking, as they started to get their breath back and the laughter wound down, she leaned sideways and dropped her head down to rest against his shoulder.

For a moment, he froze. She froze. Muscles tense, confused, reacting. She could still pull away, pass it off as a brief gesture of—of camaraderie, or something, instead of cuddling—

But then he relaxed, by increments; he didn't pull away. Though their arms were slightly squashed together, he shifted, just enough to take her hand in his.

This was still friendly, right? Just perfectly friendly. Nothing untoward, here. It would be a long time before he saw her kangaroos in any context besides on the laundry lines.

But. Maybe. Someday.

And then it was another fall—because time in the valley passed in a peculiar way, both too fast and too slow, and years seemed to go in great dollops sometimes—and the farm was doing good. Great, even. She had money left over, money used to make additions to the cottage and renovate the old cellar. And to move the washer/dryer inside, instead of huddling over it on the back porch.

This would all be wonderful, except that Lydia couldn’t actually find any of her laundry, and she knew she had plenty of it. Jeans splattered with mud. Flannels stiff with sweat. She'd looked forward to doing it inside, for the first time in literal years. Still in pajamas and with freezing toes, she made her way to the back of the house and poked her head through a door that still hadn’t quite been fixed with a handle. It was on the to-do list.

"Hey, Jas," she said. "You’re not playing some fun prank on me where you hide all my dirty laundry, right?"

Jas looked up from her book, quietly indignant in the way that only a nine-year-old could be. "Vincent hasn’t been over in a week," she said, trying a very dignified voice that really exercised Lydia’s poker face, "so unless it’s been missing that long—"

"No, no, I know. You wouldn’t. I can’t find anything, though."

"Maybe you already put it in the washer," Jas suggested, looking back down to her book, eyes already scanning. The first Harry Potter—she was halfway through, which was much further than she’d been a few hours ago.

"I’ll go check," Lydia agreed, though she was absolutely sure she would not have forgotten putting the first glorious load of laundry into a machine that was inside, "and then I’ll make some lunch, okay?"

"Can I eat in my room? I want to know what happens next."

Lydia grinned. "As long as you tell us all about what happened at dinner tonight."

Jas grinned back at her—not shy anymore. That, too, had been years ago. "Deal."

Lydia detoured back to her own bedroom for socks—the cellar got damn cold this time of year, and there was at least one fuzzy pair left in her dresser—and made the descent beneath the house. There was something a little creepy about it, always had been, but doubly so when she heard the sounds of movement below.

Halfway down the stairs, she froze. Shit, did they have rats, now? Just when things were going good—

But then there was a breath and a grunt, and she relaxed. There was something about knowing someone for three years that allowed you to recognize all their sounds and mannerisms and even their silhouette at a distance in dim light, in an instant, and she didn’t know why he was down in the cellar, but it was just Shane.

"Hey," she called, continuing on down the stairs, "have you seen my—"

She stopped dead at the bottom as he started and looked up at her. The whole western wall of the cellar had been cleared, the many racks of preserves jars and aging cheese shifted out of the way. Still organized, though. She could see even from here that her system had been preserved.

And in place of all of those rickety shelves were two gleaming machines that looked horrendously out of place in this early-twentieth-century-hole-underground, complete with some kind of built-in cabinets and tables in a nice honey-golden wood on which currently sat all of the clothes she was looking for, perfectly clean and nicely folded.

Shane shot her a glare over a pair of kangaroo-patterned underwear he was folding. What timing.

"If you’d given me maybe ten more minutes," he grouched, "I would’ve shouted surprise and everything." He sighed and ran a hand over his face, then gestured to the machines. "Tada?"

As if in slow motion, she realized: every time she’d been about to go down to the cellar these last few days, either Jas or Shane had distracted her and she’d forgotten her intentions entirely; there had been a few odd noises coming from the house when she’d been out in the field, but she’d discounted them as the wind, which was always sporadic and feisty in the valley this time of year; and her husband had done her laundry after assembling a new laundry station. That was what this was. A laundry station. A beautiful, wonderful laundry station.

Apparently she'd been quiet too long, because the exasperation on his face took on a bit of anxiety. "Don’t tell me you were attached to those old machines," he said. "The dryer took three hours to dry a couple of sweaters, Lyd."

She opened her mouth to say something, found her throat stuck fast, closed her mouth again, and shook her head. That much was safe.

"I read all the labels," he added, inspecting the folded clothes with a critical eye, "if that's what you're worried about. Everything washed per care instructions. No weird splotches or shrinkages."

He was going to keep running down the list if she didn't say something, but her heart was damn near bursting in her chest, which made speaking challenging. She'd felt about as overjoyed on their wedding day. She knew that this made her kind of weird.

"You built this?" she managed, though she sounded even to herself like she was getting over some kind of sinus infection. "It looks so nice."

The anxiety dropped away. He gave her an understanding, if exasperated, look. "If you cry over a washing machine again—"

"I’ve never cried over a washing machine before—"

"I was too polite to say anything at the pond that night," he said, now smiling in that way of his that had turned her heart for years, "but I saw—"

And then he didn’t get the chance to heckle her further, because she’d used her lightning speed and superior reflexes to dart across the cellar and kiss him thoroughly, which he reciprocated with enthusiasm, hoisting her up on top of the washer (a little clumsily) and knocking a stack of underwear to the floor. She burst out laughing but kept kissing him, and after a very halfhearted attempt to pull away, he allowed the underwear to languish on the floor.

"You're so fucking weird," he mumbled against her mouth. "You know that, right? You know that nobody else gets as excited as you do about laundry?"

She cupped his face in her hands, pressed her forehead against his. "I know how many books you have about chickens," she said. Threatened, really. "I'm in good company."

And it was a testament to the kind of day he was having—to the hard-fought ground he'd gained over the years—that he rolled his eyes and grinned at her and didn't argue.

#stardew valley #sdv shane #stardew valley shane #sdv farmer #shane/farmer #universe writes #fluff #developing relationship

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takemedancingmaine · 7 years

Text

Flicker

Listen - Flicker by Niall Horan

A Jack Lowden Imagine

When you feel your love's been taken When you know there's something missing

“Bollocks.”

You knew this day would come. You’d just hoped it wouldn’t.

Sort of.

You were happy for your best friends, Chris and Sally: today they were christening their baby boy, Michael.

In the seven months since you’d learned of his existence, and the six months since you’d been asked to be his godmother, you’d been filled with a love you’d never known you could experience.

Sitting in your car now though, listening to Niall Horan’s new album while gathering the energy to exit it and head into the church, you can’t stop yourself from thinking about Jack.

Four months, nine days, a handful of hours. That’s how long it’s been since you’ve seen Jack Lowden. Your former boyfriend. The one you had for the last four years. Your now ex-boyfriend.

Michael’s godfather.

You’ll have to head into that church and stand next to your ex-boyfriend, next to Jack, and manage to remain calm and civil. You’ll have to be close enough to see his blue eyes and the moles on his neck, smell his cologne and the citrus shampoo he uses, even hear his breath and try not to remember the slow sounds of his breath as he slept on the pillow next to yours.

Then I think of the start And it echoes a spark And I remember the magic electricity

All of these thoughts fill your head and you can’t help but feel your breathing pick up and your heart rate soar, not in the manner of excitement, but in a manner of losing control. You are so close to losing your calm composure, your eyes feeling glassy, your head and heart feeling heavy. Your teeth digging into your bottom lip in a malicious manner as you worry yourself.

A knock on your passenger side window startles you. Looking over you see Charlie, her pale pink dress covered with a black woollen coat to guard against the cool November air. Quickly you unlock the car and she slips in beside you, looking over you before leaning her head onto your shoulder.

“I’ll be right there,” Charlie eventually whispers just loud enough to be heard over the music. “If you feel like you’re going to lose it, just glance at me in the front row and know that I’m right there, right there for you.”

Unable to figure out suitable words you just nod.

“You’re my best mate, love,” she says. “I don’t have kids for you to be godmother to, but you’re my best friend and I’m not going to let you suffer, alright? Get through the ridiculous bloody ceremony and you and I can go for drinks afterward.”

Again, you nod.

“Or we can stop at Tesco’s and buy every Ben and Jerry’s flavour they’ve got before heading to mine to watch shitty movies.”

That makes you snort. Your first smile in days sliding onto your lips.

“I’d love that,” you lean your cheek against her head before her phone sings.

“Right,” she says looking down at her phone before sliding it back into the pocket of her coat. “We’re needed inside,” she wraps an arm around you and gives you a squeeze. “And then we have shitty movies to watch.”

“Can’t wait,” you take a deep breath and turn off the car as you two slip out and head inside.

You feel sick to your stomach. Ever since that argument one afternoon, Jack had been staying with one of his mates on the other side of London. You’d been left to carry on in what was your apartment together, his ghost seeming to follow you throughout it daily. When you made tea or sat on the couch reading you could feel his absence wash over you, threaten to drown you.

It was different than when he was away for filming. You’d been through that enough times to be able to distinguish. That was always bittersweet because of course, you were sad, but there was always the excitement of his returning to you.

This though, this is just a hollow feeling. This is you going through the days with an ache in your chest as you miss the man you’ve been in love with since you were a young, bright-eyed twenty-two year old fresh out of uni in Glasgow.

You still love him. It’s obvious. It’s been four months and you still cry on the regular about his absence. Of course, you still love him. His walking out damn near killed you. Is killing you.

Then I look in my heart There's a light in the dark Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me That I want to keep

Jack had been it for you. If you believed in marriage, in institutionalizing your relationship, you’d have married him two years ago, when you realized how certain you were that he was all you’d have for the rest of your life. All you’d ever want for. All you’d ever hope for.

Until he was gone. Walking out over something so simple as a ring.

He’s in the church already. You see his strawberry blonde hair the moment you enter, hear his laugh, the little old man laugh he has, a moment later. Your stomach drops to your feet and you pause long enough for Charlie to notice. She turns back to you and gives you a smile.

“Fuck,” you whisper out, barely a breath escaping you as you try and regroup. Charlie laughs and pulls you in for a warm hug.

“Well, that’s probably not the appropriate language to use in a church,” she pulls away and holds your hand as you start walking again, toward your friends, toward Jack.

“You know I’m Jewish,” you say quietly back to her. It’s not a real excuse, but it makes her smile anyway.

“Shit, I always forget,” Charlie laughs.

“What’s your excuse then?” You ask.

“I haven’t got one,” she laughs a bit louder now, her cheeks flushing pink in her happiness. The sound pulls the attention of your friends toward the two of you.

You feel his gaze the moment it’s on you, your heart hammering away in your chest, your breathing becomes shallower.

“There you are!” Sally lights up at the sight of you two, her newborn son Michael sleeping in the arms of her husband Chris beside her. Sally is practically glowing with happiness from being a mum, from being here today with everyone she loves.

“Here we are,” Charlie curtsies. You studiously ignore everyone’s gaze and look down at Michael when you’re close enough, wishing with all your heart that it wasn’t under these circumstances you were celebrating him.

“Well, they’ve got to get us started,” she gestures toward the priest, stood off a bit.

You nod and follow instructions, standing where you’re told while everyone else around starts taking their seats. Including Charlie. She gives you a look to tell you she’s here for you.

Tuning out all of the pomp and circumstance, you only have enough energy to pay attention to the energy that seems to be radiating from the tall blonde man stood beside you. It’s making you vibrate with all of the hope you still feel, all the love that aches in you when you think of him.

Jack is struggling.

He is struggling to hold himself together. Struggling to hold himself back from reaching out to you, pulling you close and never letting you go again. Struggling to keep his attention on the task at hand. Struggling to breathe when all he can smell is your strawberry and coconut shampoo and your perfume. Struggling to restrain the twitch in his fingers as they yearn to run across your cheeks as he kisses you gently but with everything he’s got in him, just hoping it’s enough to make everything okay again.

When you lay there and you're sleeping Hear the patterns of your breathing And I tell you things you've never heard before

He’s so focused on the task at hand, saying the right things in the brief span of time he’s instructed to do so, that he doesn’t realize his hand has brushed yours until your breathing hitches and you bite down hard on your lip. He feels electric, alive all over from just the simple brush of the back of his hand as it graced yours.

Jack would be lying if he said he was ever over you. He hasn’t even thought of looking for a new place to live without you, instead just living with a mate for four months now.

Of course, he still loves you. Still thinks about the way your hair splays across your pillow when you turn over in the morning, unwilling to greet the day. Still thinks of the way you sit and watch him when he makes a brew or the way you get so lost in a book you don’t even realize he’s there, holding you, rubbing patterns across your shoulders. He still thinks of the way you sing in the shower and the way you love lighting candles all over your home.

He pulls his hand back further from yours, noticing the way your lips are getting darker and darker as you bite them. He can’t help but feel the ghost of your lips on his, on his neck as you slow dance around the apartment listening to your James Bay record. He feels his own breathing become shallower, his entire focus settled on not making a fool of himself, or upsetting you.

He knows what he has to do though, what he needs to do. He needs to feel whole again. And if you refuse a ring, refuse marriage, he knows he’ll learn to be okay with that for you because he can’t imagine spending another day without you. Ever again. He needs you. Always.

The ceremony ends in a blur, as Jack finds himself too focused on you. While still thinking of what to say, he gets himself caught up with various people who want nothing more than to talk—and make it impossible for him to seek you out.

He watches as you and Charlie leave together, and he knows you’re heading to hers. Charlie had told him—in a moment she probably forgot about as she was sloshed—that you hate being alone in your home, always feeling like something is missing. The thought of that breaks his heart.

Once he’s free from making nice with friends of his that, to be honest, he really wants nothing to do with at the moment, Jack gets into his car and finds himself driving to Charlie’s. Where he sits in his car for ages just thinking of what to say to you. It’s hard when he’s distracted though, distracted by thoughts of how close you were just an hour before, how beautiful you looked as he stood beside you and itched to hold you. His own personal angel.

Asking questions to the ceiling Never knowing what you're thinking I'm afraid that what we had is gone

Finally, he gathers up his courage and is knocking on Charlie’s door, heart on his sleeve when she answers the door, the sounds of a movie still going in the background, the smell of popcorn wafting out to him.

“Jack?” Charlie leans against the door, looking over her friend as he’s stood in front of her. He looks like a right mess. Hair all a fluff from running his hands through it, his eyes a bit lost as he glances around haphazardly. His tie hanging loosely around his neck and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I need her,” he manages to work out, his thoughts spinning, his throat dry. His voice sounds small, lost. He wrings his hands together worriedly.

“Jack,” Charlie sighs. “Mate, I dunno...” she trails off looking over her shoulder toward her living area.

“Charlie, please,” he whispers. “I’ll do anything to have her back. I cannae stop thinking about her and I don’t want to, either.”

Charlie sighs again and shakes her head. “It took you four months?” She asks, mostly to herself.

“It took me four seconds,” he answers her, even though she wasn’t directly asking. “It took me four months to get the courage. I knew I was wrong. Seeing her today I.. I knew that if I went home and didn’t try I’d never be alright again.”

“Fuck,” Charlie bites her lip. “Alright, come on. I’ll make myself busy in my room while you talk. Give you some privacy,” she opens the door wider, allowing him to come in.

“Charlie you just missed the bit with...” you trail off when you see Jack walking in behind Charlie.

His breath leaves him as you look at him for the first time. Your eyes piercing through him, getting straight to his soul.

Then I think of the start And it echoes a spark And I remember the magic electricity

You had managed to avoid speaking to him, avoid looking directly into his eyes before while at the ceremony. Now though, as you notice Charlie leave the room, Jack watches the realization of what’s happening as it graces your face, your eyebrows and nose scrunching in your discomfort before your gaze drops from his.

You reach over and pause the movie and silence falls over the two of you. Jack is terrified and he can feel himself almost vibrating with his nerves. He opens his mouth twice to begin and closes it before you stand up so that you’re not twisted sideways on the couch to see him.

When you’re a few feet away he licks his lips and takes a deep breath, ready to tell you everything. To tell you how much he needs you. To open his heart to you.

“I know you probably hate me,” he starts, his voice quiet, low, barely audible. “I know I’m the one that walked out and I know I’m the reason everything is mucked up, but... God, I... I know how wrong I’ve been and I... Look, I’ll do anything, anything at all to get you back, to have you be mine again. To come home to you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness because I was so unforgiving when I walked out...” his voice cracks a bit.

Jack looks up from his hands he’s been ringing together and notices your eyes. The tears streaming down your face, silently, as he continues, your eyes trained on his.

“I know how horrible I was. And I know I don’t deserve... that I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’d do anything to be with you again. Because I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I will never stop loving you. And I know that. I know that you’re it for me.”

Then I look in my heart There's a light in the dark Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me That I wanna keep Please don't leave Please don't leave

You nod. You’d known that when he proposed, though, he realizes. He amends his words a bit before you can argue this point.

“I respect your view though and look... if... if you don’t want to get married, we don’t have to. I just want to be with you. I need to be with you. I don’t care anymore about marriage. I don’t because if it costs me you, I want nothing to do with it,” he heaves out a breath, his voice filling the room.

It’s then that you gasp and close your eyes, losing out to your raging emotions. You hear Jack take two steps toward you and expect to feel him wrap himself around you and hold you, but he holds himself back, restrains himself. Respecting your boundaries. Not knowing if it would be okay, or welcome, to hold you, even when you’re breaking down.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you spurt out through your sobs. “I’ll marry you if it means I get to have you back. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I was so mean and I need you and I need to be with you because I still love you. I always will love you, Jack. I never want to stop loving you and I want so badly for you to come home to me, to our home and to just be in my life again.”

“C’mere,” Jack whispers before taking the last step and pulling you close, your sobs muffled by his chest as his cheek falls to your head and he begins to trace patterns across your back as you wrap your arms around him and continue to cry.

“I’m serious,” you speak through your sobs, the words just distinguishable enough for Jack to understand. “I’ll marry you because that means you can’t leave me again. It means you’ll be stuck with me.”

“We’ll talk about this again when we’ve both stopped crying,” Jack’s voice breaks as his heart rate increases. “But, love, I’m never in my life, leaving you again for anything at all.”

“Please come home,” you whisper your plea against his chest.

“Right now,” Jack pulls you in even tighter, “with you,” he breathes deep, “I am home.”

#Jack Lowden #Jack Lowden Imagine #jack lowden x reader #Jack Lowden blurb #angst

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unidentifiedpie · 7 years

Text

Happy birthday @love-and-partner!!!!!! Sorry this is so late!! I hope this is ok - haven’t watched/read gintama for a while, I’m a little out of touch with the characters. I hope your birthday was amazing just like you!!!!

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

“I’ll be your general,” Gintoki says, maybe nine years old. His eyes, dull and steady and kind, are fixed on Katsura. “When I’m around, you can just be Zura.”

And that’s it. Some (most) part of him is Zura for the rest of his life.

-x-

Gintoki keeps doing that, worming his way into people’s lives without knowing he does it. Katsura asks Shouyou, once, where he picked Gintoki up; and Shouyou laughs, says, I’m not sure who picked up who, now.

He’s Katsura’s general and Takasugi’s rival. In the war, he’s a saviour and a killer, a hero and a monster. Salvation and damnation all in one bloodstained package, Katsura wants to laugh.

How funny, he thinks, that it’s Gintoki’s way of showing that he cares.

Never something as simple as you’re my friend. Gintoki doesn’t know how, the idiot. He says it in other ways - in the way he’ll face down an army to keep them safe, the way he stays up to pen letters to the soldiers’ families in shitty hiragana, careful not to get bloodstains on the paper. The way he snatches sake from the soldiers, snapping at them that guilt has no place on the battlefield, do they want to get killed?

But Katsura’s busy, too, being the a leader and general and strategist and warrior and, when there’s finally, finally breathing room, just Zura. They’re so busy all the time. There’s no time to be children, or friends. They’re thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and Katsura can’t breathe anymore. He doesn’t know how to inhale without tasting rust on his tongue. They’re sixteen and generals and they’ve fought armies, don’t know if they’ve won. Don’t know what victory is, when people just die, and die, and die.

They’re seventeen and Katsura messes up, makes a bad plan, fails. And they’re lying on hot ground and Gintoki’s knuckles are white around a shaking sword, and Takasugi screams.

Katsura doesn’t scream. Katsura doesn’t have the breath to scream. There’s ice in his chest, blood in his heart. The ropes binding him are tight enough to choke.

Shouyou’s head flies and Katsura presses his face against the rocky ground, teeth chattering even though the hard-packed dirt is hot enough to burn.

Three weeks later, Gintoki suggests that they split up. He smiles when he says it, smiles like shattered glass, like it hurts. Not Katsura, not Takasugi - Gintoki suggests it, Gintoki who should’ve wanted them to stay the most, them who he killed Shouyou to save.

(Just like he should have wanted to save Shouyou the most. It hurts to think on it, so Katsura doesn’t.)

But Gintoki smiles, and says that he’ll go. Katsura thinks, later - when he’s in a cold, dilapidated shack, wondering if Gintoki and Takasugi are alive or dead; wondering if he’ll ever be just Zura again - that the idiot was probably trying to be kind. Spare them the pain of looking at the boy who killed their teacher.

It’s pointless, though. Gintoki thinks he’s the murderer, but he’s wrong. Katsura’s the genius, here, he would know. And he sees Shouyou’s true killer every time he looks into the mirror.

-x-

But time keeps moving, even when it feels like their worlds have stopped.

Soon, five years have passed, and Gintoki is doing Odd Jobs. Moving on, he calls it, even though Katsura never sees him with the same people for more than six months running. Even though it’s been weeks since he’s seen Gintoki smile and months since he’s seen him really laugh.

Doesn’t it hurt, Katsura wants to ask, but of course Gintoki wouldn’t give him a straight answer if he did. Why don’t you just join me? Revolution may be hard, but at least I wouldn’t just leave.

“Join us,” Katsura says instead. Over and over and over.

And each time, Gintoki says no.

His leaving back looks smaller, colder, more lonely each time.

-x-

Ten years, and there are children.

Shiroyasha, Katsura calls Gintoki, once, right in front of them. Because he is so sick and tired of watching people leave. Because so many people have walked out of Katsura’s life, and so many have left Gintoki’s, and Katsura can’t take it anymore. They should just get it over with, he thinks. Like ripping off a bandaid - do it fast, so that there’s no time to really feel pain.

Shiroyasha, but the kids just look at them with wide eyes.

They don’t leave.

No matter how hard Gintoki tries. No matter how many times he doesn’t pay them. No matter how often he snaps, or complains, or bullshits his ass off. They stay.

Two months in and Katsura sees them on the street. Kagura, bright-burning brilliance and bursting at the seams with life, and Shinpachi, solid stable warmth, kindness a fierce spark in his eyes. Gintoki between them, looking content and warm, looking like he belongs.

And Kagura says something, Shinpachi nags, and-

-and Gintoki laughs.

Really, honestly laughs. His eyes go soft and bright and he doubles over, grinning like an idiot and shaking with the force of his laughter, and Katsura thinks, oh.

Oh.

-x-

Kagura is a Yato girl whose family tore itself apart and Shinpachi is a samurai boy in an age where samurai are all but dead.

They’re not meant to keep going but they do, anyway, Kagura blazing like a war flag and Shinpachi surging forward, step by step, as unstoppable as the rotation of the Earth.

Stubborn, the both of them, and fierce, and heartbreakingly kind. And they’re just kids, but when Kabuki-cho is invaded, when Nobunobu takes over the shogun’s seat, when the Amanto threaten to blow up the Earth, they stand by Gintoki’s sides, weapons in hand, and fight with him against the end of the world.

Katsura wants to laugh, wants to cry. He thinks Gintoki wants to do more than that.

But Gintoki watches the children, and teaches them to live, and he heals.

Katsura stops asking Gintoki to join the joui. Gintoki doesn’t need that, now. He’s not alone anymore.

(And neither is Katsura. And the Amanto still rule Japan, and there are battles every other day, but...

...this feels like peace.)

-x-

After the shogun’s funeral, there is this:

Katsura finds Shinpachi and Kagura sitting empty-eyed by the river. Their eyes are blank and wide, and they’re tucked by each other’s sides.

They are so young, Katsura thinks. Sixteen and fourteen and so damn young.

He feels so old. So tired of these pointless wars.

“It will end,” Katsura says. They turn to him, eyes wide, and he squats beside them, fixing his gaze on the horizon. The sun is setting, and the sky is ablaze. “For better or worse, this war will come to an end. And you will find a way to live.”

Kagura pulls her legs up to her chest. “But a person never stops fighting,” she says, tucking her chin against her knees. Her hair is gold beneath the setting sun.

“Yes,” Katsura says, easy as breath, though the knowledge did not come easy. “Life is a war. You may lose a battle, but that does not mean you’ve lost the war.”

Shinpachi’s hands are balled into tight white fists. “But,” he says. “If you lose a battle, you lose something. And we’re idiots, so it feels the same.” His eyes, solid and warm and brown, are glassy with tears.

“Yes,” Katsura says, “but it isn’t.” He’s learnt that many times over. “This battle will end, and win or lose, the war goes on.”

“It was all for nothing,” Shinpachi grits out. “Everything we did.” His jaw is clenched tight, so tight, and he’s shaking. Kagura just looks at them, eyes big and blue and bleak.

Katsura sighs. He reaches out, resting his hand in Shinpachi’s soft hair. He knows what Shinpachi is feeling. He knows it so well.

“Sometimes you have to move,” Katsura says, “regardless of the risks. Wasn’t that what you did?”

“We couldn’t just stand there,” Kagura says. Her voice is small and guilty, like she thinks that maybe they should. Should’ve stood there, and burned, and bit it down. Should’ve watched a man suffer and said nothing.

Who knows? Maybe they should. Maybe then the shogun would still be alive. Maybe then they wouldn’t be here today, battle-scarred and weary-eyed.

Or maybe the tendoushuu would’ve moved anyway, and the shogun would still be dead, and they’d have lived with a different regret for the rest of their lives.

“Didn’t Gintoki tell you? Sometimes there are things you must do to protect your soul.”

Kagura pulls her knees to her chest, looking young and tired and very small. “Yeah,” she says. Then she swallows, and says, “Don’t close your eyes, Zura.”

Katsura blinks at her. “What?”

“Don’t close your eyes.” Her eyes, blue and burning, are fixed on the blazing sky. “Gin-chan says it’s always darkest before the light.”

Glancing over, Katsura sees that Shinpachi, too, is staring out at the horizon, like the fire of the sky will burn the tears and pain away. And Katsura…

Katsura remembers Gintoki, always, always staring out into the distance, eyes narrowed and fierce, at something the rest of them could not see.

(Or maybe… Maybe Takasugi could. Some days he’d bitch Gintoki out, or throw a rock at his head when he wasn’t looking. But on others, he’d stand by Gintoki’s side and look out and out, hands fisted, refusing to shut his eyes. Like they were looking beyond the sky.)

Kagura and Shinpachi look at the horizon, hands fisted; stare out and out like the Earth is expanding before them, even when they’ve been pushed to a corner, backs against the wall. Refusing to shut their eyes.

He’s brought them up just like him, Katsura thinks, looking back at the setting sun, the burning sky. “I know,” he says.

They’ve lost the battle, but something in him is fiercely, fiercely proud.

-x-

We’ll meet at dawn, Katsura tells Gintoki later, and smiles.

Remembers the kids looking out at the burning sky. Remembers it’s always darkest before the light.

You remember, Katsura thinks, looking at Gintoki’s wide eyes. This is not self-sacrifice. This is a temporary concession, a false retreat; leaving an opening so that they can strike the enemy in the heart.

Katsura will break out, and Gintoki will come. This is how it has always been.

-x-

And then.

The Tendoushuu and Utsuro and Shouyou and when Katsura hears it he goes cold all the way down to his core.

His teeth are chattering even though his blood burns. Panic is hot, cold, numb in his buzzing, trembling bones. He is so tired of this old routine.

“Katsura-san.” Shinpachi finds him, eyes big and worried, soft and warm. Strange that a boy that seems so soft could be so strong. Strong enough to fight for the world, to stand by Gintoki’s side.

Katsura nods at him, sitting against the wall, one arm thrown over his drawn-up knee. “Shinpachi-kun.”

Shinpachi looks at him with soft, piercing eyes. “Gin-san said that he- he was your-”

“Yes.” Katsura wants to smile, for the boy’s sake. Finds that he cannot. “He was our teacher.” He was our father.

Katsura shuts his eyes. Keep your eyes open, Gintoki had said, but right now, Katsura cannot bear to even look. He is certain that his hands are sticky and slick with blood.

Cloth brushes cloth, and there’s warmth at his side. Katsura forces his eyes open, turns to see Shinpachi settling beside him.

There are shadows beneath the boy’s eyes, and bandages beneath his clothes. Shinpachi looks tired, too, and unsettled; scared, uncertain in his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Shinpachi says, ever polite. There’s understanding in his voice, too deep for a boy his age. Katsura remembers Obi-one, and self-sacrifice, and Shinpachi landing an ippon that must’ve felt like a killing blow, even if it was not. Gintoki had told him the whole sorry tale, eyes haunted with the ghosts of yet another he could not save.

Katsura wants to laugh, wants to cry, is too tired to do either. He waves a bandaged hand, taking a breath that tastes like metal against his raw throat. “How is Gintoki?”

Because this is a living nightmare, and Gintoki is taking the brunt of it. Gintoki, who cut Shouyou down once, twice, three times, more times than he can count, now, as he landed killing blows over and over on a man who would not die. Shouyou, who Gintoki would have gladly died to save, and Katsura wants to be sick.

Shinpachi looks at the ground. “He’s not sleeping. And he hardly eats.”

Just like the first time around, Katsura thinks. Gintoki had gone for days not sleeping, not eating, trying to fake composure while his hands shook beneath trailing sleeves. Would spend ages washing his hands in the river, scrubbing at blood that no one but him could see.

“He is an idiot,” Katsura says, just as Kagura arrives. She looks tired and old, irritation and exhaustion pulling at her eyes.

She drops at Katsura’s other side, less careless than she usually is, with the slowness of a person whose whole body hurts.

“Everyone’s acting like- like Gin-chan’s killed Shouyou before,” she says. She’s trying to sound annoyed, but her voice is just frustrated and very young. “But he wouldn’t- Gin-chan wouldn’t-”

Katsura looks up, trying to see the light. All he can see is the ship’s metal ceiling, and blinding fluorescent white. “He had to.” And his voice sounds bone-dry, brittle and exhausted.

He can feel their stares on him, and casts about for an explanation. It comes hollow, comes broken-cold. “Our teacher was captured in the war. Years later, so were we. And Gintoki was offered a choice: kill us, or kill our teacher.” Katsura fists one hand in his clothes, jaw tightening. They had been such idiots. Young and blind and willful and stupid, and Shouyou had died for it. Gintoki had killed Shouyou, Takasugi had lost an eye, and Katsura had been left alone. “Shouyou died. There was no mistake. Gintoki would not have made such a mistake, and we all saw Shouyou die.”

They’d watched Shouyou die. Right before their eyes, he’d died. “The Tendoushuu left us his head. We buried it beneath a pine tree, a few miles from Edo.” Katsura stares numbly at the ground. “He died by Gintoki’s hand. It is impossible that he survived.”

It is impossible. The dead do not come back to life. So why? Why was he-

-Katsura shuts his eyes. He wants to puke.

But Gintoki can’t take this anymore. Katsura remembers that young, scarred kid from sunlit dojos, who was terrified of ghosts because he’d made too many of his own. Who followed at Shouyou’s heels, always, and who cared so much, so deep.

Remembers, too, that cold, tired back, as Gintoki cut through Shouyou’s neck. Remembers a thin, shattered smile and tears in the eyes of a boy who never cried. Remembers the look on Gintoki’s face, broken to bits.

And then Shinpachi and Kagura had come, and Gintoki had finally, finally started to heal. Started to live, and laugh, and there’s only so many times you can be cut to the bone before you never heal again.

Katsura doesn’t want to hurt Shouyou. Doesn’t want to be left alone again, wants to grip tight to the sleeve of his teacher and beg. (Please. Please don’t leave.)

But Gintoki didn’t want to hurt Shouyou, either. Gintoki didn’t want to choose. Gintoki didn’t want to but he had to and it was Katsura’s fault anyway and-

-and Katsura knows that it’s his turn. Time to step up to the plate, because he can’t make Gintoki do that again. Can’t, won’t, it’s not right, not fair, Gintoki was only just starting to heal.

(Katsura hasn’t spoken to Gintoki since they boarded the ship. He only woke up from the treatment of his new belly button a few hours ago, and he’s torn between going to Gintoki and staying far away. Wants to offer comfort, and, at the same time, doesn’t want to see the look on Gintoki’s face, the broken exhaustion in his eyes. Something old - a reminder of the past.)

A bandaged hand wraps around his. Katsura looks up, sees Kagura biting her lip, looking at the floor with glittering, glassy eyes. A warm weight lands on his shoulder, and Katsura flinches. Then he realises that it’s Shinpachi, cheek on Katsura’s gi, looking determinedly forward. His expression is fierce, even as tears trace lines down his pale face.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kagura says. “You and Gin-chan, it wasn’t your faults.”

And how, Katsura wonders, would she know that?

Shinpachi nods, soft hair brushing against Katsura’s neck. “Don’t blame yourself, Katsura-san.”

“I-” Katsura stares at them. Wonders how they know exactly what to say.

But he knows, doesn’t he? Kagura’s family tore itself apart. Shinpachi landed an ippon on Obi-one, and it wasn’t a killing blow, but it must have felt like one. They know exactly what to say, because they know how it feels.

Katsura wonders if Gintoki told them the same thing. When he found out about Kagura’s family. When Obi-one died. This is exactly the sort of thing Gintoki would say, offered like a lungful of air to a drowning man.

These children are just like him. So different, and yet. Exactly the same. Gintoki must be scared to hell.

“Join us for dinner,” Kagura says, not waiting for a response. “Shinpachi cooks good rice, uh-huh.”

“We’ll make rice balls together,” Shinpachi adds. Quiet and soothing and this time, when Katsura shuts his eyes, it feels like rest instead of breaking.

-x-

When Katsura sees Gintoki’s face, his heart breaks a little in his chest.

Gintoki has bruises beneath his eyes. He’s covered in bandages, limping and tired, and his shoulders are slumped with exhaustion that goes deeper than his bones.

And his eyes are everything Katsura was afraid of. Old, and hurting, and so achingly exhausted, just like they were so many years ago and Katsura’s breath catches in his lungs, bile rises in his throat, Gintoki can’t do this again and neither can Katsura, they can’t, once was tears and blood and shattered glass on the floor. Twice will cut them deeper than they know how to bear.

“Gin-chan!” “Gin-san!”

Shinpachi catches Gintoki’s hand and Kagura barrels into him, beaming like twin suns, like the dawn Gintoki was always looking for. Kagura chatters about everything and nothing, about how big the ship is, how Shinpachi dropped an entire bowl of rice, and Gin-chan do you think we can still watch Ladies Four in space? Do they have better connection in space since we’re closer to the satellites? Gin-chan- And Shinpachi nags at Gintoki because Gin-san, the food’s getting cold, and Kagura chan, you weren’t supposed to eat the rice off the floor- it’s the five second rule, not the five minute rule, Gin-san-

And looking down at them, Gintoki’s eyes go warm, and a little more light. He blinks, and it’s like he’s waking from a nightmare - one hand coming to rest in Kagura’s hair, the other curling solidly around Shinpachi’s, and he doesn’t smile, but his eyes are a little less worn.

Then, so fast and smooth that Katsura isn’t quite sure how it happens (he’s starting to sympathise with Gintoki, these children are good-) there’s a bandaged hand around his - Kagura’s - and he’s swept up in a sea of chatter and laughter and warmth. Shinpachi’s hand is on his back, and there is inane, constant chatter drowning the silence ringing in Katsura’s ears.

Katsura meets Gintoki’s eyes over Kagura’s bright head, sighing in exasperation-

-and Gintoki’s lips curl up in a smile.

It’s small, and tired, and nothing like wide, shattered grin he’d worn all those years back. It’s tiny and a little lost and real, and Katsura grins in response, even though, a minute ago, he’d thought that they’d never smile again.

(Somewhere in his chest, a broken, aching piece of him begins to heal.)

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stunudo · 7 years

Quote

Motherhood changes everything.

Adriana Trigiani

Boundless: A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Emily Prentiss x Female Reader Setting: After Season 7

Requested by: @milkandcookies528

“Could you do a sweet little oneshot where Emily and her wife adopts a baby or babies? Thank you.🙂💕💜”

A/N: Alright you remember when Prentiss was looking at buying a townhouse and Morgan was going to help her? Well the REASON she didn’t buy the townhouse was because she ended up eloping and moving in with Y/N. Emily doesn’t go to Interpol in this AU. Happy reading! xoxo Stu

Your name: submit What is this?

It was in the quiet of the morning that the house felt emptiest. Y/N still breathing deeply while Emily would start getting ready for work. The large elegant rooms chilled with lack of motion. She walked in stocking feet down the dark wooden hallway. Thoughts of hectic mornings and little voices calling for Mama and Mommy from one of the now vacant rooms drew Emily Prentiss into daydreaming.

She had thought about adoption before, but it was the heroine in her saving a teenager on a case, not entirely thought out. Yet, here she was a year after falling in love with Y/N, dreaming up scenarios where their big house would be made full. After years of working to save people from the worst of humanity, Emily knew there were so many children who deserved better than they had. It had been two weeks since Y/N and Emily had submitted their paperwork to become foster parents, stating firmly that their intention was to adopt.

She knew the process could take up to two months for approval within their county welfare system, but she was hopeful as a federal agent, she would get special attention. She filled her travel mug with her half of the pot of coffee and headed to work.

It had taken four weeks and three days of you nesting without trying to look like it, for you to get the call. A child needed emergency placement overnight and for an indeterminate amount of time after. You were at the grocery store, so you asked about the details to be ready.

“A four year old boy after surviving an accident.” The social worker stated.

“Does he have any allergies or triggers I need to know about?” You asked, worrying about Sergio.

“No known allergies, but we can discuss trauma when I bring him over.”

“Thank you, I will be there within the hour.” You hung up and scurried over to the bargain aisle hoping to find some toys to hold him over for the night.

The brilliant little boy with the charcoal skin was in and out of your lives quickly. He had been in a car accident and the patrol on the scene had assumed that his mother was under the influence when in fact she was not. It was a happy reunion for them, but it left your arms empty.

You and Emily began to talk yourselves through the process before a new child or family of children entered your home. You couldn’t get attached until the courts were denying parental appeals. You had to be present and responsive, without becoming too attached. Emily was far better at it than you were, having to compartmentalize with the BAU for years. You were the housewife now, it was much harder to let go when the babies were with you all day everyday, besides school.

It was six months after starting the fostering to adopt process that you found them. Little Aliyah (3.5) and tough guy Camaron (6) had been left without guardians when their grandmother suddenly died of a heart attack. Their mother and fathers had not been heard from since Aliyah was born. Their angel grandmother had taken custody and sent her daughter to rehab, unfortunately she disappeared after completing the month long stay. All of this was more information than you usually received, but with a death and your status as perspective adopters you were notified.

They were so scared when you showed them their rooms, “But, lady, do we have to sleep in our own rooms? ‘Lia has nightmares and if Grammy isn’t there, she needs me.”

Your heart melted. “Aliyah? Do you want to stay in Camaron’s room for bedtime?” Her little blonde head bobbed, sucking her fingers.

“Alright, sweetie, we’ll make sure to move your bed in here. Maybe your room can be the play room then?”

Camaron smiled briefly at you.

“So, like, you’re married?” Camaron stared at you and Emily kissing hello.

“Yes, Camaron, we’re married.” Emily confirmed, meeting his wide eyed stare. “That okay?”

“If you say so, two moms are prolly better than no moms.”

“Cam, stop it, girls can marry girls now. Grammy said so.”

“I know, ‘Lia, its just I aint seen it before.”

“We’re family here, if you have questions, we will answer them so you can understand.” You added, gently.

“Do you have any? Questions? Guys?” Emily sat down at the table next to Aliyah.

“Not really, but can we eat already?” Camaron asked.

Emily was reading in bed and checking her messages on her phone.

“Tell Garcia hi from the Prentiss-Y/L/Ns” You whispered, turning off your bedside lamp.

“She says sleep tight snuggle-bugs.” Emily deadpanned.

“That she would,” You leaned in and kissed Emily deeply before burying your face in your pillow. “Don’t forget to sleep, Em.”

Emily was up for another hour when she heard a tiny voice at the door.

“Mama Em? Can I lay with you?” Aliyah was dragging the Spiderman blanket from her bed with her.

“Sure, sweetie, but there’s not much room up here with Mommy. Should we try the couch?” As Aliyah’s glassy eyes squinted into a smile, Emily dropped her work on to her bedside table.

“What do you mean she is protesting the adoption?” You were dumbfounded. The social worker was on the line, it had been 7 months since your babies had entered into your life. Their biological mother had come out of the woodwork and had thrown the proceedings into a tailspin. You looked at Emily with sheer terror. Your wife’s dark eyes understood immediately, she nodded and began dialing.

“Garcia I need everything you can dig up on Charlene Franks. We’re going to war.”

“So you mean that my first mom wants us back?” Camaron looked confused.

“Yeah, baby, she didn’t know about your Grammy until recently. Now she knows and wants to see you again.” You tried to explain without any sway in your words.

“But, Mommy? I don’t know her.” Aliyah was still very shy.

“That’s okay, Miss Jackie and I will be there along with some other grown ups.”

“Miss Jackie is nice, most of the time.” Camaron commented as he continued to build his LEGO tower.

Your blonde haired girl crawled into your lap, sucking her fingers. “I don’t want her, I just want you.”

“I know, sweetie, but she gets a chance to meet you. You’re such special kids and Camaron hasn’t seen her in a long time.”

“Is Mama coming?” Camaron asked, demolishing his tower and starting a new one.

“If she can make it. She and all of your aunts and uncles are working a case in New York right now.”

“I want Mama home,” Aliyah yawned into your neck.

“Me too, baby.”

Garcia had compiled an insane amount of evidence for your lawyers to sift through. SSA Prentiss took a very involved role in securing and reviewing any case details in order to be prepared to testify on her tech analyst’s behalf. It turns out that she was overly prepared, the judge ruled in favor of the adoption. Denying any and all claims of parental rights as Charlene had abandoned her children so long ago. Only after learning that her mother had established trust funds for the children did she attempt to re-enter their lives.

You hugged Emily the second the gavel hit the rest. Your smile was plastered on for a solid hour after leaving the courthouse. JJ and Will had the kids while you touched base with the lawyers. The adoption was set to be finalized the first of the month.

Emily straightened your collar as you double checked her mascara. The emotions running through you both required water-proof doubly applied. The kids got to pick their outfits for their big day: Camaron wore a short sleeved button down shirt with khaki shorts. Aliyah wore a polka dot skirt with a Hulk tee shirt.

Stepping into the judge’s chambers you burst into tears. Penelope was there with Spencer, Will and JJ, Rossi and Morgan and Hotch had brought Jack. Your parents and Ambassador Prentiss had even flown in. The entire BAU family had arrived to show support of the new Prentiss-Y/L/Ns. Camaron was first, taking the gavel from the judge, pounding away as he was declared yours.

Aliyah, shy as ever, clung to you, burying her face in your neck as the judge gently tapped the gavel announcing her to be yours. With each official decree the room erupted in applause and cheers. Camaron running over to Uncle Derek for a high five immediately afterwards.

Rossi had a catered dinner at his estate for the team and all the families. Emily was talking with her mother when you found her.

“‘Lia is asleep in the first floor guest room.” You explained, she nodded, smiling at you. “Thanks for coming, Mom.” You rubbed the Ambassador’s arm gently.

“Of course, Y/N, I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” She patted your hand and leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“I’m going to find the boys before we are missing the entire cheesecake tray.” You said, excusing yourself.

“We did it.” Emily whispered in your darkened bedroom. You lay your head on her chest and hummed in agreement. The children asleep in their own rooms down the hall were officially part of the family.

“Thank you for everything you did to make it happen, Em.”

“Thank you for being an amazing mother, Y/N. I am so lucky to come home to this warm home each night.”

“You’re pretty fantastic yourself.” You protested, “But thank you for saying so.” You stretched your neck up to kiss her smooth mouth.

The next morning Emily woke to Aliyah screeching that Camaron hadn’t flushed the toilet. Emily then stumbled out of bed to step on LEGOs in the hallway that someone had left as a present outside your door. You rolled over, letting her handle the newest tragedy. Emily found your two children pouring their own cereal at the kitchen table. Sergio was lapping the spilled milk on the floor. She smiled at the fullness of her house and heart.

@emilyprentissdaily @emilyfuckingprentiss @gubl-oser

#Criminal Minds #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #adoption #family fanfiction #fluff #questions #kids and their questions #some angst #i am not an adoption lawyer #i am not a social worker #i hope this isnt too sad

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